Spoilers: Really covers all of the Buffy series and the basics of the Angel series. Specific episodes include: Buffy Two-Part Season Finale, Season 1 ep. ”Becoming” Parts 1 & 2, Buffy Series Finale, Season 7 ep. “Chosen”, and Angel, Season 1 ep. “To Shanshu in L.A.”
Dedicated: To Candice (lilacdream7) for your support, friendship, and undying devotion to your one true obsession….James! ^_^
A/N: This story was started before the last few episodes of Angel, Season 5 aired so the whole battle against Wolfram & Hart battle is ignored and wouldn’t occur for awhile longer – basically it takes place a little over one year after Illyria has lost her time-jumping powers in “Timebomb”.
It was getting late, the fading sun still burning like a hot ember among a sea of ashen clouds. The gentle rocking of the plane as it cut its path through the burning twilight caused her to stir. Rubbing the last remnants of another dreamless sleep from her eyes, she yawned and stared at her watch. It was nearly 8:30pm; the flight was halfway over. She yawned again and stretched as best she could.
The cabin around her was fairly empty and nearly silent. A businessman sat to her right, three rows up the aisle, busily typing away on a laptop and sipping ice water from a plastic cup. Behind her an elderly couple were happily snoring away, their heads leaning awkwardly against one another’s. Three rows in front of her two college aged-girls sat in silence; one listening to a CD player, the other watching the in-flight movie, some new romantic comedy staring Hugh Grant. Did he ever star in anything else? Most of the shades on the plane were drawn, blocking out the remaining sunlight, and she sighed grateful for that fact.
Her eyes continued to take in the cabin around her, finally falling on his sleeping form beside her. She smiled to herself. As tough as he tried to make himself out to be when he was awake he could not hide his softer side when he slept. She loved watching him sleep, it was a secret pleasure she had discovered the first night she had ever slept in his arms. Her mind slipped back to that night when he had found her drowning in self-pity in a stranger’s house; how he had given her his heart and his soul, and opened her eyes to the strength she had within. It was in that moment that she finally began to fully understand him, and all that he had become for her.
A sharp dip in the plane’s forward motion brought her back to reality, her nails biting into the arm rests at her side. She hated turbulence. Spike stirred ever so slightly in his sleep, the edges of the thick wool blanket he had wrapped around himself slipping down around the sides of his face. Gently she reached out and pushed the heavy fabric away from his eyes, his hair sticking up in soft tendrils all about his face. She loved it when his hair was slightly messy, and leaning back against her own seat, she smiled with contentment.
So far the trip had gone smoothly. The flight out of Charles de Gaulle had taken about 7 and a half hour, getting them into New York’s JFK airport at around 1 pm. October had turned out to be an ideal time to fly into the New England area, the shorter fall days bringing with them an increasing number of gray-clouded afternoons, and they had both breathed a sigh of relief at the muted sunlight. After getting off the plane, Spike had found a dark corner against the far wall of their terminal by an out-of-service bathroom in which to relax. The thick gray wool blanket they had purchased back in London wrapped around his entire body, blocking out any sunrays that might penetrate the thick cloud cover and large glass windows of the terminal.
While he relaxed, she had gone in search of some food, buying herself a small sandwich and a bottle of tomato juice for him. With Spike as her look-out, she had slipped into the closed down bathroom, flushed the tomato juice down the toilet, and refilled the bottle with the last remaining pint of blood she had been keeping in an insulated thermos in her backpack, an early morning purchase from one of the many demons that frequented Paris’s beloved airport. Their lunch in hand, Buffy had returned to him and curled up between his legs, her back resting against his chest. Their next flight didn’t depart until 5pm, so after finishing their lunch they dozed together in their corner of solitude. No one paid much attention to them with all the different groups of coeds sprawled out throughout the terminal, and so they had enjoyed a quiet few hours together. By 4:30pm they were settling into their seats, preparing for the 6 hour flight to LA.
That had been over 4 hours ago. Stretching again, she rose and moved carefully down the aisle of the airplane towards the small lavatory door, which hung open. Stepping inside she pulled the folding doors shut behind her and turned the large plastic lock into place. For a moment she just stared at her travel weary face in the small rectangular mirror before her. The smell of the recycled air of the plane around her suddenly seemed thick in her nostrils, and she had to shake off the feeling that the plane was closing in around her. She rarely felt claustrophobic, but standing in the extra cramped lavatory made her mildly uneasy, bringing back memories of digging herself out of her own casket. Shaking her head she quickly turned on the small faucet before her and plunged her hands into the icy cold water, splashing it onto her face. She gasped slightly as the cold took her breath away, but it felt good, washing away some of her anxiety.
Turning off the faucet, she fumbled for the paper towel dispenser, her eyes still closed. Pulling out a sheet of the course paper, she dabbed at her eyes and face, finally opening her them to her reflection before her. But she wasn’t alone. With horror she saw the decaying, mutilated face of a young girl and older man staring back at her. She jumped slightly, standing up straight, and spinning around to face them, but there was no one behind her. Confused she turned back to the mirror and there they were again, their sore-covered faces peeling and bleeding before her. They stared at her with haunted, pain-filled eyes, their skin scorched and raw.
She opened her mouth to speak but at the moment she heard him scream; Spike crying out in pain. Before she could react the figures grabbed her and threw her head long into the small sink in front of her. She felt something heavy hit her in the back, and her forehead slammed into the metal basin, dropping her body to the floor. A wave of dizziness washed over her as she struggled to her feet, her eyes falling again on her reflection in the mirror. The figures were gone.
The sound of Spike’s cries broke through her dizziness and she frantically tried to open the door, but it was stuck. Wedging herself against the far wall, she lifted her body up with her arms and slammed her feet hard into the door. It gave a little but remained in place. She kicked again and again, finally knocking it off its hinges and kicking it halfway out into the aisle.
Pushing passed the hanging door, she stumbled back towards her seat. She could see him now, the blanket that had been around him was tossed haphazardly in his lap and he was using one corner of it to beat out flames that were erupting from his right arm. The few occupants of the cabin were staring at him in horror, frozen in their seats watching the odd spectacle play out. Grabbing the cup of ice water that sat next to the businessman’s laptop, she flung it at the flames, dousing them in a cloud of steam.
“Spike, are you alright?” she breathed dropping into the seat next to him, and gently pulling the blanket back from his injured arm. He groaned in pain, as the wool fibers pulled away from his burned flesh. Reaching forward, she pulled one of the small bottles of Jack Daniels he had left half empty sitting in the seat pocket in front of him. Quickly she poured it over the burn as he grunted in pain.
“What’s going on?” a dark-haired flight attendant called, finally arriving at the scene of the commotion. She noticed the burn on Spike’s arm and gasped, her hands clutching at her lips. “How did…”
Buffy quickly cut her off, rising to meet her, her body blocking Spike from the woman’s view. “I’m very sorry to disturb you,” Buffy offered forcing herself to look as embarrassed as possible. “My friend here sort of has an addiction,” she reached inside Spike’s coat pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “We’re actually on our way to a rehab clinic in LA, and I only got up for a minute.” She bowed her head in shame. “I thought he would be fine. I’m very sorry.”
Anger smoldered in the flight attendant’s eyes but only for a moment, Buffy’s ashamed form assuaging her. She sighed. “It’s alright, my brother has a pretty serious alcohol addiction.” Leaning around Buffy she glared down at Spike, “But there is absolutely no smoking on airplanes.” She emphasized her irritation and anger by tapping on the ‘no smoking’ sign illuminated above their heads. Turning back to Buffy she held out her hand and Buffy dropped the box of cigarettes into it. “I’ll see if I can find any bandages in our First Aid kit,” the woman mumbled moving off down the aisle.
As she moved away, Buffy let out a deep breath and dropped down in her seat.
“Rehab?” Spike lifted an eyebrow and offered her a weak smile of thanks.
“What happened?” She whispered back, leaning towards him.
“Not sure, luv.” He frowned and looked down at his injured arm, the skin red and bubbly. “Woke up and you were gone, figured you were in the lav. I was taking of my seatbelt all set on joining you in there when suddenly the shade here goes up and the sunlight just pours in. Next thing I know I’m my own Roman candle.”
“The shade just went up? On its own?
He nodded.
She frowned. “Something is definitely going on, Spike. I think something doesn’t want us reaching LA.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Trip to the lav was a bit more eventful than you planned?” He reached forward his thumb wiping away the blood that had started to clot over her right eye where her head had struck the sink.
Quickly and quietly she told him about the figures in the mirror and the attacker that she had been unable to see. While she told him the flight attendant returned with a gauze wrap for Spike and a band-aid for her. Buffy could tell the dark haired woman wanted to ask her more about the injury above her eye, and whether or not she knew anything about the broken bathroom door but she thought better of it.
“Looks like something big and bad has awakened in LA, pet,” Spike mused as she wrapped the gauze around his injured arm. He could see her eyes darken. “No worries, though,” he added, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her against him. “Sun’s down now and I’ve got your back. We’ll figure it out before too long.”
She nodded silently, as he kissed the top of her head, but inside she had a deep sinking feeling and the idea of seeing Angel wasn’t helping much either.
It was nearly midnight by the time they caught a cab, the dry heat of the California night providing a welcomed relief to the recycled, stale air conditioning of the plane and airport. They sat in silence after giving the driver the address, each staring out their own window lost in their own thoughts. For her, this would be the first time seeing Angel since she had come back for Spike, since she had told Angel she had chosen Spike over him. For him, it was the return to a hell he had been grateful to leave; a place where he had spent every ounce of his strength repenting for his sins and all the while chained to the one creature that haunted him more than anyone else, alive or dead.
“Wolfram & Hart,” the driver called out after the two of them failed to notice that the cab had stopped. Spike thanked him, as he handed him a wad of crumpled bills and followed Buffy out of the car.
She stood for a moment, staring up at the law firm’s formidable façade. Then re-shouldering her bag she began to move up the front steps, but Spike remained behind.
“Spike?” she called, holding the heavy glass door opened behind her.
“Go on in, luv,” he replied with a wave of his left hand, his other hand searching for the extra pack of cigarettes hidden in his coat. With a flash of fire he drew in a deep long drag and let it out slow and steady.
She eyed him carefully. Something was up, but she was in no mindset to deal with moody vampires. Whatever Spike’s problem was he would have to deal with it or get over it soon enough, so with a roll of her eyes she stalked into the building.
The lower lobby of Wolfram & Hart was like a tomb, eerily silent and dark. Thick heavy carpets and curtains covered the entire length of the walls, muting out even the loud clank of the glass door closing behind her. There was no one at the front desk, no guard in sight. Sighing heavily, she made her way over to the directory, scanning down the list of rooms until she found her destination. With a parting glance at Spike, still loitering outside the building, Buffy made her way over to a bank of elevators and stabbed violently at the ‘up’ button with her index finger. Spike's behavior was already getting on her nerves. What was his problem now? With the gentle hiss of compressed air, the elevator doors slid open and she stepped in. As she entered in the floor number the doors shut with a deadening silence, making her aware of how alone she was. But as the elevator began to move upward the quiet strings of country music began to drift down towards her.
“Definitely a demonic law firm,” she muttered to herself, her right hand gently twirling the stake stuffed deep in the pocket of her leather coat, her mind trying to focus on something, anything to block out the awful crooning that seemed to be growing louder.
Just when she didn’t think she would be able to take one more lyric of “My Achy Breaky Heart” the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Quickly Buffy stepped out and punched the down button, sending the elevator and its torturous music as far away from her as possible.
“Yick!” she shuddered as the last remaining cords faded away. “Remind me to talk to Angel about his taste in music,” she muttered with disgust as she looked around the large open lobby before her. To her right in gold leafed letters the words “Wolfram & Hart” glittered in the semi-darkness, as if illuminated on their own. Once again the place was empty except for a light shining from beneath a closed door at the opposite end of the hall. As she moved towards it, Buffy could hear the sound of several voices. At first she figured it was Angel, Wesley, and maybe Harmony, but as she drew closer she was aware of 5 separate male voices. Frowning, she lifted her hand to knock when the door flew open before her and a dark shadow walked straight into her.
“Buffy?” a formal accented voice called out to her, as a strong hand grabbed her elbow to keep her from falling over.
“Wes…Giles!” She beamed as she took in the gentle face of her Watcher. “What…” she began.
“Buff?” Xander’s voice called over Giles’s shoulder, as she made her way into the room. Within seconds Buffy found herself wrapped up in the arms of her old friend. It had been nearly 2 years since she had seen either Giles or Xander.
“Buffy,” Angel’s soft voice floated like velvet around her ears, as she turned from Xander’s embrace to look up at the dark-haired vamp.
“Angel,” she grinned, moving forward and hugging him tightly.
“How did you know to come here?” Giles asked as he began to close the door behind him.
“Watch it there, Rupert,” Spike’s voice made the older Brit jump slightly as he pushed his way into the room.
“Spike,” Angel acknowledged not even attempting to hide the distain in his voice.
“Nice to see you to, Angel-boy,” Spike replied with a sarcastic smile, dropping himself down onto a large black leather couch that sat to one side in the room, his cigarette burning low and hanging between his lips. “My, my, the whole Nancy Drew team is all here; must be something big. Wait, don’t tell me, apocalypse is coming or maybe you three have finally started your own junior detective club. I bet you have decoder rings and everything. ”
“Charming as ever, Spike,” Giles replied, cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief. Spike just grinned, and took another drag on his cigarette.
“You mind putting that thing out?” Xander glared at Spike. “Some of us are still enjoying a life.”
Spike opened his mouth to no doubt ably insult Xander but Buffy cut him off. “Spike, put the cigarette out.” His eyes moved from her face to Xander’s for a few moments before he flicked the cigarette into the nearby garbage can, and loudly propped his feet up on the small table in front of him. Buffy shot him a look.
“Giles, Gunn said the Senior Partners might have some information…” Kennedy wandered in from an adjoining back room followed by Wesley and Gunn. “Buffy!” she beamed as her eyes fell on her old teacher. “I knew you would come.”
“Wait, what’s going on?” Buffy looked from Giles to Kennedy to Xander to Angel. She was suddenly very aware someone was missing. “Where’s Willow?”
The look on Kennedy’s face was all the answer she needed.
“Tell me everything.”