Chapter Eight
It was wrong. No matter which way he twisted around the events that had dumped him on his ass, he couldn’t make it look anything but horribly hideously wrong. But then, any occasion that had Spike dragging around its edges was enough to tip it toward bad right from the start.
He didn’t have a clue what had happened. One minute he was paving his way into the Slayer’s life—into Buffy’s life—looking eagerly down the track of his redemption, when along came Spike with a cock and bull story that just happened to be his own existence. Well, as confused as he was, Angel had had enough. It wasn’t fair—he was the one with the soul. He was the one who had allowed himself to fall so low through his certainty of damnation and guilt. Why did Spike get to walk in and claim everything Angel had been moving toward, all with a smile on his face and a fake soul in his flashy corpse?
Well, it stopped now. Stopped before the bleached pain-in-the-ass managed to snack on Buffy and bring an apocalypse down about their heads. As if there wasn’t enough to be worried about with The Master trying to retrieve power and importance, now Spike had to come and complicate things even more. And again, Buffy. How had he managed to get to her, anyway?
He frowned, his brain tossing around the animosity and irritation he felt toward his grandchilde, focusing on how perplexed and frustrated he was that his plan had been interfered with. He had no choice but to get back on track, to reclaim his story from Spike and then spit in the ingrate’s dust.
He was at a loss how to do it. Buffy was obviously already half enamoured with the hyperactive idiot. It wasn’t like Angel was so blind he missed the dismissive glance she’d sent his way as she was half dragged out of the crypt. He’d built up the legend of this Slayer in his head so high that to see her gullible and trusting of a soulless vampire was a little too much for him to cope with. He didn’t quite know how to protect her from the mess she’d gotten herself into. His only real option was to expose Spike for the lying, despicable fraud he was.
Angel wouldn’t even consider the possibility that Spike could have a soul. He’d struggled with the pain and anguish being forced into a conscience entailed, and he’d spent a hundred years paying the price of a century and a half of evil depravity. He was unique and no way was Spike going to come along and steal his truth, his life, and his girl.
No way in hell.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It was the fifth day in a row that Jesse had turned up all but stoned. His skin was a waxen shade of sick, he shook, and his eyes were twitchy and unfocused. He’d become almost completely uncommunicative—even catatonic on occasions—and Willow, Xander and Buffy were just about freaked right out of their minds.
Xander tried to draw him out with jokes, failing miserably when the smiles Jesse rewarded them with were sly and sinister. Willow’s attempts were with books, and his monosyllabic responses were enough to almost drive her round the bend. Buffy tried activity, hoping that if he came running with her, he’d either pick up the pace or collapse at her feet, thus making medical intervention necessary. He never showed up.
The big secret was still very much that: a big secret. Xander was jittery every time it looked like he needed to say something about the evil predators of the night, but chickened out before the words could escape his throat. The three teens shared worried looks, wondering why Jesse now turned to life altering drugs when he’d just survived an experience many didn’t get to come back from. Buffy tried to stay out of much of it, sitting and doing little more than adding her silent worries about the mental state of her new friend to the pot. They were at a loss of what to do, his paleness and decreasing health frightening Willow into finally reporting it to Giles during one of their secret Jesseless meetings.
“He’s pale and unresponsive, you say? Perhaps he is iron deficient after the attack and it has kept his energy reserves low. Also, it is possible that such a brush with death, no matter how confusing the actual brush might have been, would do something by way of frightening the poor boy into questioning his mortality.”
Buffy considered. The first thing she had done when she noticed his pallor was check his neck. Other than the healing first bite, there was nothing there to indicate that he’d been the victim once more of an unexplainable attack. So, lack of iron could work. He had lost a lot of blood so it really was possible.
It was his lack of friendly banter and Xander-like sucky humour that really told her there was something wrong.
“Even if he’s just tired, he wouldn’t have a complete personality change. And he watches us. When he thinks we won’t notice, he stares at each of us.” Buffy stopped and shuddered, wrapping her arms around her suddenly cold self. “It’s kinda like he’s taking notes.”
Giles dismissed their concerns with little interest, much preferring to go on to discuss any leads Buffy may have retrieved in regards the Master and his possible plans for escaping the Hellmouth.
There were none. “Sorry, Giles. Every vamp we come across is much more into the fighty and fangy than the talky. But next time I’ll let one get extra special close just so I can try and get him to tell me something The Master would dust him for as soon as he got home.” Her sarcasm was obviously lost on the Watcher as he mumbled about time and the lack of it remaining to sort it all out.
The frustration Giles felt was obvious as he twisted his glasses and shelved a book. “I can’t abide all this waiting. Something disastrous is about to happen and we have absolutely no idea what it could be.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
The man was a stranger to most, so his unexpected entrance made three of the library’s occupants gasp. He stood in the back of the room, lurking in the shadows of the stacks as he had the undivided attention of four sets of eyes. They stared transfixed…
Until Buffy rolled hers eyes and huffily introduced him. “What are you doing here, Angel?” Her voice betrayed boredom, her expression too relaxed for a slayer around a vampire. Yet he took it as a good sign, believing she thought him safe and not the vicious monster Spike had treated him as inside the mausoleum. It was just more proof that the moron was going to go down, as soon as Angel managed to clear up the misunderstandings.
Still, it was a formidable audience. He cleared his throat and slowly made his way down the stairs, a book jammed under one arm. “I came to warn you.” He brandished the ancient title with a flourish to Giles. “The Pergumum Codex. I thought it might be useful.”
The researcher in Giles rejoiced at such a treasure, his hands smoothing the cover down respectfully. “Wherever did you get this? I thought it lost for good as it was last seen in the fifteenth century.” The Watcher didn’t even look up, allowing his hands to touch such essential and old information before his eyes could unravel the truth of the tales.
“Who cares where he got it, Giles? The issue right now is, why is there a vampire in our school trying to help me. I was kinda under the impression the handy dandy slayer’s guide was all about the killing of the evil undead. Spike, I can understand the not dusting, what with the soul and all. But you, you’re another story.”
Giles grew white with alarm, taking an urgent step closer to Buffy as the truth of their interloper was revealed. He rather thought she could have dropped that little gem a bit sooner.
A squeak of impatience was intriguing to them all, however, as the one called Angel almost stomped his foot before sitting dejectedly in a chair at the research table.
“Look, you’ve got it all wrong. I have no idea how Spike made you fall for it, but you’ve got the wrong souled vampire. As in, I am, he’s not.”
Buffy laughed, the sound happy and carefree before seguing seamlessly into pissed off.
“You don’t get to go around telling lies about my boyfriend.” She ignored the gasps of surprise around her. Just because she hadn’t told Spike she thought he was her boyfriend, didn’t make it any less so. There had been kissage, and hand-holding. It put them on a step above friends and Buffy was more than happy to call it as she wanted it.
“I’m not lying—”
“Shut up. You say you have a soul, and sure, you’ve been kind of helpful in a really not kind of way. You may have given me the hints, but it’s Spike that’s been by my side with the actual action behind the information. He’s the one that’s been watching my back and helping me with the hands on fighting. So, how can you seriously sit there and tell me he hasn’t got a soul?”
A flash of her conversation with Willow made Buffy stop—though to all it appeared she was finished anyway. While Angel sat spluttering, Buffy became lost in thought. How could she prove either way if one of them was lying? She really didn’t think Spike was. He’d been around her for long enough now for her to have known if he had some sinister motivation for getting close to her. And if he did have some kind of plan—how did he intend to carry it out while he was kissing and dancing with her?
“Spike is nothing but a vicious murdering monster. He has no soul. He’s been killing as recently as last week—” he stalled at Buffy’s look of thunder, his own certainty dwindling a little without concrete proof. “—I’m willing to bet,” he fudged, standing back up and straightening until his height had Buffy dwarfed.
She wasn’t having any of his intimidation tactics. She kicked him hard in the knee and smirked at his look of agony before pushing his now slumped form back into his chair.
“I’ve seen Spike drink blood from a cup. If he was feeding I’d know. So good try, but no biscuit.”
Giles, Willow and Xander looked at her askance. Buffy shrugged before explaining; “I heard it on a show once. It sounded much cooler when someone else said it though.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but Spike is dangerous. If you don’t start working that out soon you’ll be dead.” Angel cringed at the look of black fury that passed over and settled on Buffy’s face, realising that standing back up might have been a bit presumptuous on his part and quickly slumping back into the chair.
“Okay,” she said at last, said through gritted teeth and an urge for decapitation. “Just say what you’re telling us is true and Spike doesn’t have a soul. Why would he be doing this? Why would he be working with me to fight evil and The Master?”
The obvious answer was just on the tip of his tongue, but Angel felt the possibility of a pop to his nose could be very high if he dared suggest Spike was planning to kill her. And then the reality of it struck him. Spike didn’t do plans—not well at any rate. Spike screwed them up on a fairly predictable basis. So if he’d entered this lie with the purpose to off the Slayer, he would have broken down now and attacked her. The alternative possibilities made Angel feel nauseous so he ignored them as best he could.
“I don’t know.” He couldn’t do or say anything more to stop him looking as stupid as he already did. “I just know he is a soulless demon and if you aren’t careful something bad will happen.”
Buffy seemed satisfied with his answer, her rigid stance relaxing slightly as she turned her back on him and looked at her friends. Some kind of decision was reached and she turned back to their unwelcome visitor, studying him with the same degree of seriousness she often contemplated the demon goo on her designer shoes. “Look, I promise I won’t take any risks. I’ll stay on guard around him, but in my honest opinion, you’re wrong. And from where I’m standing, actions speak louder than words, and Spike’s actions so far shout so loud he’s made me deaf. Think about it.”
And she stared at him so hard that he felt uncomfortable and left.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hmmm, slightly shocked at the complete lack of hits and the no reviews. I wonder if it is the rating or summary? Well, whatever it is, it kinda stings!