Kiss The Flame
The last thing he expected upon arrival was to be greeted with a hearty dose of aversion, and yet it was received in spades. Firstly by the less-than-amiable look delivered by the woman he recognized to be Detective Kate Lockley, and next for the groan that slipped through Cordelia’s lips as her head collapsed wearily on the front counter.
“Let me guess,” she said in manner of greeting. “You didn’t talk to Lindsey.”
Spike arched a brow. “Lindsey? Yay tall? Lawyer type with a baby face an’ a poncy name? Nope, can’t say that I have. Not since the operation, anyway.”
“Great. Just great.”
“Ummm…jus’ for the means of curiosity, but why?”
“He was just here,” Lockley intervened, her tone cold but moderate. “Evidently, the two of you have been playing at a crossroads.”
The peroxide vampire stared at her blankly. “Whassat?”
Another low moan perturbed Cordelia’s disposition, whose features were still buried in her arms. “This thing,” she said, muffled. “Lindsey’s on an all out rescue-Buffy warpath. And he’s been having a major wig about it ever since…ever.”
There was a pause. Spike arched a brow coolly, calm and determined to remain reasonable. “’S that so?” he demanded. “Funny, ‘cause I coulda sworn he was one of the prats who set this entire thing up in the bloody firs’ place. Guess life’s a li’l ironic like that, huh?”
At that, Lockley’s eyes widened with blazes of unkempt fury that he hadn’t noted before. A fire burning with a low enough glow to remain unnoticed until the final sparks were close enough to set the world alight with a thousand torches. “You wanna talk irony?” she spat. “Like, how you say you want to protect your Slayer, and yet I somehow wind up with a dozen assault reports that match a man of your description?”
Cordelia cleared her throat, attention stirred again. “Ummm, that’s not irony, Kate,” she corrected. “It’s hypocrisy. And didn’t we already cover this?”
Spike scowled. “I am not a bloody hypocrite. I did what I had to.”
“Yeah, what you had to,” Lockley agreed snidely, planting her hands on her hips. “Funny how that just happened to coincide with sinking those fangs of yours into the necks of civilians all across town and the destruction of ten thousand dollars in public property.”
Cordelia frowned. “You didn’t mention that.”
“I’m mentioning it now.”
“Oh.” Her brow furrowed in consideration before turning to Spike with a flash of incredulous awe. “Ten thousand dollars? What did you do last night?”
He shrugged. “Li’l of this, li’l of that. The usual.”
There was an irritated snicker from Lockley. She did not look impressed. “Well, that usual’s going to cost you.”
A darker scowl befouled his features at that; one that he could not prevent if he tried. “Listen, you ignorant bint,” he snarled. “Considerin’ my record, you oughta be glad that’s the worst that happened. Remember me? Dangerous vampire here. The same I distinctly I recall you sayin’ you’d read up on. Gave me a li’l lecture on the basics of my own sodding kind. I’m here for one purpose only: get the Slayer out. ‘F a few bystanders ‘appen to get knicked in the process, so bloody be it. I couldn’t give a lick.”
The brunette woman snickered at that. “I suppose it’s too late to tell you not to take anything that Kate says personally,” she advised. “She just hates vamps.”
“Yeah, I do,” the detective agreed. “And this one’s not climbing on my list.”
Spike leaned forward provocatively, eyes widening with a bit of the same dynamism. “Not my problem,” he growled. “Listen, I wager you have some tragic sob story to account for your vamp aversion. Guess what: not the bloody firs’. I know me quite a few blokes who’ve had a bit of the same over the years.”
There was an uncomfortable rustling from Cordelia at that. He glanced up and met her eyes. One fleeting glance was all it took. One glance on mutual territory, and they knew each other.
“This has nothing to do with me,” Lockley spat.
“You’re right. It doesn’,” Spike agreed, snapping back to attention. “Give us a ring when you’ve figured it out.”
“Kate can help us,” Cordelia offered softly.
“She was our link to Wolfram an’ Hart. That job’s been passed on to me. She can leave.”
“No, she really can’t.” The brunette stood at that and navigated around the desk, ignoring his skeptical expression. “I know it’s not exactly a position to be desired, Spike, but let’s face it. Our options, our allies…kinda running on the low side, wouldn’t you say? We need all the help we can get.”
The peroxide vampire’s gaze did not alleviate. “Not from tarty bints who think themselves so bloody better than the lot of us.”
“And—ehm—excuse me, but it is Buffy that we’re saving, isn’t it?”
He frowned. “Not funny, pet.”
“But oh so true. And admit it: if she wasn’t Miss Waiting To Be Saved, you’d be the first to say so.” Cordelia appraised him with an expectant glance, but her grin faded almost instantly at the look on his face—her eyes going wide with horror. “Oh God. I’m sorry. Was it something I said? I—”
Spike held up a hand, blinking to the realization that while he had drifted, the moment had been fleeting and it was likely a wonder that the brunette had caught on at all. “’S all right,” he said. “’S jus’…I saw her.”
A dump truck full of pins wouldn’t have registered a peep in the room.
“What?” Lockley demanded, astonished. She didn’t recognize her own voice for its bewilderment until it tainted the air. Knowledge of the Slayer’s status hadn’t previously presented much room for attention, but it was safe to say that her interest was piqued.
“You saw her?” Cordelia repeated. “And she…and you…well, where the fuck is she? Is she okay? Is she hurt? Did—”
The defeat waving across Spike’s features was heartbreaking. The same confessed time and time again for the strains of his own incompetence in the matter. This bloody not knowing of where to go. What to do, if only to refer to the mission statement that something had to be done before everything was lost. “She…” he said, voice growing distant and hoarse without suggestion. “God, he’s…he’s all but butchered her.”
“So, why is she still there? Why didn’t you—”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “You honestly think that we’d be havin’ this conversation ‘f that’d been a bloody option?”
“Well, no. But—”
“They’ve got her fixed in these shackles that can’t be broken. Very posh. Somethin’ every decently evil law firm needs lyin’ around.” A sigh broke his body and he collapsed into one of the armchairs in the foyer. “An’ wha’s best…guess who has exclusive access?”
There was no need to guess. “Angel.”
“The one an’ only.”
Lockley pursed her lips. “Is she…is the Slayer going to be all right?”
Spike’s scowl darkened once more “Bloody right she is.”
Cordelia looked at him sympathetically. “Did she know you were there?”
He nodded. “I…I couldn’t walk away. She was jus’ danglin’ there an’…I couldn’t…” His eyes fell shut painfully, fighting the losing battle to keep his emotions to himself. Despite his liking for these people, bearing all with no thought to consequence was still something he wasn’t entirely familiar with. Regardless of implication. “She…what they’ve…I couldn’t leave without doin’ somethin’.”
Evidently, there was something in the suggested tone that Lockley didn’t like. Her arms crossed and she leaned against the front counter with a perked brow, studying him a bit too close for comfort. “Oh really?” she retorted. “And what did you do?”
The vampire looked at her with masked surprise. Well, didn’t that beat all? Of course, the one licensed detective in the building caught onto whatever he wasn’t making much noise to hide. Still, it was irritating—and furthermore—it wasn’t her business. What had occurred between him and the Slayer was very much that: between him and the Slayer. He didn’t need the opinion of an outsider to offer comfort to the girl he loved, and he certainly didn’t need the tacit approval of someone so wholly unrelated to him that she might as well be a stranger.
“I helped,” he said. And that was that.
“Oh, I’m sure you did.”
“Spike…” Cordelia ventured. “What is she talking about?”
The last was something that fell distinctly to the void; he was too infuriated by suggestion to think to respond to the brunette. Instead, the peroxide vampire leapt to his feet and stalked forward with undisguised rage. It was both irritating and commendable when Lockley refused to flinch. The chit had stones, he had to admit. But the raw insinuation in her tone was unforgivable. The notion, the slightest hint of what she was saying…
It was enough to make a bloke do something he would only inevitably regret.
“I din’t hurt her,” he snarled, eyes blazing with the threat of transformation.
“Right.”
“Hey,” his companion intervened sharply. “If Spike says he didn’t hurt her, he didn’t. Sorry Kate. Just one more vamp that doesn’t fit your ideal stereotype. And on that note, The Bias Line is closed tonight. Please see yourself out.”
She looked at the other woman askance. “Didn’t you just say a minute ago—”
“Yeah, I know. Changing my mind. Well, you pissed me off. Get lost and don’t come back unless you have some information from Lindsey or Wolfram and Hart or something that does not resemble a threat to my friends. All right?”
Spike stared at her, awe and bewilderment flooding his insides. She pointedly ignored his gaze and instead crossed her arms, waiting for Lockley to take the aforementioned leave.
There weren’t any words exchanged. Any pleasantries to be had. Nothing more than a roll of the eyes and a sigh of exasperation as the detective turned and made her way out the doors, closing them behind her with an effective slam. It wasn’t until they were alone that Cordelia finally glanced to her vampiric colleague and offered a weak smile.
“So? Spill! Details!”
Spike frowned suspiciously. “About…?”
“You and Buffy. I want the full.”
He looked at her blankly. “Uhhh…pet—”
“Don’t even give me that ‘nothing happened’ bull crap,” she threatened. “You have something-face. Any woman knows it. Why do you think Kate was all bug-up-her-ass?” She held up a hand. “And, let me clarify, I mean ‘more-so-than-usual’ and her radar isn’t nearly as good as mine. Hello. If I had actually gone to college instead of working for my lame not-boss, I likely would’ve majored in dating.”
The vampire grinned in spite of himself. “Yeh, you’re a right natural.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened expectantly. “So talk! What happened?”
He shook his head and held up a hand. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m not one to kiss an’ tell.”
“Since when?!”
“Since now. An’ for the record, luv, you an’ I ‘aven’t been chums for long.”
She growled her discontent, even if there was a smile on her face. “Bah! I hate not knowing things. This is so unfair.”
Spike merely smiled.
“Tell me!”
“It wasn’ like that,” he replied cryptically, shaking his head. Then his eyes glossed over heavily—the weight of burdened emotion clouding his senses. “It was…she was in pain. She…what ‘e’s done to her. An’ she was bleedin’. She was bleedin’ ‘cause of what he…an’ she begged me not to leave her. She din’t even think I was real until the end.”
The tease in Cordelia’s gaze had fallen completely. She stepped forward and touched his arm with sympathy. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get her out.”
“Bloody right we will,” he retorted gruffly. “I jus’ don’ know how. ‘S why I came here. ‘S why…” He shook his head. “These things that they’ve got her tied up in…Peaches is the only wanker who can—”
“I know. You mentioned it before.”
“’F it were anyone else, I’d knick it the old fashioned style. But I don’ know what I’m lookin’ for. ‘F ‘s in key-shape or what all.” A sigh depressed his shoulders, and he collapsed again into the lobby sofa. “But whatever we do, pet, ‘s gotta be soon. I’ll be dust before I before I jus’ stand aside an’ let him hurt her like that.”
Cordelia followed him and took his hand into hers, patting its back in an almost sisterly fashion. “We’ll figure something out,” she reiterated, earning a weak, however grateful grin.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“You’re a bit of all right.”
She smiled. “Naturally. You, too.”
Spike plastered on a pert grin and quirked his head cheekily. “Naturally,” he retorted in the same tenor.
“Very funny.”
“You seemed to think so.” He offered a complimentary appraisal before rising to his feet once more, countenance betraying all business. “So, where are the mates?”
“Zack and the others? Oh, they went by Caritas to see if you had decided to contact us again. Seemed kinda presumptuous to me. I mean, the Host called us last time.” She shrugged. “I think it’s because they’re bored, and being of the sitting duck clan, I can’t say I blame them. They also might’ve gone out to see if the Order’s hunting again.”
Spike nodded. “An’ the girlies?”
“Upstairs. I don’t think Nikki likes me.”
He snorted inarticulately. “You an’ me both. I can see why.”
“Hey!”
“Well, if Zangy’s been updated in your book so that the others aren’ given proper names when you talk ‘bout the lot of them.” He arched his brows. “Bloody interestin’ development, by the way. The chit’s prolly worried about him, given all that ‘appened. Either that or bloody resentful.”
Cordelia frowned, not following. “Huh?”
There was an insolent shrug and a secretive smile. “Nothin’.”
“They’ll probably be back soon if there’s no new info. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”
Spike sighed longingly. “Yes, we will,” he declared with fierce determination. The fire in his eyes remained, changing tones only when it was suggested that he return to the grim reality that surrounded them. Constricted so that he felt he couldn’t breathe if he tried—and despite the absence of necessity, the notion bothered him greatly. “God, I can’t take this. I see her every time I close my eyes. She begged me not to leave her, Cordy. She begged me not to let him take her again. I can’t bloody stand this.”
There was a solemn nod that did not know to whom it was owed. “We’ll get her out,” she declared needlessly.
He nodded. “Bloody right.”
They had had this conversation a thousand times. It was time to do something about it.
A few minutes passed, filled with uncomfortable silence. Then Cordelia smiled and took a step toward him with an obvious attempt to sooth and improve his temper. “Actually, it’s going to be kinda sad,” she mused with falsely jovial thoughtfulness, however genuine her sentiment. “I mean, I’ve gotten used to you being around. And really, with as much as I like brooding Angel, you have a lot more personality.”
Spike sighed dramatically, a glinting smile coloring his eyes. He knew perfectly well what she was doing but took the bait anyway. It was the best option in such circumstances. “Cordy, ‘f you’re madly in love with me, jus’ say so.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh. Right. That’s it. You caught me.”
“Bloody knew it,” he replied cheekily. Whatever the motive, her method had worked. He was smiling again, not completely distracted, but enough to merit a lighter temperament. “Though, by the smell of things, Zangy’s lucky I got my heart all given to someone else.”
There was a long pause and—for whatever reason—an adapted deer-in-headlights look. “What? I—”
Spike deftly pointed to his nose. “Nothin’ incriminatin’,” he assured her with a grin. “Jus’ enough to know you two have been spendin’ some quality time together. Though honestly, pet, I thought you had better taste. You really fancy that arrogant wanker?”
“Who are you to be calling anyone arrogant?”
A pause. “Touché. Relax, I’m jus’ teasin’. ‘Sides, he’s an all right bloke.”
“Yeah,” she agreed with a little smile.
“Hope it works out,” Spike said honestly. “The git needs a li’l happiness.”
“Well, don’t book the church just yet. There’s not gonna be a wedding anytime soon.” Cordelia shook her head. “Really, it’s just a little flirtation. You’re blowing everything out of proportion.”
“Right. Does he know that?”
“Of course. You’re really jumping the gun on this, buddy.”
“Yeh,” the platinum Cockney agreed, clearly not believing his own declaration. “Here’s hopin’, though.”
“Either way,” she said, reiterating carelessly. Anything to get the topic off herself, which was—granted—highly unusual. If nothing at all, it was a sign that the matter was personal enough not to constitute the limelight. For now, anyway. And that was rather telling. “They’ll be back soon.”
Spike nodded, spark fading from his eyes at mention of the unhappy truth abound them. Sent spiraling down a web of reality. He hoped beyond hope that she was right. The Slayer was counting on them—on him—and he would be dust before he let her down. Before he stood aside and watched without comment.
There wasn’t a moment to spare.
Lindsey McDonald couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He remained prostate—frozen—cemented firmly in his seat as the images unfolded beat by beat on screen. He had heard testimony enough to verify what his eyes were telling him with factuality; heard and disbelieved its weight with callous concentration. And yet, here it was. The proof he had so desperately needed. Nothing more to compare.
The look on Spike’s face betrayed him for everything he had tried to hide. The unbridled flashes of rage and lament. The unmistakable façade that foretold his self-loathing and guilt. Guilt that suggested beyond reason that he had put her there. That his very being was responsible for what had happened—what had become of her. There was no denying it. No twisting reality to mend a diluted version of a more perfect truth. The past few days had verified more of the same temperament where that came from.
No. The depth of feeling that the peroxide vampire revealed with a mere glance was all and more of what Lindsey had experienced. He knew it well. That rattling in the pit of his stomach. The weary grinding at his heartstrings. The pain that greeted him every morning, knowing he was about to get ready for a job that had lost its flare. A company he had once believed in for reasons that now seemed, despite the cause, beyond ridicule. It was a frightening thing. Waking in the middle of the night to realize that, yes, this was his life. Yes. He did work for a notoriously evil corporation that loved nothing more than dancing over the scatterings of church collapses. Yes. He was likely forever damned for things he had not done, things he would never do. Things that were tied to his name through association. Through the contract he had willfully signed before solidifying his end.
Oh God.
Frightening indeed. Lindsey had no idea what had brought him here. Prompted him this far. He would like to have argued that his actions of the past seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was far from the truth. He would like to have stated that he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, and yet he had all but drafted the disclaimer himself. He would like to have confirmed his status as a man of principle, someone who would never allow themselves to sink this far into avarice. And yet here he was. On top of the fucking world. So far elevated that all were deaf to his screams.
The vampire he was watching was not so different from himself. Spike. The demon that had no reason other than the hope of divinity and kindness to persuade him to take that defining step. It was true. Everything that McDonald had campaigned against was true. True and there for witness.
He loved her. Spike loved the Slayer. Loved Buffy Summers. The very same Buffy Summers that Lindsey had all but tortured himself over in regard for her well-being. He loved her, and he was here to help.
And if the pictures before him revealed anything, Buffy was glad.
Very glad.
There had been tears, of course. Tears and blood. Tenderness. When Spike touched her, he did so with reservation. His own yearning manifest but unsatisfied. He would demand nothing of her in such a state. He could not. But he had comforted her, best to his ability. He had found solace within her presence, soothed his rage only to be rekindled once more.
Fascinating what video could surrender.
The image fizzed and died as the tape matched its reel. Lindsey sat in encased silence for long seconds after, pondering what to do next. There was no telling whom of the Wolfram and Hart personnel had viewed what he had just witnessed. No noise of it was circulating in the hierarchy of the Special Projects committee, and while he was a proud standing member, his ignorance of such things did not mean anything.
However, with the way things were going, McDonald banked on Wolfram and Hart support. Not in the full way. The way that would guarantee the Slayer’s release—they couldn’t stand for that, especially with the apocalypse that Holland Manners had described on the waiting list. No, the firm worked wholeheartedly for every immoral fiber the world could construct, even if things didn’t always go their way.
Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla hadn’t gone their way. In fact, they were something of a dangerous asset. Dangerous but too powerful to rid of. It was a bizarre standing. And thus, while Wolfram and Hart would never consent to liberate Buffy Summers, he wondered if they would contest to her mysterious disappearance, should it occur.
Either way, it was too dangerous to risk. The video had to be kept secret. That shouldn’t present much of a problem, he reckoned. Though it was only secret to the Order of their recorded torture sessions, Lindsey was the only associate that made cold study of their dealings. One tape shouldn’t make any difference.
Of course, in this building, one could never be too sure.
No. Resolved at that. It didn’t matter.
Things had gone far enough, and he was through waiting at the sidelines, ducking his head to be avoided. Time to throw himself into the thick of it. And the wisest way to do that would be an alliance with the very vampire he had wrongfully resented. To ask Spike’s assistance in the Slayer’s rescue.
There. While the burden was hardly lifted, Lindsey took the first breath of air that did not taste entirely tainted. And it was wonderful.
He was determined then. No more waiting. No more idle twiddling.
Together, he and the vampire would get her out. Maybe then he would know some form of rest. All the truths and logic in the world and he was boiled down to innate understanding. One reason beyond all others. Something he had ignored for years—something fresh and liberating beyond the expression of pain and amorality he had so long exploited.
He had to try. He had to help. He had to get her out. He knew this.
Because it was right.
It was right.
And that was all that mattered.
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Six: Beyond The Sleeping Refuge...