World On Fire
The minute that he noticed activity in the holding chamber, something analogous to the worst spool of dread he had ever experienced filled his insides. Living in a world such as he did, Lindsey McDonald did not like to depend on the fear of supposition, but in watching the monitors that had held his captive interest for what seemed like weeks, he could not tear himself away. Watching her dangle there. The proverbial worm on a hook. Reminding himself needlessly in his role. In his position that seemed to worsen exceedingly by the minute.
Then something happened. Spike appeared on camera. William the Bloody. The same he had tried to kill over and over again, thankfully to stumble across his mistake before the boundary of too late was crossed.
There was no denying the fevered look in the vampire’s eyes as he regarded her. This was a man in love. It was so different now; watching the feed as though there in person. Knowing that the same was happening on the levels just below him. That were he to visit Buffy himself, this was the presentation he would receive.
Of course, such unworried satisfaction could only remain thus for a minute. It didn’t take much for his attention to deter to one of the other feeds, and note the proudly familiar disdain on a face he had grown to hate more than he ever thought imaginable.
Angelus was approaching, and he did not look happy.
Decisions from that point were fast making. Lindsey spared himself little room for lapse. He hurried out of his seat and rushed to the cabinet aligning the wall. There wasn’t enough time to make ample selection, but he supposed in the grand scheme of things, such means were insignificant. As long as he could pass it for believable.
McDonald refused to fool himself. He knew that what he was about to do could potentially bear an end to everything he had tortured himself over. Everything Angel Investigations—though, in retrospect, they should consider renaming the industry—had worked toward. And Spike, vampire as he was, had inadvertently placed them there. Not that it wasn’t understandable, of course. Had Buffy been the woman he loved, being separated from her—especially under such circumstances as these—would have rightly driven him out of his mind. To be so close yet unable to help her when she needed it the most. He didn’t know how the peroxide Cockney had done it.
In later days, Lindsey would wonder how he managed to race the seemingly endless miles to the bowels of Wolfram and Hart without encountering any form of obstacle, especially with the gnarly instrument in his hand. Even Lilah Morgan remained far and away from her usual bout of timely interruption. At the moment, however, he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except to get to her. To him. To both of them before Angelus decided to instate his own form of punishment.
As he approached the decisive hall, Lindsey forced his long strides to a hasty walk, panting entirely too much to pull off the frontage he was going for. He could hear Angelus speaking—his words coated with incredulity and sending vibes down the corridor. The elder vampire’s back was to him at present. McDonald paused very briefly and considered. Had he brought something molded of wood, this would have been the chance to beat all others. To finally get something done in the movement of Buffy’s release. However, even before the thought could be birthed into full-blown resentment, he realized that any attempt on the demon’s life would have been interceded, even anticipated. And despite Cordelia’s vouch of good faith, he wasn’t entirely convinced that Spike’s motive would have been kind enough to prevent something as unseemly as his death.
Infinitely better this way. At least he would know where he stood.
“Now, now,” Lindsey berated bravely, commending himself in the actuality of startling his foe with his sudden presence. If anything else, it was worth everything to see Angelus look surprised with himself for not noticing him. “Don’t be cranky. We are an independent enterprise that prides itself in equal opportunity, after all.”
Whatever the astonishment, it didn’t last long. Soon, Angelus’s brow was crestfallen with new shades of anger. “Lindsey,” he greeted, not at all amiably. “So glad you could join us. I was wondering if you could help me as I’m having trouble with this picture. Spike here has taken it upon himself to snoop around what’s mine. I guess it can’t be blamed…he did have the most appallingly inconvenient curiosity. But that’s not what bothers me. Not really. You see, I always regarded us as good friends. Close enough that we would never keep anything from each other. And yet he insists that you gave him permission. You. I find that rather interesting.” His gaze affixed on the mortal with malicious intent. “Don’t you think it interesting?”
The lawyer’s eyes met the peroxide vampire’s and developed instant understanding. He refused to look at the girl. Seeing her now—in person—might rightly undo him for good.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” he retorted, all too calmly. Enjoying every minute of the other vampire’s rage. “After all, your initial reservation in maintaining the Slayer’s secrecy from our newest acquisition was a question of character. I think last night proved more than enough in the namesake of his regard.”
He had done it. In two minutes, he had detracted all attention from the platinum Cockney and embraced it all for himself. Angelus’s gaze had darkened considerably, the bulk of his body pivoting to box him into a corner, which of course Lindsey did not allow.
“You went against me,” he said very softly. There was sharp challenge behind the observation. As though he had trespassed one of the seven deadly sins.
“Actually, Angel, had you read our contract, you would see that I was entirely within company policy in part of my actions.” Lindsey thought he sounded much calmer than he felt. He knew that everyone present—likely including the Slayer—could feel the race in his pulse, but that did not stop him from continuing. “For purposes that have already been satisfied, Spike has every right to your…guest.” He hated that word. “Just as much as you do. He is no more infringing your hospitality than Darla and Drusilla did when they interviewed her prior to your sessions.”
Angelus’s eyes were cobalt and unreasonably dark. “You know me, Lindsey,” he said. The worse thing about his voice was the definitive lack of a snarl or anything that bordered true hostility. There was anger because there was anger. Just because. He needed no additive influence to get his point across. “I do not favor being treated like any other client.”
“Well, you see, the Senior Partners are concerned.” That lie was easy enough. The Senior Partners were often concerned or interested in something. “They wanted you to be sure that you knew what playing field you were on. This isn’t what you’re used to, Angelus. This is a whole new ballgame. And we have an interest in appeasing all our associations.” He nodded at Spike, whom had, for whatever reason, enough sense about him to remain silent. “Your colleague merely expressed a complaint in boredom. We thought it best to give him something to do. Rest assured, that’s as far as it’s gone. He doesn’t have the…royalties that you so enjoy.”
The elder vampire didn’t react; merely glanced down at the device in Lindsey’s grasp. “Mhmm. And what is that for?”
He had nearly forgotten he had anything with him at all. McDonald held up the instrument, doing his damndest to ignore the whimper that tellingly spilled from Buffy’s lips, as well as the rattle of her chains as she shifted. He similarly ignored the sudden tension wrought in Spike’s intimidating, however taciturn frame. “Well,” he said, fearing his voice’s betrayal, “you have a variety of devices that you refuse to share with anyone. Spike expressed an interest in developing his own collection. I thought to start with this.” His eyes darted to the stormy blue of an unimpressed vampire, who looked to tear his head off for even suggesting such a thing, even if it was to ultimately save him from a scenario that had first seemed impossible. “It’s medieval,” he explained, mind immediately racing to the vaults of otherwise useless information stored there from his college days. The random intricacies that every good Wolfram and Hart lawyer should know about. “You said you wanted something rustic. They call this The Spider. It was forged from iron to resemble a spider, as you might have guessed. We’ll need to heat it until the iron glows. It’s used most commonly to mutilate or even tear off a woman’s breast.”
Spike glared at him a minute longer before realizing that he had missed his cue. “Right,” he said with admittedly well-feigned interest. “Well isn’t this nifty? Whaddya think, Angelus? Do your girl proper, wouldn’t you reckon? Promise I won’ hurt her too much. You were a bloody selfish bastard in your day. Had to have all the best screamers for yourself.”
“Buffy isn’t a screamer,” the elder vampire conceded. His eyes drifted upward coldly. “Much.”
Despite the notable severity of his disposition—not to mention his menacing prejudice toward Lindsey—it was near impossible not to become territorial. Not to rise to the challenge. In any regard, Spike couldn’t help himself. “Well, what can I say, mate?” he retorted perkily. “Some Slayers are fickle like that. Needin’ a real man to help ‘em hit those high notes.”
Angelus glanced to the Spider with a perked brow. “And you think this is going to help you? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were one for toys.”
Spike shrugged. “What can I say? I jus’ like them.”
Something raspy and tainted perturbed the air. Something that had been pure once, even whole. It tore at Lindsey’s heartstrings—though he didn’t know if his note of sympathy was better delivered to the proprietor of such torment or for the look of pure agony that flickered across the peroxide vampire’s face. And again, to his credit, he didn’t remain so blatantly telling for more than a second. Angelus hadn’t the time to see him in such light before it dissolved into cold apathy once more.
What she said, though, could not help but bring a smile to the younger demon’s face. Soft, poignant, and colored with more than McDonald figured the elder could ever identify. “They…they make him feel all manly.”
Angelus arched a brow. “Is that a fact?”
Spike shifted to himself once more without much difficulty with a careless shrug. “Told her as much myself. Don’ worry, Peaches. You’ll get her back.” With that, he seized the Spider from Lindsey’s grasp, appraising it with a glance that shined with avarice. “In mostly one piece.”
“You flatter yourself,” the elder demon snarled, “if you think I’m going to allow this.”
“And you flatter yourself,” Lindsey said, stepping inward bravely, “if you think you’re in any position to stop it. Face it, Angel, you’re not the head honcho around here. The Senior Partners want to see that you remain grounded in the reality that you have chosen for yourself. Spike has every right to torture the Slayer. He is a part of the Order.”
Angelus cocked his head, eyes forming slits. “He also, up until recent, claimed himself in love with her. You don’t think this sudden interest strikes you as—oh, I don’t know…say, coincidental?”
“If you’re planning that route, you’d have to say the same about yourself.”
Spike smirked but didn’t rise to bait. He also refused to look at Buffy, though every fiber in his being was tugging him toward her.
The elder vampire cocked his head inquisitively, his gaze intensifying to a fiery scope that had the potential to unravel the sturdiest of men. “Understand,” he said very quietly, “that the next time I see you—”
“Uh oh,” the platinum Cockney tsked, eyes blazing. He regarded Lindsey with a falsely forlorn disposition, hiding his chuckles under guarded breath. “Now you’ve gone an’ done it.”
“But he can’t,” the lawyer retorted. “And he knows it.”
The next happened all too quickly. Lindsey found himself pressed against the cold murk of the wall, a very dangerous vampire snarling with too much interest at his throat. Angelus refrained from vamping, which likely added to his intimidation. For whatever reason, it was much more frightening looking at that face and pretending it was a man rather than the demon that waited beneath.
“I don’t appreciate being played,” he growled, disdain and cynicism dripping from his voice. “And I don’t give a damn about your Senior Partners. You know what troubles me, Lindsey? The idea that I can’t trust you. I mean—honestly—here I am, giving you every reasonable courtesy I can manage, and the minute my back is turned; you’re making arrangements that you know are just going to Piss. Me. Off.” He enunciated each word with a forceful blow against the wall, eyes blazing but without the need for their more innate yellowish tint. “It makes me feel, oh, I dunno, betrayed. And I don’t like feeling betrayed.”
The mortal gasped for air as his holder threatened to steal it from him altogether, but refused to lose the edge to his voice that gave him some sort of authority. “I suppose you could allow me to rectify it.”
“Wouldn’t advise it, mate,” Spike suggested, brows perked as he reached for his cigarettes. “You might make Big Daddy even angrier than ‘e is now.”
Angelus tossed him a mildly inquisitive glance.
“What?” The peroxide vampire stretched his arms neutrally, fag dangling from his lips. “’m on your bloody side, ‘ere. Kill the wanker, don’ kill the wanker. ‘S your bloody business. ‘m jus’ in it for the fun.” His eyes shone brilliantly, glancing to the Spider that hung still from the lawyer’s hands. “But let me play with that a bit, either way you choose to go. Looks like fun.”
“Kill me and you just have the Senior Partners to contend with,” Lindsey answered, gasping for breath and successfully drawing attention back to himself. “And trust me, Angel, you don’t want that. At least with me, you’re guaranteed some leeway. They won’t put up with you as I have.”
The elder vampire’s grip tightened speculatively. “Oh, I dunno. We could always find out.”
Spike rolled his eyes emphatically. “Jus’ do what you’re gonna do an’ let me get to it. ‘m bored.”
Angelus snickered and tossed a half-interested glance over his shoulder. “You wanna torture the Slayer, boy, there’s nothing stopping you.”
A muffled whimper rumbled from the girl in question, but no one answered her.
The peroxide vampire offered a petulant pout. “’S no fun with you here.”
That was it. Attention successfully deterred for the minute. The elder vampire released Lindsey without another word, disregarding him like an unwanted toy. He pivoted to face the younger demon, brows arched with interest. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone,” he mused thoughtfully. “Especially with what happened the last time.”
Spike sighed. “You gonna hold that against me forever?”
“I don’t take well to those who form alliances with Slayers. Especially when it involves me not ending the world.”
“Oh, but you’re perfectly content with your bloody star-crossed love affair, s’pose? An’ I wasn’ the one makin’ googly eyes at her after she sent me to Hell. Point of fact, I ‘aven’t been there in the recent.”
“You couldn’t survive it.”
The peroxide vampire cocked his head with interest, blowing out a pillar of smoke. “’F memory servers, neither did you. It was your less interestin’ half that wound up lickin’ your wounds. Prolly couldn’t find the time to be tortured for all the sodding brooding you do.”
There was a rustling from behind. Lindsey rose steadfast to his feet, good hand caressing his throat—the Spider having dropped to the floor. “Point being, Angel,” he said. “You don’t have a say in the matter. Spike is permitted at least an hour uninterrupted—less if he chooses, but I’ll leave that up to him.” His chestnut eyes were greeted by the summer’s ocean; nearly compassionate for his compromise, even if a mere sixty minutes could never be enough. “Like I said, you can make all the fuss you like, it doesn’t change anything. And despite how much you care to talk, I don’t think meeting the Senior Partners is what you’re striving for. Work for us, or work against us. But from the sound of things, if you choose the latter, you and yours are going to be on the outs in several locations, especially where your former committee is involved. Word has it that they’re building artillery enough to take you out of the picture for good.”
Angelus snorted incredulously. “You mean to intimidate me?”
“Of course not. I’m hoping to play on your sensibility.”
There was nothing after that. Not a word of compliance, or a move to mark the tides of battle. Instead, the elder demon scowled something dreadful; a look that spoke for everything common language failed to represent. His resentment. His self-made legacy. Angelus, as he was. The full brunt of demonhood. He was most seriously displeased, and he wanted everyone to know.
This was not a fortuitous change by any means, though it was not wholly wanted. As one of the world’s most renowned vampires, edging on his temper was not something to trifle with. And Lindsey knew it. More over, he was counting on it.
But at that moment, he decided that it was worth it and more to see the proud fall, even if the setback was only temporary.
Both the lawyer and Spike remained still until they were certain the elder demon was fully out of earshot before glancing to each other with similar recognition. And even when the unfounded contract was established, there was nothing more than good faith to support it with. The peroxide Cockney’s eyes blazed with acceptance, though traveled downward with more of the same, landing contemptuously on the Spider at his feet.
“That,” he said lowly, not a threat but close enough that Lindsey did not want to press him. “Never bring it near her again.”
He nodded. “I didn’t actually mean for you to—”
“I know. Jus’ a friendly warnin’, mate.” A sigh rumpled through his body. “She’s seen enough without puttin’ more ideas in that wanker’s head.”
Another nod. This one of understanding rather than agreement. He still refused to look at Buffy, admiring her for her silence, but reckoning she had had her fill of experience in that regard. He feared losing what little control he had left if he saw her inflictions in person. Or rather, he would never stop staring. He would keep his eyes fastened on her with morbid fascination. The epitome of fathers who drove curious children by tornado damage or demanded to know the particulars at the scene of an accident.
“You’re really here for her?” he asked the vampire instead.
“Yeh. You really gonna help?”
“Yes.”
“Right then. Guess we ‘ave some talkin’ to do.” There was a whimpered sound of protest that he had seemingly anticipated, or answered to on beck and call with similar esteem. Spike stepped back, his arms refusing to unfold from his chest, eyes remaining glued to him as though daring a move that wasn’t to his liking. “But firs’ I’d like the hour with my girl. No bloody interruptions.”
Lindsey tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I actually might have an idea. Nothing I was sure of until…well, if we get everyone in on it…but I need to do some research.”
“Right. You do the research.” Spike turned away from him at that, and from that moment, he was lost. The lawyer knew enough to recognize and respect this.
“I’ll be in my office,” he said. And then he sent himself away. So hasty to leave, that he likely would have missed the vampire’s low but sincere thanks had he not slowed to collect the Spider in his retreat.
He had every intention of seeing it destroyed before Angelus thought to inquire.
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Eight: Breathe Into My Pain…