Chapter Thirty-Six

Sacrament



Gunn eyed the lobby door wearily. While nothing of consequence could be seen, it still bordered on eerie that nothing had perturbed her sanctuary in the time she spent to herself. As though the ghostlike aura that she had established for herself had spread through the Hyperion to the point of affecting its residents. It was disturbing, and he didn’t like it. The weight of Angel Investigations handed over to one so thoroughly unrelated to them, at least on usual terms.

Right now, though, everything was a go.

He turned to Cordelia, who was hunched over the counter, absently flipping through a magazine and arched his brows. “How long has she been out there?”

“Just short of two hours,” the Seer replied, not looking up.

“Doing…what?”

“Coming to terms.”

Gunn turned to Cordelia fully, flashes of irritation sweeping his face at her casual acceptance. “And, what? We’re supposed to not talk to her? Not approach? After what we went through to get her back?”

“You oughta know out of all people that what she’s going through demands privacy.” The brunette closed her magazine with a sigh and pivoted so that she could lift herself atop the reception desk. “Trust me, compared to the wig fest I was expecting and—to be completely honest—still am, we’re getting the blunt edge of the sword.”

There was no mistaking the undertones in that observation. “She’s gonna take it out on Spike, then?”

“For his sake, I hope not.”

“But you don’t think so?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I don’t know, Gunn. I don’t know what to expect. I know what I would have expected from Buffy, but she hasn’t…she’s just been out there. Not doing anything. And yeah, kinda creepy, but think about it. She knows Spike loves her. I mean, if she doesn’t by now, she’s dumber than a rock.”

“No argument there.”

“But she’s also what she hates the most. Her entire existence has been turned upside down.” A sigh rumbled through her body. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to expect of her anymore. I just…I can’t see anything.”

“Whoa. We are in trouble.”

The brunette shot him a nasty smirk. “Aren’t you going somewhere?”

Gunn nodded, pulling back a bit. “Just waiting for the boss man,” he retorted. “Wes and I are hittin’ Caritas and the usual hangs to dig up the skinny on that girl you saw in your vision.”

“You already checked the library?”

“No one fittin’ her description has worked there for years.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes in aggravation. “Of course. It’s not like we don’t already have our plate full. We’re short one champion, up another with severe antihero issues, have a vamped Slayer on our hands, and—”

“In the meantime are babysitting for your new honey?”

A frown of inherent defense splayed across her lips. “Rosie’s fine.”

“Oh yeah. Rosie’s a peach. It’s that Nikki girl that—”

She quirked a brow of interest. “Gets you hot and bothered?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I am so not into her like that.” Gunn shuddered. “The kid’s got spunk, I admit, but she makes me edgy. Like I’m tainted by association or whatever.”

“Working for a vampire makes you an honorary vampire?”

He nodded. “Or whatever.”

“She hasn’t talked to me much since she got here. She keeps mostly to herself.” Cordelia cocked her head intently. “Though she does seem to come down a lot when you’re around.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

“Well, if Zack happens to decide to hang around here after all is said and done, I’m sure it’d be better to have some incentive for her. Especially if said incentive came in, oh, say…a nice hunka demon hunting package.”

Gunn held up a hand, studying her incredulously before allowing several short chuckles to escape his lips. “So that’s what this is about?” he demanded. “Tryin’ to find reason to keep Whitey and his little monsters around? Doesn’t he have some kinda unfinished business around here, anyway?”

Cordelia’s eyes darkened as though she had been thoroughly insulted. “No, I’m not trying to keep him here. I’d like it, sure. I’d really, really like it. Zack’s…he’s a special guy. A special guy that I really don’t want to say goodbye to. But I’m not doing anything to try and…I’m not doing anything to convince him to stay. If he wants to, he does. If not, he doesn’t. It’s as simple as that.”

“Why?” The question seemed to surprise her, and he rejoined it with a corresponding laugh. “I don’t get your logic, is all. If it’s going so well, you should try to work it out.”

“There is no it, Gunn.”

“No it? Hell, I know I’m not one to lecture on the science of long-term relationships or…stuff. But I know enough to know that whatever it is you two have definitely qualifies as an it. Zack isn’t a fling guy.” Gunn’s eyes widened wisely. “He chose you because there’s something there. Because you have…whatever it is that you have.”

Cordelia pursed her lips thoughtfully, objection draining from her countenance. “I don’t know.”

There was an unnecessarily heavy pause—things growing more rigid than the man was comfortable with. Both were a little more than grateful when Wesley and Nikki appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Are we going to that demon place?” the girl was asking, her features betraying an interest that was entirely more piqued than anyone had seen since she assumed her residence on the upper levels. “I’d be fine with that, you know. It was amazing. Your friend was so informative. And that’s coming from me. Personal growth and all that whatnot. I was all about the looking past the fact that he’s a green demon and likely has some nasty habit akin to baby eating, and—”

Cordelia held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa. What’s going on here?”

“We made the somewhat colossal mistake of introducing Ms. Wright to Lorne,” Wesley explained dryly. “After convincing her to not chop off his head, we provided evidence of why it’s beneficial to associate with empath demons. She was more than taken with him.”

“Kinda scary,” Gunn verified.

“For the thousandth time, Wes, my last name is not Wright. I’m Amber’s sister, not Zack’s.” Nikki rolled her eyes—appearing more vibrant than Cordelia had seen her since initially making her acquaintance. The urge arose once more to tease Gunn mercilessly but she pushed it aside with grace that would have at one point seemed nonexistent. It was more than obvious that something had influenced her temperament; whether or not said influence came from an interest from a very attractive and very single demon hunter was a different story.

The former Watcher cast a weary gaze to the double doors that led to the portico, worry lines creasing his face. “How is she?”

A sigh rolled across the Seer’s shoulders. Everything was on standstill until Buffy acted. Until she resolved the unhappy disclosure that plagued her with the more resolute reality. “Difficult to say.”

“Has she asked for anything?”

What he meant was had she asked for Spike; Cordelia reflected wryly but not without more of the same. It was amazing how quickly the peroxide vampire’s feelings, thoughts, and concerns had become common apprehension.

“No. She…” The brunette emitted a deep breath, followed his gaze, and quickly recollected her thoughts. “She came downstairs, said she was a vampire, and went outside.”

“She’s been out there ever since,” Gunn confirmed. He turned to the Seer with interest. “Did you see the look in her eyes? So…”

“Empty,” she agreed softly. Her eyes shined with poignancy and concern.

“It was creepy.”

“Not to completely change the subject,” Nikki interjected. “But where’s Zack?”

“Upstairs, trying to get Spike to come down.” Cordelia smiled weakly. “He feels bad…responsible.”

“As well he should,” she agreed. “Turning the Slayer into a vampire isn’t something I’d ever classify as his shining moment. In fact, he hasn’t shown an ounce of good sense since we met up with you people. I mean, even Spike was against her transformation. If that wasn’t an indication to—”

“Nikki,” Gunn intervened warningly.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Look, I know that once I came to the hotel, I entered some sort of freaky vamp rehab facility that has seemingly distracted my brother-in-law’s attention from the reason we came to this city in the first place. He’s all with the ‘Spike’s a good guy’ motto, too. That so does not swing with me; I don’t give a shit what any of you say. Watching Zack give up everything to sponsor a bloodsucker and even go out of his way to make a new one? I—”

“Stop,” Cordelia barked dangerously. “You have to know how difficult that decision was for him.”

“And yet, he made it.”

“He made it to spare Spike what he went through when he lost your sister.”

A shadow befell Nikki’s face; dark and dangerous. She stepped forward brazenly, eyes flashing. “You know nothing about that.”

Gunn and Wesley exchanged nervous glances.

The Seer remained respectively calm. “I know what I saw.”

“What? You think since you’ve fucked him that you somehow get some sort of special—”

Gunn grasped the girl by the shoulder. “Stop there before you’re stopped.”

She spared him a nasty snicker, tamer than she would have given Cordelia but without censorship nonetheless. “He made the decision to spare a vampire’s feelings,” she spat contemptuously. “I don’t even know him anymore.”

“Spike’s his friend.” The Seer, ever neutral, stepped forward as though trying to reach through her hostility. “Spike’s our friend. His being a vampire is simple consequence. Angel’s a vampire, too. And yet we’re still here.”

“Angel. You mean the guy that really killed the Slayer.”

“That wasn’t Angel,” Wesley said softly. “That was Angelus. There is a difference, Nikki, and you must respect it.”

“He has fangs, he drinks blood, and he only comes out at night. Not seeing much difference.” She stepped forward again, gaze not wavering from Cordelia. At some point, the civil conversation had transformed into a meeting of powers. The girl was visibly afraid, though of what was happening to her brother-in-law for purposes of his mission or the finality in his moving on after Amber’s death, no one could be certain. It was likely a mixture of all of the above. “Same thing with Spike. He’s no longer helpless. He’ll turn on you.”

“With all due respect,” the former Watcher intervened once again. “If it was Spike’s intention to do so, he would have by now. It is not in his nature to wait.”

“He has to be the most impatient man in the world,” Cordelia agreed.

Nikki shook her head. “Man,” she repeated incredulously.

“That’s enough.”

The interruption at that was full and angry; drawing the attention to the upper veranda where Wright was peering over the rail. His appearance betrayed fatigue; undoubtedly, he had seen better days, but anger for the moment was the dominating sentiment. Cobalt eyes settled ruthlessly on the girl—though it was impossible to tell if he was more disgusted with her for speaking such things, or himself for putting the words there in the first place.

The silence that settled thereafter was thick and more than disconcerting. It was a welcome break when Gunn finally curled his grip around Nikki’s forearm and tugged her to the door.

“Come on,” he said. “Time to go.”

She remained still for an unblinking moment, then slowly nodded her consent. “Yeah,” she said. “Time to go. People to save, and all.”

Wright watched them emotionlessly as they left the hotel. It was distressing; finding herself in a position where she could not read his expression for the first time in days. Cordelia nodded to Wesley with a taut sigh, reading his promise to contact her if anything of consequence occurred and verifying hers to do more of the same.

Then the moment had passed and they were alone.

Zack watched the door for long seconds as though daring Nikki to return and continue her offense. When he was satisfied that they were alone, his eyes darted sympathetically to the Seer and softened with candor that she wasn’t even sure he knew he betrayed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve taught her better.”

“You taught her as you needed to,” Cordelia replied with a dismissive wave. “It’s her choice to remain this way. I mean, look at you. You’ve grown amazingly accepting these past few…whatever.”

A weak smile drew across his lips. “Don’t think me a saint, or even reformed,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry.”

He deliberately ignored the teasing note in her tone and pivoted to continue downstairs. “I don’t know if I’ll ever accept what I did.”

There was no need for clarification. Knowledge was a nasty storm, and it hung its purple cloud over the Hyperion, waiting for the first signal to begin the inevitable downpour.

“Does that really matter?” she asked softly. “You did it because you thought it was right.”

“I still do.”

Cordelia frowned. “Then…?”

“I can’t explain it, Cordy. It’s one of those things that I’ll have to come to terms with on my own.” He was beside her, then, emerging from seemingly nowhere with eyes that were redder than she would have liked. Stressed beyond the limitation of stress. And slowly, he spared a glance to the doorway where Buffy still had not emerged. “Any change?”

“None.”

“She’s going to hate me for doing this, isn’t she?”

The Seer smiled and brushed a kiss across his lips. “That’s what Spike said,” she replied. “Only he thinks the blaming is going to be aimed more at him than anyone else.”

“She has no reason to hate him. I did what I did before he could retaliate.”

“Yeah. I know that, you know that, he knows that, but can’t accept it.” She exhaled deeply. “As for Buff…well, we won’t know until we know, you know.”

Wright stared at her for a full minute before allowing a warm smile to spread across his lips. “You’re an amazing woman, Cordelia.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I mean it.”

“What, and I don’t?” She spared him a teasing wink. “Don’t try looking, Zack. The word modest definitely does not find itself across my forehead.”

“I would not have it so,” he replied matter-of-factly. “It’d make you less than Cordelia Chase. And I couldn’t stand for that.”

There had been many times in her life when she found herself at the pleasing end of a compliment. Many, many times. Ever since grade school, she had been accosted by male admirers and those wanting to be male admirers. She had heard absolutely every line in the book and redefined several for her own liking. But never in the length of any courtship had she been floundered with words. Had her…whatever Wright was to her…made her feel what she felt simply by doing what he did. By making her…feel.

It was by all circumstance the most wondrous experience in the whole of her life.

Still, she couldn’t let him know that. Rule #347 in the Guidebook To Men And Dating By Cordelia Chase: never let him know how you feel before you have verification of his own regard. After all, pride was a precious thing. She didn’t want hers wounded.

Her heart was tender as well. Despite whatever she told Gunn earlier, she was wrestling with the temptation to beg him to stay after everything was over. Saying goodbye was not one of her strong suits, especially when she was so attached. More attached than she was willing to admit; even to herself.

“Yeah,” she agreed absently. “You’re just looking to get some tonight. I won’t fall for that, buddy.”

“Pity,” he replied with a rakish grin.

They shared a long look that spoke for more than words could hope, then simultaneously drew their attention back to the porch, where Buffy remained unmoved.

It was unfair that they get this far only to fall short of the finish line. Cordelia sighed heavily. Spike had sacrificed so much for her. It was only right that she try to even the odds a little. Only a little.

“Hey…” she said vaguely. “Zack, could you go heat up some blood? Oh, and sprinkle some Weetabix in and mix it up. Spike’s insisted we keep a handy supply since you two became the resident attendants.”

Wright nodded but arched a suspicious brow. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” Cordelia replied, shrugging dismissively. “Just a peace offering.”

*~*~*


“You look sad.”

The intrusion was so soft, so timid that Spike nearly felt his heart turn over. He had been aware of the scent for several minutes but made no move to acknowledge or discourage the impostor from his asylum. He sat in the chair that had housed him in the long hours waiting for Buffy’s awakening, watching the bed with solemnity so singular that he didn’t reckon it knew a proper name. Unmoving. Silent.

There was such emptiness where there had once been life. In all his years, with all his experience, the peroxide vampire had never truly felt dead. Not until this night. Not until the ghostly expression of imposed horror settled over the Slayer’s face. Entered her eyes with such stormy disposition that he thought himself gone in every sense of the word. Such coldness. He had never known such coldness.

He wondered if he was a beacon for sadness. If that was what prompted Rosalie to disturb his solitude. Either way, it didn’t matter. The disturbance was welcome. Freeing. It kept his mind occupied from the less friendly truth.

“’m fine, Bit,” he returned absently. “Jus’ worried.”

“About your lady friend?”

Despite the circumstances, a small smile tickled his lips. “Yeh,” he replied. “’Bout my lady friend.”

“She’s afraid.”

That prompted a glance. Spike looked at her with mounting concern. “You saw that?”

The girl offered a frighteningly adult smile. “Didn’t have to.”

“Oh, ‘s obvious then?” The vampire sighed heavily. “That’s comfortin’.”

“She’s downstairs with Dad.”

“Yeh.”

“You should go down, too. She wants you there.”

A sardonic grin overwhelmed him; aimed at himself more than anyone else. “Lemme guess,” he drawled. “That’s obvious, too?”

“Yes,” the girl replied. The simplicity behind her voice was more revealing than astonishing. Though his acquaintance with Rosie was at a minimum, he felt he knew her well enough to expect the unexpected. She was a smart kid. Freakishly smart. No child should know the things she knew as intimately as she knew them.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Soft. Companionable.

“She loves you, you know.”

Spike blinked, not attempting to conceal his astonishment. The notion was awe-inspiring. The idea…the conception…the thought… “She what?”

“She loves you. It was her last thought before she died. About how she loves you and she wished she had a chance to tell you.” Rosie offered a smile and neared precariously. “I saw that. Before I told you…before I told you and Dad what…” She trailed of obligingly when he winced his pain. “I saw what she was thinking. She was thinking that she loved you and that she was sorry—”

“Stop!” The word came out a rumbled gasp as he tore himself from his seat, straining visibly to maintain some level of control. In these raw stages, it was so easy to forfeit the entirety of himself. “Please—”

“She’s just afraid,” the girl continued knowingly.

“She—”

“You’re afraid too, aren’t you?”

Spike paused once more, waves of understanding overwhelming him. The child was so gifted. In seconds, she managed to cut through whatever reservations he maintained about himself. She said the same thing that it took others forever to work up the courage to approach. Not many people could accuse him of fear and survive, regardless of age.

Or so it had once been. Forever ago.

It was bizarre; having memories that he knew were real but couldn’t fully recall. Life before loving Buffy, before knowing this insufferable conscience, before everything that tormented his nonsoul—the concept was so entirely out there that he at times had trouble believing that it was him at all. The vampire documented in history was violent, carefree, not the best thinker, and ruthless. He never displayed any form of mercy on anyone. He hunted out little girls—girls younger than Rosie—from coal bins. He had impaled countless wankers with railroad spikes. And even then, his notoriety wasn’t touched. He was William the Bloody, after all. He was reputed for some of the nastiest, vilest kills accredited to vampires. Accredited to history.

And here he was. Sitting in an empty room with people he considered friends, his eyes dry and red from crying, his shattered nonexistence so close to breaking again that the want of oxygen had all but reborn into something else. He couldn’t hold anything for fear of shaking it until it fell. He couldn’t look Rosie in the eye. He couldn’t conceive that anything she said was true. That Buffy loved him. That Buffy had loved him.

The eyes that had traveled to his, haunted by what she hadn’t seen, haunted by something that was supposed to be there but wasn’t…more of the same that screamed plainly that forgiveness was dead and this bland existence was all that was left. She hated him. There was no doubting that. Spike knew hatred. He knew hatred better than he liked to acknowledge. And while he had not sensed her revulsion toward him, he could not conceive the look in her eyes to be anything but.

“Yes,” he replied at last. “’m afraid.”

Speaking the words was treason to himself and his kind, but in a strange way, it felt good. It felt damn good.

“Whenever I’m afraid or sad, Dad plays Barbies with me to cheer me up.”

Spike blinked. That he had not been expecting. Suddenly, his mind was filled with the visage of Wright sitting next to a poncy pink dream house, brushing annoyingly blonde hair and talking to his daughter’s play pals with an amusingly effeminate lisp. The picture was so unexpected, so random, so fucking hilarious that he didn’t realize he had lost control of his laughter until his long dead lungs made an attempt to take a deep breath before conceding defeat all over again.

Rosie was smiling as though she knew what she had done—which, in all fairness—she likely did. “He has his Skipper and Nikki is Teresa, only she changes the name to something like Rachel, I think. But Dad can’t all the time. Sometimes he’s away trying to hunt down some demon or find the lady that murdered my mom.”

The vampire commanded control over himself once more, mirth fading without announcement as the conversation took a radically serious turn with more of the same. It amazed him that she had the ability to do that. To seize command of things like that. It shouldn’t have, after all this time. And yet, he figured that even her father could never grow accustomed to predicting her and finding any measure of success.

“Do you remember your mum, Bit?”

There was a short pause. Rosie slowly shook her head. “Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes I see her…but I think it’s in my mind. That it’s not real.” A trembling sigh coursed through her small frame. The poignancy in her stature was enough to render a stone to rubble. She had such strength at such a young age. It was astounding. “I know that I knew her once. I told Dad what was happening to her.”

He nodded encouragingly. “Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Like you told me about Buffy?”

“I tried. I tried so hard to see her.” The girl was quivering now—as though overwhelmed with the influence of her power. With emotions she could not feasibly understand and more knowledge than what was deserved of her. No child should go through this. And yet, the Powers had decided to bestow their gift into the heart and soul of one so young. There were reasons for everything. “I was up in my room for a long time trying to see her. I wanted to help you. I wanted to help…”

Spike smiled softly and approached tentatively, delicate fingers running the length of her blonde curls. “You helped, sweetheart,” he reassured her. “More than you can know.”

“I don’t remember my mom, but I remember what it did to Dad.” Her eyes fogged over emotionally. “He’s never been the same. I remember him happy. I do. I really, really do. And I know that was because of Mom. But I can’t see her.”

“That happens, Bit. You were jus’ a li’l tyke, after all.”

“I want to remember her.”

“’Course you do.” He couldn’t help himself; he knew he was turning into a First Class Poof, but the girl’s plight called to him in manners he would never openly acknowledge. Spike leaned forward and kissed her forehead, tucking locks of hair behind her ear. “’S natural. An’ who knows? Maybe you will someday.”

There was a meek edge to her voice. “You think so?”

“’Course. As a matter of fact, I know so.” When incredulity overwhelmed her young features, he fished until finding another option. Suddenly, pleasing the child was as important to him as anything else had ever been. “Tell you what: ‘f those Powers ‘aven’t given you a break in a few years, you come look me up in SunnyD…or wherever I happen to be. I know a few blokes with a bloody lot of power.” He offered a heartfelt smile. “Got someone who could help you out.”

Rosie read into his eyes with a grin. It was slow coming, but there nonetheless. It was all he needed. “Thanks.” She paused when his smile widened in turn. There was hesitance about her countenance, but the girl was visibly afraid of nothing. Things could shake her, intimidate her, but never frighten her. Never truly frighten her. And Spike took solace in that knowledge. “I’m glad…” she began softly. “I’m glad that Dad did what he did. You were hurting. I felt you hurting. He tried to fix it.”


At that, Spike froze considerately.

“He didn’t want you to feel what he felt when he lost Mom,” she continued. “He did it to help you.”

“I know he did, Bit.”

“You should tell him it’s okay.”

A small smile cracked across his face. “Maybe I will,” he replied. “Someday.”

Rosie nodded, not entirely satisfied but resigned that she would get nothing better out of time tonight. And that was that. She bid her farewell, noting once more that he should go down to Buffy because the Slayer loved him. Because the Slayer loved him and needed him now more than ever before. He wanted so badly to believe her.

So badly.

But he wouldn’t go. He couldn’t stomach it. The knowledge of what very rightly remained buried under such brazen appearance. He had seen the look in her eyes. He had seen valleys that once burned with life fall under desolate reparation. The thought that such could be turned on him, that she would regard him as the one that had brought her down, had ruined her, had…

No. He couldn’t. Call it cowardice. Call it irrationality. He couldn’t bring himself to face her yet.

At least with this he lived with the hope of love.

Spike snickered wryly. Over the years, he had discovered hope to be as empty as any of the earth’s other promises. Not much could be countered. Betrayed. Not for what he had to lose.

Everything.

But it was there. In some sense, it was there. And it would carry him through the night. The night until morning. The night until he had to face her.

It was all he had left.





To be continued in Chapter Thirty-Seven: Forgiveness





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