A Distant Chord
In any regard, the start of anything had never looked so distant. And he had known quite a few beginnings. While every nerve in his being demanded immediate retribution for his admittedly stranded view, he knew that he would pay dearly if he dared trudge uncharted terrain without a hunting permit.
There were other things as well. The Scoobies. His own verification. While he did not distrust Drusilla’s ramblings and knew more than enough than to question her testimony, his insane former was known for claims that exceeded reputable acknowledgement. She was dancing over thin ice, performing quite well for someone who did not know how to skate, and having a marvelous time poking her tongue out at him from a distance.
The small nagging voice that he had grown to hate delighted in reminding him that most of this was likely his fault. He didn’t know how or why, but there was usually a contract that bid him to the fault-having portion of any given predicament. The knowledge that, despite curiosity, the smartest thing he could have done the minute he saw Darla was throw her out. That confirming his sensationally sick desire to have the Slayer in all means excluding her death merited as one of the worst calls he had ever made.
That Darla’s absence from his crypt when he returned rang a clear sign of danger, especially when he sensed Drusilla at the Bronze. Of course. Dear grandmum would never entrust a mission so bold as to hijack a Slayer in the hands of a loony she did not particularly care for. Her coming to Spike in the first place was a divisionary tactic that worked beautifully; what was more, she had made no small game about that. She had openly confessed her personal distaste, the offers presented at the hand of Wolfram and Hart, and how he was only beneficial to her as a distraction for Drusilla. Every hinted aspect of fair warning wasted. In one ear and out the other.
It certainly wasn’t the first time, and he was not daft enough to believe that it would be the last.
There was simply too much left open to strategy. He knew that Drusilla had visited the Bronze; the impression of one’s sire was something that would never be forgotten. It was ingrained, innate, and completely charged every fiber that commanded symbiotic response. And he knew, given that, that his deranged former would have been forced to maintain safe distance from her prey.
The vampires that had arrived at the opportune moment provided the needed distraction. Enough time to slide Rohypnol into a discarded drink. Knowing Dru, she likely opted to drug the lot of them, just for safekeeping. Or to make the situation that much more entertaining.
Then she had come to him. She had come to convince him back to Los Angeles with her. And he, like a blind idiot, allowed Darla to do the rest.
Stupid, stupid, stupid…
And now, assuming his suspicions were correct, they were in the mother of all dilemmas. Glory the Wonder Bitch was out and about, running a general muck over things, hunting for the Key—whatever that was. Buffy had earlier complained about the Council’s interest in her plight and their resolution to conduct an evaluation of her behavior in a first-person basis. Angelus was loose once more, this time accompanied by his sire whose affinity for destruction was only surpassed by his.
They had Buffy. He shuddered to think of what they would do to her.
Then he did think of it, and the images his mind produced were enough to convince him that Los Angeles was too small an arena to cover what he planned to do to them.
But that was too few and far between. Any planning he did was second only to what the Watcher said in regard to all this. There was no way the Scoobies saw this coming. No way they could have anticipated something of such surprising magnitude. He wondered if any of them, save the Slayer herself, even knew what Darla looked like. As the story went, she was the only one present save Angel the day that he staked his sire. For all intents and purposes, they likely begrudged her the first spaces of leeway by ignorance alone. And if Buffy had recognized her, surprise would have lapsed her judgment.
He did not like to doubt her, but she was only human.
They would blame him. There was no doubt behind that. Despite whatever shell of bonding he and Xander had failingly attempted that night, despite his argument, despite everything, they would blame him. And they certainly wouldn’t entrust her retrieval in his very capable and more than willing hands. That much didn’t matter too greatly; rather, they had no choice. Of everyone present, he was the one with the greatest potential of uncovering anything as far as her whereabouts.
He could only hope the Watcher was keen enough and not blinded with rage to recognize that. The others couldn’t hope to come within a stones throw of Angelus. Los Angeles was not the Hellmouth, and they weren’t playing little games anymore. Darla had been level with him—he knew enough to recognize that, and if Wolfram and Hart were implicated, then the situation was well and beyond their grasp.
Spike was the only left member of the Order that mattered a damn anymore. And they had come for him as well; only they had had the courtesy to extend his invitation in form of an offer rather than kidnapping.
His first instinct was to go straight to Giles’s residence; it took two seconds to rectify his plan and set his footing for the Magic Box. That was the new and more popular place to group together for this sort of thing. It was well after hours, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everyone would be sitting at the tables, digging into futile books and speaking loudly with accusatory undertones concerning his implication.
The light was on. He was right.
In the midst of heated debate, he was able to walk through the doors unnoticed. Bell and all. The Scoobies were situated awkwardly across the foyer of the store. Anya stationed at her customary location behind the cash register, Xander and Willow taking up table space with their persons, Giles at the staircase that led to the restricted section, and Tara in the forgotten corner, looking through old volumes of useless information.
They were shouting at each other. A scene that would have provided some humor, given any other context.
Spike wasn’t about to sit patiently and wait his turn. That was asking for more trouble than he needed, especially under given circumstances. Instead, he cleared his throat and effectively sliced through the forums of voices being strewn back and forth with the invasion of an alien brogue. All eyes fell on him almost instantly.
There wasn’t going to be time for formalities. In and out. With any bloody luck.
“’Lo all,” he said, glancing around the sea of blank stares that answered his call. “Jus’ wanted to drop by an’ say firstly…” His gaze focused on Willow and Xander, who were looking at him with near reverence, “I bloody told you so, an’ secondly, I’m gonna be outta town for a few days. I’ll drop you all a line from LA.”
With that, he turned to leave.
If only it could be so simple.
“Stop,” Giles ordered, command in his voice alerting everyone within propinquity that he was answering to his inner Ripper. And yet, there was a funny note embedded in his tone. An almost whim of understanding…but that couldn’t be right. “Spike…you saw Drusilla in town earlier tonight?”
Civilized conversation from the Watcher? This was highly suspicious. The peroxide vampire glared doubtfully at Harris and the redhead, but the gaze he received in turn was accommodating and desperate.
“No, I got wind that she was in town,” he replied, turning back slowly. “A li’l birdie dropped by my crypt to speak her piece. Offer me a bloody offer I wasn’ s’posed to refuse. She mentioned Dru was out an’ about. Which brings me back to the ‘I told you so.’”
“It was Darla,” Willow said softly. “You saw Darla.”
“Kinda left that part out with your friendly warning,” Xander added, his tone blatantly embittered. It was more by self-actualization and nothing he hadn’t expected, but the charge stung nonetheless.
Spike’s eyes widened. “Oh, tha’s right. Blame the vamp. Forget that I risked my bloody head racin’ across town to tip the lot of you off as to what was in the airs. But no, you couldn’t help but make a scathing remark at my expense ‘stead of givin’ me the sodding benefit of a doubt—”
“There isn’t time to worry with particulars,” Giles snapped, effectively silencing everyone. “Spike, just tell us what you know.”
A sigh. “Y’know, this is gonna slow me down.”
“Just tell us! Buffy is gone, and for all we know—”
His face fell. So that was that. They had taken her. They had really taken her. He had known, but hearing it made it all the more final. All the more authentic. And the danger escalated in suspension. Darla and Drusilla had taken the Slayer, and God knows what all they intended to do with her.
“—and the only lead we have is an arbitrary report that you supplied Xander and Willow with earlier this evening. Which, by the way…” The Watcher pivoted furiously to the aforementioned two. “I can’t believe you disregarded something as monumental as Drusilla’s presence in Sunnydale. After all, Spike is—”
“A vampire and completely in love with her,” Xander returned hotly. “One that wants us dead, or have we forgotten? Why should we have believed him? Like he’d really warn us about Dru being in town.”
“It did seem kinda wiggy,” Willow conceded. “But we should’ve listened.”
“You’re bloody right you should have!” Giles was pacing now, and it looked truly bizarre. Bizarre, but not out of line. Thus far, the one person Spike expected to be grilled by was seemingly siding with him. That was subject to change but encouraging nonetheless.
As though sensing his digression, the Watcher stopped once more and turned to him. “Darla visited you.”
It was not a question.
“Yeh,” Spike replied self-consciously. “Jus’ up an’ showed outta the bloody blue. Well, more to the fact that she was waitin’ for me to get home. Gave me the low down on how she was mojo’ed back to the land of the livin’, so to speak, an’ offered me a position with her an’ Dru back in LA.”
“And that prompted you to come and warn us?” Xander shook his head. “I’m still not buying it, Bleach Boy. I know we went a round of pool, but that’s not enough to convince me that you wouldn’t wish us dead in a heartbeat.”
“Maybe you,” he growled. “Listen, I don’ know why I did it, all right?” Little lie here and there never hurt anyone…in theory. “’S prolly communicable from bein’ around the lot of you do-gooders. Jus’ know that I’m not yankin’ any chains around here. What you see is what you bloody get. Darla’s involved with this law firm called Wolfram an’—”
“Hart,” Giles finished softly.
All eyes fell on him.
“What and What?” Willow repeated.
“Wolfram and Hart,” Anya supplied. “Very evil bunch. I’ve done business with them before.”
And no one seemed that that statement deserved consideration. Bloody typical. The peroxide vampire heaved a sigh, shook his head, and gazed intently at the elder man of the group. “Y’know ‘bout it, then?”
“Quite. The Watcher’s Council has kept tabs on its developments ever since it altered shape, back at the turn of the century, I believe.” Giles settled against the counter, glasses falling second naturedly into his waiting handkerchief. “I can’t believe…they are likely the only…only anything, really, that would have the power to revive a vampire from the beyond.”
“Ummm…” Xander waved a hand expectantly. “Angel?”
“We verified that he was brought back by the Powers, and it was for redemption. A quest of sorts to be measured and esteemed through actions that justified all that he…well, it was long and complicated, and I don’t have time to go into it now.” The Watcher glanced upward. “The Powers would have no such motive to bring back a vampire with the reputation that Darla has, especially without the additive windfall of a soul.”
“Yeh, well, ‘s safe to say that the Powers have bollixed everythin’ up squarely,” Spike returned. “’Cause accordin’ to Darla, Angelus is back.”
“He boinked her?!” Willow all but shrieked.
A chuckle at that. “No. There are other, less pleasant ways, way I hear it.”
“Mayor Wilkins attempted to remove his soul through a mage,” Giles reminded her softly. “Chances are, Wolfram and Hart have similar connections.”
“They wanted the Order back in full,” Spike continued. “An’ they wanted the Slayer.”
“Why?”
“I don’ know, but Darla thought it was a bloody brilliant idea. Came up here, decided to distract me…twice…an’ now…” He shook his head again. “I don’ know exactly how it all went down, all right? When I got to my crypt that firs’ time, she was there. Gave me the full of what was goin’ on, offered me a position up in LA with her an’ the Great Poof that I declined. Even offered to rid me of my zapper.” He pointed demonstratively to his cranium, even if elaboration wasn’t needed. “Then she mentioned Dru an’ their plans concernin’—”
“I so do not like where this is going,” Xander intervened shortly. “What possible reason would have you decline a package that extensive? The chip included? Hell, I’m not evil and it’s sounding like a good deal to me. Something’s not right here. Something’s really not right.”
“H-he has a p-p-point,” Tara offered from the corner, the first bit she had spoken at all. He softened instantly at the interruption, obeying whatever inner whim that forewarned the Witch was to be treated delicately, despite all other misgivings. “No offense or anything, b-but you really don’t have a reason to be here at all, do you?”
He had a reason. By God, he had a reason. He just knew it was wrong and wouldn’t win him any friends.
“’S personal,” he replied, hoping that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“What’s personal?!” Harris was all but screaming now. “I know everything I said earlier about change and the like, but it’s null and void now. Drusilla and Darla waltz into town, offer you everything you’ve claimed to want for the past year, kidnap Buffy, and you say that you had nothing to do with it?”
“I didn’t.”
Willow intervened at that, her tone less demanding, but equally concerned. “Then why didn’t you mention this earlier? If you’d said Darla was alive—”
That was rich.
“Don’ even try to shift the blame here. You’re the bloody sods who lost your Slayer! Now you’re all out an’ about, lookin’ for someone to blame.” He shook his head with a huff of ill-amusement. “Look no further than a soddin’ mirror, ladies an’ gents. I would join you, but I don’ reflect.”
“That’s what you call ironic,” Anya supplied.
“Listen, I din’t come here to waste time squabblin’.” Spike sighed intently and began backing for the door once more. “Even ‘f I knew it was sodding inevitable. The lot of you ‘ave your fair share to worry with here. Nibblet an’ the Council of Wankers to top.”
Giles’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”
“Slayer told me earlier,” he replied absently. “’ve outed myself already, but no one else here has a stone’s throw chance in Hell to get close to any of ‘em, especially ‘f they know you’re comin’. I’m headin’ to LA to get Buffy home—”
“That’s. It.” Harris jumped to his feet and paraded forward. “You know how much I’m trusting you right now? Zero. That’s how much. You suddenly go from caring not at all to caring so much that you’re going to go to Los Angeles to…what? Play the hero? I’m not buying it. At all. This all seems way too convenient and especially given what you and—”
Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. “You really think ‘f I had any intention of takin’ Darla up on her offer, I’d’ve come here at all?”
The boy was forced into reflective silence.
“Tha’s right. The lot of you can think what you like. I’m leavin’ tonight for LA.”
“Where will you go?” Giles intervened. He held up a hand before a reply could be voiced. “Understand that I am not condoning this in any way. I don’t trust you, I never have, and I never will. Like Xander, I am of the belief that this is all too coincidental to be exactly that. But I am also willing to supply that should you be telling the truth, your presence in Los Angeles would be the best option.”
Willow’s eyes alighted in protest. “But—”
“Spike is connected to the Order. That is more than any of us can say. And should he be lying, there truly is no more damage to be done than what was done.” A sigh rolled off the Watcher’s shoulders. “Buffy is gone, in the hands of two, soon-to-be three, very ruthless, legendary vampires. We cannot be in two places at once. With Glory here and—”
“Glory? Glory? We’re bringing up Glory?” Xander demanded incredulously. “Who cares about Glory? We have bigger problems at the minute! If Chip’s Ahoy is going to Los Angeles, then—”
“He goes alone.” Giles’s gaze had not altered from the vampire’s in the slightest.
“We can’t trust him!”
Spike rolled his eyes again.
“I know that. But it appears that we have no choice.” The Watcher stepped forward again, solemn. “Where will you go?”
Finally a question he could answer without having to reveal something personal.
“Angel Investigations,” Spike replied immediately. “’F Peaches ‘asn’t torn it to shreds by now. I’d wager that Cordelia an’ that li’l mixed chap have all the precautionaries on what to do in such a bloody bleak scenario. Start there an’ work my way up.”
“Spike.” Giles’s gaze was level with him now, and he stood not two feet away. “I want you to listen to me very, very carefully. Should anything happen to Buffy, anything at all; I am going to hold you personally responsible. I don’t give a bleeding fuck if you are involved or not. Something happens to her, it’s going to happen to you, too. Do you understand me?”
It was a rare day when the Watcher used such raw language.
Today seemed to be the king of rare days.
“I get you, old man,” the peroxide vampire replied. It was nothing he didn’t expect. Nothing he wouldn’t demand if he were in the opposing position. Nothing he didn’t respect Giles for immensely, even if that went forever unvoiced.
“You are to remain in constant contact with us.”
“’Course.”
There was something else, but it wouldn’t be said here.
“I don’t like this,” Willow announced shakily, holding up a hand to calm whatever objection was ready on Spike’s lips. “Not that I don’t trust you…well, I don’t trust you, but you get me. I don’t understand why we have to be sitting ducks. Can’t we be standing ducks? Or flapping ducks? Or rushing-to-help-Buffy ducks? I just don’t get it…especially where Glory is concerned. Without the Slayer, what exactly do we hope to accomplish? Throw rocks at her?”
At that, the rough front that Giles had been depending on from the beginning started to crumple, and the first strains of humanly worry leaked through. “There are elements…” he said slowly, “that have to be taken into consideration. Things that involve Glory and her conquest…that I cannot disclose. Here.” He added the last with a pointed look in the vampire’s direction. “Let’s just leave it at that for now. We will discuss the details later.”
The peroxide vampire couldn’t agree more. “Right,” he snapped. “Save your sodding dramatics. ‘S of no interest to me.” He turned to the Witch. “Don’ get your knickers in a twist. Whatever the old man has up his leave’ll be common knowledge two seconds after I walk out the bloody door.”
“Wait it out,” Giles concurred with a nod. In such circumstances, there was no point to denying motive, especially when it remained rather unambiguous. “Spike, a word in the back, please.”
There would be no refuting; nothing to appease the tiny voice that protested this discussion in itself was a perfect example of why the Scoobies were daft all the way around, despite their ability to foil every Big Bad to date. They were wasting too much time with particulars. However, he nodded his compliance and made to follow the Watcher, refusing to waver even when they moved into the seeming seclusion of the Slayer’s training room.
In all honesty, he expected the old man to lose his still unspoken support. He expected to be shoved against the nearest surface with a hand at his throat, complete with a stream of long-winded, not-so-empty threats that centered on a matter of a decent staking.
Once more, he was surprised. Despite all his reasoning and insistence, Giles was far from reaching a point by the time he got him alone. The Watcher took to pacing quietly, brow furrowed as though lost in deep reflection. He made eye contact a few times, looked willing and ready to speak, but lost his train of thought, or reasoning, before the words could know the breath of air. It was more than obvious that he had something of importance to relate and more than one reservation about relating it. And, notwithstanding irritation, Spike couldn’t say he blamed him.
However, that didn’t mean he favored standing around until the old man grew a pair. With every second he wasted, the further the Slayer grew from hindsight. “So, what is it?” he asked after a few seconds. “Wanna lay me down with the ground rules? Do not touch the Slayer? Do not look at the Slayer? Do not interact with the Slayer? Do not—”
“Shut up.”
“Do not shut up? There’s a new one.”
“I mean, it Spike. This…” Giles pressed his hand against a wall to support his crumpling weight, the full signs of his fatigue leaking through to full glory. It was nearly worth a coo of sympathy. The strain of concern pressing into his brow overwhelming on levels of human candor that remained an overall mystery. “What you are about to do…God, I can’t believe I’m trusting you to—”
“Trust me or not, mate, I’m doin’ it.”
“Why? If I knew why, perhaps I could find some ease. I just don’t see what possible motive you would have to go to Buffy’s aid.”
The vampire sighed heavily. How the hell was he supposed to answer that question and simultaneously put the man’s worries to rest? There was too much that he still did not know, did not understand, and he rather doubted that a quick ‘I’ve had the sudden desire to shag the Slayer senseless’ retort would score any bonus points. He had to hand it to Giles; he was concerned in all the right areas. Asking all the right questions. Spike’s sudden bout of anxiety where any of the Scoobies were implicated merited a good period of observation.
“Honestly, mate,” he began with another sigh, unknowing where to go from there or why he was speaking at all. “I don’ know. I can’t explain anythin’ right now. But I’m goin’ outta her interest, not mine. Trust me, things’d be a lot easier ‘f I could say bugger all an’ let ‘em have her. Somewhere along the way, I wager I grew a conscience.”
“Forgive me if that’s not at all reassuring.”
“Well, this isn’t the firs’ time this sort’ve thing’s happened where the lot of you are concerned. That one time that Glinda the Second’s magic went all wonky, makin’ you blind to everythin’ that wiggled with demon insides?” He waited for Giles’s recollection before continuing. “Yeh. Walked in, saw the Slayer strugglin’ on the floor, an’ leapt in to save the bloody day. Don’ ask me why—she certainly din’t. Din’t even get a thank you for that.” Another brief break. “I don’ like a one of you, you know. But I jus’…I can’t let them have her. Angelus an’ Dru were bad enough. Throw Darla in—Darla with a wicked grudge ‘cause of the great sodding love affair that was the Slayer and Peaches—an’ I don’t wanna think about what’s gonna go down.”
“This is about possession, then? She’s the Slayer, therefore you get to kill her?”
If only it were that easy.
“’F it makes you sleep easier to tell yourself that…well, I don’ rightly care what makes you sleep easier.” Spike shook his head and headed for the door again. “’m all you’ve got, an’ you know it. An’ you also know I don’ welch on deals, no matter how much it twists your insides to admit it. I helped Buffy before. Before there was a chip. Before my hatred of the lot of you grew to colossal proportions. Helped her ‘cause I can’t bloody stand Angelus. Still can’t. An’ he’s not gonna ‘ave forgotten that.” Another brief pause as he collected his bearings. “’m all you’ve got,” he said again. “Regardless of whatever uglies there are between me an’ Peaches, I have a helluva better chance of gettin’ close to ‘em than any of you do. An’ I’d know where to look. More than Wolfram an’ Hart an’ that sham of a detective agency my wankerish grandsire was chiefin’. I know them all more than any of you bloody Watchers ever can. I’m on your side, Rupert. I’m on your side in this. Bygones be bygones an’ all that rot. You get me?”
There was a hefty pause as Giles considered this, even if his answer was yes. He had no choice, as Spike had so aptly observed, but for whatever reason, having passage granted suddenly seemed like the best idea anyone could muster.
“When the Council arrives,” the Watcher continued ruefully, effectively answering the inquiry with a non-answer. It seemed in the best interest, “I will not mention what has transpired. If they get involved, things could become even harrier than they already are. But if the news they present about Glory is dire, there is every chance that I will be taking a leave of America with Joyce and Dawn.”
That didn’t make any sense. “What?”
“I can’t tell you any more than that, other than I hope to have the others with me. Willow and Tara have school, of course, and I would not want to endanger them. And as hesitant as I am to abandon the Hellmouth in a time of crisis, I see no alternative as our Slayer has…” Giles stopped again. “If it comes to that, you will have to contact me in London.”
“You realize you’re makin’ about as much sense as Dru on a good day.”
“I can’t tell you more.”
Spike frowned, then shrugged and reached for his cigarettes. “Right. So ‘f you decide to make a great escape, how do I reach you?”
“I’ll give you the London number when you contact us.” The Watcher glanced down. “I hope it will not come to that, but I am seeing no alternative. I nearly suggested that you take Dawn with you and leave her with her father, but it would not be in her interest to take her from one element of danger and leave her in another. And, regardless of my not knowing the man, the tales I have heard leave very little room for heartfelt warm fuzzies.”
This was still not making any sense, but the vampire thought it better to simply nod and move along. There was too much to accomplish without worrying with a matter that seemed to be under wraps. “Right,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You better.” Spike headed for the back exit and was not surprised when his move did not inspire an objection. To leave through the front would openly welcome more questions, and there was no time for that.
Not when so much was at stake.
“One more thing,” Giles said softly without turning. “Please…tell her…”
“I will.”
“How do you know—”
“Because I’ve seen every sodding made-for-tv drama this bleeding world has to offer. ‘F my firs’ guess is off, I’m sure to get it within the top three.” Spike grinned lightly but the man still wasn’t looking. He didn’t blame him. “Take care of yourself, Rupert.”
There was no answer, and it was just as well. Before another beat of wasted air could pass between them, the vampire was gone.
Setting out for the beginning by starting at the end.
To be continued in Chapter Eight: Path of Thorns…