Tell Me Something Good
It hadn’t been like this before.
It had never been like this.
The sensation itself was something that no one could forget, despite how much time had passed. The first time had burned so long ago, and he could still feel it. With every move he made, with each breath he wasn’t supposed to take. The way it sent waves of burning light through every pore in his body, making every place on him that had ever been touched scream in pain. Every muscle that had ever been strained ached as though afflicted with new injury. Every minor detailed hurt had seized command without turn to any other form of soft consideration. Such a shock—a blunt, sharp stab that impressed every nerve. And then pain. So much pain. Pain that surpassed anything previously experienced, and then some.
The first of anything was supposed to be the hardest. The most difficult to endure.
The second time hadn’t been any easier. Feeling the weight of his conscience soar into his unprepared self. Feeling the full of Buffy’s tears as she gazed at him. Feeling the sweetness of her kisses, the whispered hush of her oath of love. Feeling everything that he had never thought to feel again.
Feeling a sword shove through his gut.
The moment that he realized his soul was being retracted once more, Angel had thought that to be the end. There was no way Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn would allow him to survive. Not with what he made them promise, and certainly not with what had transpired thereafter. He had stood outside the Hyperion yelling at them for hours, and he remembered reveling in their foolishness when they neglected to put an end to it then and there. He had felt their presence following his trail for days, and yet they hadn’t attempted to come at him with a stake. They had sent Spike on the inside, and even he fell short to the mastery of seeing his end.
Spike.
In truth, the minute that Angel realized his soul was being stolen, he knew that living again was a burden he did not want. He knew that his already reddened hands would know the pain of more blood, and he did not wish that for himself. Not for others, and certainly not for himself.
He had not known the face that haunted him more than any other would belong to Buffy.
A rush then. Standing in Lilah Morgan’s office, chatting with her, making the usual threats. His arm was around Darla’s waist, and he was leering at her appraisingly. He felt the stir of old irritation, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t adapted himself to in the long sentence of his lifetime.
He couldn’t even remember what was being discussed. Not specifically. Most likely a string of speculation begging to see the end of Angel Investigations, or something of a similar nature. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered.
A sharp pain winded his stomach, sending him back as his eyes went wide. He found himself on the floor, clawing the carpet as sensationalism beyond repute seized command over what it was that he knew. Something inhuman tore at the air; he realized belatedly it was himself. “Fucking no!” he rasped.
“Angelus?” Darla asked. It was a rare day when concern touched her voice.
Today was a rare day.
“Fucking no!”
Another wail tackled the air and Drusilla sank to her knees, holding her head. “Oh, no, no, no. They’ve interrupted our tea party. No crumpets. No sugar. Grandmum!”
He felt, rather than saw, Darla’s understanding. “No…”
Drusilla was sobbing now, rocking herself back and forth. “Bad, bad. They’re ruining our happy home. Nasty little wasps. Buzzing around my head. Bzzz, bzzzz…”
This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He was supposed to be dead.
Why wasn’t he dead?
Everything after Wolfram and Hart was a blur. He remembered shoving Drusilla away, but he didn’t know if he had killed her. It was possible. Things had been fast and violent. He suspected he would have felt it had he killed her; right now, he was too foregone to register anything he felt.
Darla, though. He remembered Darla. He remembered thrusting her against the wall in the corridor outside Lilah’s office. He remembered feeling the manifestation of his self-loathing and hatred pour from his hands into her throat. He wanted to tear her head from her body. He wanted to make her dead. If he couldn’t be dead, he wanted someone there in his place.
They had killed together. And they had enjoyed it.
But in the end, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill the woman that had caused him and those he loved so much pain. He had killed her once. He couldn’t do it again. Even there at the end, he couldn’t do it. Not now. Now when he was even more to blame than she was for the way things had gone. She had killed, but she had been merciful.
Flash. Buffy hanging in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart, naked body aligned with bite marks and bloody gashes. Things he had done to her because he wanted to. Because he was bored and she was convenient. Because she was the one thing above all others that, even now, drew him to the limelight of humanity. He had done that to her.
He couldn’t kill Darla. Darla hadn’t done that.
He had.
Reparation he was used to. Guilt he was used to. Hating himself he was used to.
This was beyond anything he had ever felt. Anything he had a right in feeling.
And he needed someone. Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn. Anyone.
He needed to see them.
The Hyperion itself was off-limits, though, and somehow he knew that. Without forward recognition, he knew. He knew, and yet his feet wouldn’t listen to his head, and instead insisted on carrying him the length of what separated him from the only true sanctuary he had ever known. Perhaps at a different time, he would have regarded the apprehension with which he observed his association with a unit he had founded himself as thoroughly unorthodox, but there was something to be said about such acknowledgment. Every raw nerve in his body called him home, and while he appeased the technicalities in distance, he refused to adhere his more primal urges.
After all, Buffy would be in there. And he couldn’t face her.
Not now.
Not after everything he had said. After everything he had done.
He had hurt her; he hurt himself.
And the last time he saw her, she had wanted him dead. She had wanted him dead even more so than he did right now.
Had it not been for Spike, she would have killed him.
Spike.
There was no way within the realm of feasibility that he could begin to react to the sensation the strictest of foreknowledge bestowed. Similarly, there was no sense in denying what he knew was true. He had been there. He had seen it all. Furthermore, in the past two days, Lilah had taken immense pleasure in detailing the reels of film the forbidden security cameras captured. While he and his girls had delighted in reliving every minute of the Slayer’s agony, he recalled the pure fury that coursed through his veins when he saw his disobedient grandchilde touch his property as though he had some right.
And he had done more than touched her. She had welcomed his hands and lips and tongue in and on her body. She had cried for him. He had cried for her.
Angelus had watched and felt nothing but envious rage. Angel recalled and experienced the most troublesome regret to coincide with his already seething disgust.
He had driven her to that. His touch had made her crave the healing power of a monster that believed himself in love with her. A monster that could be a monster again if he desired it so. Chances were, she didn’t even know the chip was out. What he had seen a few nights ago was enough to testify to that. She had allowed him to cradle her to his chest. And true, while Spike was not completely unfeeling—he had never been as monstrous as the rest of them—he was still at heart what they were. A monster. And now that the danger was over, it was time for that side to come out of hiding and stop playing at heroics.
That’s not fair.
Life seldom was.
You saw him with her. He cares. He cared for her while you tried to make her scream. And he had no reason to.
That was the lowest of all thoughts. Spike without a conscience had more of a sense of right and wrong than he had displayed even before Wolfram and Hart reverted him to natural form. It would have been easy had the months prior to the incident at Holland Manners house displayed the perfect aptitude of Angel Investigations. They didn’t. Darla’s return had shaken the foundation he relied on, such that even now with everything that had passed, he couldn’t kill her.
Something nasty told him that even if he hadn’t been Angelus, the lawyers in the wine cellar would have never made it out alive.
A monster cursed with humanity cursed with monstrosity. Where did that leave him?
Infinitely fucked.
Angel released a long, agonized sigh as he paused before the Hyperion. He was still far enough away that he doubted anyone inside would stoop to detection, but close enough to make out the shapes passing the windows. A sense of home he had never before reckoned. He saw Cordelia chatting heatedly with someone he did not recognize upfront. He saw Gunn speaking to Wesley and a blonde girl he couldn’t identify—the hunter’s body language betraying a manner of storytelling that the vampire would recognize anywhere. He saw another girl he didn’t know and a child playing a card game. And he saw Buffy and Spike emerge from the upper levels, duel smiles on their faces and hands clasped so tightly one would presume they were made that way. Cordelia turned abruptly from whatever she was saying to greet them with something that only made the picture of their delight grow. Then Gunn intervened to scold the unfamiliar man about something—something of which he himself received a decent scolding to in the thereafter. Wesley added his two cents and made everyone laugh. The elder vampire watched as Spike left Buffy’s side so he could approach the child, whisper something in her ear, and brush a kiss across her cheek. The other girl didn’t seem too happy about that, and the unknown male rolled his eyes and said something that had them all laughing again.
Buffy approached the platinum vampire then and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing herself against his back intimately. Spike was still talking to the other man but he couldn’t stop his hand from tangling with hers where it rested against his stomach, and no one denied the intimacy of the gesture.
Out of everything he had seen, everything he had done, Angel knew that what he had just witnessed was the most painful trial of his existence. It wasn’t fair—not to her, not his victims, and not even to Spike. While he resented the hell out of it, he further resented the knowledge that he had no right in resenting in the first place.
Everything he had ever worked for was gone, and it was more than what he owed. And still it hurt. It hurt terribly.
But it was what he owed.
There was no sense in disrupting their happiness. Not when they had something to celebrate.
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t demand that of him. He didn’t deserve it.
Instead, he turned and did what he should have done from the beginning. From the head of this entire charade. Ever since Wolfram and Hart decided to muck with the serenity that had been his lifestyle. Before they reintroduced him to Darla and made the claim to play God. Before he let them get into his head and drive him insane with furious outrage and the weighted heat of his own arrogance.
It was time to put that all behind him and let those he loved bask in their joy.
And walk away.
A watery smile had crossed Cordelia’s face, and she traded a long, meaningful glance with Wright as he came down the stairs after seeing the girls to sleep. “I swear I was gonna let you walk, no contest, but I was never good at keeping promises. Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to talk you out of this?”
“Buffy’s made her decision.”
“We,” the Slayer corrected, eyes narrowing at Wesley. “We decided.”
“You know you’re always welcome here.”
Spike smiled, arm tightening around Buffy as she snuggled into his side. “Yeh,” he replied with a cordial nod. “An’ we appreciate that. We really don’…I…” It was a rare day when the platinum vampire found himself short of words, and the notion was nothing that could be cast aside lightly. Despite what he said, how he tried to put up an impenetrable façade, the concept of leaving was hitting him hard. Never had he known such unprejudiced acceptance.
The look on his face was unreadable, but it stabbed Buffy’s conscience all the same. He would follow her to the end of the world if she asked, but Sunnydale was going to be hard enough. And yet, here he was. Speaking on her behalf. He hadn’t voiced a word of complaint about his status other than to note a preference for the people they were with now, and she knew that he would not. However, the hidden layers buried within his eyes were enough to foil the hardest of hearts.
“We’ve spent some time talking,” she said hoarsely. “There are things that are different now.”
“We’re gettin’ an apartment, for one,” Spike observed without missing a beat. “The Slayer doesn’ wanna live in a graveyard, an’ I respect that.”
Her gaze narrowed and he grinned unrepentantly. “And Spike has decided that, despite how much he loves my family, it’d be better if we—oh say—didn’t live there.”
“But it won’ be till after this Glory business ‘s over,” he confirmed.
“Until then, he’ll stay in the basement.”
Gunn frowned. “Wait. Whoa. Who’s Glory?”
“Someone you don’t have to worry about,” Buffy replied. “I just have to stay near the house until she’s bit the dust.”
“Watch the way you use that phrase, luv.”
Tara smiled weakly. “She…Glory, that is…we haven’t really h-had any trouble with her. I mean, since we w-went to England. We didn’t tell anyone where we were g-going, and the Council gave us some information—”
The Slayer’s eyes flashed with directive sanction that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “What information?”
“It’s…it’s not good. But it might not be a problem f-for too much longer.”
A frown depressed the peroxide vampire’s mouth, and he tossed a curious glance to Buffy. “I never got the full of that gig, y’know.”
She offered him a reassuring smile. “You’ll know. I just can’t talk about it right now.”
“What’s this, girl?” Gunn demanded with false indignation. “We gang up to save your hide, and you can’t trust us?”
“Oh no. So completely not that. I trust you. I’m all with the trusting. It’s more…if you know, you’re in danger.”
“So ‘s jus’ me an’ her normal mates that she doesn’ like,” Spike affirmed with a nod. He received a death glare in turn. “An’ Zangy, ‘m guessin’, ‘f he decides to tag along.”
Cordelia frowned. “What?”
“Jus’ temporary, luv,” Spike retorted, holding up a hand, unable to suppress the grin that innately rose to his lips at her presumption. “Buffy an’ I thought it’d be to our benefit to have your honey come back with us. Y’know…fight the baddies an’ all that sodding rot.” He flashed a speculative smile at the demon hunter. “’F that’s all right with him.”
“Let me emphasize the ‘temporary,’” the Slayer added. “Not that we wouldn’t be thrilled for you to be in SunnyD forever, but as we all know, that issue was decided yesterday.”
There was a long minute of suspended silence. Wright blinked slowly and came to himself without delayed hindrance. “What? Okay…I’m lost…now you want me to come with you—”
“Again with the temporary.”
“—to fight this chick that’s been causing you so much trouble?”
“W-we need all the help we can get,” Tara offered meekly.
“We do,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “Well, we always do, but especially right now with the…with all the extra special clauses that come with her. It’d be a favor to Spike…and me…and if it’s all right with everyone here…” She frowned as she glanced around the lobby. “We’re not asking any more than to borrow him for…two weeks, tops.”
Wesley’s eyes widened. “Two weeks?”
The Witch shrugged. “I-it’s not that much, when y-you think about it.”
“An’ Zangy’s the most obvious choice,” Spike concluded. “’E’s not hot on the wire ‘round here on a normal day—yet—an’ this town needs the bloody lot of you to keep from high-tailin’ it to hell.”
A worried look overwhelmed Cordelia, and she gnawed on her lip thoughtfully. “But you’re going to let him come back hassle free.”
Wright arched a brow. “Ummm, ‘let him’? What, you think they’d lock me in the basement?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“Look,” Buffy intervened sharply, holding up a hand. “If it’s going to be a problem—”
“No, there is no problem,” Wesley decided authoritatively. “I know enough about hellmouths to recognize that trouble circulating with the rise of a new power can result with catastrophic consequences. We would be happy to help in any way possible.”
“Ummm, hold on.” Wright was waving his arms frantically, a dissatisfied scowl on his face. “Unless I missed something, I could’ve sworn this was—oh, I don’t know—my decision.”
The other man shook his head calmly. “Not anymore. Your decisions are based on what’s good for the whole, and right now, what’s good for the whole coincides with not being killed horribly in the potential upcoming apocalypse.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “Who said anything about an apocalypse?”
“You had it all over your face. I might not have been the best Watcher, but I do know how to read ‘potential world-threatening disaster ahead’ when called for.”
“So this is a company decision?” Zack demanded, brow furrowed with continuous dissatisfaction. “A company decision where the company in question is the same that I’ve been named president to?”
“Co-president, thank you.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have bumped him up so quickly,” Gunn muttered to Cordelia, who arched her brow at him in turn. “It’s already gone to his head.”
The Seer rolled her eyes and stepped forward to take Wright by the arm with gentle persuasion. “It is for the best,” she said softly. “We’re just gonna have to help you get used to decisions being made for you when you work as a part of the whole.”
He was still pouting. “I don’t like it.”
“You can bring the Bit,” Spike added.
“Rosie on the Hellmouth? No thanks. I pass.”
“I’d watch after her for you,” Tara offered with a shy grin. “She’s adorable.”
“An’ you’re loony ‘f you think I’d let anythin’ happen to her,” the vampire protested. “I’ll guard her precious bones with my unlife.”
“Really, we’re going to have nothing going on here,” Cordelia said. “We’re still following up on that lead with the girl who disappeared, even though by now she’s probably been hacked to bits and made into people stew.”
Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Nice.”
“Hey, you drink blood. Don’t judge.”
A sigh ran through the demon hunter as he guided his hand through his brown locks. “Well,” he began, as though desperately trying to wrangle some semblance of control. It had to be hard, and everyone understood. Going from where he was his own boss—no questions asked—to having his fate decided by an unpronounced committee. And yet, no one was rushing him. All was, for better or worse, well. “I guess it would be worth it to see all these people Spike keeps bitching about.”
The vampire grinned at that. “Xander?”
“For starters.”
Buffy scowled and whapped her sire across the chest. He laughed and kissed her cheek in turn. “Come on, luv. ‘S not like the whelp’s ever been my number one fan.”
Her scowl only deepened in the manner it did when she knew he was right.
“Xander’s not bad,” Tara said obligatorily. “He’s just…loyal and protective.”
“Judgmental,” Spike corrected gruffly. “An’ a bloody hypocrite.”
“He’s not—”
“Oh, so I’m a bad guy ‘cause I got turned under circumstances that were bloody beyond my control, but his bird’s all right ‘cause she has an expiration date an’ a shiny pulse, but no soul along with it.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “An’ let’s not forget that she volunteered for her gig. Bloody recruited by some head honcho demon ‘cause of the wackiness she did to earn it. I did nothin’ but stand in an alley an’ I’m the bad guy? Right. Makes perfect sense.”
The Witch glanced down again, mimicking Buffy’s ‘I know when I’m bested’ face. “He…he just doesn’t always have time to think logically.”
“Okay, it’s official.” Wright shook his head with a taut grin. “I have to meet this guy. At least pre-this, I never discriminated. I just hated everything nonhuman.”
“And now Spike’s your best friend,” Cordelia added.
“I swear to God…”
“That’s okay,” Buffy said, sliding her arm through the peroxide vampire’s and pressing herself consciously into his side. “He’s kinda mine, too.” When she received a startled look of endless adoration and wonder at that, she merely smiled and planted a brief, however affectionate kiss on his lips. “Not that I have anything against Wills and Xander…but…you’ve kinda been bumped up.”
“That’s the way it should be,” Tara said with a concurring nod. “Willow’s my best friend, and I like to think I’m hers, too. It only strengthens how much we love each other.”
Spike adapted an endearingly goofy smile and started shifting as though he had been fed caffeine pills. “Well, that’s it,” he decided. “I got me my girl, my pride, my sentiment of endless adulation, an’ a chum to help me go back to a place I bloody despise. ‘S all good, though, I think ‘m ready.”
“Good.” The Slayer sighed slightly. “I just wish I was. It’d be so much easier if I had an idea of what to expect.”
A still beat sizzled through the lobby. The platinum vampire glanced expectantly to those he had grown so close to, and as though the thought occurred to them all at once, a series of conspiratorial smiles sprouted to instantaneous life.
Gunn turned to Wesley. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“I believe we all are.”
It was too well-timed to be trusted. Buffy turned to Spike worriedly. “What? What is it?”
“A way,” he replied elusively.
“How?”
His eyes sparkled mischievously, but he did not answer her.
The next thing she knew, Buffy was sitting on stage for a crowd of demons with a microphone in her hand.
It was difficult to see with the mass concentration of spotlights and the like, but she knew Spike was out there watching her. Spike and everyone—lounged comfortably at the bar while she sat up in the limelight, basking in discomfort and the innate paranoia of people hearing her sing.
He likely had that insufferable smirk on his face.
She was so going to let him have it.
“Don’t sweat it, lemon-drop,” the proprietor of Caritas had told her. Lorne. That was his name. The Host. Lorne. He was by far the kindest and most interesting non-vamp demon she had ever come across. The sort that demanded respect without muttering a word. He was polite and full of life; humorous, even if she was much too nervous laugh at his jokes. “It’s a little intimidating for a first timer, but believe me, it’s a piece of red velvet cake once the spotlight hits you right.”
Evidently, the spotlight was off by several thousand light-years.
Then the music started playing and the words appeared on the teleprompter.
Oh god oh god oh god…
“Love,” she heard herself sing, “you didn’t do right by me. You planned a romance that just hadn’t a chance, and I’m through.”
An aggravated grunt rumbled through the audience. Buffy’s glimmering eyes shot up and instantly captured Spike’s, and she flashed him a loving grin that undoubtedly came across as dry and insincere. Well, served him right for making her sing. Wasn’t as though the song was about him, anyway.
It was hardly about him.
“Love, you didn’t do right by me. I’m back on the shelf and I’m blaming myself, but it’s you.”
Meanwhile, Spike was grumbling with interest, trying to look unaffected. It was a silly thing to take offense to, and the knowledge, instead of liberating him only made his frustration grow.
“Hey there, big guy.” Lorne handed him a Martini with a wane smile. “Relax. You’re the last person she’s thinking about with those lyrics in mind.”
He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Do I wanna know how you know?”
The Host tapped two fingers against his temple with arched brows.
“Ah. Figured it was somethin’ like that.”
“Besides,” he continued, “I think we can find certain audience members that serve as a more appropriate target, don’t you? Say—and this is just a hunch—Tall Dark and Angelkins over there.”
Spike’s head shot up, instantly following Lorne’s direction. Indeed, the grand poof himself had decided to make an appearance. He was lingering in the back, watching Buffy with a glowering guilt-filled gaze that only served to rub the peroxide vampire in the wrong direction. Though his body language screamed a disposition aware to their presence, he made no move to establish eye-contact.
He must have started forward, for the next thing he knew, the Host had placed a neutral hand on his shoulder to hold him stationary.
“Hey, hey,” came the reprimand. “Call off the militia, bro. As much as any of us would love to see a Spike-shaped fist breaking our boy’s face, this is a sanctuary and he’s as welcome as any of my other guests. Take some advice from McCartney and let it be.”
“’E’s within thirty feet of the Slayer, mate. ‘E came here knowin’—”
“That my sanctuary applies to the finest and the lowest, egg muffin. Little Buffalicious doesn’t even know he’s here.” Lorne waited until the tension rolling off Spike’s body finally began to subside before he released him completely. “You have the high ground now. My advice: keep it. Just let it go and enjoy the show. You’re the one she loves.”
There was nothing quite like hearing another being say that with such knowledgeable conviction. He released a deep breath and nodded to signify his cooperation. Then, calmed, they both returned their attention to the stage.
“My one love affair didn’t get anywhere from the start. To send me a Joe who had winter and snow in his heart wasn’t smart…” Buffy met his eyes again, and while she was definitely the cutest thing he had ever seen, her nervousness was doing its part to work a number on him as well. To her credit, she was covering admirably. He reckoned he was the only one who knew her well enough to read it.
He tossed another irritated glance to Angel who did not credit him by looking back. Perhaps not the only one.
“Love. You didn’t do right by me. As they say in the song…you done me wrong.” She offered an impish smile and he recognized the concluding chords. Finally. “Yes, Mister Love. You done me wrong.”
The song drew to a close and the whole of the bar dissolved in applause. Buffy smiled shyly and nodded her thanks before scampering off stage as quickly as possible, racing to his side before anyone could approach. Now that it was over, Spike allowed himself to absolve the whole of her tension. It was so damned adorable. She could kill demons without batting an eye, but when asked to sing for them, she was nothing but nerves.
With alarming rapidity, Lorne had wheedled himself to the stage and was leaning over the microphone. “How about another hand for Little Miss Buff, wasn’t she a doll?” The crowd easily appeased the request; they had decided to forgo the ‘Slayer’ part of her title. It was better that way. With or without a sanctuary, demons weren’t going to be partial to anyone made from birth to kill them. “I’m gonna go have a chat with our not-so-single white vampire. Meanwhile, we got Cordy and Zack the Hunter comin’ up to keep you company. Be gentle, kiddies. We’re dealin’ in a lot of Caritas virgins tonight.”
Spike’s head shot up and his eyes widened. Cordelia and Zangy were doing a number together?
Oh, fucking priceless.
“What do you bet,” Gunn sneered appraisingly, “that they do ‘Anything You Can Do’?”
“Close,” Lorne agreed as he joined them. “It’s a showtune. Their aura was so similar when they came in that I had Bobby whip them up a little something special.”
“Better.” Wesley shrugged. “I thought you might have paired them off with a Sonny and Cher number.”
“I’d say Simon and Garfunkel,” Tara volunteered. “B-but that’s just because I like Mrs. Robinson.”
A despondent look overcame the Host. “Damn. Now why didn’t I think of that?”
The chords struck and drew everyone’s attention briefly to the uncomfortable duet at the front. Cordelia looked a bit more flexible than Wright; the man was unsmiling, as though the world itself had lost its sense of whimsy.
But, being the team player that he was, he let his eyes drift to the teleprompter and began singing.
“You'll have to be a little more standoffish,” he chimed, “When your formers come by looking for a date.”
Spike grinned. Bloody priceless.
“What a way to start out our relationship,” Cordelia shot back in song. “Now I can see why I should’ve made you wait.”
“For what?” he demanded.
“For this.” She gracefully gestured to her rear.
The Host shook his head. “Quite a pair, the both of them. Even I couldn’t have predicted that match.” He turned back to Buffy with a wry grin. “You did fine, blossom. Stop looking so glum.”
Spike tilted his head to the side. “Can you tell us anythin’?”
“The strawberry is the only fruit that bears its seeds on the outside.”
“I heard how you were kickin' up some capers,” Wright continued on stage. “Before when I was still on the go. I heard some things you couldn't print in papers, from your friends, who’ve been talkin' like they know!”
The peroxide vampire rolled his eyes. “How about somethin’ useful.”
Lorne grinned. “So sue the green guy for having a sense of humor.” He shook his head and turned to Buffy. “You got some times coming up ahead, cinnamon buns. Some are good, some are on the side of not. But you’ll always have people there along the way.” He nodded at Spike. “Just stick by them, and all should be a slice of apple-pie.”
“I only did the kind of things I oughta—sorta,” Cordelia had retaliated in song. “To any I was as faithful as can be—for me. Those stories 'bout the way I lost my bloomers—Rumors! A lot of tempest in a pot of tea!”
“The whole thing doesn’t sound very good to me.”
“Well you see…”
The Slayer’s frown hadn’t alleviated. She worried a lip between her teeth and traded a long glance with Spike. “Is there anything else?” she asked. “Like…everything has changed. Everything. And—”
“I can only tell you enough to get you on your way, strudels. Everything else is up to you.”
Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “I shoulda warned you, luv. Big Green here’s not exactly keen on what the rest of society refers to as details.”
“There are a lot of conflicting pathways in the massive cream pastry of the universe, and you probably knew that,” the Host explained. “I’m not a mystic fortune teller, sugarbritches, and you know it. I just need to send you two on the right one.”
On stage, Zack had been given a lengthy piece of fast-spoken versed dialogue. He was all but tripping over himself to keep up. “I didn’t even sow my last wild oat, and I’ve cut out all girlies.” His brows arched as though that meant something. “I save my money, don't gamble or drink in and am out before the earlies! I’ll give up all the other things that a gentleman never mentions. But before I give up anymore, I wanna know your intentions!”
“The most I can tell you is that you’ve made the right decisions thus far. Now all you gotta do is avoid baby-faced doctors and tall towers.” Lorne smiled as though he had told a joke that no one understood. “The world will hand you a slice of fine and send you on your way if you let it. Your friends need to be trusted, because they trust you with their lives. The whole of them, honey. Not just a few.”
“With me it's all or nothin’,” Wright was singing loudly. “Is it all or nothin’ with you? It can’t be ‘in between’. It can’t be ‘now and then’. No half and half romance will do.”
“Towers and doctors…” Buffy repeated with a frown. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry, pumpkin. You will.”
“If you can’t give me all, give me nothin’. And nothing’s what you'll get from me!”
“Not even something?” Cordelia protested in song.
“Nothing’s what you’ll get from me!”
A sigh of exasperation rang through the platinum vampire. “This has all been very helpful. It has. Really. ‘m not jus’ sayin’ that. But the thing is—”
“I know what the thing is, Spikelbum.” Lorne turned back to Buffy. “You’ve already given your gift, tootsie. Had you not, we might have reason to be worried. But it’s been given, whether or not you know it. And giving it twice wouldn’t do any good anyway. So, like I said, stay away from towers and baby-face doctors, and that will set you on your path.”
“Can we move into a house?” the Seer was singing, “All painted white? Make it ghost-clean and pretty and bright?”
Wright leered at her. “Big enough for only just us three?” he demanded in turn, indicating a small child with his free hand.
Cordelia nodded as though she understood, face flushed from exertion, albeit she seemed to really be getting into the number. “Supposing that we should have another?” she replied, making a move that would suggest a pregnant stomach.
“He better look a lot like me.”
“The spitting image!”
“He better look a lot like me!”
Buffy pursed her lips, heaving out a sigh. “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah. I can tell you one more thing.” The Host moved to cross between them, clamping down a hand on the peroxide vampire’s shoulder. “Not to go all Tammy Wynette on you, pumpkin, but stand by your man. I guarantee he won’t let you down. Now, come on, Spikalicious. You’re on next.”
He blinked. “What?”
Gunn grinned, briefly jarred from the performance on stage and nudged the Slayer with a wink. “Oh, he’s gonna sing? You’ll fuckin’ love it.”
The prospect admittedly was a fun one. So much hype had been made about the vampire’s singing voice that her curiosity was effectively piqued.
“Why do you bloody have to read me?” Spike demanded.
“Because your lady’s future is tied in with yours, you big blonde fluffball,” Lorne retorted boldly. “And I can’t read the first half of a good book without knowing how it ends.”
“Spike is going to sing?” Tara asked, tearing her eyes away from the spectacle at the front with some reluctance.
Buffy grinned. “Looks like.”
“I want everyone here to know that this is against my will.”
“I would request some Sinatra,” Wesley offered with a wry grin. “But I don’t think that would do any good.”
An adorable pout crossed the platinum vampire’s mouth. “I hate you all.”
The Slayer’s brows arched and she leaned into his inviting arms to steal a kiss from his lips. “Not all of us, I’d hope.”
As expected, his eyes softened, but not nearly enough to grant her the kind of leeway she was looking for. It all served to make him wholly who he was. Spike without the preliminaries. Just Spike. “No,” he agreed huskily. “Not all. But then, the Bit’s not here, is she?”
“You think you’re funny…”
“But ‘m actually hilarious.” He grinned and kissed her again. “Be prepared to be blown away, luv.”
“With you it's all or nothin’,” Cordelia was singing. “All for you and nothin’ for me. But if a woman is wise, she'll realize that men like you are wild and free. So I’m not gonna fuss. I’m not gonna frown. Have your fun. Go out on the town. Stay up late and don't come home till three. And go right off to sleep if you're sleepy.” She leaned forward to pat his head condescendingly. “There's no use waiting up for me!”
A frown befell his face. “Oh come on, Cordy!”
She had begun to move away, swaying teasingly to the music. “No use waiting up for me.”
His expression turned rakish, and he neared her like a predator. “Come on and kiss me!”
She almost made it, but he grasped her by the wrist and pulled her to him without another beat. The crowd went wild. “No use waiting up for—”
He kissed her. And that was that.
“Woo!” the Host applauded, wheedling his way on stage once more. “Someone get the hose, those two are on fire! Or need to be separated before we offend some of our younger patrons—one or the other, take your pick! Our next performer is no stranger to Caritas. You might remember him as the killer vamp with a heart of gold. Give up to Spike the Chipless Wonder!”
That was it. Buffy, Gunn, Wright, Cordelia, and Wesley all burst out laughing, especially when he meandered unenthusiastically on stage. Tara, for her part, smiled like a good sport, but the look on her face was all too much of a reminder that chipless as he was, Spike did not hold her trust. Yet.
He truly looked ready to kill them all.
A beat past before an unmistakable beat rang through the air and changed his attitude drastically. The switch was so sudden that Buffy reckoned even the Powers could not have anticipated a blast of unprecedented merriment. In a flash, he went from grouchy and unaccommodating to sporting the most ridiculous smile she had ever seen.
“Charlie!” he called into the crowd, drawing attention to Gunn as though even the most obscure of demons knew it was he that was being addressed. “This one’s for you, mate! Don’ say I never did anythin’ for you!”
The man in question frowned, confused.
Then grinned.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” Tara asked.
“He’s actually gonna do it.”
Despite the unspoken implication, Spike had turned into a performer at the tune and raised the microphone before his voice touched the air. “Here she comes now sayin' Mony Mony.”
Five jaws dropped simultaneously.
Then Buffy burst out laughing.
Followed by Wright and Cordelia.
“Shoot 'em down, turn around come on Mony!” He was rocking rhythmically now, winking at them, seemingly uncaring that they were poking fun at his expense. “Hey, she give me love and I feel all right now. Come on, you gotta toss and turn, an’ feel all right, yeah I feel all right! I said yeah—”
He turned the microphone obediently to the audience, who screamed an enthusiastic, “Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
Fat tears were rolling down Buffy’s cheeks, she was laughing so hard. And the sight of her jollity seemed to be enough to egg Spike on. “'Cause you make me feel so good! So good! So good! So fine, so fine. It's all mine. Well I feel all right. I said yeah.”
“Yeah!” the audience yelled back.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
A series of cadenced claps settled through the spectators. In the back, the Slayer and the others were rocking back and forth in beat, clapping along with them. The most effective form of dancing while sitting he had ever seen. He swore the lot of them moved like unemployed synchronized swimmers.
Never, ever had he imagined a scene to compare to the one now.
It was so much fun. And Spike didn’t have fun. Not with others. Not like this.
These past few days with Buffy, with everyone, had been the best of his life.
“Wake it, shake it Mony Mony. Up down, turn around, come on Mony. Hey, she gimme love, an’ I feel all right now.” He threw his head back theatrically. “Don't stop now! Come on Mony! Come on yeah, I said yeah!”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah.”
“'Cause you make me feel so good! So good! So good! So fine, so fine. It's all right. Well I feel all right.” The music continued along with the recorded backup, but that was as far as Spike felt he needed to go. Dramatically, he tossed the microphone into the crowd, snagged a bow, and hopped down into a frenzied sea of enthusiastic patrons.
In seconds, he found himself hugging an armful of Buffy, who was still trembling from the power of her mirth.
“Like I said,” Cordelia shouted over the music and the cheers. “You coulda made it big!”
“I can’t believe you finally sang Billy Idol!” Gunn yelled.
“I made a truce,” Spike retorted with a shrug. The Slayer had yet to let go of him. “’S not an Idol original, so I figured there was no harm.”
“You were great,” a voice rumbled against his throat before pulling back to attack his lips with ardent. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Everything.”
Spike smiled softly and held her to him. Oh yes.
Whatever they faced from there, it was worth it. Whatever Lorne told him, it was worth it. Whatever happened tomorrow, it was worth it. So worth it that he nearly forgot Angel had been a part of the crowd.
Nearly.
But for everything else, for the first time in forever, he knew he was happy.
And for the rest of whatever happened, nothing could take that away.
To be continued in Chapter Forty-Six: Ravages of Spirit…