He soon got himself a reputation. Wolfram and Hart’s emissaries always engendered a certain respect, but this one – this one was special. He took risks beyond the necessary and dealt Wolfram and Hart’s justice with hard dispassion and expressionless blue eyes. He was choosy about which jobs he took – he had his own strict morality and wouldn’t touch certain cases – and the Senior Partners indulged him, first at Ilona’s request, later because they learnt his value. But if the evil empire needed to dole out a little rough justice on the equally evil, Spike was their man.
He’d given up hoping he would find any sort of solution. At best, he found temporary release from his memories in the cat-and-mouse of the hunt, in the tang of fear in his target and, if it came to it (and it often did), in the animalism of the fight – of fists and fangs and the smell of blood. He drank alone, wearing his brittle, cold anger like a shield. Sometimes, someone would take the risk – drawn to the lean blond with his pain wrapped around him like his duster – but he’d never let them get close. As soon as the job was finished he’d be looking to move on, looking for a new assignment, anything that meant he could keep on not thinking, keep on moving.
Which is why he was sitting here, in a shabby, run-down bar in a shabby run-down town somewhere in eastern Europe, with a fresh set of bruises and someone else’s blood on his knuckles and the memory of the fight bitter in his throat. He did a lot of business in this part of the world; demonkind flourished in the poverty and discontent, and despite everything, the spirit of rebellion was soaked into the psyche of human and demon alike. Wolfram and Hart had to work hard to keep their hold here. The disparate collection of rough, poorly-dressed men and shifty, hard-bitten demons in the bar watched him warily, and no-one went near him. His reputation had preceded him – the fact he was here and not the heavily-built Kvaryl demon chieftain he’d just taken outside only reinforced it.
He sensed her come into the bar. The sudden silencing of the raucous male conversation was a bit of a give-away, too – well, a woman like that was bound to stop the traffic wherever she went. He didn’t turn, just carried on staring down into his glass as she crossed the room to a low, appreciative murmur and slid on to the bar stool beside him in a sigh of tight black silk. There was a general rueful muttering and the odd burst of harsh laughter. The vampire’s girl, huh? Well, they sure as hell weren’t going to mess with that one. Gradually the conversation in the room returned to normal, save for the odd envious glance and whispered comment aimed in the direction of the pair at the bar.
Spike gestured to the barman for two more drinks, fished in his pocket for his lighter then turned to light her cigarette. She watched him carefully, taking in the new bruises on his cheek, the new lines etched around his mouth and eyes. A fleeting frown touched her forehead and she looked away.
“So.” She breathed a long stream of smoke. “Our client was not so ‘appy with our new terms, huh?”
“Not at first.” He shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “I think I persuaded him to see reason.”
“Si, you usually do,” Ilona sighed. She rested her arms on the bar and leaned forward. The movement impressively increased her already dramatic cleavage, Spike could hardly fail to notice – and given the sudden crash of breaking glass, neither could the suddenly distracted barman, it seemed.
Spike grinned. She should really carry a health warning. “So – what’s this, then? Checkin’ up on me?”
“No, not at all. I mean, naturally we want to be sure you ‘ave not had the pretty head smooshed, huh? The Senior Partners are very ‘appy with their new employee, it would… distress them to lose you.” Spike shrugged and looked away and Ilona went on. “But this is not about the business; this is… ‘ow you say… a social visit. The Partners do not know I’m ‘ere.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Thought the old wolf, ram and hart were omnipotent?”
She shrugged. “Not as much as they maybe like to think they are.”
“OK, so, what? You just happened to be passing? Bit off the beaten track. Not even your territory.”
“I was in need of a drink and a leetle company, maybe.” She smiled at him slowly.
“A-ha. And Rome doesn’t have any of that.” Spike shook his head “What are you really here for?”
She looked at him for a long moment. “I am worried about you,” she said eventually.
He wasn’t expecting that, or the sudden pull in his gut at the compassion in her eyes. “No need to be.” He turned away.
“Si, I think there is need to be. Spike, why you do this?”
“The money. The girls. The power. The opportunity to cause damage.” He shrugged. “Much the same as you, I’d wager.”
“The girls I can take or leave.” She gave him a wry smile. “Money you ‘ave always managed to find. The girls too, I think, are…” she let her eyes travel over his body slowly and raised an eyebrow. ” …not a problem. The power means nothing to you. The damage… well, that follows you anyway. So – the real reason?”
He stared down into his glass. “Something to do, isn’t it?” he said eventually. “Because, failing a slayer gettin’ her one good day before I get mine, or us gettin’ ourselves a proper apocalypse, I got best part of eternity ahead of me. And given the whole eatin’ people and causin’ mayhem thing has mostly lost its appeal, what’s a vampire supposed to do with himself? The big, broody, nancy-boy hero of the people role’s been taken. So, I’ll just get a few kicks beatin’ up demons for profit. Gives me a purpose, you know? Reason to get out of bed of a night.” He gave her a lopsided smile.
“And a way of avoiding the things you’d rather no face up to, huh?” She smiled and shook her head.
“You’re my psychologist all of a sudden?”
Ilona chuckled. “You think I should maybe determine whether your ego defence mechanism is displacement or suppression, or whether your ego and id are out of balance?”
“Freud was a tosser,” Spike snorted.
“A reasoned argument!” Ilona laughed. “I think maybe you would find his work appropriate right now. After all, ‘e said we ‘ave only the two drives; sex and aggression…”
“He got something right then.”
“You do not believe it is that simple.”
“Why not? Sounds good to me.”
She gave him a puzzled smile. “Why you pretend to be what you are not?”
“I don’t. What you see is what you get.”
“No.” Ilona shook her head. “Not even close.”
“Why are you doing this?” He looked up at her curiously. “You’ve come all this way. I mean, it’s nice enough here, if you like seedy,” he gestured around the bar, “but it seems an awful long way to come just for sawdust on the floor and bad vodka and a chat about psychology.”
“As I say, I am worried about you.” She shrugged.
“I’m all kinds of fine. So, thanks for calling by.” He raised his glass to her in mock salute.
She watched him for a moment as he swallowed his drink with a grimace and ordered another, the muscles of his jaw tight. “You know,” she said eventually, “I look at you, I see myself. Always in love with the wrong person, huh? Always with the pain and heartache. We Italians have a saying…”
“Naturally,” he snorted.
Ilona ignored him. “’Where there is great love, there is great pain.’”
“Yeah?” he raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, we vampires have a saying, too. ‘Fuck that.’”
She gave a throaty chuckle and touched his cheek. “I think you would like to believe that. But I think you do not. This…“ she took his hand, turned it over in hers and gestured to the blood, “is not the answer to the great love.”
“No? Well it’s the best I’ve got right now.”
“Then I am sad for you.” She closed his fingers on his palm.
“OK – what’s your answer? You look at me, you see you. So, what do you do with the ‘great love’.”
“I learn,” she said shortly. “I move on.”
Spike looked over at her, at the set of her jaw and the flash of hard, ancient pain in her eyes, the sudden vulnerability quickly locked away. He watched her, head tilted, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Yeah? Wanna tell me how?”
She hesitated then finished her drink in a single swallow, the raw spirit not even raising a wince. “Tonight is not the time for my story, I think.” The wide smile was firmly back in place. “Now, where you stay, is a nice ‘otel? A girl needs her beauty sleep, no? Maybe we will find me a room and then we talk some more tomorrow, huh?”
“You don’t need a room.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, pressed his tongue against his teeth. “I got a double.” He had to admit that even to his ears that sounded half-hearted.
She stubbed out her cigarette with a shrug. “There are circumstances when the one night stand is a very agreeable thing, no? Uncomplicated.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Spike sighed.
She smiled slowly. “But not with you. With you, for me it is not uncomplicated. Now,” she stood up and stretched luxuriously, a move that strained the plunging neckline of her dress and caused another round of muted comments and envious looks from the men in the room. “Let us see if we can find me a room.” She leaned down and kissed Spike softly on the lips. “And if you are a very good boy,” she purred running a finger down his cheek, “and carry my bag, I might even buy breakfast.”
Along with the rest of the clientele, Spike watched the deliberate sway of her hips as she crossed the room to the accompaniment of barely suppressed groans of desire. She paused at the door and turned back to him, eyebrow cocked. He shook his head with a snort of laughter, threw a handful of notes on the bar, picked up her bag, and followed her.
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