Chapter Two
I Don’t Do Apologies, Mate
Spike didn’t know where he was going. He just walked. He squinted in the bright light, his eyes unused to its glare. He drew a few strange looks with his snowy white hair and pale complexion. He caught a glimpse of himself – he looked like a ghost. He smiled; no wonder Angel had called him Casper when he had been incorporeal. His mind was reeling.
“Okay, I’m human. Right. Got that. So what do I do about it?”
He shook his head violently.
“Nope. I haven’t got it. This is just too weird. I need a soddin’ drink.”
He stood still and took notice of where he was for the first time. He realised that he wasn’t far from a demon bar that Lorne used to run before the big fight. Old Green Jeans hadn’t been seen since, and Spike hadn’t been in under its new ownership.
He went to walk in and found his way blocked by two huge tuxedo wearing demons.
“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t come in,” said the larger of the two, politely.
“Wot do yer mean, I can’t come in?”
“Well, sir, the club isn’t for your kind, I’m afraid.” Again with the very polite tone that was starting to piss Spike off.
“Isn’t that kind of racist?” smirked Spike, “and since when has a demon bar gotten fussy about who they let in?”
“We haven’t allowed humans into the club ever since the Slayer numbers got increased, sir.”
Spike chuckled, “Well, I’m obviously not a bloody slayer, am I? Something about being the wrong soddin’ sex.”
The demon who had remained silent so far stepped forwards and put a hand on Spike’s chest.
“My colleague has told you. We have a strict no-human rule. Now clear off…sir.”
“Get yer ‘and off of me, yer git,” said Spike, looking down at the enormous scaly fingers resting on his chest.
“Or what, sir?” said the demon, keeping its hand where it was.
“Or I’ll…”
He got no further as the demon pushed him forcibly, lifting him off his feet and smashing him into the wall opposite. Spike slid down the wall, like in a cartoon, all breath knocked out of him. As he lay there panting, and in some considerable pain, the demon strolled casually over.
“Or you’ll what?”
Spike noticed he’d omitted the ‘sir’. He just admitted defeat and shook his head. The demon offered Spike his hand to help him up. He hesitated before taking it but once on his feet he glanced up at the demon and quailed at what he saw there. It was laughing at him. Spike clenched his fists but turned and walked away. The first time he’d avoided a scrap since 1880.
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A few streets away Spike found what he was looking for. A bar. It was suitably seedy and was filled with dodgy looking humans. Some real lowlifes, but Spike didn’t care. He pulled up a stool and sat on it, then reached out his hand but thought better of helping himself to some peanuts from the dish on the bar.
“Double JD,” Spike told the barman, “and don’t go too far away.”
He left a twenty-dollar bill on the counter to keep the barman’s interest. The first was swiftly followed by another and another, and before Spike knew it he was totally wasted.
“Hmm, that’s odd. I normally need to drink much more than this to get pissed.” He felt a pang - another thing that he’d lost. Now he got drunk as quick as a pansy.
“I don’t want to be William again,” slurred Spike, ogling the woman on the next stool. “I’m Shhpike, I want to shhtay Shhpike. That’s okay, ishn’t it?”
He lost his balance a little and put his hand on her arm to keep from falling off his stool.
“Get your damn hands off of her,” snarled a voice.
Spike blearily looked up, “Huh?”
“I said get your hands off my woman.”
“Oh, she’s your woman? I’m shhorry, I thought she was just ‘a’ woman.” He chuckled a bit.
The man put his hand on Spike’s shoulder, “I’m warning you, pal,” he growled.
Spike, still smarting from backing down with the demon, swung his left fist and caught the man on the side of his face. Unfortunately for Spike it glanced off without much effect and the momentum made him fall off his stool.
“Oops,” he giggled as he lay on the floor in a heap, “Oh shite,” he added as the boyfriend hauled him up to his feet by the collar of his duster.
“Take it outside, boys,” said the barman with the calm manner of one who’s seen it all before.
Spike, who stood swaying where the man had put him, looked around hazily.
“Outside? Okay, I can do that. Where’s the door?” He took a few steps one way.
“It’s over here,” snarled the man, roughly spinning him round and pointing him towards the door.
“Oh,” said Spike, struggling to stay upright and feeling distinctly ‘green’.
“Look, Burt, just leave him. He’s just drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing,” said the woman at the centre of the argument.
“Don’t need yer to stick up for me, luv,” snapped Spike, “Come on then, Burt, outside it is.”
He pushed the big man in the chest in a similar fashion to the way the demon had pushed him but he was so unsteady that it had no effect at all. Spike weaved his way out into the alley closely followed by Burt.
“For God’s sake, don’t kill him,” shouted Burt’s girlfriend as the door swung closed behind them.
Burt looked at the man swaying in front of him and with her words ringing in his ears, he offered Spike an ‘out’.
“Look, pal, she’s right. You’ve just had too much to drink. I don’t want to beat you up so why don’t you just say sorry and go home?”
Spike’s reply was another punch to the man’s face. The fresh air had sobered him a little and this time he hit Burt squarely and he staggered backwards.
“I don’t do apologies, mate.”
With a roar Burt came at Spike and soon it developed into a very one-sided fight. Spike took at least two punches to every one he threw and he was still so drunk that half of his shots missed altogether. A vicious jab to his stomach put Spike on his knees, Burt’s kick to his jaw put him out like a light. He followed up with a couple of kicks to Spike’s ribs and went into the bar without a backwards glance.
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Angel paced restlessly about the hotel, desperate for night to fall. Spike had been gone for hours and he just knew that he was in trouble. Angel had wandered through the sewers but knew that Spike would be walking the streets. Hell, why wouldn’t he be out in the sunlight after years of skulking in the shadows? Angel kicked a chair in frustration and cursed as it broke. Not that it mattered; with only the two of them left from his team there were more than enough chairs to go around.
The loss of his friends hit him anew, guilt at including them in his scheme adding weight to his grief. Spike, once he got used to being human again, would leave LA - Angel was sure of it. He’d never liked the place and whether he decided to go to find Buffy in the end or not, Angel knew he’d leave. He hated to admit it but he didn’t want Spike to go. He’d never tell him but he respected him for what he’d done over the past few years. Spike had done a lot of good even before he’d gotten his soul.
Angel glanced at the window - at last dusk had fallen. He walked out of the doors and sniffed the air, trying to find Spike’s scent with his enhanced vampire senses. He caught the faintest whiff of him and jogged along following it, stopping every now and then to make sure he was still on the right path. He wasn’t entirely surprised when the trail led him to Lorne’s old bar. Spike usually tried to find the answer to his problems at the bottom of a bottle. His scent was very strong outside the bar.
“Hey, have you seen a guy? About yay tall,” Angel asked the doorman, or should that be door demons, holding his hand up at his shoulder height. “Bleach blond hair,” he added.
“Yeah, dude tried to get in. He didn’t like our no-human policy. Said we were racists, didn’t he?” said one, both of them laughing at the memory.
“We persuaded him to go elsewhere,” added the second, “He went off that way.” He pointed to the right.
“Okay, thanks,” said Angel.
“Make sure you don’t bite him. Wouldn’t want that hair to be immortal,” laughed the first demon.
Normally Angel would enjoy Spike being ridiculed but he’d just gotten a nostril full of a strong smell of blood – Spike’s blood. So he just waved a hand in acknowledgement and ran down the street as fast as he could.
The alley was pitch dark and Angel vamped up his features to take advantage of the improved night vision that his demonic visage offered. He walked slowly along, looking from side to side. He heard Spike before he saw him, a low groan giving away his position. Angel rushed over to him.
“Christ, Spike,” he muttered as he saw the battered body on the ground in front of him.
Angel knelt by his side. By now the smell of blood was joined by the stench of liquor, confirming Angel’s suspicions.
“Hey, Spike,” he said gently.
Spike groaned again but didn’t move. Angel put his hands under Spike’s arms and pulled him so that he was lying flat out instead of curled up in a ball. He quickly checked him over for injury; he couldn’t find any breaks. When he touched Spike’s ribs he was rewarded with another moan, louder this time, and so he suspected that there might be a crack or at least some bad bruising.
“Better get you home.”
Angel put his arm around Spike and lifted him up. The movement made Spike open his eyes, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Squinting hard he finally recognised Angel.
“Wot are you doin’ ‘ere?”
“Saving your sorry ass again,” grumbled Angel, “Come on and help me, Spike. You can walk.”
“Walk? Yeah, walking,” mumbled Spike and he tried to move his legs in time with Angel’s. He wasn’t much use and Angel ended up practically carrying him home.
Once there, Angel laid Spike on his bed and pulled of his boots. He took off the leather duster and blood stained t-shirt but drew the line at removing his jeans. He knew Spike had a tendency to go commando and that was a sight he could live without seeing.
“Room’s spinning. Angel, make it stop,” said Spike weakly.
“I can’t help you with that, Spike. You shouldn’t have drunk so much,” replied Angel with a smile.
Spike was going to have the mother of all hangovers, on top of his beating. He was about to ask what creature had done the damage when he realised that Spike was either fast asleep or unconscious, whichever way you wanted to look at it. He pulled the covers over him and left him to rest.
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“Uh…my head,” moaned Spike piteously hours later, the slightest movement bringing another bolt of pain. Eventually he managed to sit up, wincing at his sore ribs.
“Way to go, Spike,” he muttered.
It was about another half hour before he managed to stagger from the bed to the bathroom. He held onto the wall to steady himself, glancing at the mirror.
“Bloody hell,” he gasped.
He looked a little different than when he first gazed upon his new reflection. One eye was swollen almost completely shut, and his nose was grazed and bloody. He touched it gently but, although sore, it didn’t appear to be broken. His body ached all over. He pulled off his jeans – Angel was right about the lack of underwear – and climbed into the shower. He ran it as hot as he could possibly bear and when he got out he felt a bit more human. He smirked at the irony.
Spike got dressed and wandered downstairs to find Angel. He was in his office, his feet up on the desk, sipping warmed blood from a mug. The smell of the blood turned Spike’s stomach.
“Mornin’,” he said weakly.
“If you haven’t already noticed, it’s dark outside,” corrected Angel in the tone of voice that never failed to set Spike’s teeth on edge.
“Um…well…evenin’ then,” snapped Spike, leaning against the door frame for support, “I thought I’d slept longer than that.”
“You did. This is the next evening, you moron. I don’t think a concussion constitutes sleeping.”
“Oh.”
Spike decided that sitting was a better option and walked to the chair opposite Angel. He tried to swagger but it was more of a stagger. He flopped down into it with a sigh.
“What was it that jumped you? A Neleh demon? There have been reports of some in town.”
Spike shook his head and then swallowed hard as the movement made him feel queasy.
“What then?” asked Angel, “Has something else moved in?”
Spike almost shook his head again but stopped himself in time.
“No,” he said quietly.
“It can’t have been an Orolon as it would have eaten your head.”
“For God’s sake, Angel, shut up!” shouted Spike, eyes narrowing, “It was a bloke, okay? An ordinary human bloke.”
Angel blinked.
“Shut up!” yelled Spike.
“I haven’t said anything,” protested Angel.
“Yer don’t need to, it’s written all over yer face.”
“So what am I saying then? The prophecy obviously gave you psychic abilities, too,” sneered Angel.
“Bloody pathetic Spike, got beat up by a bloody human. Worse than when he was a soddin’ fledge. That’s wot you’re thinking.”
Angel stared at him again. “Over a hundred and twenty years and you still don’t know me at all, do you? What I am actually thinking is bloody stupid Spike got wasted, caused a fight, and was too drunk to fight back.”
“Oh,” said Spike, “but I’ve fought when I’ve been pissed before.”
“Yeah, Spike, but you’re human now. You’re not going to be as strong. You can’t just go around picking fights.”
“So yer saying that I’m no good in a fight anymore?” retorted Spike.
“No,” said Angel patiently, “Gunn was human and an amazing fighter. I was always happy to have him watching my back. I’m just saying that you need to be a little more careful now.”
“One problem with your little ‘let’s make old Spike feel better’ spiel.”
“What’s that?”
“Gunn’s fucking dead!”
tbc
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BANNER BY DAWNOFMEAuthor's Chapter Notes:
Thanks as ever to Carol for her beta work! :)