Fred was not above asking for help, especially when someone needed it. Her philosophy remained steadfast in light of anyone waiting to be rescued. And though the situation with Spike was not so hopeless that she thought he couldn’t manage on his own, she worried for him. Two weeks had already passed and little to no improvement could be seen. His scars were healing, yes, and he was more than willing to suffer through whatever test she thought was appropriate. His fever would fluctuate pending on the temperature, and while she was coming closer to finding an antidote, she was worried that the illness would send him into a coma before any serious progress could be made.
Healing him was only a steppingstone.
Which was why she was turning to the voice of reason. Through thick and thin, Angel had been there for her. Rescued her from her cave and brought her from her hell and to the real world again. And true, while he was a little power hungry nowadays, he was hardly the criminal Wesley seemed to think he was.
There was so much going on right now—so much to consider. Every day sprouted new theories, new to-do lists, new methods of leave without attracting too much attention. New suggestions on what it was that a rehabilitated vampire-turned-human needed. What could be done to make the transformation more bearable for him. What, if anything.
Fred had her own opinion, but she kept it to herself. Kept it until it was ready to boil over the surface. Spike needed family. Right now, more than anything, he needed family.
And the only family available to him was Angel.
The entire vampire/sire/childe relationship was something that Fred had shoved indefinitely to the side of her thought process. She knew that Darla had made Angel, who made Drusilla—though; she had still been lodged in Pylea during the entire Drusilla episode of three years prior. She knew now that Drusilla had made Spike—then William the Bloody, and that Spike had obtained a soul by bargaining with a demon. Obtained a soul, it seemed, for the love of the Slayer that Angel had once dated.
It was Gunn that had sat her down to explain the entire thing, which was why—she reasoned—her head still spun whenever the family tree was mentioned. For if Darla was Angel’s mother, and Angel was Drusilla’s father, and Drusilla was Spike’s mother…well, the men of that clan had an Oedipus complex that would give Freud a headache. And then, to top it all off, both had gone and fallen in love with the same Slayer. And both had, at some point, become the only two vampires to ever obtain their souls.
Now, Fred remembered Angelus. Oh, she remembered Angelus. With the year behind them still cooling the tracks; reign of fire, the Beast, Cordelia being the Big Bad and now stuck in a Big Coma, and the mind-warping Jasmine…Angelus stuck out as the memory that frightened her the most.
Perhaps it was because Angelus wore the same face that she saw every day. Angelus provided the first hand knowledge of how vampires with souls differed from vampires without. She had always known on a surface level, of course, but that entire ordeal opened her eyes in ways they never would have by themselves.
The thought that a vampire as soulless as Angelus could have fallen in love as deeply as Wesley related it: wept, bled, sacrificed, cared, consoled, and felt all before the soul came into play struck Fred in a way she had not been prepared for. And for what she had seen since that panicked phone call of a few nights ago, she was more than willing to sacrifice whatever she could to make sure Spike got what he wanted.
And what he wanted was Buffy. A girl that Fred only knew by reputation. A girl that Fred had always associated with Angel’s destiny. Even with Cordelia in the picture, there had been that lingering nag—likely by suggestion from Cordelia herself—that Buffy was the big it for their brooding boss.
Not so anymore. Angel had lost himself in the work at Wolfram and Hart. He was plagued with something no one wanted to name. Wesley said he had allowed the firm to corrupt him, but Fred wasn’t so quick to judge. There were always circumstances. The Angel she knew wouldn’t succumb to the whim of the Senior Partners just because he sat in the big chair. It didn’t happen like that.
Maybe he was worried about Cordelia. Months were gone, and she still wasn’t out of her coma.
Maybe. But until then, idle speculation would get her nowhere. And she needed Angel right now to be a sire. To be family to Spike, even if Spike had claimed the Shanshu prophecy that they had been waiting for Angel to obtain for years.
It didn’t matter. The platinum former vampire had earned it. He had sought a soul against his nature for the woman he was not supposed to love, then turned around and saved the world just a year later. Oh yeah. Spike had definitely wormed into her heart just for being what she had wanted Gunn to be.
What Gunn had nearly been.
Fred stopped in the laboratory before calling Angel’s receptionist to confirm her appointment and took a few minutes prior to leaving to instruct Knox on what compounds he should mix with Spike’s antibiotic. Wolfram and Hart’s amenities were, if nothing else, extremely useful in resources. She had safely discarded three of her five concoctions and had a good feeling about the fourth. It was only a matter of time, and hoping the recently Shanshued vampire had that to spare.
Nevertheless, she was entirely fortunate to have such an able-bodied facility at her disposal. Wolfram and Hart had an unsurprisingly large amount of experience with inter-dimensional illnesses. The catalogs lodged in even the past five years had been an enormous help.
The elevator ride to Angel’s office sent another pang of nostalgia to her heart. She really missed the Hyperion. While never simple, the small, close-knit environment had certainly felt homier than this; a calloused building stockpiled with evil lawyers and a vampire she respected but was learning to fear all over again.
Fred offered a timid wave and a grin as she stepped into Angel’s office. The small part of her that had yet to completely forgo her schoolgirl crush fluttered a bit when he smiled back. There. Wesley was wrong. Deep down, all regardless, he was still Angel. He was still their boss. Angel Investigations had merely…upgraded.
“Fred,” he greeted warmly. “What can I do for you?”
“Well…there’s a bit of a sticky wicket.” She blushed at the look he gave her and glanced down. “You might have noticed that Wesley and I have been taking a lot of personal days. And—”
He held up a hand abruptly. “Fred, whatever you and Wes do…you know how I feel about you two. And I know you’ve been getting work done. This is us, right? Never stopped us before.”
She frowned. “We’re not…Wesley and I, we’re not…it’s not like that. I’m helping him with something. You see…” A deep breath rolled off her shoulders. “You remember a couple weeks back when we got that call about the disturbance down at the bar?”
“What bar?”
“I dunno…just… that bar. And you sent Wesley to check it out?”
Angel sat back, perplexed. “I asked Wes to go to a bar and check out a local disturbance call? Isn’t that a little out of our territory?”
“Yes, but you asked him to go. Anyway, the particulars don’t really matter.” Fred stopped and quirked her head. “Well, they do, actually. They matter a lot. See, something happened that night. There was a prophecy…” She licked her lips. Here came the hard part. Telling Angel that a vampire he hated had Shanshued in his place. A vampire that coincidentally earned his soul for the woman Angel had come to Los Angeles to escape. Was there anything not complicated about this mess? “I…I really don’t know how to say this…”
“Well, if it’s a prophecy and Wes is working on it…” There was a minute there when the vampire’s eyes went dark as though remembering something he would rather forget. “If Wes is working on a prophecy, I’d think—”
“Angel. It’s Spike.” There. Out in three words. Wasn’t so hard. “He’s back, soul included.” Wrong assessment. In two seconds, the look on his face had fallen almost darker than she had ever seen it. Dark and worse; blank. Thoroughly blank as though she had shocked him back to life. And, worse yet, there was more. More that came out in a quickened ramble as her nerves kicked into full-force. “Oh, and did I mention the heartbeat? And the pulse? And the…reflection, sudden appetite, functioning body parts, and ability to take daytime strolls through the park? He’s—”
“He’s human.”
“Yeah.”
“Spike Shanshued.”
Fred smiled nervously and nodded. The blankness in his eyes was beginning to unnerve her. “Again, yeah. And he’s sick. Really, really sick. I have my lab looking at samples of saliva and skin tissue to work out an antidote. Really, it shouldn’t take too much longer. He just has a flu or something from inter-dimensional travel. And a hundred-plus dead body suddenly coming full circle with a heartbeat? That tends to sick the big whammy on you. He was kinda out of it for the first two days or so. Cut himself up pretty bad. Wesley thinks he would have carved his heart out if he could’ve.”
Angel was staring at a point on the wall behind her. He gave no motion to the fact that he had heard anything since he last spoke.
“The point is,” Fred continued, nerves daring to relax a little. “Wesley wants to get him out of the country as soon as he’s able to travel. Forge some paperwork and the rest…he’s going to ask Spike where he kept his, if he did before he, you know…got chipped up and juiced with a soul. Chances are he just ate whoever…but that’s beside the point.” Deep breath. “I’m here because Spike needs someone. He’s going through something really, really hard right now. Something no vampire has ever gone through before. And he needs…well, he’s been asking for…but we can’t really get her right now. He needs family.”
There was a snap at that. Angel blinked rapidly and tossed her a look that could freeze and thaw Hell in the same blow. “Spike has been back for more than two weeks,” he began heatedly, “and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
Fred bit her lip. “I…Wesley thought it’d be better if—”
“Wesley thought.” There was a small, incredulous chuckle at that. “Oh, I see. Wesley thought. Wesley’s just full of bright ideas, isn’t he? Just full of them. Last year it was replace me with Angelus while Cordelia and the Beast danced around in permanent midnight. Year before, he takes Connor, gives him to Holtz, and my son grows up hating me in some hell dimension. And now this!” A violent slam against the desk as the vampire shot to his feet. “This? Wesley’s been—”
“Taking care of someone who needs someone right now,” she barked. “And what are you talking about? Who’s Connor? What son? You lost me around that bend.”
There was a sigh at that. Angel stopped and gained control of himself, holding up a hand. “It doesn’t matter, Fred—”
“The hell it doesn’t! Spike’s sick! I came to you because you’re—”
“Spike’s sick. Spike’s sick.” Angel tossed her an angry glare. “What do you expect me to do about it, hmmm? Take his temperature? Feed him some Campbell’s? He’s human. Not a vampire. Any connection that we had—any family ties that we had—is gone. I can’t do anything. All right?”
“Angel, he needs—”
“What do you expect me to do?”
Fred stammered, stupefied. “Be civil was at the top of the list. I thought that since you know Spike better than anyone and since you are family, whether you want to argue technicalities or not, you might have it in yourself to…you know…be family.”
“And do what, exactly?”
“Well…I don’t know. I guess…after he’s better, help us get out of the country so we can find Buffy? That being a good place to—”
The temperature in the room dropped without warning.
“You want me…” Angel held up a hand as though trying to rationalize her request. “To help my whelp of a grandchilde who has just stolen my Shanshu prophecy to find the woman I was supposed to spend my life with after I’d completed the prophecy and just…accept that?”
Fred frowned. “Since when has it been about Buffy?”
“What?”
“Well, I know she was your—”
“Fred—”
“—but Spike loves her, and he’s sacrificed so much for her. And now he has things to offer and he’s come back from God knows where. He’s sick and miserable and cutting himself and god, how can you not want to help him get to Buffy?”
“It’s simple. Really. Buffy deserves better.”
“Than a man that risked and sacrificed everything to—” Fred cut herself off abruptly, eyes widening in realization as she took in the uncomfortable and nearly seething look on Angel’s face. Her demeanor softened immediately. There were some things she would never agree with, but her friend had sacrificed a good deal as well. Oh yes. The years had known much sacrifice. And she knew then that Buffy had little to do with it. It was the image of Buffy, the promise of Buffy—a woman far from the place that Angel traveled.
But in his world, regardless of what changed, that promise had remained the same.
Now nothing was the same.
“Angel,” she began again, calmer. “It’s the right thing to do. We need to help Spike. He’s sick and he needs her. He’s cutting himself. He just got mojo’ed back from the great beyond after making himself a martyr for her. We owe the world to him…literally.”
“And how many people owe the world to us?”
She smiled sympathetically. “When did it start being about that? He needs help. He needs family.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Angel.” There was a note of finality in her tone. That sort of dreary reservation she saved for last resorts. “What if it was Cordelia?”
His eyes softened. Cordelia.
There it was. Now she had reached him. By invoking the name of the woman he loved now, not the name of a promise he had long ago broken without admitting it to himself. A pipedream he had released. That last hold on his past broken when Sunnydale was destroyed.
Broken far before that.
Cordelia. Spike was Buffy’s Cordelia. A step admitted from the bounds of naïve first love to the second and more potent true love. Spike had died preserving Buffy. Angel would have done the same for Cordelia. Buffy he had loved, but not in the same way. Not in means of forever. And when she had died two years ago, he had not grieved as he thought he would.
Because Buffy was no longer it for him. Cordelia was. Just as Spike was it for Buffy. And Buffy was it for Spike.
Fred’s pulse raced. She had made it real for him.
Now there was hope.
Two weeks had done little good in lessening Spike’s resolve. While his body was wracked with illness, his mind was sharp and determined. He enjoyed Wesley’s company almost against his will—enjoyed that someone who had only know him through the tide of history could be so interested in helping his cause. It didn’t matter, though. Not in the long run. These people were kind and helpful, but they weren’t Buffy.
He didn’t remember what had happened after the Hellmouth collapsed around him. Didn’t remember anything but the burn of where their hands had been linked. The look in her gaze when she told him that she loved him. Fire spreading that didn’t kill. Didn’t hurt. Didn’t hurt as much as those gorgeous eyes had when he rebuked her declaration with warmth in the guise of logicality.
For a minute, it seemed like she had conceded herself over. Tying herself to him with fire. Telling him without words, with emotions they had waited forever to share, that she wouldn’t live in the world without him in it. That if he was going to close the Hellmouth, she would be right there. By his side. She would share his journey through darkness and hold his hand all the while.
It seemed far beyond believability that Buffy would have ever considered doing such a thing for him. But her eyes had told him that. In that instant, she had given him more than anyone else ever had. Her love burning through him—linked hands sharing the fire. He felt it. Felt her reserve and her penance. Felt everything he had waited so long to feel. But in that ending second where he had a choice, he refused to be that selfish.
He wanted to keep her with him, but she was not one to be kept. His Buffy belonged to the world.
So, in the end, he had given her back. In seconds, wiser than ever before.
And then nothing at all.
He was back now. Back in a body that hurt. In a body that ached with a soul that wept. It was so bright. So sharp and violent. He was surrounded by noise—the reality of reality was too much to grasp. There was nothing in this world for him. How he had survived this long, he had no idea. How he had survived at all before was, in itself, beyond him.
Buffy had told him this once. Told him how unbearable the world was after knowing peace. But she had been in Heaven. She remembered something other than this. He didn’t. Even his memories were wracked with a feeling of insurmountable insecurity. And God, he needed her to help him get through it.
His cuts were healing. He needed new cuts.
“Good news,” Wesley said as he entered the bedroom, snapping his cell phone closed. The past two weeks had seen little time outside these walls; the former Watcher had graciously handed over his bed and his clothing as if there was no question in the matter. Spike toyed with the dry notion that he was the replacement Angel; a redemption case for the Watcher types to study. He disliked the thought immensely, but wasn’t about to snub kindness…regardless of the motive. “That was Fred. She believes she has finally concocted the right antibiotic in her laboratory to neutralize the fever.”
Spike smiled wryly. “’Bout bloody time.”
He hated the sickness more than anything. It had been too long since he knew disease, and since reemerging from the Big Sleep in human skin, that alone had nearly killed him all over again. Were it not for the promise of Buffy, he wouldn’t bother to try.
It wasn’t as bad as it had been, of course. He could talk now with much less strain. Could even walk around if he wanted to. It was a general consensus that as little movement, though, would help him heal.
“After you’re better,” Wesley continued, “we will start looking at travel options.”
“Thought you knew where she was.”
There was no questioning the she in that statement.
“We do. But that does not mean we can simply hop a plane and have that be that. You’re human now. We would need passports, identification, the proper papers, money—”
Spike nodded. “An’ here I thought bein’ tapped in to the greatest evil on the planet would at leas’ have its benefits.”
“We are not going to Wolfram and Hart for help.”
“Why not?”
“You know perfectly well why not. I believe it was you who lectured me on the matter.”
A sigh rolled off the former vampire’s shoulders and his head lulled back. “Bloody wanker picks the absolute worst times to listen to me.”
Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “Did you or did you not—”
“Yeh, yeh. I did.” Spike fidgeted uncomfortably. “Don’ have to rub it in. But ‘f granddaddy Peaches is really runnin’ the show like you said, ‘s not so—”
The other man shook his head conclusively. “Angel cannot know,” he said. “I’ve read enough about the rivalry between you two to know that he would not react favorably at the notion that you have essentially robbed him of any lasting chance of retaining humanity. For years, he worked solely to fulfill the Shanshu prophecy. And now—”
“Now he’s runnin’ Evil Incorporated. Sounds to me like he’d already given up.”
“Now—”
“An’ ‘f he hadn’t, there’d be no reason why you’re hankerin’ to get overseas as much as I am.” Spike paused cautiously. “An’ why you’re takin’ Fred with you. Gettin’ her as far away from dear ole daddy as possible.”
Wesley shook his head. “I’m not afraid of Angel,” he said sincerely. “There has been too much there for me to ever really fear him. Perhaps once when I was younger and…less wise to the ways of things. I wasn’t even too terribly afraid of Angelus when we met. You cannot fear Angelus and expect to live.”
There was a snort at that. “Oh right. You an’ the mystics brought out the wanker last year, din’t you?”
“We thought it was for the best.”
“Yeh, an’ I’m Ed McMahon.” Spike chuckled and shook his head. “You don’ release the one vamp in history that made the big uglies quake in the knees for the best. There’s always another option.”
Wesley arched a cool brow. “Did I detect a smidgeon of jealousy in that, or is it the fever talking?”
“Me? Jealous of Angel?” Another snicker. “I thought you said you’d read our history. There’s never been anythin’ but jealousy between us.”
“And you wonder why letting him know of the Shanshu prophecy is a bad idea.”
“Don’ rightly care ‘f he’s hurtin’, mate. I jus’ wanna get to my girl.”
“She’ll be there, Spike. Time has moved differently for us.” Wesley shook his head. “For you it’s been forever. I don’t presume to know how inter-dimensional travel affects one’s psyche, but I suspect that it seems forever has passed. It hasn’t. It’s barely been any time at all. Buffy will be there.”
There was a cool confidence in the former Watcher’s tone that unnerved him. Spike knew the universe too well to gamble on absolutes. She would be there, yes, but would she want him?
Warmth. Fire. I love you.
No you don’t. But thanks for sayin’ it.
Words, words, words.
Wesley turned to his dresser and started rummaging through clothes that were no longer his. There was the promise of that. When this was over, they were leaving everything behind. “I’m leaving because I am not strong enough to fight Wolfram and Hart,” he said a few minutes later. “I wasn’t when Angel was with us, and I certainly can’t hope to go against him now. I believe that he believes working there is the right thing…that he’s focused his priorities on the right thing. But you cannot make a deal with the devil and not expect there to be a loophole down the road. Mine will catch up with me one day. My contract forged to bind me to them forever…lose my soul like Lilah did. I can’t erase my shadows, Spike, but for a while, I can stand on top of them. Get the better of them long enough to fight like hell before it’s over.” He turned around slowly. “And for a while, I can try to do what’s right. I can get you out of the country and help you get to what you have earned. I can try to save Fred, too. But I cannot save myself.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “It will end up destroying me.”
Spike just watched him for a few minutes, unaware of what to say. There was a sort of a universal respect for despair that he was well acquainted with. The look in the other man’s eyes had told him as much from day one. They all had their demons to bear. All of them. He didn’t know yet what Wesley had been through, but he would wager his humanity on the violence of it.
But the former Watcher didn’t want pity. That much was evident in his delivery alone. So he nodded and fought the instinctive swarm of reassurances that always carried Buffy’s voice while locked in his head, and nodded. “Bummer.”
“Yes,” the other man agreed wryly. “It is, isn’t it?”
They shared a look of mutual amusement, however dry. The serenity of the moment spoiled by a tentative knock at the front door. Wesley excused himself wordlessly. It was no surprise when he returned with Fred at the heel.
“Dr. Burkle here to cure the un-undead,” she chirped cheerily as means of salutation. She looked professional; lab coat still on her shoulders, a briefcase clutched in her grasp. And Spike didn’t miss the adoring look that overwhelmed Wesley’s eyes for a few brief seconds. Right. The bloke had it bad.
“I have a delivery for a Mister—”
Her jollity humored him, but he was in no mood to drag this out. Spike sat up and nodded shortly. “Right. Do I drink it or you gonna shoot it up my arm or what?”
The sun in Fred’s eyes dimmed slightly, but she nodded her understanding. “It’s a shot. I need your left arm, please. Are you allergic to anyth—.” Her voice cut off abruptly as she caught his look. “Oh, right. Well, I brought a load of other antibiotics in case you have a violent reaction to the medication.”
Spike arched a cool brow. “Define violent reaction, pet.”
She waved dismissively. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that. Here. Give me your arm.”
The procedure lasted only seconds. She swathed his skin in alcohol and delivered the injection with all the means of a professional. The former vampire was almost surprised when the infliction hurt. He had been such a pansy to pain as a human; not something he was looking forward to rehashing. And while Fred very obviously saw the wince as the needle made contact, she kindly avoided making mention of it.
The medication was already working as she bandaged him up. Then she handed him a lollipop and scribbled a prescription onto a legal pad.
“You’ll want to take this two times a day for about a month,” she said. “I gave you enough to get you through two weeks. Take this to a pharmacist in Rome when you get there. Some of the stuff is black-markety, but I wouldn’t worry too much.”
Spike fought off a grin, studying his lollipop with barely-guised bemusement. “You are too much,” he said, smiling fully when she blushed.
“Oh,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it. And you can have the pharmacist put that into pill form. The injection’s only necessary for the first dosage. Gets your body fully acquainted with the medication. Everything else…” She demonstratively flipped her briefcase open and tossed him a small container full of rattling pills. “Is right here.”
Wesley stepped forward at that, no longer trying to hide the warm glow of love that radiated behind his gaze. He smiled affectionately at her when she looked at him for approval, but there was something else there that unhinged the former vampire to no end. The nasty but inevitable but clause that manifested in all transactions. “Ummm, Fred,” he said softly. “I couldn’t help but notice you said… when he gets to Rome. I didn’t realize we had finalized any arrangements.”
“We have,” she said, reaching into her briefcase again. “I know what you’re going to say, but I made an appointment with Angel today.”
Both men froze and stared at her.
“He knows?” Wesley’s voice was small and dangerous.
“He knows.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell…”
The other man was not nearly as passive. “Fred! I thought—”
“I know, I know. And you were right…at first.” Fred licked her lips and pulled the other surprise out of her briefcase and handed it to the former Watcher tentatively. “I double-checked everything just to be on the safe side. It’s legitimate. All of it. The passports, the papers, the ID. And he’s forwarded us two hundred thousand dollars to make sure there are no medical emergencies.”
The former vampire could not believe his ears. “What? Peaches is…”
She nodded and smiled softly. “He’s helping.”
“An’ he knows—”
“The prophecy’s shot to hell? Yeah, he knows.”
Spike’s brows perked. “I’ll be damned.”
“Not today, mister. I just dosed you up on the most expensive and probably most illegal medication you can get in California.”
He smiled in appreciation and his insides laced with hope.
Buffy.
It was really happening. He was going to Buffy.
“I still don’ understand, though,” he said slowly. “Why—”
Wesley moved at that, finally tearing his eyes away from the piece of paper that had enraptured his attention since Fred handed it to him. He glanced to the former vampire with calm pensiveness. “Here,” he said. “I believe that sums it up.”
Spike held his gaze for a long, perplexed moment before glancing down.
It did. It more than summed it up. It explained everything.
Everything.
Spike,
Take care of her. You know what happens if you don’t.
That much was typed on a professional legal sheet. Cold and unfeeling, and it wasn’t what caught his eye. What took his breath away.
That lay at the bottom in very familiar penmanship.
Because of Cordelia.
- Angel.
He knew what had happened, then. What Fred had done. It was a time for understanding. And perhaps after a century and a quarter, he and the overbearing ponce finally understood each other.
Perhaps.
To be continued in Part Four: The Ivory Green…