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A/N: This part is a wee bit shorter than the previous ones. Sorry about that, but the chapter ended where it wanted to. :) The next installment will be longer, I promise.

Now let’s up the angst, shall we?

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Part Ten

Alone in his hotel room at the Hyperion, Spike couldn’t take his eyes off of the window. There was a young girl on the street below, probably no more than 18-years-old, dressed to stop traffic. That was probably the point, seeing as she was a prostitute. A pretty little thing, she was – big eyes and rounded cheeks. She was pink all over from the chill, blood pumping overtime to warm her diminutive body.

Spike’s stomach growled at the sight.

He was torturing himself, he knew, but he couldn’t stop staring at her. It was his nature to be tempted by the kill, wasn’t it? In his vampire DNA, if such a thing existed. And now that the soul was gone, there was no guilt standing in his way. He could trot downstairs, quench the hunger for violence and blood that was slowly driving him mad, and then pop back into bed without a care in the world.

That’s what he liked to tell himself anyway.

Without a soul, he might be able to stand himself if he took an innocent life – but being able to withstand Buffy’s disappointment in him? That was another matter. He’d seen that look in her eyes before, months back in that dirty basement where she’d taken pity on him. It didn’t matter that The First had made him kill those people – Spike never wanted to see that look on Buffy’s face again. Just about did him in.

Who was he kidding? He still had a soul – and she was sleeping in the next room, blissfully unaware of his inner struggle. He could no more bring himself to hurt the young girl outside than he could hurt Buffy, herself. Because that’s what it would ultimately do – hurt Buffy.

The door opened behind him, interrupting his thoughts, and a shaft of light from the hallway penetrated the darkness of the room. Spike spun around to face the intruder, knowing exactly who it was. Didn’t take a genius to figure out who would come calling at that time of night.

“See anything out there that interests you?” asked a voice from the doorway. “Because it looks to me like you’re two seconds away from going on the prowl.”

“Oh, look who’s shown up,” said Spike, letting the curtain fall over the window. “I’m all aflutter.”

Angel stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Cut the crap, Spike. I want to talk to you.”

“My, how exciting. Usually you just want to play mind games. What’s the special occasion?”

Angel stared at him with unnerving intensity. “She doesn’t love you, you know.”

“Oh, is that all?” Spike snorted. “I could have told you that. Doesn’t matter, though. I love her, and it’s enough.”

“You just think it’s enough,” said Angel, shaking his head in empathy. “You’ll find out later how very wrong you are.”

“Why are you here, Angel?” demanded Spike. “If you’re aiming for a fight, let’s get to it. But at least let me put on a shirt first. Buffy’s got this idea in her head about you, me, and a bottle of massage oil, see. Can’t say I’m as keen on it as she is.”

“I’m not here to fight,” said Angel, his voice quiet and even. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow with incredulity. “If you think you can buy me off, mate, you got another thing coming.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So let’s hear it. And afterwards? You can leave. I like that part in particular.”

“I’m giving you the chance to walk away,” explained Angel with condescending patience.

“Excuse me? The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Buffy tells me you’ve lost your soul,” replied Angel, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feels nice, doesn’t it? To be free from all that crushing guilt? From the memory of the thousands of innocents you’ve murdered? Tell me you don’t love it.”

Spike tensed, a knot of anger burning in his chest. “Get to the point, Angel.”

“Do you really want to go back to all that pain?” asked Angel, approaching slowly until he was looking down at Spike. “Come on, you’re a vampire. You shouldn’t be held down with all that humanity and guilt. Forget the soul. Walk away. Go live your life. I won’t stop you.”

Spike stared at his grandsire in disbelief. “Walk away. Ri-ight. And leave her. That’s the nice little twist you’ve failed to mention.”

“I won’t deny the thought did come to mind.”

“You’re as predictable as dry toast, you know that?”

Angel nodded his head at the window. “I know what you were looking at down there. I saw her, too. You and I would have shared her, once upon a time.”

“Yeah. Once upon a time,” Spike reiterated, feeling more defensive by the second. “Things are different now. I’m different. You’ll do well to remember that.”

“I know you, Spike,” pressed Angel, his calm exterior slowly slipping away. “I know what you want.”

“Piffle. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do, but I have a pretty good idea what you’ll be doing if I took your advice. The minute I step foot out of this building, you’ll be knocking on the Slayer’s door, telling her I’ve run off to murder, rape, and pillage. There’ll be a witch-hunt out for me before the sun rises. No thanks.”

Angel shook his head. “I’d let you go. It’s not a bad offer, Spike.”

“Yeah? Well, you can take your offer and shove it up your arse, if you can find room.”

“Would you just think for once in your life?” snapped Angel. “Not about yourself – about Buffy.”

Spike laughed. “That’s all I bloody well do, you fucking ponce. Why the hell do you think I got the soul to begin with? Why do you think I’m trying to get it back?”

“And what’s going to happen if you do get it back, huh? Don’t roll your eyes at me – listen, for once. I want you to think back to those all those months you had your soul. How did you feel about Buffy then?”

The mocking smirk faded from Spike’s lips as he grew distinctly uncomfortable. His gaze faltered and fell to the ground.

“Didn’t think you were good enough for her, did you?” Angel continued. “Wanted her to be happy, and knew you could never do that for her. I know the feeling, believe me.”

“So, what are you saying exactly?” asked Spike, his voice cold. “That I shouldn’t get my soul back? ‘Cause that’s some pretty fucked up logic you got there.”

“No,” replied Angel evenly. “I’m saying you should either grow the hell up or leave her for good. If you get your soul back, listen to it. Leave Buffy alone. Walk away. She deserves better than you.” Biting the inside of his cheek, Angel kicked at the foot of the bed with his shoe. “She deserves better than both of us.”

“Oh, you are pathetic. Do you honestly expect me to believe you’re not going to try something with her the minute I turn my back?”

“Come on, Spike. Why do you think I came to L.A. in the first place? It certainly wasn’t for the fresh air. There isn’t any.”

“That’s one thing I don’t get about you, Peaches. If you’re so into the denial of self, then why’d you put the moves on Buffy not three nights ago? Why lure her out here when you could have just given her information about the amulet over the phone?”

Angel shrugged. “Just because I can’t have her doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I still want to be close to her. It’s a struggle I go through every day.”

“If you really loved her, you wouldn’t have abandoned her. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“Well, let’s look at you, Spike – if you love her, why do you insist on dragging Buffy down to your level? She’s doing nothing but rolling in the filth that is you. If you had a soul, you could see the truth in that observation. So listen to someone who does have one.”

Spike glanced up wearily at his grandsire, looking unnerved.

“You’re going to crush her when you get the soul back,” continued Angel. “Mark my words. Everything that you felt when you had it is going to come back to you, only a million times worse, and you’re not going to want to have anything to do with her. You’ll do exactly what I did and leave.”

“So I, what?” whispered Spike. “Crush her now? Pull the bandage off nice and quick by leaving, right?”

“It would be kinder than what you’re going to end up doing.”

Spike’s gaze hardened with resoluteness. “I’m not going to let you get to me, Angel. You’re feeding me half-truths, just like you always did. Fact is Buffy and I were warming up to each other long before I lost my soul. And yeah, maybe I was a little scared for her. Maybe I did think I wasn’t up to her standards. Maybe I did almost bolt in the other direction once or twice. But Buffy said she needed me, and I believed her. Listened to her. And if she thinks I’m worth a go, who the hell am I to argue?”

“You’re making a huge mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, feel free to come sing me some I-toldja-so’s if things go to hell. In the meantime, why don’t you piss off?”

Angel blinked at Spike for several intimidating moments before calmly heading towards the door. “You know, for a minute there, I almost thought you really might love her,” he said, right before he slipped out. “Guess you just proved me wrong.”

The door closed with a thud that reverberated in Spike’s throbbing head. Muttering a string of curses under his breath, he twisted the lock into place. Anxious to rid himself of the thought of his grandsire’s untimely visit, he stripped off his jeans and threw himself onto the musty bed – but sleep wouldn’t come to his restless mind. He stared at the grooves in the ceiling, silently counting them so he wouldn’t have to think about everything Angel had just thrown at him.

But the damage was already done, and a shadow of doubt crept into his mind.

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Hovering in front of Spike’s hotel room, Buffy hissed as the hot mug she held burned her. She shifted it carefully to her other hand as she nursed a singed finger in her mouth. “Spike?” she called, knocking on his door for the third time. “C’mon, open the door. I brought you some breakfast.”

There was no answer inside. Frowning, Buffy put her ear to the door and listened. She couldn’t hear the shower running inside, and not even Spike could have slept through her persistent knocking. He wasn’t downstairs when she’d gone to fetch him some blood – so where was he? He wasn’t still angry with her over the separate room issue, was he? She sighed loudly and rested her forehead against the door. “Spike, c’mon…”

She almost didn’t notice the nearly undetectable sound of Angel’s footfalls coming up beside her. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

Buffy scowled at his tidy appearance, put off that he looked so nicely put together at such an early hour. “I can’t get Spike to answer the door.”

Eyeing the steaming mug in her hand with an unreadable expression, Angel shrugged indifferently. “Maybe he doesn’t want to come.”

“But … this is about him. About his soul. He should be involved in the research.”

“We can take care of it.”

Torn over what to do, Buffy hovered uncertainly by the doorway. “I really don’t think we should leave without him.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Buffy. Apparently, he doesn’t want to come out. Not much we can do about that, unless you want to break down the door and drag him out against his will.”

Buffy sighed. “Tempting, what with the way he’s been acting…”

“He’ll get over it,” replied Angel. He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Come on. Wes has gone on ahead of us. He’ll be waiting.”

Still unconvinced that she was doing the right thing, Buffy bit her lip as she kneeled down to set the mug of blood in front of the door. “I’ll be back soon, Spike,” she called, knocking again softly. “Get some rest, okay?”

Silence echoed back to her as she followed Angel to the elevator.

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To be continued.





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