Previously: Angelus is on his way to Sunnydale, searching for the one person he thinks is capable of restoring his soul. Spike is getting better after taking blood from Buffy and everyone is just in a sort of holding pattern. This picks up immediately after the last installment.
Book Two, chapter 15. A hard day’s night.
O that a man might know
the end of this day’s business ere it comes!
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. i
This day I breathed first – time is come round,
and where I did begin, there shall I end.
My life is run his compass
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. iii
Spike was sitting up in bed, his injured right arm propped up on a pillow, Buffy on the bed next to him, their heads close together, voices low and muted. She’d left the door open partially, but Wesley knocked anyway, pushing it open further when Buffy responded, then stepped aside to allow Tara entry.
“Oxford.” Spike looked up at his fellow Englishman, noting the bloodshot eyes and fatigue. “Glinda. Where’s the wolf?”
“Went home to get some sleep” was Tara’s soft spoken answer.
“How are you feeling?” Wesley took catalog of the visible injuries. This did not bode well. But it was encouraging that he was up and talking.
“Been better.” Tara came round to the far side of the bed, looking closely at his swollen face. Smiling at Buffy, she glanced at Spike, asking, “may I?”
Cocking his head to the side, the vampire looked at the witch, “gonna work some good mojo?”
Shaking her head yes, Tara motioned for him to lean forward into her hands. Muttering a soft incantation, Tara’s hands warmed considerably, the heat passing into Spike’s skin. The bruises around his eyes faded to yellow and those on his chest lightened considerably. Taking a step back, she smiled again. “I’ll do it again in the morning.”
Spike smiled in response, gratitude evident despite the pain.
Motioning her to the chair, Wesley leaned against the crib, remarking, “you sure this is the best place for the baby? You need your rest.”
“Should be up an’ around this time tomorrow. Won’t be completely healed, but I’ll be on m’feet.” The blond pair on the bed studiously avoided looking at each other and both were surprised by Wesley’s next words. “So I can assume Buffy’s blood is helping greatly then?”
Two pairs of glittering eyes stared at him, but Wesley was already gesturing at them, “relax. I meant no censure. It was merely a statement of facts. You had to have some thing more potent than regular human blood. Given your relationship, to find otherwise would have been more of a surprise.”
Spike’s low growl sounded in the room, prompting Wesley to once more apologize. “I’m very sorry. Watcher training is sometimes hard to overcome.”
Laying a hand on Spike’s arm, Buffy said, “its still kind of private for us. Not everyone would be so practical or so non-judgy.”
And that was a nice way of saying that most of her friends wouldn’t approve if they knew.
“Right then. I’m sure this isn’t why you wanted us up here. My guess is Angelus?”
“Yeah. Last time he got all stalker-guy. Got into my room. Left creepy hand-drawn pictures of me sleeping and lots of other stuff – dead flowers – he killed Willow’s fish . . . “ Buffy ran through the list of his actions in her head, ‘things kept getting scarier and scarier and he tried to kidnap Mom. But then he killed Jenny and well, this part wasn’t real but we all remember it that way – he took Dawn, but Spike brought her back, before he could get to her.”
“He was busy tendin’ to Rupert. Was savin’ the bit for after.” Spike waited for a minute,
“point is, he’s not comin’ the way I would – he’s gonna try an’ pick us off one at a time.”
Wesley interrupted, “any idea which of us might be first on his list?”
Reaching over to clasp Buffy’s hand, Spike thought for a moment. “No way of knowin’. What’s more important, he need to decide about restorin’ the soul.” He knew he didn’t care one way or the other, save that dusting Angelus left him as the head of the Aurelius line, Spike knew it mattered to Buffy and possibly Angel’s crew.
Picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans, Tara added, “I don’t have the spell, Willow does. I could ask her but I’m not sure she’d give it to me. We might have to find it ourselves.”
“Its too early to call Giles, to see if he can get anything out of the library that might be helpful.” Wesley double checked his watch, mentally calculating the time difference. “But he’ll be up in a couple of hours, I’ll call him before I retire for the night.”
“What about minions?” Buffy asked but Spike was shaking his head.
“Doubt it. He did it last time an’ all he got was trouble from them. He’s too long away from runnin’ a nest for it. It’d be easier to do what he’s already done.”
“What’s that?” Wesley had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, trying hard to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly exhausted.
Spike sighed, reluctance a clear emotion. “Used the Sire’s bond, an’ seein’ how he’s the head of the blood line, we all felt it.”
That woke him up. “So you’re telling us that Sunnydale is about to be over-run with Aurelian vampires? And you aren’t fit to fight?”
“Easy Oxford. Nearest Aurelian is me, an’ I’m not answerin’ any call Peaches sends out. Now or ever. ‘Side from me, Dru was in Brazil, Penn’s dead and there’s a few others, but it’ll take time before anyone gets here. Don’t imagine that we’re gonna have to worry ‘bout the others before, well, at least a week.”
Tara gripped the chair arms. “So we have a little than a week before Angel starts – what about the Huntsman?”
Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “with any kind of luck, he’ll get what he’s here for and leave.”
Wesley shared a look with Spike. “That’s one of the things Rupert’s gong to London for, to find information about the Huntsman. Hopefully his research will support my theory.”
“What’s that?”
“That the Huntsman won’t leave until the traitor is judged.”
“The traitor?” An unbidden image of Willow flashed in Buffy’s brain and unknowingly it also surfaced in other’s heads.
“Once the traitor begins to . . the process of betrayal, the Huntsman usually appears, and when the final act of betrayal is complete, traditionally that’s when the Huntsman strikes. The hounds retrieve the traitor, and they go before Gwyn ap Nudd for judgment.
“So your theory is that the Huntsman is here to actually do some good? What about all those dead girls?” Buffy’s voice held a bit of disbelief, but it was clearly more of a procedure than real.
“That, I believe, was in response, in payment for releasing you from heaven.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cordelia was more than halfway to San Francisco when she abruptly changed her mind about her destination. Checking her rearview mirror, she made a quick u-turn and headed back toward Los Angeles. If she was going to hide out and be inconspicuous, she was going to do it in a warmer spot than northern California. San Diego was good. Tijuana might be better.
Either way, she was guaranteed more sunlight than San Francisco would provide and right now, sunlight was her new best friend. Glancing down at the gas gauge, Cordy figured she’d stop for the night at the next exit. There was no way anyone would find her there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The kitchen was empty when they finally headed inside, dirty dishes piled in the sink and food warming on the stove. Dawn could hear the low murmur of voices in the living room, but she couldn’t tell who was in there.
Grabbing a plate, she motioned for Casey to get one, then started piling spaghetti on her plate. She was really hungry and the events of the last twenty-four hours and the emotional roller-coaster were beginning to tell on her. She was tired. Really tired.
They had just sat down at the counter when Anya strode into the kitchen. The baby was mewling loudly, his I’m-hungry-feed-me-now cry piercing the silence. “I don’t know what to do for him. He just started crying.”
Before Dawn could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs and Buffy’s rapid words were countered by Tara’s slower drawl. “So that worked well didn’t it? Way better than one of those baby intercom thingies.”
‘Well, I forgot I had it in place. But yeah,” and Tara’s proud smile lit up the room, “its pretty cool. It was only on an emergency basis though. Should wear off sometime tomorrow.”
“Hey. How’s the hungry boy?” Tara smiled at Anya, motioning for the baby, which the ex-demon reluctantly relinquished, despite his wails of hunger.
Anya watched Buffy and Tara, one holding the baby and the other getting his bottle ready and uncaring of the two teens in the room, burst into tears. Grabbing the sponge, Anya did what she always did when she was upset, she cleaned.
Unsure of how to approach her, but knowing somehow that Anya needed to talk and figuring that she desperately needed a friend, Buffy motioned the two teens inside. “Anya?” The slayer stood at her side, while Tara stuck her pinky in the baby’s mouth trying to calm him a little while they waited for his bottle to heat.
“I just don’t understand, how come its not okay to talk about things when other people are around? How come? Is it wrong? Am I thinking incorrectly?” She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of foamy bubbles across her face, “and why would that make him angry enough to do that?”
Neither of the other two had an answer, but at this moment Anya wasn’t really looking for one. “Babies are cute and warm and fuzzy and cuddly and holding them is wonderful and sometimes they smell so sweet and what is there not to like?”
Tara grabbed the bottle from the pot, testing it against her wrist, then stuck the nipple into Connor’s mouth, which gave her enough time to come up with “I think men don’t feel the way we do about babies – or at least some women do.”
“I’m not even sure I want to marry that man right now. He asked me you know.” She blew out a breath, disturbing an errant curl that was drooping across one eye. “He even got me a ring, but I just don’t know.”
Buffy finally found her voice. “Xander asked you to marry him?” She paused, thinking hard, “when? How come you didn’t say anything?”
Anya huffed again, blowing out another breath hard enough to disturb the mound of soap suds in the sink. “He asked me the night we,” she paused, avoiding Buffy’s suddenly earnest gaze, ‘the night we fought Glory.”
“Oh” Buffy’s face fell a bit, but she recovered quickly, “still, this is happy news, right?”
Anya’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t know anymore. I’m just not sure.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clarion of alarm echoed in their room, startling them all. Spike’s “what the bloody hell?” Was drowned out only by Buffy’s unintelligent yowl.
Tara waved a hand and the noise stopped. Sheepishly she apologized, “sorry. I did that last night for the baby. Its supposed to sound when he’s in a different room from me and crying. He’s probably hungry.”
Buffy got up from the bed, saying, “well let’s go get him,” and turning back to Spike, “you want more blood now?”
Thinking to himself for a minute, realizing the more he drank now, even regular stuff, the quicker he’d heal, Spike said, “yeah, please, kitten.”
“Back in a bit.”
The girls were out the door and halfway down the stairs, voices trailing behind them before either Brit realized it.
“I would have thought Buffy had no interest in children.” Wesley’s dry observation pulled Spike’s attention away from contemplating his blanket and his thoughts.
“Tha’s an infant. Bit different from children. Babies, all females go crazy over ‘em.” Spike’s assessment was nearly as dry as Wesley’s had been.
Wesley shifted, taking the chair Tara had just vacated. He was rather reluctant to broach this subject, but he’d come to think that he and Spike had something of a friendship and he felt compelled to discuss some things with him. But he really didn’t want to disturb his recovery.
Spike, for his part, was watching Wesley, waiting for him to spill whatever it was that had him looking so sour. He was about to prod him a bit when Wesley broke his silence.
“I owe you an apology Spike.”
A furrowed brow, oddly reminiscent of Spike’s vampiric guise met his words. “How so?”
“Bringing Angel’s son here. It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have.”
His further comments were cut off when Spike interrupted him, “what’re you on about? Couldn’t rightly go elsewhere could you?”
He gaped at the blond for a second, then recovered, “bringing the child of Buffy’s former boyfriend isn’t exactly good form.”
A rather inelegant snort sounded in the air. “You git.” He softened the insult with a laugh. “Thinking wrongly on that one. ‘S not a problem. But thanks for the apology. ‘S not many that would.”
Before Wesley could get on that subject, Spike continued, “sides, where else were you thinkin’ of goin’? You know a whole lot of people with enough knowledge of Peaches to keep the sprog safe?”
Gazing at the other man and completely surprising himself in the process as well, Spike said, “did the right thing, Oxford. Can’t have Angelus killin’ his own flesh an’ blood. Killin’ demons is different, vamps are different – that sprog’s a bloody miracle. Shouldn’t die because his da is wrong in the head.”
Staring at him and trying to process what Spike had just said, Wesley was forced to a realization that both Buffy and Giles had already had to acknowledge. William the Bloody was far from the average vampire.
His mouth was open and the words flowing out in an uncharacteristic moment, long before he could take them back, “that’s not the chip is it? That’s. . . You don’t think Angel would come after the boy? “
“‘S not what I said.” He stretched his legs for a moment, testing the healing, “he’ll come after the boy. He’ll come after all of us. ‘M probably first or second on his list, tied up with the slayer. Jus’ dunno which of us he’s gonna come for first.”
Wesley steepled his fingers, thinking deeply. “You have ideas who else will be a target?”
“You. The sprog. Niblet. An’ then there’s the extras, ones he’s not lookin’ for specifically, but wouldn’t mind takin’ jus’ to worry the rest of us, make us scramble tryin’ to rescue whoever it was.”
‘Add Cordelia to that list. And probably Fred.” At Spike’s quizzical look, Wesley explained, “Winifred Burkle, we rescued her from Pylea when Cordelia got trapped there. She’s been with us ever since.”
“Didn’t know the cheerleader was that important to him.” Spike shifted on the bed, his muscles jumping and flexing from the healing and his arm was itching badly again. Obviously the morphine was wearing off. Might need more if he was going to try and sleep tonight. He was tired and nearly every inch of him hurt. Tara’s touch had helped some and he thought the swelling was down, but the dull ache in his head was back, his right arm was actually jumping, the muscles were anyway, his back ached and his chest was itchier than all hell and his legs kept cramping on him. This was a bitch, the side effect of rapid healing was the internal violence with which it occurred. There was no bloody way he was going to get through the next twelve hours without nearly all the morphine.
“Oxford, have Buffy bring up the morphine, would you?”
Wesley studied him for a moment, noting the drawn and exhausted look, the grey tinge to Spike’s normal pallor and the lines of fatigue bracketing around his mouth, realizing what he was seeing.
“Right. I’ll send her up and get everyone else settled as you said, this can wait a bit. Besides Angelus can’t get in here, so we are safe for the moment.”
Spike closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the pain blossoming in his head after Wesley left the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He passed the State Highway patrol officer doing eighty-five just before the Sunnydale exit. For half a mile he ignored the lights and sirens, but he finally stopped at the off-ramp. Wasn’t like he cared much, but he really didn’t want a passing motorist calling in a complaint about a dead CHP officer on the side of the road. Because that would mean he’d have to ditch the Viper. And he really liked this car.
Angel waited until the cop leaned down to ask for his license and registration and then struck with cobra swiftness. His fangs were in the cop’s neck before he finished speaking and the taste of anger and authority was so delicious, he was drained and dumped in short order.
He rolled into Sunnydale just after nine, according to the Viper’s clock, time enough to establish his presence, let people know he was here.
Angel grinned, slowly driving through the streets of this sleepy little town. Sleepy. Hah. Pulling into the driveway of the old mansion on Crawfurd street, Angel grinned once more. He really did like this place. Liked its proximity to – well – the hellmouth, and the Slayer and. . . . well, everything.
Whistling tonelessly Angel sauntered to the doorway.
Oh yeah it was good to be home.
Grinning broadly, almost laughing in anticipation, Angel crossed over the threshold and howled with pleasure.
Okay, unlike that last chapter, this one I actually liked, but that means probably no one else will. In any case, if you like it or hate it, please let me know. Coz, I'm really not sure.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
[A/N: I spent so much time agonizing over that last chapter, and I kept taking out and adding stuff, then finally I just wrote and dammit, I realized that I had more than enough for a chapter and had pretty much started on the next one. So I guess the frustration levels are abating all around. The title is from those four English guys again (oh c’mon there’s so much there to pick from) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]