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*Sunnydale outskirts, a couple of days later*
The tires screeched, groaned, and squealed, but the hulking car came to a full stop right before smashing into the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign. Spike opened the driver’s side door and stepped out, lighting up as he did so. He looked at the ugly thing he’d barreled over in the past—his grand entrance from when he was soulless—as he leaned against his car and smoked the rest of his fag. Some of his best memories, some of his worst, and some of his most resounding failures had all happened in this seemingly quiet little burg perched on top of the mouth of hell.
He’d also burned to dust while he brought it down around him.
Spike sniffed, cracked his neck, and flicked his still glowing cigarette butt at the garish sign. He was going to do everything he could so that this go-around, with this new and improved entrance, without grand gestures of mindless vandalism, without the ghosts haunting his every step, without the First tormenting him, and without his maker in the picture, would be the one to mark the start of good things.
First things first, though: he was going to say ‘hi’ to a relative.
~~~***~~~
*Angel’s basement apartment, a short while after that*
The door was flung open after the first couple of bangs on it. Spike’s grand-sire looked more like a pissed off Angelus than he did the broody Angel.
“’Lo there, Peaches. Long time no smell.” He made a point of sniffing. “No matter how long you scrub, you can still smell the rat, though, can’t you?” He ducked the punch headed for his jaw, but found himself in a headlock.
“What are you doing here, Spike?”
“Was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by.” A well placed punch, and an even better placed foot and he was free of the other vampire. He was a bit surprised at how easy that had been, but he didn’t dwell on it. “You gonna invite me in, gramps, or do I just barge in like a bog-trotter is used to?”
They snarled at each other for a good minute by Spike’s estimate, until Angel stomped away and sat down on an armchair, leaving the door wide open.
There had been no invitation, but Spike neither needed, nor expected one, so he walked in, closed the door behind him, and took a seat opposite Angel. He made to light up when a growl stopped him.
“Could you not?” Angel made vague gestures toward Spike’s cigarette.
Spike laughed. “Almost forgot. No leather pants, no personality, and an extra heaping of brood means no smoking allowed near his high-foreheadedness.” He made a disgusted face, but put the pack and lighter away.
“Have you come to bow to the Master too?” Angel narrowed his eyes. “Did you and Drusilla receive the call?”
Spike shrugged and talked in a falsely excited tone. “Yeah, sure, you know me: all pomp and circumstance and no play makes Spikey a happy camper.” He waved an arm dismissively. “Using hair gel after a century in the gutter must have burnt out the last of your working neurons. Probably put your nose out of commission, too.” He stood up, arms spread wide at his sides. “Can’t you feel it?”
Angel also stood up and frowned. After a few seconds Spike could see the dawning realization come over him. “You’ve got— but that’s impossible. How—”
He put his hands in his pockets in a fake show of shyness. “Went and proved myself in a bunch of tests and won a lovely prize. Little worse for wear, but it’s one hundred percent, all mine.” He smirked. “And it’s not going anywhere.”
Angel frowned even more, but seemed to dismiss Spike’s last statement. “So it wasn’t a curse?”
“Well, I’m already cursed with good looks and brains, adding a cursed soul would just be cheating.” He winked.
“Why would you do that? Was it because I—”
“Despite what you might think, you’re not the center of anyone’s universe except your own.” Even as he said it, Spike knew it to be a lie. In a very round-about way, his soul had been because of Angel. If Buffy hadn’t bought the line about the soul being the ‘be-all, end-all’ of things to have, he never would‘ve even thought of getting one. Maybe not even after the incident in the bathroom. Of course, he would never own up to such a thing to the vampire in front of him. He’d spent too long trying to crawl from under his shadow to do that.
“So you’re here to what, exactly?”
“Answer asinine questions, apparently.” He smirked. “The reason why I’m in this town is none of your business, but I couldn’t pass up a round of back and forth with my grandpops, could I?”
“I’m starting to wonder, not for the first time, why I didn’t just stake you as soon as Dru dragged you in.”
“Because your unlife would have been so drab and dreary?” He dropped all traces of mirth from his voice. "I came here mostly to warn you."
“O-ho, now I see. What’s the matter? Gone soft since the soul and now you’re scared of a little Hellmouth?” The smile on Angel’s face reminded Spike of Gerard from his human days. A terrible bully and horrible person, it was a service to evolution that ‘Willy the Bloody’ had shoved a railroad spike through his worthless brain cavity before he had a chance to procreate.
“No, you twit. I know the reason you’re out of the gutter and living it up in this…” He made a show of taking the small basement apartment in. “place that I really don’t know how you can afford is a small blond girl.”
Angel’s nostrils flared. “What do you know?”
“More than you could ever imagine, but we won’t talk about that now.” He fixed his grand-sire with his most serious look. “We both know she’s exactly the type the more fun part of you would have gone after.”
“No. She’s so bright and pure and—”
“Special, and with a family that you were going to separate her from, bit by bit. You’d slither your way in every aspect of her life, making her more and more dependent on you, until you’re her entire world and she can’t imagine love without suffering, and life without darkness.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. She’s the—” Angel paused, eyes a bit wide, as if thinking if it was such a good idea to divulge the possible location of a Slayer to the vampire that made his name killing them, soul or not.
“She’s the Slayer, and she has the potential to be the greatest that ever lived.” He shook himself out of the memories those words had evoked. “And you are going to get her killed.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Spike snorted. “I don’t? I’ve seen your handy-work first hand, remember? All those girls you wooed and then destroyed. It wasn’t even that you were a vampire, it was just something you liked.” He hardened his features as much as he could. “And I lived with your crowning achievement for over a century. Drusilla, that bright girl with a shiny future, with parents that loved her, and a strong belief in God. She had a calling, she had a gift, and you took it all from her and twisted it in the worst way. That is what you do, you wanker.” There was spittle flying by the end, but the sheer rage that had built up was overpowering even his soul’s cries for clemency.
Angel looked down. “That was Angelus. I try to atone every day for what he did.”
Spike mimicked one of those buzzers from a game show. “Wrong. It might have worked on some poor bugger who didn’t know his ass from his elbow, but I’ve been there and I’ve done that, mate.” He drew himself up. “I’m the same person I was before I was turned, and the same when I was unsouled, and I’m the same now with my shiny spark. It was me then, now, and always, give or take a conscience.”
“But the soul—”
“Soul, shmoul. I got it thinking it would solve my problems, make me something better, something worthy of—. But you know the only thing this bloody thing ever did for me? It allowed me to burn to a crisp for the woman I love.”
“What’s wrong with Dru?” Angel was getting agitated, which looked strange on him.
“Worried about the homicidal maniac you created?” Despite the hostility, there was still a tremor in Spike’s voice. He hated himself for it just a little, but on the other hand he knew he couldn’t help it. She’d been his everything for so bloody long. “She didn’t take my having a soul a well as she took yours. Was getting ready to go on a rampage and I just couldn’t—” He pinned Angel with his suddenly misty eyes. “She’s gone, man.”
“You? You dusted Drusilla? So much for eternal love, huh?” The fact that he sounded shaken by the news was the only thing that saved Angel from a quick dusting at Spike’s hands. As it was, he chucked it to one more dig against him that he didn’t want to fall for.
“Better than never having been in love, huh ponce?”
“You don’t know me. I’ve changed. I’ve fallen for…”
When no continuation came, Spike decided to do the honors himself. “You what, fell in love with the chit you saw once from afar?” At Angel’s startled look, he smirked and went on. “Yeah, I know more than you, as I said before. But riddle me this, oh great forehead, are you truly, honestly, and really in love with Buffy Summers, or just with the idea that she’ll be your ‘salvation?’ You see, I gave all of this a bit of a think and it added up to her being your favorite prey. Admit it, not to me, not to anyone if you don’t want to, but you, Angelus, are a sexual predator. You were one before you were turned, you excelled at it after the turning, and you’re still one now, even if you cover it with the quest for redemption, and the atonement, and the remorse. You saw a pretty blonde licking a lollipop and it made you hard. As a sexual predator through and through, if it gives you a stiffy, it’s love. Just that your love takes more than it gives, it corrupts, corrodes, and creeps up on the target. You’re going to go after a girl that’s jail-bait in every civilized country in the world and if you keep going you’ll ruin her before she becomes a woman.”
“But she is my salvation. She’ll cleanse the evil from me. Whistler promised it. He works for the Powers, so I think I’ve got the best green light there is. Don’t worry, though, your theory is very entertaining. Now get out.”
“It’s not a theory, mate, it’s fact. Look, I don’t know who told you what, but I bet he told you to help the Slayer and you translated it in your pea-sized excuse for a brain to ‘have.’ Wake up, man. Nobody’s going to send the two hundred and something year old pedophilic vampire to deflower the virgin fifteen year old Slayer and call it star-struck.” Spike felt like kicking something. The look on Angel’s face was all too familiar – he’d made up his mind, and nothing could change that. So he decided to go for broke. “If you don’t leave her alone, and you manage to get in her knickers, the soul goes on a walkabout and it’s ‘hello bloody Angelus.’ The curse that you think makes you the dog’s bollocks can be broken. She can brake it.” Well, actually he was pretty sure it was a lot baser and a lot sicker than that, but Angel could only take that much criticism before he completely shut down and didn’t hear a thing.
“You’re lying. She’s my redemption, not… What’s the matter, Willie, did you catch a whiff of my Slayer and want her all to yourself? Better remember: I don’t like to share.” Angel had drawn himself up in an attempt to become more imposing.
“You know what? Fine, don’t believe me. You could do the smart thing and look up the Kalderash. But knowing you, you’ll just brood some more and convince yourself you’re God’s gift. I don’t care anymore. Come near Buffy with your mind games and all the rest of the shit and I dust you.”
He anticipated the attack, so the dodge was easy to pull off. Also this Angel hadn’t spent the previous few years fighting other demons. In fact the last bit of a scuffle must have been back on the sub with the Jerries.
Spike’s las fight—not bar brawl, nor a quick stalk-and-stake, as there’d been enough of those—had been with the Angel of his time. And he’d won. So he met this shakier, weaker Angel with a whoop and an uppercut. What followed was a good, old-fashioned beating. By the end they were both bruised and bloody, but Angel had definitely received the worst of it. So much so that Spike ended up holding him down, ready to deliver the finishing blow.
He couldn’t do it though. It wasn’t that he felt he owed Angel anything, especially not this version who hadn’t done anything of note to help anyone other than himself. What stayed Spike’s hand was the team Angel had gathered around him in LA, and the good they’d done there. Maybe, just maybe, he could get through the armor-plated forehead of his grand-sire and make him understand his point.
He wasn’t really holding his breath, but he felt he had to try. Maybe the soul did make you more of a sentimental wanker.
“There’s a demon in Africa. You do some trials, he gives you a wish. It’s how I got my soul, so I’m sure he could anchor yours. Or talk to the members of the gipsy tribe who cursed you. Maybe you can convince them to modify the curse and make it so it doesn’t have that happiness clause. I don’t care how, or what, but you have to do something. This is your last chance. Next time you go at me half-cocked, or you start your usual ‘I know what’s best for everyone’ speech, you’re dust.”
With that, he shoved Angel away, uncaring how he landed, and walked out of the apartment. There were still some stops to make.
~~~***~~~
*The Alibi room, later that night*
The kitten poker game was reaching a crescendo. It was down to the final three, with Spike using every advantage he’d gathered over the previous years of observing the same people play over and over, while being a complete enigma to the rest. He’d also managed to keep Clem in the game, with the intention of having him close by as long as possible. The floppy skinned demon was even more of a connection to his past than the rest of Sunnydale, so Spike intended to recreate their friendship as fast as possible.
The shark demon across from him was another issue altogether. He owed a reckoning there, even though the bugger wasn’t technically at fault yet. No matter, sometimes revenge is a balm for the soul.
Two hands later, and Clem was out, leaving only Spike and the literal loan shark at the table. It took two more hands for all the kittens to belong to Spike. As he got up to gather his winnings he noticed a couple of burly vampires he remembered working for his opponent get up.
“Won fair and square, mate. Hope I don’t have to start eating sushi sprinkled with vamp dust, yeah?”
The smile he got in return showed all the other demon’s front teeth. “Of course, what do you take me for? I always make good on my debts.”
“Glad to hear it.” With that he motioned for Clem to come closer. “You can have the whole lot.”
Clem’s eyes lit up. “Whoa, thanks man. Is there anything you need from me in return?”
“Well, I heard you’ve got connections up and down this rat-hole. I’d like to start searching for a place that’s vamp-friendly. No crypts.”
Clem looked a bit askance at the last statement, but shrugged his shoulders and started counting the pot. “So I guess you’re not with the Master, huh?”
Spike snorted. “Not by a long shot, mate.” He looked around at the rest of the bar’s patrons. They all seemed to be minding their own business and nursing their drinks, but any one of them could be an informant. “Just keep it between us though, right?”
“Yeah man, sure, whatever you say.”
~~~***~~~
It was early morning and he was feeling the pull to go to ground and rest. Even after all these years of keeping more human hours than vampire ones, the nights spent hunting his kind and other demons meant he was still mostly nocturnal. He’d tried not to waste any second from the moment he’d stepped foot in Sunnydale, so the hour and a half spent dozing off while he waited around for the other man to come was the only rest he’d allowed himself.
It also gave him a chance to think. During those months spent in Angel’s offices as nothing more than a ghost, he’d learned—perhaps for the first time in his life—to sometimes just sit back and observe, to contemplate, and mostly, to wait. He would still probably choose not to do it given a chance, but he’d found depths of patience he didn’t know he had. He could only hope it would help him not screw everything up.
As his sleep deprived brain was grinding away, his prey finally arrived. Spike watched the other man go about his morning ritual with a bitter smile on his face. He was watching someone about whom he had more than a few bad memories, some of which almost ended in his own dusting.
Still, there was enough good in there, and more importantly, enough potential that Spike had to take the chance. He needed an ally. He also needed someone versed in the supernatural to bounce ideas off of. Hair-gel wonder-boy was out of that picture.
So in the end he gathered his wits and his courage and stalked out of his hiding spot. Watching the other man startle and almost trip over his own feet in an attempt to get to the nearest weapon—the crossbow under the counter made him smirk.
Spike raised his arms in a gesture of peace and stopped a few feet away. “Hullo there Rupert. Got into a bit of a pickle and I need to borrow your ear for a moment.”
Giles was obviously grabbing his crossbow as tight as he could. “And how, pray tell, could I possibly be of assistance. Please keep in mind this is a high school library. Perhaps you are in need of the public library on 3rd?.”
“They also have an active Watcher and former Eghyon worshipper manning the desk?” Spike really enjoyed the shock on the other man’s face.
“How—? Who are you?”
“Well, first of all let me ask you how familiar you are with the butterfly effect.”
“I’ve read a thesis on it when I was in college.”
“Good, ‘cause I think I offed a bloody swarm of them and I’m wondering when the hurricane will hit.” He jumped up enough to sit on a desk without lowering his hands, showing just a bit of his supernatural speed. It was time to tell his story again and hope that Giles—this Giles—would be more inclined to help than the bitter version he’d left behind.





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