Nature's got rules, and nature's got laws
And if you cross her, watch out!
It's the monkey's paw
Wes pushed his glass of iced tea toward the center of the table and looked intently at Spike. "Sooo... you didn't, I warrant, tell Angel about this... event... that drove you to get the soul?"
Spike winced. "Figured it was safest not to, and there's more to it than just, you know, that."
Fred raised her eyebrows, her lips shaped into a doubtful little O.
In the harsh fluorescent lights of the all-night diner, Spike looked so haggard and sad that Wes felt sympathetic, despite the story he'd just told them. It would be easy to get self-righteous and accuse Spike of making excuses, but Wes knew all too well how simple it was to become subsumed by rage, to let anger or desperation overpower you into making horrifying mistakes. Even when you cared deeply for the person you were hurting. Judging by the violent history he'd had with Buffy, Spike would have been a dreadful judge of how far was too far to go. "And Buffy? Do you think she'd really forgive you were you to return home, a changed vampire?"
Spike pushed the parsley around on his plate and looked out the window. Not much to watch outside at 3:15 a.m. but the winos stumbling along in the parking lot, looking for cigarette butts. "I have no bloody idea." His voice was distant, as if he wasn't really answering the question but carrying on an internal dialog that had nothing to do with them. "Can't blame her if she only wants to kill me. But from what Rupes said, I may hate myself far worse than she does."
Out of the corner of his eye, Wes saw Fred hang her head, embarrassed. She dropped some water from her straw onto the bunched up paper covering, and they all watched it uncurl like a snake. At times he was still haunted by what had happened when Billy's hatred had infected him, scarred by knowing how easily he could have hurt, maybe even killed, Fred in his delusional state. And undone by how tenderly she had forgiven him afterwards, so generous and caring. It was why her later rejection of him in the hospital had been so devastating, when the circumstances had been so different, less personal. Wes wished he knew how to tell Spike that he understood, both the situation and Spike's pain at his actions. To offer him some comfort that not all hope was lost; only Wes wasn't sure he knew Spike well enough yet. It seemed as if Spike wanted to do right, to atone, but his past with Angel suggested so much otherwise. Everything around Spike appeared contradictory and confusing, so it was easier to simply focus on Spike's primary goal and let that be the catalyst for their discussion.
This whole situation was absolutely fascinating. Wes had searched through the few books at AI to see if he could find any information about a vampire being returned to life, but so far, he'd found nothing; he was certain that if he looked further, he'd still come up blank. Spike seemed so calm, sort of resigned to it, but finding a solution was the first thing Wes had felt excited and positive about since he couldn't even remember when. There would be enough journal articles for years once he was done with this.
Now playing with her pancakes, Fred looked up at Spike, then made a valiant attempt to change the subject, backing away from the more emotional area they'd stumbled into. "Angel told us something a little strange, when you were upstairs."
"Oh? What's that?"
"He said... you tasted funny." Wes looked at Fred in embarrassment, and Spike guessed that wasn't the only thing Angel told them.
"Tasted funny. That's a new one on me. Never complained before how I tasted, back in the day." He smiled ruefully at memories that perhaps he should regret, but didn't, really.
"You... he..." Fred stared at him, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. She tried again. "He's bitten you before?"
"Ohhh yeahhhh. Among many other things."
Wes's fork hung suspended in mid-air. Fred gawped.
Oh. So apparently Angel didn't tell them anything else. "Ah... clearly I have rather indiscreetly strayed into a large grey area here. I gather Angel never gave you the Interpersonal Dynamics of Vampires in Groups lecture?"
Her face had turned red as the vinyl booth seats and she stared down at the table, shredding her napkin. Wes cleared his throat repeatedly, before answering, "Ah, no. Apparently this was something he chose to keep to himself. Rightly so, rightly so."
"How 'bout we change the subject then, right now?"
"Works for me," Fred muttered. She looked up under her brows toward the window, as if someone would come in and rescue them. Spike kept forgetting that you couldn't just say things to people. You had to carefully consider it, worry over whether you were saying too much or too little. It was all too fraught.
"So, what is it you two had in mind, then? What do you mean when you say you want to run tests?"
"Based on what Angel said and judging by your appearance, you may have come back in some kind of altered state. We could do a few tests and see what we can find." Wes's face was still scarlet, but he was pretty good on the backswing, Spike had to give him credit for that.
"Like...." Spike prompted. He had visions of sitting in a sinister chair with electrodes and wires attached to his parts, electricity crackling all around.
"Oh, the usual," Fred answered, all perky and robust. "Blood, DNA, body fluids. A kind of homemade CT scan. Magnetic resonance. Blood pressure, heart rate, cell counts..."
He eyed her skeptically. "This your idea of fun?"
"Well, I'm actually a physicist, but one thing I've learned since I came to work for Angel, it's supernatural biology. I think my science training really helped."
There was something adorable about how she got very excited, spoke quickly, and then slowed down, an almost self-deprecating tone in her voice. And it was incredibly clear that Wes was smitten with her, but Spike figured it might serve him better if he kept that knowledge to himself.
"I hope you know what you're doing."
"Oh, don't worry," Wes said confidently. "We'd never do anything to hurt you; if we did, then we'd lose our potential research paper subject."
Spike couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Glad I could be of help, mate."
Spike scowled at the test tubes, microscopes, and Bunsen burner she had set up on the table in the basement, eyeing everything with a skepticism that rolled off him in waves. She tried to reassure him, but it didn't have a noticeable effect. There was a strange combination of agitation and resignation about him, which made her feel terribly maternal. The last time she'd felt like this was when Angel had been so damaged in her cave back in Pylea. But Fred didn't think Spike was the comforting hug type.
"So, what the bloody hell are you planning to do to me, anyway?" He waved his hands at the chemicals and slides.
"Nothing much," Wes said from behind her. "Blood work, some tissue cultures, a few passive tests where we hook you up to some electrodes."
"No cutting of skin or bandaging," Spike admonished, and Fred nodded.
"Promise -- when he says tissue culture he means a swab from your mouth, that kind of thing. The only pokey stuff is the blood." She leaned over to Wes and whispered harshly in his ear, "Stop scaring him so much. Angel's already spooked him."
Wes sat him down in a chair and took out the blood kit. "Let's get the unpleasant parts out of the way first."
There was something peculiar in how Spike and Wes related to each other, Fred thought. Maybe it was because they were both expat Englishmen, in their own ways. Or something else, she couldn't quite tell. Spike was so chameleon-like -- he acted differently around each person he was with, as if reflecting back whatever face they showed to him. So maybe he was just reflecting Wesley's characteristics back, or something. She watched while Wes drew blood from Spike, then took the tubes he gave her to start on her analysis.
After some of the other samples were taken, Wes hooked Spike up to a little machine they'd rigged to measure electrical activity in different parts of his body. Without access to serious equipment, this was really the best they could do, but still, they'd done a pretty good job with their makeshift lab.
Spike watched while Wes attached electrodes to his chest, arms, and head, quirking an eyebrow when they made eye contact, which made Wes blush and turn away. It was a bit of fun, provoking him, and sort of flirting, Spike thought. A battle was being fought inside Wes between the dork self and this cooler, darker fellow, and it made an interesting study. Years ago, before Buffy and the soul and everything else, he'd have been able to use that kind of internal struggle in someone in some very interesting ways. Make it work to his advantage, and get some sport out of it.
Spike shook his head and settled back to let Wes play with the machine. Wes had been muttering something at him, and Spike finally leaned over to give him his full attention.
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
"I was just saying that once we get a few things figured out, we could research the books and see if we can't tie this all together."
"Hm. Rupert said there wasn't much, book-wise. Few vampires who tried it, but nothing more."
Wes pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Not to belittle Giles's collection, but most of the truly useful reference works were lost in the school library explosion. This is the sort of thing that can take weeks to unearth, but if we compare our results against those references, we should be able to come up with something. Surely stranger things have happened." He peered at the screen of the tiny monitor, and then added, tapping his finger against the side of his nose, "And, I have a copy of the Fahrad codex."
"Oh, well, then." At some point Spike was sure he'd hear all about why that was significant.
"Though my Farsi is a bit weak."
There was a lot about Wes that reminded Spike of himself as a human, before Dru. Clearly the actions that had put him on Angel's bad side weren't really indicative of character flaws in Wes. It was probably more that the two were so close and had such high expectations of each other, they couldn't help but have friction now and again. And at least Wes seemed to be genuinely interested in helping Spike, even if the end result was only some sort of academic success. Helping Spike would be a good way for Wes to earn his way back into Angel's good graces, so it was all for the good, he hoped.
Twisting and turning his little dials, Wes kept up a steady stream of conversation, nattering on about Angel for the better part of a half hour. When Spike didn't respond with anything more than a grunt of acknowledgement, Wes finally shut up.
"You fancy Angel," Spike said conversationally.
Wes blanched. "I do not fancy Angel." He looked wistful for a moment. "Well, a little, but not that way. More of an 'I aspire to be like him' way. And anyway, everyone fancies Angel, just a bit."
"Hardly."
"Oh, yes, well, apparently the denizens of Sunnydale are mostly immune to his charm." He smirked sourly. "Nevertheless, he does seem to draw most people to his cause and to him."
"It's pheromones. Nothing more. Even the undead have them, and he's just one of those who exude pheromones. Trust me."
Wes arched an eyebrow in response, but Spike didn't elaborate. They already had plenty of little tidbits to chew on.
After a few minutes of just sitting there, Fred moaned, and then exclaimed, "Oh, my god."
"What is it?" Wes asked.
She looked at him with those big doe eyes. "Um, nothing. Just... you know. Interesting stuff!" she said with nervous laughter. She rolled her eyes sideways, though, beckoning Wes to the table, and he went over to look at Fred's microscope.
"Oh, dear." Abruptly he raised his head and looked at Spike. "I mean, my, that is interesting."
Spike sighed dramatically. "You're not fooling anyone."
"It's nothing, really, just something... uh, we've never seen before. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure." But there was nothing even slightly comforting about Wes's eyes. As he came back over to Spike, Wes made harsh little hand gestures at Fred to get her to go back to work, as if he were trying to hide the evidence.
For the next few hours Spike submitted to a mostly silent scrutiny by the two of them, until they said they were done and that he could go if he wanted to. The rest of the lot were off, as usual, searching for Cordy and attempting to help the hopelessly hopeless. He wandered up to the empty kitchen, grabbed a Pepsi and some cheese from the fridge, and went back downstairs to watch the two of them, hunched over their data printouts. Spike sat next to Fred, taking in the scent of her perfume, vanilla and sandalwood and something else he couldn't identify.
"Do you mind... if I check something?" she asked timidly.
"Depends on what you want to check."
"Just..." she moved her hand up to the bandage on his neck. "This." He nodded and she peeled back the gauze, frowning. It hurt more than he wanted to admit. She and Wes exchanged worried looks.
"God, would you stop that? Things are bad enough without you two exchanging knowing glances. It's bloody annoying, yeah?"
Wes cleared his throat, gathered up some of his papers, and left the room. "I'll get some books."
"Sorry," Fred said to him. "I'm just confirming something here." She eyed him suspiciously and said, "So... what you were saying before. About Angel having bit you in the past. You seemed... okay with that."
"You okay when things get a little frisky with Shaft? Or do you only go in for the straight meat and potatoes?"
Fred blinked once, twice, three times. Her skin turned scarlet, vivid even in the low light. It was bothering her a lot, this information. Probably threw her picture of Angel right into the rubbish bin, and made her curious as hell. He'd spotted it right away, that fascination with things that unnerved her.
Fred retaped the bandage over his wound and went back to her microscope; Spike followed her, hopping up on the table to watch. She tried to explain what she was looking at, but he didn't really understand a word of it beyond corpuscles. Science had never been his strong suit. She took the slides and stuck them in the little refrigerator, then busied herself with logging information into a notebook. Her high forehead was creased with a frown. Clearly she was stuck on the thing with Angel, if her constant surreptitious glances were anything to judge by.
"You actually had sex with Angel?" she suddenly exclaimed. She'd been waiting all this time for them to be alone so she could get it off her chest, and he laughed.
"Oh, for god's sake, Fred! It was over a century ago. It's not like we went round carrying bloody great torches for each other or something. We hated each other and we fought and we fucked. It's what vampires do."
"But... you're not... a vampire anymore." She paused and scowled. It must bother her that he seemed so warmly nostalgic about it all, as if it interfered with all the other information he'd given her. "So, is that why what happened with Buffy happened? I mean, like, you fought and you... you know, had sex?"
She seemed so bloody earnest with her puppy eyes and quavery voice. As if she was trying to understand everything about him so that she could better help, and that made Spike somehow feel all the worse, all the more feeble and pathetic. "You could say that, yeah. The problem is, with humans there's standards and all. Things don't overlap so easily as they do for us -- fighting and fucking, it's no big deal. I forgot that with Buffy, and it hurt both of us in the long run, didn't it?"
"I don't know -- oh, wait, that wasn't a question, right. Sorry. That's that Englishy thing where you ask a question at the end of your sentence without actually asking a question. Wesley does that, too."
Spike smiled at her. "Trust me, Fred. There'll be no repeating of my past history with Angel, ever. I'd completely forgot it till I'd got here."
Fred glanced past his shoulder and saw Wes standing there, so she went back to poking at her slides, not exactly ignoring Spike, but not giving him a reason to stick around. In a way she wanted Spike to leave now so she could discuss all of this data with Wes, find out what he really thought of it all. And see how he felt about Spike's constant reminders of the weird past with Angel. Wes must have known things about Angel's past, far more shocking details, than she would ever have been made privy to, and Wes always had a good perspective on things vampiric.
Plus, Spike was quite suddenly making her feel very, very uncomfortable. Before he'd started telling them about his past, the concept of turning him back had seemed like a good thing, a helpful thing; now, she questioned her own desire to see that happen. There was an element of Spike that seemed... brutal and rough under the humanity, and Fred could feel doubt creeping around in the back of her brain, all dark and shadowy. Spike might not turn out to be anything but scary if he became a vampire again. Angel's comment about the last time he'd seen him, about Spike trying to kill him, chipped away at her resolve. But Fred went back to her work and tried to focus on fulfilling the promise they'd made to him. Breaking a promise was such a crappy, human thing to do, and she wanted to be better than that. More than just Spike's humanity or demonity was at stake here. It seemed very Gothic, very melodramatic in its own way. The romantic in her always won out over the practical.
The smell of the jasmine was overpowering this time of night. It reminded Spike a lot of the last time he'd spent with Angel, when he'd been the old Angel, the real one. Everyone distinguished the two, calling that one Angelus, but that only made Spike laugh at the pointlessness of it. It felt so familiar, though. A courtyard filled with night-blooming jasmine, run-down but serviceable place, his posse around him like acolytes. All that was missing was Dru and Darla. And of course Spike's vampirehood. Angel always managed to collect whomever he needed around him, find just the right matching ambience for whatever face he wore. Angel, party of five, your table's ready.
At least in the few weeks he'd been here, things had settled down. Fred and Wesley still poked around in their books, poked around in his skull, but he'd kept himself busy going out on cases with them, helping them research Cordy's disappearance. And he and Angel had reached a kind of semi-comfortable state; no longer a mental Mexican standoff, or stakes and knives hidden away in their pockets. They weren't mates, precisely, but they were tolerant, and could even hold down entire conversations without leaping for the other's throat.
His neck still felt itchy and inflamed, though, and obviously Fred and Wes knew why, even if they weren't eager to tell. The waiting was always the hardest part, or so said Mr. Petty. At some point the science geeks would have to stop nattering about biochemical equations or whatever it was and tell him what they'd found.
Behind him the door to the courtyard clicked open, and Spike felt someone come up behind him. Angel sat down. "Think they found anything?" he asked, checking out the backs of his hands.
The lump was never good at disingenuousness or small talk. "Of course they have, you know that. You've no doubt heard every sodding word they've said."
"I haven't been listening." He turned to look straight at Spike. "Are you afraid?"
Spike shook his head. "Worried. Not afraid. At this point, I've given up hope I'll get back to... normal. Or normalish. But they've found something, they just don't want to tell."
"It worries Wes."
"So he's let on, though not in so many words. Bloke is not a good actor, by the way. Don't send him undercover."
"I try not to." Angel stared at the wall. "We never could get along much, could we? Even at the best of times, when we had a common purpose."
"No. Didn't stop us having good times, though." Though the memory of those good times twisted Spike's gut with shame. He stared off into space for a while. "Sorry about Cordelia."
"Me too."
"Since I'm here, why not let me use my contacts to see if I can dig anything up? No one really knows I'm out of the brotherhood. Might be able to get something you couldn't, what with that pesky halo blinking over your head like a Vegas sign."
"I'd like that." Haltingly, uneasily, Angel added, "So far, what you've done while you've been here has been helpful. With the cases. You might have a future in it, you know."
"Doubt that." He pointed to his temple. "Not that good with the old noggin." They sat quietly for a while.
"I keep asking myself, why would you get a soul? You never had much use for that sort of thing. Even without one, you had... feelings. Almost human."
Spike gave him a sideways glance. "That was always it, wasn't it? What you hated most in me."
"Among other things."
But Angel wasn't so sure he'd hated it. More that he had feared it. Even though he'd always been more powerful physically, stronger because of age and temperament, he'd always known Spike would be the survivor in any climactic battle. He'd proven it by killing slayers, by allying with Buffy against him and Dru, by surviving everything thrown at him, even humanity again. The monster inside Angel could never have survived that chip. If it had been Spike cursed with a soul, Spike chosen to be the world's champion, he would know how to win the interior battle of soul and demon. He would never have let it ruin him or the world around him.
Spike understood emotion. How it helped, how it destroyed. And he was never afraid of it.
"So why did you?"
"Ah, that. Well." Spike fidgeted, his shaking hands betraying the attempt at calm. "Probably kill me once I've told you, but if you could at least wait till I hear Wes and Fred's answers, that'd be nice."
"I won't kill you," Angel said harshly. "Wipe the floor with you, maybe, but not kill. Besides, I think I know what you're going to tell me." What else could drive him to such extremes but being broken by love? Immolated by the remaining trace of humanity searing inside his chest? Angel knew that story all too well; he'd memorized every line, and in between them, too.
"Tried to hurt Buffy. Not the vampire me. The man me. Tried to force myself on her, because I wanted her to love me back. I think she did already, just a bit, and I cocked it up."
As he squeezed his fists, the nails made little half-moon slices in his palms, blood seeping onto his skin. "She probably did." He hated this, being reminded that he'd left no legacy in her life. And that it was Spike of all people who'd walked in to fill up the empty space. "She loves more than she lets on."
"But she's hung up on the soul business. You made sure of that. She likes the monster, but she needs the man's soul." Spike took a leaf from the jasmine, began tearing at it.
Angel shut his eyes tight, tried to unclench his jaw. "I can't hate you for that. I hurt her, once. He did, I mean."
Spike grimaced, glaring at Angel. Defiant. A well-remembered look, one he'd seen many times as he'd pushed Spike too far, took advantage of him, and yet Spike forever withstood, forever remained defiant. Defiled, beaten, savaged, humiliated... it didn't matter. Unceasingly defiant, stupidly courageous. Spike was braver than Angel could ever hope to be.
"See, there is your problem, my lad." His lilting voice meant the snark was back, at last. This was the Spike Angel knew best. "I'm not exactly too clever by half, and I'm certainly no psychologist, but you're doing the same bloody thing, always have done, that Willow's doing right now. You heard about her little end of the world soiree, I assume."
"Yeah."
"Spent time with her and Giles over in Bath. Thing about Will is that she doesn't want to accept the dark inside her. That was the problem with Buffy, too, what drove her to me, and then away. Couldn't believe they had the blackness inside 'em, as well as the light. I told her that. Till she accepts that there's evil inside as well as good, she'll never get a handle on it. Might try it yourself. You keep fighting with the old bastard, and you'll never get rid of him. Have yourself a big internal tussle and he'll win, if you don't learn how to live with 'em both. Accept it. Move on."
Angel watched him as he spoke, the spark in his blue eyes, the way the light played on the sharp angles of his face. Suddenly it wasn't hard for him to understand why Buffy would fall for Spike, even knowing she shouldn't. Everything that she needed, everything that those around her weren't, was there inside Spike, and he'd only been waiting to lavish those qualities on her if given half a chance. He was endless in his capacity for devotion; all his years with Dru had proven that. Fiercely loyal, intensely emotional, transparent... he would be the one person she could have access to. He would open his erstwhile heart to her, completely, nothing held back. He could draw love from someone like breath. No wonder Buffy had been so terrified of him.
Angel understood it too well, that dread of letting go. The more frightened you are of love, the more power it has over you.
He got up and walked to the door. Over his shoulder, he said to Spike, "You're smarter than you look."
Spike snorted. "Yeah, thanks, mate. World of good that does me."
Wes cleared his throat for the eighth time. Then he looked at Fred again, imploring her for help. She glanced at Gunn for support, but he only held his hands up in surrender.
"Hey, English, don't be looking at me. I ain't in this shindig with y'all. He goes vamp again, I'm only for staking his lily-white limey ass, yo."
Angel rolled his head around on his shoulders, squinting at Gunn. Ever since Spike's arrival, Gunn had been more and more with the street talk, and it was grating on Angel's nerves. He leaned over and said, "You think you could possibly turn it down a notch? Dog?"
Gunn made a face, and Fred put her hand on his arm. "It's okay, Charles," was all she said, which seemed to calm him down. A little estrogen was a good thing to balance all this cranky maleness out.
"Look, we have to tell him," Angel said. "He deserves to know."
"Where is he, anyway?" Gunn asked.
"Upstairs," Lorne answered, brow creased in a scowl, or as much as it could be considering how the horns got in the way. He'd been acting funny since they started this conversation.
"Did he... did he sing for you?" Fred asked nervously.
"Yeah," Lorne said, distracted. "Train in Vain. The Clash. Not a bad set of pipes, that boy. No Lindsey MacDonald, but then, who is? Now, those two would make a cute little couple, don't you think?"
Angel blinked, shaking his head. Why was it so hard to keep his people on topic? "Did you see something important?"
"I'm not sure I should say..."
"Oh, god," Fred whimpered.
"Now, hold on." Wes waved his sheaf of papers at Lorne. "If you have something that will give us more information or help Spike in any way, you should tell us. Don't hold back just because you're not sure what's helpful or not."
"Helpful, maybe not so much. Slit your wrists depressing, could be. Plus, I can see the panties wadding as we speak. Call it my self-preservation instinct, but it might be best kept to myself." He took a sip of his cosmopolitan.
Angel sighed in exasperation. "Just spill it."
Lorne fidgeted, adjusting his jacket, smoothing back his hair. "He may just get to be a vampire again, unless a few monkeys throw their wrenches in and mess it up. Just... not the way he expects. And there may not be any control over the soul issue. And it's going to get very, very ugly in Sunny Delight." He frowned and looked up at Angel. "Does the Disney version do for you, or do you want the English Patient edition?"
Wes sat down hard, dropping his head. This was what he'd been afraid of -- that all this work would be meaningless, that there was something the Powers didn't want them to know or to see, especially Spike's role in it, whether as human or vampire. He breathed deeply, then glanced at Fred and Angel, who were both staring angrily at Lorne.
"We... we should still tell him what we've found. He seems resilient enough to take it. And I don't believe he really expected any of my references or research to help, so it won't come as a disappointment to hear that we haven't turned up anything useful. Yet, anyway." Wes admired that about Spike, his sort of "don't get too excited" attitude. It was not unlike Wes's own lowered-expectations outlook on life.
Angel agreed. "Knowing Spike, he'll blow it off anyway, and just do what he wants to."
"Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of," Lorne said, wincing. "I don't know, I've grown somewhat fond of Blondie in the past few weeks, especially after he helped us out on that last case. That kind of menacing charm doesn't come cheap, you know, and he's a natural. So I don't know that I want to see him suffer."
"There's... suffering?" Fred squeaked.
"Oh, cupcake. There's always suffering."
Wes took hold of Fred's elbow and steered her out of the room, and up the stairs.
Giles is up on the stage at the Bronze, calling a square dance. There are others here, a mix of vampires and humans, but they are faceless, nameless. On the floor are each of the Scoobies, even Tara, all dos-si-doing about on the floor, grim-faced, not meeting each others' eyes. It doesn't matter if Giles calls "allemande left" or any other nonsense command, they each shuffle around and around quietly, no music to guide them, clasping hands, unclasping, staring off into space. They bump past each other, past the nameless and faceless others, a big circle. Buffy feints at taking his hand, but never touches Spike during their dance. She doesn't meet his eyes, and Spike keeps trying to reposition himself in front of her, to make her train her gaze his way, but she is moved as if by a puppeteer's hand. A chattering spider monkey leaps from table to table, picking up the drinks, trying them, then spitting out the liquid and throwing the cups at the dancers. When Giles calls "swing your partner round and round," Buffy moves away, and suddenly Spike's taking Dawn by the arm. They are hurtling around and around each other like tops that can't control their spinning, until they will turn so fast they burn up in the atmosphere, dissipating in a cloud of dust.
"Stop turning!" Spike shouted as he was jostled awake.
Fred looked down at him, her face scrunched up in a big wrinkle of worry. "Sorry. I was having trouble waking you and you were saying something in your sleep that sounded like square-dancing words, and you were twitching and you seemed really afraid so I thought it was best to wake you up."
He put his hand on his forehead and sat up. Wes stood behind her, looking dour and concerned. "Bad dream," was all he could manage.
"Square-dancing bad dream?"
"Weird dream." He looked at her bewildered, earnest face and sighed. She really did want to help him, despite all her fears. "Had a lot of them since the change. Sometimes they're more than a little disturbing."
"If I had a dream about square dancing, I'm sure it would disturb me, too." She grinned her cute, shy smile.
"Since you both look like you're going to a funeral, I assume you're here with the results."
Wes sat down in the overstuffed chair. "There are two parts to the bad news, and no real good news, I'm afraid. But Angel said you could handle it."
"Straight up, no ice, no water."
Adjusting his glasses, Wes said "All right then. The first thing is that I've been unable to locate any information about a vampire being turned back to human state successfully. Consequently, there's nothing that could tell us how to turn a human into a vampire other than the usual methods, which would mean loss of soul." His voice went from scholarly to kind. "Even the most ancient books had nothing, I'm afraid. But all that really means is that we need to be creative. And it may involve witchcraft."
Spike leaned back against the headboard. "Only witch powerful enough I've ever heard of is Willow Rosenberg, and trust me, I've just spent enough time with her to know that won't be happening anytime soon."
"I know. Angel told us about all that," Fred said with such disappointment you'd have thought it was happening to her.
"But that's not to rule out anything in the future," Wes added. "Though, that segues rather unpleasantly into the next piece of news."
"Hit me." Might as well make the wounds as clean as possible.
Fred said, clearly trying hard not to sound too scientific, "There are a lot of anomalies in your molecular and cellular structure. The biggest one is that you have no white blood cells. None. That's why the wound on your neck isn't really healing."
Spike reached up instinctually and touched the gauze.
"We can help with that, we have some potions that will heal it nicely," Wes added, "but in the long run, it's indicative of the problem with your entire body. You see, there's a reason you're so hungry all the time -- your body isn't really consuming food, it's just going in and then... out again. Your body isn't really doing any of the things it's supposed to do the way it should do them -- it's almost doing them, but not quite. The heart, the liver, the kidneys -- they function, but not the way they should. It's as if... as if..."
"I came back wrong."
"Yes," Wes said sadly, "you came back wrong."
He stared at Wes, who just stared forlornly back. "I've seen something like this before."
Wisely, neither Wes nor Fred commented on that, just kept quiet, letting the information sink in. Finally Fred got up the gumption to tell him the last part. "And the scary part is, we don't know how long your body can hold out like this. If it's not processing things like food and water and rest the way a normal body would, then we don't know what the long-term effect could be. It could be like being undead, or maybe not. We were wondering... have you had any cravings for blood since this happened?"
"No. Nothing seems appealing about it. Food tastes good, better than it did when I was a vampire. I always liked real food anyway, but it wasn't the same when you're undead."
"We're thinking maybe you should give it a try. If it doesn't, like, make you yak at the thought of it all."
"I'll take it under advisement." He played with a loose thread in the sheet, and looked up at the two of them. "So, probably I'm dying, one way or another. Either through decrepitude or something misfiring in my system."
"We're not really certain..." Wes responded in a soothing voice, trying ever so hard to be polite and positive. Spike really did like these two, despite all this bad news.
"Well, certain enough." He sighed. "Dunno why I didn't think of it before." They were both looking at him from under their brows, heads down, guilty faces on. Neither had any idea what he was talking about. "The monkey's paw. That's what this is. I got my wishes."
"We don't know--" Wes started to say, but then stopped, realizing, of course, that there was nothing else to deny.
"Reckon it's time I got back to Sunnydale. Make some amends before I," he flicked his fingers out, "make my way to the great beyond." He'd known all along that Sunnydale was the inevitable destination; he'd only hoped that he could get back there in a way that the others could cope with. Buffy would have no real way to order all this, to understand and accept not just the attempt at a soul, but of coming back human. At least they wouldn't have to worry about killing him; nature and the underworld were taking care of that, it seemed.
Angel's team felt guilty, they wanted to help him, but in the back of his mind, Spike had understood all along there wouldn't be true help for him. There never really had been, since the day he'd been turned. If he didn't make the help with his own hands, it would never come.
"You don't have to leave!" Fred cried. "We don't want you to. Things...stuff... this could all change, you know. And we like having you here."
She was a horrid liar, worse than either Willow or Buffy. "Thank you, for everything. I know you tried. But I'm a bit of a gooseberry here, anyway."
"Oh!" Wes said. "We haven't given up. As I said, there may be a way to make the laws work, just not in a manner they have before. But it may take time."
"I'll send on an address once I get back, and if you find anything..."
"Okay. We'll be in touch." Fred leaned forward and hugged him. He was not the least bit used to hugging from anyone, let alone humans, so he just let her squeeze him hard, placing a hand on her elbow. Glad, though, when she let go, because Spike was afraid he might dissolve into tears, and that would make him look even more of an arse than before.
"Suppose I ought to say goodbye to Angel and the gang. Even if the ponce did bite me. You've all been very kind, playing host to a sorry sod like me."
Wes got up and looked sternly at Spike. "Don't give up hope, Spike. There's always hope, I've found, even in the worst situations."
Spike felt shaky and weak, still trying to cope with everything they'd told him but determined not to let his fears show. "I'll try to remember that." He was suddenly very, very hungry.
End Ch. 4
My lovely cover art by X. Don't take or distribute in any way.
10/23/03