Harbingers of Beatrice by Holly

Chapters 24-26

Chapter 24: Bleeding From Yesterday

The day started on an early, almost serene note. Naturally, this led to general apprehension. The phone refused to ring, the doors refused to admit customers, and there had been no word from Spike in nearly thirty-six hours. None that anyone could attest as tangible. His concerns about being discovered by Angelus and the others had yet to be determined. Wright ventured to Caritas alongside Gunn half a dozen times to establish if any word had come in, but the lines of communication remained intensely and indefinitely severed.

There was one thing the four shared in spades: the communal abhorrence for being sitting ducks.

Tedium at Angel Investigations was something that hadn't been a major concern for quite some time. Cordelia shared a few tales of similar boredom with Wright over another nutritional McDonalds breakfast, earning a grin or two to coincide with the unabated awe on his face. It was different, she knew. After having been on the road for so long, following lead after lead of new information, hearing of people who spent entire days-and weeks, pending-without anything to go on seemed damn near impossible. Especially in a city like Los Angeles.

There were other things to discuss. She shared over coffee several interesting Buffy-related stories from Sunnydale. The Graduation incident in which the entire senior class banded together to destroy a giant snake-shaped mayor. He heard of her adventures with someone named Xander Harris-on particularly eyebrow-raising story about a man made of bugs and serious smoochies in the Slayer's basement that led to subsequent smoochies wherever dark area was located. He laughed when she told him about battling Buffy for Homecoming Queen, only to lose full count. He provided false sympathy when she related the story of finding Xander and someone named Willow involved in serious kissage while being held Spike's prisoner, and consequentially ignored the dirty smirk she gave him in turn. He even listened to the dull-as-dust stories involving the 'Cordettes' and their various extravaganzas. It was all riveting. Amazing. As though something he remembered vaguely, but from a long while ago.

"You're still very young," he observed.

"I turned twenty last month," she retorted with a shrug. Then her look became suspicious. "Why? How old are you?"

Wright smiled. "Well, I was married in college, was widowed three years after, and Rosie's almost nine. You do the math."

Cordelia made a face. "Have I mentioned that math wasn't my best subject?"

"Only a thousand or so times." There was a pause. "It's considerable...the age difference."

"What, give or take ten years?" She looked unimpressed. "Honey, Buffy and Angel were separated by centuries."

He flashed a cheeky grin. "Comparing us to the infamous 'star-crossed lovers'? For shame! Were you thinking of something else?"

"Don't call them 'star-crossed.' Spike'd have your head for that. Besides, I don't think that applies when one of the aforementioned lovers is torturing the daylights out of the other." She frowned and shook her head. "And hey-buddy-you're the one who brought it up."

"Just wanted to let you know, in case you couldn't keep your hands off me."

Cordelia stuck out her tongue. "Perv."

Wright smirked, completely unashamed. "Yup. Color me one dirty old man."

"You're not old. Well, not really." There was a sigh and an inevitable shrug. "Okay, so a little, considering. If you sit down and do a serious contrast and compare. But still. No big. Age wasn't really a huge deal for me. Never was. I mean, hello. As I've said, Angel's had a freakin' bicentennial, and Spike's gotta be way up there."

"He's a hundred and twenty seven," Wright replied automatically. He ducked his head at the amazed look she gave him in turn. "Sorry. I do my homework."

"Obviously." Cordelia snickered. "What? Did you not have some brainy friend to copy off of?"

"I did, but he was much too honest to let me cheat. Had to make the grades, myself."

"You see, when you live on a Hellmouth, cheating doesn't exactly strike as a deadly sin." She shrugged. "Ah, well. Willow never really helped me, anyway. She was always more Buffy's friend than mine."

"You sound like you were a very different person in high school."

"I was a total bitch in high school."

Wright shrugged. "Knew me a few of them."

"Well, at least I've grown enough as a person that I can admit that now."

He grinned. "Yes you can." There was a brief but complacent silence as they considered each other-then Zack jolted to a start and flashed a glance at his watch. "Ah, fuck. I gotta run. The boys and I are gonna swing by Caritas, then do a sweep of the territory the vamps covered last night."

"You're going by Caritas again?"

A shrug. "Gotta at least try to keep the lines of communication open." He was suddenly leaning over the check-in counter, scribbling something down on the first scrap of paper his fingers touched. "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone-" he began absently.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Because of my spaz-fest last night? Really, I'm-"

"-but seeing as I have no choice, here's my pager number." He glanced up, all tease from his eyes having vanished. "Don't blow it off like that. A 'spaz-fest'. It was more to me than that. It was more to you than that. Right?"

There was an intense moment of introspection. She was too lost in his eyes to reply at first. Then a sharp jerk and a corresponding nod. Offering something more than the volume of her voice could attest. "Yeah...erm...yes. It was. I just...my defense mechanism is to make everything-"

"I know." He smiled. "Mine, too." Another brief minute of silence. "I mean it, Cordy. Page me if you have another fit."

"Hey! It wasn't-"

"And watch the girls for me. Don't let Nikki give you any shit." Before she could register what happened, Zack had leaned far across the counter to give her a brief, however evocative kiss before he bolted across the lobby. It left her winded for seconds after he disappeared, and forced her down another spiral of self-analysis that she wasn't sure she was ready for.

The reflective silence she was going for didn't last long. Within five minutes of solitude, the entry doors swung open again. Cordelia plastered on a smile and peeked into the hallway, witty retort about pagers and obligation curled and waiting on her lips before she caught the face of the man in the lobby.

A face so foregone, she nearly didn't recognize it.

"...Lindsey?"

The lawyer from Wolfram and Hart-the very same she had come to loathe on principle given the events of the past year-blinked at her dazedly before realizing he had been addressed. While they weren't terribly acquainted, give or take a haphazard alliance in the past, she knew him well enough to gouge the look on his face detailed more agony than any expression she had seen him adorn before.

"Cordelia," he muttered. "I...I need help."

Before falling in love with the Slayer, Spike wagered he had never spent more than five minutes in the course of his unlife worrying extendedly about anything or anyone. Everything had fallen at a general give-or-take level of acceptance. He couldn't bear the thought of anything more. Even with the saga that was Drusilla, he hadn't lost much sleep over it. Her infidelity, while it dug trenches, was nearly a part of the general acceptance. He had known that from the start-Angelus made very certain that he understood that while the insane vampire had chosen him, her daddy would always be the preferred lover.

A century could do wonders to one's perception. Angelus had only been with them for two decades before he got himself all souled up and rat-happy. From there, it had been easy street. Killing and fucking all the livelong day. Getting into messes only to assuredly get out of them. Prague presented the first problem that he couldn't readily talk himself out of, but once they escaped, he hadn't worried too much. True, he had spent his every waking minute hunting for the cure to his beloved's ailment, but there wasn't much worrying involved. Just tedious research and nonstop wanking, seeing as Drusilla was in no condition to readily solve his sexual urges every time he got them.

Falling in love with Buffy had turned his world upside down in more than the obvious ways. For days, he had tormented himself with thoughts of her. Debated once even taking a drill to his head as to bore the seemingly random affection out of his head. Never his heart, of course, because it wasn't really there-and he had never been wholly serious, even if he had taken comfort in that. At very first. Until it became abundantly clear that he was indeed in love with her, and so helpless was his case that he had remained blind to it even as it had obviously been there since their general acquaintance.

After admitting his impossible feelings to himself-and similarly after surpassing the phase where he bumbled stupidly outside her house, debating and fighting the urge to storm in like a madman and demand she hand over his unlife, please-Spike had experienced something a century could not have prepared him for. All out concern. The knowledge that Slayers were creatures of a limited lifespan. That she had already surpassed her due date. And yes, she was the best of the best. She was fucking poetry itself, but even that failed to comfort. So he watched her. And loved her; worried himself a little more dead each day that his own words would come to pass. That some grizzly night thing would have itself one good day, and she would be taken from him forever.

It astonished him how deeply his feelings ran. How strong his love had become after its acceptance into limelight. He had spent a century with Drusilla-a fucking century-and never come close to this sort of agonized bliss. From the looks that crossed her face when he touched her, to the bittersweet taste of her mouth when they kissed. It was impossible to compare, impossible to believe there had been existence before her. That he had lived without this mammoth love swallowing his insides. The want of purity above death. The weight of tears he felt depressed upon his nonbeating heart when he thought of her. When her voice echoed her relief that he was there, that he was real, when nothing else could possibly ring as true.

Spike still wasn't thoroughly convinced that she believed him when he vouched for his own tangibility. The idea that she could have dreamt of him while having no reason to was beyond vexing, even if he relished its taste. But God, the pangs he felt now were unsurpassable by any other feat he had known. Angelus had made no mention of her yet, even when he thought he would. Even after he disappeared and reappeared hours later, Slayer smell rank on his clothing, he offered no explanation and similarly made no move to conceal himself. He also didn't comment on the potential of the peroxide vampire's presence in that very death chamber during his disappearance at their hunt. Oh no, the Cockney had made quite sure of that. He had showered himself thoroughly, fed off a few more townspeople without killing them, then proceeded to get himself thoroughly pissed at some low-ranking pub. There was no doubting that smell, or the telling wobble in his stride.

But Buffy smelled of him. He knew that. She smelled of him, and her quarters were drenched in the heat of her unquenched arousal. He hadn't had the courage to push her over that threshold, and perhaps it was for the best. A climax was certainly more telling on the nose.

At least, as was per his experience.

It was difficult business not staking Angelus outright when Spike saw him next. Knowing what he knew. Having felt her blood between his fingers, and knowing why it was there. Knowing whom had tainted her precious body with his calloused, hateful presence. Knowing whom had made her bleed.

Knowing that he had hurt his girl.

His girl.

There were several truths to be reckoned with. His worrying was going to drive him out of his mind if his fury did not beat him to it. And there had to be a way to get access to Buffy's manacles without attracting attention to himself. Were it anyone else, Spike would bump into his grandsire at random and snag the key the old-fashioned way. But it wasn't anyone else, and there was no way the great billowing sod would fall for that. Didn't bloody matter how good the peroxide vampire was at petty theft. Didn't matter that he had paid for more than his fair share of drinks without paying for them at all. Didn't matter that Xander Harris had served as his steady income months long after his relocation into the Restfield Cemetery.

No. None of that mattered. Because this wasn't some glorified carpenter. This was Angelus. And he would know.

He always fucking did.

There was only one foreseeable option tight now. He had to return to the Hyperion and consort with the others. Let them know what he knew. Let them know what was happening to her. Demand resolution until they had an acceptable answer. An acceptable variation of the more grim reality.

The happenings around Wolfram and Hart seemed to be on a very give and take basis. Angelus and Darla had spent most of the day basking and fucking and eating whatever they could find. On occasion, some lawyer bint named Lilah Morgan would send down an impressionable intern to be made into a hearty snack. Under different circumstances, Spike suspected that he might like Lilah: it wasn't often that he encountered a modern human woman with the morality of a politician. And while it was more than obvious that her actions were modeled for self-benefit rather than any notion of appeasing his enemies, their status alone separated them on the greater spectrum of things.

Time to go back to the Hyperion. Definitely. To the others.

They would get her out.

It amazed her that after everything she had seen, and more importantly done, that Cordelia still managed to be captured by the propensity in which little things could progress from bad to worse.

Lindsey had been in the lobby for two minutes, disheveled and more than a little defeated, when the doors flew open once more and Kate Lockley paraded inward. She wore an expression that could freeze Hell, though the determination on her face looked more prone to raise it.

"I'm having trouble with this," she said sternly as means of salutation. "You want to know why?"

Cordelia frowned and fought the temptation to bang her head against the desk. "Because those shoes really don't match your top?"

That didn't seem to help. Lockley brushed passed a dumbfound Lindsey without tossing him a second glance and slammed what looked to be a police file on the front desk. "I'm having trouble with this, Ms. Chase. Twelve reports from different victims with distinguishing marks on their necks. Notice anything familiar?" She didn't give her time to explain. "A man with peroxide hair and a notably Cockney brogue? You assured me that he was safe!"

"He is!" the brunette snapped, leaping to her feet. "Else those twelve would be dead and not filing police reports."

"So you're telling me that it's all right that a loose vampire feeds on people as long as he maintains that they don't die. Let's not count how much blood loss was sustained. How many hospital bills are piling on innocent victims without insurance." She slammed her open palm to the clement surface. "These are still assault charges, Cordelia. Innocent people-"

"If I may intervene," Lindsey volunteered. "As a lawyer, I can attest that while some are better than others, the term innocent people is-"

"Shut up," both women snapped.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. My interest is piqued." Lindsey glanced to Cordelia with a quirked brow. "Spike? What's your connection with Spike?"

"And that falls under the category of 'questions I am least likely to answer,'" she retorted with an unpleasant smile. "Especially to the right-hand man of Evil Incorporated, who, by the by, kidnapped the Slayer."

"That's why I'm here."

"Oh really?"

"You ought to know. I was the one who informed you of Angel's transformation, wasn't I?"

She frowned. "Yes. You were also the one who initiated said transformation."

"I was never in favor of it. That was Holland's idea."

"And what a fantastic idea it was."

"He's dead now, if it's any consolation."

"Because of a party I let Angel break in on," Lockley added irately. "If I had kept him in custody-"

"You and everyone else would have been killed," Lindsey finished. "Trust me, Detective, you don't know Angelus half as well as you think you do. The books you've piled through? The facts you've memorized? Words on paper. That's all they are. They can't begin to measure up to what he is. What he's done." His voice quieted. "The things I've seen him do."

"The things you've let him do, you mean," Kate snapped.

"I didn't have a choice."

"Oh. Rich. Didn't have a choice except to allow him to instate chaos all over town. Do you have any idea how many people lost their lives last night?" The cool blonde turned her icy gaze back to Cordelia, blazing with contempt. "For every person that your friend didn't kill last night, your boss killed double. That doesn't account for the multiple reports that compile what Darla and Drusilla did with their...do you have any conception of-"

"Your friend?" Lindsey demanded, again cutting through uncaringly. "You put him there, didn't you? Spike. There's no other-"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There was no way he was falling for that. Cordelia was an expert liar even if she wasn't a keen actress, but the remark itself fell flat between the convenient woes of both parties. Instead, his eyes narrowed and he appraised her with a disbelieving glance. "Yes you do," he said softly. "I...God, I wish I'd known sooner."

That was it. The brunette's eyes went wide with conspiracy. "What?" she demanded, monotone. "What did you do?"

"I haven't done anything," he said. "Not as of the recent. But I did send a small group of mercenary vamps to take care of the problem. They're dust, just so you know. He and some rogue killed every one, according to...I just wish I'd known."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Well, you know now. Live with it."

"You don't know what I've been putting myself through," he snapped, suddenly embittered. "Watching...oh God. Watching what he's done to her!"

"Spike?"

"No, Angelus." Lindsey started pacing, a trait that looked odd on him, even if it was needed. "The things I've seen him do...because he's bored. Because it's fun. Because it's her." He shook his head. "I had a half mind to do something myself if I didn't think it end up killing us both. It's not..."

The undeclared conviction of right hung over them like a cloud ready to burst. It was conductive notice. Despite however much McDonald's disposition seemed and likely was legitimate, marking his motives as right was far and beyond anything that Cordelia was openly comfortable with.

"You've been video monitoring everything that Angel does?" Kate asked softly.

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

Lindsey's eyes widened comically. "Know? Are you kidding me? You really think I'd be standing here if he knew?" He sighed and shook his head. "If Spike is really-"

"He's really," Cordelia intervened resolutely. "Trust me."

"I don't have a choice but to." He glanced to the ground, to Lockley, and to the ground again. "We'll have to figure out some way to get her out of there. He has better access than I do, even if I don't believe Angelus has told him about her yet. That she's still alive."

"So you don't know if he's found her yet?"

He shrugged. "I haven't looked at last night's tapes from the security feed. It didn't seem necessary, with all of them out on the town."

"Murdering innocents," Kate muttered under her breath.

Lindsey's hands came up and he gave her a narrowed look. "You want to try and stop them, Detective?" he asked rhetorically. "Be my guest."

"They'll just kill you dead," Cordelia agreed with a shrug.

Lockley glared at her. "Ms. Chase, with all due respect, there's every possibility that I will be 'killed dead' every day on this job. That doesn't change the description much, does it? I refuse to stand idly by while people are out there being maimed and murdered and god-knows-what-else. I don't have time for this."

"Neither do I," the lawyer said. "Whatever you and yours are planning to do needs to be done quickly. Angel is...while his torment of her is as active as ever...he-"

She held up a hand. "Fine. Right. Whatever. Listen Lindsey, you came to us. All right? You want in, you're gonna have to play by our rules. That means no staking my friends, especially when they're there to help you. That also means no changing your mind once the deed is done, like some have done in the past. See if you can talk to Spike or something. I know for a fact that he'll have more than one idea on how to get her out of there. The guy talks of nothing else." She turned to Kate. "You. I don't care what you do. Just stay out of our way."

"Is your friend going to continue biting innocents?"

Lindsey coughed. Loudly.

Cordelia, in turn, offered a falsely sweet smile. "Hon," she said. "It's better than what Angelus would do. Remember that. And yes, he is, if it means getting the Slayer out. You don't understand-Spike's on a one-track street. Biting people means trust by crazy family means access to Slayer means saveage and hopefully much-deserved smoochies."

"He's really in love with her?" Lindsey asked, astonished.

"That's none of your business, buddy. Just get back to Wolfram and Hart and see if you can dig up anything useful." The brunette sighed deeply and shook her head, gaze averting to the ground. "Just...do it, okay? Whatever's going to be done needs to be in the now." She paused, the first hint of worry that she had thought to betray since the situation flew so drastically out of hand pouring through her eyes. There. Calm. Resolute. More than tangible: stressed and far from defeated. Cordelia refused to concede defeat; it was in her nature. She reckoned she would be fighting until long after the battle had concluded.

Either way, that did not stop or alter what was already known. A fact strained with more calamitous consequence than any she thought to convey.

"We're running out of time."

Chapter 25: Kiss The Flame

The last thing he expected upon arrival was to be greeted with a hearty dose of aversion, and yet it was received in spades. Firstly by the less-than-amiable look delivered by the woman he recognized to be Detective Kate Lockley, and next for the groan that slipped through Cordelia's lips as her head collapsed wearily on the front counter.

"Let me guess," she said in manner of greeting. "You didn't talk to Lindsey."

Spike arched a brow. "Lindsey? Yay tall? Lawyer type with a baby face an' a poncy name? Nope, can't say that I have. Not since the operation, anyway."

"Great. Just great."

"Ummm...jus' for the means of curiosity, but why?"

"He was just here," Lockley intervened, her tone cold but moderate. "Evidently, the two of you have been playing at a crossroads."

The peroxide vampire stared at her blankly. "Whassat?"

Another low moan perturbed Cordelia's disposition, whose features were still buried in her arms. "This thing," she said, muffled. "Lindsey's on an all out rescue-Buffy warpath. And he's been having a major wig about it ever since...ever."

There was a pause. Spike arched a brow coolly, calm and determined to remain reasonable. "'S that so?" he demanded. "Funny, 'cause I coulda sworn he was one of the prats who set this entire thing up in the bloody firs' place. Guess life's a li'l ironic like that, huh?"

At that, Lockley's eyes widened with blazes of unkempt fury that he hadn't noted before. A fire burning with a low enough glow to remain unnoticed until the final sparks were close enough to set the world alight with a thousand torches. "You wanna talk irony?" she spat. "Like, how you say you want to protect your Slayer, and yet I somehow wind up with a dozen assault reports that match a man of your description?"

Cordelia cleared her throat, attention stirred again. "Ummm, that's not irony, Kate," she corrected. "It's hypocrisy. And didn't we already cover this?"

Spike scowled. "I am not a bloody hypocrite. I did what I had to."

"Yeah, what you had to," Lockley agreed snidely, planting her hands on her hips. "Funny how that just happened to coincide with sinking those fangs of yours into the necks of civilians all across town and the destruction of ten thousand dollars in public property."

Cordelia frowned. "You didn't mention that."

"I'm mentioning it now."

"Oh." Her brow furrowed in consideration before turning to Spike with a flash of incredulous awe. "Ten thousand dollars? What did you do last night?"

He shrugged. "Li'l of this, li'l of that. The usual."

There was an irritated snicker from Lockley. She did not look impressed. "Well, that usual's going to cost you."

A darker scowl befouled his features at that; one that he could not prevent if he tried. "Listen, you ignorant bint," he snarled. "Considerin' my record, you oughta be glad that's the worst that happened. Remember me? Dangerous vampire here. The same I distinctly I recall you sayin' you'd read up on. Gave me a li'l lecture on the basics of my own sodding kind. I'm here for one purpose only: get the Slayer out. 'F a few bystanders 'appen to get knicked in the process, so bloody be it. I couldn't give a lick."

The brunette woman snickered at that. "I suppose it's too late to tell you not to take anything that Kate says personally," she advised. "She just hates vamps."

"Yeah, I do," the detective agreed. "And this one's not climbing on my list."

Spike leaned forward provocatively, eyes widening with a bit of the same dynamism. "Not my problem," he growled. "Listen, I wager you have some tragic sob story to account for your vamp aversion. Guess what: not the bloody firs'. I know me quite a few blokes who've had a bit of the same over the years."

There was an uncomfortable rustling from Cordelia at that. He glanced up and met her eyes. One fleeting glance was all it took. One glance on mutual territory, and they knew each other.

"This has nothing to do with me," Lockley spat.

"You're right. It doesn'," Spike agreed, snapping back to attention. "Give us a ring when you've figured it out."

"Kate can help us," Cordelia offered softly.

"She was our link to Wolfram an' Hart. That job's been passed on to me. She can leave."

"No, she really can't." The brunette stood at that and navigated around the desk, ignoring his skeptical expression. "I know it's not exactly a position to be desired, Spike, but let's face it. Our options, our allies...kinda running on the low side, wouldn't you say? We need all the help we can get."

The peroxide vampire's gaze did not alleviate. "Not from tarty bints who think themselves so bloody better than the lot of us."

"And-ehm-excuse me, but it is Buffy that we're saving, isn't it?"

He frowned. "Not funny, pet."

"But oh so true. And admit it: if she wasn't Miss Waiting To Be Saved, you'd be the first to say so." Cordelia appraised him with an expectant glance, but her grin faded almost instantly at the look on his face-her eyes going wide with horror. "Oh God. I'm sorry. Was it something I said? I-"

Spike held up a hand, blinking to the realization that while he had drifted, the moment had been fleeting and it was likely a wonder that the brunette had caught on at all. "'S all right," he said. "'S jus'...I saw her."

A dump truck full of pins wouldn't have registered a peep in the room.

"What?" Lockley demanded, astonished. She didn't recognize her own voice for its bewilderment until it tainted the air. Knowledge of the Slayer's status hadn't previously presented much room for attention, but it was safe to say that her interest was piqued.

"You saw her?" Cordelia repeated. "And she...and you...well, where the fuck is she? Is she okay? Is she hurt? Did-"

The defeat waving across Spike's features was heartbreaking. The same confessed time and time again for the strains of his own incompetence in the matter. This bloody not knowing of where to go. What to do, if only to refer to the mission statement that something had to be done before everything was lost. "She..." he said, voice growing distant and hoarse without suggestion. "God, he's...he's all but butchered her."

"So, why is she still there? Why didn't you-"

The vampire's eyes narrowed. "You honestly think that we'd be havin' this conversation 'f that'd been a bloody option?"

"Well, no. But-"

"They've got her fixed in these shackles that can't be broken. Very posh. Somethin' every decently evil law firm needs lyin' around." A sigh broke his body and he collapsed into one of the armchairs in the foyer. "An' wha's best...guess who has exclusive access?"

There was no need to guess. "Angel."

"The one an' only."

Lockley pursed her lips. "Is she...is the Slayer going to be all right?"

Spike's scowl darkened once more "Bloody right she is."

Cordelia looked at him sympathetically. "Did she know you were there?"

He nodded. "I...I couldn't walk away. She was jus' danglin' there an'...I couldn't..." His eyes fell shut painfully, fighting the losing battle to keep his emotions to himself. Despite his liking for these people, bearing all with no thought to consequence was still something he wasn't entirely familiar with. Regardless of implication. "She...what they've...I couldn't leave without doin' somethin'."

Evidently, there was something in the suggested tone that Lockley didn't like. Her arms crossed and she leaned against the front counter with a perked brow, studying him a bit too close for comfort. "Oh really?" she retorted. "And what did you do?"

The vampire looked at her with masked surprise. Well, didn't that beat all? Of course, the one licensed detective in the building caught onto whatever he wasn't making much noise to hide. Still, it was irritating-and furthermore-it wasn't her business. What had occurred between him and the Slayer was very much that: between him and the Slayer. He didn't need the opinion of an outsider to offer comfort to the girl he loved, and he certainly didn't need the tacit approval of someone so wholly unrelated to him that she might as well be a stranger.

"I helped," he said. And that was that.

"Oh, I'm sure you did."

"Spike..." Cordelia ventured. "What is she talking about?"

The last was something that fell distinctly to the void; he was too infuriated by suggestion to think to respond to the brunette. Instead, the peroxide vampire leapt to his feet and stalked forward with undisguised rage. It was both irritating and commendable when Lockley refused to flinch. The chit had stones, he had to admit. But the raw insinuation in her tone was unforgivable. The notion, the slightest hint of what she was saying...

It was enough to make a bloke do something he would only inevitably regret.

"I din't hurt her," he snarled, eyes blazing with the threat of transformation.

"Right."

"Hey," his companion intervened sharply. "If Spike says he didn't hurt her, he didn't. Sorry Kate. Just one more vamp that doesn't fit your ideal stereotype. And on that note, The Bias Line is closed tonight. Please see yourself out."

She looked at the other woman askance. "Didn't you just say a minute ago-"

"Yeah, I know. Changing my mind. Well, you pissed me off. Get lost and don't come back unless you have some information from Lindsey or Wolfram and Hart or something that does not resemble a threat to my friends. All right?"

Spike stared at her, awe and bewilderment flooding his insides. She pointedly ignored his gaze and instead crossed her arms, waiting for Lockley to take the aforementioned leave.

There weren't any words exchanged. Any pleasantries to be had. Nothing more than a roll of the eyes and a sigh of exasperation as the detective turned and made her way out the doors, closing them behind her with an effective slam. It wasn't until they were alone that Cordelia finally glanced to her vampiric colleague and offered a weak smile.

"So? Spill! Details!"

Spike frowned suspiciously. "About...?"

"You and Buffy. I want the full."

He looked at her blankly. "Uhhh...pet-"

"Don't even give me that 'nothing happened' bull crap," she threatened. "You have something-face. Any woman knows it. Why do you think Kate was all bug-up-her-ass?" She held up a hand. "And, let me clarify, I mean 'more-so-than-usual' and her radar isn't nearly as good as mine. Hello. If I had actually gone to college instead of working for my lame not-boss, I likely would've majored in dating."

The vampire grinned in spite of himself. "Yeh, you're a right natural."

Cordelia's eyes widened expectantly. "So talk! What happened?"

He shook his head and held up a hand. "Ah, ah, ah. I'm not one to kiss an' tell."

"Since when?!"

"Since now. An' for the record, luv, you an' I 'aven't been chums for long."

She growled her discontent, even if there was a smile on her face. "Bah! I hate not knowing things. This is so unfair."

Spike merely smiled.

"Tell me!"

"It wasn' like that," he replied cryptically, shaking his head. Then his eyes glossed over heavily-the weight of burdened emotion clouding his senses. "It was...she was in pain. She...what 'e's done to her. An' she was bleedin'. She was bleedin' 'cause of what he...an' she begged me not to leave her. She din't even think I was real until the end."

The tease in Cordelia's gaze had fallen completely. She stepped forward and touched his arm with sympathy. "It's okay," she whispered. "We'll get her out."

"Bloody right we will," he retorted gruffly. "I jus' don' know how. 'S why I came here. 'S why..." He shook his head. "These things that they've got her tied up in...Peaches is the only wanker who can-"

"I know. You mentioned it before."

"'F it were anyone else, I'd knick it the old fashioned style. But I don' know what I'm lookin' for. 'F 's in key-shape or what all." A sigh depressed his shoulders, and he collapsed again into the lobby sofa. "But whatever we do, pet, 's gotta be soon. I'll be dust before I jus' stand aside an' let him hurt her like that."

Cordelia followed him and took his hand into hers, patting its back in an almost sisterly fashion. "We'll figure something out," she reiterated, earning a weak, however grateful grin.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"You're a bit of all right."

She smiled. "Naturally. You, too."

Spike plastered on a pert grin and quirked his head cheekily. "Naturally," he retorted in the same tenor.

"Very funny."

"You seemed to think so." He offered a complimentary appraisal before rising to his feet once more, countenance betraying all business. "So, where are the mates?"

"Zack and the others? Oh, they went by Caritas to see if you had decided to contact us again. Seemed kinda presumptuous to me. I mean, the Host called us last time." She shrugged. "I think it's because they're bored, and being of the sitting duck clan, I can't say I blame them. They also might've gone out to see if the Order's hunting again."

Spike nodded. "An' the girlies?"

"Upstairs. I don't think Nikki likes me."

He snorted inarticulately. "You an' me both. I can see why."

"Hey!"

"Well, if Zangy's been updated in your book so that the others aren' given proper names when you talk 'bout the lot of them." He arched his brows. "Bloody interestin' development, by the way. The chit's prolly worried about him, given all that 'appened. Either that or bloody resentful."

Cordelia frowned, not following. "Huh?"

There was an insolent shrug and a secretive smile. "Nothin'."

"They'll probably be back soon if there's no new info. Then we'll figure out what to do."

Spike sighed longingly. "Yes, we will," he declared with fierce determination. The fire in his eyes remained, changing tones only when it was suggested that he return to the grim reality that surrounded them. Constricted so that he felt he couldn't breathe if he tried-and despite the absence of necessity, the notion bothered him greatly. "God, I can't take this. I see her every time I close my eyes. She begged me not to leave her, Cordy. She begged me not to let him take her again. I can't bloody stand this."

There was a solemn nod that did not know to whom it was owed. "We'll get her out," she declared needlessly.

He nodded. "Bloody right."

They had had this conversation a thousand times. It was time to do something about it.

A few minutes passed, filled with uncomfortable silence. Then Cordelia smiled and took a step toward him with an obvious attempt to sooth and improve his temper. "Actually, it's going to be kinda sad," she mused with falsely jovial thoughtfulness, however genuine her sentiment. "I mean, I've gotten used to you being around. And really, with as much as I like brooding Angel, you have a lot more personality."

Spike sighed dramatically, a glinting smile coloring his eyes. He knew perfectly well what she was doing but took the bait anyway. It was the best option in such circumstances. "Cordy, 'f you're madly in love with me, jus' say so."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh. Right. That's it. You caught me."

"Bloody knew it," he replied cheekily. Whatever the motive, her method had worked. He was smiling again, not completely distracted, but enough to merit a lighter temperament. "Though, by the smell of things, Zangy's lucky I got my heart all given to someone else."

There was a long pause and-for whatever reason-an adapted deer-in-headlights look. "What? I-"

Spike deftly pointed to his nose. "Nothin' incriminatin'," he assured her with a grin. "Jus' enough to know you two have been spendin' some quality time together. Though honestly, pet, I thought you had better taste. You really fancy that arrogant wanker?"

"Who are you to be calling anyone arrogant?"

A pause. "Touché. Relax, I'm jus' teasin'. 'Sides, he's an all right bloke."

"Yeah," she agreed with a little smile.

"Hope it works out," Spike said honestly. "The git needs a li'l happiness."

"Well, don't book the church just yet. There's not gonna be a wedding anytime soon." Cordelia shook her head. "Really, it's just a little flirtation. You're blowing everything out of proportion."

"Right. Does he know that?"

"Of course. You're really jumping the gun on this, buddy."

"Yeh," the platinum Cockney agreed, clearly not believing his own declaration. "Here's hopin', though."

"Either way," she said, reiterating carelessly. Anything to get the topic off herself, which was-granted-highly unusual. If nothing at all, it was a sign that the matter was personal enough not to constitute the limelight. For now, anyway. And that was rather telling. "They'll be back soon."

Spike nodded, spark fading from his eyes at mention of the unhappy truth abound them. Sent spiraling down a web of reality. He hoped beyond hope that she was right. The Slayer was counting on them-on him-and he would be dust before he let her down. Before he stood aside and watched without comment.

There wasn't a moment to spare.

Lindsey McDonald couldn't believe what he was seeing.

He remained prostate-frozen-cemented firmly in his seat as the images unfolded beat by beat on screen. He had heard testimony enough to verify what his eyes were telling him with factuality; heard and disbelieved its weight with callous concentration. And yet, here it was. The proof he had so desperately needed. Nothing more to compare.

The look on Spike's face betrayed him for everything he had tried to hide. The unbridled flashes of rage and lament. The unmistakable façade that foretold his self-loathing and guilt. Guilt that suggested beyond reason that he had put her there. That his very being was responsible for what had happened-what had become of her. There was no denying it. No twisting reality to mend a diluted version of a more perfect truth. The past few days had verified more of the same temperament where that came from.

No. The depth of feeling that the peroxide vampire revealed with a mere glance was all and more of what Lindsey had experienced. He knew it well. That rattling in the pit of his stomach. The weary grinding at his heartstrings. The pain that greeted him every morning, knowing he was about to get ready for a job that had lost its flare. A company he had once believed in for reasons that now seemed, despite the cause, beyond ridicule. It was a frightening thing. Waking in the middle of the night to realize that, yes, this was his life. Yes. He did work for a notoriously evil corporation that loved nothing more than dancing over the scatterings of church collapses. Yes. He was likely forever damned for things he had not done, things he would never do. Things that were tied to his name through association. Through the contract he had willfully signed before solidifying his end.

Oh God.

Frightening indeed. Lindsey had no idea what had brought him here. Prompted him this far. He would like to have argued that his actions of the past seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was far from the truth. He would like to have stated that he didn't know what he was getting himself into, and yet he had all but drafted the disclaimer himself. He would like to have confirmed his status as a man of principle, someone who would never allow themselves to sink this far into avarice. And yet here he was. On top of the fucking world. So far elevated that all were deaf to his screams.

The vampire he was watching was not so different from himself. Spike. The demon that had no reason other than the hope of divinity and kindness to persuade him to take that defining step. It was true. Everything that McDonald had campaigned against was true. True and there for witness.

He loved her. Spike loved the Slayer. Loved Buffy Summers. The very same Buffy Summers that Lindsey had all but tortured himself over in regard for her well-being. He loved her, and he was here to help.

And if the pictures before him revealed anything, Buffy was glad.

Very glad.

There had been tears, of course. Tears and blood. Tenderness. When Spike touched her, he did so with reservation. His own yearning manifest but unsatisfied. He would demand nothing of her in such a state. He could not. But he had comforted her, best to his ability. He had found solace within her presence, soothed his rage only to be rekindled once more.

Fascinating what video could surrender.

The image fizzed and died as the tape matched its reel. Lindsey sat in encased silence for long seconds after, pondering what to do next. There was no telling whom of the Wolfram and Hart personnel had viewed what he had just witnessed. No noise of it was circulating in the hierarchy of the Special Projects committee, and while he was a proud standing member, his ignorance of such things did not mean anything.

However, with the way things were going, McDonald banked on Wolfram and Hart support. Not in the full way. The way that would guarantee the Slayer's release-they couldn't stand for that, especially with the apocalypse that Holland Manners had described on the waiting list. No, the firm worked wholeheartedly for every immoral fiber the world could construct, even if things didn't always go their way.

Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla hadn't gone their way. In fact, they were something of a dangerous asset. Dangerous but too powerful to rid of. It was a bizarre standing. And thus, while Wolfram and Hart would never consent to liberate Buffy Summers, he wondered if they would contest to her mysterious disappearance, should it occur.

Either way, it was too dangerous to risk. The video had to be kept secret. That shouldn't present much of a problem, he reckoned. Though it was only secret to the Order of their recorded torture sessions, Lindsey was the only associate that made cold study of their dealings. One tape shouldn't make any difference.

Of course, in this building, one could never be too sure.

No. Resolved at that. It didn't matter.

Things had gone far enough, and he was through waiting at the sidelines, ducking his head to be avoided. Time to throw himself into the thick of it. And the wisest way to do that would be an alliance with the very vampire he had wrongfully resented. To ask Spike's assistance in the Slayer's rescue.

There. While the burden was hardly lifted, Lindsey took the first breath of air that did not taste entirely tainted. And it was wonderful.

He was determined then. No more waiting. No more idle twiddling.

Together, he and the vampire would get her out. Maybe then he would know some form of rest. All the truths and logic in the world and he was boiled down to innate understanding. One reason beyond all others. Something he had ignored for years-something fresh and liberating beyond the expression of pain and amorality he had so long exploited.

He had to try. He had to help. He had to get her out. He knew this.

Because it was right.

It was right.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter 26: Beyond The Sleeping Refuge

"Ummm," Cordelia said softly, her voice somehow breaking over the elevated strands of heated debate. It was a rather odd sensation, as she was typically one to be heard for her volume and not hushed composure. Still, it had the desired effect. The entire lobby fell to the same silence and looked at her expectantly. "I have a really bad idea." A beat when that merited no reaction other than deepened stares. "But I think it might work."

That was all the incentive that Spike required. He promptly broke from conspiring with Wright-slightly offed by the nearly innate need he had felt to relate all that had happened with his unlikely colleague. As if such solidified his transition from more than associations. As if it made them actual friends.

Not that such was not determined as long in the making, but the notion bothered him still.

"Well then," he answered eagerly. "Let's hear it."

Cordelia nodded and cleared her throat, tossing a cautious glance to the demon hunter. "Some of you aren't going to like it," she warned. Then her prospect expanded to the rest of the group who-by suggestion alone-were all regarding her with the same trepidation. Even the enthusiasm from the vampire's eyes had dwindled. "Okay, all of you aren't going to like it."

"Then don't tell us," Zack reasoned with a shrug that wasn't nearly as dismissive as he would have liked. As if it were that simple. It was difficult not to notice the sudden tension wringing his lithe figure to definitive stillness. With power as seemingly minimal as words, his entire being was suddenly wound tighter than a guitar string. "We'll think of something else."

"There isn't time to think of something else," she argued rationally. "Even if it is a bad idea. It just might be the only idea we come up with."

Gunn arched a brow. "Ummm...just for the record...how bad are we talking?"

"It involves me being used as leverage."

That was it. End of discussion. From three different corners voiced the same opposition. "No."

Cordelia rolled her eyes and jumped to her feet. There had been little variation in the weight of argument since the impromptu group of hunters arrived back at the hotel more than an hour before. It was dangerous, she knew, keeping Spike so long from his blood ties, but another opportunity to discuss the limited range of options might not present itself. The look on his face, despite reassurance, had not alleviated much from the broadened spectrum on where things stood with the Slayer. It was more than obvious that he wished himself back in her presence, regardless of what it meant risking.

Which was why she was all the more determined to have an idea plotted by the time he took his leave. He would go to Buffy almost directly, but they had to have something planned by then. Waiting any longer could see her future's end.

"Puhlease," she said, rolling her eyes. "As all of you know, there's nothing Angelus likes more than live bait."

"Which is exactly why you're not going to be implicated," Wright all but growled.

"I must agree, Cordelia," Wesley said. "I don't like the idea of-"

"You haven't even heard my idea."

"Yes, well, by suggestion alone, I am prone not to like it."

"Gotta say, Cordy," Gunn agreed, shaking his head. "I'm agreein' with Whitey and English, here. We're already short one Slayer that I've never met but have, somehow, developed a life-and-death-interest in." He tossed a brief glance to Spike, who smirked at him, even if it was a shadow of his usual showiness.

Zack frowned. "Whitey?"

"Spur of the moment."

"Kind of applies to everyone of the 'not you' society."

"I qualify for both," the vampire volunteered with a shrug. "An' you can always call him Zangy, Charlie. Seems to irritate jus' enough."

Gunn scowled. "Stop calling me that."

"Guys. Digression. Remember?" Cordelia waved. "Listen, I know everyone here's not exactly onboard the Bad Plan Train, but really-and to both reiterate and state the more than obvious-we're running out of time."

"I don' wanna get you hurt, pet," Spike said softly. "Don' get me wrong, I'll do anythin' to get her out, but-"

She shook her head. "You guys seriously don't think that I've lived every day since working for Angel and not thought about what I might eventually have to do? Granted, I really hadn't given much thought to Evil Incorporated plus two major undead hussies involved-and Buffy, never woulda saw that coming-but I can do this."

"No," Wright said shortly. The tenor of his voice suggested anything but reason. As though his word verified the end of all discussion and a motion to move to the next suggestion.

Cordelia's gaze narrowed as she considered him. "Listen," she said shortly. "I don't know if you heard me, but there's not exactly a long list of options. And I can so take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time, Zack." She held her hand up to the predictable foray of continued objection from her other colleagues. "And you two oughta know me well enough by now to guess that whatever you say's not going to work. And I'm not worried. My plan involves Spike-which you'd know if you'd let me tell you-and I know he'd never let me get hurt."

The peroxide vampire shuffled uncomfortably, either by the implication of his now accepted goodness or the weight that was suddenly planted on his shoulders, no one could tell. Thus, he opted for a noncommittal, "Thanks," before looking away in his disquiet.

"Not that I wanna say you can't trust him," Gunn offered speculatively, holding his hand up to merit his standing. "But you're putting a lot on faith, here. Spike's only one vamp, and Angel's a bad mother with, as you said, Hell Incorporated supporting him. If, say, he gets in kill-mode and has Darla and Dru help him out..."

"I can handle Dru," the peroxide vampire said softly, though it was obvious that he would like to do anything but. "'F it comes down to it."

"And it probably will," Wesley stated.

"I'll handle it." Spike sighed and shook his head. "'S not like I'd wanna hurt her or anythin'. Despite everythin' that's happened, Dru's...well, she'll always be a part of me. But that doesn' mean I won' stake her 'f she stands between me an' Buffy."

"She's a monster," Wright said softly, as though any other fate outside death was unsupportable.

"She's also my..." The peroxide vampire exhaled dramatically. "Let's jus' say, it'd be no easier for any of you to kill the firs' chit you loved, would it? Doesn' matter how bloody monstrous she is, or even that I don' love her anymore. I jus' don' wanna kill her. But I will 'f that's what it comes down to."

"I don't think we could ask any more," Cordelia said before anyone else could get a word in. Then she turned her attention to the others. "And I'm doing this whether you want me to or not. Spike can help me if it comes down to it. So deal. Okay?"

Wright made a noise of disgust and turned away.

"Might help if you'd clarify what this is," Wesley suggested.

"Well, Spike's going to take me to Wolfram and Hart," she said. "Not now, but soon. And when I say soon, I mean tomorrow at the latest. I'd still like for him to talk to Lindsey and figure out if we have any alternatives." Her eyes narrowed at the platinum vampire. "Which I expect you to do directly when you get back, okay?"

Despite the severity of the circumstances, he found it within himself to answer with a cheeky, "Yes, Mum."

Gunn perked a brow. "I'm not liking this, already."

"Neither am I," Wright said, back turned to them. His entire body was wrought with strain. As though he needed to prevent himself from lashing out in a manner that was most unbecoming.

"Well..." Cordelia frowned. "Tough. Anyway, in my plan, Spike would give me to Angelus-"

"I see your 'not liking' and raise you a 'hating'," Zack told Gunn, turning at that, eyes blazing. "Are you out of your mind? He'd rip you apart in seconds. Or worse-"

"Or worse, he'd do to me what he's done to Buffy," she volunteered softly. "I know."

"You're crazy," he decided.

"No," Wesley intervened, gaze not swaying from the brunette. There was a glow of reverent awe pouring from his form. "She's...Cordelia, when on earth did you become so noble?"

She smirked, though it was in good jest. "Gee, thanks."

"I mean no offense, but-"

"Yeah, yeah. Two years ago, I was ready to kill Buffy to be Homecoming Queen. My, how not being in high school or having any friends changes people." A determined sigh sounded through her lips. "But I don't think it's going to come to that. Slayer or not, she didn't know what she was up against when what happened to her happened. I do. I know exactly what I'm doing and what the odds are. And, if this goes accordingly-"

Spike's eyes widened. "Hold it right there," he said forcefully. "Bloody hell, I thought you Sunnyhell alums knew not to jinx yourselves like that."

Cordelia covered her mouth in astonishment. "Oh God. Sorry."

"Tha's it, pet. Deal's off."

"What? No! I didn't even finish my sentence."

"You jinxed yourself," Gunn added hopefully, though his words were obviously aimed more toward the sentiment of talking her out of whatever it was she had fully planned. "Can't risk it now."

"You guys suck. I'm doing it." Her eyes leveled with Spike's. "And you're gonna help me, or else I'll be doing it alone."

The vampire wove a tapestry of obscenities under his nonexistent breath with a dejected sigh. Wright still refused to look at her.

"I'm going to be struggling too much for Angelus to have much to do with me," Cordelia continued, gaze focused on the platinum Cockney. "And you're gonna help me. Of course, you'll have to do the thing where you're trying not to be obvious in the fact that you're helping me. In fact, you'll actually have to pretend like you're helping Angelus. Then you can pull your pit-pocketing stunt and get me outta there."

The entire lobby fell deathly silent for long seconds.

"That," Gunn said, disbelievingly, "is your plan?"

"Yes."

"Cordy...that's awful."

"But worth it." She glanced to Wright briefly. His expression was stony at best, thoroughly unreadable by any conventional means. "Spike told me he's good at petty theft-"

"Yeh," the vampire agreed hotly. His features betrayed a disposition not too far removed from the demon hunter's. He obviously was not as impressed as she was hoping. "I also told you that robbin' Peaches 's akin to bloody suicide. I'm not about to put you in that kinda danger 'f that's all you got up your sleeve."

"If he's preoccupied with me, and in the middle of a struggle, he won't notice."

"Bollocks."

"Spike, do we really have any other options right now?"

At that, Wright moved to comment. The room fell silent once again under the impressionable weight of his manifest opinion. "Other than stupid schemes that will not only result in a dead Buffy, but a dead Cordy as well? I can't believe you'd actually consider doing this."

"Believe it," she snapped.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"I so am not."

Zack stormed forward heatedly. "You're not invincible, Cordelia! You go in there and try to pull this bullshit; he's going to fucking tear you limb from limb and fuck what's left over."

Gunn winced. "Let's not get crude or anything."

"Maybe crudeness is the only way to get through to her that she's being a fucking idiot."

Cordelia was nearly quivering with fury. It touched every nerve there was to touch and influenced her all the more in her conviction. "Maybe being a fucking idiot is better than being proactive instead of reactive. This is the best that we can do, and for your information, nobody asked your permission. There's this little thing called learning from your mistakes. Since you obviously haven't taken that step yet, I'm going to have to take it for you. Learn from your mistake and not stand by twiddling my thumbs while a girl gets fucking raped and tortured and God knows what else every single day."

A cold, callous breeze filtered through the air. He matched her gaze with such intensity that she didn't know if he wanted to hit her, scream at her, kiss her, or rip her head off. In the end, he opted for none of these, and instead turned to bask in taciturn dilemma on his own terms.

Wright had only been gone seconds when Gunn decided to lighten the air. "And again," he said uneasily, "I'm out of the loop."

Wesley frowned. "I believe I am, too."

Spike said nothing at first. He watched his friend disappear to the upper levels of the Hyperion, indulged another unneeded breath, and turned Cordelia with more of the same. "Pet-"

She turned to him sharply, foreseeing his objection. "Don't. Just go. Go to Lindsey, figure out if there's something else you can do. If not, just come back and get me."

"I don' like this."

"Well, I don't, either, but I'm not going to stand back and do nothing." She glanced wordlessly to the staircase that had carried the hunter away from deliberation. "Not now that I've seen what they're capable of."

Spike followed her gaze. "Zangy-"

"He'll have to deal, okay? I'm not doing this to spite him. He's just not used to a woman in charge."

"Nikki," Gunn pointed out.

The vampire snickered softly. "Wrong kind of 'in charge', mate."

"Whatever Zack's problems are, they're his, not ours," Cordelia stated with more conviction than she felt.

"Right," Spike agreed solemnly, and nothing more would be said in the matter.

The note that settled over the Hyperion as he took his leave was somber at best. Regardless of disposition, there would be no peace between any of them while things remained as they were. They were beginning to war with themselves, which was never good.

Buffy could not be saved while her rescuers had nothing better to do than argue.

And for the moment, that was what kept him going. Flashing back to her face. The way her skin felt under his touch. The way she whimpered into his mouth. The way she begged him not to leave her.

It was time then.

Time.

Spike wanted to be certain that when she next made that request of him, he could appease her. Now through eternity. Cordelia's offer notwithstanding, it kept him motivated. Kept him moving forward.

Kept him resolved on the understanding that he would get her out. No matter what it took. No matter what it cost.

Even if it was everything. She was worth it.

It was a miracle that he could navigate himself anywhere; much less to his chamber, he was so angry. The years had taught him many things-namely to entrust his senses. Even when Amber was murdered, he did not recall being blinded with fury as much as fueled with it. Seeing her hanging as he had spurned the wakening that had led him to be what he was.

Now was an entirely different matter. The raw bluntness of his outrage had nothing compared to the intensity of it. The past two days had been hell enough on his conscience to add warring with a woman he admittedly knew very little about doing something that scared him more than he would ever openly confess. It was the closest he had come to completion since the revolutionary moment that saw the end of everything he had ever been.

His feelings for Cordelia were admittedly jumbled, this latest confrontation notwithstanding. He barely knew her, and yet she possessed the ability to strip him down to the single fibers of his neglected self. The primary reaction, of course, was to ignore her completely. Life had been hard enough without the influence of another woman. While he never resented Amber for putting him in this position and would trade what they had shared for nothing, it-in essence-had robbed him of every hope of normality he had been close to seizing.

What he had known with his wife was the closest thing to fairytale perfection he figured anyone had ever come. That wasn't to say they went their daily lives without the expected squabbles and fights over this and that. But it was homey. Happy. Somewhere between the boundary of reason and sensibility, he had found what it was that many people spent the entirety of their lives searching for. Bliss to end all other. Pure, unguarded bliss.

Which was why, in essence, losing it came at such an abominable shock. Not for the brute of consequence-that lay far beyond on an entirely separate level-but for the formality of predetermined disposition. They had never had any enemies; the thought that she could be taken from him in such a manner was beyond approach, thus even when Darla entered the picture, he was far too set in his ways to be influenced under any separate persuasion.

Seven long years had passed since he lost her. Since he felt anything but cold. But the drive to go on. There was love, of course. Love for Rosie and Nikki. Love kept more for duty and paternal obligation. He loved his daughter with everything he was, even when he thought himself void of anything but calloused resentment and fury. And even while such notion had seemed ridiculous and beyond impossible, there was the unacknowledged whim that he would never allow himself to become romantically attached to anyone. It felt wrong. As though he was betraying her. Betraying a woman seven years dead by allowing himself to become more human than he had been in the same span.

He didn't know Cordelia-not really. And yet she was a danger to him in the satisfaction of such regard. She had tapped into whatever humanity he had left. Whatever disposition was inclined to fall under the wordless authority of the opposite sex. He didn't know what to do with himself. If there was anything to do. It was wrong but it wasn't. Such could never be fully wrong.

And now she was going to do something entirely stupid.

She was going to let herself die.

Fucking women.

Not only that, she had the audacity to throw his own reservation back at him. The mere hint of suggestion was enough to make him want to wring her neck, even if it would do no good. Very little could be said or done for headstrong women. It was unfounded. He had never met anyone like her. She was sure to be the death of him in some fashion or another.

Nikki had never greeted him with such blatant opposition. They had their fights, of course, but she was always under the understanding that he inherently knew best, and to dispute him would not only be futile, but beyond foolish. After all, his judgment had prevailed them this far.

Cordelia blatantly refused to see that.

And it was going to get her killed. He couldn't lose her now. Not to the same creatures he had lost Amber to. Not with his feelings developing. Not with the collapsing of his heart on the line. Not with everything.

If he lost her, even with his feelings as they were, he feared he would never recover.

A gentle knock on the already-open door perturbed the solitude of his musings. He knew it was her without needing to turn, and he stiffened in effect even if he never refused his consent. It was of little use either way. Cordelia was her own woman and likely wouldn't care a damn about his feelings on even the smallest of matters.

That's not fair, his mind warned, but he was too forgone to care.

"Well fine," she said when he offered no greeting. "I'm coming in whether you want me to or not."

Wright's eyes narrowed. "You're good at doing things I'd rather you not," he observed.

There was a pained sigh. "Look-"

He held up a hand, still refusing to turn and face her. "I don't wanna hear it."

"I'm sorry, okay? But it has to be done."

The hunter's head fell and he exhaled deeply. "Why bother talking at all? Why bother anything?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't like this."

"Well, it doesn't!" At that, he pivoted sharply on the mattress, eyes shining with hurt that he hadn't wanted her to see. With more emotion than he felt he had the right to portray on such an abbreviated acquaintance. "This is insane, Cordy."

"Yeah. Getting that."

"And you don't care. You really don't care."

"Care? Care that I might get killed to the ninth degree or worse? Of course I care." She approached hesitantly, not covering too many steps in fear of rejection, but also refusing to turn and back away from him now. "But I'm not going to let Angelus win because I'm afraid."

"This isn't the only option."

"I know it's not. Or maybe it is. Maybe we waited too long and all the other options are gone. Point being, it's the only one we've got right now. We don't have time to sit around and wait for something else to spring to mind." That was it; she covered the steps between them with resolve that marked her for every strand of dignity she could uphold. A soft beat, and she sat next to him, taking her hand in his as her thumb ran comfortable circles over skin roughened with neglected time. "I've been too selfish all my life to let that stop me now."

Wright feared losing his tenacity with her so near. With the comforting touch she offered being etched aimlessly into his flesh. "It's dumb," he whispered. "It's too dumb."

"It'll be all right. Spike'll be there."

An inarticulate snort. "Don't get me wrong, but that doesn't exactly offer the grace of comfort. Spike's not the best example for...anything."

"He wouldn't let me get hurt."

"He's-"

"For the love of God, don't tell me what he is. I know what he is. Hell, one of what he is-up until recently-signed my paycheck. It doesn't matter." Her grip on him tightened. "And you know it. Spike doesn't like to admit that he's got a conscience, but he does. He's...for whatever reason; he's become a friend. To all of us. Even you."

Wright looked up sharply at that, objection written plainly in his eyes, but there was nothing to say that would offer reasonable disagreement. He was tired of arguing a fruitless battle. Tired of pretending his prejudice was the only thing keeping him from the full welcome back to humanity. Too long spent in the cold winter of his own discontent. Thawing back to life was a tiresome, nearly painful process. "I know," he conceded softly. And the weight of the world fell down upon him. A collapse-a confession. Everything he had wanted to keep concealed so long. The complete transformation of character. From one extreme to the next. He hadn't asked for this-hadn't wanted to trust Spike. Hadn't wanted to lose himself all over again. Hadn't asked his unlikely friend and the woman currently cradling his arm to tap back into his compassion. He hadn't wanted it, goddammit. And yet here he was.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he whispered softly.

Cordelia smiled and pat his hand with empty reassurance. "I won't."

"You can't know that."

"Well, I'm pretty stubborn, you see. When I put my mind to something, I don't rest until I see it through."

"This has to be the dumbest plan ever."

She quirked a brow. "Oh, I don't know. I never got through telling you all my adventures a la Sunnydale."

Wright nodded and closed his hand around hers, braving her eyes at last. "Tell me when it's over," he said.

A smile at that and a nod for agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

Yeah. A plan. Seemed to be a lot of those going around.

He would allow it, of course. He had to. He had no place intervening, and no authority over her will to make it otherwise. She was determined. That much was indisputable.

He just hoped she knew what she was doing.

Spike knew it was stupid so soon, but the minute he set foot inside Wolfram and Hart, there was no other truth. He had to see her again.

At times like these, the peroxide vampire wondered if he did himself more harm than good simply by being in existence. His judgment was not exactly reputable, and he had a tendency for getting himself in trouble simply by opening his mouth. And yet, despite his awareness of such things, he could not help himself. It was beyond reproach. Like the bloody clichéd moth to the flame, he was drawn to her. He needed to see her, to be near her. To have that reassurance of her tangibility.

Such was his determination that he didn't think to check on the others' whereabouts. In these fast coming days, his patience had all but plummeted. And while logic attempted to throw itself at any open window, he simply wouldn't hear the half of it.

He had to bloody see her.

There was some merit in reasonability. As his burdened steps drew him nearer, his senses went on high alert. Angelus's scent wafted in the dreary downstairs, but there was no evidence of his current proximity. The quarters were empty-he had thought to check that much-and while two factors did not measure soundness of being; it was all he needed to push him onward. To convince him to plunder his more tangible cares aside and confirm that she was all right.

If only for a second. After all, his previous rendezvous had gone unmentioned. And the peroxide vampire was always one to try his luck.

Strange. He would have thought the shock of seeing her in such a state would have waned and settled. After all, every time his eyes flashed closed, his mind drew him back to a sad focal point of reckoning. She haunted every corner of his psyche, visited and caressed every part of him that had not previously been explored. And yet again, seeing her sliced through every nerve that had once felt life. As though he was bleeding eternally for every one of the lives he had ever destroyed, and could never find solace in death.

Yet her eyes lit up when she saw him. And for that, he would touch the sun.

"Spike."

Funny how a voice so raw with screams and even further disuse could strike up a wind that not even the grandest symphony dared compete.

He couldn't stop himself if he tried. In seconds, he had paraded to her and commanded her sweet mouth into a needing, however gentle kiss, his hands going to her face. Sore eyes did not wish to inspect her for new scars, though he knew it was inevitable. His call for blood in turn of what she had suffered-he needed to know how much. "Told you," he murmured against her skin. "Told you I'd be back."

"Real."

Spike smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, luv. I'm real."

Buffy pulled back at that, tears flooding her eyes that he could not bear. God, how was it that he always ended up the source of such pain when all he wanted to do was wish it away? But there was no hurt behind her gaze. Rather, she was looking at him with reverential awe. As though he burned effulgent with divinity. "I thought I had dreamed you," she whispered. "I thought..."

"I know, baby."

"But you're here." Her eyes focused on his determinately. "Not a dream."

"Not a dream."

"Real." The word escaped her a tortured gasp, her eyes falling shut as his lips explored her throat. "You're really real."

Despite the weight of circumstance, he smiled against her skin. "That's right."

"Here for me."

"Only for you." He pulled back, eyes shining. "An' the cavalry's on it's way, Buffy. Soon. All right?"

She nodded, though it was clear she didn't understand. "You're very strange," she informed him, nearly pristinely.

A strangled chuckle fought through his throat. "You don' know the half of it."

"Here for me." The Slayer's head quirked. "Spike, why? Please tell me."

And there it was. The open window. She had given it to him before, but he had not leapt through. Something about the timing. Something about everything there was to have reservations about. But she had not flinched away from him then, and she was not now. She had returned his ardent fervor best she could. The tears she sported now, while shards against his nonbeating heart, were not the product of pain.

She could never feel the way he did-he stood by that assessment.

But she deserved to know. She deserved to know something.

Even if the timing could never be appropriate. If not now, then not when she was recuperating. If not then, then not on the drive home. If not home, then never. He would take his love to the end of the world before he scared her off with it, even if she always knew his driving cause.

It had to be said. At least once, if never again.

"Buffy," he began huskily, nearing once more of unknown volition. "I-"

An intrusive scent hit the air with such bluntness that he could not have foreseen its coming until the second before it wrestled him to the ground. Something strong, more than potent. Something that stirred his monster to life with more vitality than he had known in his long years. Such that he feared it would burst free of him and cast his skin aside. The emergence from one to the other. Demon versus man.

Right now, the demon prevailed.

"Well, well," Angelus said from his place at the doorway, arms crossed and a quirked brow. His voice was sharp and metallic, ringing with game and disdain. "Isn't this interesting?"

Submit a Review!