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No such thing as coincidences	By : All4Spike Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Threesomes/Moresomes > Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William) > Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 6097 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter four

Spike was sitting in the shady area of the Hyperion garden, enjoying the first cigarettes he’d had for ages. He relished the peace and a rare chance to just sit and enjoy the flowers, the colours were spectacular in the sun, and scents were delicious. One of the few human pleasures he ever really missed was just sitting in a sunny garden.

Buffy had not spoken to him when she had finally appeared with Angel. She hadn’t even looked at him. The pair of them had been chatting animatedly, even happily, and once the wound in Angel’s chest had been dressed the crowd had immediately got down to the serious business of their belated breakfasts. Nobody had raised the topic of Spike and Buffy’s behaviour at the end of their fight. Instead they had all been sitting around listening to Angel’s proud blow by blow account of how Buffy had bested him. He made it seem as if he had graciously allowed her to win. “Patronising old git,” Spike thought, “as if he’d ever had a chance against my Slayer!” He carefully avoided thinking of how much less damage Angel had suffered than he had received himself.

Spike had suddenly felt apart from the group again, as he always did in Sunnydale. He was once more sitting on the outside, observing rather than participating. He had finally had to grab Xander’s arm as he passed and ask him to help him outside, making the excuse that he didn’t want to smoke indoors because of Connor. When he was settled he suddenly realised that he had addressed Xander by his first name, had asked politely for help, and that the boy had not hesitated to lend him his strength. There was something rather comfortable, if a bit weird, about that.

Time slowly passed, and as he finished his third cigarette Spike realised his eyes were drooping closed. It was after midday now, and it was really time he was in bed. Since he would have had to call for help to get upstairs, and anyway Buffy and Dawn had taken over his room, he was content to doze where he was.

He suddenly jerked awake, becoming aware as he did so that he was no longer alone. “Everyone has gone into research mode,” Buffy said as she sat opposite him. “As you know, me and research… unmixy things.” She paused, clearly waiting for a response. Spike decided that whatever he said would be wrong, so silence was easier. At last she continued, “I gather that you’re going to be helping Giles?”

“If he asks me for help I’ll do whatever I can. I don’t want to stick my nose in where it’s not wanted.” He finally said.

There was silence. For once Spike didn’t feel obliged to break it. He was so very tired of trying to hold conversations with Buffy only to be told to shut up, or to have her jump up, hit him, and leave. It was kind of restful to just be sitting where he could feel her warmth, hear her strong heartbeat, inhale her scent, and enjoy her closeness, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Eventually it was Buffy who broke the silence. Hesitantly she asked, “So… Spike, why did you leave?”

As he tried to think of a witty reply, Spike realised that he wasn’t just tired because it was daytime and he should be asleep, he was tired of his whole situation. He sighed and looked down at his bare feet; he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her the truth while looking her in the face. “I didn’t leave love. I will never leave you, I can’t, I’ve tried. You always draw me back, like a moth to a flame. I just needed to get away for a while, to think and to heal. I couldn’t take the pain of you despising me, of being your shameful dirty secret…” He chuckled sadly, “although that’s one problem I don’t appear to have any more.” He paused, frowning as he tried to put his feelings into words. “I love you so much, I thought if I gave you everything you asked for, did everything you wanted, I’d be able to take away your hurt, and you’d be happy, you’d be able to admit you loved me too. I was sure I felt it when you were with me, when I was inside you. But I’ve realised you trust me with your life, and Dawn’s life, but you can’t trust me with your heart. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. That night in the woods, and then in the alley, everything I did trying to help you went wrong… you were supposed to take your guilt and fear out on me instead of going to the police you daft bint… so I failed you yet again. After that I finally knew I’d got it all wrong, as usual. You don’t belong in the dark with me any more than I belong in the sun with you. We’re going to have to function as a team with Dawn because of this Portal Prophecy, and for that to work we’re going to have to be able to trust each other completely. It’s never going to work.” He whispered sadly, “you really should have staked me, it’s the only way you’ll get rid of me. I get everything wrong...” There was a soft grunt from her, but she didn’t answer. He still couldn’t look at her.

A thought occurred to him, and he decided that as he was already being honest he had nothing to lose by asking the question that had been on his mind since he had heard her declaration to Angel: ‘we’ve just come to reclaim what’s ours’. “So… Buffy, why did you come here to LA? To visit your One True Love? Or to reclaim this ‘evil soulless thing’, your convenient sodding sex slave and favourite punching bag?” He was disgusted to hear the bitter, self-pitying tone of his own voice, and the choked off sob he’d finished with. He let his head fall forward and buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Oh God, I’m so tired……”

There was a sharp intake of breath from opposite him, and to his dismay, a matching one from behind him. Spike had thought they were alone. He doubted whether Buffy had heard anything, and he didn’t have the energy to find out who had overheard. It seemed a lot of secrets were coming out. Perhaps this was a good thing, he hoped so. Slowly he looked up to see her expression, and realised she’d gone. “And… she’s off again….” He moaned sadly. Why hadn’t she answered him?

He lit yet another cigarette, and wondered if he could get upstairs to a bedroom on his own. He tested his left leg and decided he could probably make it as far as the foot of the stairs, by which time he hoped he’d be able to find someone to help him. He could feel the bones trying to knit, and knew if he could lie flat and sleep for a few hours, preferably after a good feed, they’d heal a lot quicker. A few minutes later he stubbed out the dog-end and began hobbling and hopping around to the door, holding himself up by grabbing onto anything that came to hand. He paused at the door, trying to figure out how to get through it without falling over, and nearly fell flat on his face when it suddenly opened in front of him.

“Need some help?” Xander asked.

Spike stood gaping for a moment in stunned surprise, “Oh, yes please Xander, could you help me upstairs? I need to lie flat to help my bones mend right, and I should get some sleep too. Creature of the night you know….”

Xander tucked himself under Spike’s left arm, grasped his left hand over his shoulder for leverage, and held him firmly around the waist with his right arm. “Here we go then.” It was surprisingly easy to manoeuvre around the corner and up the stairs.

“You’ve got quite strong haven’t you, Harris?” Spike commented. “All grown up you are. I forget how quickly it happens. All of you have changed so much since I’ve known you.”
Xander just grunted in response, he was saving his energy for half carrying the hopping vampire upstairs.

Just as they reached the top of the first flight onto the balcony, Spike gently laid his right hand over Xander’s left, “Just a minute, stop here, I need to listen.” He had heard Wesley’s tense voice from the office. He was speaking very quietly, and as the foyer was empty nobody else was around to hear. To Spike, however, he might as well have been shouting.

“… father please, it is imperative that you find that particular volume as quickly as possible. You should scan the text and email it to me, sending the actual book could take too long, lives depend upon it.” …….. “No I can’t tell you the title or the author, I have told you everything I know about it.” ……… “Yes I am still working with Angel, although as a matter of fact this research question has nothing to do with him, it is for the benefit of the Slayer and her team.” ……. “I know I am no longer a Watcher father, that doesn’t prevent me from helping her when I can.” …..… “So that is your final decision? Thank you father, now I understand you are keeping up the Council’s tradition of totally ignoring the wellbeing of the Slayer you are supposed to support. I shall trouble you no further.”

“Fathers…” Spike muttered, and raised his voice, “Wesley?”

Wes stuck his head out of the office and looked up, “Yes Spike?”

“Your dad being a pain in the arse?”

Wesley grunted, “As usual. I don’t have the book you say we need here, and father doesn’t approve of my current occupation so refuses to help by searching for it at home.”

“Get the Slayer to speak to Quentin Travers, Wes. Get her to put a rocket up his arse, and then to tell him to put one up your dad’s. That bloody Council, they keep forgetting why they exist. Ask her to remind them… again. She’s good at that isn’t she Harris?” The young man nodded in agreement. “I heard all about her little emancipation speech in the Magic Box last year, sword trick and all. She told me when she came to collect her mum and The Bit from my crypt. I hadn’t laughed so much for ages. She enjoyed every minute of it, and I know she’d love to do it again.”

“Good idea Spike, thank you.” Wesley vanished back into the office.

“What is everyone up to then?” Spike asked as they proceeded slowly along the hotel corridors.

“The girls all went shopping, we didn’t expect to stay this long so they didn’t bring all their girly supplies with them. Angel, Fred and Gunn, went out on a job, and I think Giles has given in to the inevitable and is sleeping off his jetlag.” Xander explained, “I don’t know about Lorne, I expect he’s around somewhere. I didn’t have anything to do, so I was just coming out to see you when you came back in. I saw Buffy coming in from the garden just before the girls went out, she didn’t look very happy, did you two have a fight?”

“I’m not sure what happened, she asked me a question, and I answered it. I don’t think she liked what she heard, but she didn’t say anything. I then asked her a question, and I don’t think she liked that either, because she walked out on me without answering.”

“She didn’t dump you then? I thought she might after your little secret came out.”

“Not my secret Harris, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. It was the Slayer insisting nobody should know… but she didn’t mention that anyway. Sorry to disappoint you. It’s all very confusing. I have no idea where we stand.” Spike smiled sadly, “in other words, it’s situation normal on the Buffy and Spike relationship front. I’ll be sticking around though, whatever she decides. I’ve told her I’ll never leave her. Anyway after learning about this sodding prophecy there’s no way I’d walk out on my girls, it means we have to work as a team, and so that’s the way it must be... unless she dusts me after all. I wouldn’t blame her.”

They had reached the door to the room that had been Spike’s, and had been taken over by the Summers sisters. “Not in here, let’s find another empty room. I won’t be able to rest in the bed the Slayer slept in, the scent you know…”

“I’d have thought you’d enjoy it.” Xander commented suggestively, supporting Spike a bit further along the passage to an empty room.

“Under normal circumstances I’d love nothing better,” Spike chortled, “but not when I’m trying to rest. All my energy needs to be channelled into healing at the moment; I’m useless to the Slayer like this. If I was surrounded by her scent, relaxing and mending would be the last things on my mind.”

After he helped the vampire get comfortable on the bed Xander hovered uncertainly. “Did you really mean that? When you handed her the stake and gave her the choice to work with the prophecy or dust you?” He sounded a bit doubtful.

“Yes I did. Have you ever thought about how few choices Buffy has ever had about the really big things? She didn’t get a choice whether to be the Slayer or not, she didn’t get a say in whether her father left, she didn’t choose to live on the Hellmouth, Bloody Angel didn’t give her a choice when he decided to leave her for her own good, she wasn’t given an option to refuse when the monks sent the Key to her as Dawn, about the only major choice she has been able to make was to sacrifice herself in place of her sister… and then you lot made a mockery of that by bringing her back. Since then she has had it really rough, she still can’t figure out what she’s supposed to be doing here when she had thought she was finished, that she could rest at last. She deserves a bit of peace, and if this prophecy turns out to be true that’s the last thing she’s going to get. She has earned the right to choose the course of the rest of her life.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “If you’re at a loose end why not go get yourself a sandwich or something and nick some of Angel’s blood for me, find us some booze and a pack of cards and we could get comfy for a while while the ladies are out of the way?” Spike suggested.
Xander nodded, and went off to get supplies. Spike struggled out of the horrible red T shirt, making sure he didn’t disturb the dressing over his healing chest wound, and removed his belt. The cigarette pack and lighter went onto the side table, and he slowly manoeuvred himself under the covers, gratefully lying back against the pillows. The painful trip up the stairs had exhausted him even with the assistance he’d received. As he relaxed he took time to wonder about the shift in Xander’s attitude towards him. First Angel, and now Xander was being friendly. He was beginning to wonder if there was another mood altering spell at work.

Spike’s eyes began to droop again, but he quickly came alert when he smelled the warm blood in the big mug on the tray Xander brought into the room a few minutes later. He also carried Spike’s leather duster over one arm.

“Here’s your lunch,” the young man passed Spike the mug, “and here’s a flask with more for later. Wesley says the more you drink the quicker you’ll heal. I’ve got some sandwiches, and I managed to grab us the last of that chocolate cake you made yesterday, Giles didn’t leave much. I couldn’t find any booze, you finished the brandy this morning, and nobody seemed to have any cards either but Wes said this was the book you were reading last night, I thought you might like it to hand for later.” He placed the flask and book on the side table, hung the coat on the back of the door and pulled a chair across so he could use the foot of the bed as a table.

As he ate Xander examined the spine of the book he’d brought upstairs, “A poetry anthology? I didn’t think you would be into that stuff, I thought it was more Angsty Angel’s thing?” He commented around a mouthful of chicken sandwich.

“Poetry speaks to everyone,” Spike replied, opening the book and leafing through the pages, “read this.” He handed the open volume across.

“La Belle Dame Sans Merci? The big dame sings mercy?” Xander looked puzzled.

Spike rolled his eyes in frustration, “Didn’t they teach you kids anything? It means The Beautiful Woman Without Mercy. This poem always reminds me of Drusilla and me, and the time I was sired.” He took the book back and started reading aloud:

“O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake, and no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! So haggard and so woebegone?
The squirrel's granary is full, and the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow with anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheek a fading rose fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head, and bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love, and made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed, and nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing a faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet, and honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said `I love thee true.'

Spike’s voice was mesmerising. He spoke with a clear well-educated English accent, and as he read Xander realised for the first time that perhaps all poetry wasn’t silly after all, he was entranced by the story of the knight meeting his bewitching lady.

She took me to her elfin grot, and there she wept, and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes with kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep, and there I dreamed -Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed on the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too, pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried -`La Belle Dame sans Merci hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starved lips in the gloam, with horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here, on the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here, alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge has withered from the lake, and no birds sing."

For a few moments there was a thoughtful silence. “The way Keats goes on about pale warriors and thrall makes me certain he came across vampires himself. The description of the lady, ‘ full beautiful - a faery's child, her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild’ reminds me so much of my Drusilla…” Spike sighed wistfully. “As for her pale knight, well that’s just like me, obviously, although since Keats died forty years before Angelus sired Dru and sixty years before I was turned he must have been referring to some other poor fool who got too close to another enchanting woman one night…. He was only 26 when he died, nearly the same age as I was when Dru found me.”

“Do you ever regret becoming a vampire?” Xander asked warily.

“There are certainly some things about being human I miss, like enjoying the flavours of food, your sense of taste is one of the few things that gets weaker rather than stronger when you’re sired… and while different creatures have slightly different flavoured blood, when all’s said and done blood is blood, and it does get very boring having the same thing for dinner day after day after day. One thing I would really like, that’s to see my reflection in a mirror again, sometimes I almost forget what I look like... I also miss being able to go out in the sun and work in a garden, I used to love tending plants. On the whole though, the virtual immortality, fast healing and superstrength make up for an awful lot, as does the lifestyle. There’s no need to ‘keep up appearances’ or try to fit into society. There’s no shame, no guilt, you just do whatever you want whenever you want.”

“Until you get a cute little government chip in your head.” Xander smirked.

Spike gave a short little laugh. “You know something really strange Harris? I hated this sodding chip for ages, struggled against it, tried to find a way to get it removed… but now I’m grateful for it. It made me stop and think. Since I became a vampire I’ve never been much of a one for thinking, as you know. But this chip? It made me take stock of my unlife. I couldn’t just drift along, thoughtlessly doing anything I wanted any more, I had to find a new way to go on… and here we are.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each busy with thoughts of ‘what if…’ until Spike just couldn’t stand the weirdness any longer. “Look, if you’ll just start calling me ‘Evil Undead’ or ‘Fang Boy’ again, and threatening to stake me if I should ever lay a hand on the Slayer again, I’ll start insulting you and calling you ‘Monkey Boy’ or ‘Special-Ed’ and threatening to bite you when I get the sodding chip out, OK? This sudden helpful friendliness is really creeping me out, what’s got into you? Angel was being nice to me too, is there a spell going on I should know about?”

Xander gaped at him in astonishment. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Who didn’t tell me what?”

Xander started babbling, “well I’m certainly not saying anything… it’s so not up to me… you’ll have to ask Buffy… or Angel… or that green demon, Lorne. Buffy told me in no uncertain terms that I had to make my peace with you, and you know what she gets like when she’s giving orders, so that’s what I’ve been trying to do. You’ll have to ask her why!” Xander got up and started gathering together the debris of their picnic. “I’ll leave you to sleep now, I’m getting out of here before I start saying things I shouldn’t.” He paused at the door and turned back, “didn’t Buffy give you a lecture about getting along with me?”

“No, not a word!”

“So here’s something for you to think about then Spikey. How come you were nice to me then?” And he chuckled as he left the room. From a few feet along the passage he called back, “Just saying!”

Spike was left with his mouth hanging open, for once totally speechless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke briefly in the late afternoon and drained the flask, then turned over onto his belly, buried his face in the pillows, and went straight back to sleep. The next thing he knew his shoulder was being gently shaken. “Spike? Are you awake yet? Spike?”

“Ggggrrrrrr” He growled, hoping that the owner of the irritating hand would take the hint and go away. It didn’t work.

“Spike!” Giles became more insistent, “we need you downstairs, it’s time for you to help with the research.”

“Time to pretend to be William again then, is it?” Spike moaned, he really wasn’t ready to get up yet.

“That would be good. It’s after nine, and while you’ve been sleeping everyone else has been working, now they’re getting bleary eyed so it’s your turn to help.”

Spike finally relented and tried to sit up. He couldn’t. All his bruises and tortured muscles screamed at him, not to mention the agonising grating of partially set broken bones. “Aaaaargh! Oh bugger, Giles I’ve set solid. I’m going to need a hot soak or massage or something before I can get moving.”

Giles pondered for a moment. “I’ll get Gunn to help, we’ll get you into a hot bath and you can drink your fill of warm blood, which should help loosen you up.”

A few minutes later Spike was biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from crying out as he was manhandled into a steamy bathroom, where Giles and Gunn laid him on the tiled floor while they tried to decide how to get his tight jeans off without disturbing his mending hip and leg bones. There was no way of doing it the regular way, so Gunn went off and came back with a very large sharp knife. He carefully started slitting up the front of the left leg, while Spike looked on nervously. As the knife reached the top of his leg he whimpered, “watch what you’re doing with that, mate!”

Once the left trouser leg was laid open to the waist, the right leg was easy to slip off, and the huge angry bruise that enveloped Spike’s entire left hip and leg was revealed. Giles hissed in sympathy as he and Gunn gently lowered Spike into the waiting water. As he allowed himself to relax into the welcome heat Spike joked, “Tip of the day, don’t piss off tiny blonde Slayers.” His two assistants laughed, and left him to soak in peace.

Twenty minutes later Giles returned bearing a huge mug of warm blood, but after one sniff Spike looked up at the Watcher, “what’s in this then? Smells funny.”

“Tara put some healing herbs in, they’re supposed to help your bones knit and your bruises fade quicker.”

“No magic?” Spike asked suspiciously.

“I wasn’t there when she mixed it Spike, but not as far as I know.”

“Better bloody not be,” Spike mumbled as he drank the whole mugful down in one, making a face at the medicinal flavour. “Whoaaaah! That’s strong stuff!” Two minutes later, “Hey Rupert, what’s happening?” He was looking down at his bruised and broken body, which was steadily becoming less bruised and less broken. “You bugger! No magic? What’s soddin' well doing this then?”

Giles stared at him open mouthed. “Good Lord!”

“You really didn’t know did you? That Tara’s going to get a piece of my mind when I get downstairs!” Spike ducked his head under the water, rubbed through his hair, tore the dressing off his chest, then surged to his feet, splashing water everywhere. He stood and examined as much of his body as he could see, watching as the last of the scrapes and bruises faded away, and the wound in his chest closed leaving his skin clear and unblemished. He stretched sensuously, feeling the last soreness from healing bones fade away. “God, I haven’t felt this good for a long time! I wonder if there’s going to be any side effects. There’s always flippin’ consequences when you use magic, I’m going to be walking around on tenterhooks waiting for the other shoe to drop! Let’s get down there and find out what she’s done.”

The Watcher sniffed at the dregs in the mug, “I wonder what she used? If you’re going to be getting injured on a regular basis while training Buffy, or later when we’ve figured out how to work the Portal business, this potion might prove very useful.”

Spike jumped out of the bath, grabbed a towel and began drying himself vigorously, then suddenly stopped and gaped at Giles. “Oh bollocks, we’ve cut up my jeans, have my black ones come back from the wash yet? If not I’ve just remembered I have a spare pair in the car, along with a couple of shirts, but I have no idea what state they’re in.”

“Car keys?” asked Giles.

“Coat pocket,” Spike replied.

Giles slipped out of the door.

“Don’t look in the trunk!” Spike yelled after him. Then he thought, “Oh Hell, I’m a damn fool. Now I’ve told him not to look in the trunk, the first thing he’s going to do is look in the bloody trunk isn’t it?”

Spike finished drying off, wrapped a fresh dry towel around his waist and returned to his room. As he was waiting resignedly for Giles to come back he reclined on the bed and opened the poetry book again.

Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain,
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;
Without that modest softening that enhances
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates to heal again:
E’en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,
E’en then my soul with exultation dances
For that to love, so long, I’ve dormant lain:
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,
Heavens! how desperately do I adore
Thy winning graces;—to be thy defender
I hotly burn—to be a Calidore—
A very Red Cross Knight—a stout Leander—
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore. J Keats.

“She fits it all except the ‘meek’ bit,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t have her any other way.” He was feeling so warm and relaxed from the hot bath and the release from pain the book soon slipped from his fingers as he once more succumbed to sleep.

Spike was jerked rudely from his dreams by a bundle of clothing landing on his head and chest. “Get dressed and come downstairs, you have some explaining to do.” Angel ordered angrily. He stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded across his chest as Spike donned a pair of black jeans and a black T shirt, both crumpled and none too clean from being slept on in the back seat of the car.

“I knew he’d go and look in the bleedin’ trunk,” Spike muttered.

When they got down to the foyer all eyes turned towards Spike.

Giles and Buffy stood before of a mound of weapons on the floor, and between them was his wooden chest. It was deep rich brown, worn round at the corners from age, bound by thick black iron bands and fastened with two large shiny locks. “Explain yourself Spike, where did all these weapons come from and what were you intending to do with them?” Buffy asked sharply, her tone hostile and accusing.

“And what’s in the chest?” Giles added.

“That’s right, guilty until proven innocent... I knew it!” Spike complained. He closed his eyes, lowered his head in angry resignation and sighed, and then looked up to meet Buffy’s eyes. “So I’m allowed to keep weapons in the crypt for your convenience, but if I keep some in the car that’s suspicious, is it? And a locked chest? That just has to contain something I’m not supposed to have. You really don’t trust me at all do you? The weapons are what I’ve been picking up from all the damned demons I’ve been getting rid of for you; I didn’t think you’d want them left lying about the town for just anyone to pick up. I was going to give them to you, I just hadn’t got around to it yet. As for my chest, some of it is personal mementos, the rest is other stuff I’ve been collecting, odd trinkets I’ve found, bits and pieces that the vamps and demons I’ve been dealing with were carrying. I didn’t steal any of them… but you don’t believe me of course. I’ll open the bloody thing and you can take what you want, I have no use for them anyway.” He crouched down and his hands moved in a blur as he manipulated the locks which fell open allowing him to raise the lid. He lifted out a partitioned tray, and moved it to one side. “These things in the top are personal, all my memories. That stuff in the bottom is yours, do whatever you want with it.”

He turned angrily away, blinking away the tears that were threatening to flow, and crossed the room to Tara, his expression relaxing as he watched her nervously examining him. He took both her trembling hands in his. “I don’t know what you did to that mug of blood you sent up for me love, but it worked like a bloody miracle, I’m all in one piece again and I’ve never felt better, thank you.” He folded her into his arms and gently hugged her. He spoke quietly into her ear, “just one thing though … I don’t appreciate magic being used on me when I don’t know about it. We’ve had some unfortunate experiences with spells having unexpected consequences, haven’t we? It’s better to be prepared. Next time you want to experiment, just ask first, please? You’re the last person I’d expect to use the mojo on someone without their knowledge.”

Tara blushed, “I.. I.. I’m sorry, I w..w..wasn’t sure it would work on a vampire, I didn’t know whether it would work at all. It was just an idea I had from something my mother used to make for us when my brother and I were little and we got hurt, but she mixed it with warm milk rather than blood. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case it had no effect. The herbs would probably have helped you even if the charm hadn’t worked. Are you really completely healed? It never worked that well on us!”

Spike stepped back from her and lifted the front of his T shirt, showing her his unblemished chest, “look, no stake-hole, and all the bones are mended, all the bruises and cuts gone. Rupert and I watched them all fading in a matter of minutes. As long as there aren’t any unexpected side-effects I think this is one potion that I’d like to have the recipe for! Only you’d better give it to the Slayer, if I’m wounded badly enough to need it I expect it’ll be down to her to decide if I get it. I should imagine Angel would like to know how to make it too. It would come in handy in his line of business.”

He turned back to where the rest of the group was gathered examining the weapons and rummaging through the contents of the chest. He disregarded the comments being made about various items in his collection, and pointedly ignored Buffy who was openly going through his personal mementos. “Watcher? Was there something special concerning this prophecy you wanted me to look at? Or don’t you trust me to do the research now?”

“Ah… yes… well…” Giles removed his glasses and polished them before continuing as he put them back on, “We’ve found a piece of parchment, Spike. It was folded up small and tucked into the binding of the ancient book in which I found mention of the Portal Prophecy. It is so faded that neither Wesley nor I can make out what’s written on it. Angel’s been busy working on his own Prophecy, so I wondered if you could see if you could decipher it for us. It should be easier for you with your vampire eyesight.” Giles led him to the office where Wesley vacated his chair to make way for Spike to sit at the desk. The parchment in question was laid out under a bright lamp.

Spike sniffed the creased golden sheet in front of him. “That’s not ordinary parchment, not sheepskin or goatskin, that’s demon skin, don’t know which species though. I think it’s written with demon blood too.”

“That is truly disgusting,” Wesley handed him a large pad and pencil. “Could you try to copy it out for us please?”

Spike angled the parchment against the light and peered at it closely. “It’s not writing at all, Wes, it’s a series of pictures, looks like three of them.” He began sketching. The first drawing was quite easy to copy, and soon resolved into a sword. It was a very simple design with a straight double edged blade tapering to a fine point, and only the hilt had any decoration at all. There were two rose cut jewels, one at either end of the guard, and another slightly larger one in the circular pommel, each was contained in a complex spiral patterned setting.

The second design was more intricate, with some features so fine that Spike had trouble distinguishing which lines were part of the pattern and which were creases in the parchment. He was concentrating so hard that the feminine squeals of delight from behind him, and then the two former watchers leaving the room, went unheeded. Three rings took shape on his pad, each set with a rose cut gem in a similar spiral setting to those on the sword hilt. Beside them there was a larger plain circular outline, which Spike decided looked like a bracelet, and finally he made out that the faintest lines led from the bracelet to the rings, in the form of six fine chains, three to lie down the back of the hand and three to cross the palm, connecting them into a single piece of jewellery. He sat up straight and stretched, rubbing his eyes which were unaccustomed to so much close work, and noticed a flurry of activity around the weapons and trinkets spread out on the foyer floor. Not anxious to leave the office and draw more attention to himself, he continued with his task.

The third drawing was by far the largest and most complicated. The subject was not obvious, so Spike began by copying the clearest lines and shaded areas, hoping to glean some clue as to how they connected. Before he was able to get very far though, he was interrupted. There was another squeal, similar to those he had heard before but much louder, and it was clear to him that fear rather than delight had prompted it. He leapt out of his chair and ran towards the sound, only to stop short beside Dawn at the sight of Willow standing in the centre of the lobby enveloped in a swirling vortex of bright green shimmering light, which had little streaks of deep black shooting through it. “Well… this can’t be good!” he exclaimed.

“It started when she put the silver bracelet and rings thing on!” Dawn cried, “She picked it out of the chest and said how much she loved emeralds. After she put the rings on it took a while to figure out how the bracelet clasp worked, but as soon as it was fastened everything started to get weird… how can we stop it?”

Willow’s eyes had already gone completely black and her hair was beginning to take on dark roots. She stood rigid, staring ahead, her straight arms were held slightly out to each side, palms facing forward. Her hair was fluttering away from her face as if she was standing in a stiff breeze.

“Take the bracelet off Willow!” Tara pleaded, “just let the power go baby, and take it off!” Willow didn’t appear to hear her, she didn’t move a muscle.

Giles tried to approach her, intending to take the bracelet from her wrist, but was forced back by the crackling energy contained in the vortex of green light.

Fred came forward holding a small electronic device, which she adjusted continually as she swept it back and forth before the trapped witch. “There is some powerful energy coming from that bracelet, and it’s growing stronger all the time. We’re going to have to shut it down or Willow will be stuck in there, and that would kill her. I have no idea what other effects the vortex may have, but I can guess they wouldn’t be pleasant.”

Spike shifted his position to get a better look at Willow’s left hand, and gasped with shock. He ducked back into the office and grabbed the second drawing he’d completed, then took it and thrust it into Giles’s hand. “Look at that then Watcher, we’ve got another bleedin’ coincidence. That bracelet she’s wearing is one of the things drawn on your parchment.”

First Buffy, then Xander, then Tara again tried to get through to Willow that she needed to remove the bracelet, but none of them was able to get a reaction.

The brilliant green vortex was steadily growing, forcing everyone to retreat step by step, and both the swirling light and Willow’s hair were showing more and more black streaks. After a few minutes Dawn asked Spike. “Spike, could you get to her with the whammy? Like you did before?”

“Dunno pet, it doesn’t look as if she can see or hear us.” He stepped forward, as close as he could get, and examined Willow’s face. “It might just work though, since we’ve already made a connection.”

“Are you going to try to use thrall on her Spike?” Asked Giles.

“Thrall? Spike can’t use thrall!” Angel mocked.

“Think you know everything there is to know about me Peaches, don’t you? Well you’re bloody wrong! Now let me alone, I need to concentrate… unless you can think of another way to get Red out of there and stop this thing from going kerpluie in the middle of your hotel lobby?” Angel backed away, frowning.

Spike closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, taking a couple of deep unnecessary breaths to relax. He then began to stare deep into the witch’s eyes, and spoke in a low hypnotic tone, “Willow… Willow… listen to me love… Willow… you need to let go of the power… the power is not yours Willow… release the bracelet… release the power…” Willow blinked, the only movement she’d made since the light had enclosed her. “Undo the bracelet, Willow… the bracelet is not yours… it can never be yours…” Willow blinked again, and her arms slowly moved together, allowing her to touch the bracelet. “Undo the clasp Willow… that’s it love… take off the bracelet…” The bracelet was suddenly dangling from Willow’s wrist, only supported by the chains attached to the three rings on her thumb, middle finger and little finger. “Slip off the rings Willow… you don’t want the rings… the rings can never be yours… throw me the pretty bracelet Willow… you have to let me have the bracelet…” Willow very slowly took the three rings from her fingers, and with a stiff awkward movement threw the bracelet to Spike, who deftly caught it. Unfortunately she was still enveloped within the green vortex, although it no longer seemed to be growing.

Keeping eye contact with Willow, Spike spoke normally, asking “How do I get her to release the power then Giles? Should it go back into the bracelet? And what about the blackness, what should she do with that? We want to keep that away from the bracelet don’t we? Give us a clue, quick!”

Tara spoke up, “encourage her to release the green back into the bracelet Spike, but she has to hold onto the black, I’ll just go and find something for her to channel that into.” She quickly turned and ran upstairs.

Spike held up the bracelet, with the three rings swinging from their fine silver chains. “Willow… Willow… you need to release the green power back into the bracelet, love… just the green… hold onto the black, Willow… release the green… the green is hurting you… release the green, Willow…” As he spoke tendrils of green light slowly began to swirl from the vortex towards him, and gradually they became three steady currents of crackling energy flowing from around Willow into the emeralds set into the rings. As the last of the green light vanished into the gems, Willow was left standing in the centre of a small dense storm of flashing black lights, her hair and eyes both solid black. Spike tossed the bracelet to Dawn. In a quiet voice he said, “this is yours Niblet, it was made just for you. Don’t put it on yet though, just feel the power in it, it’s part of you.” Dawn clutched at the bracelet in surprise enclosing it in her fist, and exchanged stunned glances with Buffy and Giles.

As he was speaking Tara dashed back down the stairs. Panting, she placed a large clear crystal on the floor between Spike and Willow. “Tell her to channel the dark power into the crystal Spike, we should be able to destroy it then.”

Spike acknowledged her instruction with a nod and started speaking once more in the low hypnotic tone, “You need to release the black now Willow… the darkness is hurting you… channel the dark power into the crystal, Willow… let it all go love… get rid of the blackness into the crystal…” The flashing black swirls circling Willow began to streak down into the crystal, and as they did so her hair began to regain its copper brilliance as the dark power drained out of her. Finally her eyes returned to their natural green. As the last streak of darkness disappeared into the crystal that had become the deepest opaque black, Willow relaxed and collapsed with a small sigh. Spike dived over the crystal, and landing on his knees he caught her around the waist and shoulders before she hit the ground, carefully keeping eye contact with her. “You can rest now Willow... all the hurtful power has gone now… peace… serenity… sleep now… no guilt… tranquillity… no pain… just rest now, pet…” He gently caressed her face, closing her eyes, at which she smiled slightly, and curled into him, fast asleep. Spike slumped to one side, just managing to prevent Willow’s head from hitting the floor by twisting so she landed on top of him. “God, I’m knackered!” he croaked.

As everyone gathered round, Tara’s voice rose above the general chatter. “C.. C.. Careful everybody, don’t touch the crystal, only someone with no magical talent should handle it. It should be taken outdoors and broken. The dark energy will have made it very brittle, it needs to be completely smashed and powdered. Then the powder should be thinly sprinkled onto bare soil so the power will gradually be reabsorbed by the Earth.”

Wesley spoke up, “That means either you Gunn, or Xander. Better still, go together and keep an eye on each other. Take it out into the garden and smash the thing with a rock, then do as Tara said.” Gunn grabbed the crystal, and the two young men went off to perform their task.

Tara knelt beside the two crumpled forms on the floor, and checked Willow’s pulse and breathing. Both were strong and even. “Thank you Spike,” She whispered, tears of fear and relief coursing down her cheeks.

“You’re welcome love. She’ll sleep for hours now, but you’ll need to keep an eye on her in the morning, just to check there’s no darkness hiding in there. I think we got it all out. I don’t think she’ll ever want to handle that bracelet again. I tried to make it clear to her it could never be hers. She’s got so much power in her she’s obviously able to activate it without even trying, though she would never have been able to focus it or control it. That's not good. When we find the other two artefacts she should stay away from them too.”

“The other two artefacts?” Giles asked, “You mean the sword and the other thing drawn on that parchment? What do they do?”

“Hang on a minute Watcher, don’t be so bloody impatient, let a fella get his breath back why don’t you!” he paused for a few seconds and then chuckled weakly, “Metaphorically speaking you understand…”

Angel stepped in and lifted Willow off Spike, but as he bent to lift her before taking her upstairs to her room with Tara hovering in attendance, he spoke to Spike very softly so only a vampire’s ears could hear, “We’re going to talk about your use of thrall, Spike my boy, make no mistake about that!”

After a few moments, with Giles assistance, Spike was able to stagger to his feet and return to the chair in the office. “I could really fancy a cup of tea about now Rupert, I don’t suppose you’ve got any handy?” He sat and rubbed his face, then rested with his chin on his arms folded on the desk, examining the parchment and incomplete drawing he had abandoned. A few minutes later a large cup of tea, brewed strong with just a touch of milk the way he liked it, appeared by his elbow, three ginger nuts in the saucer. “Watcher, you’re a scholar and a gentleman, thank you.” He picked up a biscuit, dunked it in his tea and crunched it loudly.

Giles sat beside him with his own cup, and Spike realised that he had been closely followed by Dawn, Buffy and Wesley, who crowded around the seated pair, all anxious to find out what had just happened. Dawn was still clutching the bracelet, while Buffy absently still held a few photographs from Spike’s chest.

“Ask your questions then everybody. I don’t know how much I can tell you.”

Dawn got in first, holding up the bracelet. “How did you know it’s mine?”

“Same way you do love, I felt it as soon as I touched it. I knew I was connected to it, but that it wasn’t meant for me. It was drawn on the parchment, so I knew it was intended for one of us. As three of the little silver chains went across the palm I realised it wouldn’t suit the Slayer, it would hamper her fighting by spoiling her grip on a weapon. I figure this sword,” He pointed out the drawing of the sword to Buffy, “is probably for you Slayer, when we find it. As I could feel it wasn’t mine Dawnie, it had to be yours. Don’t try to put it on yet, we need to know a lot more before we get to that stage. I’ve just got to figure out what this third thing is, to make up the set.” He indicated the incomplete sketch on the desk. “It looks as if they all three have a trio of emeralds set into them, presumably to hold the power to control the Portal, and to link the three of us together in some way. I think we’ll need to wait until Wesley’s dad sends us the material from that other book before we find out what we’re supposed to do with them.” He turned to Buffy and asked “You have read the riot act to old Quentin, haven’t you pet?”

Buffy smiled one of her wickedest smiles, “Oh yes, fun was had by all. I think I’m beginning to get him trained.” She suddenly looked as if she was hatching an evil plan, “I wonder if they run Watcher obedience classes… I could take a masterclass…”

Giles cleared his throat, “Yes well, as a graduate of the school, I’d just like to say I couldn’t have had a better teacher.”

“Aw Giles, that’s sweet, thanks.” Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug, before realising she was bending the photos in her hands. “Oh Spike, I found these photos…”

“Oh yes, they were in the tray full of personal items in my chest weren’t they?” Spike commented. “Enjoy your little nosy then Slayer?”

“Well the number of times you’ve rummaged through my stuff I think I’m entitled, don’t you?” Buffy replied somewhat heatedly.

“Got a point there love,” Spike reluctantly admitted, “so what do you want to know then?”

“I found quite a few pictures of you and Drusilla from through the years, I had no idea you continually changed your hairstyle and colour to go with the fashions, some of those styles make you look quite creepy, and there’s one newspaper clipping I want to ask you about. First though, could you tell me who these people are?” She handed him a rather faded postcard sized sepia print of a stiffly posed Victorian family group. Two men, one in his early twenties, one middle aged, stood behind an attractive mature woman seated on a straight backed chair, and two pretty young girls with blonde ringlets, aged about eight and ten, were sitting on the floor leaning against the woman’s knees.

“Aah…” Spike ran his finger gently over the faces as in a quiet sad voice he explained, “that’s my family, pet. That’s father, the upright citizen, Rector of this parish. He died a couple of months later, caught a chill when he got soaked in the rain while out visiting a sick parishioner. He went to bed with a hot toddy, and never got up again. It turned to pneumonia. That’s my lovely mum, she was just beginning to get ill, we didn’t realise then what it was, thought it was just a lingering chest cold. That’s me, poor old pathetic William with the stupid floppy hair and glasses, and those are my two little sisters, my darlings. They both took the influenza the following winter. They were gone within a week of each other.”

“Oh Spike, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“That’s all right Buffy love, I’ve had a long time to get used to it after all. People died a lot easier in those times, things for which you’d take a few days off work and go and get a dose of antibiotics for could easily be fatal then.” He forced himself to turn away from the picture and asked “So the newspaper clipping you’re interested in, is it the dance marathon?”

“Yes, You and Dru won a dancing competition and had your picture in the papers? Not very vampirish of you was it?” She unfolded a piece of newsprint and passed it over in exchange for the photograph. There was a photo of a familiar attractive young couple, leaning against each other wearing broad smiles, holding a cheque up in front of them. The caption named them as Mr & Mrs William Brown, winners of a Dance Marathon in Chicago in 1932. They’d danced non-stop, except for a mandatory break every eight hours, for nearly twenty three days, winning by default as the last couple left standing in the contest.

“Dru loved dancing, well we both did, and it was the sodding depression, not a lot of entertainment around. We travelled around entering these contests, won quite a few of them too. Vampire stamina you know… very unfair advantage! The prize cheques came in handy when Dru fancied staying in a posh hotel for a while. We had to give the contests up though, I told her we shouldn’t feed within a five mile radius of the dance halls, so as not to attract attention to ourselves, but then I discovered she was nibbling on the other competitors in the breaks. The hunt was up and we needed to get away. I ended up taking us back to Europe, we got there just in time to catch the beginning of the war.” He refolded the clipping and handed it back.

“Now then, about your interesting use of thrall….” began Giles.

“I’d be interested in hearing about that too,” Angel interrupted as he appeared behind Buffy, closely followed by Gunn and Xander, who had clearly finished their crystal smashing chore. His tone was accusatory, “When did you pick that particular talent up then Spike?”

“Dru taught me shortly after she sired me, you wanker, along with all the other vampire skills I needed, like how to hunt, kill, maim and torture, how to enjoy giving pain, how to enjoy receiving pain… oh no... I’m forgetting…” Spike angrily pointed at Angel, “it was you who taught me all of those other things, so Dru must just have taught me to use the thrall then. She insisted I had the talent for it, and wouldn’t leave me alone until I’d got the hang of it.”

Buffy protested angrily, “that wasn’t Angel, that was Angelus!”

“You think they are two separate people Slayer?” Spike demanded angrily, “Do you really think that all those nasty impulses suddenly got removed when his soul was replaced? The desire to kill and feed? The urge to maim and torture? Think again. He’s still a vampire, he still has a demon inside with all the same instincts as mine, and then some. It’s all still in there, buried under all that brooding remorse. It’s only held at bay by the conscience that arrived with the soul. When he looks at you, hears your heart beating, feels the heat from your blood pumping just under the skin, his first impulse is always to think ‘Oh good, dinner’s here’, and only then does he consciously choose not to do anything about it, the soul guides him. Some of us don’t need a soul to exercise free will.”

“But you only don’t hurt humans because of the chip, you weren’t given a choice at all!”

“You really think that, Slayer? It’s certainly what made me stop in the beginning, I freely admit that. I hadn’t got a clue what was going on, all I knew was if I tried to hurt a human my head tried to explode. Even then do you think I couldn’t have found a way around it? That I couldn’t feed on humans if I really wanted to? All I’d need to do is get myself a couple of minions to kill for me. I can feed on dead bodies without the chip going off, Dru showed me that. I could have gone with her when she came for me last year, she would willingly have killed anybody I chose so I could feed. You said it yourself this morning, if I wanted somebody dead, they would be dead. All I’d need to do is lock them in a sealed room with a couple of hungry vampires, or flood an old warehouse with gasoline, lure people who know and trust me into it, then throw a lit cigarette into the fuel and watch them burn. Oh no, of course I forget, it wasn’t the ‘evil soulless thing’ with a chip who did those things. It was the heroic sodding Champion of the People, the Vampire with a Soul, while the neutered Vampire with a Chip was saving lives, and fighting a Hellgod beside the Slayer.”

Spike stopped and took a deep breath. He continued more calmly, speaking patiently as if explaining something to a small child. “I don’t need a soul to guide me, I have you Buffy. All this sodding chip does is give me a blinding headache, it makes me stop and think, gives me a moment to realise what I’m about to do. It gives me the opportunity to make a choice about how to behave. It didn’t force me to stay where I wasn’t wanted, to start saving human lives. It didn’t make me want to protect the people I’ve come to care for, or to risk my unlife fighting bleedin’ Hellgods.”

He turned to Giles, meeting his eyes, “It’s only pain, it’s in the mind. Once you’ve used it to find the problem, that’s when you ignore it… if you choose to.” Totally ignoring the now speechless Buffy, and his seething Grandsire, Spike resumed his explanation. “As I told you this morning Rupert I never used thrall much in the hunt, it felt dirty and too much like cheating. As you can see though, it can come in handy sometimes. I’m a bit out of practice so it’s just as well I’d already made a connection with Red, it’s the only thing that made what just happened out there possible.” He indicated the spot where Willow had been trapped.

“You’ve used thrall on Willow before?” Buffy demanded, “What did you make her do?”

“He made her get a witness!” Dawn cried, “She was in a terrible state, all sweating and shivery and crying with pain from the magic withdrawal, and Spike offered to take the edge off for her. He insisted she had someone with her so they’d be able to reassure her he hadn’t done anything she wouldn’t want him to! She would have asked Tara, but she wasn’t around, and neither were you, as usual, so I sat and watched for her. I know she’s not my favourite person at the moment, but nobody deserves to feel as bad as she did then!” She laid a protective arm over Spike’s shoulders, “He really helped her, she was relaxed and calm for the first time for ages, and he did nothing wrong!”

Spike had been absently fiddling with the parchment as Dawn had been speaking, and abruptly he focussed his full attention on it. “Watcher? There’s something on the reverse side of this demon skin, did you know that?” He held it up to the lamp. “There’s some sort of writing here, I don’t recognise the language though.” He sniffed it thoughtfully, “and it isn’t in demon blood like the drawings, I think it’s human blood, what do you reckon Peaches?” He passed the parchment up to his Grandsire, taking Dawn’s hand from his shoulder and kissing the palm before releasing it. “Thanks Niblet, no need to lose your temper though, they’re right to be suspicious.” He insisted ironically, “After all I am an evil soulless thing, aren’t I?”

There were suddenly several conversations going on at once in the small space. Giles was quizzing a still fuming Angel about the parchment, Buffy was interrogating Dawn about exactly what Spike had done to Willow while she was under his thrall, and Wesley was checking that Gunn and Xander had destroyed the black crystal correctly. Spike just let it all flow over his head as he sat sipping his cup of tea and nibbling the ginger nuts. He was beginning to get a throbbing headache, a side-effect of his unaccustomed concentrated use of thrall combined with the emotional turmoil inside him. Once the cup was empty and the last crumb gone, without warning Spike stood up and shouldered his way out of the office.

“Where do you think you’re going now?” Buffy challenged.

“Figured that if you’d all finished with me, I’d go and put my stuff away.” Spike bent to finish emptying the contents of the bottom of his chest, adding the last few items to the pile on the floor, then replaced the tray of his personal possessions in its slot. “Finished gawping at my photos have you then Slayer?” He stalked back towards her and held his hand out for the items she still held, which she handed to him without speaking. “Angel can finish copying the last drawing, it’s very fiddly and he’s a far more skilful artist than me. Then he can copy out whatever’s on the other side just as easily as I could.” He replaced his photos, closed the lid of the chest and fastened the locks, then picked it up and headed towards the stairs intending to take it to his room.

All at once he stopped short and gasped, staring intently at Angel’s weapons cabinet. The chest crashed to the floor. Spike spun and dashed back to the office, grabbed the sketch of the sword from the desk with one hand, and Giles’s sleeve with the other, then dragged the protesting Watcher with him back towards the cabinet. He shoved the drawing in front of Giles’s face, and pointed. “Coincidence?” He gasped.
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No such thing as coincidences