The Last Cut is the Deepest

Chapter Five

"We’ve arranged housing in the complex outside Silver Lake," Wesley informed an obviously inattentive Angel. "He’ll have a round-the-clock nurse for as long as he needs it. Once he’s regained his bearings a bit, we can consider education, employment and the like. The Documents Division has already begun creating his papers. He’ll have a new identity by close of business today, and we can fill in any backstory he requires at a later date."

"He has an education," Angel recalled absently, "A top notch one at that."

Wesley drew away a little, concerned at the return of Angel’s strange, detached demeanor from recent times past. "Ah, well, that’s a start then. Although I imagine he’d have difficulty convincing any legitimate employer that he earned his degree some 120 years ago."

The vampire didn’t seem to hear him. Angel looked as though his mind was anywhere but present. Seeing him slip away like this frightened Wesley more deeply than anything else that had happened in the past few, trying days.

"Angel," he called softly to draw his attention.

"Hmm? Right. It sounds like you’ve taken care of everything. Thank you, Wesley." He praised his friend and turned toward the window behind him – his security blanket.

"Don’t dismiss me like I’m one of your hirelings," Wesley warned. "You’re obviously in great distress, and I think perhaps this is one of those times we’ve discussed where interfering in one another’s business is the best course of action. So I find myself forced to ask that you tell me what’s bothering you."

"Nothing," Angel assured him, but off his friend’s disbelieving silence, added, "I understand you’re worried. But you don’t need to be. I’m fine."

His lifeless, used-car-salesman-from-Hell tone told Wesley that Angel was, indeed, lying. "Yes, I see. And the fact that you haven’t spoken to Buffy since Spike’s return doesn’t trouble you at all?"

Angel tensed visibly, but retained his cool façade. "She said she needed time. It’s not my place to decide how much."

Wesley knew that wasn’t what had happened. Buffy had told him about Angel’s refusal to help Spike, and her own reaction to it. "That’s very reasonable of you," he commented with a sneer, "Shall I tell you what I think about the matter?"

"No."

"All right, then, why don’t I put it into one simple word? I think of you as a brother, Angel, so you know that I say this from a place of deepest respect and affection: martyr."

Angel started as if Wesley had slapped him, and spun to face the other man once more. "I beg your pardon?"

"I called you a martyr. For that describes your behavior to a ‘T’. It is your mission – for whatever Fate’s twisted reason – to help Spike. And yet you turn your back on that for some spiteful, selfish – and from what I have seen and heard, unfounded – jealous snit. Have you even made an effort to speak to Buffy about this?"

He watched his words register in his friend’s dark eyes – all the answer he truly needed – but they elicited no further response. Without a word, Angel got up and left the office.

"Damn it," Wesley cursed.

~

Of course, Wes was right. He was being petty and selfish. Stupid, and okay, a martyr as well. Butt elt else could he do besides give Buffy the room she needed to think things through? He should have given it to her a month ago, when she first asked for it.

But no... he’d been selfish then, too. And now they were both suffering for it.

The other facet Wesley – and Buffy before him – was correct about was his Duty. Not his job, the day to day grind, the annoying interference from the Senior Partners or the endless meetings and mountains of paperwork, but his *purpose*. His Calling. To help, even when it was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe because it was the last thing he wanted to do. That was the real – if unintended – lesson he was starting to learn from this fiasco.

He was duty-bound to help Spike... at least to keep him out of Wolfram & Hart’s clutches. Because certainly, if they had gone to the trouble of bringing him back (if it was trouble, for them) then they no doubt had plans for the ex-vampire that were in direct opposition to his mission statement.

And though he might very well still lose Buffy in the end even if he became more involved, at least he would be there. He could make sure she didn’t get ambushed by something she wasn’t expecting when she was vulnerable.

The elevator opened, and Angel found himself in the White Room for the second time that week. What better place to begin looking for answers than the scene of the crime, so to speak?

Naturally, Gwen was already there waiting for him, this time clad in the tightest, most revealing red catsuit he had ever seen. In fact, it wasn’t so much a "suit" as a few strips of strategically placed crimson leather.

After wiping the unconscious metaphorical drool from his chin, Angel wondered – wasn’t head-to-toe leather a little... sweaty to be comfortable? The chafing alone...

"Hey, Big Guy," she greeted him in her characteristic sarcastic purr, "We weren’t expecting to see you again so soon."

"But you were expecting me," he replied, all business. "And you know what I want."

The brunette nodded. "We do. But... I don’t think we have what you’re looking for. We didn’t have anything to do with bringing Spike back. We don’ t know why he’s here, or what you’re supposed to do about it." Her gaze ticked away as she listened to something Angel couldn’t hear, and she smiled. "Gunn says they’re not a damn travel agency. This room is just a convenient, all-purpose portal that someone chose to put him through. Probably so you would find him."

"So the Senior Partners didn’t bring him back?" Angel queried, determined to get at least the practical answers, even if the emotional ones had to wait.

The thief – now messenger for the self-exiled Ra-Tet – shrugged. "It’s one of those ‘mysterious ways’ things, I guess. We may be at the top of the sun-worship ladder, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got all the answers. What I can tell you is... you need to look a little deeper inside yourself to find out what his return means. Look at the past. Pay attention to your dreams, your desires, your fear and your gut. Because Spike is only one piece of a much bigger puzzle that you’ve already begun, and only you can put the rest of the pieces together."

Angel sighed. "I’d forgotten how annoying cryptic messengers can be."

"Hey, I’m just doing my job," Gwen explained, "They’d rather not be involved in this at all, but since the last little Eternal Night incident, anything that threatens the balance of Light & Dark in this dimension sorta piques their interest."

He frowned. "I thought that was already fixed. The vortex Buffy and I closed..."

"The hole in reality was a symptom, not the disease. One kiss can’t make *everything* all better, you know. Something has done some major damage to the cosmic scales. Only you guys can figure out what, and how to fix it. Spike's resurrection is just another clue. So... start there and work your way inward."

"I don’t..." he stammered in confusion. "We don’t have any idea what’s going on here. What does Spike coming back – and human, no less – have to do with the balance of power in the universe?"

"Don’t ask me. I’m just the messenger," she replied. "But maybe you should think about reading that scroll again. And stop running away from what needs to be done."

Then, in a flash of blinding light, Angel found himself in the corridor outside Spike’s hospital room.

So much for never setting foot in here again. Angel almost preferred the cryptic hints – those, at least, he could ignore. As usual, he felt a wave of resentment at the sensation of being moved around like a pawn on some cosmic chessboard. It made all he and the others had done to assure free will in the world seem a little pointless.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and pushed open the door.

Buffy and Spike glanced up from their poker game as he entered the room. Her mouth dropped wide open in surprise, then grew into a bright smile as she got up and dashed forward to grab Angel in a fierce embrace.

"I knew you’d change your mind," she cried, nearly breathless with relief, "I knew it!"

Angel held her tightly, soaking up the feel of her in his arms. A few days without her presence in his life had turned it into a fresh little slice of Hell, and the deceptively simple remedy washed through him, draining away all his tension in an instant.

Until his eyes met Spike’s over Buffy’s shoulder. He drew away to serve the ex-demon with a glare.

"Spike," he greeted unenthusiastically.

"Siegfried," Spike replied in the same manner.

The way the air crackled with their tension, Buffy expected them to draw on each other any second, like a couple of gunfighters out of olden days. The only atmosphere they needed was some prairie dust and maybe a catchy Wild West theme song.

Had she really be hoping Angel would change his mind?

"Last time I saw you, you were tied to a chair, shot full of arrows," Angel recalled, "It was a good look for you."

"Yeah? Well, the last time I saw you, you had your tongue down my girlfriend ’s throat."

"I was *not* your girlfriend," Buffy reminded him. "Ev"

"

Angel shot her a smirk that said, ‘See? I told you.’

"This is just stupid," she went on, "Whatever happened then is totally irrelevant to now. So can we all act like grown... beings for a change?"

Spike shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn’t say a thing."

Angel simply glowered. As usual, the rewards for doing the right thing were rich and plentiful. Not that he had essentially chosen to do the right thing. "I came to see how he was doing."

"Right as rain, mate," the blond replied, stretching dramatically, then pounding on his chest. "Healthy as a *human being* can be, in fact. Thanks for stopping by. Now sod off."

The elder man growled under his breath. "Call my office when you’re released. A driver will come to collect you and drive you to your apartment. Let him know anything you need, and he’ll arrange it for you. Then stop by my office, and we can decide what happens next."

Spike pushed himself forward in his chair, demonstrating for the first time that he was clad in a cheap set of silly, blue polka-dotted pajamas, which gave Angel a very small momentary happy. "Now hold on just a minute there, Sunshine. I’m not going anywhere having anything to do with your self-righteous ass. I’d rather live in a refrigerator box."

"You’ll go where I say you go," Angel informed him. "Wolfram & Hart brought you back from whatever Hell you were burning in, so we keep you where we want you."

"LIKE HELL!" Spike shouted, leaping to his feet. "I didn’t ask to come back, so I owe you lot FUCK-ALL! You can take your indentured servitude and shove it up your fat arse!"

Angel took a menacing step toward him, but Buffy shoved him back.

"Stop it! Both of you! God!" She had a sudden flashback to the confrontation between Angel and Riley back in Sunnydale a few years ago, and took a moment to surreptitiously scope Angel for a gun. "Angel..." she put a hand on his chest and moved him bodily back toward the door. He kept his eyes nailed on Spike until Buffy spoke again. "He already has a place to stay. And a job, if he wants it. You don’t have to worry."

Angel stared incredulously at her. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? It isn’t Spike that I’m worried about."

"What? Why? I could kick his ass when he was a vampire. Now he’s just a guy. There’s no danger here. Besides –"

"If you say he’s changed," Angel interrupted with a hiss, "I’ll skin him alive right here and now."

"Fine. But at the very least..." she drew him a little further away, and dropped her voice below human hearing level. "He’s confused and sick and disoriented. I think he’s having a hard time dealing with his senses dulling. He should be around people who know him. Who care about him."

"People who... have you lost your mind? Who *cares*?" he shouted, "He’s got an undoubtedly nefarious purpose here, and I’m going to find out what it is. I’m keeping him right where I can see him!"

"He does have a purpose! He’s ALIVE!" she shouted back.

Angel reeled as though she’d slapped him. He stared at her in shock for a full ten seconds before he regained his composure. "We don’t know where he’s been, Buffy – or what he *really* is now. Can you truly tell me you think it ’s a good idea to set him loose in a building full of innocent girls?"

Buffy wasn’t so sure that *all* of them were innocent – there was that incident a few weeks ago with the fire ladder and the beer cans – but she figured now wasn’t the time. "He’s not going to hurt anyone. And I can keep any eye on him just fine if he’s at the school."

"I don’t like it, Buffy. This whole situation has disaster written all over it," he insisted, "The Ra-Tet has left this dimension, and their messenger says something bad is coming. I’m thinking it’s him. He comes with me."

"Uh, hello!" came the forgotten third party’s voice from the other side of the room.

"Okay, Angel, now you’re completely overreacting. He’s *human*."

"Overreacting? You don’t know what the Senior Partners are capable of! Or Spike himself, for that matter."

"HEY!" the topic of their debate bellowed, finally deciding to make his opinion on the small matter of his entire *life* heard, "I am right bloody here, you know! I may be deaf, blind and half-crippled, but *I* still decide where the bloody Hell I go!"

The Slayer and vampire both stared at him.

"You two may think I’m some pawn you can toss around the board however you see fit, but I’m here to tell you that’s BULLOCKS! I’m not bloody well..." he swayed dizzily and sunk into his chair, drained. "Christ. I’m gonna be sick."

Buffy shot Angel a glare, grabbing the plastic emesis basin from the nightstand, and held it for him as he lost all of the gelatin he’d managed to ingest that day.

Angel watched the tenderness with which Buffy attended Spike, holding the basin and stroking his head while he wretched, and felt more than a little ill himself. He used his blazing hatred as a shield against falling apart.

"You’re going where I tell you to go, if I have to tie you up and drag you there myself," he declared, his voice frigid with the same cold he felt in his heart. "You’re a ‘guest’ of Wolfram & Hart, and you’re not getting anywhere near Buffy or her students."

Her furious scowl was a knife ripping through his already wailing soul. "You have no right," she hissed. "He’s a human being."

Angel steeled himself against her anger, and used every ounce of his strength to swallow the pain and loss that threatened to consume him. "I didn’t choose this job, but I have every intention of seeing it through. I’m going to talk to the doctor. You’d better be ready when I get back."

Without waiting for a reply, Angel spun and rushed from the room, leaving the scene of horror and agony disguised as kindness and affection behind him. In the hall, he sagged against the nurse’s station, and choked back the tears that threatened before finally collecting himself and gesturing to the nurse on duty.

"I need to talk to Spike’s doctor," he said, experiencing a whole new depth of irony at his use of the word ‘need’. "Now."

~