Go TeamC/A
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Part 6 Unrequited love is a lot like water torture. It’s a steady drip-drip-drip of water on the middle of your forehead, soft enough to be harmless but hard enough to notice. Each encounter with the one you love feels like one of those drops, spaced just far enough apart to let you put your guard down, then DRIP, you see her beautiful face and feel that rejection so keenly once again.
You walk away from the encounter stunned and jolted, your insides whipped into a froth of confusion and pain, and you become determined to find a way to avoid these heart-wrenching emotions the next time you see her. You’re a strong individual; you can find a way to beat this. If she doesn’t want you, then by god, you can find a way to stop that drip and take away the torture and misery.
Then, just when you think you’ve fixed the leak, that you’ve found the one thing to patch it up so you won’t have to deal with those hurtful feelings anymore, there she is again. This time, drip has quickened, each drop stronger and more painful than you thought possible. The drops come harder and faster, suddenly running into a stream of water that blinds your eyes and courses hotly down your cheeks like tears.
Finally, there comes a point where you tilt your head back, open your mouth and pray to drown, giving in to the hopelessness and clinging to the only foreseeable means of escape.***
Stalking the streets of L.A. really isn’t that much different than stalking the streets of Sunnydale. Sure, the asphalt is oilier, the air is smoggier, the nasties are nastier, but when push comes to shove, demons are still demons, and patrolling isn’t really all that different.
Buffy, despite the months that had passed since she’d become not the only Slayer but one of many, still felt that compulsion to patrol. She still felt the need to seek out evil and destroy it, no matter what city she was calling her home. L.A. had more than its share of bad guys, and Buffy was glad that she could do some good here. It took the edge off the gnawing emptiness in her gut to be able to kill something every now and then.
She’d put up a good front for Angel since she’d gotten here, but she was far from the relaxed, settled person she projected every day. She made out like she was happy she wasn’t the only Slayer anymore, that she could retire with ease and let someone else handle the inevitable apocalypses.
In reality, she longed for the days when black was black and white was white, when good was distinguishable from bad and she knew her mission in life. She’d only felt that clarity once since being resurrected three years ago, and that was the night before they fought the final battle with the First, the last night she’d spent in the strong, comforting arms of Spike.
If she’d admit it to herself, her heart was still branded with the touch, taste, and feel of Spike. She knew that she’d never really get over him. When she told him she loved him on the night he sacrificed himself for her cause, she had been surprised to realize that she meant it. He hadn’t believed her, and she hadn’t had time to insist, but she’d run up those stairs with the lead weight of remorse in her gut, dragging her down.
Ever since then, she’d walked around wondering if she had acknowledged that love sooner, would it have made a difference? She was haunted by dreams of him nearly every night, dreams in which she was able to save him, to love him, to beg his forgiveness for the harshness of her words and actions.
If only to be given a second chance.
But then again, she had. She’d been given a second chance with the former owner of her heart, and was content to be here in L.A., content to sleep in Angel’s spare room. Her heart beat rapidly as she anticipated the day they would stoke the flames of their old love into a bonfire. She even felt a little tingly at the thought of kissing him again, feeling his strong arms around her as they were finally free to explore their relationship in the fullest sense possible.
She always felt they’d been cheated the first time around, their first and only physical joining tainted by the return of Angelus. The memories of that night were still burned in her brain, the tenderness of Angel’s embrace, his soft words of love, his worshipful appreciation of her body and her innocence.
But even though she remembered that night fondly, and part of her wanted that again, she couldn’t help but feel that the time for rekindling that flame had passed. That she’d given her heart into the keeping of another, and giving it back to Angel would be a traitorous action to that one person who’d sacrificed everything for her, the one person she’d never given anything in return.***
Hanging back a block or so, Spike’s dead heart swelled in his chest as he watched Buffy walk purposefully down a filthy alley near downtown L.A. His mind was racing, his thoughts running in ten thousand different directions as he geared himself up for this reunion. He still wanted her, so very badly, that he could hardly calm himself down enough to approach her. So much was riding on this. He had to find out for himself that she wanted Angel, not him.
Even now, his gut clenched as he thought about Buffy back in the arms of his grandsire. He growled without even thinking about it, his hands becoming tight fists in his anger.
Cordelia was right: Angel wasn’t what Buffy needed. He was. And damn it, he wanted so badly to make her see that. But deep down, he knew it had to be her decision. He’d tried to force her once, and all that had brought him was several lifetimes of guilt.
Before he let himself get too engrossed in his volatile emotions, Spike hurriedly closed the distance between himself and the small blonde in front of him. Just as he was about to reveal his presence, two vampires jumped out from a cross alley and attacked her. Leaning against the building nearby, he watched her fight, his mouth turned up in a proud smile as Buffy reduced the fledglings to dust in a matter of minutes. She was music personified, her hands and feet moving gracefully with each punch and kick. He grinned at her wisecrack she delivered just before she plunged her stake into the heart of the second vampire.
Walking forward, his casual bearing hiding his ruffled nerves, Spike began to clap, the slap of his hands echoing like gunshots in the small alleyway. Buffy spun around, her stake at the ready, then swayed on her feet as she saw the apparition before her.
“I see you’ve still got your moves, Slayer,” Spike said with a small smile, coming to stand just feet in front of her. “Wouldn’t do for the Chosen One to get out of practice, now would it?”
“S-Spike?” She whispered, lowering her stake and shoving it into her pocket. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open as she gasped for breath in her surprise, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh, god. Spike!”
Her cry was music to his ears as she rushed at him, jumping and throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. “How is this possible? You’re supposed to be dead!” she whispered in his ear. She held tightly, her toes barely brushing the ground. The torrent of emotions flowing through her was bowling her over, so much so that at first, she didn’t realize he wasn’t hugging her back.
Having her arms around him was just too much for Spike. He could smell Angel on her and it angered him. He could tell they hadn’t had sex, at least not recently, but the thought of her in Angel’s care made him so jealous he couldn’t see straight. He was desperate to get away from the scent.
After a moment of silence, she untangled her arms from around his neck and dropped to the ground, stepping back from him and searching his face in confusion. His expression was a neutral mask, not at all the loving welcome she’d imagined in her dreams
She spoke, her heart still pounding as she drank in the sight of him. She was desperate for answers, so desperate that she was willing to ignore his coldness for now.
“What happened to you?” she asked in a rush. “I thought the explosion at the Hellmouth killed you!”
He shrugged, still cautious and trying to control his anger over Angel’s interference. “That little necklace scorched me right through, but I came away from it a little better off. Made me able to walk in daylight, nearly invincible.”
She stared at him in shock as she digested this, still reeling at his nonchalant attitude. She knew him well enough to realize that it was a front, a mask covering his more painful emotions, but she didn’t know where they stemmed from, not yet.
“Why didn’t you find me?” she asked quietly.
“You were always saying you were better off without me, so I finally listened,” he said with a shrug. “’Sides, word is that you’re back with the Poof now, anyway.”
Gaping at him, Buffy didn’t know what to say. Just seeing him again brought back a flood of feelings she hadn’t begun to deal with, and now he wanted her to explain Angel? Obviously that was where his hang-up was coming from. It always came back to this. Her and Angel.
She decided to address his reasons for abandoning her first.
“My life was better with you in it, Spike, and you know it,” she admonished him. “And Angel,” she paused, searching for words. “Angel understands what I’m going through. He asked me to come here, and I needed to be with him.”
Spike’s heart splintered at her words. Even after what he’d done for her, how much he’d shown he loved her, she still didn’t want him. Yet he still clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she would chose him.
“I seem to remember you telling me you loved me,” Spike reminded her, trying not to sound too needy.
She smiled slightly at him. “And you didn’t believe me, did you?” she answered.
He shrugged. “You still said it, luv. And here I see that you’re all cozy with your ex, and I’m not even dust.”
“But I didn’t know that!” she said, exasperated.
“And now that you know I’m still around? Does it make any difference?” He sounded nonchalant, but inside, every muscle tensed in anticipation of her answer.
She was quiet all of a sudden. Too quiet. Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to find the words to say.
Spike stiffened as he saw her hesitate. That hesitation was the death knell to his hope, the silence rushing in his ears.
With jerky motions, he dragged his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one quickly, taking a drag to calm his nerves.
“Well, so that’s the way its going to be, eh?” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up into a mockery of a smile.
“Spike. . .” she said, trailing off. “Angel and I . . . I’ll always have feelings for him, but you and I—” She paused, still trying to find the words to tell him how much he still meant to her, how much she loved him, but they escaped her.
He didn’t let her finish. He was going to come out the winner here, damn it, and he was going to go out in a blaze of glory.
His voice was cold, almost accusing. “No, I get it. You can finally have him, just like you’ve always wanted. You’re precious, soul-having, broody vampire. I know I’ve always been dead last with you, Slayer. I was in love with you once, remember? You made sure I knew I never had a chance, so I guess it’s a good thing I got over that rot.”
Her air left her in a whoosh as if he’d punched her. ‘In love with you once’? As in not in love anymore? She felt a ripping sensation in her chest, suspiciously like that of a heart breaking.
His next words laid her out cold, emotionally speaking.
“It’s bloody wonderful that you’re with your Angel, ‘cause I’ve moved on too. Found me a woman that understands me, one with a body I could touch for eternity and enough fire to warm me until I explode.”
He flicked the ash from his cigarette on the ground and watched the glowing ember as it fell, refusing to meet her eyes as he lied through his teeth.
“Who is she?” Buffy whispered, her still unspoken declaration of love now choking her. She was both dying to hear his explanation and dreading it.
Finally, he looked at her, his eyes icier and more lifeless than she’d ever seen since he’d gained his soul. “Cordelia, my own little cheerleader. Beauty and fire, that one’s got. And lord, what she can do and say with that ripe mouth of hers. . .” he trailed off, a small smile of manufactured pride gracing his lips.
He looked off into the distance, as if he was already with Cordelia in spirit. “And you know what the best part is, Slayer?” he asked softly, the pain in his heart needing retribution, making him want to hurt her like he was hurting.
Buffy numbly shook her head. The thought of Cordelia in Spike’s arms tore her apart, any joy she had at finding Spike alive destroyed with his words.
He continued, his eyes boring into hers as he drove the spikes into her heart. “The best part is that she knows what its like to be tossed aside, ignored, and abused by you bleedin’ hero types. And because of that, she understands how to be loyal.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped as his implications struck home. Cordelia was loyal, but she wasn’t. Her arch rival, the girl she’d always envied, the woman who’d always gotten everything Buffy had ever wanted, was once again taking the one thing she needed to survive. Only Buffy didn’t realize it until it was too late. Spike had moved on, and she was left holding the pieces of her broken heart.
Finally, she found her voice again. “You’re living with her,” she said, a statement, not a question.
He nodded, throwing the remains of his cigarette on the ground and grinding it under his boot. “In Peaches’ old place, the Hyperion.”
Her shoulders stiffened, and she gathered the tattered remains of her pride.
“Well, I hope you’ll be happy with her, Spike.” She tried to come off as supportive, but her tone was tainted with bitter jealousy.
“Oh, I will be, Slayer,” he said, a self-confident smile on his lips. “I will be. See you around.”
With one last defiant look, he turned and strode away, desperate to escape.
Buffy watched him walk away, cut to the core, finally letting her tears fall. She was never more glad that she’d come to Angel than she was right then. At least he still loved her. At least she could run home to him, find solace in his arms, when she was denied the one person she knew she needed more than anyone else. Angel loved her, and she needed to put her feelings for Spike to rest where they belonged.
As he lengthened the distance between them, Spike hated himself a thousand times over. He just couldn’t stand to be there when she turned around and walked away from him, back into the arms of the one man he hated more than anyone else on earth. He’d just slammed the lid to his coffin, every lie he’d told becoming a nail driven in to seal it.
All he’d done was make things worse, and now he had another item to add to his long list of regrets relating to one Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer.***
Lost in the world of Dante’s Inferno, Angel was startled as the front door to his apartment slammed open and Buffy came rushing in, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Immediately, he set down the ancient book and stood up, pulling her to his chest and wrapping his strong arms around her.
Buffy sighed at the feel of his embrace, reassuring herself that this was where she belonged. She drank in his scent, staunchly ignoring the twinge of pain as she noted the absence of cigarettes and leather.
“What happened, Buffy?” Angel asked, concerned for her well being. It wasn’t often that he saw the strong young woman so upset over anything, and it was worrisome to see her in this state.
“Just hold me Angel, please?” she whispered, her breath warm against his chest. Her breath hitched as she surrendered to the pain, her hot tears soaking the front of his shirt and burning his cool skin. They stood like that for several moments, Buffy crying silently as Angel stroked her back, his chin resting on her head.
Finally, he pulled back from her and tilted her face up to him, running a finger across her cheek and wiping away her tears. Softly, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, tasting the salt of her tears. She leaned into him, opening her mouth for him, and his tongue swooped in, exploring the familiar space and reveling in the taste. She brought back so many memories, so many of them good. It was soft and warm and comforting, but something was missing.
Buffy took solace in the familiarity of the kiss, studiously blocking out the memories of another, the passionate, breath stealing kisses that she’d come to crave only when it was too late.
As their lips brushed each other, in the back of both of their minds came the stark, unsettling realization that something was absent: the fire of their old relationship was gone, leaving a cold pile of ashes in its place.
Both Angel and Buffy quashed the unpleasant discovery and pulled apart, forcing themselves to enjoy the warmth of the kiss instead of dwelling on the lack of fire.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked softly, knowing that she needed to talk it out.
“I saw Spike,” she said, her lip trembling. “He isn’t dead like I thought, Angel, and . . .” she trailed off, not wanting to reveal the intensity of her feelings to him, even though her behavior told him how upset she was.
Immediately, Angel felt guilty. He knew, after their conversation in the graveyard a few months ago, that Buffy had strong feelings for Spike and would want to know he was still among the undead. But his own anger and animosity towards Spike had prevented him from telling her anything. He should have prepared her, but he hadn’t. He should have warned her, but he didn’t. And now he was left to clean up the emotional mess he could have prevented.
“It bothered you to see him?” he prompted, not wanting to talk about Spike but knowing there was no other way to calm her down.
She sighed, trying not to cry again. “Yeah, it bothered me. And then to find out that he’s with Cordelia now. . . it was just too much to take in at once, you know?”
Her glistening eyes searched his, and Angel felt like he’d been sucker punched. Spike with Cordelia? In what universe was THAT a possibility? The thought of it was ludicrous.
“Spike’s not with Cordelia,” he said emphatically. “He can’t be.”
“Oh, he is,” Buffy said bitterly, biting her lip as she remembered the painful conversation. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but he implied major kissage, if not more. He said he’s living with her at your old hotel.”
Buffy had no idea that her words had just driven a hot poker through Angel’s gut; his outward expression gave away none of his feelings. But the thought of Spike’s hands on Cordelia was enough to make Angel livid. Spike was so wrong for her. He didn’t deserve her.
Controlling his raging emotions, Angel reminded himself once again of his reasons for being here, his reason for having this woman in his arms. Buffy was his key to happiness. But it didn’t mean he had to let his friends make huge mistakes. Cordelia was out of her mind if she wanted Spike.
“Don’t think about him, Buffy. He’s not worth your time. You’re with me. You belong with me. We’ve always wanted this, and we have the rest of our lives to love each other. I don’t want Spike to ruin this chance we have at happiness.”
She looked up at him sadly, trying to take his words to heart, but they sounded like hollow promises to her ears. “You’re right Angel, I just need some time.”
Pulling away from him, she turned to go to her room. Stopping at the entrance of the hallway, she turned back to him. “Thanks, Angel, for everything.”
Forcing a smile, he nodded. “You’re welcome, Buffy. Sweet dreams.”
She turned and disappeared down the darkened hallway, and it wasn’t until he heard the click of her door shutting that he let his features give way to the rage that was flowing inside of him. He refused to explore the reason why, but he needed to kill something. Now. Only the sound and smell of death could soothe his demon tonight.
He shrugged on his coat and stalked off into the night. Maybe he could find a blonde vampire to stake. That would help a whole helluva lot.
Part 7Spike eyed the front door of the Hyperion hotel with something akin to dread. The sun was about to rise, and his instincts were screaming at him to find shelter, despite his recent immunity to its rays. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Cordelia; on the contrary, he was looking forward to spending more time with the empathetic young woman. It was just that walking through those doors meant surrendering to his defeat. It meant that he’d truly given up on patching things up with Buffy, that he was moving on, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.
Finally coming to a decision, he marched up to the front door and knocked loudly. After several minutes, he waited, then when there was no response, he pounded again. He knew that even though this was a hotel, he wouldn’t gain entrance without an invitation. This was Cordelia’s home now, hotel or not.
His next several knocks went unanswered and he became worried about her safety. He opened the door, deciding to try the entrance anyway. He stuck his hand through the portal, and was surprised to find that no barrier stopped him. Smiling, he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.
“I did tell you to come over any time you wanted, dork.” Cordelia’s sleepy voice came from somewhere above him, and he searched the dim lobby, finding her trailing down the stairs slowly.
Yawning widely, she came to stand in front of him, searching his face with bleary eyes.
“Didn’t work out like you’d planned, huh?” she asked, a wry smile on her face.
He laughed humorlessly. “Nope. Pure torture, through and through.”
“Well I could’ve told you that,” she said, rolling her eyes. She turned and walked across the lobby, motioning for him to follow her. She led him into the kitchen, where she turned on the coffee maker, took out a box of cereal, and to his surprise, a jug of blood from the refrigerator.
At his questioning look, she smiled. “Somehow, I knew you’d be here. Went shopping yesterday and it seemed to make sense to stock up.”
Putting a mug of blood in the microwave for him, she proceeded to fix her cereal. After the microwave dinged, she removed the mug, and balanced it and her bowl on her arm as she came back across the kitchen and sat in front of him.
“98.6, just like you fang boys like. I know pigs’ blood isn’t exactly gourmet, but I guess it will do, huh?”
Smiling his thanks, he took a small sip. “It’ll be fine, cheerleader. Thanks for looking out for me.”
She smiled back, a weary, defeated one, but a smile nonetheless. “Well, it looks like all we’ve got is each other, right?”
“Seems that way, pet. Guess we’ll have to make the best of it.”
Taking a big bite of her cereal, Cordelia chewed steadily and peered at him across the table. After swallowing, she asked, “Wanna talk about it?”
He grimaced. “Not really.”
Pausing, he took a sip of his breakfast. He frowned again when he remembered how he’d involved her in his lies to Buffy.
“I guess you should know that I kind of hinted to Buffy that I was shagging you,” he said, figuring that blunt honesty was best with this woman.
She only raised an eyebrow, her spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. “Trying to make her jealous?”
“Yeah, fat lot of good that did. She didn’t exactly fight to keep me, or anything.”
Cordelia seemed to think about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Let her think that. She’ll tell Angel, and it’ll probably make him mad. That’s fine by me.”
The coffee maker buzzed, signaling the end of its cycle. She got up and walked to it, pouring herself a cup of the steaming liquid. With her back turned, she continued her comments, taking her anger out on the hapless appliance.
“I don’t really care what either of them think, anyway. Both of us sacrificed everything for them, and they’ve given up on us, ground our sacrifice into the dirt. I’ll shave my head and walk naked down Hollywood Boulevard before I do anything for Angel again.”
Spike was comforted by her support of his duplicity. He was glad once again that someone else felt this pain as keenly as he did.
Desperate to lighten the somber mood, he set down his mug and perused her face. After a moment, he changed the subject.
“So, cheerleader. What’ve you got for me to do around here? I wouldn’t want to be accused of not earning my keep.”
She squinted at him and assessed his features. “How are you with a hammer and nails?”
He smirked at that. “Well, railroad spikes are generally my tool of choice, but I think I can handle something smaller.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Ha, ha. Funny, blondie. Finish up your piggy cocktail there, and we’ll get started. There’s a lot to do to make this place livable again.”
He watched with fascination as she attacked her cereal, slurping and chewing in a delicate way that was both feminine and efficient. This might not be his first choice of living conditions, but it was bound to be anything but boring. And maybe, just maybe, he and this equally heartbroken woman could help each other heal from the heartless words and actions of those they were trying desperately to leave behind.***
For what seemed like the millionth time in the last two weeks, Cordelia dipped her tattered paint roller into the tray and coated it with white paint, then brought it up to drag onto the wall. She was speckled with the stuff from head to toe, her fingernails seemingly permanently white, as if she’d gotten bored with the White-Out and used it for fingernail polish instead.
Not wanting to add to the mess, she blew on a stray hair in steady puffs, trying to relocate it to a place where it wasn’t tickling her cheek. She wasn’t successful, but she kept painting, determined to be done. She was on the last room they’d set aside to fix, Fred’s old room, and she was bound and determined to finish today.
“What’s next, Cordy?” Spike’s voice came from behind her, and she paused in her painting long enough to glance back at him.
“You’re done fixing the railing already?”
“Yep. All done. Good as new. Polished and everything, princess,” he said, rather proud of himself for being so domestic.
“Well, grab a roller. This painting is about all we have left. I still want to clean up the basement, but I think that can wait for another day.”
He did as she asked, and they painted in companionable silence for a while. It had been like this for the last two weeks, the two of them working together to get the Hyperion back into livable condition, restoring some of the hominess it had lost in Cordelia’s absence.
Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hours, and twenty two minutes since she’d walked out of Angel’s office and seen Spike. Fourteen days of Angel free living. Every minute of it cruel torture.
This last weekend, she and Spike had rented a few sappy movies and shared a bottle of Jack Daniels, marinating in their misery together. After the liquor had made them a little freer with their feelings, she told him about her “Angel Free” countdown, and he’d nodded in supportive camaraderie. In a way, they were like dried out alcoholics. They were both completely, miserably addicted to these two people, knowing deep down that they’d never really get over them.
But one day at time, with the support of each other, they were surviving. It was hard. Damn hard. Sleepless nights and days full of memories were difficult to get through, but they hadn’t died yet. Every day, they got up and worked themselves to the bone, taking pride in their progress and looking forward to the day when they could be happy again. That day would come if they could only hang on long enough to see it.
Spike’s voice once again intruded into Cordelia’s morose thoughts. “So what do you say we go out tonight, cheerleader?”
She frowned, not wanting to go out and party. “Like to a club?” she asked, sounding anything but enthusiastic.
“Well, maybe not dancing, but we could go have dinner or a drink. Something new, eh?”
“I guess,” she said, not breaking the rhythm of her strokes. “There’s this new Mexican restaurant that I—ahh!”
Dropping her roller, Cordelia’s head whipped back and her eyes glazed over, then shut, as she began to float off the ground. Her hands went out, palms raised, as the vision flashed before her eyes. Spike stood open-mouthed as she levitated, shocked at the sight.
As quickly as it had begun, Cordelia’s vision ended and she floated to the ground, her eyes back to normal.
She smiled at him, a little wobbly, but knowing he needed reassurance. “Whoa, that was kinda freaky. I’d almost forgotten what that feels like. So totally better than the pre demony vision pain, but still major wiggage.”
“That was a vision?” he asked, skeptical.
“Yep,” she nodded. “Whole big techicolor, smelly, brain mushing message from the Powers. Guess they missed the memo where I QUIT!!” she shouted, looking at the ceiling as if she expected the Powers to be floating up there somewhere.
Spike just laughed at her and set his roller down in the pan. Painting seemed to be done for the day.
“I don’t think you can just quit something like that, Cordy,” he said.
“I know,” she said, obviously irritated. She snatched up her roller and put it in the pan, then turned and walked out of the room, stalking down the stairs into the lobby. Spike followed, pausing as she stopped in front of the reception desk.
Whipping around to face him, Cordelia’s expression was pure frustration. “They’re supposed to be all-knowing and crap. You’d think they’d look down here and realize, Hello! their Champion’s gone AWOL, all misguided and obsessed with the law firm from hell. Not exactly in the business of helping the helpless anymore. Who’s supposed to take care of this?”
She crossed her arms and began pacing in front of him. He just leaned against the desk and watched her, smiling inwardly at her angry passion.
“I mean, I can fight and everything, but a slime demon isn’t exactly something I can handle on my own. And they know that, too. And Gunn and Wesley are totally MIA, despite Wesley’s initial good intentions, so what am I supposed to do?”
Spike raised his scarred eyebrow and stared at her as if she were nuts. “I’m not just devilishly handsome, pet, I can fight, too. I can take care of these visions for you. I may not be the ‘chosen’ champion of the powers and all, but I can still help the helpless. I fight better than Angel, anyway,” he bragged.
She smiled beautifully at him. “That’s so sweet, Spike, but I don’t want to get you involved. This is my problem; you’re already doing so much. I don’t want to bother you with this.”
He was insulted. “I’m a master vampire, Cordelia Chase, not some weak fledgling. I can do this. Angel’s being completely irresponsible and its my duty to take care of you.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, trying not to get too excited.
“Of course,” he scoffed. “Piece o’ cake, luv.”
Coming up to him, she caressed his face with her hand. “Thanks, Spike. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’ve been a life saver, Cordelia, it’s the least I can do.”
They shared a moment of miserable silence, not yet able to forget the losses they had in common.
Spike was the first to shake it off. “Now about that vision. . .”***
The interior of Angel’s office was the darkened tomb it usually was, but the main difference this time was that it was actually night outside, not artificial darkness. His standard glass of whiskey was at his elbow, poured but untouched, and he stared off into the starry night as he pondered the mess that was his life.
He hadn’t seen Cordelia in two weeks, but she consumed his thoughts, a fact that caused him no small amount of irritation. He was constantly forcing his mind back to his girlfriend, back to Buffy, but his traitorous thoughts kept straying to the brown-haired beauty that he couldn’t seem to forget.
He’d begun dreaming about her, the images including his blonde-headed childe. Last night’s had been the most disturbing, an intensely erotic scene of the two of them intertwined in his bed at the hotel, Spike loving Cordelia slowly and tenderly, the way Angel had once dreamed of doing. He’d woken up in vamp face, enraged and desperate to kill Spike slowly and painfully.
Giving in to his frustration, Angel picked up the glass of whisky and downed it in one big gulp, taking comfort in the false warmth it gave him. Cordelia was taking over his life, even if she was no longer in it, and it was getting in the way of his happiness with Buffy.
Maybe if he could just see her, convince her to stay away from Spike, he could move past this and get on with his life. That was it. He would go to the hotel, a friend concerned for her well being, and that should be enough to stop this endless worrying. It had to work. Because if it didn’t, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do.***
“Oh, stop whining, you big baby. If you would’ve let me help, you wouldn’t even be hurt.”
Spike winced, his hand holding his side, as Cordelia dragged him out of the car and back into the hotel. It was dark in the lobby, and with her dragging him, she with the inferior night vision, he could only hang on as she tripped down the stairs, jolting him with her. She pulled him to the couch, then went over to turn on the light.
“I told you, Cordelia, I didn’t want you getting hurt. You did your job with the visions. Mine is to fight, remember?” he said, trying not to focus on the pain.
She narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head and glaring. Stomping over behind the reception desk, she got out the newly restocked first aid kit and brought it back over to him.
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered, wrenching open the kit and bringing out some antiseptic and bandages. “God, you’re so infuriating. It must be a vampire thing. I’m not a helpless, eighteenth century woman here, Spike. Hello! part demon seer who knows how to use an axe. I can decapitate demons with the best of them, so don’t tell me I can’t help.”
He grasped her wrist firmly just before she attacked him with the antiseptic. “Watch it there, cheerleader. You’re supposed to make it better, not worse,” he joked.
“Ha, ha. Very funny, blondie bear,” she said snidely, smirking as she dabbed lightly at his wound.
He groaned, rolling his head back until it rested on the back of the couch, closing his eyes tightly. “God, why did I ever tell you about that? I should’ve known that you’d torture me with it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Please. Like I could pass that up? I still can’t believe you were desperate enough to be with Harmony, of all people. And people say I’m an airhead,” she scoffed.
He raised his head again and looked down as she fastened the bandage to his side. “What can I say? I was seriously damaged at the time. Dru had left me and I was obsessed with killing Buffy. Things like that can make a bloke crazy, you know?”
Smiling, she pressed down the last of the tape. “I know,” she said. “But you’re all okay now, right?”
“Yep. Bloody fantastic,” he said, admiring her handiwork. “Good job, pet. Looks like you’ve had some practice.”
At her sudden uncomfortable look, he said, “What, no kiss to make it feel better?”
She giggled at him, rolling her eyes. “Such a whiner,” she said, but leaned down to kiss the snow white bandage on his chiseled stomach. “There, all better!”
But Spike didn’t notice, his chest rumbling in a low growl as he sat up abruptly, pulling Cordelia to the side as he peered into the shadows.
After a moment, Spike sat back, the darkness in his features smoothing out into a self-satisfied smirk. He tightened his grip on Cordelia’s hand, pulling her down next to him on the couch and wrapping his arm around her.
Cordelia’s head whipped toward him in shock as he said, “What the hell do you want, Peaches?”