thedeadlyhook | Dirty Back Road Sequel, Part 10

Finally! The next chapter in my opus. But at least this time I sort of have an excuse for why it took so darn long - this chapter is almost four times longer than the previous one. It's a lot of talky plot stuff, and Angel is a big presence. What can I say? It was hard. But I think it's finally done, and I'm just about too drunk on Christmas beer to be able to edit it further. Feed me, please, and tell me if it works!

Previous chapters here.

Chapter Ten

They rode nearly all the way to her place in silence. Angel negotiated traffic without asking for directions. Presumably he knew where her apartment was the same way he'd found them in the first place.

Buffy remained quiet. From her position on Spike's lap, she could see little. Cramped and uncomfortable and tense, she watched the streaks of light from the passing cars from under lowered eyelids and did her best not to react whenever Angel had to change gears.

Spike is hurt. She kept repeating the statement to herself like a mantra. That was the only thing that really mattered in this situation, getting him back to her place so she could wrap him up in blankets and pour blood down his throat until he was himself again. Everything else was secondary, including what she was going to say to Angel, or to Spike himself when he was coherent enough for her to yell at him about the argument that had gotten them into this situation in the first place. All of that was a worry for another time. After they'd had time to rest, and to calm down, and--

Ohgod. If it weren't for the absolute immobility of her position, she would have clapped a hand over her mouth. Dawn. She'd forgotten to call Dawn. Again. She'd been gone a day and a night and was now coming back not just with Spike but with Angel too, and Dawn didn't have the fainest clue what was going on. She felt a little sick.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? she wondered miserably. It's not that I don't want her to know what's going on with me, it's just... things got crazy, and I... forgot.

Frantically, Buffy plotted a course of action when they got back to the apartment. She'd call on her cell phone from downstairs. Let her know that they were coming up. Dawn would probably still be pissed off, but a ten-minute warning had to be better than none.

By the time the Lamborghini pulled up in front of her apartment building, Buffy had calmed herself down, breathed a sigh of relief. They were home. It was tense and uncomfortable but at least they were safe.

Angel maneuvered the car into a parking space, killed the engine. Then he sat there, quiet. Buffy wriggled a little on Spike's lap--he seemed to have fallen asleep--and tried to reach for the door--

"Don't move," Angel said. Buffy immediately froze.

"What? Why?" she whispered. "Is something out there?" Angel didn't answer immediately.

"It's nothing," he said eventually, and then got out of the car. Buffy blinked in confusion, then nearly spilled out of the car an instant later when Angel abruptly opened the passenger door. He offered her a hand as she unfolded herself gingerly from the cramped seat.

"Why don't you go ahead and go inside, Buffy," he said, reaching past her to haul Spike out and onto his feet. The smaller vampire sagged in his grip, barely conscious; Angel threaded an arm around his shoulders.

"That's not such a good idea." She tried not to look worried, searched her pockets for her phone. "I've got to make a phone call first."

"Make it from upstairs. We shouldn't stay out here in the open."

"Why? Are we in danger?" Buffy scanned the street. She couldn't see anything.

"Not right now we're not, but..." He jerked his head toward the car, signaling her with his eyes. "Look, I'll get him up the stairs. Can you, uh, take his medicine with you, get things ready?"

Buffy's lips formed an "oh" of understanding, and she leaned back into the car, felt around inside. Two clear plastic jugs sloshing with dark red liquid were stowed there. A bottle in each hand, she withdrew, stood up straight. Hesitated.

"It's okay, Buffy, I got it. Go on."

"Don't hurt him," she said, and raised her eyes to his in a silent plea. "Please. Angel, I know that the two of you have issues, but..."

"You called me for help," Angel said calmly. "That's all I'm here to do. Wouldn't be very heroic of me if I just showed up to pick a fight, now would it." His smiled then, dark eyes full of humor. "After all, I'm not actually 12."

Buffy laughed, a relieved sound bubbling out of her. Oh, Angel. She'd forgotten how funny he could be sometimes, the way he could make her feel like sixteen again with barely a word, the two of them understanding each other in a way that seemed almost mystical, an unspoken rapport. They just got each other in a way that she didn't think she'd ever be able to explain. Even now.

When she'd been a teenager, Angel had been a mystery she'd thought she could have spent her whole life unraveling.

"Okay," she said, backing away, fond affection quirking her lips. "I'll go get things ready. Just... you know. Promise not to drop him."

"Wouldn't think of it," Angel grinned. "Or... well, yeah, I thought of it, but... as a favor to you." He shrugged.

Buffy rolled her eyes, still smiling, and headed toward the front door and then inside.

__________

Dawn wasn't home yet.

Buffy sagged against the doorframe. The empty apartment felt like some kind of cosmic reprieve.

She bustled around the small kitchen, prepping. The jugs of blood went into the refrigerator, pillows and blankets spread out and ready on the couch. A starter mug full of blood went into the microwave--she'd even located the box of bendy straws Dawn had bought for her noxious experiments in fruit smoothies. She pulled one out of the box, a smile quirking her lips at the memory of another time, another mug full of blood and a straw...

Everything ready, she took a moment to take a deep breath, and placed her call.

Voicemail. In Italian. Buffy practiced a little more deep breathing, and waited for the beep.

"Dawn, hey, guess who? Look, really sorry I forgot to call last night, it was--a lot happened. If you get this before you come home, call me. Spike's here. And.... well, I'll explain the rest. Call me when you get this, okay? Bye." She closed the phone.

At least she could say she'd tried.

She started the microwave. The mug inside began to spin.

They really should have made it upstairs by now.

Buffy went to the kitchen window, looked out.

The view was of the street. The windows were old-fashioned, shutter-style doors that opened onto a tiny balcony, a space barely big enough for a person to stand. It was piled with plants, herbs for Dawn's kitchen adventures.

Angel and Spike were still standing by the car.

Buffy pressed her hands against the glass.

Angel was pacing, his dark coat swirling around him like a cape as he walked. Spike was leaning heavily against the car to hold himself up, both hands on the roof like a crime suspect about to be patted down. As Buffy watched, Angel completed a back-and-forth circuit up and down the sidewalk, occasionally stabbing an accusatory finger at Spike. She could see his mouth moving.

She threw open the window.

Spike's voice drifted up to her first. "--ran across me, alright? Started calling me. What was I supposed to do, say no?" He was nearly shouting, forcing out the words between panting breaths.

"Yes!" Angel was shouting back. "You were! What were you thinking? You practically made her a target."

"Told her it was risky. But she wanted to--"

"We had an agreement."

"Well, you've got more willpower than I have, that's all I've got to--"

Buffy had heard more than enough. "What are you doing?" she barked down at them.

Silence. Dead silence. Their startled upturned faces were those of two serenading Romeos, and she was one extremely angry Juliet, leaning out over her balcony to listen to their song.

"He would't let me carry him up the stairs," Angel called out, and pointed at Spike.

"Piss off!" Spike coughed. "Not gonna have you carry me over the threshold like some teenage bride." He coughed again, and glared at Angel.

"I don't care how you get up here, just do it. Now," Buffy said stiflfy, and slammed the window shut, hard enough to make the glass rattle.

She paced the living room rug then, hands cupped under her elbows, fuming.

Angel had promised her he wouldn't start a fight.

Well, so much for him being mature.

He'd been trying to get rid of her so he could yell at Spike without her hearing. Well, she had more than a few things to say about that. Plus the rest of what she'd overheard?

She tried not to think about it. If she'd heard right...

Angel had been telling Spike he wasn't supposed to see her.

That couldn't be right. It couldn't.

She paced, and she fumed, and by the time she heard their dragging footsteps in the hallway, she'd worked up a seriously good head of steam.

She marched over to the door and jerked it open. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

The two of them were just standing there, looking sheepish, together on her doorstep. Blinking at her like they couldn't quite figure out how to obey her command. She had a brief premonition of the two of them fighting over who got to come into the apartment first.

Or worse, getting stuck in the door, like something out of a sitcom.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy grabbed Spike by the elbow and yanked him through. "Get the door, will you?" she threw over her shoulder at Angel. She nudged a shoulder under Spike's arm and carefully convalescent-walked him to the couch.

Angel said nothing. He merely stepped through and closed the door like she'd asked. Remained there, hands in pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, a dark, looming statue.

Buffy sat next to Spike on the edge of the sofa, busied herself with stuffing pillows under his head. She tried to avoid looking at him as she did it, although it wasn't easy--he was looking at her, blue eyes fixed on her face, sober and silent.

She wanted to say something to him. Something.

I just wanted to take care of you. I didn't want this. I wanted to show you... show you...

She unfolded a blanket with sharp, snapping motions, spread it over his legs.

"Don't say anything," she told him, voice low. "Just lie there and drink your blood. I just... I can't do both of you at once. Understand?" She thrust the coffee mug in his hand, very nearly upending the bendy straw floating in the dark liquid.

Spike considered her, pursed his lips. Nodded. "I'll need more than this," he said quietly, lifting the mug. She stood without comment and went to retrieve one of the jugs from the kitchen, put on the floor beside him well within easy reach. "You need it heated up?" she said. He shook his head. Reached out to take hold of her hand briefly and squeezed.

She pulled her hand back. Retreated to another chair, arranged herself primly on its edge, ramrod straight, hands on her knees.

"Now," she said, with a single, deep breath, and raised her head to look directly at Angel. "Why don't we start by you telling me that I didn't just hear what I thought I heard down there."

Angel sighed. "Buffy--"

"Because it sure sounded like you yelling at Spike for seeing me."

"You heard right," Angel said. "I did tell him to stay away from you."

Open-mouthed, Buffy just stared. She hadn't expected him to admit it. Shock momentarily robbed her of speech.

"How dare you?" she finally managed. "You do not get to make those kinds of decisions for me. Y-You have no right--"

"He had his reasons," Spike interjected from the couch. Buffy wheeled around, eyes wide. Spike wouldn't meet her eyes, pretended to be totally focused on pouring another mug of blood.

"You don't know the whole story, Buffy," Angel said. "Things are dangerous right now. I didn't want to get you involved."

"Involved?" She turned back to look at him. "Well, guess what? I'm already involved. And either way, that's still my choice, not yours."

"No it's not." Angel's face was impassive. "This isn't about you, Buffy."

Calm descended over Buffy like a blanket of snow. She felt the air around her go still.

"Not about me," she echoed. "Really. You deciding who I can and can't see is not about me. Hey, I'm sorry. Is there another definition of not about me that they use on a planet that's not Earth?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Complicated. Okay. Well, you've got one chance to explain how. Because this is my home, Angel. You've told me that before, that I don't get to come into your life and start making demands. Well, you don't get to come into my life and do that either. If you've got a good explanation, I'm waiting to hear it."

Angel nodded. Buffy thought he looked pretty relaxed, considering.

"Okay," he said mildly. "I didn't--" He shot a look at Spike. "We didn't want to get you mixed up in this for your own safety, but--"

"Hey," she cut him off. "Slayer, remember? I can take care of myself."

"Right," Angel said, wisely realizing that the subject was closed. "How much do you know about Wolfram & Hart?"

__________

For a moment, the only sound was the rushing traffic outside.

"Wolf what and who?" Buffy finally asked.

"It's a law firm. In L.A."

"A law firm," Buffy repeated. "What, are you getting sued or something?"

Angel's brows drew in; he looked confused. "No, I--"

"Then this has what to do with you and Spike how?"

"I was there all last year," Angel said. "Spike too."

"What do you mean there?"

"He was running the place," Spike said.

"Running the--?" Buffy closed her eyes, opened them again. "So you're into law now? What did you do, go to night school?"

"No, I--" Angel paused. "You really didn't know anything about this?"

Buffy's patience gave out. "No, I didn't. Because if I did, I sure as hell would have called you to ask you what you thinking. Lawyers? Last I heard, you were 'helping the hopeless.'"

"Helping the helpless," Angel mumbled.

"Whatever. When my house and all my worldly possessions got destroyed, I kinda lost your business card. Can we get back to the part where you're explaining?"

Angel shared a look with Spike. "That's very interesting," he said. "Your buddy Andrew seemed to think you knew all about it."

"My--who?"

"Andrew," Spike cut in. "You know, dog-training boy's brother. From Sunnydale."

"Oh." Buffy's brows drew together. "When were you talking to him?"

"Came to L.A. for that rogue Slayer business," Spike answered.

"Said he was from the Council. Giles sent him," Angel added.

"Oh." She sat back in her chair. "Well, I guess that's possible. I mean, he was hanging all over Giles last time I was in London, although it's not like anyone actually listens to the little putz. The way he keeps going on and on about Lord of the Rings, and why are we even talking about Andrew again?"

"You let him sleep on your couch, though," Spike interrupted.

"That was Dawn's idea, not mine." She made a face. "He just showed up one night with some big sob story about demons chasing him and needing sanctuary, blah, blah, blah. I told him he could stay as long as he didn't get under--" She stopped, a memory clicking into place. Spike's face had taken on a strangely masklike appearance, and her eyes narrowed.

"This is about Romeo, isn't it," she said then. "That's when you saw me with--? Oh, I'm so gonna kill that little creep."

"Because he told us where to find you with Mister Hot Stuff on the Dance Floor?" Spike snorted. "I'd be upset about more than that if I were you."

"Us?" She looked at Angel. "You were both here?"

"So you didn't know," Angel said. "He, uh, didn't mention we were here."

"What? No, he didn't! I had no idea you were..." She trailed off, took in the strained looks on both faces. "What did he say to you?"

Angel sighed. "Look, never mind. It's not important."

"Said you'd moved on," Spike blurted, knuckles white from clutching his stained coffee mug too hard. "Said you were happy with The Immortal and we should move on too. Pretty much called us a couple of pathetic wankers right to our faces."

Buffy's mouth opened and then closed. "And you believed him?"

"Look, let's skip it, okay?" Angel said hoarsely. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Speak for yourself, grandad." Spike looked at Buffy with narrowed eyes. "Kinda curious myself."

"I don't owe you an explanation for my love life," Buffy said. "We went over this."

"Right," Spike said. Brittle. Obviously hurt. She didn't want to feel hurt by knowing that he was, but--

"I didn't know you were here!" Buffy kept going, her mouth racing ahead of her mind, her heart. "I didn't even know you were alive! And you should have waited for me instead of just believing whatever--"

"Well, what were we supposed to believe?" Spike snapped. "You let the stupid git answer your door, no matter that he's dumb as a box of rocks--goes off about how we used to be important to you, but not anymore. Tells us not to let the door hit us on the ass on our way out. You were lucky not to come home to Helter Skelter all over your walls."

"Oh, that's a good one, Spike. Really mature," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "Gee, let me guess what actually happened. Did you maybe, say, get all depressed and slink out of here without even leaving a note?"

Spike glared at her silently, sucking on the straw hard enough to collapse his cheeks.

"Will you two just drop it? We don't have time for this." Angel glowered down at the both of them, a hovering figure. "Look, Buffy, we need to talk about Wolfram & Hart. Okay? This is big. And it's dangerous, and since you insist on being involved, you need to know what we're up against."

Buffy shot Spike a single, angry glare--this isn't over--and took a deep, cleansing breath. "Fine. You're right," she said, tossing her hair for good measure. "Whatever. So you were saying. There's this law firm..." She lifted her face toward Angel, waited.

Angel breathed in, regrouped. "Not just a law firm. Wolfram & Hart... they're evil. International, interdimensional, incorporated evil. If there's anything bad going on in the world, it's Wolfram & Hart's job to make sure that whatever demon or human is behind it gets the freedom they need to keep on doing it."

"And you were running this place?" Buffy felt a twinge of unease starting in her stomach. Incorporated evil. Great. "Why?"

"That doesn't matter right now. The reasons were... personal."

"Interdimensional evil is personal? How do you figure?"

"Lay off him, Buffy," Spike stepped in. He still wore a rather sulky expression, and his arms were folded defensively around his chest. She frowned at him, confused, then looked back at Angel.

"Long story short," Angel said. "There's this prophecy--"

"About a vampire with a soul," Spike spoke up from the couch. "Plays a key role in the apocalypse."

Buffy stared at him. A vampire with a soul?

"An apocalypse that Wolfram & Hart wants to control," Angel continued, and this time she didn't turn to look at him, but kept staring at Spike. "This vampire of prophecy matters to them, Buffy. They've spent years hounding me because of it. Trying to get me on their side, manipulate me, my friends--"

"Wait," Buffy waved a hand. "Back up. There's an apocalypse now?"

"Not an apocalypse," Angel said. "The apocalypse."

The phone rang.

"Hang on a sec," Buffy mumbled. She got up and wandered on autopilot around the apartment to look for her cell phone.

The voicemail picked up before she could find it, right where she'd left it on the kitchen counter. She checked the missed calls. Dawn. Of course. Buffy folded the phone and set it back down, then returned to her seat.

"Okay," Buffy said, blowing out an exasperated sigh. "Apocalypse, The. Law firm. Prophecy. Vampire with a soul. Go."

Angel frowned a bit. "This isn't just any end of the world scheme, Buffy," he insisted. "Wolfram & Hart have been setting this up for millions of years. They don't want to destroy this world. They want to control it."

"Yeah, so? And?"

"And, I think we've found a way to stop it. Take back control. Put humanity's fate back into its own hands."

"How?"

Angel took a deep breath. "This apocalypse of theirs... it's a game, Buffy. And the key to beating any game is understanding the rules. You have to know how the game works, which pieces you need to control to win. And that's where Spike and I come in." He pursed his lips. "You know, in a way, I owe all this to you, Buffy. I never would have figured this out if you hadn't given Spike that amulet."

The amulet. Buffy looked at Spike again. His eyes were lowered, and he was sucking on his straw with apparent absorption.

"Wolfram & Hart didn't give me that amulet out of the goodness of their hearts, Buffy. They don't have good hearts. That amulet was just another trick of theirs to get me under their control. Only..." His gaze angled toward Spike.

Buffy's eyes widened. Angel's face was absolutely impassive, a stone sculpture.

"The vampire of prophecy," she whispered.

"The prophecy's not about me, Buffy," Angel said softly. "It used to be, when I was the only souled vampire champion in the world. But when you gave Spike that amulet... everything changed."

Buffy continued staring at Angel. She had no idea what she should feel, if anything. She hadn't known about any prophecy. The amulet had just been a weapon, an unknown, powerful weapon that she'd given to the person she'd known she'd wanted at her side.

If she'd known then what it would do to him, known the cost...

"Yeah, I was sort of the relief pitcher," Spike said dryly, and she swung around to look at him, her face contorting with shock.

Is that really what he thinks?

"What does this prophecy mean?" she said hoarsely.

"A few months ago, we tried to take out Wolfram & Hart, kill their leaders here on Earth," Angel explained, bypassing her question. "Hell of a battle. I lost some good friends."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but Angel--"

"The Senior Partners--I mean, the leaders of the law firm, demons or whatever, we don't really know... they need this vampire of prophecy. I found the scroll that described it years ago, locked in their vault. The language is... vague. It doesn't even say what side of the apocalypse the vampire with a soul fights on."

"But--"

"Don't you see, Buffy? That's why the prophecy's so important. Wolfram & Hart don't know the outcome. Good or evil... it could be either one. That's why they're so desperate to get control. And the vampire with a soul is the key player. He's the one who'll decide which way the apocalypse is going to turn."

"I-I'm..." Buffy closed her eyes momentarily, tried to take it all in.

Spike was the vampire of prophecy. Apparently because she'd given him the amulet. Which made him some kind of target of an otherdimensional evil organization.

Great.

Nothing was ever simple.

"How do you know it's Spike?" Buffy finally asked, eyes still closed. "I mean if the prophecy just says 'vampire with a soul'... couldn't it be both of you?"

"No," Angel answered. "There's only supposed to be one. It upset the balance of reality for awhile, there being two of us. Although that also just goes to show how crucial this vampire of prophecy is. There can be only one."

"No quoting B-movies," Spike mumbled, annoyed. "You're bad at it."

"Am not. And it's the same idea." Angel glared at Spike, then turned back to Buffy. "The Senior Partners had me sign away my share of the prophecy, Buffy. That's how I know. They had to pick one of us. And Spike's the one they picked."

"Excuse me a minute." Buffy got up from her seat, walked to the bathroom. Locked herself in and threw up.

__________

She retched until her stomach was empty and cramping, acid burning the back of her throat. Then rested her head on the cool surface of the toilet seat, tried to get a grip on her swirling thoughts.

She'd done this to him. Given Spike the amulet, called him her champion. Never mind that she hadn't known about any damn prophecy, it was still her that had made him sacrifice himself, her that he had gotten the soul for. Because of her, Spike was now some kind of world-saving prophesied hero that the fate of all humanity depended on.

Everything he'd said and done since she'd first found him in Rome was suddenly starting to make sense.

"Well, spot of danger now and then keeps things from getting dull, doesn't it?"

"I'm not gonna put you and Dawn in danger, that's final."

"Got a job now. Been telling you about it. Kind of important, you know?"

"There isn't... a happily ever after for us, Buffy. You're done now. I'm not."

She already knew what she would hear when she went back out there. Angel would explain to her that Spike had more important things to think about than her now, that saving the world came first. Like she didn't know that script by heart.

She got it now, why they were together, why Angel had wanted Spike to stay away from her. The mission was always more important. Always the mission.

Angel had always gotten that.

There was a soft tapping at the door.

Buffy pulled herself to her feet, creaky and slow as an old woman. She rinsed her mouth at the sink. The face in the mirror above was bleak, ghostly.

It was a face she hadn't seen in awhile. Not once since she'd come to Rome. She'd thought--obviously mistaken--that she might never see that face on herself again.

"I'll be right out," she called weakly, and debated brushing her teeth. Decided from the touchy condition of her stomach that she better not risk it. She drank a glass of water instead, opened the door.

It was Spike. Leaning against the doorframe to hold himself up, but looking stronger than he had been even only an hour ago, less bone-skeletal and grim. His eyes were shadowed beneath a thick fringe of brown hair.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded. She wanted to say something, but her throat kept closing up. She let her hands slide onto his arms instead, held on as if to steady him, but was really steadying herself.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "It's just... not every day you get to hear you're responsible for turning someone into a champion of destiny." She tightened her fingers on his arms; he lifted his hands to cup her elbows.

"Not something to be ashamed of," he said.

"Could probably make a career out of it," she said faintly. "What with you, and the Potentials..."

"It's not like he's making it sound," Spike said, tugging her closer. "And it's not your fault, Buffy, none of it."

She leaned in, let him support her weight, her forehead touching his. "Yes, it is."

"Don't talk like that. It's not like you think at all."

She ignored this, pushed down the urge to say you don't know what I think, and let a small smile slip instead. Her eyes roamed over his face, drinking him in. "So this is the real you, huh?" He looked puzzled until she tugged on a light brown curl, pulled the strand of hair down into his line of sight.

He squinted at the color, then snorted. "Yeah," he smiled. "The natural look. Been a long time since I've seen it."

She combed her fingers through the thick locks. "I like it."

"What, the color?"

"No. The curls. I mean, it's like... the rest of you is so sharp." She stroked a finger across the line of his cheekbone. "I hope you keep it like this."

"Not bloody likely."

"It balances you."

He raised an eyebrow, and she laughed. Tugged on a curly lock. "Okay, maybe not. It's... sweet."

He angled his head to look at her. "Vampire here, missy," he said with mock seriousness. "We're never sweet."

"You are. Sometimes."

He made another snorting sound, shook his head.

"Spike. Look at me." She nudged his head back around to face her with a finger under his chin, met his blue eyes with her hazel ones.

The sound of Angel's footsteps made them both look up.

Angel stood in the doorway, a looming presence. "Sorry to interrupt," he said coldly. "I'd like to finish this."
__________

"There's not that much more to tell," Angel said once both she and Spike had returned to their seats. "The big thing is, once I figured out what the Senior Partners wanted, what their plan really was, I took... steps. Some of them were pretty drastic. You'll probably think I'm pretty cold, but believe me, Buffy, all of this was necessary."

"What did you do?"

Angel met her eyes calmly. "Before the battle, I took out a little insurance policy. Something to make sure that the Senior Partners remembered who was really in control."

"Insurance policy?" Buffy repeated.

"Me, love," Spike said quietly. "I'm the insurance." He shifted the coffee mug in his hand, leaned back against the arm of the couch. "Angel got a friendly witch to throw a bonding spell on us."

"A bonding spell?" Buffy repeated.

"Yes," Angel said. "In mystical terms, Spike is part of me. If the Senior Partners kill me... he dies too."

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rahirah

Damn if you're not managing to make the whole confusing amulet mess make sense! Do it more!

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