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How to Treat Your
Lover
by Tami
Chapter 17
Step 1: Infatuation (Part 17)
Los Angeles, Wolfram & Hart
“You lost the scroll of Aberjian?” Voca asked, unimpressed.
Holland Manners gave the demon a tight smile by way of apology. “The scroll was stolen from our vault.”
“The raising cannot be performed without the scroll,” Voca informed the small group.
“We understand,” Lilah said all-too-fast.
Lindsey stepped forward and bowed his head a little. “It was my mistake. I'll rectify it.”
“You will do nothing!” Voca exclaimed. “I will retrieve the scroll myself. Who stole it?”
“Angel,” Holland replied.
“Angel! I am summoned for the raising – the very thing that was to bring this creature down to us, tear him from the Powers That Be, and he has the scroll?”
“We're not unaware of the irony," Lilah said apologetically.
“He is in the possession of the scroll. His connection to the Powers That Be is complete,” Voca growled. The Senior Partners could not have been wrong about this firm, but considering the inept people that surrounded him at this moment . . . They weren’t evil, they were playing games. He didn’t like people who played games with him.
Lilah scurried for an excuse so that she wouldn’t look so bad in light of the things that Lindsey did to bring shame to this firm. “He hasn't had time to make a full study of the text.”
“No,” Voca agreed. “And he won't. All avenues to the Powers shall be cut off from him and the scroll returned to us.”
“What can we do to help?” Lindsey asked.
“You can leave it to me,” Voca stated flatly. This was the last time he ever trusted Wolfram & Hart in this dimension to do anything for him.
Voca and the two monks who accompanied him left the room in a swirl of robes. When they were gone, Holland Manners turned to his colleagues and said, “Well, end of discussion?”
**************************
Sunnydale, Summers’ Residence
Buffy had suggested a sleep-over at her house. The gang was due for a little R&R after dealing with Adam this past year. Now that he was dead and the Initiative was effectively destroyed, they could all enjoy themselves until the next Big Bad came along. Buffy saw Spike out of the corner of her eye. Speaking of Big Bads.
“Going to invite me in for a nightcap, Slayer,” Spike teased.
“Not on your life. You can go home to where it is you’re living nowadays,” Buffy said.
“What kind of hostess would you make, Slayer? You’re not very hospitable,” Spike pointed out.
“I’m not really the gracious type when it comes to undead pains in my ass,” Buffy said with a false smile and then turned serious, “so, go home.”
“Fine, Slayer, have it your way. But, the next time you’re in a situation, I may just let you sweat it out before helping you. I don’t care what Angel thinks I should be doing.” With that, Spike walked in the opposite direction toward his home.
**************************
Los Angeles, Chamber of the Oracles
There was a flash of light and then the sibling-Oracles saw their uninvited guest.
“How dare you enter this sacred space,” the woman said irritably.
“Who do you think you are?” the man finished.
“We do not appreciate being summoned by a lower being,” the woman said crossly.
“Who knows no better than to come here on a whim," the man finished.
“I'm not here on a whim." Voca’s tone was flat and uninterested.
“We do not council your kind. The powers of darkness are not allowed to cross this threshold. How did you get it?” the woman asked impatiently.
“The old order passes away and the new order's come. He that was first shall now be last and he that was dead shall now arise,” Voca intoned as if he were saying the incantation of a spell or a reading from an ancient scroll.
“Yes, and he that is trespassing shall now depart,” the woman interrupted.
Voca put a hand behind his back and a battle scythe materialized.
“We shall speak no more,” the man intoned.
“Yes. I know,” Voca said before slinging the scythe.
**************************
Sunnydale, Crawford Street Mansion
If the Slayer wasn't going to invite him to her little powwow, that was fine with Spike. He could finally go home, relax and enjoy the new furnishings he had installed in the mansion. He even got the French doors that led to the atrium fixed. They had been broken since Buffy and Faith had destroyed them in their last cat-fight.
**************************
Los Angeles, Promenade
Cordelia walked through an open market. When she saw an art display set up, she stopped. She knew of Angel’s artistic talent from when Angelus had stalked Buffy two years and left drawings as calling cards. Maybe drawing would spark Angel into wanting something more in life than to just exist. The vendor stepped closer as Cordelia picked up a set of paints.
“Do you paint?”
Cordelia was startled for a moment and then shook her head. “Oh, no. I was just looking for something for a friend. I thought maybe if he had a hobby. He’s a little detached from things.”
“Well, they say art is the best therapy for that," the woman said brightly.
“Really?”
“Sure, they use it in mental institutions all the time. You get the patients drawing and working with clay, it helps them to get back in touch,” the woman explained.
“He’s not crazy or anything. He's . . . just different?” Cordelia brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.
“Depressed,” the woman surmised.
“Well, he wears a lot of black. How much are these pastels?”
“Oh, these are on special. You get the entire set, the large one, and some drawing paper and little...”
As the woman went about making a deal, Voca walked along the promenade, his face hidden from the crowded marketplace by his hooded cloak. He tracked Cordelia’s movements like a hawk. His enemy’s link to the Powers That Be was now leaving a vendor’s booth and window-shopping as she walked along the path.
Voca sped up his steps and passed her from behind, his hand brushing hers lightly. Cordelia felt the barest touch and looked around but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She resumed her trek down the boardwalk when she got hit by a short vision. She pulled out her cell phone, but before she can dial out, she was hit by another stronger vision. It didn't end. The anguish of the vision caused her to stumble to the ground, screaming. The art vendor hurried over, crouched down beside her, and yelled for someone to dial 911.
**************************
Sunnydale, Crawford Street Mansion
Spike had just walked into the mansion ten minutes before. After he poured himself a glass of wine, he stripped his demon blood-encrusted clothes off his body and threw them in the trash. There was no way a person could wash Kralean demon blood and puss out of their clothes.
He went into the bathroom and adjusted the water temperature settings on his new Jacuzzi shower. When it was just right, which was hotter than a human could withstand, he set his wine glass down on the counter and stepped into the shower. The showerhead had a wide spray, which allowed Spike to stand under it for a few minutes and let the hot water batter against his back as he flexed the muscles to work out the kinks.
**************************
Los Angeles, Angel Investigations
Voca entered Angel Investigations and disappeared into the shadows. He could feel that someone was in the building. Angel studied the scroll as he walked down the steps to his apartment. He couldn’t see how Wesley could make heads or tails of anything written here. He knew other languages, even demonic ones, but these prophecies were not his thing. He sighed, rolled the scroll up and locked it in his weapons cabinet. He sensed a presence, but when he started to investigate, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mr . . . . Angel? Do you know a Cordelia Chase? She left your number as an emergency contact,” said the voice on the other end.
“Yeah, what happened to her?” Angel asked gruffly.
“Are you family, Sir? I can’t really give out patient information, unless it’s a family member.”
“I’m her employer. This is her only family in town. What happened?” Angel growled out. Damn humans and their stupid rules.
“She was brought in to St. Matthew's Hospital and was admitted to the psychiatric ward. She’s screaming and crying and we can’t calm her down.”
“I’m on my way,” Angel said. He slammed the phone down and ran up the steps two at a time.
When Angel had left the building, Voca materialized from the shadows. He broke open the weapons cabinet, took the scroll, replaced it with a similar item and closed it again.
**************************
Los Angeles, St. Matthew's Hospital
Angel ran down the corridor to the nurse’s station. He tapped on the desk and frantically said, “I'm looking for Cordelia Chase.”
The nurse was startled to see someone standing there but she recovered quickly. “She is ah . . . the doctor is with her, if you’ll just have a seat over there.”
Angel heard Cordelia scream and ran toward her room. The nurse hurried to hang up the phone and catch him, but he was too fast.
“Wait! Sir, you have to let the doctor handle this!”
Cordelia was convulsing and screaming on the bed. Angel stepped into the room and pushed the doctor out of the way to get to her.
“Hey, you can’t be in here,” the doctor said angrily.
“What happened?” Angel demanded.
“Are you family?” the Doctor asked impatiently.
“Yes!”
“They brought her in a few hours ago. I'm not sure what happened. Does she have a history of mental illness?”
“No,” Angel stated.
“Does she use drugs?” the Doctor inquired.
“No,” Angel growled.
“Well, she is having a psychotic episode. We've done a CAT scan. There is no organic damage that we can see, but we can't seem to sedate her,” the Doctor explained.
Angel ignored the doctor and grabbed Cordelia’s shoulders. “Cordelia, can you hear me?” When Cordelia didn’t seem to even recognize him, Angel yelled her name over and over.
“We're trying a number of different drug therapies. Do you know if she has any allergies?” the Doctor pressed on.
“I don't think so. Drugs won't help her.” Why did everyone want to use drugs to heal? Nothing could heal Cordelia. Whatever was done to her tapped into her psyche and was now tormenting her. Angel couldn’t place it just yet, but if his suspicions were correct, then Wolfram & Hart was behind this.
“Well, something better. I need to inform you, if we don't find a way to stop it...”
Angel looked up at the doctor and took the veiled threat for what it was.
**************************
Los Angeles, Angel Investigations
Wesley walked into the office, carrying a load of books. He went downstairs and noticed the broken lock on the weapons cabinet. He put the books down and opened it slowly. Now that he was close enough, he could hear a ticking sound. He backed away and tried to escape the building.
Outside, Angel pulled up across the street and got out of the car. When he got halfway across the street, a fiery blast bubbled up from the basement level and exploded. The blast sent him flying back in the air. He landed in a heap on the road while flames engulfed the building and car alarms started blaring all along the street.
Angel sat up, shook his head to clear, and then looked at looked at his destroyed building in disbelief. Everything was gone. First Cordelia, now this. What the hell were Wolfram & Hart trying to do? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wesley’s car. Oh God, Wes is in there! Angel ran into his burning apartment from the parking garage.
“Wesley! Wesley! Wesley! Wes! Wes!” he kept screaming as he searched the wreckage for his employee and friend.
Angel saw Wesley lying on the stairs that just two minutes before led up to the Angel Investigation offices. He ran over to Wesley and felt for a pulse. When he felt it, he tried to wake the man. After a few minutes, Angel knew he couldn’t stay in the building any longer before it collapsed on them. He grabbed Wesley, slung the former watcher over his shoulder, and headed out back the way he came.
When Angel had cleared the building, he called 911 and watched the building burn. In a matter of minutes, the fire engines and police cruisers were in front of the building. The rescue workers bundled Wesley up into a waiting ambulance under Angel’s watchful eye. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Spike’s number as he watched the doors of the ambulance close.
“’ello?” Spike greeted.
Angel closed his eyes at the bittersweet sound of his childe’s voice. At least Spike was all right. In the light of recent events, the blonde vampire had been pushed to the back of Angel’s mind. Not only could he hear Spike’s voice, but also the sound of . . . a terry-cloth towel? For a moment, Angel’s eyes hardened. While he was being attacked on all sides with Cordelia’s breakdown and the building burning up, his childe was taking a bath! Angel took a moment to calm his nerves. Spike couldn’t have known what was happening with Cordelia and Wesley. He wasn’t linked to them.
“Spike? Come home, I need you,” Angel said softly into the phone.
“Where?”
“St. Matthew's Hospital is where you’ll find me.”
“Okay.”
When the connection was cut without another word, Angel hung up and started walking to his car. He was brought up short by Kate Lockley.
“It’s never a dull moment with you around, is there?" Kate asked derisively.
He didn’t have time for this. Cordelia and Wesley needed him. He needed Spike. His boy. His beautiful boy was coming to L.A. because his Sire needed him even though his job was to help Buffy. Angel needed him more. He acknowledged Kate’s presence and stepped around her. “I have to go.”
Kate grabbed his arm and he spun around to face her. “Who the hell do you think you are? You are a major witness to a major crime scene. You are not going anywhere.”
Angel glared at her. This woman had hated him for what he was for the reason that vampires had killed her father, and she blamed him since there was no one left to blame in her world. Well, he was getting sick of it. “You want to try and stop me, Kate?”
“I'm glad we are not playing friends anymore,” Kate said belligerently. “And I'm real sick and tired of your attitude. There is a thing called the law!”
Angel stepped into her personal space. “This isn't about the law; this is about a little thing called life. Now, I'm sorry about your father. But, I didn't kill your father. And, I'm sick and tired of you blaming me for everything you can't handle! You want to be enemies? Try me.”
Angel brushed past her to his car while she stared after him.
**************************
Los Angeles, St. Matthew's Hospital
Angel watched Wesley as he lay in bed hooked up to a heart monitor. After a few moments, Angel turned and he walked down a hall to a door that led to the fire escape. He went up a floor and entered the hallway through the fire escape door. He walked down the corridor to Cordelia’s room.
Standing beside her bed, Angel watched over her. Cordelia was sedated, finally lying still on the bed, but she was in permanent psychosis due to the never-ending visions that plagued her mind.
Spike appeared in the doorway as a swirl of black leather duster and a shock of white-blonde hair. Angel looked up at him and walked to him on autopilot. Once he was close enough, he grabbed Spike by the back of the neck and jerked the whipcord body against him. He tightened his hold on Spike in a crushing hug and buried his face in his childe’s neck.
Spike let Angel hug him for a moment and then choked out, “I know I don’t need to breathe, but I would like to keep my ribs in tact, peaches.”
Angel said nothing. Instead, he grabbed Spike’s wrist and dragged him across the hall into a supply closet. Once the door clicked shut, Angel’s face shifted to his demon and he sank his fangs into his childe’s neck. It wasn’t to drink; he just needed to be sure; to ground himself, before he totally lost it. Cordelia was still catatonic for lack of a better term, and Wesley was healing from third-degree burns. Angel felt sure he was going to go mad.
Spike dug his nails into his Sire’s back as his elder’s teeth bit deeper. It had taken him a bit of time to get here. The hospital was a big place. He saw the sorrow on Angel’s face when he stepped into Cordelia’s room. Not that Spike had any real connection to them, but they were his Sire’s pet humans. Angel considered them family, and with the claims in place, especially being in close proximity to the elder vampire, Angel’s emotional pain was his own.
Spike didn’t return the bite. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of Angel’s neck to scent and lick him. He could smell the sadness and underneath the everyday torment of his cursed soul. When he licked Angel’s skin, he could taste the tears that his Sire refused to allow. He tasted Angel’s bitter pain of confronting Kate Lockley earlier and seeing Wesley being hauled into the ambulance. He could taste the agony that the sense of loss brought from when Angel had called him and told him he was needed.
After being unceremoniously kicked out of the Slayer’s home earlier tonight when the Scooby gang went there to relax after defeating Adam, he trudged home and was close to calling Angel himself to beg to come home. Even though she needed it, the Slayer didn’t want his help. She made it clear to him every time they crossed paths that she could handle herself. That was until she got into a bind.
He didn’t have to call though. Instead, Angel called him. Angel told him to come home. Angel told him that he needed Spike more than the Slayer did right now. It hadn’t taken him long to dress, lock the mansion up and hightail it to L.A.
Now, he was plastered against the wall of a supply closet with a hard-on from his Sire’s fangs penetrating his body. Angel must have felt his hardness, because Spike found himself being crushed even tighter against Angel’s shaking body. Spike was at a loss for what to do when he felt Angel’s tears wet his shoulder.
Angel felt Spike lift his head, carefully extracting his fangs from his boy’s neck. Then, Spike’s hands framed his face and his childe licked the tear tracks away before pressing a soft kiss against his lips, letting him taste the salty-sweetness of his own tears. They weren’t blood-tears. Blood-tears were reserved for blood-tied mates and family. Cordelia and Wesley were human family, so they were human tears.
Angel bit his own tongue and thrust it into Spike’s mouth. He allowed his childe to drink the blood for a moment and then pulled away. He brushed his thumb over a high cheekbone and stared into Spike’s blue eyes.
“Angel,” Spike said softly. “You’re still in your true guise.”
Angel shifted back to his human mask as he continued to stare at Spike’s beautiful, sculpted features. When he spoke, it was a hoarse whisper. “You came when I needed you. I thought you would stay with her because I had ordered you to.”
“You called me, Angel, and the claims yanked. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that I’m here, but here I am,” Spike smirked.
“I’ll go check on Cordy and then we’ll go,” Angel said as he opened the door and stepped out with Spike following. The blonde stopped just inside the room and watched as his Sire stood beside the bed, took hold of Cordelia’s hand, and leaned over the bed.
“Cordelia. I'm going to fix this. I promise. I'm going to get you back. I need you back.” He bowed his head as he let go of her hand and noticed a black symbol on the back of it.
“Spike? Come here and look at this.”
Spike walked around the bed to stand beside Angel and saw the black symbol as well. “Looks like whoever did this to her put a hex on her. Do you have any enemies that would do that?”
Angel’s face turned grim. “I have a whole law firm of enemies.”
Angel grabbed Spike’s wrist and dragged him out of the room. “Oi, mate! Where are we going?”
“To see the Oracles.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Chamber of the Oracles
“Wait here for me, I won’t be but a second,” Angel said.
Spike nodded and watched as Angel pulled out a slip of paper and started canting a spell to get to the Oracles.
“I come before the Oracles for guidance and direction. I beseech access to the knowing ones.”
A doorway beside Spike opened with a flash of blinding light. He shielded his sensitive eyes until the flash was gone and noticed that Angel was gone.
Inside the Chamber, Angel stumbled in the entrance. He blinked his eyes and saw the Oracles lying dead on the floor. Voca’s bloody scythe was still buried in the woman’s body.
Just then, her spirit appeared next to him. “It is unfortunate. Things are unraveling. The dark ones broach our temples now.”
“Can you help me?” Angel asked pleadingly.
“I can't stay long. I've been dead a while. So far I don't like it.” The woman’s voice was no longer singsong with the poetry of her brother’s voice to conclude her thoughts. Instead, it was monotone.
“My friend who gets the visions . . .” Angel started to say.
“Is in trouble,” she finished. “It's his mark, the one who did this.”
“Who? Who did this?” Angel implored.
“Voca. A warrior of the underworld. He wants you weak. So he opened her mind to all the ones who cry out in pain and need. She doesn't have long either,” the woman said. Her voice was still an awful monotone.
“How can I stop it?”
“The sacred scroll of Aberjian is now in Voca's possession. The scroll is what you need,” the woman told him.
The woman started to fade. “Wait!” Angel yelled.
The woman only looked at her dead corpse and that of her brother. “Find the scroll. The words of Anatole, only they can remove the mark and save your friend.”
“Where can I find him? I’ll repay him for what he did here,” Angel said with conviction.
“He is here for the raising,” the woman told him.
“The raising?” Angel was confused. There was a raising? What the hell are Wolfram & Hart up to?
The woman looked Angel’s way. “Like so many of them he hides behind man's law. Stop him.” Then she faded out completely.
“I will,” Angel promised. He grabbed the scythe out of the dead woman’s body and left.
Angel stepped through the doorway and the flash of light disappeared to show a bricked up entryway. Spike was leaned up against the opposite wall lighting a cigarette. Once it was lit, he pocketed the Zippo and looked up at his Sire. “Well, what did they say?”
“They’re dead. Killed by some warrior of the underworld named Voca. He left this behind,” Angel said holding up the bloody scythe.
“Well, well. Go in there looking for answers and come out with a bloody weapon, quite literally I might add,” Spike said. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I thought I’d hunt him down and bury it in his spine,” Angel growled. “I’ll drop you back at the hospital. I need you to protect them while I hunt down Voca.”
“I’m a demon, Sire, not a baby-sitter! First, the bloody Slayer now I have to look after a cheerleader and a watcher?” Spike said petulantly.
“It’s because you are a demon that I need you protect them. You know them, Spike, I’ll feel much better knowing you’re there,” Angel said.
**************************
Los Angeles, Crypt Owned By Wolfram & Hart
Five vampires were chained to a box set in the middle of a five-pointed star inside a circle laid into the floor. Two monks enter the crypt followed by Voca.
“We have prepared a holy place in the darkness and anointed it with oil. We have taken of the blood of the living and gathered together the living dead,” the Monks said in unison.
“As it was written they shall prepare the way, and the very gate of hell shall open. That which is above shall tremble,” just then the earth trembled, “for that which is below shall arise. And the world shall know the beast and the beast shall know the world.”
Voca walked slowly from one point of the star to the next. “Five are without breath.”
“Yet they live,” the Monks chanted.
“Five are without time.”
“Yet they live.”
Holland Manners, Lilah and Lindsey entered the crypt and stood back to watch the proceedings.
“Five are without soul,” Voca intoned.
“Yet they live,” the Monks chanted.
Holland moved closer to Lindsey. “They haven't even gotten to the Latin yet.”
“Five are without sun,” Voca intoned.
“Yet they live,” the Monks chanted.
A sound got Voca’s attention, and he looked up. Laying the scroll down on top of the crate, he walked to the steps that lead down into the crypt.
“What is it?” Lilah asked curiously.
“I don't know,” Holland answered.
Voca produced another scythe. A moment later Angel burst through the door at the top of the stairs and the two of them start to battle it out.
“Lindsey,” Holland said, annoyed.
Lindsey continued to watch the fight between Voca and Angel for a moment before he stepped forward and picked up the scroll. “Five are dead.” When the monks didn’t answer, he yelled, “Say it!”
“Yet they live,” the monks chanted.
Lindsey started speaking in Latin while Holland arranged for the movers to take the crate out of the crypt. The five vampires surrounding the crate shatter to dust as the earth shook and a whirlwind started to form around the box. The funnel of air sucked the vampire dust into the box, and then a ring of light explodes outward throwing Lindsey against the wall. He landed in an unconscious heap on the floor.
As Angel and Voca continued to fight, the movers pushed the box out. Holland glanced at the unmoving Lindsey, chalked it up to a small sacrifice and then followed the others out of the crypt. A short time later, Lindsey slowly regained consciousness. He still had the scroll in his hand. Angel finally succeeded in getting the scythe away from Voca and pinned him up against the wall. He yanked the mask off Voca's face to reveal a maggot-filled hole where his nose should be.
“Nice,” Angel commented before driving the blade of the scythe into Voca's chest, killing him.
Behind Angel Lindsey finally made it to his feet, grabbed a post topped by a cross, and brandished it in Angel's direction. Angel turned and slowly walked towards him with the bloody scythe held loosely in his right hand.
“Lindsey, give me the scroll,” Angel growled.
“That's not going to happen. It belongs to us,” Lindsey sneered.
“Us? You put your faith in Wolfram and Hart?” Angel asked, feigning surprise.
“You said I had to make a choice,” Lindsey answered.
“And you did,” Angel stated.
“Yeah. I had a crisis, and I want to thank you for your help with that, but I see things more clearly now.”
“You don't see anything. You don't know what faith is,” Angel replied.
Lindsey held up the scroll. “I see that what happened here tonight was foretold. I know that it doesn't bode well for you. I see that you are either the one with the power or you're powerless.”
“Uh-huh. Do you also see what I'm going to do to you if you don't give me that scroll?” Angel growled again.
“You need the words of Anatole to cure your friend. She's your connection to the Powers That Be. And, since it is foretold that we sever all your connections,” Lindsey held the scroll into the flames burning in an urn beside him, “well . . .”
Angel had enough of the games and threw the scythe, cutting off Lindsey's hand at the wrist. The young lawyer dropped the cross and screamed as he fell to the ground. He cradled the bleeding stump against his chest as Angel walked over to retrieve the scroll from the floor beside him.
“Don't believe everything you're foretold,” Angel cautioned.
Lindsey tried to suppress his screams as Angel walked out. The second he got outside, he leaned against the wall and tried to calm the demon inside him. Angelus wanted to rip Lindsey to shreds and drain him dry. Angel had other things that were more important though. He had to get Cordelia back.
**************************
Los Angeles, Saint Matthews Hospital
Cordelia still lay in bed in a catatonic state. Wesley sat in a wheelchair beside it with Angel leaned over her bed on the other side and Spike sitting behind Angel drinking from a bag of B-positive blood that his Sire had gotten for him.
Wesley opened the scroll that Angel had taken from Lindsey and began to read. “And if the beast shalt find thee, and touch thee, thou shalt be wounded in thy soul . . . and thou shalt know madness. The beast shalt attack and cripple thee, and thou shalt know neither friend nor family. But, thou shalt undo the beast. Thou shalt find the sacred words of Anatole and thou shalt be restored. Three times shalt thou say these words: unbind, unbind, unbind.”
A white flash encompassed Cordelia's room nearly blinding everyone in present, but Spike who had the sense to wear his black goggles, especially after the display at the Chamber of the Oracles earlier. Cordelia blinked her eyes as if she were awakening from a tormented sleep and saw three faces in the room. Angel glanced down at her hand and saw that the mark was gone. Cordelia focused on Angel’s face, and he smiled down at her.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Angel?” Cordelia’s eyes looked haunted.
“Welcome back,” he smiled.
Cordelia glanced at Spike who was pushing the goggles up to his forehead and then looked over at Wesley. Spike stood up and squeezed Angel’s shoulder. “I’ll go hunt up a doctor in this place,” he announced. He smiled at Cordelia and walked out the door.
Cordelia looked back at Angel. “I saw them all. There is so much pain. We have to help them.”
Angel gripped her hand and stroked her cheek with his free one. “We will.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Cordelia’s Apartment
It had taken some heavy convincing on Angel and Spike’s part to get Cordelia to invited Spike in. Having him appear at Angel Investigations was one thing, but she wasn’t so sure about inviting him into her private residence. It was bad enough having to deal with a male ghost. That had put a kink in her social life, not to mention the mind numbing visions. After the standard shovel speech, Cordelia allowed Spike to enter her home.
Cordelia was in the kitchen fixing a sandwich while Wesley sat at the living room table with the scroll and a collection of books spread out around him. Angel sat on a chest against the wall with Spike behind him, leaned against the wall.
“Here is something,” Wesley spoke up.
“What is it?” Angel perked up.
“The beast of Amalfi, a razor toothed six-eyed harbinger of death. No, wait, that's due to arise in 2003 in Reseda,” he said off-handedly and went back to reading to himself.
“I would have guessed Tarzana,” Angel commented.
Cordy set the sandwich and a glass of milk on the table in front of Wesley and went back into the kitchen to get two plastic cups filled with blood.
“Better cross-reference that,” Wesley noted to himself. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry; I don't know what they raised in that box. I'll keep looking.”
Cordelia huffed. “You've been looking for two days. You need to relax and charge the brain cells. She handed him the plate with the sandwich and more or less ordered, “Here. Eat.”
Wesley accepted the plate and looked over at Angel. Cordelia handed the vampires the plastic cups full of blood. “You too.” When Angel looked up at her surprised, she said, “Don't be embarrassed. We're family.”
“Would that include me, princess?” Spike smirked.
Cordelia gave him an undetermined expression and turned to see that Wesley was staring at her. “What?”
“It's just I . . . I-I'm not used to . . .” Wesley stammered.
“He is not used to the new you,” Angel finished for him.
Cordelia shrugged. “I know what's out there now. We have a lot of evil to fight, a lot of people to help. I just hope skin and bones, here, can figure out what those lawyers raised sometime before the prophecy kicks in and you croak. That was the old me, wasn't it?”
“I like them both,” Angel commented.
Spike perked up at the hero references. “Hey now! That whole saving lollipops and puppies didn’t include me did it? I’m not doing this gig out of the kindness of my – oof!” At that moment, Angel chose to elbow Spike in the stomach. “I mean ‘yay, we’re the good guys, let’s go fight evil right now!’”
Angel turned to Spike and glared at him. Would you shut up? You’re still going to be punished for using my credit card, and sweet talking Cordelia right now is not helping your case. Then, Angel shifted and stomped on Spike’s foot for good measure.
“Yes, Sire,” Spike choked out. When Angel removed his foot, Spike silently yelled and hopped around on one foot, willing the sore one to stop hurting.
Wesley dismissed the interaction and went back to his books. “Moving along . . . ah, oops. I may have made a tiny mistake.” Angel set the cup of blood down and stood up hearing that. Wesley went on, “I may have misinterpreted the world ‘Shanshu’. Remember I said meant you were going to die? Actually, I think it means that you are going to live.”
“Okay, as tiny mistakes go . . . that's not one!” Cordelia said.
“Shanshu has roots in so many different languages. The most ancient source is the Proto-Bantu and they consider life and death the same thing, part of a cycle, only a thing that's not alive never dies. It's - it's saying, that you get to live until you die. It's saying you become human.”
Cordelia’s eyebrows furrowed. “That's the prophecy?”
Wesley went back to reading from the book. “Ah, the vampire with a soul, once he fulfills his destiny, will Shanshu. Become human. It's his reward.”
“Wow. Angel as a human,” Cordelia said in wonder.
“That'll be nice,” Angel said nonchalantly.
Spike scoffed. “That’s not a prophecy. That’s an old legend, something to get us vampires to play nice. You can’t stake your whole existence on a holy grail. The Holy Grail doesn’t exist!”
“I beg to differ with you, Spike. The Scrolls of Aberjian are ancient. They probably go as far back as the descending line of Abraham. There is nothing in this scroll that hasn’t happened,” Wesley countered.
“Wait,” Cordelia broke in. “What's that thing about him having to fulfill his destiny first?”
Wesley went back to the scroll. “Well, it's saying that it won't happen tomorrow or the next day. He has to survive the coming darkness, the apocalyptic battles, a few plagues, and some . . . uh, several . . . not that many . . . fiends that will be unleashed,” Wesley read aloud.
“So don't break out the champagne just yet,” Angel commented.
Cordelia flipped her hair around when she turned to face Angel. “Yeah, break out the champagne, Pinocchio. This is a big deal!”
Angel smirked. “I guess it is.”
“Typical. I hook up with the only person in history who ever came to LA to get older,” Cordelia said.
No one but Angel saw Spike leave the apartment. In all the excitement over the prophecy, they didn’t notice him take off. But, Angel felt him keenly. He could feel the confused emotions coming through the link from his childe. Angel excused himself and stepped outside the apartment to see the blonde vampire leaned back against the wall.
“It’s just a prophecy, Spike. They come and go every day. There’s always some new prophecy around the corner. This one isn’t any different. I would like to believe one day that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. That maybe there is a purpose to having my soul. That doesn’t mean you’ll lose me again. And, though you are my mate and childe, I need something more. We’re vampires, true, but, this is the 20th century, Spike. The age of when a person found contentment reading by the hearth and drinking himself under the table at the local pub has long past. We need a hobby if we’re going to co-exist in this world,” Angel said.
“I know,” Spike said and then looked up at his Sire. “I was not made to be a solitary creature, Angel. I spent a hundred years with Drusilla. I could never venture off on my own like you did and Darla did. I stay in Sunnydale when you don’t need me here because Sunnydale is familiar.” Spike waved his hand at the door. “All that prophecy represents to me is loneliness. It pertains to the one vampire with a soul who’s a champion. I’m no champion, Sire. I’m a soulless demon regulated to baby-sitting jobs and lending hand when someone needs the extra muscle.”
Angel’s face fell at Spike’s words. He stepped closer and hugged the younger vampire against him. “Ah, Spike. You are so much more than extra fists, fangs, and looking after others. I know I’m not good with words like you are--”
Spike chuckled. “Bloody awful poet is I.”
Angel smiled. “But, someday I hope I’ve shown you enough so that you’ll see and know how much you mean to me.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Wolfram & Hart
Lilah, Holland and Lindsey entered the vault where the crate from the ritual was stored. Lindsey's right arm was in a sling.
“The senior partners were very impressed with your sacrifice,” Holland said. He nodded when Lindsey looked at him. “Trust me; we'll even the score with them.”
“Yes, we will,” he agreed.
Holland nodded again. “Beginning with what's in that box.”
Lilah leaned closer to look through the bars running along the top of the box. “We are all very pleased you're here,” she spoke as though she were talking to a child. “I know it's a bit confusing, but it's going to be better soon, a lot better . . . Darla.” |
