How to Treat Your Lover

Outside Buffy and Willow’s Dorm

Angel was in the shadows hiding behind a small copse of trees. He was staring up at Buffy’s window. He had followed her scent from the cemetery to this building. He saw her staring down in his direction from her room but she couldn’t see him in the shadows. For that he was grateful.

Sleeping in the same bed with Spike for the past twelve hours brought back a lot of memories, some painful, others erotic. He had come here for one thing: to help Buffy. But that was quickly turning into a second thing: reconnecting with Spike. Angel didn’t know why it seemed important to still maintain the link with his childe after all these years. It’s true they did everything they could in the past to hurt each other for selfish reasons. A part of him missed the closeness they had once shared. Though he didn’t want to think of the bad times, of which there were more than the good in the early years.

He was no longer Angelus, and Spike had become a master vampire in his own right during the years of his absence from the family since he was first cursed. What right did he have in asking Spike to take him back now? He didn’t want to order the younger vampire to heel to him as his unsouled counterpart would demand. He wanted Spike to be by his side willingly.

Ah, to be so close to his boy within touching distance after all this time? It was healing to his soul. Not true happiness, after what he had put Spike through as Angelus, it could never be that. But a part of him – the part that regretted how he had treated Spike in the early years as a fledgling and again in Sunnydale when he lost his soul to Buffy – being with Spike today was like a balm to his burdened soul.

Earlier he had laid there and watched Spike sleep. He was so beautiful, almost angelic in sleep. That’s one thing that had never changed over the years. His fingers had itched to reach out and touch the sharp cheekbones, the jaw line, the throat, and the chest that lay dormant of breath that was no longer needed to survive. Spike was still his beautiful boy.

If he really thought about it, Angel was here as much for him as he was for Buffy and Spike. With the Demon Research Initiative running around Sunnydale unchecked, he felt a need to watch after his childe. He had yet to discover what Buffy herself was in danger of. Angel hoped she would accept Spike’s help when needed even though the blonde was inherently evil now by all accounts and only had his Sire holding him back from acting on his destructive impulses toward her.

Spike wasn’t always evil though, even when he was turned. He still had a conscience. When Drusilla turned the boy, he had still retained his sense of self. It was he, Angel, as Angelus, who made him wicked. After 127 years with Darla, he had turned all the loathing and scorn his Sire had directed at him during his fledgling days on Spike.

Even though he had fallen for the boy the second Drusilla brought him home, he refused to acknowledge it. Darla had told him that a vampire’s life had no place for such things as love and affection, only need, lust and possession. The general lore was that demons had no souls and therefore could not feel such a thing as love. But, Drusilla loved her Sire and she loved Spike. Spike in turn loved them, even through all the cruel things Angelus did to prove otherwise. Now that he had a soul, Angel was afraid to even voice his feelings toward his childer.

Angel sighed and turned away from the dorm, heading back to Spike’s crypt. He stuck to the shadows wary of being outwardly seen by the kids in army gear. When did things get so complicated? He had roamed for a hundred years with no one to bother him. Now he had Spike constantly on his mind, he had Buffy to help and protect, he had Cordelia in L.A. constantly worried about his moods and demeanor, and now this Demon Research Initiative who were gunning for any demon no matter what side said demon was on.

Inside Buffy and Willow’s Dorm

Willow rubbed lotion on her hands and arms as she was readying herself for bed. She pulled the covers back and sat on the mattress. Buffy had been staring out the window for the longest time. The silence was becoming quite deafening.

“Oh hey. While they were pulling Xander out of that hole, I heard a couple of the anthro professors talking about what he had fallen into. Man, were they excited. It’s the old Sunnydale Mission, which everyone thought was lost,” Willow said excitedly.

“Huh?” Buffy said offhandedly. She was still staring out the window with only a half an ear to what her friend was telling her. She could have sworn she felt something, like a familiar presence. His presence. She thought she could always tell when Angel was near. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. It had only been four months since he left her for L.A.

Willow looked at her friend quizzically. “Is there something out there?”

“Hmm? Oh. No. I’m sorry,” Buffy finally turned to Willow acknowledging her for the first time since they came back to their dorm tonight. “A lost mission. I mean a hairbrush I can understand. By the way, I will find that and get that back to you. But how do you lose a mission?”

“A huge earthquake in 1812. Everyone just assumed the mission was leveled. Instead, they built right over it. It’s like what happened in the thirties with that church the Master was in. Doesn’t it make you wonder what else is there, like, right under our feet?” Willow was overexcited by the prospect of an entire civilization hidden under the soil of the Hellmouth that didn’t include vampires and creepy-crawly things.

Buffy shrugged. “Mostly, I’ve just found sewers full of demons.” Buffy Summers always the pragmatist.

Willow pursed her lips. Her friend was never big on history. “Oh, right.” Outside their room students were running and yelling through the halls. “Man, it’s crazy out there.”

“Mm-hmm. Post midterm frenzy, and the holiday. Everyone’s going home,” Buffy said.

Willow got underneath her covers. “It looks like a lot of lucky moms are going to be getting brimming baskets of dirty laundry,” she said conspiratorially.

“It’s not fair,” Buffy pouted. “I mean, they all get a family holiday just because they can go home to their families.”

“Hmm, it’s a turvy-topsy world,” Willow agreed.

Buffy’s eyes lit up with an idea. “You know what? I should have my own Thanksgiving. I can cook the meal, just like my mom does, have all you guys over. It’ll be great!”

Willow scoffed. “Buffy, earlier you agreed with me about Thanksgiving. It’s a sham. It’s all about death.”

Buffy nodded. “It is a sham, but it’s a sham with yams. It’s a yam sham.”

Willow shook her head and gave Buffy a stern look. “You’re not going to jokey-rhyme your way out of this one.”

“I know . . .” Buffy whined. “But I want it. It’s like Professor Walsh was saying about sense memory. I smell a roasting turkey, and I’m 8 years old. I liked having that to look forward to. Everything’s different now.”

“Well,” Willow said with a resigned sigh. “I suppose there could be slight yams.”

Buffy continued to stress her point. “I mean, we could definitely use a little comfort food. I bet Giles doesn’t have any plans, and Xander always tries to avoid all of his family gatherings.”

“Ooh. We could not invite Anya,” Willow said happily.

Buffy scrunched her face up at the suggestion. “I don’t know. She and Xander seem pretty tight lately.” She switched to an upbeat note. “Look, pilgrims and soon to be very dead Indians aside, isn’t that the whole point of Thanksgiving: everybody has a place to go?”

Spike had been walking around the woods near the cemetery that housed his crypt ever since he and Angel parted ways earlier that evening. The blonde chuckled to himself when he thought of how his Sire felt the need for self-flagellation when it came to Buffy. Even after all this time away from her, she could still manage to pull his strings. Tonight, she managed to pull him from the crypt all the way to her dormitory.

Today, he was lucky to have gotten any sleep at all with Angel so close to him, in the same bed no less. Having his Sire next to him while he slept was both soothing and disconcerting. Spike was no longer a fledgling vampire who needed to remain under his maker’s wing. But that part of him rejoiced in the knowledge that his Sire was there with him after being parted for a century. The other part, the Master Vampire part, scoffed at the very idea that Angel had turned up on his turf. How dare his elder show up and demand to be put up for the night after having abandoned him and Drusilla all those years ago?

Spike, shook his head to clear his thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. He’d been dodging run-ins with a group of the militarized college kids all night. Yes, he was still the Big Bad, but that didn’t mean he was throwing himself out there to be caught by a tranquilizer dart. He quietly climbed a tree and watched their progress from above as they scouted the premises.

Below Spike’s perch, Riley, Graham and Forrest, dressed in commando gear, were patrolling the forest looking for human sub-terrestrials. They carefully and quietly stalked the grounds, eyes peeled for any movement around them, but never bothered to look up.

“Man, I’m beat,” Forrest announced to his friend and comrade, Riley Finn.

Riley nodded in acknowledgment. “We’ll do one more sweep, and then cash it in.”

“I gotta pack,” Forrest half-complained. “Do you got a flight?”

Riley nodded. “Wednesday night. Professor Walsh wants me here for the debriefing.”

“That’s a pretty short Thanksgiving,” Forrest stated.

“Hey, with hostiles on the loose, we’re lucky to be going home at all,” Riley pointed out.

Forrest coughed, “Mama’s boy.”

Riley looked at his friend skeptically. “That’s a nasty cough. You might need to spend the weekend in quarantine.”

“Oh, no,” Forrest said. “I’m done coughing.”

Riley smirked and patted Forrest’s arm. “I just don’t want anyone getting sick.”

When they left the vicinity, Spike jumped down from his perch in the tree and headed for the safety of his crypt. During his walk, his mind kept drifting back to Angel mentally noting the similarities and contrasts between his unsouled version and the current one.

Spike wondered if Angel was having the same type of dreams he had been having lately. He wondered if, hypothetically, he started their relationship again, would Angel be gentle with him or slip back to Angelus around him. He didn’t mind a little pain with his sex, but Angelus had taken it over to the extreme sometimes, and that Spike could do without.

On some level, it was comforting to be with his Sire again. Spike had slept more soundly than he had in years, erotic dreams plaguing him notwithstanding. He had given up thoughts of Angel after he had left when his elder was cursed. Of anyone, he had taken Angel leaving the family harder than Darla or Drusilla. Darla was too much of a bitch to react to her childe leaving. Drusilla was too insane to realize what had happened. Though, Spike didn’t discount her feelings, it was just that, with Drusilla, you never knew what she mourned most: the stars falling from the sky, Miss Edith not speaking to her or Angel never returning.

Spike shook the morose thoughts from his mind and refocused on his path. Before he even realized it, he was pushing his crypt door open and walking in to find Angel watching the door intently.

“Hullo, mate,” Spike said in greeting as he shut the door behind him.

“So what did you do tonight?” Angel asked as he watched Spike move around the room.

Spike walked over to the fridge, opening the door and pulling a couple of bags of blood out. He tore the packets open, pouring them into two cups before placing them in the microwave and turning it on. “Just been out, scouting the cemetery, checking out what those commando boys are up to. You?”

Angel shrugged. “Checked the town out.”

Sure you did, pet. Spike knew where Angel went. He may have done exactly as he said, but Spike knew better. Angel was back in a town that literally screamed “Vampire Slayer Lives Here” and there was no way his Sire could keep from stalking her dorm even in the simple act of looking out for her.

“Tomorrow night we’ll go to Rupert’s and find out what’s going on and why Doyle had that vision. Because as far as I can tell, there are no outward sign other than the normal is going on here,” Angel explained.

The microwave dinged and Spike retrieved the cups, handing one to Angel. “Are you sure you want me going with you?” he asked as he took a swallow. “I mean, it’s not like I have a soul and I know I’m not a favorite of Buffy and her little Scooby gang,” Spike reminded him.

“No one is going to stake you, Spike,” Angel swore to him. “As long as you’re helping, well, me, at least, and live up to our agreement, no one will dust you.”

Spike looked at Angel skeptically. “And I’m supposed to believe that they won’t stake me because you say so?” He shook his head. “Have you forgotten that they are my enemy and I’m theirs? Have you forgotten that Buffy and I aren’t the best of pals and we can barely stand to be in the same room?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Angel said. “But you are my childe and I will keep you in line, William. As for Buffy and the others, they’ll just have to deal with it.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll do anything you say?” Spike sneered.

Angel swallowed some of the blood. “You can’t tell me that the connection hasn’t become stronger since I renewed it. You can’t tell me you haven’t had the dreams. You’ll do what I say otherwise I’d pull rank on you and you know you don’t want to relive that.”

Spike heard the menace in Angel’s voice and knew what his Sire was talking about and that he meant what he said. Pulling rank was bad enough within the family. It would be humiliating in front of witnesses. Spike hung his head as if Angelus had commanded him to and quietly said, “Yes, Sire.”

The corners of Angel’s mouth curled up a bit. “It’s almost dawn, I think we should get some sleep, seems like it’ll be busy once we figure out what’s going on.”

Xander’s Basement Apartment

Anya stomped down the stairs just as Xander was trying to get dressed. The anger in her eyes dissipated when she saw how worn out he looked.

“Xander, what are you doing?” she inquired in an irritated tone. “You’re supposed to be digging. I went to watch you dig and you weren’t there doing it!”

Xander sighed tiredly. “I’m going now, Ahn. Just . . . kinda tough getting going today,” he defended himself.

Anya stepped up to him and put her hand to his forehead as she supposed all concerned women did with their men. “Your head is moist.” She stepped back and crinkled her nose. “Oh. You’re sick. Well, so much for watching your muscles rippling while you dig. You can’t go to work,” she declared.

Anya pushed Xander back on the bed and proceeded to undress him. Xander was a bit surprised in his sickly haze. “Uh. Oh. Hey Anya?”

“You’re pasty and wet and disgusting. They can dig without you,” Anya went on ignoring him as she pulled his shirt off.

Xander groaned as his head pounded. What was Anya doing here? “Look, I don’t really feel that bad,” he stressed.

Anya shook her head. “I inflicted a lot of putrefying diseases on men when I was a vengeance demon, and you look like you’re getting all of them.”

Xander absently nodded. It wasn’t so much of an acknowledgment as his stuffy head bobbing up and down. “Ok. I’ll stay. But you should go. You could catch it.” The words came out sluggishly.

Anya smiled perkily. “Great! We’ll die together. It’ll be romantic. Let me get your trousers off.” She climbed off the bed and grabbed for his waist.

“You’re a strange girlfriend,” Xander observed.

“I’m a girlfriend?” Anya was surprised. Xander never referred to her in any such terms before.

“Uh. There’s a chance I could be delirious,” Xander covered.

Anya looked hurt. “Oh, yes. Well, whatever it is that’s making you sick, so far, I like it.”

Giles’ Apartment

Buffy and Willow had reported back to Giles after investigating the scene of the murdered woman at the museum. Buffy was busy running around Giles’ kitchen getting the food ready for her impromptu Thanksgiving feast. Giles was just trying to catch up with what she was telling him.

“I’ll tell you, Giles: it was pretty darn scary. It was more like a riot than a Ralph’s,” she explained. “I thought I was going to have to use slayer moves on this one woman who was completely hoarding the pumpkin pie filling!”

Giles rolled his eyes in exaggeration. “And at some point, you are going to tell me about the murder?”

Buffy looked confused for a second. “Oh, right. The knife was some sort of Indian artifact. Chumash, I think. That’s all we got.”

Giles looked thoughtful. “Chumash Indians? They were indigenous to this whole area.”

“That’s interesting,” Buffy didn’t sound all that interested. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was more worried about her meal.

“Then, of course, the murder weapon might have just been a convenient choice,” Giles suggested.

“Nope. Why would it be when there was a big ol’ pair of scissors lying right there? That knife was picked for a reason.” Buffy looked around the small kitchen. “Do you even own a turkey pan?”

Giles gave her a stern expression. “Tell me again why we’re not doing this at your house?”

Buffy looked at Giles in annoyance. “Giles, if you would like to get by in American society, then you are going to have to follow our traditions. You’re the patriarch. You have to host this thing, or it’s all meaningless!”

“And this is in no way an elaborate scheme to stick me with the cleanup?”

“Hey! How about that ceremonial knife, huh?” Buffy asked as a distraction. “Pretty juicy piece of clueage, don’t you think?”

“Yes, all right. I’ll look into the Chumash connection and see if there’s any ritual significance to the ear removal,” Giles conceded.

“Thank you,” Buffy said. She became quiet and listened. She could have sworn she felt something familiar close by but couldn’t place it. She felt before in her dorm, as if something were watching her.

Giles looked concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Uh . . . I still need to pick up a few things, so I’ll check in. And keep your hands off the food,” she warned on the way out the door.

“Oh, I’ll try and restrain myself from eating uncooked potatoes and cranberries,” Giles said sarcastically.

The second the door clicked shut, Angel walked out of a storage room in the back of the apartment with Spike in tow. They both wore grim expressions, for different reasons. Angel was reeling from being so close to Buffy and not being able to physically be near her. Spike, on the other hand, was upset from the waves of emotional pain coming from his Sire. All he wanted to do was comfort him. Damn, the bleedin’ claim renewal was playing havoc with his judgment. He should hate Angel for the century of abandonment; he shouldn’t want to comfort the ponce.

“So, what do you think?” Giles asked.

Angel walked around the small apartment while Spike stayed back and leaned against a wall. “She sounds good. Kind of intense about this Thanksgiving thing, though.”

“Well, Peaches, what do you expect from your girl? She always wanted to have a normal girly thing, can’t have a normal dating life; might as well try a normal holiday.” That earned Spike a glare from both Sire and watcher.

“I think perhaps she’s a little lonely, but I meant about the murder,” Giles said.

“Well, whatever killed the woman in the museum, that’s probably the danger,” Angel surmised.

“Yeah, well, this danger, your friend has some ominous vision about Buffy. It’s all terribly vague. I mean, there are other things happening on this campus,” Giles pointed out.

“Yeah, but then this is Sunnydale, strange occurrences are the norm here,” Spike said.

Angel shrugged. “Well, maybe I’m wrong, but I gotta try something. I can’t just keep watching.”

“But you’re so good at stalking, Peaches. It’s taken you a hundred or so years to perfect it, turned it into an art form you did,” Spike smirked.

Angel growled in warning at Spike.

“Why is he here again?” Giles asked derisively.

“To watch over her when I’m not here,” Angel replied. “He’ll help keep her safe, fight alongside her.”

“Hey, what am I, a trained puppy? I don’t follow just anyone’s orders,” Spike said resentfully.

“Spike, we talked about this. You will stay here and watch over her for me, I need someone I know up here.” Angel was starting to lose patience.

“I kill slayers. I don’t baby sit them,” Spike mumbled.

“It’s been two years, Spike. After all that’s happened, do you really want to kill her?” Angel asked.

“Well, it’s not like she has any bleedin’ love for me, either, Angel. We hate each other as it should be. That girl would just as soon stake me as the watcher here,” Spike said. “Why are you making me do this? Most of all, why am I letting you force me to do it?”

“Because, William, I am your Sire. You will do what I tell you to do or I will tie you up and make you pay for every transgression you ever made against me in the last 120 years,” Angel threatened.

Giles cleared his throat; obviously uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. He tried a more subtle approach. “Well, in any case, Angel, I’m glad you’re watching out for her. Though, I feel I should remind you that she’s not helpless and it’s neither your job, nor Spike’s, for that matter to keep her safe.”

Angel glanced over at him after having pinned his childe to the wall with a death glare. “It’s not yours anymore, either, Rupert. Are you going to walk away, first or shall we?”

“All right,” Giles conceded. “But I still feel we should tell her you are in town. I don’t like keeping this secret.”

“No,” Angel said adamantly. “If she knew I was here, it would distract her. It could get her hurt. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Angel, but you’re already a distraction to her. You don’t think for a moment that the second you stepped foot in this town, she didn’t feel you. You marked her for fuck’s sake!” Spike pointed out which made Angel stare daggers at him.

“Um, I’m assuming that there’s some connection to the old mission. Something is upset about it being disturbed,” Giles said as a way to stop the escalating argument.

Angel turned back to Giles. “Or maybe it was trapped there, and now it’s been released. Something with a fondness for ancient weaponry.” Angel looked thoughtful for a moment before asking Giles, “Do you know Father Gabriel?”

“No.” Giles shook his head.

Angel shrugged. “He knows the history of this place pretty well. His family dates back to mission times. He may be able to fill in some blanks. Come on, Spike.”

“Ok. Well, I’ll see about contacting him,” Giles started to say.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send Spike over there,” Angel said as he turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Giles asked curiously.

Angel didn’t turn back to look at the watcher. “To watch her,” he said quietly.

Giles sighed. “It’s not fair, Angel. You know that’s what she’d say. You can see her, but she can’t see you?”

Angel turned and glared at Giles. “Believe me; I’m not getting the good half of this deal. I’m on the outside looking in at what I can’t . . . God, I’d forgotten how bad this feels.”

Spike seriously didn’t know what to think. He knew his Sire loved the Slayer and some part of him, the part that missed the old Angelus, not the one that was in Sunnydale two years ago, but before that, before he had gotten a soul, the demon in him found it sickening that his Sire had fallen for a killer of their kind. However, the William in him could empathize with Angel.