His Childe

Chapter 47 - City of Angels (1)

Buffy stepped into the elevator and pressed the floor button. Forty-five. Long ride. She glanced at Spike, who was leaning against the mirror opposite the door. It was a good thing that the building was mostly deserted, it might have been difficult to explain their lack of reflection if they had had company.

The peroxided blonde looked very tense. She realized that he had started being a bit stressed after calling the surgeon the day before, and it had only gotten worse since. During the ride he had joked with her and Dawn, though Buffy could tell that he was forcing himself. After they had dropped Dawn at Angel’s hotel, he had barely said two words.

“Does it bother you that much that we’re staying at the Hyperion?” she asked quietly. “Once Dawn let them know we were coming to LA, I couldn’t refuse the invitation without being really rude.”

He blinked a few times and looked at her, frowning slightly.

“No, I don’t mind,” he replied, sounding sincere.

Buffy crossed the couple of steps that separated them, and leaned slightly against him. Immediately, his arms were around her, pulling her closer.

“If it’s not the hotel, what’s wrong? You’ve been all bad moody since yesterday.”

He rested his forehead against hers and took a few seconds to answer, all the while looking at her eyes.

“Just a bit nervous, pet,” he whispered at last. “’Tried to get the bloody thing out before, if you remember, and it didn’t work quite well. For a while I was sure it would never come out. And now… I guess I’m afraid to hope too much and then hear that guy say he can’t do it.”

It was the first time he had ever admitted to her being afraid of anything, and she would have bet it was the first time he ever admitted such a thing to anyone.

“It will be ok,” she said as reassuringly as she could. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

To try and soothe him, she gave him a kiss, just a quick chaste kiss. However one quick kiss turned into two, quickly not so chaste anymore as their tongues danced languidly, and before she knew it her fingers were woven in his hair, while his hands were slipping inside her duster and under her shirt. Regaining her senses for a second, she pulled away from his mouth and swatted the adventurous hands.

“There’s probably a camera filming us right now,” she explained, wondering why she even felt the need to justify herself.

He had a quick laugh and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the locks she had mussed.

“We’ve been in front of a camera before, luv. ‘Might even be more fun if we know it’s there.”

Glaring at the suggestive look he threw her, she retreated against the side of the elevator, her arms folded beneath her breast.

“You are impossible,” she declared flatly.

“And you love me for it.”

Smirking, he approached her, his hands settling on her hips. His mouth descended on her neck and nuzzled past the duster and her shirt until his lips were brushing against the sensitive scars, caressing.

“Spike…”

To her own ears, the protest sounded like begging, and she wasn’t sure which one she meant anyway. The problem was solved when the elevator bell rang, signaling that they had reached their floor. Yet before moving away Spike gave a quick lick to his marks, grinning for all he was worth when she shivered.

“Coming, pet?” he said in a too innocent voice as he took her hand and pulled her out of the elevator.

Buffy could only form two thoughts. First, he certainly didn’t look anxious or tense anymore, which was good. Second, he would pay for that later, which was even better.

Half an hour later, as he sat with Buffy in front of the surgeon’s desk, Spike’s nervousness was back, stronger than ever. The clinic, which occupied the whole floor of the building, was empty save for them. For someone who had worked for the Watchers Council, Dr. Gruenwald was strangely at ease around vampires. He had been making small talk since they had arrived, talking about England, the soccer World Cup that was going on in Japan, and anything else he thought would interest his prospective patient. Buffy, he was politely ignoring, and Spike was wondering whether the doctor knew who and what she was.

At that moment, the man was looking at the large screen on the right of his desk where different x-rays of Spike’s head were displayed. The chip was easily visible, a small white echo, seemingly so innocent.

“Yes,” the man said almost gleefully after detailing the images for long silent minutes. “I can operate that. Tricky surgery, but feasible.”

“Is it dangerous?” Buffy asked quietly.

Gruenwald gave her a quick frown, as if suddenly remembering she was there.

“There are always risks whenever the brain is involved,” he replied offhandedly. “But I am very good at operating demons. Especially vampires. My specialty, I would say, though my clients have been somewhat more… alive… since I left London.”

Spike didn’t like the sound of that at all, and a quick glance to Buffy proved that she didn’t fancy the man either. However, the choices were limited, and Spike was ready to almost anything to be free of the damn chip.

“I just have two questions,” he said coldly to the doctor, who had returned his attention to the x-rays. “When, and how much.”

Gruenwald pivoted back toward them, looking slightly amused.

“On the phone you sounded eager to get rid of the object, so I would propose tomorrow night. It should take only three or four hours, so you’ll have plenty of time to return to your… lair… before morning. For the price…”

A small grin, almost wolfish, appeared on the man’s lips and was gone in a flash.

“What is your price?” Buffy insisted.

“I thought you knew,” he replied slowly. “The Council already paid me for this.”

Buffy almost jumped as the door banged shut behind her. She turned to Spike, a slight look of reprobation on her face.

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat,” she muttered as she slipped her duster off. “Tomorrow night you’ll be free of the chip and that’s it.”

“The Council…” he started.

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

“The Council is mine to deal with. I already accepted and there’s nothing to discuss.”

Gold was slowly taking over the blue of his eyes, but she returned his stare without flinching. She was just as displeased as him by the turn of events, but as she had stated her decision was made, and in truth it hadn’t been a difficult one. This seemed to be the only chance for Spike to ever get rid of the chip, and she knew how much it meant to him. In comparison to helping him, agreeing to the Watchers’ terms was nothing.

She would owe them one favor, one request for them to make and for her to fulfill. The penalty to her refusal had been made clear. Either she accepted the mission when they gave it to her, or they would launch an all-out attack against her and Spike. Quentin Travers had accepted her word over the phone, and she had barely been able to repress her anger and not tell him exactly what she thought of his manners. When they had met before, when Glory was looking for her Key, the roles had been reversed and Buffy had taken great pleasure in telling him what to do. She easily recognized this whole ‘exchange of favors’ as what it was: payback.

The gold finally receded in Spike’s eyes, and he shook his head. He had been ready to cancel the operation as soon as he heard what the Council wanted to authorize Gruenwald to operate. That had only strengthened Buffy’s resolve.

“I need to kill something,” he growled, still angry. “I’ll go…”

“No. You’re not going anywhere. You stay here, you rest and you drink a lot of blood as the doctor said.”

The gold was back, and Buffy crossed her arms in what she hoped was a display of determination. There really wasn’t much she could do if he just stormed out. Yet he just stood there, watching her intently. Finally, she heard him mutter two words.

“Love’s bitch.”

Shaking his head, he passed by her, taking his duster off and throwing it on the round couch in the middle of the lobby. Her eyes followed him, noticing the anger that was still there in these clenched fists.

“Spar with me, Slayer?”

“No, you need to rest.”

He was turning back to her, for what she was sure was pleading, when Angel and Cordelia came out of the kitchen.

“I knew I had heard something,” the vampire said.

Cordelia gave a quick look at both Spike and Buffy, probably noticing their tension.

“Bad news?” she inquired.

“No,” Buffy replied. “Everything’s fine. Surgery tomorrow night. Spike is just a bit… impatient.”

He shot her a nasty glare, before turning his attention to Angel with a sly grin.

“Wanna spar, Peaches? I beat you last time, here’s your chance to get your revenge.”

Angel’s face closed even more if it was possible. He didn’t like at all the idea of Spike being dechipped, and Buffy had had to remind him his promise not to interfere in their affairs. Though he hadn’t voiced it, she thought he was afraid that Spike with no chip would resemble Angel with no soul. Yet, he had said it himself before, the chip wasn’t a soul.

“I will not fight with you. I heard Buffy say you need to rest.”

Spike looked ready to let out a vicious comment when Dawn and Steven entered the lobby, both finishing pizza slices.

“I will,” the boy said suddenly.

It was a measure of Spike’s edginess that he didn’t laugh off the offer. He considered Steven, as if gauging him, a small smile appearing on his lips. Angel faced Steven, apparently ready to protest, but Spike was faster.

“You want to fight against me? Why?”

“I want to learn to fight like you. You beat him.”

With the last word, Steven made a quick gesture toward Angel, though he didn’t spare him a glance. Spike laughed and rubbed his hands together.

“Spike, this is not a good idea, ” Buffy tried to reason him.

“I agree on that,” Dawn said with a frown.

Neither Spike nor Steven seemed to hear, both still measuring each other.

“Here?” Spike said.

“Basement,” Steven answered just as curtly.

Spike nodded, and they walked to the elevator, ignoring the protests of Angel and Buffy. Dawn joined them, and so did Angel, the vampire muttering something about children not respecting their parents. Buffy was about to follow when she noticed the hard look Cordelia was giving her. She let the doors of the elevator close without making a move toward it. She had noticed earlier that Cordelia was very cold toward her, and she wanted to understand what was wrong with her.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, until Buffy got tired of waiting. She threw her duster on top of Spike’s and took a few steps toward the ex-cheerleader.

“Go ahead, Cordy. Spill. Why do you look at me like you want to stake me?”

She didn’t look surprised by the accusation, didn’t even try to deny it.

“Do you even realize how much you hurt him?” she asked angrily.

Buffy frowned, surprised by the unexpected answer.

“Hurt who?”

Cordelia looked up, shaking her head slightly.

“Angel! Who else?!”

“I did nothing…” Buffy started.

Cordelia walked until she was right in front of her, hands on her hips, glaring at her.

“You did nothing?” she snorted. “How about calling him to your death bed? How about making him believe you still love him and then dumping him for someone he hates more than anything? How about when he rushes to help you and comes back bruised and bloodied? He’s back to his brooding self while he should be happy that Connor is back, and that’s all because of you!”

For a few seconds, Buffy could only stare at Cordelia, eyes wide and mouth open. Finally, she found her voice back and instinctively copied the other woman’s pose, hands on her waist and chin held high.

“For your information,” she said coldly, “I was dying. I just wanted to say goodbye. As for loving him, I did, just not enough any more, like he didn’t love me as he used to. We’ve both changed and we… and that’s none of your business anyway. If he and Spike can’t be in the same room two minutes without starting to fight, I don’t see what I can do about it. And the brooding part, I’m sure I’m not the cause. The way Steven act with him would make anyone brood.”

Again, icy stares were exchanged, until Buffy saw something in Cordelia’s eyes that made her anger disappear instantly. Her hands slipped off her waist and she tilted her head slightly.

“Does he know?” she asked softly.

“Does who know what?” Cordelia replied tartly.

“Does Angel know you love him?”

Shock replaced irritation on the ex-brunette’s face, and it was her turn to gape at Buffy.

“He has no clue,” she finally whispered, blushing slightly. “I was kinda with someone else and I just realized it wasn’t working. Actually, Groo realized it first, and he left.”

Buffy nodded a little, understanding all too well what Cordy was explaining. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and pressed it softly.

“Give him a little time.”

Cordelia gave her a tentative smile.

“Well… You said they can’t be together two minutes without fighting?”

Buffy returned the smile.

“Yep. Shall we go check on them?”

Running a hand through his wet hair, Spike knocked on the door. After a couple of seconds of silence, an invitation was uttered. He pushed the door open and leaned against it, noticing how the boy’s expression softened slightly when he saw him. He was probably expecting someone else.

“Hey kid. How is the shoulder?”

Sitting on his bed, Steven swung his arm, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Just fine,” he replied. “It takes a lot to take me down.”

Spike laughed briefly. It had indeed taken a surprising lot to pin the teen down. Of course, trying not to hurt him didn’t simplify the matter. Though Spike had quickly realized that the kid didn’t need favors to hold his own in a fight. He just needed a little more training, which Spike had been more than happy to provide. All the while, Angel and Dawn had been watching and wincing every time a blow landed. Well, at least Dawn had winced equally for Steven hitting Spike and for the opposite. Angel was only worried for his kid, which was normal.

“I liked fighting with you,” the boy said. “We’ll have to do it again.”

Spike nodded absently. It wouldn’t happen again if Angel was around. He had been furious when Spike finally landed a blow hard enough to stun the boy, and as far as Spike could tell he had been very close to vamping out. He probably would have jumped on Spike if the cheerleader hadn’t stopped him. Buffy hadn’t been much more pleased, actually, and he was almost sure he’d get a cold shoulder when he joined her in their room.

“I liked it too,” he replied sincerely. “You’re a good fighter. I’m sure you’ll be able to beat the poof some day.”

Steven looked at him quizzically.

“The poof? Do you mean Angelus?”

“Not Angelus, Angel.”

God... Angelus would either turn the kid or torture him to death.

“Everyone says they are two persons,” Steven said slowly, “but how can that be? If it’s the same body, it’s the same man.”

Spike gave a quick glance to the hall. Angel’s room wasn’t very far, and the last thing he wanted was to be overheard talking about Angelus. He closed the door and watched the kid intently, trying to find a way to explain.

“I know it’s hard to understand,” he said at last, “but they are truly two different men. I have spent a long time with Angelus, I know him more than I would like to, just as I know more of Angel than I care about knowing. There’s nothing in common between them. Except the hair.”

The kid half smiled at the last part.

“If you didn’t like him,” he asked thoughtfully, “why did you spend so much time with him?”

There was an easy answer to that, that Spike had told himself many times. It was because of Dru. She wouldn’t leave her Daddy, and Spike wouldn’t leave her, so he was stuck with Angelus. But if he was honest, that wasn’t all. He shook his head lightly, wishing he hadn’t left his cigarettes in his duster, and his duster in the lobby.

“It wasn’t that easy. He was my Sire.”

“That means… he made you a vampire?”

Spike nodded, noticing the different emotions that played on Steven’s face.

“So, he’s like your father.”

It was half a question, half a statement.

“You can say that,” Spike confirmed. “Just like you didn’t choose your parents, I didn’t choose my Sire. And we’re both stuck with him, even if he’s a big poof who uses too much hair gel for his own good.”

A deep frown creased Steven’s forehead, and for a second his eyes were unfocused, as if he was seeing something else than the room. Finally his eyes were back on Spike, and he asked, a bit hesitant:

“What was Darla like?”

Two dozens adjectives instantly came to Spike’s mind, none of them acceptable to tell a kid about his mother.

“That’s a hard question,” he admitted. “I didn’t like her much to tell the truth. You should ask your father.”

Steven’s expression instantly closed, in a manner strikingly resembling Angel’s.

“Talking about women,” Spike said with a light smirk, “you better keep your hands off Dawn or I will be kicking your arse for real.”

Horror filled Steven’s face and voice.

“I would never fight with Dawn!” he protested.

Spike stifled a laugh at that reply. Apparently, the kid had a lot to learn, and not only about fighting. And the vampire certainly wasn’t going to give him ideas he might experiment on the Nibblet.

“That’s good,” he said as seriously as he could. “I like Dawn very much and I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, not even you.”

“I like her also,” Steven whispered, eyes suddenly darting to the floor.

“She likes you too.”

The kid was suddenly looking at him again with a delighted smile.

“She does?”

Spike cursed himself silently. He was supposed to scare boys off, not give them hope.

“Yeah, she does. Don’t tell her I said that though, she’d stake me.”

He glanced at the small clock by the bed. It was late. Time for teens to sleep and for vampires to try to get a cuddle.

“Good night, kid.”

“Thanks.”

The word was quiet, and it answered probably more than the ‘good night’. With a wink, Spike got out of the room, closing the door behind him, and found himself facing his Sire. Angel looked strangely calm, but Spike knew from experience that look could be deceitful.

“You’ve been here for long?” he asked, not even bothering to ask if he had heard their conversation.

“A little while.”

Spike nodded, forcing his most irritating smirk to his lips.

“Then you know that you should give him a picture of his mother. Or at least a drawing if you got rid of the pictures.”

By the sudden flash that went through Angel’s eyes, Spike knew that he still had said pictures. It was hard to go through centuries without keeping a few mementos.

“It’s a good kid you have there, Peaches. Of course anyone who can’t stand you is alright by my book.”

This time, it was pain that crossed the older vampire’s face, and Spike almost kicked himself for his bad quip. He had obviously pressed on a wound that was already deep.

“Give him time,” he said more quietly. “He’ll get past it. If I did, anyone can.”

Angel nodded, his gaze settling on the closed door behind which Steven rested, but he kept quiet.

“’Night, Peaches.”

Spike started striding away toward his room, that was at the end of the long corridor. Before he had taken more than a few steps, Angel spoke, almost too softly for even vampire’s ears.

“Thank you, William.”

And again, there was more behind the words than an answer to the nightly greeting.