Wild Days

Spike:

Wandering through the dark lobby I wonder not for the first time what the bloody hell I'm doing here. Not just here in Angelus' hotel, a place, was its owner awake and coherent, he'd remove me from in a heartbeat, but in fucking L.A.

As if my first visit to the City of Angel's hasn't been enough. Or California for that matter. What kind of bug was riding my ass when I decided to go back to Sunnydale. It's not as if I could expect to be welcomed there with bells and candles.

I never had friends there, not true ones that is. But when I think about it, I never had friends at all. It's a sorry state for someone with a soul, but it's true. As a human I was nothing but a pathetic idiot and soulless vampires don't do friends. Contrary to general belief they can fall in love, but it's not the kind a human can experience. Maybe it's lust, or dependency, but who really cares if there isn't a soul constantly nagging at you, a conscience never letting you sleep, showing you all your failures, giving you regrets, making you reconsider. That's why friendship isn't in the picture - it's something a demon simply can't fathom.

Friendship means commitment, it means being there for each other, and most of all it means trust. That's something I understood when I came back and started to see the world through once more soulful eyes.

I have to chuckle at my own maudlin thoughts, and at the fact that I'm like Angel these days. My thoughts shift to him once more, and I can remember the revulsion I always felt at the thought of Angelus being imprisoned by that filthy soul. He and I shared everything once. It's true, Dru made me, but in every other way Angelus was my sire. He was my mentor, the vampire who taught me to hunt, to kill, who taught me what it meant to be undead. And for a short while he was the center of my universe. Yes, I was Dru's lover, I was her childe, but never in my whole life I have loved anyone the way I loved him, adored him, worshipped him - in any way a soulless demon can. He was everything I wanted to be, and knew I never could.

Yes, he was an evil bastard but that was part of the attraction. For a vampire there is nothing more thrilling, nothing more lustful to see death and pain, and Angelus was a master of it. But he never did it the way vampires usually prefer. For him it was an art, and he was determined to become a master. I always walked in his shadow, and a part of me hated him for it, resented him, but the other part just wanted to be like him.

Until the gypsies took him from me.

After that everything changed. He was gone. True, he came back, but he wasn't the vampire anymore I had adored and loved. He was a shell, broken - or so I thought. Being a soulless demon I couldn't understand that he had found something far more important, that in gaining his soul he made his last step to being truly remarkable, to be truly unique. And he still is. I might have a soul now, but I also know that I can never achieve what he has. Even if I tried, it would be nothing but a cheap copy of the original. I know I should resent him for being there first - once again, but I can't. I just don't have that in me anymore.

And now he has a son. He has gained true immortality. He has achieved what living really is about.

And he experienced love. The love of a woman who loved him back. A woman whose look can make my knees weak and make me wish I was someone else, someone worthy of her.

Only now can I truly understand what he gave up when he turned his back on her.

Not that I can ever follow that logic, mind, but I can see the sacrifice, I can see what he gave up in order to become someone, even though I think he already was. Once again, I feel myself in awe of him, once again I feel as if I should fall down to my knees and worship what he's accomplished in his long life. He has managed to truly step over the ruins of his existence, to find a purpose in life, and to follow a path, even though its painful. I see him lying there on his bed, almost starved to death, and the love I feel for him outweighs the one I thought I felt over a century ago.

Which - given the fact that I have a soul now, isn't really that surprising.

I find myself wondering if I could be that strong, and I know without a doubt that if Buffy loved me the way she loves him, despite all the people who try to tell her differently - herself included, I know I wouldn't have the strength to turn away from her.

And with a sudden clarity I realize that I never outgrew my own pathetic existence. I might have wrecked havoc for over a century, but when it comes down to it, to the center of my soul, I'm still William the Bloody, wanna-be poet, who instead of trying to find his own life, his own way, prefers to linger in a woman's basement, just to be close, while knowing she will never love him back.

Groaning I run a hand through my still unfamiliar long hair. My alter ego would be horrified at my appearance, but these days I have other things to deal with than the way my hair is styled or if my duster is still in shape. Today I'd be glad if I could close my eyes without seeing faces grimacing in the wake of terror and death, without seeing blood and gore, without hearing all the voices of the unnamed victims - so many I can't remember them.

Did Angel ever get used to the screams in his head? I wonder. Can he? Can anyone?

I almost jump when I hear a noise from the doorway, then someone stumble over a chair and curse in the darkness. Fortunately I can see plenty and I have no problem recognizing Wesley, carrying a bag in one, a rucksack in the other hand.

"Bloody hell," he exclaims, and I have to chuckle at the use of the words by the usually so proper Englishman.

"Having problems finding your way, watcher?"

He stops dead in his tracks and I see him squinting in the darkness, trying to see me. "Spike," he sighs after a moment. "It's you."

"Seems that way," I reply, not making a move to help him. Somehow the fact that he betrayed Angel isn't something I can go over as quickly as others. Strangely I can with Connor, but that's probably because he's just a scared kid - or maybe it's because he's Angel's brat. But I really don't want to go into this now.

"I am sorry if I woke you," he says, his voice showing a hint of annoyance. "But I don't have vampire sight."

"Well, how about switching on the lights," I propose, doing exactly that. The lobby is instantly bathed in the usual soft shimmer I've come to miss over the last months. s gos good to be back amongst the living again. Even though Buffy's basement was some kind of refugee for me, being above ground has its advantage. Once Angel is up and well again he might throw me out without a second thought. And I can't even blame him.

"Planning on moving in?"

I see a frown on Wesley's forehead, and I can feel the hostility radiating from him. "For the time being," he answers "Not that it's any of your business," he adds, keeping his voice firm and the slightest bit haughty.

"Wonder what Angel has to say about this," I remark casually, strolling over to the counter, my eyes never leaving the watcher. I know my behavior is ridiculous, but I can't help it. This man pretended to be Angel's friend and he betrayed him. Not that I didn't betray him. I did. And plenty. But it's different.I didn't have a soul then. For a vampire not being faithful is part of the game. For a human it's a sin – or so I've been told.

One of Wesley's brows rises, "We'll find out soon enough, I suppose. But until then I think you are the last person who should comment on anything that's entirely Angel's business."

There is a quality to this sentence that makes me narrow my eyes and I can't help hearing the double meaning in it. Of course I can't be sure but I have the distinct feeling that Angel's business isn't all he's talking about.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, I find interest in a stack of papers the girl from Texas has left there. It's computer printouts, Red has made earlier, showing pictures of a guy being killed by a woman. It has to be Holtz, the man who pretended to be Connor's father, and the girl they were talking about. A redhead. Not bad to look at. Redheads do have a certain appeal - wonder if it's the creamy alabaster skin or just the way they sometimes look so appealingly exotic.

Shaking my head at myself, I see that Wesley has left the lobby without me even noticing it. Seems I'm slipping. Seems a soul isn't just bad for your sleep.

I hear footsteps on the stairs and in looking up my gaze falls on Willow who slowly descends them. Well, talking about redheads … She looks fragile these days, with dark circles underneath her eyes. I suppose seeing your lover killed and then trying to destroy the world does that to you.

"Hey, Spike," she says softly, frowning slightly at me. "What are you doing here?"

"It's night, it's my time of the day," I reply flippantly, not caring if I sound like I don't care. Wesley's haughty attitude has risen my hackles, and I'm still pissed I didn't have some snotty comment for him. But unfortunately I don't feel like that anymore.

A ghost of a smile crosses her lips, "Well, why aren't you out then. Trying to beat up some soulless vamp?" She stops at the bottom of the stairs, and gives me a knowing look. "Not so easy to live with guilt, huh?"

For a moment I find myself wishing I could do anything to erase that look in her eyes, that knowledge of death and destruction, but then I shake my head. I haven't even found a way to deal with my own. So how am I supposed to help her? "No," I reply simply, letting go of the sheets still in my hand and placing them back on the counter. I sigh deeply, before I walk towards the sofa in the middle. "Care to join me?"

She hesitates, but after a moment, she crosses the lobby as and and sits down at my side. "I should not talk to you … after what Buffy … what you … I mean your alter …," she stops, sighs as well and folds her hands in her lap. "God, this is all so muddled. I wonder why life can't be neat and easy for a change."

"Had a nightmare?" I'm not even sure I want to know. But somehow sitting here, beside her, is the closest of human contact I've come to since I came back, and I'm reluctant to give it up. True, I helped feeding Angel, but every second I felt that I was intruding, that Buffy and Angel were in their own world, and there was no room for me. Willow on the other hand is lonely. And sad. The sadness in her is almost palpable. My demon would have been drawn to her in order to get a good taunting, but all I can feel is a strange connection - and it makes me feel good in a way I can't really understand. People often talk about shared experiences, maybe that's the explanation. But who really cares.

She shrugs at my question, but she doesn't look at me. "Started like a nice dream, actually," she says, another rare smile creeping up her lips. "Tara was in it. She looked so beautiful. And happy. But …," she trails off.

"Yeah," I nod, "I have those too. Only I'm dreaming of-," I stop instantly, not sure how to tell her I'm dreaming of her best friend.

"I know," she says quietly, looking at me with big, shimmering eyes, the unshed tears glistening in them like sparkling stars, "It's hard," she swallows, blinks rapidly, "to let them go."

"Yeah," I say once again, and dare to reach out and cover her hands with mine. For a moment I feel her stiffen, but then she relaxes and I'm glad she accepts my touch.

"I don't want to," she admit, her voice hoarse. "I always think letting her go … I'm betraying her."

"You don't," I say firmly, not sure if I'm believing this crap, but feeling that she needs to hear it. It's something Angelus once read to me from a book, seems it comes in handy after all. "If you really loved her, you need to find a way to go on living. I think it's what she would want you to do." Angelus said it was just sappy crap. I'm sure Angel wouldn't think that way.

And I wonder if Spike before and after are equally different. I hope they are - because that way I might learn to live with what's been – someday. "You think?" she asks, and I can see hope in her eyes.

"Yes," I nod, giving her a smile. "I knew Tara. She was the kindest person I ever met. She wouldn't want you to … suffer because of her. She would want you to be happy and … live your life."

Willow stares at me for a long time after I said that, then almost reluctantly she nods, turns her palm in my hand and squeezes it. "Thank you," she whispers, leans forward and breathes the softest of kisses on my cheek, before she gets up and once again ascends the stairs to her room, leaving me on my own in the lobby, asking myself if the tingling I feel on my skin is just my own imagination.

***

Angel :

I can see her eyes in the moonlight, I can see them in the sun, and more than anything I see them in my dreams. They can look happy, they can look sad, even look so joyous you want to drown in her happiness, but never before I have seen them empty.

Like now.

They are almost dead, lifeless, devoid of any emotion.

No. That's not true. There - in the depths - deep down where she tries to hide it, is pain. Deep, hollowing, searing pain. A pain so intense it's all I can do not to scream in agony.

I can feel my head moving restlessly on the pillow while eye eyes still hold me in their grasp. The expression is overwhelmed me. When was it? I wonder. Did I miss is? How come I never saw? Never realized what she was going through?

Her hair is long, longer than she wears it today, matted to her head and shoulders. Dirty. Her hands are covered with bruises, with blood, and more dirt.

Raw.

Bleeding.

The earth on them barely dry.

She looks around herself like a wild animal. Wounded. Caught. With no way out. Trying to make sense of what's happening to her.

I try to escape these images but I can't. They have me in their claws, refusing to let me go.

A tower.

Blood.

God. So much blood.

I feel my breath quickening.

Dawn.

Buffy.

A portal.

OH GOD!

And then suddenly - nothing. Peace so monumental I'm not sure I can understand it. Warmth. Happiness. The feeling of being safe and protected. The feeling of pain being far away, too far to reach you. It's soothing I know it makes me smile in my sleep. Before the next image rips that expression from my face.

A hand.

Coming from the ground.

OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod

I recognize the hand and once again I try to escape, try to find a way out, but am strangely caught in what seems to be the worst nightmare I've had in my life.

She is trying to hit the First in the corner of a dirty street. Then behind a mask. Smiling. Laughing. But her eyes burn with pain, and they are strangely vacant when they look at me. She doesn't want to be here. She wants to go back. Back to the peace and love she has felt for only a short time.

"There was love before," she says suddenly, looking at me directly, "But you took it away when you left."

I hear her voice. There is no blame, no accusation, just this horrible emptiness. This helpless acceptance.

Acceptance of fate.

She is the Slayer. She accepts that it's her destiny to live, fight, and die. But she never bargained to be brought back. To live through all this once again. And maybe again. It was too much. And it finally did what nothing could before - it broke her.

Once again I see her eyes, before my own suddenly fly open, instantly landing on her sleeping form, snuggled into my arms, her head resting on my chest, her steady breath leaving her slightly opened lips in soft puffs. My own breathing - even if unnecessary - is ragged, my mind still spinning with the images of this dream. Only I realize it wasn't a dream. It's real. It has to be. Nothing could be this vivid and not be real.

I was living through Buffy's last and first days on earth.

Still I wonder what was meant by the phase between them. This peace, and love, and warmth. What was it? Where did she go? Where did the others bring her back from?

"From Heaven."

Startled I look down at her and see her eyes are open now, watching me.

I gaze into her hazel orbs searching for the emptiness I've seen before, and almost sigh in relief when I found it gone. But what I still can see is the pain, and deep down there is something else, something I can't quite name. But it is strangely familiar to me.

"So you know now," she says, sitting up beside me.

I suddenly feel myself blink, realizing for the first time what she has said. She's answered an unspoken question. My throat feeling too tight, I can only croak, "Wha - what?"

She smiles, but it's a sad sort of smile, one that almost brings me to tears. "Don't, Angel. I know what you were dreaming about. I was there."

"They …," I have a hard time saying what I need to say, "they ripped you from Heaven?"

"Well, I'm not sure it was Heaven," she replies almost without emotion. "But it was … a good place. But I have learned to live back down here. Sometimes," she smiles wistfully, "when things are bad …," then she shrugs, "but I'm okay with it now. I think."

I can only nod, awed by her acceptance. And she has accepted it. As she accepted all the other things that were thrown at in in life. Even the love of an ensouled vampire she never asked for. "I'm glad," I tell her, my voice only barely working. I still feel choked up with emotion. And love. Above all there is love. A feeling so familiar. And yet, I have lost it down the road. Or maybe I just lost trust in it. Who knows.

"Buffy-,"

She stops me by putting a finger on my lips. "Shhh," she says, leaning over me and kissing my forehead. "You should rest. You are still weak."

"But-" I want to tell her that I need to know. That I want to talk to her about his. That I want to understand.

She doesn't let me. With a little shake of her head she silences me, before she sighs and snuggles back into my arms, as if she's trying to hold onto something that might disappear the next moment. "Sleep, Angel," she scolds gently, "Doctor's orders."

"Doctor?"

I feel her chuckle against my body, "Well, Slayer's orders then. And you know, you shouldn't cross a Slayer. Especially if you're a vampire."

"You mean because you've got a sharp stake?" I ask, letting myself carry away from sadness and concern for a short precious moment.

"Exactly. And you don't want to be at the wrong end of it."

I grin at that, "Empty threats. You just saved my life. You wouldn't stake me."

There is a long silence after that, and I wonder if she's fallen asleep, but then she suddenly speaks again, "I'm glad you are going to be well soon," she whispers, her hand resting on my stomach, painting lazy circles on my shirt that seems far too big for me now.

"So am I," I reply, covering her hand with mine, stilling it. "And I'm glad you are here with me."

I feel her swallow at that, and when she speaks I can hear the emotion in her voice, "So am I," she says, entwining her fingers with mine. "So am I."

With her beside to me, I feel a closeness I haven't felt for over two years. Not since that fateful day the Powers turned back time, the she she has no memory of. And not for the first time I find myself wondering what could have been if I didn't meddle with fate…