Wild Days

Spike:

Punching the bag again for good measure, I try to block out the voices drifting down to the basement. They're talking about Angel's kid, and about guilt and frankly, I've got all I can take regarding the subject. Besides, what the hell do they know about guilt. They are human, always have been. They have no idea what they're talking about.

Catching the bag swinging back I lean my forehead against it, wishing I could just cut it out, forget all these images that keep coming time and again. There are faces I can't even remember, and there are those I can. Friends I killed just for fun. Girls I tortured just for the heck of it.

The worst is, I also remember what I felt when I did it. The thrill of the kill, the pleasure of pain, the feeling of sliding into the dry tissues of a screaming virgin.

I remember all. The scent. The blood. How much I loved smelling the blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Feeling instantly nauseous, I let go of the bag and kick it viciously. God, if I could get just a moment of peace, one moment where I don't have to deal with this - I think I'd give everything. It's moments like these where I wonder if greeting the sun wouldn't be the right thing to do. No screams in my head, no images - I'd be free, free and in peace. But then I wonder if taking the easy way out will bring me peace at all - if it's even possible. It's moments like this when I wish I could talk to the only other person on this planet who might understand.

Will my soul go on? And if it does - will it ever be able to forget? I really doubt that.

Does that mean it'll never have peace? I certainly did cause enough pain to earn eternal Hell.

"It's pathetic, you know. Seeing a vampire like this."

I knew she was here the moment I entered the basement, but I did my best to ignore her, even though I smelled her scent, heard the quiet rustle of her clothes. "Anya," I say, not looking at her, instead I continue hitting the bag with increasing force. It doesn't really help, but it feels not bad either. At least I get rid of the frustration of being caged in for the day. Sleep isn't something I crave these days. Because it's when I'm starting to relax when the memories are worst. "What are you doing down here?"

"I tried to find the only place in this hotel where nobody would find me." She laughs, bitterly. "Or so I thought. Not that they'd even care."

"Hell, you slept with me - and he watched. What do you expect?" Can she really be that dense? Demons! Vampires might be led by their basic instincts, but demons … I suppose wits were already out of fashion when they were created.

"It was your fault anyway," she tosses at me and I finally turn. She sits in the corner on a crate, only wearing her panties and a shirt, her knees are drawn to her chest and I have no problems noticing the tear streaks on her face.

I raise a brow, "My fault? If my memory hasn't left me, it was a consensus. You wanted it too, honey. I still remember the little moans you made."

She gives me a look of disgust, "There's no need to get vulgar, you know."

Vulgar? I just mentioned facts. I shrug, "We had a little animal sex between demons," I actually wince at that. Never really liked being called a mere demon. "Or rather demon and vampire." Then, realizing it's real pain in her eyes, I add, "If it helps you any, in my book he's earned it. Leaving you at the altar is a lot worse than fooling around a little - but no one asks me these days."

She doesn't comment, but I saw a frown appearing on her forehead. She looks down at her bare toes, wriggles them. "Xander doesn't want me anymore," she says finally. "He said it's over. I wish I never met him."

What the hell is happening here? Is a soul suddenly transforming me into a fucking therapist? Why do they all come to me to talk now? And damn this bloody soul - a few months ago I would've laughed and turned away - unfortunately I can't do that anymore. Conscience and all.

I sigh, "Yeah, I know the feeling."

Her head comes up, "You … you were dumped, too?"

Oh and that really helps to built my self-esteem. As if I'm not feeling down enough already. Bloody hell. "Actually … all the time," I say wryly.

"Oh," is all she comments, clearly uncomfortable at that. She bites her lower lip, "And what did you do? I mean, yeah, sure, you were a vampire then … and you didn't always have the chip."

"If you're asking me if I killed them? I did. At least I killed the human girl who refused me. Her name was Cecily. I still remember her face. She was pretty. Almost beautiful. And I wish to God I hadn't. This will haunt me as long as I exist." I see something in her eyes I don't like and add, "Believe me, Anya, killing Xander won't help you. It won't take away your pain. All that's going to happen is that you'll feel worse. You are not a mere demon anymore. You were human for too long to just forget it."

"He dumped me twice," she said, her voice wobbly, "First at the wedding. And then … this morning. I was in his bed - naked."

"And he didn't want you?" I look at her incredulously. At first she thinks I'm making a joke, but when she realizes I'm serious, she smiles. I return her smile, "I wouldn't have pushed you away. You've got a lot to offer."

Her face brightens even more, "You think?"

"I had first hand experience. You're pretty skilled." Hell, what am I talking here? I must be nuts. Certifiable. On second thought. I probably am. I wouldn't be a surprise at all. Then a sudden thought occurs to me and I hastily add, "I'm talking about sex here, Anya. Nothing more. I'm not a guy for a relationship."

She snorts, "As if I would want you. You've got a soul now. You're not even a real vampire anymore."

And thanks so very much. That's what I get for pushing up her ego. "Not that it matters, but I am. I'm still a vampire."

"As if you would use your teeth these days," she scoffs. "Your pesky soul would get in the way for sure."

"At least the chip is gone." I haven't told anyone so far, but the moment the soul was returned to my body, the chip left. I felt it right away - and wished for weeks it was the other way around. "You've been human for a long time. You might try to ignore it, but it has changed you, too. That's what happens to people."

"I'm a demon, not a people," she insists, her chin coming up. "And you'll all see. I … I will punish you all … and I'll l-like it." She stammers, a watery shine entering her eyes. "Damn," she murmurs and sniffs.

"That's what I meant." I take one of Angel's towels - wonder why he's keeping them around, he doesn't sweat anyway - and put it around my neck. I don't really need it either, but it feels good. Maybe because I can hold the ends in my hands. Keeps them kind of occupied. Anya's presence and especially the subject of our conversation isn't something I'm really comfortable with. Plus, I didn't lie before. She's pretty attractive - for a demon. Nice firm breasts - and she's picked up a trick or two.

"I thought this was going to be easy," she says, looking at me unhappily. When D'Hoffryn turned me back into a vengeance demon, I was happy at first. Not happy happy, but okay. Only those damn feelings won't go away."

I wish I had a remedy for her. I really do. Maybe it could help me, too. But unfortunately there is none. Having a conscience is something we have to live with. Like it or not, it just won't leave you alone – no matter how hard you try to outrun it. And believe me, I tried. For three weeks, I tried. And it still raised its head. That's why I came back to Sunnydale. And because Buffy was right - I need her forgiveness. Maybe more than anything else.

Awkwardly patting Anya's shoulder, I turn away before I'll do something I'm going to regret. I don't have the excuse of being soulless anymore. And she's even more vulnerable now than she was that day. "I don't mind you being down here. And I won't tell the others, but could you shut up while I hit a bag some more?"

I hear nothing, only another rustle of clothes. And I wonder if I'm the biggest idiot on this planet.

***

Wesley:

"Hey, Wes."

I tear my gaze away from Willow and Fred who are - after munching donuts and drinking coffee – once again glued to the screen, talking and typing furiously. The redhead's forehead is scrunched into a frown, her concentration almost palpable. Strange, I never thought, Willow was beautiful. Actually I never thought a lot about her at all. But seeing her sitting here - I can suddenly see what Oz, and Tara saw in her.

"Buffy," I smile at the blonde who is coming down the stairs, Dawn behind her, the Slayer looking well rested for the first time since I went to Sunnydale to bring her to L.A.

"Buffy," Giles says as well, "You look a lot better this morning. How is Angel?"

"Better, too," she smiles, and it's genuine. I sigh with relief, glad that my friend - I still feel that way even if he probably doesn't - seems to improve. "He sits up in bed, talks and has regained most of his memory." She glances at me with compassion. "He wants to talk to you."

I feel my heart start hammering in my chest. "He does?" Of all the people it's Angel who really has the right to hate me. The others might distrust me, and I might be able to ignore it, most of the time, but the idea of Angel hating me - it's almost more than I can bear. I never wanted this, God. I never wanted this. When I took Connor that night, I was trying to save his life. Not for a moment I imagined that it would end this way. If I had known … and maybe one day Angel will believe it, too.

"Hmmm." She nods, then walks to the counter and picks up a jelly donut from the box. "I can never get enough of them," she says almost like an apology. "And yeah. He does. He also wants to know about the prophecy you found, which reminds me that you never told us exactly what's in it. Or rather … you didn't tell me. I suppose Giles already knows."

"He does indeed," I confirm. "I … was a little reluctant with the details until we could … explain them better. Do you think Angel is up to a group meeting. We could discuss-"

"Nice try, Wes," Buffy cuts me off, smirking slightly. "He still wants to see you. And I think - you two really need to talk."

"He said that he wasn't in the position to blame anyone for their mistakes," Connor says from his spot on the red sofa. Seems he's attached to it these days. "I'm sure that includes you."

I wish this could be true. I wish things were that easy. But unlike Connor, I knew exactly what I was doing. Even if I did it to save Connor's life, the fact still remains that I took him away from his father, stole him to give him to Angel's worst enemy. I'm not sure this can be forgiven under any circumstances. And seeing what Angel went through because of all this - he might not want to blame people, but I doubt anyone can be that selfless. Still, I force a smile, for the boy's sake. He's depressed enough as it is.

"And to answer your question," Buffy goes on, "I agree, we need to have a group meeting as soon as possible. We need to know what we're dealing with." She looks around, a frown appearing on her forehead, "Where's Spike?"

"Went down the basement," Xander tells her. "I suppose he's hitting the bag."

She frowns, "The bag?"

"Angel has a full training equipment down there. Including a punching bag." He suddenly grins, "Can you believe it. Gunn told me that he's been training Cordelia." A laugh, "Cor.de.lia. Imagine that. Queen C - the champion for the good cause."

I have to chuckle, too. For those who haven't seen Cordy it certainly sounds strange. Still, I feel entitled to defend her. "She's changed a lot. You wouldn't believe how much she's changed."

"Unfortunately," Fred's voice comes from behind the counter, "he can't judge for himself. Remember, she's gone. Just vanished. Seems the good cause wasn't good enough for her after all."

"I'm sure something has happened to her," I say, "No way she would just leave. She and Angel were …," my gaze flickers to Buffy who looks at me sharply, and I give her a sheepish smile. "Close. They were close friends."

"More like wannabe-lovers," Fred amends, not quite aware of the tension building in the room. "And unlike Willow here I'm not entirely convinced that Wolfram & Hart was all that caused the attraction. I mean, she is a beautiful woman. And Angel was lonely. And a single dad." She sighs, "They looked sweet together. She, and Angel, and Connor."

The slamming of a door startles us all.

"What happened?" Fred's head finally comes up.

"I think your lovely description of Angel's home life just left us with a very angry Slayer." I stare at the door Buffy has just vanished behind. I only hope Spike has all his wits together. Because dealing with her in a state like this can be very bad for your health. Buffy might not be Faith, but an angry Slayer is still an angry Slayer. And I have first hand experience what that can lead to.

"Maybe you should just go to Angel," Giles says quietly, his concerned eyes staring at the same point. "I'll go and look for her." A wry smile appears on his lips, "In a moment or two."

"Good idea," Xander laughs nervously. "And it's not as if we care what happens to Spike anyway. Right?" He looks around, then frowns when nobody cheers. "Right?"

"He has a soul now," Willow says from the computer. She is looking at him now. And there is something in her eyes that makes me wonder. "And he wants to make amends. Maybe it's time you finally get the whole soul-no soul thing digested, Xander." She turns back to the screen, but a frown remains on her face. I make a mental note to find out what this is all about.

But first I have to take care a business of my own. "I'm going to see Angel now." We hear a crash from downstairs, and I wince. Good that Spike is a vampire. At least he will heal fast. Another crash. "I'm gone." And I quickly walk up the stairs, even though talking to Angel is something I wish I could avoid forever."

***

Anya:

"Slayer, calm down," Spike pants, while his body hits the wall on the other side of the basement.

"Calm down," Buffy rages, glaring at him. "Calm down? And you," she whirls, her eyes blazing fires. I unconsciously take a step back. "Do you have no shame? After all that happened the last time?"

"You watched it, too?" I cry, staring at her in shock. "She saw us? Who else has watched? I never wanted to become a porn-star."

"Too bad." Buffy snaps, "You should've thought about it before you fucked Spike's brains out."

"She fucked my brains out?" Spike asks incredulously, "I think it was the other way around. Demons have never been known for their prowess."

"Hardly," I toss at him, for the first time not caring that Buffy found us locked in a heavy kiss. I still can't believe I kissed Spike - again. But damn, he looked attractive, in his black wife-beater, his hair tousled and all two-coloured, with the blond growing out slowly.

"God," Buffy yells, "I can't believe this. It's like waking up in a nightmare. Xander asked you to come with him, and at the first opportunity you're kissing Spike. You two certainly have earned each other."

She says it as if it's a bad thing. Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. "You didn't mind him doing it, either," I tell her, enjoying the way she flinches at that. "And if I remember correctly, you were fucking his brains out regularly for months."

At that her eyes narrow, "You are hardly in a position to place blame." Her voice it like steel, mixed with a little acid. And again I take a step back. I've seen Slayers at work. I've seen Buffy at work. And I just saw Spike hitting the wall with a loud crash. "Why don't you two just leave and do," her nose wrinkles in disgust, "whatever you want. I need to blow off some steam."

"We could spar a little," Spike offers and I can't believe my ears. Is he suicidal, or what? On a second thought, he probably is. With the soul business it wouldn't be a surprise. Plus, kissing or not, he's still hung up on Buffy - even if they both try to ignore it - for entirely different reasons of course.

"Is Xander upstairs," I ask, not looking forward to meeting him.

"He's probably heard it all," she tosses at me. "Nice going, Anya, very nice."

And at that I finally have enough. Getting right into her face, I don't care if 's 's the Slayer, if she's strong, or if she can beat me into a bloody pulp. This is the final straw - and I've had it now. "I'm so sick or your self-righteousness," I scream, not caring if anybody hears, almost hoping Xander does. "I'm sick of all of you! You're so … so pathetic. And so … human. It makes me sick. Do you want to know what happened this morning? I went to Xander's bed. Naked. And he threw me out." I don't care that tears are running down my face. I don't know why - this doesn't hurt. Not at all. What do I care if Xander wants me. I'm Anyanka. I don't need them. Didn't for a thousand years. They can all go to Hell.

"I hate you," I yell. "All of you. And there will come a time when you'll all grovel before me."

With that I step back, and without giving them another look, I walk out, glad that I'm a demon. They will all be long dead and gone and I'll still be young and beautiful. And when Xander dies I will dance on his grave.

I will.

I promise.

I storm out of the lobby into the daylight, not caring that they all stare after me, not caring that Xander looks incredulous.

And I'm sure there'll come a time when I can wake up again and not wish to see his face first thing in the morning.