Wild Days

Chapter 1

When I hear the doorbell ringing downstairs, I sigh, rolling onto the other side of my bed, trying to ignore that I'm the adult in the house now, that I should be getting up, answering whoever is coming to see us. For a moment at least I want to be the little girl again, the one who can leave the responsibilities to her mom, secure that she'll take care of everything. Unfortunately, I sigh as I get up, searching for my shoes underneath the bed, this is only wishful thinking, I am the responsible adult in the house, trying to take care of a sullen sister, a hopefully recovering addict, and something that's a lot worse, but I don't want to think of it right now. It's bad enough it's here, and won't go away. The only bright side is, Giles is back. And even though he doesn't live in the house - he moved into a new apartment - he's still there and he listens and helps when I need it. Like bringing blood into the basement, even if grudgingly, a place I'd gladly forget these days. I sigh again, feeling guilty for thinking that way, but pushing the thought back nevertheless. Walking into the upper hallway, I hear voices from downstairs, Dawnie's I recognize, and Giles', the third is familiar as well, even though it seems different, rougher than I remember it. When I finally find Wesley standing in my living-room, I can hardly believe it.

"Wesley?" I ask. He turns around, and I gasp, shocked to see a big scar on his neck, a scar that could have been deadly.

"Buffy," he croaks, then clears his throat.

"Oh my God, Wesley, what happened to you?"

His hand moves to the scar, and he shakes his head, "Not really important," he says, smiling slightly. "It's my fault anyway. And it's not the reason I'm here."

My expression instantly wary, I frown, "I thought you were working with Angel these days. If there's problems in the city of L.A. shouldn't he be the one to take care of them?"

"That's why I'm here," he replies, his face serious. "The problem is, we don't know where Angel is. He vanished three months ago, and nobody has seen him ever since."

I look at Wesley over the rim of my coffee cup, Dawn sitting beside me shell-shocked. After delivering his first piece of news, Wesley got my attention, and so he told me what he thought I needed to know. He told me about the problems with a law firm in L.A., about Cordelia's visions, her new half-demonic state ' - must be a bummer for her - wonder if she has spikes or such things', about Gunn, and Fred who they discovered in another dimension. And I listened, not quite sure where he was getting at with this. Until he told me about Angel's son. Angel's son. Wesley even told me his name was Connor. And that he wanted to be called Steven these days. And he told me how Connor came to exist in the first place. And that he was the reason for the ex-watcher's fallout with Angel. I wonder if I should have been shocked or at least jealous because Angel has a kid with Darla, but I strangely felt nothing, just the slightest hint of surprise. I mean, so he slept with Darla, because he was in a bad spot. No news there. Been there, done that. At least I was spared the pregnancy thing. **OHGOD**. Maybe, I muse, that I can deal with the news like this it means I'm finally grown up. Or it means something else. Something I don't dare think about. When Wes finished his story, we simply sat there for a moment, not looking at each other, and we are still sitting, not talking, but I can feel the concern coming from Giles, although I don't understand it. Does he really think this is going to throw me? After all I've been through these past two years? Not very likely.

"Look," I say finally before gazing back at Wesley, trying to ignore the pleading in his eyes. "I know you are concerned because Angel isn't there, but I still can't see how this should concern me."

I see him flinch and I can hardly believe I said those words, but I do, and they come naturally. And they are true. Angel isn't my concern. Hasn't been for a long time. A lot has happened since he disappeared in the fog, his duster flapping behind him. I might have loved him once with all my heart, but I have changed and so - I assume - has he. We aren't the same people anymore who fell in love, something I can barely remember anymore these days. Angel hasn't been part of my life. I haven't been part of his. He might have gone for a vacation, only that a sunny beach and Angel don't really mix, but still.

"I wouldn't even know where to look," I tell Wesley. "I mean, I don't really know the guy, or rather what he's become. How should I know what he does. Besides the disappearing act isn't exactly new to him." And that one sentence suddenly opens a floodgate of memories. Angel giving me cryptic warnings, then disappearing for months to locations unknown. I remember his smile, him giving me his leather jacket that now is buried deep in my closet. No need digging that up again. No need digging up anything. Period. Suddenly feeling unsettled, I run a hand through my hair, then put it on my forehead,

"Wes. I can see you are concerned, but … I can't help. I have responsibilities of my own, I have to take care for my sister, there is my job - and I don't mean the Slaying, because unfortunately even a Slayer has to eat and buy clothes, and when they designed the position they didn't give us a handbook how to master our lives."

"Well," Wesley smiles slightly, "Originally the Slayers were separated from their families. Raised to simply do their duty. They were supervised and cared for."

I know that. Giles has told me the story before. And I so don't care. Between working daytime hours, and slaying demons during the night, there isn't a lot of time left for in depth thinking. Nope. No time. No fun for Buffy.

"And then," I add, "there is this little problem down in the cellar. Not that I didn't have enough already, but I couldn't send him away either. Not like this."

"You mean Spike?" Wesley says, and I realise Giles must have told him about the now soulful vampire staying in our basement. Emphasis on basement. So far he hasn't left it. And if Giles wouldn't take care of his meals he might have starved himself to death by now.

"You could bring him," Wesley offers. "Maybe … when Angel is back … well, Angel has gone through the same."

And he might be able to help Spike. Yeah, that thought actually occurred to me, too. Fleetingly. In the beginning, when Spike stood in front of our house one night, his eyes haunted, his usually cocky posture gone completely. Dawn wanted me to send him away, she hasn't forgotten what he tried to do to me before he left town, but I couldn't, and so I took him in. I hated it, hated to have him here, to feel his presence in the house, although I've managed to ignore him so far. I have only gone down once, when the pipes didn't work, but I didn't talk to him. Not one word since he moved in. Hell, I'm barely able to look at him as it is. Not just because he tried to rape me. The real problem is, I don't want to look at him and to be reminded of what I was for a while. I'm trying very hard to get my life back on track now, and Spike is a bad part of my past. Maybe the worst of all. But maybe - now with his soul back in his body - he feels it, too. And so he casts his eyes to the ground if I happen to be around. Which is good really, because if he would look at me, I might just stake him on the spot - soul or no. Or I might start feeling sorry for him, and I don't want that either, not after what happened before he left. I know it was his demon trying to rape me, and for a while then I even thought I earned it for treating him badly, but after he left, after I came back to my senses, I could hardly believe it anymore. All I see now is someone who tried to rape me and the idea of him close to me makes me want to gag. The problem is, I'm also the Slayer and I might not be there to protect vamps, but then this one has a soul and that's makes things a lot more complicated.

(("Don't." "You're going to let me inside you" "Please." "You'll feel it again, Buffy." "Spike, stop." "I'll make you feel it."))

I suppress a shudder, then turn back to my guest. "I'm not sure Spike is eager to see Angel," I tell Wesley. "I mean they were hardly friends before."

"Yes”; Wesley agrees, "I know that, but then - and you should know it better than anyone - a soul changes things."

As if he needed to remind me of that. I have seen Angel and his evil twin and now there's Spike. The difference is, when Angelus was around I never felt tempted. True, he wore Angel's face, but I never had a problem keeping those two apart. When I met Angel he had his soul, so Angelus was pretty much of a shock. I had convinced myself that Angel was a good vamp. Period. I was seventeen and in love and I just ignored the presence of the demon that is always living inside of him, and is keeping him alive. Or rather, undead. Even when Angelus was once again in control, the soul firmly back in its place, I could never forget about it. Some part, maybe the primal Slayer part, was acutely aware of the fact that Angel was a demon. And that changed everything between us. Where I had taken him without prejudice before, I shied away then, always afraid, always very aware of the beast inside of him, the beast that could be unleashed if we were not careful. With Spike, I only knew the demon. And I
wasn't Angel's Buffy anymore then. I had lost all my innocence when Willow and my friends ripped me from heaven and brought me back to where I had tried to escape from. And I didn't care anymore that Spike …

"Buffy." Giles gentle voice pulls me from my musings. "Maybe you should let Wesley finish his story."

"I thought he was finished," I snap, but instantly catch myself. It's not Wesley's fault that I still feel raw and unsettled somehow.

"Well, what is it? Armageddon coming?" That last comment was a joke, but the moment I look at the two watchers, I know I've hit right on the mark. "Oh you've got to be kidding me."

"It's serious, Buffy," Giles says.

I throw my hands in the air, "It's always serious, Giles. Serious is my middle name. So, the Armageddon is near, go find Angel, then deal with it." My voice sounds flippant and disinterested, while my stomach feels as if an army of ants crawls right through, like a foreboding.

"I found this prophecy," Wesley says, "It's the most accurate I've seen so far. You are part of it, and so is Angel. And also his son."

"Connor."

For the first time I say the name of his son, and as if only this is getting real, I feel a thoroughly unwelcome stab to my gut.

"I still can't believe Angel has a son," Dawn says, for the first time speaking up. "I thought vampires couldn't have kids. You told me."

"Yeah," I reply absentmindedly. Angel has a son. And he's all grown up now. A young man. Who has been abducted by one of Angel's friends, and Wesley helped.

"They can't," I hear Wesley reply to my sister's comment. "Not as a rule. But Connor was foretold. He is part of several prophecies so it seems. He's going to play an important part in the final battles."

"Uh-huh," I nod. "So your problem is, Angel is gone. Vanished. And Cordy, too. And there is this little End-of-the-world scenario brewing."

"Yes," Wesley confirms.

I stare at him for a long moment, already knowing that I have no choice, but not liking it at all. I don't want to go to L.A., I don't want to look for Angel, but I will, because I'm the damned Slayer and it's what I do.

"Buffy?"

I close my eyes, before taking a breath and looking at the door. Just keep throwing the problems at Buffy. She can take it, she is strong.

"Will," I say to my friend standing in the doorway. "Hey. I thought you were asleep."

Willow smiles slightly, her eyes huge in her pale and thin face. She must have lost ten pounds of weight she really didn't have to spare these last months, and I feel instantly guilty for my short moment of annoyance. My friend has gone through so much pain lately, I can't even grasp. She's lost her lover, held her dying body in her arms, then went into deep dark magic and is only now starting to recover. She lifts her hand now, shakily running it through her hair.

"Oh, Wes," she acknowledges the former watcher's presence. "I thought I'd heard a new voice down here."

"Willow," Wesley smiles at her walking over to greet her. "It's good to see you."

"Thanks," she replies, but her smile slips, and her eyes are searching mine, "I just … thought I'd make myself a coup of tea or something."

"Sure," I nod, "Go on. Maybe you can eat something."

She looks so fragile as if a breeze could blow her away, only a shell of the Willow I used to know, uncertain, and her eyes so incredibly sad you want to look away not to drown in them.

"Maybe," she says hesitantly, then disappears towards the kitchen.

His gaze sorrowful, Wesley turns to me, "She looks weak."

"She is," I confirm. "It's hard for her. But Giles found a therapist who deals with her kind of problems. It helps - a little."

"Yes," Wesley reclaims his seat, "Rupert told me about it. It's dreadful. Terrible."

"Yes, it is. And that's only one of the problems I have to deal with on a daily basis," I tell him, sighing.

"There are Xander and Anya who is back in the vengeance business, which is a real bummer for their relationship, but she's still around and that doesn't help a lot either. And last but not least our newly ensouled basement-inhabitant, I so don't want to talk about."

"I know this is a lot I'm asking for," the former watcher says, but his voice is firm and so are his eyes, "But I don't have a choice. This is too important."

I look at him, at Giles, glance at Dawn, who simply shrugs, already accepting what I'm still trying to deny. Then blowing out a long breath, I fold my hands in my lap,

"Alright, Wes. There is an Armageddon coming. So, hit me with what you've got."

I told my friends after the two watchers left the house, Wesley is staying with Giles until later. I called Xander and asked him if he wanted to come and of course he did, even asked if I'd mind Anya coming, and even though I was surprised I said I wouldn't. Not that I really see a future for them, with her being back in the vengeance business and all, but maybe they can at least establish some kind of friendship, heal their broken hearts that way. Dawn already knew about L.A. and as she had still two weeks of summer holidays left it wasn't even a question for her to go. Willow was shocked at first, wanted to stay, but I finally convinced her she had to come, because Cordy was missing too, and so nobody was left to help with computer research. That finally convinced her. And now I'm standing at the top of the stairs leading to our basement and can't remember ever having dreaded anything more than I'm dreading going down there. But I also know that I have to talk to Spike, it was my decision after all to let him live here, and so I'm slowly walking down, taking step after step as if I'm moving in slow-motion. I haven't reached the final step when I hear his voice, it's different somehow. Older, sad, guilty, and although I don't want to, I feel the slightest hint of pity.

"So you're going to L.A., huh?"

For a moment I wonder how he knows, but then I remember he's a vampire with all the abilities coming attached, including advanced hearing.

"Yeah," I reply. "You coming with us?"

"You want me to?"

"Not really," I tell him, and it's nothing but the truth. Getting away from his presence would be a real relief. He laughs at that, but it's not the cocky laughter I came to know, it's not like any laughter.

"Thought so." I pause and as my eyes get used to the dim light, I can finally see him sitting huddled against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest, his usually short and bleached blond hair grown long

**Didn't know vampire hair was growing at all**;, hanging shaggily around his shoulders. His clothes are rumpled and the smell that suddenly hits my nose isn't too good either.

**Can vampires transpire?**

"You should take a bath," I tell him, trying to ignore how prominent his cheekbones are. He's even thinner than before, almost bony, his eyes sunk deeply in his face, there is nothing of the deep blue I used to know, it's all dull and lifeless now. And somehow it's a relief. Because I'm not sure I'd be able to look into those blue eyes and not think of the way they changed during …

He laughs again, that harsh and painful sound, "So I can wash off the blood of my victims. Yeah. Good idea." He lifts something to his lips, and I see it's a bottle of alcohol, Giles obviously brought him.

"I'm not here to pity you, Spike," I say, "Are you coming or not?"

He takes another gulp from his bottle, then slowly nods. "Hell yeah. If this is about an Armageddon, I could probably help." He pauses, before adding quietly, "If you can use me."

"Yeah, maybe," I say. "We're going tonight. You can drive with Giles and Wesley."

"Can't stand having me around, huh? Hell, I don't blame you, I'm not very fond of me these days either."

I walk towards the stairs, then stop when he says my name.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to thank you," he says quietly, "for … you know … taking me in. I know I … after what I did-"

"Don't," I interrupt him, my voice unnaturally sharp. "I don't want to hear it."

"No," he whispers, "You probably don't. But I still wanna say thanks."

I close my eyes for a moment, "Be ready tonight," I tell him, then leave him in the darkness, alone with his bottle and his ghosts which I suppose are various these days.