Turnabout

Los Angeles

"So what's with the big emergency meeting? Where's the boss?" Charles Gunn took in the faces of his co-workers as he strode into the front door of Cordelia's apartment. While the official investigative offices wnow now situated in the Wolfram & Hart building, the original members of Angel Investigations used Cordelia's apartment as a secure meeting place. Phantom Dennis had effectively driven out every tenant that the realtor had tried to place since the AI team had been forced to give up the apartment during Cordelia’s stint as a higher being. It was Fred who suggested leasing the place again as a place to escape the constant vigilance of the Wolfram & Hart employees. The move stopped the ghost’s resentful and increasingly dangerous pranks on unsuspecting renters, in spite he fhe fact that the seer remained in her coma and hadn’t returned to the apartment. As an added bonus, Phantom Dennis warned them anytime the apartment had been bugged before any conversations could be overheard.

The AI crew had tried in the first few months of taking over the law offices to meet on a weekly basis in order to touch base with one another and preempt whatever conspiracies they were certain the lawyers would throw their way. However, within weeks, it became apparent that the first conspiracy centered around keeping them each occupied with diverse schedules peppered with well-timed emergencies that disrupted any weekly meeting times they scheduled. So they had fallen back on the habit of calling meetings only as absolutely necessary and never with more than an hour's notice. Hence 2AM on a Tuesday saw Gunn strolling into the apartment to find Wesley, Fred, and Lorne gathered in the living room with the similar looks of grim expectation.

"Gunn. Good to see you." Wesley nodded.

"Looks like we're just waiting on Angelcakes. You know, I'm as eager to avoid disruptions from lawyer-types as the next demon, but these middle of the night rendezvous wreck havoc on my beauty sleep." Lorne sighed dramatically.

"'Specially when the guy who called `em hasn't shown up. Or is he hiding out in the bedroom brooding?" Gunn gestured to the closed doors.

"Nope. He's not here yet. Leastwise, we haven't seen him yet. I got here first, but then Wes and e cae came in, and now you're here, so we're just waiting to find out why that is. That we're all here, I mean." Fred grinned at him.

"You're here because I need help." The group turned as one and four jaws dropped.

"Um, not to sound all suspicious or anything, sweetcheeks, but you are Angel, right? The brooding vampire who never, and I mean even when he's gone off the deep end chasing down lawyers and deranged family members never, asks for help?"

"People change."

"Yes, . Be. Be that as it may, Angel, you must forgive us our concern. Requesting aid is hardly a common occurrence for you."

"Yeah, havin' it forced on you with iron manacles and a couple swift kicks upside the head. Now that's the bloodsucker we know."

"I'm trying to prevent that." Angel walked the rest of the way into the room to join his co-workers. "I've got a problem. I want to run it by you, and you're probably not going to like it. But I'm going to need some extra muscle to help me out with this one."

"What's wrong?" Fred took in his haggard expression and decided to forestall any further discussion about discussion and get to the point.

Angel took a deep breath. "Spike's back."

Silence greeted the announcement.

Angel cleared his throat and studied his hands.

"Spike's back, and he wants to come to LA."

More silence.

"Why?" Wesley's voice rang through the room.

"Why is he or or why does he want to come to LA?"

"All of the above coupled with why would you even consider bringing him here now? Or at all? He's a vampire, Angel."

"But he's got a soul, Wes. He's got a soul now. And he's risen from the dead—-from dust just like Darla did. Well, probably not just like."

"You think Wolfram & Hart are goin' down that road again?" Gunn brought his head up sharply to stare at Angel.

"No. No, I don't think so. At least, if they are, it feels a lot different. No dreams or teasing glimpses ahead of time cal called the office."

"But, Buffy said he died, right? Down in the Hellmouth with all the monster vampires. How could he have called you?" Fred shook her head.

"Angel, man, how do you even know it was him? How do you know they're not playin' you."

"I don't. That's why you're here. That's why we're discussing this."

"Ah, I see. You don't want a repeat of the disaster that surrounded Darla."

"Do you?" Angel shot back at Wesley.

"What's the plan?" Gunn stepped in as tension grew.

"He's in Guilded Grove at a demon motel there. He wants me to come get him and bring him back to LA." Angel could see the protests rising and hastened to continue. "There's more. He says he's with one of the Slayer's friends."

"I thought they all went to England or Cleveland or something." Fred's face scrunched in confusion.

"Most did. One didn't. Xander Harris chose not to go with either group and stayed here in California. Spike says he's with Xander at a motel in Guilded Grove."

"A demon motel," Wesley clarified.

"An' he, what, can't hitch a ride on a bus or something? Get this Xander guy to give him a lift? Does this say trap in big neon letters to anyone else?" Gunn snorted.

"Neon, flashing letters," Wesley agreed.

"What if it's not?" Fred's timid voice broke into the uneasy quiet. "I mean, what if it really is Spike and he's back from Hell or some awful place and he's got a soul now, doesn't he? What if he needs help and we decide that we just don't trust him without even trying to find out if it might really be him and we leave him in some demon motel where he gets himself hurt or killed, again, or what about that Xander guy and can we just leave him there if Spike is all evil and what might happen to Xander?" Her memories of being trapped and alone in Pylea played at her sympathies for this figure who suddenly found himself back in a world that he most likely thought he was leaving forever. The four men stared at her.

"You have a point—-or several—-there cupcake. Last we heard, Spike had a soul and was saving the world. There is a chance that he's not out to destroy it or us now." Lorne nodded slowly.

"Are you suggestin' that we just send Angel off by himself to some demon place to give this vamp a lift?"

"No." Angel cut in. "Not by myself. I need some back up. And I need someone here to be researching anything we can find on the amulet that I took to Spike."

"Angel, it sounds like you've already decided what we're going to do about this. Why the emergency consultation?"

"Wes, I have to go. He's my childe. He called me as his Sire. But that doesn't mean I trust him entirely, and I need to find out as much as possible about what's going on. I came back from Hell to be a champion for the Powers. Spike dusted as a champion, but he's back now. I want to know who's responsible. And I want to keep an eye on him in the meantime."

"Right. Gunn, you go with Angel. Fred, Lorne, and I will research while you're gone. Take your cell phones and stay in touch. We will call you if we find anything that may prove helpful in approaching Spike. Will you bring him back to the Hyperion?"

Angel nodded. "Trap or not, it seems like the best place. If he isn't somehow already in league with Wolfram & Hart, I'd like to keep it that way."

"Yah, and we still have the cell and manacles in the basement just in case," Fred added brightly.

"So what d'we need to get going, boss?"

"Road map, gas in the car, and a trunkful of weapons."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guilded Grove

"Ooohh fuuuuuck," the low moan from the other bed snapped Spike out of his light doze. He got up and snagged the aspirin and bottle of water he had set on the bedside table.

"Xan?"

In response to the low voice, Xander contemplated playing dead. If he was really lucky, he would just be dead. No hangover, no memories, no conversations with unstable,geougeous, resurrected vampires. His head pounded as last night's events slammed through his mind. For a moment, he vacillated between yearning to be back in the vampire brothel under the ministrations of those sharp fangs and wishing that he had just begged to be drained last night. He couldn't face the morning, himself, or Spike. Who, curiously, seemed to be waiting patiently for an answer. Shit. Of course he can tell I'm awake. Stupid vampire senses. He took a ragged breath and opened his eye.

"C'n you sit up a bit? Be easier to take these." Spike carefully held out the hand with four aspirin lying in the palm.

Xander watched the vampire warily as he sged ged himself into a semi-upright position against the headboard. He reached for the aspirin, but suddenly pulled his arm back against himself when he saw his bare skin.

"Uh, Spike, can I have my sweatshirt please?"

"Cold, pet?"

"No. Uh, I mean, yeah. It's just… feeling a little naked here." He grinned weakly.

"Exposed?" Spike casually offered as he set the water and aspirin on the bedside table within Xander's reach before moving to the dresser to extract a t-shirt. Hen't n't want the boy to struggle over the whole nudity issue, but he was not going to let him just cover up those scars and try to pretend all was well. He handed the shirt over, wordlessly watching as Xander struggled to put it on without letting his arms move away from his body.

"Thanks." Mumble and averted eye.

"Pills. Water." Spike settled himself back on his bed, facing Xander. The man obediently tossed back the four pills and chased them down with half the bottle of water.

"Sorry." Another mumble and flushed cheeks.

"For what?"

Silence greeted the gentle question.

"What exactly are you sorry for, mate?"

"Last night. Taking off on you. Sorry."

"Not that simple."

"Fuck, Spike. What do you want me to say?" Shame, despair, anger all shaded the words. Xander's hands clenched his arms repeatedly as he struggled to hold himself together. He did not want to be having this conversation. The whiskey beckoned from the bottom of the closet, promising an oblivion that he could escape into. Spike watched the man's eye flicker over to the closet.

"Not gonna happen. Water an' juice are all yer getting' today. Whiskey's not much good for dehydration and anemia."

Anemia. Xander rolled the word around in his head. A nice, clinical, safe word. Like he had a condition that could be cured.

"So what exactly are you sorry for, Xan?" Again the low, gentle voice.

Xander retreated into silence. He closed his eye and gently swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He paused to let the head-pounding and nausea recede before hoisting himself to his feet. As he opened his eye to make his way across the room, he found himself face to face with his vampire nursemaid.

"Spike, move. Gotta pee." Xander made a move to shoulder past the smaller man, but found his arm caught in a vise-grip.

"Don't." A low growl.

"Don't pee?" Xander aimed for his goofy joking guy demeanor, "Not really an option for us human types, undead not-so-evil guy." He gave a tug on his arm and tried to maneuver away from his captor.

"Don't play. This is serious." He held onto Xander's arm, pressing purposefully at the recent wounds.

"Yes, I seriously have to pee. Now let me GO!" He yanked away from the vampire and turned too quickly, losing his balance and landing hard on the worn carpet.

"Fuck!" The curse rang across the room. Xander grabbed his head with one hand and pushed himself back into a sitting position with the other, leaning back against the side of his bed.

"Fuck." He swore again, quietly, "Why can't you just leave it alone, Spike?" He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped trembling arms around his calves.

The grief and shame that poured from the brown eye meeting Spike's gaze begged to be let off the hook. The usual morning-after litany took up residence in Xander's head. Stupid. Evil. Dirty. Weak. Pathetic. Loser. Settled on Stupid, Stupid, Stupid as he closed his eye against Spike's presence.

Pity and concern extinguished the initial flare of temper at Xander's brush-off. Spike lowered himself to the floor across from his stricken friend. He laid a hand gently on the man's head.

"Can't leave it alone, pet." He moved his hand push a sleeve up, exposing the raw, red scars on the inside of Xander's right arm. "Won't leave you alone."

"Just go, Spike. Find Buffy. Go save the world or something."

Spike flinched at the steely bitterness of the words.

"Already done that. Guess I got other things that need takin' care of now."

"Other things being me? Do I get to be some pity case? Gonna follow in Deadboy's footsteps and save my soul? Don't fucking bother. There's nothing to save." Xander dragged himself to his feet and shoved past Spike to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Bloody fucking hell.