| P.O.V. By Kuzibah |
| Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Evil Fox. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. Rated R for language. Sixth and final (for now) in the Graffiti series. The first five parts are �Future Imperfect,� �Past Tense,� �Predicate,� �Indefinite Article,� and �Gerundive.� Follows immediately after �Gerundive.� It�s about four years on. Buffy is dead, and Spike has moved in with Angel to work on his� you know� the �R� word. Oh, he�s also been cursed with a soul. Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. ******************* Angel let Spike sob in his arms, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words he knew were useless until the younger vampire had no more tears to cry. He asked the humans to leave them alone, and Spike looked up only long enough to hoarsely whisper, �No, Dawn,� leading the youngest among them to crawl onto the bed as well and rub comforting circles on his back. Then, when his sobs trailed off, he swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and began to talk. He poured out the shame that was still overwhelming him, the offenses that rose in his mind as the most heinous, that stood out even in the flood of horror that was drowning him. Some Angel knew about: his mother, the unrequited lover, the two slayers, China and New York. Some were not surprising, their cruelty typical of Spike: babies snatched from their mothers� arms, children drained slowly to death. He had always preferred the young. But some were totally unremarkable, the vividness of the memory something of a mystery. A young man in New Orleans, dragged into an alley, who whispered �Marie� before he died. A prostitute in San Francisco hired for half a dollar, and left lifeless in her cell-like �crib.� The old man in Istanbul who had looked Spike right in the eye and licked his lips like a satisfied cat. Angel and Dawn listened calmly, without judgment, only letting the younger vampire, who now looked so very young, get out what he needed to. Almost an entire day passed, and just before sunset Spike fell into exhausted sleep so suddenly, it was as if someone turned a switch. They pulled his bedclothes around him, and while Dawn went to her room, Angel sat nearby, in case his boy woke up, and needed him. - - - - - - - - - - Wesley I enter Angel�s rooms as quietly as I can, balancing a tray with two warmed mugs of blood on one forearm. Angel and his offspring have sequestered themselves here for two days, and even if the tiny icebox in the kitchenette had been crammed with blood, which is unlikely, I�m sure it would be gone by now. That�s my excuse, anyway. Truthfully, my curiosity about the success of the spell we placed on that brat of a vampire has been almost too much. The creature in question is completely unconscious when I enter, curled up on the bed. His appearance in repose is startling to me; he was barely more than a child when he was made. Angel sits nearby, dozing in his chair. I consider withdrawing until one of them wakes up when Angel�s eyes open. He looks at me, then immediately shifts his gaze to the other. Only when he has been satisfied that his childe is safe and undistressed does he look back and rise to his feet. He takes the tray from me and sets it on the bed-table. �Thank you,� he says quietly. I move to the bedside and look down at the sleeping vampire. �How is he?� �It was hard,� Angel says. �He�s in a lot of pain.� �It�s for the best, Angel. He�s better off, in the long run.� �I know,� he says. �But he�s hurting, and I know there�s nothing we can do.� He leans over the bed, touching his childe�s shoulder. He wakes with a start. �It�s okay, William,� Angel says, and I think �Who?� for an instant before I remember this is his given name. His human name. �Wesley brought us breakfast. Sit up.� I wonder if Angel realizes how he sounds, like he�s talking to a four-year-old, and I think that maybe he is falling into older patterns. He�s told me he used to beat his offspring when they were young. Angel holds out a mug and hunger flashes across the other one�s face. Then in a second it becomes disgust. �I shan�t drink any of that horrible fluid,� he says in a posh, slightly haughty accent. I am so astonished my mouth actually drops open. If a panda bear wandered into the room and began to discourse in perfect Cantonese, I could not be more shocked. Angel, of course, looks shattered. I know what he�s thinking: It�s my fault this child is a vampire, and now I must force him to drink. �It�s butcher�s blood,� he says. �It�s not�� �Now see here,� I say. �If you don�t eat you�ll become ill. And there�s nothing wrong with this blood. It�s from cows and swine. So you�ll drink it and like it.� That last bit came out a bit harsher than I intended. I think I heard my father�s voice. Luckily, Angel is looking at me with an amused expression. �Yes,� he says. �Wesley was nice enough to fix this for you. You should at least try some.� The other one looks unconvinced. �Come on,� Angel says in a saccharine tone. �There are baby vampires starving in Africa that would love some nice pig�s blood.� Spike, or William, or whatever, smiles in spite of himself, and rolls his eyes slowly. �Give it here,� he says, Taking a mug. �I just got souled,� he mutters, �I didn�t turn into a moron.� Then he sips some blood, grimaces slightly, and sips some more. �Good,� Angel says, and takes the other mug for himself. I watch the two of them working through the latest chapter in a relationship that has spanned one and a quarter centuries, partly as a Watcher, bloodless and dispassionate, as I have been trained. But more so I watch as a member of Angel�s family, one he�s created for himself out of various mismatched parts, and I think that this is how he relates himself to the world. First, as Angelus, he was lord and father of his little band. Now, with all of us, he takes on the patriarchal role again, but where he once ruled with iron discipline, he has become a nurturing force. And now the prodigal has come back to hearth and home, and I cannot help but wonder how much of his decision to make himself a pariah among his kind was influenced by his relationship with �father.� Is he, perhaps unconsciously, seeking his Sire�s approval, as sons have always done? As Angel, and even I have always done? Are vampires really not so different from us after all? - - - - - - - - - - Dawn We all stayed for three days before we had to go home to Sunnydale. I spent a lot of time with Spike. I mean, it�s not Spike anymore, but I can�t think of him by another name. See, what happened was, the next day, after they cursed him and Angel and I sat up with him, he was so sad. I�ve seen Spike cry before, a couple times, but I haven�t seen him like that since Buffy died. Wait, I was telling about his name. Anyway, I went to his room and said, �how are you, Spike,� and he kind of winced. So when we sat down I asked if he still wanted to be called Spike. He said that wasn�t really who he was, now, so I asked if I should call him William and he kind of winced again, but said that would be okay. I could tell it wasn�t okay, but he didn�t want to say so, so I asked what he wanted me to call him. He got this funny look on his face, a little half smile like when he used to tell me stories about himself in the old days, and said when he was a little human boy his friends called him Will, and if I wanted I could call him that. I asked why he switched to William and he looked a little embarrassed. �I thought it sounded more serious,� he said, and then he said something about being presented, which I didn�t quite get, but I don�t think it was important. Then I asked him if his mom or dad gave him any nicknames, and he said he couldn�t remember his mother calling him anything but William. I kind of felt bad about that. Mom had a million nicknames for Buffy and me. They made me feel special. Maybe that�s why Spike makes up nicknames for everyone else, because no one ever gave him one. Anyway, then I thought to ask if his dad called him William, too, and he said he never knew his dad because he died in some war before Spike was born. Then I felt doubly bad because I may not see my dad that much but at least I had one. We talked about Buffy, too. He told me how he thought for awhile she might come back, like she did before, and I told him I thought the same thing, but this was different. There weren�t portals or other dimensions or gods involved, she was just killed. And then he started to cry again, and I realized he knew that better than me. We hugged each other and cried, and then he told me how happy he was he had been cursed because now he understood how to love me better. That surprised me, so I asked him didn�t he love me before. He hugged me tight and said of course he did, as much as he could, but this was different. He tried to explain, then, and said it was like movies, how when they first started they were black and white, but they didn�t call them black and white, they just called them moving pictures because they didn�t know they would be able to do color someday. But then when they started making color films they saw that the black and white films were just missing something. I think I understood, and I�m glad he has the whole picture now. Ways Spike is Different Wants me to call him Will instead of Spike. Talks different (more like Wesley- never tell him that) I was going to write that he isn�t so angry and seems a little sad, but he was like that before he was cursed, so maybe the soul is doing what the chip used to do. I remember arguing with Buffy once that the chip was the same as the soul, and maybe the result is the same, but I see the difference now. Spike might be sad, but I see he has someplace to go to, instead of just staying sad and frustrated, like with the chip. The soul lets him grow, like Angel has, so even though it�s hard for him now, I know it will get better. Ways Spike is the Same He still talks a lot and has his nervous energy He still uses nicknames for everybody He still loves Buffy and misses her He still promises to take care of me Before we left to go home to Sunnydale, Spike borrowed Angel�s car and took me for a drive around the city with the top pulled down. He said he was going to work it out so I would be �discovered� and made into a famous movie star, then I could stay in Los Angeles and we could see each other every day. I don�t think he was joking, well, not about me staying here, anyway. He took me to Mann�s Chinese Theatre, and I tried my foot in all the footprints, then we went and looked at some of the sidewalk stars. We tried to find a place called Schwab�s Pharmacy, where some old actress was supposedly discovered, like a new island or a diamond mine, but they must have torn it down. There was a Virgin Megastore there, but they never heard of Schwab�s. Then he wanted to go to the Hollywood sign, which I thought would be cool, but when we got up into the hills, it turned out that you can�t get there easily. You have to go over fences and stuff, and I guess that makes sense, since supposedly all those people over the years have jumped off it and died. Spike thought we should just go anyway, he even offered to lift me over the fences, but I chickened out, so we just drove around and looked at all the mansions instead. I miss him and I know he misses me. If I asked him to come back to Sunnydale I know he would, which is why I couldn�t ask. He needs Angel now, I can see it. He needs someone who understands what he feels. Someone who knows how to deal with the demon and the soul. The night I left we stood so close together, his arms in a circle around me, and he whispered into my ear that he was still holding to his promise to protect me, and he sounded just like himself again. Then he hugged me, and patted my hair just like Buffy used to, and then he kissed me right above the eye. - - - - - - - - - - Cordelia It was very strange coming back to work. I mean, to me, it only seemed like a few days; I don�t remember anything between falling asleep the night I was taken and being cut out of that cocoon a year and a half later. So when I came back to the hotel ready to pick up where I left off, I found the formerly homicidal and psychotic, currently very neurotic Spike hanging around, my filing system completely gone, and half the hotel re-decorated. On the other hand, they�ve hired an assistant for me, so I guess I can�t complain. Anyway, my second week back on the job, I was reading over some cases that Angel had asked me to familiarize myself with, when I heard this banging in the file room, followed by some pretty raw language, then Hopey, my assistant, came running out, saying something in Spanish under her breath. Three guesses who was in the file room. I probably should have gone to get Angel. After all, he understands Spike better, plus he�s had first-hand experience with curse-related growing pains, but when Hopey�s retreat was followed by three more crashes, I decided to save my paperwork. I threw the door open, prepared to scream Spike into submission, only to find him standing in the middle of a bunch of scattered files, his hands over his face. He was taking deep, shuddering breaths, like he was trying to get control of himself, so I stood there and watched without making a sound. After a minute or two he dropped his hands and looked at all the papers on the floor. Without taking a step, he dropped down into a crouch and began gathering them together. �Spike?� I said softly. He looked up guiltily and gestured at the strewn files. �Little accident,� he said. �Give me a few minutes and I�ll�� I stepped into the room and stooped down to help him gather all the files up. �You want to tell me about it?� I said. He didn�t say anything until we had dropped all the loose sheets on the table and I started to sort through them. Then he said, �I�m sorry I lost my temper like that.� And let me just tell you, on the list of things I never thought I�d hear Spike say, that was numero uno. I didn�t answer, and in a minute he continued. �It�s just� Hopey and I were working in here, and she said I should get Angel to give me a salary.� He paused again, and I could tell he was trying not to get emotional, so I waited. �And I could see my *whole life,* hundreds and hundreds of years, being Angel�s bloody file clerk.� He growled low in his throat, pushing down the anger. �I bloody well hate this,� he said, his voice quiet. �I�ve turned myself into a useless freak.� �Sit down,� I told him, adding �please� when he looked up with those anger-filled eyes. He did and I sat across from him. �I know how you feel,� I said, and he snorted and rolled his eyes. �Not exactly, of course,� I went on, �but�� I took a deep breath myself. �The day you all brought me home from the hospital was one of the worst days of my life.� He looked surprised at that, and I knew I had his attention now. �When Gunn got that vision and I didn�t, and you all went to get that little girl and left me there� I just cried. I mean, I was vision girl for four years, and now I�m not anything.� All the anger left his face, then, and he nodded slowly. �Yeah, that�s it,� he said. I took his right hand in both of mine, the one that had half of it chopped off, or bitten, or whatever, and ran one finger over the smooth scar tissue where the rest of it should have been. �But I�m not here because I�m vision girl,� I said. �And I�m not here because I�m a great secretary, either. Gunn�s not here because he�s now vision boy, Wesley�s not here because he�s so big with the research, and you�re not here because we need another vampire.� Spike looked away from me, then, but he let me keep holding his hand. �Angel cares about all of us,� I said. �We�re his family. And you�re even more, since you�re the same blood and all.� He turned back, and I could see real pain on his face. �I don�t belong anywhere,� he said. �That�s not true and you know it,� I said, and it was Queen C talking. �I know you�re dealing with a lot, but there�s someone upstairs who knows exactly what you�re going through, and he�s just waiting for you to ask him about it. So stop trying to out-Angel Angel and just go talk to him.� He blinked at me, a little stunned, and then nodded. �Okay,� he said, then gestured to the papers. �You need me to..?� �I�ll take care of it,� I said. He stood up and gave me one of those little smiles, the new ones that aren�t smirky at all. �Thanks,� he said. �I told you I�d be holding your hand sooner or later,� I said, going to work sorting the files. That did get me a smirky smile, then he went up to Angel�s rooms. Later on, he came through the lobby and apologized to Hopey, then he went down to the basement for a few rounds with the heavy bag. Even later, Angel thanked me for sending Spike to talk to him. - - - - - - - - - - Wesley and I have been talking, and after hearing Angel tell all his stories about adjusting to his soul, we both think Spike is doing better at it. Wesley�s theory is that Spike has a mentor that Angel didn�t have. That may be partly true, but Wesley didn�t know Spike before. He wasn�t in Sunnydale during that horrible year; he wasn�t here when Spike nearly tortured Angel to death, and can I just say that I have no idea where Angel found it in him to let that bygone be bygone. If he had been, he would have seen what Angel and I saw: that Spike was practically a shorter, thinner, blonder version of the Brood King himself *way* before the curse. And when the host told him he needed a soul, it seemed like a forgone conclusion to me. It�s hard, I know it is. But Spike�s a survivor. He�ll be okay in the end. - - - - - - - - - - 4 am, The Hotel Hyperion Spike�s eyes slid open as he heard his door unlatch, and he sat up, peering into darkness so complete, even he could see nothing. A few feet away, Angel struck a match, and Spike winced away from the sudden flare of light. The older vampire lit a candle on the nightstand and dropped into his customary red velvet chair. �The power�s gone out,� he said softly. And then Spike noticed the silent stillness in the hotel also. �How are you feeling?� Angel asked. �A little better,� Spike said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He saw that the candle-flame was flickering, throwing wildly shifting shadows over the planes of Angel�s face. �The soul troubling you?� Angel asked, and there was something in his tone that set Spike on edge. �No more than usual,� Spike said warily. �No overwhelming guilt?� Angel pressed. �No existential angst? You haven�t been crying yourself to sleep, have you?� And Spike actually *had* cried, alone in the dark, but alarm bells were ringing now, and he wasn�t about to admit it. �Who wants to know?� he said, suspecting it wasn�t an entirely rhetorical question. Angel shook his head and laughed, then looked back at his childe with an unyielding eye. �I can�t believe I ever sired something so stupid,� he said. �You actually let them curse you. On purpose!� At these last words he jumped forward in the chair, his face inches from Spike�s own. �You dumb bastard. Did you forget everything I taught you? Do we need to start again from the beginning?� Mongoose-quick, Spike struck Angel�s face with an open hand, clawing him and pushing him away at the same time. With a howl of outrage, the older vampire attacked, while Spike thrashed against him like an animal. At last Spike struggled out of the bedclothes and away from his Sire and scrambled out into the hallway. He fell onto his hands and knees, crawling a few yards before climbing to his feet again. The passage was as dark as a mine shaft, and Spike stumbled forward by instinct. His bare feet felt the worn carpet give way to tile and he skidded to a halt, trying to figure out which way he had run, where on this floor was the hallway uncarpeted, when bright lights snapped on above him. He felt his legs buckle under him with sudden fear as he recognized the sterile containment labs of the Initiative. The sudden light awaked the demons in the cells around him and they let out various noises of protest. Spike swung around madly, searching for an exit. �Hostile seventeen,� said a voice distorted by an intercom. �Remain where you are. Operatives are on their way to collect you.� A door opened at one end of the hallway and four armed soldiers with masks entered. Spike spun away from them and started to run. He came up against a dead end, and then his arms were seized and he was dragged backwards. �Let me go,� he shouted, kicking and thrashing to no avail. �Let me go, you sons of bitches, or so help me�� But he was lifted onto an examination table and secured by straps. Two scientists in lab coats entered, followed by a third carrying a stainless-steel tray full of instruments. �You fuckers touch me,� Spike threatened, �and I�ll rip your goddamned arms off.� �Restrain the hostile,� one of the scientists said, and a soldier stepped forward to slam the butt of his rifle against Spike�s head. The vampire felt the ridges surface on his face, and then a hard rubber gag was jammed into his mouth. Another strap was bound across his forehead, holding him immobile. �We�re ready to begin,� the scientist said. �Bring in the first observer.� A door opened, and a woman dressed in the cheap finery of a Victorian-era tart approached the operating table. Her skin was ash-gray, her eyes dark and sunken, and her throat hung open just as when the newly-arisen William had inexpertly fed from her 125 years before. �And what is your payment?� the scientist asked her. The prostitute tried to answer, but without her throat she could only make a gurgling moan. Spike struggled helplessly against his bonds. She lifted one hand and pointed to the vampire�s arm, and the scientist cut a long strip of flesh from Spike�s bicep and handed it to her. She exited silently, and Spike bit down on the gag, determined not to scream. �Bring in the next observer,� the scientist said, and a gray-haired woman in a heavy dressing gown made her way in. The wounds in her throat were more precise, though still ragged, and she was spattered with blood from head to foot. �William,� she said. �I should have expected this from you.� Spike shook his head violently, trying to deny his mother�s presence, only to see her joined by his third victim, Cecily. The girl had clearly gotten the worst of his temper the night of his rising; her clothes hung in bloody shreds and she was ripped open from jaw to belly. With one finger, she pointed to the vampire�s heart, and despite the gag, Spike began to scream. Then he felt a heavy hand strike his face, and he opened his eyes to see the worried face of his Sire above him, and himself in his rooms at the Hyperion. - - - - - - - - - - Angel I didn�t know he was dreaming at first. I thought he was crying. He�s done that a few times since he got his soul back, but I pretend I can�t hear him, and he pretends he�s not doing it. That�s working out well, so far. So when I heard those little whimpering sounds coming through the wall, the ones that bring me fully awake in an instant, I thought it was just more tears. It was when he started screaming that I bolted from my bed and ran to his room. He was in full vampire form, all fangs and brow, and his body was rigid as he howled in terror. I shook his shoulders and shouted his name, and when I got no response, I slapped him, hard. He jerked awake, his golden vampire eyes wide with fear, and swung his head wildly to take in the room. One of my hands was on his shoulder and I felt him relax beneath it, even as he took harsh, unneeded breaths. �Sire,� he gasped. �Angel.� �Shh,� I said, trying to calm him down. �It�s me. You�re safe. It was just a dream.� He sat up and covered his face with his hands. �Oh, God,� he said, �it was so horrible.� He was shaking, still, and I stepped away from him to turn on the lamp. He blinked at the sudden light, then stood and made his way to the bathroom. I heard him run water onto a cloth, and he exited running it over his face. �Do you want to talk about it?� I asked. He gave me an odd look and sat on the edge of the bed. He tossed the washcloth into the clothes-hamper. �No, I don�t think so,� he said, but of course he went on. �I�ve always had bad dreams,� he said. �You�d think that would be one of the things that stopped, something that was only for living people. Now I�m having nightmares about all the things I did. People who would have been long-dead anyway.� �That�s not the point,� I told him. �No,� he agreed. �I know. But bad dreams won�t help me, and I know it�s just my subconscious.� He looked thoughtful. �When you dreamed about� before,� he asked, �when did they finally stop?� �They never did,� I said. He looked sad at that, but not surprised. �But it gets better, right?� �It did,� I said. �I had a lot of false starts. I was pretty much out of my depth the first century. Then I got help. You�re ahead of where I was because I�m *your* help.� He smirked a little. �Well, that�s reassuring,� he said, and even though his tone was mocking I knew he believed it.� Get some sleep,� I told him, getting up to leave. �Do you need anything?� �No, I�m okay now,� he said. �Thanks, Angel,� I nodded. �Anytime.� - - - - - - - - - - Gunn He isn�t Spike anymore. He�s William. I get that. I never met Angelus, but I�ve heard the stories so I know it�s like a whole new personality. Only this one isn�t. I mean, there are differences, it�s not that, but he�s basically the same as before the soul. Cordy and Wes talk about it a lot, but Cordy remembers what he was like way before the chip. She�s told me, and even though I believe her I honestly can�t imagine it. But anyway, I have no problem remembering he�s William, now, because he looks so different. That white hair is gone, but more than that, there�s this� openness on his face. Where he never used to show confusion or sadness, it�s all there now. It makes him look younger, which is weird, because he�ll always look the same, as long as he lives, which could be centuries, really. So, his clothes changed, too, I mean as much as they can when you don�t own much. He�s been borrowing Angel�s clothes. Not the stuff he wears all the time but the things Cordy buys him that he�s real polite about wearing once and that you never see again. Polo shirts, patterned sweaters, that kind of thing, but let�s be serious, Angel could make two of Spike, so it all just hangs on him. And his leather coat? The one you couldn�t get him out of a few weeks ago? Hopey found it ripped into little pieces and stuffed in the trash. She told Angel about it and he sighed and brooded, and then he asked me to take William and some of the petty cash and pick up some new clothes. Which is why I�m dragging this scrawny-ass vampire through the all-night Old Navy down by the Rocky and Bullwinkle. But that�s not what you care about, is it? Yeah, I know, you�re all wondering how I ended up with Cordy�s visions. Or I guess I should say Doyle�s visions. What? You didn�t think I knew about him? Of course I do. I mean, nobody sat me down and gave me the whole A&E Biography special, but I pieced together enough. He may not be around, but his shadow�s still hanging over Cordelia and Angel. So I know she got his visions when he kissed her right before he died. So. Stands to reason I must have kissed her right before she disappeared. Well, you�re right. Yeah, I did. But it wasn�t what you�re thinking. It wasn�t some big romantic confession where we fall into each other�s arms like in the paperbacks they sell at the Circle-K. It was the start, a little something-something between friends that might have been more if the girl hadn�t of been kidnapped by giant spiders in the dead of night. Julia Roberts ain�t exactly trying for the movie rights, you know what I�m saying? See, it happened like this. I was driving her home, and we got drive-thru coffee at Java Heaven, and she starts talking about how she never gets to meet anybody nice. I tell her she�s too picky and she meets plenty of nice guys. You see where this is going, don�t you? I mean, I don�t have to draw you a map, or anything? Anyway, by the time we get to her place, I couldn�t *not* kiss her. And it was nice, I won�t lie. Soft. Nervous. And she looked at me with those brown eyes and said, �what just happened?� And I laughed and she laughed, and she said she�d see me tomorrow. But she didn�t see me tomorrow. And when she was two hours late and didn�t answer the phone, Wes and Angel and I went to her apartment. Her ghost let us in, and we saw her bedroom, the window smashed in, the curtain half pulled down, and her sheets streaked with blood. Her blood, Angel said. We looked everywhere. Angel shook down all the demon lowlifes we knew, went as far as Vegas and Frisco looking for information. Wesley, God bless him, buried himself in books. I don�t even think he slept the first few days. Then, a week after she disappeared, I got the first vision. When I told them what had happened, it was like a light went out in our lives. We figured it could only mean that Cordy was dead. Angel got even more depressed, and Wesley got pissed off. All of us were determined to find out who did it, but we didn�t and you know how that turned out. All of which brings me to being half passed-out with the second seed contender for world�s saddest vampire trying to cushion my head with one of those red, white, and blue striped bags. �Move on,� he says to two people who are stopping to stare at us. �He�s just a little sick.� He touches my head and his fingers are cool. It feels nice. He�s staring at me, trying to be calm. �What do I do?� he says. �It�s okay,� I say. I pull my cell phone out of my jacket but my hands are shaking too hard to dial. He takes the phone from me and punches in Angel�s number, then hands it back, and I almost laugh because even after five years, his �Dad� still hasn�t gotten the hang of that. Wesley answers and I tell him what I saw, a pack of bird-looking demons pulling what looked like a high-school basketball team off a school bus. I hear Cordy checking the inter-varsity sports website for away games, then Mapquest for their likely route home. �Can you meet us?� Wesley asks. �Are you well enough to drive?� �I can drive,� William says, and he gets me to the truck and we�re gone. We find the school bus run off the road into a ditch, leaning way over to the side. There are two cars alongside it, metal plates welded on where the windows should be, and two of the demons from my vision standing by in case anyone stops. They weren�t counting on me, or a thoroughly pissed-off vampire. �I don�t suppose you want to do this the easy way,� I say, and they slide down from the hoods of their cars. �That was a stupid question,� William says, and we all throw ourselves at each other. We�re slashing with weapons, they�re slashing with eight-inch claws. We finish them off just as Wesley and Angel arrive. Typical. Then William�s sniffing the ground and trees like some kind of big ol� dog, and points into the darkness. �This way,� he says. �Those were (something) demons,� Wesley explains as we follow William into the woods. �In order to reach maturity, the males must ingest a quantity of human growth hormone. Generally they get it from infants, but one of the players for Pius X has gigantism, according to their site.� �A human buffet,� I say. �What about the rest of them?� �Probably just snacks,� William says. Damn, I hate it when they talk like that. Just then Angel freezes, listening, and William does, too. �They�re up ahead,� Angel says, and there is this sudden, horrible scream. Angel lurches forward, then stops himself, and William starts growling like the sniffing earlier wasn�t a fluke. �Blood,� William says. �Lots of it.� And the two of them take off, leaving Wes and me to try and keep up. I see them up ahead, their shadows against this bonfire light in a clearing that came out of nowhere. We rush in behind them, and just like that, I�m swinging my axe in a big circle. I see one of the kids on the ground, still in his uniform, and his left foot is gone and the meat is hanging in ragged chunks. He�s the one who�s screaming. I keep turning and see two of the demons with pieces of this guy�s *foot* still hanging out of their mouths, and then I kind of lose track of things for a few minutes. When I come back to myself the demons are all in pieces, Wes and Angel are trying to calm down the kids from the bus, and William is cinching his belt around the wounded guy�s knee to cut off the blood flow. �Let�s go,� Angel announces, and we start walking back to the road with all the players plus two coaches and the driver. I�m a little surprised to see William, small as he is, carrying the wounded boy. It�s that vampire strength, I guess. - - - - - - - - - - Spike Even the oldest vampire remembers, with singular clarity, the moment he *became,* shrugging off the mantle of mortality like so many rags. I do, everything: the way my face burned with shame until quenched by my princess�s cold embrace, her lustrous, porcelain beauty, and learning the true meaning of passion as it welled and spilled from my throat. You see, don�t you? The poet never did die, despite my systematic and determined efforts to do him in over the years. I do like to think, though, that he has learned not to indulge his tendency toward amateur excess. I mean, �effulgent.� Really. What the fuck was I thinking? So for all these years, several lifetimes now, I have re-made myself. Consciously erased that mousy, middle-class, pathetic little loser. Created Spike. The Big Bad. Killer of two Slayers and Childe of the Scourge of Europe. But the poet had a tenacity I hadn�t anticipated, and he was just waiting for the mask to slip. Getting the soul back? It�s kind of a relief, actually. Don�t tell Angel. It�s different for him and he wouldn�t understand. So where were we? Right, the basketball player. Got his foot bit off and I ended up carrying him back to the road and loading him into an ambulance, talking to him all the way so he wouldn�t go into shock. He told me his name was Jim, and he was a senior. Played point guard on his team. Then he got real quiet. I thought he�d passed out, so I asked him how he was doing. �How�s my leg?� he asked. �Your foot and part of your leg is gone,� I said, then, �I�m sorry.� He didn�t answer, but after a minute I heard him start to cry. �I have a scholarship,� he said, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. I really didn�t know what to say. I mean, a few things popped into my mind, like, �I could give you back to those demons,� or, �at least you�re not Savrlak kibble,� or even, �it�ll be okay, Jim,� but that really wouldn�t make him feel any better. So I just said, �I�m sorry,� again, and patted his shoulder as well as I could while I was carrying him. Anyway, Wesley had called 911, so there were emergency vehicles all along the road when we got back to the bus. I took the boy to a van with those flashing lights that said �Paramedic� along the side, put him down on a stretcher. �Thanks,� he said to me, letting the doctors or what-all go to work on his leg. They pulled him into the van and I just stood there watching, not believing he thanked me. Thanked me for what? Must have had the impulse ingrained on him early by the nuns. Angel came up behind me, put a hand on my back. �You did a good job, William,� he said, and I laughed; I couldn�t help it. �That boy lost his leg,� I informed him. �Yeah, but he�s alive to talk about it,� Angel said, voicing almost exactly what I�d been thinking. �If we�d just been there a minute earlier�� I started, but he stopped me. �You can�t think that way,� he said. �We can only do the best we can, and hope that it�s enough. None of those boys died. If we hadn�t been there all of them would have. I�ll take that.� �I know,� I said. �I just feel bad for him.� And then Angel began to laugh, very quietly. �What�s so damn funny?� I snapped. �Nothing,� he said, serious once again. �You�re just having a soulful moment.� And I had to smile at that, myself. Damned soul, giving me these *feelings*. �Let�s go,� Angel said, patting my shoulder, and we all returned to the hotel. Angel made breakfast for all of us, plus Cordy, who was still around. I can see why he doesn�t eat, anymore. It doesn�t seem to have much point since I got cursed. I�ve started thinking about a lot of things more long-term, lately. And I�m starting to understand Angel�s point of view a little better now. He�s right, I think about the things I�ve done all the time, and I get disgusted with myself. But nothing I do will bring those people back, and they can�t forgive me because they�re dead. So I�m starting new from here, trying to nurture the soul. And Angel can keep saving the world and his Shanshu, and walking in sunlight and marrying some good woman and raising a pack of kids. I don�t want it. Even after everything, I still believe becoming a vampire has been a profound experience, and I wouldn�t trade my unlife, or Dru, or Buffy, or even my toff of a Sire for a hundred Shanshus. So I�m not Angel. I never was. But I�ll find my own redemption and he�ll find his. We�ll each atone in our own way. Neither of us will find the path easy, but I believe we�ll follow it, and now we�re not going it alone. If it took a gypsy curse, a hellmouth, a pretty little slayer, and a U.S. Government certified brain chip to bring us here, I reckon there�s a reason. And I�m willing to pursue it as long as it takes. ~William, Los Angeles, 2005 ~fin~ Main Menu ~ Return to Graffiti Series Menu |