Family Reunion Part 4
Mar. 18th, 2007 10:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightI think it's important to keep up the momentum in this story so I'm posting part 4 today and will post part 5 tomorrow. For rating/setting/pairings etc see Part 1. Previous parts are here.
In this part, both Spike and Annabelle learn a lot they didn't know before.
Family Reunion Part 4
Today was the day. Annabelle was supposed to be listening to Connor doing his reading but she kept losing the thread of it and so did he. She felt very tense, though she didn't know why. Maybe just at the mere thought of change.
Things didn't change much in the lair as a rule. Darla insisted on Connor having a proper routine with everything by the clock, which suited Annabelle as it agreed with what she'd been taught at Norland College. She got up when Connor did, which varied by a few hours from day to day so that sometimes they were awake in the middle of the night and sometimes during the day. She washed and dressed him and gave him breakfast. Then she was supposed to take him for a walk which, since the incident in the tunnel, meant wandering round the abandoned station and as often as not, spending a while in the old lift shaft listening to the eerie rushing of air as the trains screamed past below.
After that, Connor was supposed to have lunch and spend some time with his parents, which seemed to involve playing PS2 games with Spike or watching TV. Then Annabelle was meant to teach him reading for an hour – it was no use trying to explain she wasn't a teacher and didn't know how- before he had tea and got ready for bed. Sometimes Darla would read him a story before bed and sometimes she wasn't in the mood and wouldn't, and that was about all the variation there was. It was all so weirdly domestic and very much like the routine in the house of Annabelle's employers from before she was kidnapped. The Firbanks, too, had seen very little of their own children and when they did see them expected them to be perfectly behaved.
Today had started off no differently but in spite of that, Annabelle knew today was the day the mysterious Angelus was coming. Erroll and Ravinder had disappeared the previous night and hadn't come back yet and everyone else was very on-edge. It had been the same before Dracula's visit too.
"Go on." Annabelle gestured at the page Connor was supposed to be tackling. "What's that word?"
Connor had been staring towards the door of his bedroom. He could hear far better than she could, Annabelle knew. "What is it?" she asked, at last, when the boy didn't answer. Connor's storm-coloured eyes came back to her face and he considered her very seriously for a moment. Then he said, "He's here. He's arrived."
"Your father?" Annabelle hadn't meant to say the word but it slipped out anyway and she couldn't help flinching slightly at the look on Connor's face.
"Angelus." The boy's voice was inhumanly cold to match his expression. "I want to go and see."
He didn't wait for her permission, but then he rarely did. Instead, he got up from his chair and opened the door into his mother's room. Hurriedly, Annabelle followed him. There was no sign of Darla or Spike and the door was open onto the bricked-in corridor beyond. Connor was across the room and gone in a flash. Annabelle hurried after him, seized with the usual terror when he managed to get out of her sight. If anything happened to him, he wasn't the one who would suffer the consequences.
By dint of running as fast as she could, she caught up with him at the top of the stairs in the cross tunnel leading to the main part of the station. She grabbed hold of his hand tightly and ignored his indignant look.
"You're not supposed to wander about on your own, Connor. You know that."
"If I want to," he said, with absolute certainty, "you can't stop me."
Annabelle bit her lip hard. She wanted to slap him. Instead, she took some deep breaths to prevent her from squeezing his hand too tight. "We'll see what your mother says about that," she said in her best stern-nanny voice.
Connor regarded her for a moment with his usual disconcerting self-sufficiency. Then he walked on, but now, as a vast concession, he allowed his hand to be held. Once, he paused, sniffing the air like a dog, then went on in the same direction. A train passed below, the sound rattling loudly in the enclosed space of the cross tunnel. The vibration through the metal handrail made Annabelle's fingers numb. When the sound had receded, she could hear footsteps approaching and then Connor stopped dead.
"Careful with it! Stupid twat!" It was Spike's voice. He and Darla were coming towards them followed by Erroll, Ravinder and two of the minions, Jez and Simon. Between them, Annabelle realised, the four were carrying a large wooden coffin balanced on their shoulders, like a party of sloppily dressed undertakers. It was the way Dracula had been brought into the lair too. The coffin was very unbalanced because Ravinder was so much shorter than the other three.
"What are you doing here, baby?" Darla came abreast of them, her eyes on Connor as always. "Mama said to stay in your room." She flicked a glance at Annabelle that promised trouble. Annabelle looked away. It didn't do to meet Darla's eyes.
"I wanted to see." Connor sounded stubborn. His own gaze was fixed on the coffin being carried past. He licked his lips and scowled. Then he said, "Why did you let him come here, Mama? We don't need him."
Darla squatted down in front of him so that their eyes were on a level and at once, Connor's gaze swung back to her and fixed there. There was a sort of communication between them, Annabelle had often thought, that didn't seem to require anything in the way of words.
"We don't need him," Darla agreed. She glanced back over her shoulder at Spike, who had paused the coffin-bearers nearby and was standing waiting for the order to continue. Darla lowered her voice even further and just then a train went by below. Annabelle doubted that even Spike could hear what Darla said. She herself caught only the very end of it. "We don't kill family," Darla was saying. "You know that."
That seemed to be some sort of secret code because Connor grinned rather nastily and said, "Yes, Mama. I remember."
"Good boy." Darla stood up again and held out her hand to him. Connor took it at once and the procession carried on, leaving Annabelle alone.
For one wild moment, she considered making a run for it. There couldn't be that many minions between her and the spiral staircase and if she ran fast enough, maybe they wouldn't realise until it was too late. She poised on the balls of her feet but then slumped back again. It was hopeless. After all, she didn't have a key to the door at the top. She became aware then that Spike was still nearby, standing at the head of the stairs that led down to the platforms. His hair glowed like a pale flame in the dim light of the cross-tunnel.
"Don't even think it, Belle," he said. "You'll be dead long before you reach the surface."
"I wasn't." She tried to protest but she knew he must hear the lie in her voice. At any rate, he did that displaced air thing again and was at her side in a moment.
"I don't have time to waste on you now," he said, and his voice was deadly. "Just remember – you aren't the first nanny Connor's had and I doubt you'll be the last."
"I'm sorry!" She shut her eyes but the tears squeezed through her eyelids anyway. She could hear him sniffing her again like an animal and she froze, shaking all over. Then he said, in a kinder voice – much more what she was used to from him: "S'okay, love. I know you are. Just do all right by the kid and you'll be fine, you'll see."
Annabelle risked opening her eyes again to find him smiling at her – the electric smile that lit up his whole face. In spite of herself, she smiled back.
"That's my girl," he said. He took her arm carefully, as if he didn't want to spook her, and led her towards the stairs down to the platform. She went with him. There was no point resisting and besides, he was being nice now and she desperately needed someone to be nice to her.
As they went down, they met Darla and Connor at the bottom. They were still holding hands.
"All settled, is he?" Spike asked in a nonchalant tone.
"No thanks to you." Darla sounded a little on edge and Annabelle shrank back, putting Spike between them. Connor was staring at her, smiling, and that was almost as scary as the look on his mother's face.
Spike ignored Darla's rebuke. "Erroll didn't need my help," he said. "He's a competent enough bloke, love – got the old bastard here intact, didn't he?"
"You just didn't want to see him," Darla's voice held a hint of a sneer. "He looks magnificent, Spike – just as he always did."
Spike had gone very still and Annabelle, pressed against his back, felt a faint shudder go through his whole body. She had the impression of some kind of game being played, one with which both vampires were only too familiar.
"He'll ruin everything," Spike said, suddenly. "I fucking warned you, you stupid bitch."
And suddenly, he and Darla were in each other's faces, glaring, all yellow-eyes and snarls. Darla had let go of Connor's hand and the child was standing a little to one side, eyes fixed on his parents' sparring as if it was a show put on for his benefit.
There was what seemed like an interminable silence while the two vampires bristled and Annabelle wondered whether to take Connor's hand and run before he got hurt and she was blamed. Then suddenly, Darla smiled – a hideous thing to see on her vampire face – and at the same time Spike's features did that weird sideways slide they did, becoming human again. He dropped his gaze.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," he muttered. "I'm a bad, rude man." He said the words and then he frowned and shut his eyes, as if at a painful memory. Darla meanwhile shook off her own vampire features and took Connor's hand again. She put her other hand up to Spike's face to stroke his cheek. "I told you to trust me, William. You must do that or what use are you to me?"
"I do trust you," Spike protested, "just not round – not round him." And he gestured in the direction of the platform beyond.
"Dear foolish boy." Darla's voice was silk - a caress. "It's round him you should trust me most. You'll see." Her hand lingered on Spike's face a moment longer and then dropped back to her side. "Come along, baby," she said to Connor. "Mama will read you a story before bed tonight, okay?"
"Thank you, Mama." Connor looked smug. As he and his mother went past them, Darla's eyes swung round to Annabelle, cold and green as a winter sea.
"You," she said. "Next time I tell him to keep in his room, make sure he does it. Understand?"
"Yes." Annabelle kept her gaze on the floor until they were gone. She very much had the sense now of having eavesdropped on a conversation she wasn't supposed to hear about things she didn't understand at all. She hardly dared look at Spike in case he was angry again.
He didn't seem to be, though. Instead, he shuddered all over, shrugged and grinned at her. "I need a cuppa," he said. "Coming, Belle?" And he led the way in the direction of the kitchen.
*
The girl was frightened and Spike could hardly blame her. She wasn't privy to all the sordid details and yet she was stuck in the middle of this whole cock-up, same as the rest of them. They walked along the tunnel-like corridor that squeezed between the maze of rooms on one side and the bricked up platform on the other. A sudden gust of hot air through the grilles that lined the wall heralded the passage of another train. Soon, the transformers in the tunnel were screaming its arrival and it thundered through the abandoned station, whipping up clouds of choking dust that made Annabelle turn her head to the side and cough.
There was no way, hearing that bloody racket every five minutes that Angel wouldn't work out soon enough where he was.
Spike kept hold of Annabelle's arm. He led her in the direction of the kitchen, steadfastly not turning to look the other way – towards where Angel was locked in the so-called guest room. Erroll and Ravinder were taking the first watch and at least Spike could be sure their attention wouldn't wander. Some of the others weren't quite so reliable. He'd already checked over the entrance to Annabelle's hidey-hole in the empty room next door and satisfied himself that Angel couldn't fit through it – not unless the old man had lost a lot of weight since he'd last seen him anyway - but just in case, he'd double-locked the door.
Ravinder was looking at him, Spike knew, but he didn't turn and acknowledge her. She'd been brown-nosing like no one's business to get him to forgive her for challenging his authority but he wasn't ready to let her off the hook just yet. He had to soon, though.
This whole leadership thing was such a delicate balancing act. Push Ravinder too far and she'd be going behind his back to Darla before he knew it.
Jez and Simon were coming back up the passage from the direction of the meat locker. Jez was wiping his mouth. They paused outside the door to the minions' quarters to see if Spike wanted anything but he waved them away and they went inside. As if at the very thought of food, Spike's belly rumbled and he frowned, thinking about the nice fresh blood pumping through the veins of the girl who walked beside him. He hated all this self-restraint business – would never have put up with it back when it was just him and Dru. Still, the locker was a bit better stocked at the moment – two or three homeless kids and some nutter that Erroll had picked up at Speakers' Corner busy telling the world and his wife they were going to hell. He hadn't been wrong, Spike thought, pleased with the notion – just hadn't realised he'd be going there first.
"Make us some tea, love." He sat down at the table and put his boots up on it, gesturing the girl towards the necessaries. She had a nice body, he thought, as she boiled water and spooned tea into the pot – remembering to swill it out with hot water first, of course – nice tight arse on her and long willowy legs. Her face was pretty ordinary, though – pudding-shaped and definitely on the pasty-side after six months kept in the dark living down here with them. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and she'd certainly do at a pinch. It was a pity that Darla had put her off limits, but then that injunction itself had limits. They'd have to get rid of her one day.
Spike had toyed with the notion of turning her but in the end decided against it. As far as he knew, no one had ever turned a Potential Slayer before and you never knew what could happen. It just wasn't worth the risk.
"You must be wondering what the fuck is going on," he said to Annabelle as she put his mug of tea down in front of him and then sat herself opposite, perching gingerly on the edge of her chair.
"A bit." Her blue eyes flicked upwards in his direction but then she looked down at the table again. She was scared stiff of him, not surprisingly.
"It was rude of me not to explain before, love." Spike took a healthy gulp of tea – she'd made it just the way he liked it – then grinned at her startled face. He'd soon have her eating out of his hand again.
"You ever have break-ups in your family?" he asked. "Stuff like that? You know – everyone shouting at everyone else and stopping just short of murder?"
"My parents are divorced." She volunteered the information tentatively – still wary but with that very useful eagerness to please showing through. "It happened when I was eight."
"That must have been tough on you." All those years of watching soaps on telly came in handy sometimes.
She flashed him a grateful look. "I was at boarding school," she said, as if that explained everything.
"Yeah? Nice place, was it?"
Now she looked wary. "It was okay. Some of the lessons were – well, they were strange. Anyway, my parents sent me to a different school when they separated. They had a big argument about it and Mother won." She looked uncertain for a moment longer and then she said, "Mother was drinking."
"Families, 'ey? Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." Spike took another swallow of tea and she did the same. Her eyes were locked on his face now. She was beginning to relax.
His tea mug had left a wet circle on the chipped formica table-top. Spike ran a finger round it for a moment, pondering how much to tell her – that whole balancing act thing. In the end, though, keeping her reassured – making her feel part of the family – seemed more important than keeping secrets. After all, it wasn't as if she'd live long enough to tell them to anyone outside.
"You know the bloke in the coffin is Connor's real dad?" he asked, and she nodded. She'd been there at the assembly after all. Spike allowed his disgust at the whole notion to show in his face. "Darla – the Mistress, that is – see, she made him. He's hers the way Erroll and Ravinder are mine."
"You mean she made him a vampire?" Her eyes were big as saucers now. She looked shocked. "So he's sort of like – her son?"
"Hardly." He grinned. "We don't make people vampires because we want kids, love. We do it because we want them full-stop, yeah?"
"Like you and Erroll." It was a statement of fact and he could see it had cost her to make it. Her face was bright red, which contrasted horribly with her strawberry-blonde mane of hair. He wondered what bothered her more - the fact that Erroll was male or the fact that Erroll was black.
"Yeah, like me and Erroll. Anyway, Angel's not like other vampires. He used to be but then he got cursed by Gypsies. They gave him his soul back and now he's stuck with a guilty conscience just like all you humans."
He paused for a moment then he tilted his head on one side and licked his lips, watching the minute changes in her demeanour – smelling the incipient virginal arousal. He could have her now if he wanted, in spite of what he'd done to her, and it'd be sweet. After all, he'd killed two Slayers but he'd never got to fuck one. "We don't have them, you know – consciences."
She was still staring at him, as if mesmerised. "I know. Erroll told me."
"Still have our families, though – and our family quarrels. Connor – well, he shouldn't really exist. Vampires don't have kids like that – not the way humans do."
"He said he was the only one." She was paling again and all it had taken was mention of the kid's name. Spike could sympathise with that.
"So anyway, he's pretty special. There's a vampire prophecy about him – an old one written down centuries ago. I always thought it was a load of bollocks till I set eyes on him but – well, you've seen him for yourself."
She nodded and now – oddly – just for a moment, he wasn't playing with her any more. They really were in sympathy.
"His mum thinks he's this Miracle Child, sent to lead the world's vampires and make us rulers over it – and I'm inclined to think she's right."
The words were out there now. Spike realised that he'd never said them before – not out loud – not to anyone. He felt choked suddenly with the weight of his responsibility and with fear too at what Connor's rule might mean. He'd had long enough to think about it and he didn't always like his thoughts.
Still, plenty of time before he had to worry about that and a lot could happen before then. For instance, with Angel stashed away just two doors down, it could all go arse-over-tit tomorrow.
The girl was still staring at him. She lifted her mug to her mouth and drank more tea but she kept her eyes on him. Spike took a moment to bask in the small exercise of power. Then he said: "Anyway, Angel – that's the kid's dad – wants to take him away from us – bring him up like a human – and we can't be having that."
"So why is he here?" Ah, the six million dollar question – the one Spike had been asking himself for weeks now.
"He says he's accepted that he can't have him – he says he just wants to pay his respects, like old Dracula. You remember him, don't you, Belle?"
She nodded, looking slightly bemused. Of course, the old fraud's fame had gone before him, as usual.
The memory of Dracula's visit made Spike smile to himself all the same. That had been something to remember all right. There was a lot to be said for compound interest.
"You don't believe him – Angel, I mean?" She wasn't quite as stupid as she looked, he'd noticed long ago. He grinned at her.
"No, I don't – but we'll see what we'll see, won't we?"
He dismissed her then, sending her back to her charge looking slightly less scared and lonely – and that was a good thing. He didn't want her spooked so thoroughly they had to kill her before they were ready to. He followed her to the door of the room and lit a cigarette – stood smoking it contemplatively while the trains rushed by outside. He'd often wondered if anyone noticed any funny goings-on from the windows as they passed but maybe they'd put it down to tricks of the light. Of course, some of the drivers probably knew and Spike was pretty sure that these days the trains actually speeded up when they went through the abandoned station.
Cigarette finished, he ground the butt out beneath his heel and made his way down the corridor to pay respects of his own.
*
"Angel wanted to take him away from me." Darla was sitting next to Spike in the front seat of the De Soto with the brat held tight in her arms. She'd wanted him to get hold of one of those kiddie car seats but he'd persuaded her they didn't have time for such niceties. He was in a hurry to get to the container port in Altamira.
"Yeah, you said." He glanced across at her worriedly. She'd not impressed him with her sanity in the last few days. However, she looked perfectly calm at the moment – too calm, maybe, considering what was after them. How these cultist tossers had tracked them down so quickly, Spike didn't know, but there was no way he was letting them take what was his, and Darla was definitely his after the last few days. She'd made that pretty clear. He couldn't think how he'd ever forgotten how glorious it was to fuck her.
The rest of what was his lay trussed up on the back seat next to the terrified wet-nurse, who was herself tightly bound and gagged. He'd have to steal food for the bloody woman all through the voyage, Spike thought, which was a pain, as was setting up the larder they'd need for themselves. He could do with a few minions to help with the donkey-work but he didn't have the time to make or train them.
He was worried sick about Dru as well. Ever since Darla and the kid had arrived, Dru had been impossible. If she wasn't ranting and raving, she was hunched in a corner singing to herself and crying bitterly. It was something to do with the baby, Spike knew it, and he knew that Darla knew it, and yet somehow he didn't tell her to piss off and take her unwanted brat with her. Instead, he fed Dru mandrake he'd taken from a local bruja whom he'd killed just for her stash of herbs, so that Dru spent most of her time asleep. She'd hardly fed for days now and she looked terrible, pale and ill, like she had done after Prague.
"They all want to take him away from me – his father – those cultists." Darla was talking again. "Don't they know who I am?"
"What do you mean?" Spike was keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He didn't want to give the traffic police an excuse to pull him over.
"I don't think you know who I am either, Spike." She was looking at him now, instead of down at the baby. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw her face change to its vampire features. "I'm my sire's heir," she said, portentously. "Head of the Order of Aurelius."
"What?" Spike turned to gape at her and was struck again by her resemblance to old Nest. He'd always thought it uncanny, as if she were really the fruit of the old goat's loins. Now she even sounded like him.
"Watch where you're going!"
Spike realised he was steering in towards the kerb and he corrected himself quickly. A huge tanker thundered past them in the outside lane, making the old car shake – and not just the car. Spike felt a tremor go through his own body – something familiar and unwelcome. He remembered being taken to visit the Master back when he was newly turned. He'd done his very best not to impress and succeeded rather too well and afterwards, Angelus had pretty much flayed him alive and then when no one was around to see, licked up the blood from his raw back and told him he was proud of him.
Apart from that, Spike remembered most vividly the claustrophobia of the Master's lair – the sense of being trapped deep underground with hordes of devoted minions blocking the way back to the surface and freedom. Vampires loved a charismatic religious leader the same as humans did.
"You know -" he spoke carefully since he wasn't sure how sane Darla was – "I've never been the religious type and I don't mean to start now. The way I see it, s'all bollocks – a way of keeping the credulous in their place."
"I'll have to see what I can do to change your mind." She sounded so confident it gave him the creeps. He supposed she could be said to have whatever god cared about vampires on her side, what with this miracle baby of hers. The baby was an uncomfortable fact that couldn't be ignored even by him.
He decided to change the subject.
"So, what'd he do? Angel, I mean."
When he glanced at her again, she was back in human face and the Darla he knew once more – or the one he thought he knew – beautiful and seemingly vulnerable and desperate for his protection. There were actual tears in her eyes and that gave him pause, because he'd never seen her cry, not even when she'd lost Angelus to the Gypsies.
"He didn't do anything," she said. "He didn't have to. I know he was going to kill me, though. He thought I'd harm the baby." Her voice grew soft suddenly and she looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. "I thought I'd harm him, for that matter. I remember I told him to do it – to kill me if he had to. It was the baby's soul, growing like a cancer inside me."
"So why didn't you?" Spike really wanted to know this because if she had, it would've saved him a lot of trouble.
She still had that soft, wondering tone in her voice. "I meant to. Those friends of Angel's were the only ones in the room – Wesley – he was the one who found the surgeon – and Gunn, standing guard over me while Angel was away sorting out money business. I should have killed them when I had the chance, I guess, but I was in too much of a hurry."
"Pity." Spike hadn't met either man and hoped he never would. Angel on his own was bad enough, let alone trailing an entourage of fawning human lackeys. "So what happened then?"
"The cultists – the same ones after us now - broke into the hospital to take the baby and while Angel's humans were fighting them, I took my chance and ran – took the baby as well. I was going to kill it – leave its body for Angel to find to teach him a lesson. Except –"
She stopped talking. She was looking at the kid again - staring rather, as if she couldn't look away.
"Except what?" Spike prodded her to continue. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see that the wet-nurse was crying again, something she'd been doing a lot and which was really getting on his nerves. A quick look over his shoulder showed him that Dru was still out for the count, though, so that was something.
"Except – when I looked at him – really looked, I found I couldn't do it. He's mine, Spike – and nothing and no one is going to take him from me."
And just like that she'd gone all fierce mama-lion on him again. Spike couldn't wait to get to Altamira.
*
When Spike entered the room, Angel was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He looked groggy still after the flight and the drugs and so on.
"Can't say it's nice to see you." Spike closed the door behind him and leaned against it. His legs felt shaky. "Still – at least you're not Slayer-whipped any more."
Angel's hands dropped away from his face instantly. He looked haggard and ill-fed and his face was thinner than Spike remembered it, but still beautiful – oh, yeah.
"Sorry for your loss, by the way." Spike tilted his head to one side and grinned. He hoped he sounded as insincere as he felt and a lot more confident.
"If you say her name, I'll kill you." Angel's voice was bleak and he obviously meant what he said but Spike laughed anyway. Outside, another train thundered by and plaster-dust rained down onto them both. Angel's eyelids flickered.
"Yeah, yeah, I know it's bloody obvious where we are." Spike fished into his duster pockets for his pack of cigarettes and took it out. He paused for a moment then held the packet out to Angel, who, after a brief hesitation, took one. Spike lit it for him, tensing slightly as Angel leaned forward, his cheek almost brushing Spike's hand. Angel glanced up at him and smiled thinly.
"Afraid to touch me, William?" He inhaled and blew out smoke.
"You never know – that poxy soul of yours might be catching." Spike pulled up a chair. He thumped down into it and for a while they smoked in silence. Spike examined his sire under his lashes, knowing Angel was doing the same to him. The old man might have lost bulk since Sunnydale but he'd grown in stature somehow in spite of that, and in spite of his situation, he looked annoyingly sure of himself.
"They sorted out this Slayer succession business yet then?" Spike asked eventually. He didn't know whether Angel would answer him but nothing ventured, nothing gained. In any case, it seemed he was in luck, because Angel leaned back against the wall and said, "Not exactly. The whole thing is snarled up in bureaucracy."
This was interesting. Spike's outside sources had been completely silent on the matter for months now and they were usually pretty good at worming information out of the unwary – and so they should be after all those years of sneaking around and living in the shadows.
"Yeah? How's that, then? I heard the Slayer after your one died in prison, so what's with all the hold up? Why isn't there a new one?"
"Faith didn't die." Angel's voice remained bleak - almost hollow, somehow. "She was murdered because she insisted on serving out her sentence." He took a drag on his cigarette then said, "The world needed a Slayer."
The tone of voice in which he said that last gave Spike pause. He eyed Angel suspiciously and dark eyes stared back, cold and assessing. He could see his death in them if Angel ever had the chance. He wondered what Angel could see in his.
"Fuck!" Spike said, after a moment, and he whistled softly. "Didn't know you still had it in you, Angelus old son. How'd you get near her, then?"
"I used to visit her." Now Angel's voice was positively wintry. "She thought I was a friend – and the name's Angel, not Angelus."
"Nice one!" Spike ignored Angel's protestation and raised an imaginary glass to him. "Welcome to the Slayer-slaying club, mate – took your time joining it, didn't you, but better late than never."
He tensed as he spoke, expecting a furious assault of some kind, if only verbal, but Angel continued to regard him like his future executioner and hardly reacted at all, except to say, "Forget it, Spike. The joining fee was more than I wanted to pay."
Spike laughed. It seemed having a soul meant tying yourself in all sorts of uncomfortable moral knots. "Well," he said, "someone had to do it, didn't they, for the sake of puppies and Christmas or whatever-the-fuck? Might as well be you – after all, there's no way you're gonna be washing out that damned spot from your hands any time soon, is there?"
Angel's expression didn't really change but somehow he looked defeated suddenly – old.
"No," he said. "There isn't. At any rate, there is a new Slayer but it turns out she's Iranian and very religious. She won't take up slaying until she gets a fatwa from the supreme Ayatollah decreeing it's her Islamic duty."
"Bloody hell!" This got better and better, Spike thought. "So the old boy's not been forthcoming yet?"
Angel shook his head and the grim expression on his face said as clearly as words could have, that the girl would only be allowed so much time to prevaricate before she went the way of her predecessor. Suddenly, Spike felt almost sorry for his sire. It was obvious he'd got in way over his head with the Watchers' Council – doing their dirty work for them. Probably, the sad old twat thought of it as some kind of penance or maybe a way of honouring his dead Slayer's memory. He should have known better. He might have a soul but he'd mortgaged it to others.
He leaned forward in his chair and put an earnest expression on his face.
"Why are you telling me all this? Token of your good faith, is it?"
"After a fashion." Angel dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out with his heel. The air in the enclosed room was blue with smoke. "Cousin Vlad did tell me you'd expect something in return for the honour of a meeting with the Mistress and the Miracle Child."
The words rolled off Angel's tongue easily enough but Spike could tell he didn't believe in them. Nice to know the old man was still as much of a sceptic as he'd always been, barring that one funny moment he'd had in Sunnydale – the Acathla business.
"S'funny to think of you and old Drac swapping pleasantries," he said, grinning, and this time Angel grinned back.
"Kind of a surprise to me too. I'm glad I don't owe you money."
Spike laughed and Angel joined him – proper belly-laughter that for a moment took Spike back to any one of a hundred moments he'd shared with Angelus. There'd been some good times once upon a time, along with all the bad ones. Spike had to bite his lip to keep from reminiscing about some of the run-ins he'd had with Dracula over the years. After all, this wasn't Angelus and no matter how forthcoming he'd been about the Slayer business, Angel was here with only one thing in mind.
"Yeah, well," Spike said, once the laughter subsided, "if the old git had only paid me back years ago, he wouldn't be going begging to his distant relatives for money in return for services rendered, would he?"
Angel looked up at him sharply and at once, his face was deadly serious again.
"I don't know what you mean."
The room shook as another train thundered by, and Spike realised there must have been others in between and he hadn't even heard them. He stood up – not that being shorter bothered him; just that one time, it'd be nice to look down on Angel.
"Don't play games with me, Angelus," he said. "We both know why you're here and it's not because you've brought the frankincense and myrrh or whatever-the-fuck, is it?"
For a moment, Angel looked so angry that Spike thought he was about to go for him – either that or bawl him out for blasphemy – but he did nothing; just sat there, his whole body tense with fury.
As casually as he could, Spike lit another cigarette and blew the smoke in Angel's direction. "Just want you to know I'm on to you, that's all. You're not getting him back, mate. Kid belongs with his mum – always did – and when you see him, you'll understand why."
"He's my son," Angel said, then, putting heavy emphasis on the word. "He's human. He has a soul."
Spike knocked on the inside of the door and heard the key in the lock.
"He's your son, yeah -that I grant you. As for the other stuff – jury's still out on those."
The door opened and he slipped through it and out, leaning against it with his full weight while Erroll did the same - just in time, as Angel's body slammed into it at full vampire speed. For a moment, his fists pounded on it, and then he gave up.
"Trouble?" Erroll indicated the pounding with his chin and cocked an eyebrow.
"Not really." Spike realised he was shaking all over now and he jammed his hands in his duster pockets, hoping Erroll wouldn't see. He turned his back on him and began to walk away.
"If he gets out of there," he said, "kill him – don't hesitate for a second."
TBC
Notes:
Speakers' Corner: a place at the edge of Hyde Park where people can - quite literally - get up on their soap boxes and rant about whatever they want, watched by an appreciative audience who are busy indulging in that fine old British pass time of pointing and mocking.
In this part, both Spike and Annabelle learn a lot they didn't know before.
Family Reunion Part 4
Today was the day. Annabelle was supposed to be listening to Connor doing his reading but she kept losing the thread of it and so did he. She felt very tense, though she didn't know why. Maybe just at the mere thought of change.
Things didn't change much in the lair as a rule. Darla insisted on Connor having a proper routine with everything by the clock, which suited Annabelle as it agreed with what she'd been taught at Norland College. She got up when Connor did, which varied by a few hours from day to day so that sometimes they were awake in the middle of the night and sometimes during the day. She washed and dressed him and gave him breakfast. Then she was supposed to take him for a walk which, since the incident in the tunnel, meant wandering round the abandoned station and as often as not, spending a while in the old lift shaft listening to the eerie rushing of air as the trains screamed past below.
After that, Connor was supposed to have lunch and spend some time with his parents, which seemed to involve playing PS2 games with Spike or watching TV. Then Annabelle was meant to teach him reading for an hour – it was no use trying to explain she wasn't a teacher and didn't know how- before he had tea and got ready for bed. Sometimes Darla would read him a story before bed and sometimes she wasn't in the mood and wouldn't, and that was about all the variation there was. It was all so weirdly domestic and very much like the routine in the house of Annabelle's employers from before she was kidnapped. The Firbanks, too, had seen very little of their own children and when they did see them expected them to be perfectly behaved.
Today had started off no differently but in spite of that, Annabelle knew today was the day the mysterious Angelus was coming. Erroll and Ravinder had disappeared the previous night and hadn't come back yet and everyone else was very on-edge. It had been the same before Dracula's visit too.
"Go on." Annabelle gestured at the page Connor was supposed to be tackling. "What's that word?"
Connor had been staring towards the door of his bedroom. He could hear far better than she could, Annabelle knew. "What is it?" she asked, at last, when the boy didn't answer. Connor's storm-coloured eyes came back to her face and he considered her very seriously for a moment. Then he said, "He's here. He's arrived."
"Your father?" Annabelle hadn't meant to say the word but it slipped out anyway and she couldn't help flinching slightly at the look on Connor's face.
"Angelus." The boy's voice was inhumanly cold to match his expression. "I want to go and see."
He didn't wait for her permission, but then he rarely did. Instead, he got up from his chair and opened the door into his mother's room. Hurriedly, Annabelle followed him. There was no sign of Darla or Spike and the door was open onto the bricked-in corridor beyond. Connor was across the room and gone in a flash. Annabelle hurried after him, seized with the usual terror when he managed to get out of her sight. If anything happened to him, he wasn't the one who would suffer the consequences.
By dint of running as fast as she could, she caught up with him at the top of the stairs in the cross tunnel leading to the main part of the station. She grabbed hold of his hand tightly and ignored his indignant look.
"You're not supposed to wander about on your own, Connor. You know that."
"If I want to," he said, with absolute certainty, "you can't stop me."
Annabelle bit her lip hard. She wanted to slap him. Instead, she took some deep breaths to prevent her from squeezing his hand too tight. "We'll see what your mother says about that," she said in her best stern-nanny voice.
Connor regarded her for a moment with his usual disconcerting self-sufficiency. Then he walked on, but now, as a vast concession, he allowed his hand to be held. Once, he paused, sniffing the air like a dog, then went on in the same direction. A train passed below, the sound rattling loudly in the enclosed space of the cross tunnel. The vibration through the metal handrail made Annabelle's fingers numb. When the sound had receded, she could hear footsteps approaching and then Connor stopped dead.
"Careful with it! Stupid twat!" It was Spike's voice. He and Darla were coming towards them followed by Erroll, Ravinder and two of the minions, Jez and Simon. Between them, Annabelle realised, the four were carrying a large wooden coffin balanced on their shoulders, like a party of sloppily dressed undertakers. It was the way Dracula had been brought into the lair too. The coffin was very unbalanced because Ravinder was so much shorter than the other three.
"What are you doing here, baby?" Darla came abreast of them, her eyes on Connor as always. "Mama said to stay in your room." She flicked a glance at Annabelle that promised trouble. Annabelle looked away. It didn't do to meet Darla's eyes.
"I wanted to see." Connor sounded stubborn. His own gaze was fixed on the coffin being carried past. He licked his lips and scowled. Then he said, "Why did you let him come here, Mama? We don't need him."
Darla squatted down in front of him so that their eyes were on a level and at once, Connor's gaze swung back to her and fixed there. There was a sort of communication between them, Annabelle had often thought, that didn't seem to require anything in the way of words.
"We don't need him," Darla agreed. She glanced back over her shoulder at Spike, who had paused the coffin-bearers nearby and was standing waiting for the order to continue. Darla lowered her voice even further and just then a train went by below. Annabelle doubted that even Spike could hear what Darla said. She herself caught only the very end of it. "We don't kill family," Darla was saying. "You know that."
That seemed to be some sort of secret code because Connor grinned rather nastily and said, "Yes, Mama. I remember."
"Good boy." Darla stood up again and held out her hand to him. Connor took it at once and the procession carried on, leaving Annabelle alone.
For one wild moment, she considered making a run for it. There couldn't be that many minions between her and the spiral staircase and if she ran fast enough, maybe they wouldn't realise until it was too late. She poised on the balls of her feet but then slumped back again. It was hopeless. After all, she didn't have a key to the door at the top. She became aware then that Spike was still nearby, standing at the head of the stairs that led down to the platforms. His hair glowed like a pale flame in the dim light of the cross-tunnel.
"Don't even think it, Belle," he said. "You'll be dead long before you reach the surface."
"I wasn't." She tried to protest but she knew he must hear the lie in her voice. At any rate, he did that displaced air thing again and was at her side in a moment.
"I don't have time to waste on you now," he said, and his voice was deadly. "Just remember – you aren't the first nanny Connor's had and I doubt you'll be the last."
"I'm sorry!" She shut her eyes but the tears squeezed through her eyelids anyway. She could hear him sniffing her again like an animal and she froze, shaking all over. Then he said, in a kinder voice – much more what she was used to from him: "S'okay, love. I know you are. Just do all right by the kid and you'll be fine, you'll see."
Annabelle risked opening her eyes again to find him smiling at her – the electric smile that lit up his whole face. In spite of herself, she smiled back.
"That's my girl," he said. He took her arm carefully, as if he didn't want to spook her, and led her towards the stairs down to the platform. She went with him. There was no point resisting and besides, he was being nice now and she desperately needed someone to be nice to her.
As they went down, they met Darla and Connor at the bottom. They were still holding hands.
"All settled, is he?" Spike asked in a nonchalant tone.
"No thanks to you." Darla sounded a little on edge and Annabelle shrank back, putting Spike between them. Connor was staring at her, smiling, and that was almost as scary as the look on his mother's face.
Spike ignored Darla's rebuke. "Erroll didn't need my help," he said. "He's a competent enough bloke, love – got the old bastard here intact, didn't he?"
"You just didn't want to see him," Darla's voice held a hint of a sneer. "He looks magnificent, Spike – just as he always did."
Spike had gone very still and Annabelle, pressed against his back, felt a faint shudder go through his whole body. She had the impression of some kind of game being played, one with which both vampires were only too familiar.
"He'll ruin everything," Spike said, suddenly. "I fucking warned you, you stupid bitch."
And suddenly, he and Darla were in each other's faces, glaring, all yellow-eyes and snarls. Darla had let go of Connor's hand and the child was standing a little to one side, eyes fixed on his parents' sparring as if it was a show put on for his benefit.
There was what seemed like an interminable silence while the two vampires bristled and Annabelle wondered whether to take Connor's hand and run before he got hurt and she was blamed. Then suddenly, Darla smiled – a hideous thing to see on her vampire face – and at the same time Spike's features did that weird sideways slide they did, becoming human again. He dropped his gaze.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," he muttered. "I'm a bad, rude man." He said the words and then he frowned and shut his eyes, as if at a painful memory. Darla meanwhile shook off her own vampire features and took Connor's hand again. She put her other hand up to Spike's face to stroke his cheek. "I told you to trust me, William. You must do that or what use are you to me?"
"I do trust you," Spike protested, "just not round – not round him." And he gestured in the direction of the platform beyond.
"Dear foolish boy." Darla's voice was silk - a caress. "It's round him you should trust me most. You'll see." Her hand lingered on Spike's face a moment longer and then dropped back to her side. "Come along, baby," she said to Connor. "Mama will read you a story before bed tonight, okay?"
"Thank you, Mama." Connor looked smug. As he and his mother went past them, Darla's eyes swung round to Annabelle, cold and green as a winter sea.
"You," she said. "Next time I tell him to keep in his room, make sure he does it. Understand?"
"Yes." Annabelle kept her gaze on the floor until they were gone. She very much had the sense now of having eavesdropped on a conversation she wasn't supposed to hear about things she didn't understand at all. She hardly dared look at Spike in case he was angry again.
He didn't seem to be, though. Instead, he shuddered all over, shrugged and grinned at her. "I need a cuppa," he said. "Coming, Belle?" And he led the way in the direction of the kitchen.
The girl was frightened and Spike could hardly blame her. She wasn't privy to all the sordid details and yet she was stuck in the middle of this whole cock-up, same as the rest of them. They walked along the tunnel-like corridor that squeezed between the maze of rooms on one side and the bricked up platform on the other. A sudden gust of hot air through the grilles that lined the wall heralded the passage of another train. Soon, the transformers in the tunnel were screaming its arrival and it thundered through the abandoned station, whipping up clouds of choking dust that made Annabelle turn her head to the side and cough.
There was no way, hearing that bloody racket every five minutes that Angel wouldn't work out soon enough where he was.
Spike kept hold of Annabelle's arm. He led her in the direction of the kitchen, steadfastly not turning to look the other way – towards where Angel was locked in the so-called guest room. Erroll and Ravinder were taking the first watch and at least Spike could be sure their attention wouldn't wander. Some of the others weren't quite so reliable. He'd already checked over the entrance to Annabelle's hidey-hole in the empty room next door and satisfied himself that Angel couldn't fit through it – not unless the old man had lost a lot of weight since he'd last seen him anyway - but just in case, he'd double-locked the door.
Ravinder was looking at him, Spike knew, but he didn't turn and acknowledge her. She'd been brown-nosing like no one's business to get him to forgive her for challenging his authority but he wasn't ready to let her off the hook just yet. He had to soon, though.
This whole leadership thing was such a delicate balancing act. Push Ravinder too far and she'd be going behind his back to Darla before he knew it.
Jez and Simon were coming back up the passage from the direction of the meat locker. Jez was wiping his mouth. They paused outside the door to the minions' quarters to see if Spike wanted anything but he waved them away and they went inside. As if at the very thought of food, Spike's belly rumbled and he frowned, thinking about the nice fresh blood pumping through the veins of the girl who walked beside him. He hated all this self-restraint business – would never have put up with it back when it was just him and Dru. Still, the locker was a bit better stocked at the moment – two or three homeless kids and some nutter that Erroll had picked up at Speakers' Corner busy telling the world and his wife they were going to hell. He hadn't been wrong, Spike thought, pleased with the notion – just hadn't realised he'd be going there first.
"Make us some tea, love." He sat down at the table and put his boots up on it, gesturing the girl towards the necessaries. She had a nice body, he thought, as she boiled water and spooned tea into the pot – remembering to swill it out with hot water first, of course – nice tight arse on her and long willowy legs. Her face was pretty ordinary, though – pudding-shaped and definitely on the pasty-side after six months kept in the dark living down here with them. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and she'd certainly do at a pinch. It was a pity that Darla had put her off limits, but then that injunction itself had limits. They'd have to get rid of her one day.
Spike had toyed with the notion of turning her but in the end decided against it. As far as he knew, no one had ever turned a Potential Slayer before and you never knew what could happen. It just wasn't worth the risk.
"You must be wondering what the fuck is going on," he said to Annabelle as she put his mug of tea down in front of him and then sat herself opposite, perching gingerly on the edge of her chair.
"A bit." Her blue eyes flicked upwards in his direction but then she looked down at the table again. She was scared stiff of him, not surprisingly.
"It was rude of me not to explain before, love." Spike took a healthy gulp of tea – she'd made it just the way he liked it – then grinned at her startled face. He'd soon have her eating out of his hand again.
"You ever have break-ups in your family?" he asked. "Stuff like that? You know – everyone shouting at everyone else and stopping just short of murder?"
"My parents are divorced." She volunteered the information tentatively – still wary but with that very useful eagerness to please showing through. "It happened when I was eight."
"That must have been tough on you." All those years of watching soaps on telly came in handy sometimes.
She flashed him a grateful look. "I was at boarding school," she said, as if that explained everything.
"Yeah? Nice place, was it?"
Now she looked wary. "It was okay. Some of the lessons were – well, they were strange. Anyway, my parents sent me to a different school when they separated. They had a big argument about it and Mother won." She looked uncertain for a moment longer and then she said, "Mother was drinking."
"Families, 'ey? Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." Spike took another swallow of tea and she did the same. Her eyes were locked on his face now. She was beginning to relax.
His tea mug had left a wet circle on the chipped formica table-top. Spike ran a finger round it for a moment, pondering how much to tell her – that whole balancing act thing. In the end, though, keeping her reassured – making her feel part of the family – seemed more important than keeping secrets. After all, it wasn't as if she'd live long enough to tell them to anyone outside.
"You know the bloke in the coffin is Connor's real dad?" he asked, and she nodded. She'd been there at the assembly after all. Spike allowed his disgust at the whole notion to show in his face. "Darla – the Mistress, that is – see, she made him. He's hers the way Erroll and Ravinder are mine."
"You mean she made him a vampire?" Her eyes were big as saucers now. She looked shocked. "So he's sort of like – her son?"
"Hardly." He grinned. "We don't make people vampires because we want kids, love. We do it because we want them full-stop, yeah?"
"Like you and Erroll." It was a statement of fact and he could see it had cost her to make it. Her face was bright red, which contrasted horribly with her strawberry-blonde mane of hair. He wondered what bothered her more - the fact that Erroll was male or the fact that Erroll was black.
"Yeah, like me and Erroll. Anyway, Angel's not like other vampires. He used to be but then he got cursed by Gypsies. They gave him his soul back and now he's stuck with a guilty conscience just like all you humans."
He paused for a moment then he tilted his head on one side and licked his lips, watching the minute changes in her demeanour – smelling the incipient virginal arousal. He could have her now if he wanted, in spite of what he'd done to her, and it'd be sweet. After all, he'd killed two Slayers but he'd never got to fuck one. "We don't have them, you know – consciences."
She was still staring at him, as if mesmerised. "I know. Erroll told me."
"Still have our families, though – and our family quarrels. Connor – well, he shouldn't really exist. Vampires don't have kids like that – not the way humans do."
"He said he was the only one." She was paling again and all it had taken was mention of the kid's name. Spike could sympathise with that.
"So anyway, he's pretty special. There's a vampire prophecy about him – an old one written down centuries ago. I always thought it was a load of bollocks till I set eyes on him but – well, you've seen him for yourself."
She nodded and now – oddly – just for a moment, he wasn't playing with her any more. They really were in sympathy.
"His mum thinks he's this Miracle Child, sent to lead the world's vampires and make us rulers over it – and I'm inclined to think she's right."
The words were out there now. Spike realised that he'd never said them before – not out loud – not to anyone. He felt choked suddenly with the weight of his responsibility and with fear too at what Connor's rule might mean. He'd had long enough to think about it and he didn't always like his thoughts.
Still, plenty of time before he had to worry about that and a lot could happen before then. For instance, with Angel stashed away just two doors down, it could all go arse-over-tit tomorrow.
The girl was still staring at him. She lifted her mug to her mouth and drank more tea but she kept her eyes on him. Spike took a moment to bask in the small exercise of power. Then he said: "Anyway, Angel – that's the kid's dad – wants to take him away from us – bring him up like a human – and we can't be having that."
"So why is he here?" Ah, the six million dollar question – the one Spike had been asking himself for weeks now.
"He says he's accepted that he can't have him – he says he just wants to pay his respects, like old Dracula. You remember him, don't you, Belle?"
She nodded, looking slightly bemused. Of course, the old fraud's fame had gone before him, as usual.
The memory of Dracula's visit made Spike smile to himself all the same. That had been something to remember all right. There was a lot to be said for compound interest.
"You don't believe him – Angel, I mean?" She wasn't quite as stupid as she looked, he'd noticed long ago. He grinned at her.
"No, I don't – but we'll see what we'll see, won't we?"
He dismissed her then, sending her back to her charge looking slightly less scared and lonely – and that was a good thing. He didn't want her spooked so thoroughly they had to kill her before they were ready to. He followed her to the door of the room and lit a cigarette – stood smoking it contemplatively while the trains rushed by outside. He'd often wondered if anyone noticed any funny goings-on from the windows as they passed but maybe they'd put it down to tricks of the light. Of course, some of the drivers probably knew and Spike was pretty sure that these days the trains actually speeded up when they went through the abandoned station.
Cigarette finished, he ground the butt out beneath his heel and made his way down the corridor to pay respects of his own.
"Angel wanted to take him away from me." Darla was sitting next to Spike in the front seat of the De Soto with the brat held tight in her arms. She'd wanted him to get hold of one of those kiddie car seats but he'd persuaded her they didn't have time for such niceties. He was in a hurry to get to the container port in Altamira.
"Yeah, you said." He glanced across at her worriedly. She'd not impressed him with her sanity in the last few days. However, she looked perfectly calm at the moment – too calm, maybe, considering what was after them. How these cultist tossers had tracked them down so quickly, Spike didn't know, but there was no way he was letting them take what was his, and Darla was definitely his after the last few days. She'd made that pretty clear. He couldn't think how he'd ever forgotten how glorious it was to fuck her.
The rest of what was his lay trussed up on the back seat next to the terrified wet-nurse, who was herself tightly bound and gagged. He'd have to steal food for the bloody woman all through the voyage, Spike thought, which was a pain, as was setting up the larder they'd need for themselves. He could do with a few minions to help with the donkey-work but he didn't have the time to make or train them.
He was worried sick about Dru as well. Ever since Darla and the kid had arrived, Dru had been impossible. If she wasn't ranting and raving, she was hunched in a corner singing to herself and crying bitterly. It was something to do with the baby, Spike knew it, and he knew that Darla knew it, and yet somehow he didn't tell her to piss off and take her unwanted brat with her. Instead, he fed Dru mandrake he'd taken from a local bruja whom he'd killed just for her stash of herbs, so that Dru spent most of her time asleep. She'd hardly fed for days now and she looked terrible, pale and ill, like she had done after Prague.
"They all want to take him away from me – his father – those cultists." Darla was talking again. "Don't they know who I am?"
"What do you mean?" Spike was keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He didn't want to give the traffic police an excuse to pull him over.
"I don't think you know who I am either, Spike." She was looking at him now, instead of down at the baby. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw her face change to its vampire features. "I'm my sire's heir," she said, portentously. "Head of the Order of Aurelius."
"What?" Spike turned to gape at her and was struck again by her resemblance to old Nest. He'd always thought it uncanny, as if she were really the fruit of the old goat's loins. Now she even sounded like him.
"Watch where you're going!"
Spike realised he was steering in towards the kerb and he corrected himself quickly. A huge tanker thundered past them in the outside lane, making the old car shake – and not just the car. Spike felt a tremor go through his own body – something familiar and unwelcome. He remembered being taken to visit the Master back when he was newly turned. He'd done his very best not to impress and succeeded rather too well and afterwards, Angelus had pretty much flayed him alive and then when no one was around to see, licked up the blood from his raw back and told him he was proud of him.
Apart from that, Spike remembered most vividly the claustrophobia of the Master's lair – the sense of being trapped deep underground with hordes of devoted minions blocking the way back to the surface and freedom. Vampires loved a charismatic religious leader the same as humans did.
"You know -" he spoke carefully since he wasn't sure how sane Darla was – "I've never been the religious type and I don't mean to start now. The way I see it, s'all bollocks – a way of keeping the credulous in their place."
"I'll have to see what I can do to change your mind." She sounded so confident it gave him the creeps. He supposed she could be said to have whatever god cared about vampires on her side, what with this miracle baby of hers. The baby was an uncomfortable fact that couldn't be ignored even by him.
He decided to change the subject.
"So, what'd he do? Angel, I mean."
When he glanced at her again, she was back in human face and the Darla he knew once more – or the one he thought he knew – beautiful and seemingly vulnerable and desperate for his protection. There were actual tears in her eyes and that gave him pause, because he'd never seen her cry, not even when she'd lost Angelus to the Gypsies.
"He didn't do anything," she said. "He didn't have to. I know he was going to kill me, though. He thought I'd harm the baby." Her voice grew soft suddenly and she looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. "I thought I'd harm him, for that matter. I remember I told him to do it – to kill me if he had to. It was the baby's soul, growing like a cancer inside me."
"So why didn't you?" Spike really wanted to know this because if she had, it would've saved him a lot of trouble.
She still had that soft, wondering tone in her voice. "I meant to. Those friends of Angel's were the only ones in the room – Wesley – he was the one who found the surgeon – and Gunn, standing guard over me while Angel was away sorting out money business. I should have killed them when I had the chance, I guess, but I was in too much of a hurry."
"Pity." Spike hadn't met either man and hoped he never would. Angel on his own was bad enough, let alone trailing an entourage of fawning human lackeys. "So what happened then?"
"The cultists – the same ones after us now - broke into the hospital to take the baby and while Angel's humans were fighting them, I took my chance and ran – took the baby as well. I was going to kill it – leave its body for Angel to find to teach him a lesson. Except –"
She stopped talking. She was looking at the kid again - staring rather, as if she couldn't look away.
"Except what?" Spike prodded her to continue. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see that the wet-nurse was crying again, something she'd been doing a lot and which was really getting on his nerves. A quick look over his shoulder showed him that Dru was still out for the count, though, so that was something.
"Except – when I looked at him – really looked, I found I couldn't do it. He's mine, Spike – and nothing and no one is going to take him from me."
And just like that she'd gone all fierce mama-lion on him again. Spike couldn't wait to get to Altamira.
When Spike entered the room, Angel was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He looked groggy still after the flight and the drugs and so on.
"Can't say it's nice to see you." Spike closed the door behind him and leaned against it. His legs felt shaky. "Still – at least you're not Slayer-whipped any more."
Angel's hands dropped away from his face instantly. He looked haggard and ill-fed and his face was thinner than Spike remembered it, but still beautiful – oh, yeah.
"Sorry for your loss, by the way." Spike tilted his head to one side and grinned. He hoped he sounded as insincere as he felt and a lot more confident.
"If you say her name, I'll kill you." Angel's voice was bleak and he obviously meant what he said but Spike laughed anyway. Outside, another train thundered by and plaster-dust rained down onto them both. Angel's eyelids flickered.
"Yeah, yeah, I know it's bloody obvious where we are." Spike fished into his duster pockets for his pack of cigarettes and took it out. He paused for a moment then held the packet out to Angel, who, after a brief hesitation, took one. Spike lit it for him, tensing slightly as Angel leaned forward, his cheek almost brushing Spike's hand. Angel glanced up at him and smiled thinly.
"Afraid to touch me, William?" He inhaled and blew out smoke.
"You never know – that poxy soul of yours might be catching." Spike pulled up a chair. He thumped down into it and for a while they smoked in silence. Spike examined his sire under his lashes, knowing Angel was doing the same to him. The old man might have lost bulk since Sunnydale but he'd grown in stature somehow in spite of that, and in spite of his situation, he looked annoyingly sure of himself.
"They sorted out this Slayer succession business yet then?" Spike asked eventually. He didn't know whether Angel would answer him but nothing ventured, nothing gained. In any case, it seemed he was in luck, because Angel leaned back against the wall and said, "Not exactly. The whole thing is snarled up in bureaucracy."
This was interesting. Spike's outside sources had been completely silent on the matter for months now and they were usually pretty good at worming information out of the unwary – and so they should be after all those years of sneaking around and living in the shadows.
"Yeah? How's that, then? I heard the Slayer after your one died in prison, so what's with all the hold up? Why isn't there a new one?"
"Faith didn't die." Angel's voice remained bleak - almost hollow, somehow. "She was murdered because she insisted on serving out her sentence." He took a drag on his cigarette then said, "The world needed a Slayer."
The tone of voice in which he said that last gave Spike pause. He eyed Angel suspiciously and dark eyes stared back, cold and assessing. He could see his death in them if Angel ever had the chance. He wondered what Angel could see in his.
"Fuck!" Spike said, after a moment, and he whistled softly. "Didn't know you still had it in you, Angelus old son. How'd you get near her, then?"
"I used to visit her." Now Angel's voice was positively wintry. "She thought I was a friend – and the name's Angel, not Angelus."
"Nice one!" Spike ignored Angel's protestation and raised an imaginary glass to him. "Welcome to the Slayer-slaying club, mate – took your time joining it, didn't you, but better late than never."
He tensed as he spoke, expecting a furious assault of some kind, if only verbal, but Angel continued to regard him like his future executioner and hardly reacted at all, except to say, "Forget it, Spike. The joining fee was more than I wanted to pay."
Spike laughed. It seemed having a soul meant tying yourself in all sorts of uncomfortable moral knots. "Well," he said, "someone had to do it, didn't they, for the sake of puppies and Christmas or whatever-the-fuck? Might as well be you – after all, there's no way you're gonna be washing out that damned spot from your hands any time soon, is there?"
Angel's expression didn't really change but somehow he looked defeated suddenly – old.
"No," he said. "There isn't. At any rate, there is a new Slayer but it turns out she's Iranian and very religious. She won't take up slaying until she gets a fatwa from the supreme Ayatollah decreeing it's her Islamic duty."
"Bloody hell!" This got better and better, Spike thought. "So the old boy's not been forthcoming yet?"
Angel shook his head and the grim expression on his face said as clearly as words could have, that the girl would only be allowed so much time to prevaricate before she went the way of her predecessor. Suddenly, Spike felt almost sorry for his sire. It was obvious he'd got in way over his head with the Watchers' Council – doing their dirty work for them. Probably, the sad old twat thought of it as some kind of penance or maybe a way of honouring his dead Slayer's memory. He should have known better. He might have a soul but he'd mortgaged it to others.
He leaned forward in his chair and put an earnest expression on his face.
"Why are you telling me all this? Token of your good faith, is it?"
"After a fashion." Angel dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out with his heel. The air in the enclosed room was blue with smoke. "Cousin Vlad did tell me you'd expect something in return for the honour of a meeting with the Mistress and the Miracle Child."
The words rolled off Angel's tongue easily enough but Spike could tell he didn't believe in them. Nice to know the old man was still as much of a sceptic as he'd always been, barring that one funny moment he'd had in Sunnydale – the Acathla business.
"S'funny to think of you and old Drac swapping pleasantries," he said, grinning, and this time Angel grinned back.
"Kind of a surprise to me too. I'm glad I don't owe you money."
Spike laughed and Angel joined him – proper belly-laughter that for a moment took Spike back to any one of a hundred moments he'd shared with Angelus. There'd been some good times once upon a time, along with all the bad ones. Spike had to bite his lip to keep from reminiscing about some of the run-ins he'd had with Dracula over the years. After all, this wasn't Angelus and no matter how forthcoming he'd been about the Slayer business, Angel was here with only one thing in mind.
"Yeah, well," Spike said, once the laughter subsided, "if the old git had only paid me back years ago, he wouldn't be going begging to his distant relatives for money in return for services rendered, would he?"
Angel looked up at him sharply and at once, his face was deadly serious again.
"I don't know what you mean."
The room shook as another train thundered by, and Spike realised there must have been others in between and he hadn't even heard them. He stood up – not that being shorter bothered him; just that one time, it'd be nice to look down on Angel.
"Don't play games with me, Angelus," he said. "We both know why you're here and it's not because you've brought the frankincense and myrrh or whatever-the-fuck, is it?"
For a moment, Angel looked so angry that Spike thought he was about to go for him – either that or bawl him out for blasphemy – but he did nothing; just sat there, his whole body tense with fury.
As casually as he could, Spike lit another cigarette and blew the smoke in Angel's direction. "Just want you to know I'm on to you, that's all. You're not getting him back, mate. Kid belongs with his mum – always did – and when you see him, you'll understand why."
"He's my son," Angel said, then, putting heavy emphasis on the word. "He's human. He has a soul."
Spike knocked on the inside of the door and heard the key in the lock.
"He's your son, yeah -that I grant you. As for the other stuff – jury's still out on those."
The door opened and he slipped through it and out, leaning against it with his full weight while Erroll did the same - just in time, as Angel's body slammed into it at full vampire speed. For a moment, his fists pounded on it, and then he gave up.
"Trouble?" Erroll indicated the pounding with his chin and cocked an eyebrow.
"Not really." Spike realised he was shaking all over now and he jammed his hands in his duster pockets, hoping Erroll wouldn't see. He turned his back on him and began to walk away.
"If he gets out of there," he said, "kill him – don't hesitate for a second."
TBC
Notes:
Speakers' Corner: a place at the edge of Hyde Park where people can - quite literally - get up on their soap boxes and rant about whatever they want, watched by an appreciative audience who are busy indulging in that fine old British pass time of pointing and mocking.