‘Liaison’ Part II

This entry is part 2 of 3 in the series Liaison
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“Liaison”
Rated R- just for a few naughty words
Medium – Fanfic
Summary – As Spike and Angel consider the Senior Partner’s true intentions for the amulet, the new Council of Watchers and Slayers begin to bite off more than they can chew.
Setting – This chapter takes place a day after the events of “You’re Welcome.” Everything else will go AU from this point on.

The night after Cordelia’s funeral, Spike found Angel getting quietly drunk at his desk. Coat off, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, hair finally askew, this wasn’t a noisy inebriation. There was something tragic in the way he kept nursing the glass of brandy – too much in pain to go without treating it, and desiring the pain so much that he could not treat it fully. Spike had eaten a few in the same state, back in the day, who were generally too preoccupied to fight him off.

Sensing Spike’s presence, he closed his eyes. “Go away, Spike.”

“That didn’t work when I was a ghostie, and it sure as hell won’t now.”

“Right, because now I can kick your sorry ass out the door. Out.”

“That’s not so certain anymore, is it, Gramps? Anyway, before you get too ever so slightly tipsy, had a thought you should probably know about.”

“You? A thought?” Angel set down the half-full tumbler, but looked even more mulish than before.

“About this whole business with Eve and Doyle-”

Lindsey.

“Yeah, City Slickers II, whatever.” Spike grabbed a chair, turning it around to sit in it backwards, facing Angel. “Anyway, he told me he was the one that sent the medallion-amulet thing to you with me inside it, then the box that turned me touchable.”

“Huh.”

“So he brought me back for some specific reason, didn’t he? As far as I can tell, it was to keep you occupied or depressed or annoyed or some rot. Boy was all with plans, not much on follow-through, just wanted to fight you.”

“Hmm.”

“Now how did he get me? Eve was his Girl Friday or owed him a favor, or something. But she’s the one with ties to Wolfram, Hart and Friends. She hears about it, lets him know, they work together with that ruddy librarian to get that amulet with me inside it. Amulet was from Wolfram and Hart, they must have been the ones to crawl through what’s left of Sunnyhell and get it back.”

“Uh.”

In a fluid motion, Spike got up, picked up his chair, and swung it just so to smash into splinters against the wall above Angel’s head, knocking down two ceremonial daggers, a Grt’nak sword, and causing a pair of Loxlar sai to dangle crazily from their perch.

“What the hell was that for?” Angel shouted, jumping to his feet.

Spike affected a casual pose. “Saw that Broodfest ‘04 had started, and figured maybe you’d want Cordelia’s death to mean something before you started pissing and moaning about your decision. Again.”

With quicksilver speed, the vampires were nose-to-nose, Angel darting around the desk to get down in Spike’s grill, orange-yellow hinting out of the normal brown eyes.

“DON’T say her name,” he growled.

‘Whose name should I say then? Buffy? ‘Cause I think she’s next on the list. You know, if you‘re not too busy being on the opposite side to care.”

The brow retracted a fraction of an inch, and Spike pressed further, undaunted.

“Something killed Cordelia – or put her in a coma. She’s the one you said you lost in this – this being the deal with the devil you signed. Am I wrong?’

Angel was silent, backing up a few more inches, till he sat on the arm of the couch.

“No.”

Spike stood above him with a grave face, watchful, before lowering himself into another chair to face Angel, never breaking eye contact.

“Now I asked Fred, and she said that your girl was comatized before the deal with the Senior Partners, though a bit fuzzy on the details. So that’s not it. But they did something that’s got your balls in a vice-” here he made a crude cupping/clamping gesture with his left hand “-and so you make the deal. Can’t see you doing so otherwise. Too grey a shade for your fashion sense.”

Angel continued to glare at Spike, but he went on.

“But the Partners still needed a failsafe to keep you in line, like that creature in the basement. But what if they intended something else? Something you’d feel guilty about?”

“What would I feel guilty about?” Angel’s arms had taken a crossed position, but it did mean that he was listening.

“The bloody amulet, you git. Want me use small words? The little sparkly trinket what you gave to Buffy that reduced me to cinders in the Hellmouth.”

“The amulet was meant for me, Spike. Lilah gave it to me to use, the file said it needed to be wielded by someone more than human, and with a soul.”

“And I’m saying it wasn’t. More than human? With a soul? Fits a Slayer, doesn’t it? They already had you just where they wanted you – be a waste to turn Anakin into cinders after all that hard work bringing him over to the Dark Side.”

“What’s with you and the Star Wars references?”

Spike paused to glare at him, looking as serious as Angel had ever seen him.

“The amulet was for Buffy, moron. If she’s one of the high and mighty fighters of good, she’s in their Top Ten, and you already know the Senior Partners were keeping tabs on Sunnydale. So they’d know that, being the hero-type she is, she wouldn’t let you be the one to make the big sacrifice. If they could capture her essence in that amulet, keep her prisoner, they could wave that under your face every day. Be one way of keeping you in line. Being the champion in that particular instance, I wore it instead.”

“They had no use for you, but Lindsey did,” said Angel, taking a breath, the web coming together into his mind as an icy construct, beginning before he’d even agreed to sign on to the enemy ship.

“Sold! To the man with the poncy hairdo.”

“But Buffy wouldn’t be their target now. They’ve got a failsafe for me – some sort of dragon, or something.”

“Yeah, but you’re on to that scheme now, aren’t you? ‘Sides, something tells me that you wouldn’t mind going out in a blaze of glory as long as your friends were safe.” Angel blinked at that, hearing something like a backhanded compliment coming from Spike’s mouth, and kept going before the younger vampire could take it back.

“So what do we do now? Buffy’s in danger, but won’t trust me to do the right thing.”

“Well, yeah.” For the first time, Spike looked a bit discomfited. “Just figured you’d call her up or something.”

Angel shook his head. “We’re not on the same side, remember? I don’t even have her number, just the one for the Watcher’s Council in…somewhere in Scotland or England, I think.”

“You think?” Spike parroted back with a dubious look.

“My intelligence – via Wolfram and Hart – is kind of spotty. They haven’t figured out where the headquarters are, and if they have, they’re not telling.”

“Spill, then,” Spike said, slouching back into the chair.

“Vampire numbers worldwide are down, especially in the big cities. The Pth’ny, the Canubes, the Xiu-Vew demons are mostly exterminated. We also got reports that Slayers took down the Grox’lar Beast clan operating on the East Coast last week.”

“Grox’lar…hang on a tic, didn’t you convince them to stop eating babies?”

Angel nodded, grimly. “Guess the Watcher’s Council didn’t get the memo. There’s also a report that they’ve started a war underground between Yamanh’s clan of Birith Beasts, and about two or three other demon clans down there.”

“Why in hell would they do that?” Spike wondered aloud. “Birith Beasts only attack humans stupid enough to go deep in the cave system. Ugly bastards couldn’t even try to attack aboveground – aren’t they the ones that need that low level of oxygen?”

Again, Angel nodded. “Whoever’s at the helm of the Council had better take a good look around. The power dynamic’s shifted with the calling of all the new Slayers. If they’re not careful, we could be getting demon clans in here, asking for the Senior Partner’s brand of protection.”

“Son of a bloody bitch.” Spike leaned his head back to rest on the cushy chair. “Got some more of that brandy?”

Angel didn’t reply, head bowed, deep in thought. The difference was subtle, Spike reflected, getting up to pour a generous amount of the brandy (a quick look at the label confirmed it – Courvoisier, aged eight years in wood – evil did pay). When Angel was brooding, he tended to stare into space, his movements sluggish, loathe for any activity that might drag him from his pit of self-imposed despair. When he was thinking, his eyes were fixed, his movements more purposeful.

Angel’s eyes were fixed on the waxing moon making a graceful descent into the cacophony of lights that was the Los Angeles skyline. His palms skated up and down the fine material of his pants, a quick skimming motion that gave a rasping sound.

“Spike,” he announced suddenly, getting up. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Good! Announce it to us, then, and you and I can get properly pissed.” No way was Angel roping him into some half-assed suicide plot.

“We can solve both problems at once – pour me one, too,” he said, glancing over at Spike’s tumbler. “I’ll make you the liaison between myself and the Watcher’s Council. You can let them know what good we’re doing here, and let Buffy know about the threat to her.”

Spike gaped at him, brow crinkling up and mouth partly open.

“Is Dru catching? Did you have more of this than I thought?” he sputtered, putting down the bottle.

“No, it makes sense. You’re not a member of Wolfram and Hart, but you know what we’re actually trying to do. You’re not a Scoo- a member of the Watcher’s Council, but Buffy seemed to trust you. You fit.”

“Yeah? I can think of at least a dozen problems wrong with your scenario.” Spike held up a hand, ticking the reasons off with his fingers. “One, I’m not sure I won’t get staked on sight by one of the Slayers, or by Buffy for not calling her. Two, how does this go? Buffy, you’ve got to be careful of the Senior Partners, they might try to use you to force Angel’s oversized hands. But it’s okay, ‘cause Angel’s actually trying to do good, so you can trust him. Three, she’s not going to trust me for that exact reason! Four, I don’t even want…I mean, I made a point of telling Andrew not to tell Buffy that I’m alive. And I‘m no one‘s bloody apologist. Especially not someone I loathe.” The remaining finger thrust insolently up at Angel’s nose.

“Yeah,” said Angel, swiping the tumbler neatly from under Spike’s watch, downing a healthy sip. “But I was under the impression that this new and improved Spike fights for the side of good. Warning Buffy about forthcoming danger? Keeping the Council from self-imploding within a year? Your soul doesn‘t twitch?”

“You’re the one with the twitchy soul, you git.”

“Yeah, well, I also happen to be right. You’re neutral ground – kind of.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you walk all over me. And neutral ground? I so much as hint where I’ve spent the past few months and any and all trust she might have in me is gone.”

“Yeah, I’d thought about that.”

“You asshole.”

Angel took a judicious sip of brandy, spirit lightened, if not entirely freed of his grief. “I don’t hear you leaving yet.”

Spike regarded him with narrowed eyes, internally losing the battle, just for the opportunity to see her again. “Fancy that. She’d also think of me on your level, getting into bed with Wolfram and Hart. ‘Course, as I recall, that was you – back there,” he said, jerking a thumb at one corner, where Angel and Eve had had quick, awkward, spell-induced sex.

Angel smiled, the winning hand once again his. “It’s a side benefit.”

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/192676.html

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