Chapter Five

 

----====Wesley====----

Ten minutes or so after take-off, I started to actually think, which I really hadn't been doing much of up until that point. I turned to my unlikely travel companion,

"Can you explain to me again why I am sitting in a British Airways budget seat flying home to a country I was happy never to see again?"

Spike turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "Cos otherwise you'd be dead?"

I considered that. "Hmm, they didn't seem to want to kill me. Rather they appeared to want to employ me, with force."

"Aren't you the popular one?"

"I should be proud," I said with heavy sarcasm.

"Didn't seem to want me all dusty either."

"No, I got the impression that they were concerned about something you may be carrying. What have you got that they could consider theirs?"

"The palm from the bint in your bird's office..."

"She's not my 'bird'," I said in a tone I hoped would forbid any further discussion on the matter.

Spike shrugged and stood up. He took his leather jacket from the overhead compartments and removed three items from the pockets. "And these are from the Incredible Dissolving Yob at the Hyperion." Placed on the small table in front of me were a packet of cigarettes, one of the nasal sprays and a familiar recordable CD. I picked it up and checked, sure enough that was my scrawl.

"This is mine, Spike. I left it at the hotel when I... failed to return."

"What's it got on it, then?"

"A paper I was writing."

Spike sighed dramatically, "About...?"

"Type mapping within the non-genomic paradigm."

"Don't have a subscription to Scientific American, mate. In plain English?"

"Hmm, many demonic species do not have DNA based genetic systems for storing hereditary information. My article revealed how these species frequently maintain their physiological blueprints and posited a method for deciphering non-genomic organic material."

"*That* was plain?"

I shrugged, "It's a complex concept, I'm not sure how to simplify it further without starting an unwelcome lecture on sub-cellular biology."

"Well, don't I feel all slack jawed and bloody dinosaur brained. So, you're saying you've been single-handedly doing the Demon Genome Project?"

"Non-humanoid demons, in a very preliminary way, yes. I thought you didn't read Scientific American?"

"I don't." He said smugly. He was clearly more knowledgeable than he liked to appear.

I found myself smiling at him -- a genuine expression of good humour, not a rictus of sarcasm or cruelty. I hadn't smiled so simply since that bitch had sliced into my throat and Conner had been ripped from my arms. I turned to the wall and blinked back tears provoked by the occurrence of a natural event so common in the lives of others and so rare in mine.

For nearly three months, my only non-formal conversation had been the bitchy volleying that Lilah and I indulged in between solitude and sex. At this point we were seeing each other most nights, normally at my apartment, but occasionally at hers. It was a nihilistic, violent and thoroughly unpleasant relationship, but preferable to being totally alone.

But now I found myself on the run, and sitting next to an infamous vampire whose company I, quite frankly, was enjoying. I was also, I had to admit, energised and excited by the day's events, and that was mildly surprising to realise. I had lost so much, and my sense of bereavement was so huge, that I had not realised that one of the things I was missing was the almost daily adventure of working for a paranormal detective agency.

Spike stirred beside me. "So what do those tossers want with your fascinating paper, Watcher?"

"I'm far from sure." I picked up the nasal spray and took a good look at it. A mass-produced, white plastic bottle and applicator with a label that proclaimed the contents to be 'Breatheasy Mentholated Decongestant'. "They all seemed to use these, that must surely be significant."

"Makes for a distinct L'eau de Dissolving Git when you've got my nose. Which is handy, cos otherwise they're indistinguishable from people 'til I hit them."

"I wonder if the menthol is important or simply a cover for a more unusual chemical." I turned the spray around in my fingers. "Well, we know for sure that they're not human if your implant doesn't nerve-shock you, is that correct?"

"Yup."

"But they look and act human, at least until they die, at which point the corpses behave in a decidedly unusual way. Hmm, can you hit possessed but living humans without the chip firing?"

"Not as far as I know. Haven't had cause to test it."

"So these creatures can't actually be Homo-sapiens at all then?"

"They smell human, but slightly off, and mentholated."

"Strange," I nod to myself. "Well, for the time being let's refer to them as Demonic Humanoids. DH's for short."

"Whatever." The vampire rested his face in his hands.

"Are you quite well, Spike?"

"Just peachy, mate," he said wearily.

"When did you last eat?"

"Got some pig down earlier."

"How much?"

He frowned at me. "And this is your business, how?"

I sighed, "It isn't, I apologise."

"Not about to nibble on you, mate. Gone overboard on reasons why I can't now."

"I know that, Spike, I was simply concerned by your extreme thinness, but perhaps that is natural to you."

There was a short pause. "Not found the whole blood thing easy since the soul," he confessed with a mumble.

"It must be hard."

"You've got no bloody idea." His voice cracked with barely restrained pain.

I tried to imagine how it must feel to suddenly regain a soul. I knew guilt, I *really* knew guilt, but to abruptly gain the ethical knowledge of over a century of slaughter and carnage, how could one stay sane? Angel had always been very closed mouthed about the decades between becoming cursed and meeting Buffy. I confess I had always assumed he spent much of that time mad.

Spike, clearly a very strong individual, seemed rational enough for now, but he surely required a great deal of aid to remain that way. With a shock, I realised that I wanted to help him, as if this was my second chance to support the redemption quest of a souled vampire. Oh no, that was very wrong; it would be a desperate clutching at psychological straws.

And if I did aid his cause, then the only possible result would be the destruction of the quest. My actions would somehow drive him back into the darkness, just as they did Faith and then Angel. If I wanted to help him, then the best thing I could possibly do would be to remove myself from his presence as soon as these unusual circumstances allowed.

I turned back to the wall, and pretended to fall asleep in the uncomfortable and cramped chair.

***

Some prolonged brooding time later, the nagging almost-thought at the back of my mind came into sudden, lucid focus. I turned to Spike; his eyes were shut and his head pushed back into the small pillow.

"Are you awake?" I asked quietly. He nodded, but didn't open his eyes. I noticed his hands were gripping the armrests as if we were hurtling to our doom, and the tendons in his neck were tensed into high profile. I now felt guilty for disturbing what was obviously a highly emotional moment for the vampire, but having started I really had to go on. "Could I possibly look at the PDA you obtained?"

Wordlessly, he passed me his jacket. I took it, but looked at him in concern. "Would you like me to summon the stewardess with a drink?"

"Nah, mate, I'll be fine," he said through gritted teeth. I was far from convinced, but paid him the courtesy of shutting up about it.

The PDA was on standby. When I hit a key at random, the password box popped up, damn. Well, there was another eight hours of flying time to go; trying out words at random was as good a way as any to waste the time. Of course, there was downloadable hacker software that would allow me to break through any Windows related password protection, but we were not in business class so using my laptop to access the internet was at that point impossible.

And so I amused myself by typing in ever more fantastical words and combinations of words into the insistent box. After thirty minutes or so, I could feel my eyelids begin to droop. In a facetious and last-ditch attempt I typed in 'menthol' and lo and behold, the box disappeared. I chuckled at my own stupidity for not trying it earlier. It was simply so obvious that I never dreamt they would be idiotic enough to use it.

The battery meter was low, so I needed to work quickly and then shut the miniature computer down. The operating system was WinCE, so it was a simple matter to work through and eradicate the requirements for access passwords. I then briefly reviewed the directory contents.

It seemed the female DH used this rather nice piece of hardware as little more than a personal organiser and portable e-mail machine. There were no interesting documents to break into, or revelations about exactly what the DH's were or what their motivations could be. There was however a large and intriguing address book attached to Outlook CE, which could prove to be useful later on.

I shut down the PDA, and turned to look at Spike again. He smiled back at me, obviously he had been watching my progress. He appeared a lot calmer.

I asked, "This is a long trip and you haven't fed in hours, are you going to be ok?"

"You'd be surprised how little blood a vampire actually needs to survive," he answered quietly.

"Spike, starving yourself will not help. You have to keep strong."

He bridled. "I *have* to? Why's that exactly?"

"You are a special and unique being wi..."

"Leave it," he growled in warning.

I did so. I should never have started it.

I stretched my neck muscles; they were stiff and painful, as was the rest of me actually. I had allowed myself to get out of shape for heroics, and the fact that I seemed to have rather more leg then there was legroom didn't help.

"Are the budget seats always this cramped?" I asked Spike.

He shrugged. "Depends where you sit. I have to get this position behind the bulkhead if I don't wanna do a Dante." I flinched slightly at the reference to the Inferno. He continued, "S'pose you're used to First Class then?"

"Business class actually. The only flying I've engaged in previously was in the employ of the Watcher's Council. Not that they would automatically pay for such luxuries, but my father being who he is..." I quickly headed off that tangent, "But I wouldn't have felt comfortable using the AI card for more than necessities, despite everything that..." No, that subject wasn't much better.

I stood up and squeezed past the vampire; I needed to walk about for a while.

***

A while, and a drink, later and I was back in the chair. I needed a shower and clean clothes badly. Even I was aware of my own stale smell and so I cringed to think of Spike's super-senses. I was splattered with blue excretions from the DHs. My neck was irritated and I absent-mindedly rubbed the skin under my jaw with the flat of my hand.

"So how'd you get the scar then, Watcher?" Spike asked.

"Which one?"

"Hmm, the one I can see? Vamp senses may be neat, but they don't normally include x-ray vision."

"My throat was cut by a vampire hunter called Justine." I said, emotionlessly.

"She think you were all fangy?"

"No, she wanted something I had in my possession."

"This a sore subject, Wes? You've gone all Mr Freeze on me again."

"Sorry."

There was a long pause. Spike picked up the headphones for his seat. Before he could put them on, I started to speak in a low monotone.

"Darla and Angel had a human baby this year. Darla died during the birth. Angel took in the child and developed full fatherly feelings. I discovered a prophecy that said Angel would kill his son. I worked very hard to disprove it, but everything I uncovered simply underlined that the father would consume the child. I knew Angel's soul would never survive such an act, and so I decided to remove Conner, the baby, from his father's presence. While in the process of doing this, Justine, a woman in the employ of one of Angel's greatest enemies, slit my throat. The child was taken from me. Since then I have been estranged from all at Angel Investigations."

I closed my eyes and tried to stop trembling. I could feel Spike staring at me. "I am sure you have many questions, William, but for now I have exhausted my ability to talk about this. Please be patient."

He snorted very quietly, but otherwise was silent.

***

"Why Rupert Giles, Spike?"

He shrugged, "He's the one the Scoobies turned to in their every hour of not-coping. I don't know anyone better suited to help us, that's for certain."

"Yes, I remember," I said without enthusiasm. "He was always excellent in a crisis."

"You don't seem all that keen. You not like the bloke?"

"It's more that he doesn't like *me*," I confessed sadly.

"How come?"

"I wasn't too impressive during the few months we worked together. We kept in casual contact after I settled in LA, but we never became friends. While I am sure he won't leave me on his doorstep, I cannot imagine that he'll be delighted to see me."

"Can't see how seeing you is gonna make him more unhappy than seeing me will. 'Specially after..." he trailed off and I saw the tendons tense in his hands and neck once again. Clearly something very bad had happened recently, possibly in Sunnydale. And it was probably this something that had provoked him into questing for a soul.

Quite remarkable really.

"Is Giles likely to try to stake you? I can ensure I am between you both at all times if you believe that to be a possibility," I offered.

"No, well maybe. Dunno. If he wants to stake me, let him. Don't get involved."

"I already am involved, Spike."

***

"Wakey wakey, Watcher."

"Hmm?"

"We're approaching Heathrow."

"Dear lord, what time is it?"

"Half three in the afternoon, Brit time. Ready for major jet lag?"

"Oh God." I tried desperately to get my bearings. "So what's the plan now?"

"Hire a car, drive to Bath."

"Car? Can't we take the train?"

"Car's safer; might be followed. Won't take 'em long to discover you were on this flight."

"Oh God." I rubbed my eyes. "I feel like the Fugitive."

"Yeah well, least you're not alone."

And he's right; I'm not...

And that's okay.

 

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