The heavy necklace hung round his neck, the massive green jewel in the centre gleaming in the torchlight. Spike took a moment to revel in the satisfaction of obtaining the gem, which would give him virtual invulnerability, and then seized a massive jewelled cross. He recoiled in pain as it seared his hand, and he realised with horror that he didn't have the Gem of Amara after all.
“You should put some butter on that,” Harmony chattered, slipping a ring onto her finger. “But, hey, maybe it's worth money, anyway. That would be something.”
Angry, frustrated, and fed up with her constant chatter, Spike wrenched a piece of wood from one of the crypt's shelves and strode towards Harmony. He stabbed her viciously, impaling her chest right through the heart, then withdrew the improvised stake. Instead of turning to dust, Harmony just yelled, and the wound healed instantly.
“I can't believe you just did that!” she snapped, lashing out at him with a series of ineffectual punches to his chest. He caught her hand, and saw the ring.
“Hold on,” he said. He picked up the cross, shielding his hand with cloth, and pressed it against her face. No burning.
“What are you doing, you big freak?” she demanded angrily.
“That's my gem!” he exclaimed, tugging at the ring.
“Fine! If that's all that matters to you, then take it! Take it, and get out!” Harmony pulled off the ring, threw it at him, and he caught it. He put it on his own finger, and turned away. Then an unfamiliar feeling spread through him, and he turned back to her.
“I'm sorry, Harm,” he told her. “I just lost my temper, y'know. Didn't mean to hurt you.” He stopped, amazed at what he had just said. ‘When did I acquire a sodding conscience?’ he thought, perplexed.
“You could have killed me!” Harmony scolded him. “I forgive you anyway, my sweet Blondie Bear.”
‘God, she's so bleeding shallow,’ Spike thought. ‘I can't put up with this any longer. Still, a bloke has to treat a woman with a bit of courtesy.’ “Look, Harm,” he said, gently. “This between us - it's not working. I've got a Hell of a temper on me, and you - well, you can be bloody annoying. If we stay together, I'm going to kill you for real eventually. Let's just split up the jewels, and you go off to Paris. You're a pretty girl, you'll find someone else.”
“I don't want anyone else, Spike. I want you.” Harmony looked dejected.
“Sorry, Harm. I don't love you. It wasn't fair on you, me shagging you just 'cos I was feeling down over Dru dumping me, and I'm sorry. But it's not bleeding working out, and that's final. If it helps, Brian fancies you like mad, and he's the best and smartest minion I've ever had, except maybe for Dalton. Bet he'd take you to Paris.” Spike turned his back on the sobbing Harmony and jumped through the shaft out of the crypt, feeling rotten.
“Okay, lads,” he addressed his waiting minions. “Get in there and gather up the loot. Brian, you've done a bloody brilliant job. You're in charge of fencing it. Equal shares for everybody, ten per cent bonus for you. Me and Harm get a standard share each, except I'm taking this necklace as my extra bit for being the boss.” He made no mention of the ring. “You know where to send my share. Don't cheat, or I'll find you and rip your head off, right? Let me say, you're the best bunch of lads I've ever had working for me. I'll be in touch if I need you again, and if you need references I'll be happy to provide them, but that's it for now. I've got things to do in Sunnydale. You lot scarper. The Slayer's home town is too sodding dangerous. No killing anyone while you're here, okay? And look after Harmony.”
“No killing? What's the matter, Spike, gone soft?” one of the minions asked.
Spike moved too quickly for a normal human eye to follow and thrust his piece of wood through the minion's chest. “No,” he told the disintegrating vampire. “Just being sensible. Anyone else got any smart-arse comments?”
The remaining minions kept any comments to themselves, and got on with the task he had set them. Spike started to head for the exit from the tunnel, and then the chained victim they had been feeding from caught his eye. ‘Bloody Hell, maybe I am going soft,’ he thought. ‘Leaving this bloke to die just doesn't seem right. He was in Harm's maths class last year. He's got to have friends, family. Sod it; he's just a Happy Meal on legs, right? Wrong. Bollocks, if I leave him I'll feel crap, I just know it.’ Perplexed at his own thoughts, Spike unchained the semi-conscious student. “I'm going to dispose of this wanker, ” he told his gang. “Remember, out of Sunnydale as fast as you can.” Carrying the victim, Spike headed for the hospital.
‘What the fuck is happening to me?’ Spike mused, strolling towards the University campus. ‘Am I turning into Angel? All poncy and good? I haven't been cursed with a sodding soul, have I? That'd be a bloody turn up for the books. The Gem of Amara, that every vampire has wanted for centuries, carrying a soul curse so you get to be bloody invincible and don't want to make use of it.’ He looked around, located a sewer entrance, stood close to it in a patch of shadow, and slipped off the ring.
“I want to rip out the Slayer's throat and bathe in her blood,” he said out loud. “Bollocks! I don't. I wouldn't mind a bit of a scrap with her, but I don't want to kill her. It'd bloody upset Joyce, for a kick off.” He put the ring back on, and wandered out into the sunlight again.
“Wonder if there's a ‘moment of pure happiness’ clause, like there was for the brooding pillock,” he muttered. “Worth a try, but who should I shag? Thinking about it, the happiest I've been in years was that night when me and Buffy and Angel fought together against Lenny's bunch of vampires. No bloody soul then, if that's what I've got now. It was just a Hell of a lot of fun.” He wasn't paying full attention to where he was going, and bumped into a pretty student girl. “Sorry, love,” he said automatically, and then groaned inwardly.
“That's okay,” the girl said. “You're talking to yourself. That's the first sign of madness, you know.” She looked him up and down, and her eyes indicated that she found him attractive.
“What's the second sign?” Spike asked her, with a grin. He looked her over; pretty, but probably a typical California airhead. She reminded him slightly of Harmony. Not a promising prospect for a moment of true happiness.
“Laughing at your own jokes,” she replied. “Are you a student here? I'd guess you were a teaching assistant, except you look a bit too much of a bad boy.”
“Sorry, love, just looking for a friend,” he told her. “Do you know Buffy Summers? Or Willow Rosenberg?”
“Yeah, I got a couple of classes with them,” she replied. “I saw Buffy a few minutes ago. Just over there.” She gestured across the campus.
“Thanks. Maybe see you around,” the vampire said, and strode off. The girl's eyes followed him for a moment, and then she sighed and moved on.
Spike soon located Buffy. She was talking to the poncy-looking git he'd seen her with at the Frat party the night before last, and she seemed upset. He listened to their conversation for a while, lurking unseen, and soon realised that the git, Parker, had shagged Buffy and was now dumping her. To his astonishment he found himself getting angry.
“Look, I really have to go now,” Parker told Buffy, and started to walk away. Spike stepped in front of him.
“Were you born a total pillock, or did you have to work up to it?” Spike asked Parker, who stopped, surprised. “You don't treat girls like that, okay? You utter twat.”
Buffy stared at the vampire, who was standing in broad daylight, amazement all over her face. “Stay out of this, Spike,” she said hesitantly.
“Sorry, Slayer, not going to,” Spike told her firmly. “This wanker needs his face punching. And you need your head examining, wasting your time with this loser. You can do so much better than him.”
“Hey! Get out of my face!” Parker exclaimed, and shoved Spike, who grinned broadly and punched him hard in the stomach, then caught his shoulder and held him up before he could topple to the ground.
“Let him go, Spike,” Buffy ordered, dropping into a fighting stance.
Spike tossed Parker aside casually. “Forget about this stupid Thunderbirds puppet, Slayer,” he advised her. “He's not worth your time. Bloody Hell, girl, I'm not worthy of you, never mind him.” A wash of déjà vu swept over Spike, and he stood still for a moment, ignoring Parker as he picked himself up and scuttled away.
“Sunlight...” Buffy muttered, staring at Spike.
He shook away the odd feeling that had assailed him, and smirked at her. “You noticed, pet. Birds singing, squirrels making lots of rotten little squirrels. Sun shining down in a nice, non-fatal, way. It's very exciting. Can't wait to see if I freckle.”
Buffy pulled a stake from her belt, and awaited his inevitable attack. It didn't come.
“Not in the mood for a fight just now, love,” he told her. “Fancy a coffee?”
“What?” Buffy exclaimed, baffled. “What twisted game are you playing, Spike?”
“Not in the mood for a fight,” he repeated. “Just want to talk. We can always fight later, if you want. Again, fancy a coffee? Nice, non-violent, conversation? Bring the witch if you want, wouldn't mind seeing her again.”
Buffy saw an opening and leaped forward, getting home with a solid strike and driving the stake deep into his chest. He retaliated with an elbow strike, knocking her backwards, and she gasped in surprise as his wound healed in front of her.
“Not nice, pet, you've torn my shirt,” he scolded. “If it wasn't for that, you could do it again. Tickles, in a good way.”
“So, you've found the Gem of Amara,” Buffy deduced.
“Brilliant, Slayer, you've guessed it,” Spike praised her sarcastically. “What gave you the clue? Me being in the sunshine, you staking me without me dusting, or this sodding great gem hanging round my neck?” Spike had almost forgotten that he was still wearing the useless amulet, but suddenly was struck by the realisation that giving away the true identity of the Gem would be poor tactics.
“And here's me thinking you'd turned into a Seventies medallion man,” Buffy quipped.
Spike laughed. “Yeah, it's a bit sodding naff, innit? I'll work out some way of wearing it that doesn't look so crap, eventually. Anyway, what about it? Coffee? Or we could meet up tonight, if you've got classes now. You, the witch, the Watcher, bring the whole gang, I don't mind.”
Buffy lowered the stake. She didn't trust Spike, but found it hard to imagine what he could have in mind other than a genuine offer of peaceful conversation. The advantage was all on his side with the Gem of Amara; surely he would just attack if he meant her harm? “I have got a class. I've got to talk this over with Giles. Meet me here tomorrow, twelvish, okay?” Then she looked past him, and saw Xander approaching fast. “Xander, stay back,” she called out.
Xander ignored her warning, and charged up to tackle Spike. Spike raised a fist, but held back and allowed Xander to seize him. Buffy hesitated, then leaped forward and grabbed the amulet. “I'm taking this, Spike,” she warned him, “but I'll give you a chance to live. Move back into the shade.”
“What are you doing, Buffy?” Xander protested. “Just stake him already.”
“Won't work while he's wearing this gem,” Buffy explained. “But he's been behaving himself, not fighting, wants to talk. I can't just pull it off and let him catch fire. Too much like murder. Anyway, you might get burned too.”
“Thanks, Slayer, that's decent of you,” Spike chuckled, and stepped back into the shadows as Xander released him and Buffy kept tight hold of the amulet. “I'll slip it off, no point in snapping the chain.” He did so, and Buffy took the necklace and backed away. “Oh, Slayer,” the vampire went on. “I lied.” He stepped out of the shadows again, into the sun. “Not about wanting to talk,” he added, as Buffy raised her stake once more. “Just about why I was wearing that gaudy medallion. Wouldn't mind it back, of course, it's probably worth a fair bit. Tomorrow, twelvish, as we agreed?”
“Tomorrow, twelvish,” Buffy agreed, too shell-shocked to do otherwise.
Xander watched, equally stunned, as the vampire walked off casually. “See you around, whelp,” Spike said in a friendly manner, and Xander muttered a baffled goodbye.
Spike's next destination was a butcher's shop, where he bought some blood. The lack of surprise at his purchase indicated to him that there were other vampires in town who were avoiding feeding from humans. Only when he requested beef blood rather than pig were any eyebrows raised. “Gonna make black pudding,” he explained. “Traditional English dish.” He could tell that the butchers didn't believe him, but they sold him what he asked for without comment.
‘Now, where did I get the idea that beef blood is the drink of choice for the discerning non-killing vampire?’ he thought to himself. ‘Still, it's good enough for those tribes in Africa who wear red cloaks and stand on one leg, and they go out spearing lions for fun and profit. Got to be tough buggers. I'll give it a go.’ He found it oddly familiar, and surprisingly pleasant, even though he couldn't remember ever having tried it before.
His thirst quenched, and with enough blood left over to keep himself fed for a couple of days, Spike went looking for a hotel room. No need to lurk in abandoned crypts now that he could walk in the sun. He decided to go out again, once he had a place to stay established, but this time heading for 1630 Revello Drive. He had a lot to think about, and there was one person who he knew he could count on to offer support, company, and a willing ear.
Joyce Summers.
Joyce had not been home long when the doorbell rang. She had changed into jeans, and a baggy sweater, and was idly watching the TV news while sipping a coffee. She rose, and made her way to the door, wondering who it could be. She wasn't expecting anyone; Buffy rarely dropped in since she'd moved into the University dorms, and friends her own age normally phoned first rather than just turning up. This being the Hellmouth, an unexpected visitor could be anyone from the Mormons to a Chaos Demon.
“Hello, Joyce,” the visitor greeted her as she opened the door. Not the Mormons, and not exactly a Chaos Demon. Spike.
“Hello, Spike,” Joyce smiled nervously. Spike was by no means the worst thing that could have turned up at her door, but not the best either. She was fairly sure that he posed no threat to her; but he was a vampire, and ‘fairly’ was not the same as ‘absolutely’.
“I've come to impose myself on your world-renowned sympathetic ear again,” Spike told her, with a cheeky grin. “Unless you've other plans for the evening, of course, in which case I'll come back some other time.”
Joyce hesitated. She had no plans at all, other than a TV dinner, and perhaps a jigsaw if she was feeling really adventurous. Her evenings were a bit flat and empty now that Buffy was living away from home, and she hadn't adjusted to the emptiness of the house yet. “No, I've nothing planned,” she admitted. “Come in.”
Spike entered with his usual confident swagger. “Missing your eldest now she's at college?” he suggested, taking the situation in at a glance.
Joyce gave him a puzzled look. “My eldest?”
Spike tilted his head to one side, and frowned. Something didn't seem quite right. Something was missing. He couldn't place it, and the thought slipped away. “I mean Buffy, of course. Eldest of one. Bloody stupid of me.”
“Yes, the place does seem a little empty without her,” Joyce confessed.
“Neglecting you, is she? Don't worry about it, once she's got used to spreading her wings she'll be back visiting her mum again,” Spike assured her. “So, what do you fancy doing, then? Last time I was bending your ear about my troubles I drank you out of chocolate and marshmallows. My turn to treat this time. How about I take you out for a meal?”
“Well, I'm hardly dressed for it,” Joyce prevaricated.
The vampire made a dismissive gesture. “So, get changed,” he urged. “I haven't done anything like made reservations, too used to eating the Head Waiter if he didn't come up with a table right away, but I've given up that sort of thing so I'd better do a bit of phoning around. You can be changing while I'm doing it. What do you fancy? Italian, maybe? French?”
“Either would be fine, but won't the garlic bother you?” Joyce gave in. Being taken out for a meal would be a pleasant change, and at least Spike wasn't drunk this time. He was even smartly dressed.
“I've built up an immunity, love,” Spike told her, smirking as he thought of how comprehensive his immunities were now, thanks to the Gem. “Anyway, it's harmless to vampires once it's cooked. There's human food like that, too. Cassava or tapioca or something. Makes you wonder whether the bloke who found that out was a genius, or just bloody lucky. Or an evil but incompetent poisoner.”
“An ideal topic of conversation when you're inviting someone out to a meal,” Joyce commented dryly, and Spike gave a delighted laugh.
“Off upstairs and put your glad rags on, Mrs Summers,” he ordered. “I'll find us a restaurant guaranteed not to poison us, whistle up a taxi, and we'll hit the town.”
“I told you, Giles,” Buffy said. The whole Scooby Gang was gathered in Giles' apartment, discussing the day's events. Buffy was hampered by her unwillingness to go into what had happened between herself and Parker, but had ended up revealing more than she had intended. “He was - well, friendly. In fact he acted as if he kind of liked me. He told Parker he needed his face punching for how he treated me, and he said he wasn't worthy of me. What's a ‘Thunderbirds puppet’, anyway?”
“There was a British TV series in the Sixties, a puppet science fiction show called ‘Thunderbirds’, which featured a chauffeur called ‘Parker’. An ugly character with an atrocious Cockney accent, but at least he knew how to treat a lady - unlike his California namesake.” Buffy had let slip enough about the college boy to inspire Giles with a desire to punch the young Lothario on the nose, and he was trying to suppress a feeling of delight that Spike had done something along those lines. “I must say ...” he began, and then broke off as the telephone rang.
“Hello, Rupert Giles here,” he answered it. “Oh, hello, Joyce. Yes, she's here.” He passed the phone to Buffy.
“Hi, mom!” Buffy greeted her mother, worried. What could be wrong that had made her mother seek her out at Giles', rather than just leaving a message on the dorm room's answering machine? “What's up?”
“Nothing bad, dear,” Joyce reassured her, detecting the concern in her daughter's voice. “Unusual, perhaps, and I thought you should know, but there's nothing to worry about.”
“So what is it then, Mom? ‘Unusual’, not a word to inspire confidence here at Hellmouth Central.”
“Spike came round to see me this evening,” Joyce began.
“Spike? Did he hurt you?” Buffy asked anxiously. The Scoobies sat up in alarm as they heard that name.
“Of course not,” her mother chided her. “Spike is a friend. He took me out to dinner, actually. To Alberto's, and I had a lovely time. He was quite charming. In fact, if I was twenty years younger, or even ten, then...”
“Eww! Mom!” Buffy interrupted her. “Bad images!”
Everyone in the room heard Joyce's laughter coming from the phone. “Buffy, please! We just talked. Although, as I said, if I was younger ...” she teased, and laughed again at Buffy's outraged repetition of “Eww! Mom!”. “Anyway, I want you to promise me something. Don't stake Spike unless you are absolutely certain that he is going to kill somebody. He says he's trying to be good, and I believe him.”
“You can't trust him, Mom,” Buffy cautioned. “He's a demon. He's planning something. He has to be. He will kill people, he has to have their blood to survive.”
“Did Angel kill people to survive?” Joyce asked shrewdly. “Spike told me he's found that he likes beef blood, and that he's happy to get by on it. He promised me he won't feed from humans. Let him have a chance to prove himself. For me.”
“I suppose I might as well. I tried to stake him this afternoon, and it didn't work,” Buffy admitted. “He's got some magic gem which makes him invulnerable. Can't be staked, can walk in the sunlight, could probably drink Holy Water. Guess I've got nothing to lose by not trying to kill him, seeing as how I can't kill him anyway.”
“Oh, he told me about that. He says he thinks you'd still manage to kill him if you tried, as you're so ‘brave, determined, and resourceful’. On the whole, he'd rather you didn't, and so would I.”
“He said that about me?” Buffy asked, feeling flattered despite herself.
“He talked about you a lot, actually. He was very complimentary. He said I should be proud of you, which I am, of course. I know you won't kill someone who's trying to do the right thing. You won't, will you?” It was an order, not a question.
“Yes, Mom. I mean, no. That is, yes I won't,” Buffy said resignedly, struggling out of the linguistic knot. “I'll give him a fair hearing.”
“And then we'll hang him,” Xander muttered to himself, and then yelped as Willow gave him a sharp prod with her elbow.
“I'm meeting him tomorrow lunchtime, as he's probably told you,” Buffy continued, ignoring Xander. “With most of the gang. If he behaves himself, he'll still be around afterwards to take you out again.”
Later that night, Willow and Buffy were walking back to the dorm together, discussing the Parker-related events which Buffy had avoided going into during the group meeting.
“So what I'm wondering is, does this always happen?” Buffy asked. “Sleep with a guy and he goes all evil. God, I'm such a fool.”
“Well, maybe you made a mistake. But that's okay,” Willow comforted her. “Next time, you'll know better.”
“Parker said it's okay to make mistakes,” Buffy went on. “It was sweet.”
“No it wasn't,” Willow contradicted her. “He was saying that so you'd take a chance and sleep with him. He's a poop-head.”
“You're right. He's manipulative and shallow. And why doesn't he want me? Am I repulsive? If there was something repulsive about me you would tell me, right?”
“I'm your friend,” Willow assured her. “I would call you repulsive in a second.”
“Maybe Parker and I could still work it out,” Buffy blurted out, with a trace of desperation in her voice. “Do you think we could still work it out?”
“I think you're missing something about this whole poop-head principle. Got to say, I'm with Spike on this. What did he say? ‘Were you born a pillock or did you have to work up to it? Don't treat a lady this way. Utter twat.’ ‘Twat’, that's like c-u-n-t in British, am I right?” Willow asked, blushing slightly as she spelt out the naughty word. “I think he got Parker pretty well spot on. Then there's the ‘Thunderbirds puppet’ thing. I've seen ‘Thunderbirds’ on Fox a few years back. ‘Yus, me lady’.” She held her hands out loosely and walked jerkily, like a puppet, and giggled to herself, remembering.
Buffy pouted, miffed at Willow's reaction. “I think I'm gonna take a walk. You go on ahead.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Buffy walked off, leaving Willow behind. She thought she saw Harmony in the distance, walking alone in a dejected fashion. Somehow she couldn't summon up the energy to go and check; she couldn't really see Harmony as a major threat, and she had apparently been so miserable when Giles, Oz, and Willow had found her in the empty crypt that they hadn't been able to bring themselves to stake her. She could wait for another night, Buffy thought, and walked on. From behind her, she heard a cry of “Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Thunderbirds are go!”. “Stupid nerd,” she sniffed, and walked on.
Spike was in the campus grounds at twelve the next day. He sat on a bench and smoked until Buffy arrived, accompanied by Willow, and he put out his cigarette and rose to his feet.
“Hello, Buffy,” he greeted her. “Hello, Willow. I'm really sorry about the broken bottle thing last time we met, hope you don't hold it against me.”
“Like you held it against me?” Willow shot a barbed comment at him.
“What can I say? I was drunk, and hurting. I didn't really hurt you, did I? All I can do is say I'm sorry I scared you. If that's not enough, guess there's not much more I can add.” He gave a disarming smile, and Willow actually smiled back.
“So, what's your game, Spike?” Buffy demanded.
“Do we have to do this here, love?” Spike asked. “You'll only have to repeat it all to your Watcher, and then he'll want to hear it from me, so I'll have to go through it all again. Why don't I just meet up with the lot of you right from the start?” Also Spike had a plan that required them to be indoors, but he wasn't going to mention that yet.
“I suppose that's sensible,” Buffy conceded. “Wait a minute! Sensible? Spike? Are we in some whole different reality here?”
Willow raised an eyebrow at Spike and gave him a quirky smile, which he returned despite his feeling an odd shiver down his spine at Buffy's words. “Yeah, I'm a bleeding idiot, I know, but smart enough to want to save myself a bit of effort.” He turned his smile on Buffy, and she reluctantly returned it. “Come on, love, off to see the Watcher. Just point me to that yellow brick road.”
“He's waiting for us at the Espresso Pump,” Buffy told him. “And Oz will be meeting us there too, so the yellow brick road fits. Question is, what are you after? Heart, courage, or brains?”
“Brains, love, definitely brains,” Spike replied, joining the two girls in walking towards the town. “Do us a favour, pets? Walk on each side of me, so all the blokes can see I'm with two gorgeous birds and envy me something rotten.” Buffy glared at him, not amused, but Willow blushed and gave him a smile that was both shy and pleased.
The Espresso Pump was quiet, and not well lit. It was primarily an evening venue, although it was open at lunchtimes, and Giles had felt it ideally suited for a neutral ground meeting with Spike. It was ideal for Spike's plan, too. He sat casually in the group, taking no precautions at all to avoid being flanked or surrounded, and took pleasure in the way this disconcerted Buffy, Giles, and Xander. Willow seemed totally at ease, rather to his surprise, and if Oz was disconcerted there was no way to tell.
Spike deflected all attempts at meaningful conversation until they all had cups of coffee in front of them, by which time Giles was becoming impatient. “If you have something to tell us, Spike, please get on with it. But be warned, I will not be taken in by your lies.”
“No lies, Watcher, just the truth. Fact is, my unlife has been a right sodding mess for a few years now. Drusilla is a bloody loon, and she never cared tuppence for me except when it suited her. Only minion I've had in decades who could carry on a decent conversation was Dalton, and the sodding Judge that Drusilla insisted we put together cremated him. Tell any of the others they've done good work, and they think I've gone bleeding soft, and I've got to stake them. The only times I've actually enjoyed myself have been when I've been with you lot. Fighting with Buffy, having hot chocolate and marshmallows with her mum, working with you lot against Angelus, teaming up with Buffy and Angel against a bunch of vamps. Then it occurred to me that I sort of like you.”
“You've got a strange way of showing it,” Buffy observed.
“Yeah, well, sorry about that. Seriously, I do. You're a bleeding marvel when you fight, pet, all golden and shiny. Willow's a little treasure. Really impressed me when I kidnapped her to do that stupid spell. Xander's got real guts. Getting the Watcher away from Angelus and Dru, bloody well done. Sorry about clobbering you with that microscope, by the way, lad. Don't really know the wolf boy, but I've heard his band a time or two, and they're not bad; and he must be a bit special if Willow's seeing him. And you, Rupert, you've got brains and guts, and I reckon you'd be a damn sight more interesting to talk to than any vamp I've met this century.” Spike paused, and took a drink of his coffee. He could tell that the time was approaching for the biggest gamble of his entire unlife.
“So what are you getting at, Spike, apart from buttering us up with compliments?” Giles demanded, suspiciously.
“I want to join you. I can't beat you, so it's the logical thing to do. Look, mate, the other day I got my grubby paws on the thing all vampires have always wanted. The Gem of Amara. Makes me bloody near invincible. Should have been happy, right? Except that I started thinking, what am I going to do with it? Kill the Slayer? Right, that's really going to go down well with Joyce. Can't see her welcoming me in for cocoa if I gobble up her daughter. Destroy the world? Never been into that sort of thing, you know that. Can't see any way of bringing Hell to Earth without really buggering up Man U's chances in the Champions' League. I like a good fight, but what's the point of fighting you lot? If I win, I get sod all out of it except a meal. If I lose, I'm dust. But if I fight beside you, I get a good fists and fangs brawl, and I can still have mates afterwards who can actually be relied on not to stab me in the back as soon as it suits them. And if I help stop any joker who tries opening the Hellmouth, I keep the world the interesting place it is. Football, and dog racing, and punk rock, and soaps. None of which they have in Hell, as far as I know.”
“What about the whole biting people and drinking their blood thing?” asked Willow.
“Now, there's the thing,” said Spike. “A while back I was watching the Discovery Channel, or some such, and saw something about the Maasai in Tanzania. They live on the blood of their cattle. They're great big blokes, hard as nails, have to fight a lion single-handed before they can be called a man. So, a vamp could drink beef blood without anyone being able to call him a soft poofter. I mean, anyone who calls a Maasai Moran a pansy is just asking for a spear through the guts. Anyway, I gave it a try, and, guess what, it's bloody delicious! They sell it in the butchers' here in Sunnyhell; I don't mind living on it.”
“You tell a plausible tale, Spike, and I can't see what you gain from it, but there has to be something,” Giles replied. “I find myself unable to believe that you really are volunteering to fight for the side of good with nothing to gain but our friendship.”
“Don't blame you for being wary, Watcher, but let me remind you that you owe me one. Every time you count your arms and legs, remember who talked Angelus out of getting medieval on you with that chainsaw.”
“For your own ends,” Giles reminded him.
“Said ends being stopping Angelus and Dru sucking the world into Hell,” Spike shot back. “Okay, I only saved you because the Slayer had said that if you got seriously mangled there was no deal, but the deal was a good thing, wasn't it? Anyway, having reminded you of that debt, I'm going to take a big chance.” He slipped a heavy, ornate, ring from his finger and laid it on the table. “Gem of Amara, mate. I'm at your mercy. If you think I'm just planning to work my way into your confidence, then hang on to it. Of course I'll be bloody stuck here until dark. Or stake me, if you won't take a chance. But ask yourself, what could I possibly gain by lying to you? If I was after you I'd have picked you off one by one, with the ring to protect me, rather than coming up with this story.”
“How do we know that's really the Gem?” Buffy asked. “You lied about the necklace.”
Spike rolled up his sleeve. “Put your cross there, love,” he suggested. “Appreciate it if you don't keep it there too long.”
Buffy unclipped the little crucifix pendant from her neck, and held it to Spike's arm. He grimaced, smoke rose from his flesh, and Buffy quickly pulled the cross away to reveal its shape burned into Spike's skin. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Don't worry about it, pet, I told you to do it,” Spike smiled at her. “I wouldn't have been much of a Big Bad if I couldn't take a bit of pain, now, would I?”
Xander leaned forward, and picked up the ring. “So, this is the Gem of Amara? Does it give any cool powers to humans?”
“Yeah. Gives you the power to walk in daylight, have a reflection, bathe in Holy Water, eat raw garlic, suffer no pain from crosses, and get staked through the heart without turning to dust. Wouldn't recommend testing the staking bit, of course, as bleeding to death can ruin your whole day.” Spike smirked at Xander, who grinned back at him. “Look, I don't know if it gives any powers to humans, do I? Seriously doubt it, though. All sorts of legends about what it does for vamps, not a thing about it doing anything but sod all for the living. Would think there would be if it did anything.”
Giles was amazed by the chance Spike was taking, the trust in them he was showing, and for the life of him couldn't see what the vampire could hope to gain that was worth the risk. As Spike had said, the ring gave him the ability to pick them off one by one almost without fear of retaliation, and him trying to work his way into their confidence as part of some devious plan seemed pointless. He was certainly capable of deceit, and Giles owed his own life to that capacity, but in this instance it seemed illogical. The simplest explanation was that Spike meant exactly what he said. He found himself believing that Spike was telling the truth, although this flew in the face of everything he had been taught, and he said so.
“I accept that you are telling us what you see as the truth, but I still wonder what is behind your Road-to-Damascus conversion. Do you think you have, perhaps, been cursed with a soul?”
“Yeah, I wondered that for a while,” Spike admitted. “Thought it might have been an unpublicised side-effect of the Gem. But no. Don't feel all tortured and broody. Regrets, I've had a few, but no guilt for the things I did just to feed. I did what I had to do. Didn't realise I had a choice. Only sorry about the things which I did have a choice about. Mainly it's just that I'm sick of hanging around with evil bastards, 'cos they're a bunch of sodding pillocks, and I'd rather hang out with the good guys. Can't do that unless I stop being evil myself. I got the Gem, realised I'd reached the top and had to stop, and decided I want to be a man, man-cub. Can stroll right into town; be just like the other guys, I'm tired of monkeying around.”
“Gee, Cousin Louie, you're doing real good,” Oz quoted, speaking for the first time since they'd ordered the coffees and sandwiches.
“Hope so.” Spike looked at him with sudden interest. “Guess you know all about struggling with your instincts, mate. Oz, innit? Maybe you could give me a few pointers?”
“Not really. Mostly I just hang out in a cage three nights a month. Sorta like being a part-time parrot, only without the little bell and the cuttlefish bone.”
Spike laughed, and found himself liking the werewolf's dry humour. “Think I can see what the witch sees in you. Oh well, I know someone else who might be able to give me some tips on how to be good when nature says you should be the other way.”
“You mean Angel?” asked Buffy.
“Sure do. Do us a favour, love, ring him and say I'll be dropping in to see him. I'm planning on getting an honest job, and I need a couple of extra bits of ID. I think he could help me out there.”
“You're planning on getting an honest job?” Buffy breathed. This was even more unlikely than Spike volunteering to help them rather than killing them.
“Well, going to need an income to get by, and I can't nick it any more if I'm with the good guys, can I? Which reminds me, gold necklace, can I have it back?” Spike held his hand out expectantly. Giles drew the necklace from his pocket and passed it over. “Ta muchly,” Spike acknowledged. “Anyway, what're the main barriers to a vamp getting a job, even if he was that way inclined? Burning up in the sunlight, no reflection. Well, the Gem sorts those.”
“You have a reflection now?” Giles asked, fascinated. “That's not mentioned in my references on the Gem.”
“Well, don't actually have one right this minute, seeing as how the lad there is wearing the ring rather than me,” Spike pointed out. Xander removed the ring, looked to Giles for approval, and then passed it back to Spike, who slipped it on. “Yeah, found out when I checked into a hotel yesterday. Gave me a right shock, I can tell you. Probably meant to help the big bad vampire ringwearer sneak up on victims. To me, it means I can actually get a job without getting the push as soon as the boss sees me in a mirror, or rather doesn't see me in a mirror.”
“What is your intended career choice, Spike?” asked Giles. “And how will you acquire a Green Card?”
“Already got one,” Spike revealed. “Fake, but a good one, and entered into the system two years ago, so it will stand up to a computer check as well as a visual. It's my qualifications where there's a problem, what with them being a hundred and twenty years out of date, but I've got an idea on how to get round that with Angel's help. As to what I'll be doing, well, the idea came to me from something a lass I met yesterday said. Not sure if it'll come off, don't want to say too much in case it doesn't, but it's nothing bad, I promise.”
Buffy was about to asked him something, but Willow cut her off. “We've got to be heading back to class now,” she pointed out. “Come on, Buffy, Oz. See you around, Spike.”
“If you're going to LA to see Angel, I'm heading off there with the band to a gig tomorrow, could give you a lift,” Oz offered.
“That's decent of you, mate. I've put my car in for a service and a good valet job. Was going to use it to take Joyce out yesterday, then it struck me that it was a right mess; ash, bottles, gunk on the windows; so I got a cab, and took the car to the shop today. I'll take that ride, thanks.”