Cordelia and Doyle were having a conversation in the Angel Investigations office, half discussion and half argument, when Oz and Spike walked in.
“Hello, LA,” Oz greeted.
Cordelia rushed over and hugged him. “Oz! It's so good to see you. Good old Oz! Oz.” She turned to Doyle, and pointed to Oz. “Oz.” she repeated.
“Let me just take a stab at it, you'd be Oz?” Doyle greeted the smaller of the new arrivals.
“Good guess,” Oz replied.
“And, Spike,” Cordelia added, with less enthusiasm.
“Cordelia. You look smashing. Did you lose weight?” Spike looked her over with obvious appreciation.
“Yeah, I go to this great gym.” Cordelia thawed slightly towards the vampire. “So, you're a good guy now, Buffy tells me, although she's not totally convinced.”
“For now, let's just say not actively bad. Got to do something good before I get the white hat and the Nancy-boy hair gel. But I'm working on it. Where's granddad? Y'know, Angel. Your boss,” Spike clarified, seeing that Cordelia didn't understand his first reference.
“In his apartment. Take the elevator down,” Cordelia pointed it out. “Oz! We have some serious catching up to do. How is everything? How's the Bronze?”
Angel looked up from his book as Spike entered. “Spike,” he greeted, without warmth. “Giles tells me you claim to have turned over a new leaf. Also that you are invulnerable, and that there's no point in me following my first inclination and staking you through the heart.”
Spike sat down without waiting for an invitation, pulled off the Gem of Amara, and tossed it to Angel. “Now you're invulnerable, and if you stake me through the heart you'll need to get the vacuum out to clean up Mr Big Pile of Dust Spike.”
Angel's jaw dropped. “What game are you playing, Spike?” he asked, uncertainly.
“Well, I've been through all this before for the Slayer and her crew, so I'll just give you the Cliff Notes version, okay? Bottom line is, I'm fed up of being a badass. Half the things I did were only to please Dru, and the loony bint cheats on me anyway, whatever I do. So I've given up on her, totally, and I'm going to do things to suit myself. For starters, I'm going to mix with people I actually like, instead of twisted evil bastards and moronic minions. It occurred to me that the people I don't mind being around are all good guys. They tend to frown on me eating people, particularly them, so I decided to give up on that bit. I enjoy a good fight, so I've offered to help them out fighting the bad guys. The End. Roll credits.”
“You're claiming you want to help the Slayer out and go staking other vampires?” Angel queried, still baffled.
“Why not? You did,” Spike pointed out. “Look, it's not as if there's any big racial solidarity movement for the undead. I've staked minions who pissed me off for bloody years anyway; same with any master vamps whose plans clashed with mine. Never did much socialising with them. Actively being their enemy isn't going to be any big change.”
“And the ring? Why did you give it to me?”
“Not giving it to you, pal, I was just making a point. But I don't mind lending it to you for a day or two, if you like. Go out, have a walk in the park. Help out some of your clients in the daytime. Could use a favour from you in exchange, although I'll pay you too.”
“You're trusting me with the biggest vampire treasure of all? How come? Who are you, and what have you done with Spike?”
“Why shouldn't I trust you? You're one of the good guys. I'm just showing some good faith. Look, Angel,” Spike leaned towards him and adopted a serious expression, “Angelus was my Sire, well, Grand-sire if you want to get precise, and my Yoda. Taught me all I knew about being bad. You want a shot at being Yoda to the good guy version of me? Lead me to the Light Side of the Force? Remember the last time I saw you in Sunnydale, when me and you and Buffy had that fight against Lenny and those vamps? I had fun. I'd rather have you, and Buffy, and her friends, on my side than against me. No point in trying to bring you over to the Dark Side; had enough of Angelus the year before last. Don't ever want to see that side of you again, the girl-stealing bastard. Can't imagine Darth Buffy. So, my only option is to join the good guys. No big conversion, no search for redemption. I just reckon I'll get more out of it.”
Angel thought about what Spike had said, and spotted a flaw in the chain of logic. However, he decided against bringing it up immediately. He wanted to think about it a little longer, so decided upon a delaying tactic. “Like a drink, Spike?”
“Not a bad idea, mate, but I'll treat. Brought you a little present.” From the pocket of his long leather coat he produced a bottle of John Power & Son Gold Label Irish Whiskey.
Angel's eyes lit up. He went to a drawer, and took out two glasses. “Don't let Doyle see that, or there won't be any left for us.”
“He your bloke who's upstairs with the cheerleader? Drinking man, is he?”
“You could say that.” Angel opened the bottle, and poured two drinks. “Céad Míle Fáilte!”
“Cheers, mate.” Spike raised his glass, and took a sip. “So, how's the detective business going?”
“Can't complain. Well, Cordelia does, all the time, mainly about how we don't get paid by most of our clients, but that's not what I'm in the business for.” Angel saw an opening to discuss the flaw in Spike's logic that he had spotted earlier. “Spike, you say you want to help the good guys, I assume you mean Buffy's outfit, because you'll get more out of it than being evil. What's going to happen if things go badly? I'm helping people because I'm searching for redemption. I know that I just have to keep on trying if things get messed up. I know there'll be pain, and sadness, and failure. If you're just playing a game because you think it will be fun, then you're going to give up and turn on us the moment things don't work out.”
Spike's eyes flared briefly. “Look, mate, you knew me for twenty years before you got your poncy soul, you were with me for a year not long ago, and you know a lot of what I was doing while we were apart. Have you ever known me to be a quitter?”
“No,” Angel admitted. “The first night you turned up in Sunnydale I told Giles that once you start something you don't stop until everything in your path is dead.”
“So why think I'd quit at the first setback if I started doing good?” Spike took another drink of his whiskey, and settled back in his chair. “You know something? All I've ever really wanted is to belong. To have friends, a family. For twenty years that was you, and Dru, and Darla. We weren't much of a family, really, but it was enough. Then you left, and then Darla, and it was just Dru and me. Which was sodding awful, to tell the truth, but it was all I had. When we came to Sunnydale, and I met the Slayer, I didn't think anything of it at first. Then I met her mum, and her little Scooby gang, and I started envying them. Couldn't think of them as just Happy Meals on legs any more, especially Joyce. Course, I still kept fighting them, 'cos I was Evil. Except, I started thinking recently, why am I evil? Y'know, I couldn't come up with any good answers. Hasn't made me happy. Got no friends. My family has dwindled down to just me. So why bother? You're not much for modern music, are you? Ever heard the Rush song ‘Free Will’?”
“Can't say I have,” Angel confessed.
“Listen,” Spike ordered, and sang:
“You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will.”
He took another drink, and explained. “So, I've chosen free will. I don't have to be evil just 'cos I haven't got a soul. Once I'd got that sorted out, I could see that the only way I'm likely to get any kind of approximation to a family is to join the good guys. Best friend I've had in many years is Joyce Summers. Only met her four times, and one of those times she hit me with an axe, but she's still a friend. I want more. If it means tough fights, and pain, and maybe suffering loss sometimes, I still think it's worth a shot.”
“You really mean it,” Angel said wonderingly. He picked up the whiskey bottle and filled their tumblers again. “I'd like to hear the rest of that song. Have you got the record?”
“Oz has it on cassette. Played it in the van on the way here.”
“I'll borrow it off him.” After another sip of whiskey, Angel moved on to business. “What's this favour you want from me?”
Spike took an envelope from his pocket, extracted some documents, and began to explain his plan. When he had finished, Angel pocketed the documents. “I know someone who can do it, sure,” Angel confirmed. “I can arrange the reference, too. There's another one you should be able to fix. Sunnydale High is a pile of rubble, all the records gone too, and coming up with something from there that can't be disproved shouldn't be too hard if Giles cooperates with you.”
“Already thought of that. I'll ask him when I get back. How long do you think it'll take?”
“Two or three days, I guess. How do you feel about helping me with a case while you're here? Protecting a girl with a psycho boyfriend who's beating her up and threatening to kill her. Not by killing him,” Angel warned. “Just keeping her safe until he gets the message or until we can get him neutralised by the authorities.”
“Sounds fine, as long as you don't object to him getting a good thumping,” Spike grinned.
“I don't have a problem with that, as long as you don't break any important bones. In fact, I punched him out myself last night,” Angel admitted. “He's in jail right now, but I don't think it'll stick. He'll probably be out, angrier than ever, soon.” He picked up the Gem of Amara, which had been lying on the top of his desk. “I think I'll head over and see the girl, her name's Rachel, right now. I'll tell her about you. I'll drop these papers off while I'm out. You're sure you don't mind me borrowing the ring?”
“If I minded, I wouldn't have offered.” Spike brought a second bottle of John Power from his coat's other pocket, put it on the desk, and then fished out the jewelled medallion. “Know anyone who can give a decent price for this? Call it my fee for the documents thing.” He tossed it to Angel, who examined it.
“It's far too much, Spike. Especially if you're giving me a hand too. Tell you what, I'll split it with you, fifty fifty?” Angel would have turned it down altogether, but recognised that Spike wanted to feel that he was paying his way, and also the proceeds of the necklace's sale would pay the agency's expenses for quite some time. “Cordelia will be pleased we've actually got a paying client.”
“If you're off out, I'll do some catching up with the cheerleader,” Spike suggested. “Stick that full bottle away somewhere safe, and I'll take what's left of this one and go and make friends with that Doyle bloke.”
“He'll be your friend for life as soon as he sees it,” Angel agreed. He locked the full bottle in a cupboard, donned the Gem of Amara, and then accompanied Spike up to the office.
The following morning Doyle, Cordelia, and Spike were in the office. Doyle was moaning and clutching his head, and Cordelia brought him a beaker of water, while Spike watched with an amused smirk.
“Oh, god. You know what would feel really good right now? One of those mind-numbing, head-cracking visions that I get from time to time,” Doyle croaked, struggling to get some pills out of a bottle, “Because that would really kill me now. Is there some kind of trick to this?”
Cordelia took the bottle from him, removed the cotton wool plug, and shook some pills out into her hand. “I think the trick is laying off the Irish whiskey before you start quoting from 'Angela's Ashes' and weeping like a baby man.”
“Hey, that's a good book,” Doyle protested, taking the pills and washing them down with the water.
“So I've heard. But I doubt that the main characters are Betty and Barney Rubble as you so vehemently insisted last night. Also I don't think Oz appreciated being called 'my little Bam‘bam’ all night. And as for you calling Spike ’Dino’...” Cordelia burst into giggles.
“Personally I find that being a vampire is a big help with the hangovers. Although I can see that it wouldn't work for everyone,” Spike put in.
“I still don't believe this. I spent the evening drinking with William the Bloody, and I enjoyed it. You were actually funny.” Cordelia shook her head in amazement, and then groaned herself. “Note to self; shaking head, not a good idea after a night drinking.” She tipped out another couple of pills, and popped them into her mouth and took a drink of water.
“I think I lost track of things a bit,” Doyle said. “What was that thing with the arm in a box?”
“The Judge,” Spike informed him. “Not one of my brighter moments. Demon in a boxed set, some assembly required. Dru wanted to use him to wipe out humanity, and, like a bleeding moron, I went along with her. Burned my best minion to ash, damn it. Buffy blew the stupid demon up with a bazooka. Then she kicked Angelus one in the bollocks, and he was walking like a cowboy for a week.” He chuckled at the memory.
“I don't get you, Spike,” Cordelia commented, looking at Spike and raising one eyebrow. “You're actually amused that your evil plan failed?”
“Yeah, sure. Not my plan, Dru's, but I was a stupid wanker to let her do it. I mean, suppose it had worked? What were we supposed to bloody eat without humans? I hadn't found out about beef blood then, and, even if I had, were we supposed to be frigging vampire cowboys?” He laughed again. “Yee-haw! Ride 'em, cowvamp!”
Cordelia joined in the laughter, eyes twinkling, and Doyle was caught up in it too, until the pain in his head grew too severe. Cordelia laughed even more, and she was still laughing when Angel walked in.
“Glad to see you're enjoying yourselves,” he commented, with a wry smile. “Morning, Spike. I've got a job for you, if you'll do it.”
“Glad to,” Spike agreed.
“Rachel, the girl I told you about, called,” Angel went on. “Her boyfriend Lenny got out on a technicality. He'll be after her. I can't see him making a move this early in the day, but best be ready. I've given her the address of a shelter where she'll be safe, but the trick is getting her to go there. See what you can do.”
Spike looked ill at ease. “I could handle giving him a good thumping, but I don't know about the talking to the girl bit. You're the one for that sort of thing.”
“I haven't got anywhere with getting her to do what she has to do to escape from him permanently. Maybe you'll have better luck. Just be as persuasive with her as you were with me yesterday, and you'll do fine.” Angel gave Spike a small smile. “I'm counting on you, Spike.”
Spike stood up. “I'll do my best, mate. Let's have her address.”
Angel passed him a sheet from a notebook, and the Gem of Amara. “Take my car. Will you be able to find it okay?”
“Yeah, it's in the garage, innit?” Spike smirked at Angel. “Sure, I'll find her place, no problem.” He held up the ring. “You're sure? Suppose you need to go out?”
“I know my way round the sewers. I've been coping fine without the ring so far, remember. Best be off.”
Spike slipped on the ring, waved goodbye to Doyle and Cordelia, and left on his mission for Angel.
Rachel was blonde, pretty, and on the edge. She drew nervously on a cigarette as she talked to Spike. He looked at her neck, and considered just grabbing her, biting deep, and draining her blood. The idea held no appeal whatsoever. Instead, he listened as she talked about her life with Lenny.
“Look, love,” he told her. “We have to get you out of here. There are places you can go, where you'll be safe.”
“Like a shelter?” Rachel asked.
“It's a start.” Spike lit up a cigarette of his own. “Angel says he won't be able to find you there, and if Angel says it you can rely on it.”
“No, it's not the shelter, it's just, ah,” Rachel leaned against the breakfast bar, and took a long drag on her cigarette. “Half the time, you how this whole thing starts up again, Lenny and me?”
“You call him.” Spike knew exactly what she meant.
“I - I - I just start to Jones for him. The way he Jones for rock. And I call, or I find him in some dive, and I drag him home, and it's good - for a while.”
“But it doesn't last, does it? From what Angel tells me, this last time he would have killed you.” He watched her as she stood, trying not to cry, and played with her cigarette. “Look, love, I know what you're going through. I've been where you are. There are only three ways this can end. He'll kill you, or you'll kill him while he's lying asleep one night, or you make a clean break and get away from him for good. And stay away.”
“I'm scared, Spike. I'm more scared of me right now than I am of him. What you said about killing him while he's lying asleep - I've thought about it. How did you know?”
“Like I said, pet,” Spike confessed, “I've been exactly where you are.”
“You're gay?” Rachel blurted out. She couldn't imagine Spike being beaten up by a woman. He might only be of average height, but he moved like a panther, and Angel had assured her with calm certainty that his associate Spike could deal with Lenny with ease. “Sorry,” she muttered, as he raised an eyebrow quizzically at her.
Spike guessed what she had been thinking. “Not much use being stronger than a woman if you can't bring yourself to hit her back, pet. Ever heard of battered husband syndrome?” Suddenly his mind was filled of images of himself lying in an alley, small feminine fists smashing down into his face with bone-breaking force, and he heard himself croaking out “You always hurt the one you love, pet.” ’Christ, Dru must have really done a number on me that time,’ he thought to himself. ‘I don't even remember that one.’ He drew hard on his cigarette, feeling the need of a calming nicotine hit, and realised that his hands were actually trembling. He fought for control, and regained it. His hands had stopped trembling by the time he blew out the smoke.
“Look, love,” he said to Rachel, “Angel probably told you I'm tough, Lenny would be no problem for me. I've done martial arts longer than you would believe, been in more bar fights than Sonny Barger, and the only bloke who can take me in a fight is Angel on a good day. But a woman put me in a wheelchair for three months.” He deliberately ran together what Buffy and Drusilla had done to him. “Dru was destroying me. She hit me, bit me, cheated on me, and I kept crawling back to her. Thought I could change her, y'know? But it never bloody worked. Just got worse and worse. Finally realised that the only thing I could change was me. I found hope. I got out, and I stayed out, and it's working. If you could have seen the pathetic tosser I was while I was with Dru, you'd understand that if I could do it, you can. All you need is hope, and faith in yourself. If you leave Lenny for good, it'll hurt. It hurt me when I left Dru. But eventually you'll be stronger for it. And maybe you'll find your way to the kind of love you deserve.”
“You mean the kind of love that comes without 911 calls?” Rachel gave a weak, trembling smile.
“Only kind worth having.” Spike gave an answering smile. “C'mon, pet, let's get you to the shelter. It's a good first step. But the rest is up to you.”
Spike went back to Angel's office feeling good about himself, although somewhat perplexed about why he felt so good. He hadn't had a good fight, hadn't done anything except talk, help a woman pack, and drive her to a refuge; yet he still felt as if he'd achieved something worthwhile. ‘I used to be a badass vampire,’ he thought, ‘but something’s defanged me. Now I'm just a fluffy puppy with bad teeth. Still, I'm a fluffy puppy who feels good.’
“I feel so good I'm going to break somebody's heart tonight,” Spike sang, as he walked into the office. “I feel so good I'm going to take someone apart tonight.” He broke off from the Richard Thompson song as he saw Cordelia's concerned look. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“Hi, Spike,” Cordelia greeted him, trying to look as if she hadn't been wondering if he had eaten Rachel and was now going to eat her and Doyle. “We were just talking about you.”
“Nothing good, I bet,” Spike grinned, and sat down. He swung his feet up to rest on another chair, and let his eyes rest appreciatively on Cordelia. “Love the hair, by the way, pet. Angel downstairs?”
“He might be, but I don't think so. He went out not long after you did, to take your documents to someone he knows, and to see somebody about selling that medallion you brought in. Maybe he's come in without us noticing, he can get to his apartment through the sewers, but he usually lets us know. He's been out longer than we expected, I thought he must have joined up with you. Obviously not.”
“Okay for me to go down there, pet? Would like to tell him about how I got on with Rachel.” Spike made his way to the elevator, and went down to Angel's apartment. He came up again a few minutes later. “Not back yet. Think he'd mind if I got some kip on his couch?”
“Kip?” Cordelia asked. “Who's he?”
“He means ‘sleep’, Cordelia,” Doyle explained. “Go right ahead, Spike.”
“Hey, Spike,” Cordelia addressed the vampire, before he could return to the elevator. “We're going out later to see Oz's gig. Coming with?” She looked as if she had surprised herself by issuing the invitation.
Spike smiled at her, a warm friendly smile. “Might do, pet. Wouldn't mind going along with you and the boyo. Depends if Angel's back, I think one of us should be here in case Rachel calls, but if he is back I'll come. For now I'll catch a bit of a nap.” He went down again in the elevator, and Cordelia turned to Doyle.
“Are we in Bizarro World, or what? The Slayer of Slayers being caring and considerate, me inviting him to come to a gig with us, me even hoping he's going to come?”
“Ah, what would be Bizarro World would be you hoping that I would come,” Doyle responded. “Is it right that he's killed two Slayers?”
“Killed two Slayers, came as close to killing Buffy as anyone ever has, sent this assassin guy made of creepy bugs after me, kidnapped my boyfriend and caused me to fall on an iron bar and get spiked; you name it, he's done it. Oh, and helped Buffy save the world, but I think that was sorta by accident.” She shook her head. “And I like him. Am I crazy, or is the world?”
“You just like him because he noticed you'd lost weight, and he likes your hair,” Doyle retorted.
“Can I help it if he's observant? You should take lessons. Well, not so much about the hiring of assassins made of bugs.”
Angel still hadn't returned when Cordelia and Doyle were ready to head off to Oz's gig, so Spike stayed behind. Rachel did indeed phone, but only because she wanted to talk. He listened, told her what he felt she needed to hear, then went back to sleep on Angel's couch. He woke early in the morning, used Angel's microwave to warm up a breakfast of beef blood, and was waiting in the office when Angel's two employees arrived. “Angel's still not back,” he told them. “I'm starting to get worried.”
“He's a big lad, he can take care of himself,” Doyle said. “Although it's not like him not to keep in touch. You've got the Gem, right? So he can't have gone surfing. I'll do some phoning around, see if I can find him.”
Spike paced the office while Doyle made some phone calls. He thought about going out to search for Angel, but he didn't know LA well, had few contacts, and none who would willingly get within sight of Angel. He decided to kill time by going out for a haircut; something he had been unable to do for over a century, as barbers tended to get exceedingly distracted by a client who didn't show up in their mirrors. Cordelia recommended one, and Spike left.
“Hey, way cool!” she complimented him when he returned. “A new look for you. Looks good.”
“Thanks, pet. Any word from Angel?”
Cordelia's face fell. “No. Spike, I'm starting to get really worried.” Just then the phone rang. Doyle was busy searching through an address book, so she rushed to answer it, her face alight with hope that it was her missing boss. “Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless.” The light left her face as the caller spoke, and was replaced by puzzlement. “Yes, he's here.” She held the phone out to Spike. “It's for you.”
“Hello?” Spike said, surprised to get a call at Angel's. It couldn't be Oz, or any of the Sunnydale crew, or Cordelia wouldn't have reacted as she had. “Spike here.”
“Hi there, boss,” the caller said. “Ex boss, that is. I hear you found a little something in that crypt you didn't include in the share-out.”
“Brian? What the fuck are you doing calling me here?” Spike asked. He had a bad feeling about the call, soon to be confirmed.
“I've got a new boss now. He was very interested in what I told him about your little dig. We've been watching you, and we were intrigued to see Angelus walking about in the sunshine the day before yesterday. We picked him up last night, but he doesn't have the Gem. Then we saw you taking a daylight stroll too. You're sharing it with your Sire, but not with the guys who got it for you. We want it.”
“What have you done with Angel?” Spike demanded, slipping into game face in his fury.
“Nothing yet. Well, nothing permanent. A few hot pokers, a little stretching of his arms and legs. Nothing that won't heal in a year or two. Now, he won't tell us a damn thing, but I reckon that, if he's important enough to you for you to share the Gem of Amara with him, he's important enough for you to want him back more or less intact. Of course I could be wrong, in which case just let me know where you want us to post his ashes.”
“I'll trade.” Spike didn't dare try to pretend that he didn't care about Angel. He couldn't risk Brian calling his bluff. “The Gem of Amara for Angel. Angel alive and walking.” His mind raced. Could he find where Angel had sold the medallion, and buy it back?
Brian dashed his hopes even as he thought of them. “Don't try and palm that gaudy necklace off on us as the Gem, Spike. We were watching you. We took photos of Angel in the sun, and we studied you through binoculars. Both of you were wearing the same ring when you took your little walks. That's what we want.”
“Okay, you'll get the sodding ring,” Spike snarled. “But if we don't get Angel back in one piece they'll be finding bits of you and your boss from here to fucking Alaska.”
“Fair enough,” Brian replied, unruffled. “Be at the warehouse behind Peterson's Fishery between Seward and Westminster by noon. Don't be late, or Heaven, must be missing an Angel ...” The phone went dead.
Spike sat down, and hid his face in his hands. “Oh, God,” he moaned. “God, Cordelia, I'm so fucking sorry. I brought this on him.” He fought his face back to his human form, and raised his eyes to where Cordelia was standing frozen like a statue, her face distraught. “I'll get him back, pet, I promise. Whatever it takes.”
“We'll get him back,” Doyle corrected him. “You're not going alone. We need a plan.”
“Hostage rescue was never my thing,” Spike muttered. “I was usually the one holding the sodding hostages.”
“So, you must know what the rescuers did against you,” Doyle reminded him.
“Yeah,” Spike agreed. “No way am I just doing a straight trade. They'll never keep their word. They're not going to let Angel go now they've tortured him, they won't risk him coming after them later.” Cordelia gasped in shock as she heard the mention of torture. “We go in, we get Angel, we kill them. But we might need a fast way of getting him out screened from the sun. Me too, if I have to give up the Gem.”
“I think I've got an idea,” Doyle began.
A nondescript vampire lurked outside the warehouse door, sheltering from the sun in the shade of the walls. He moved aside to let the three past. Spike briefly considered snatching him to use as a bargaining chip, but rejected the idea immediately. ‘They wouldn't sodding care,’ he decided. However, he flatly refused to walk in leaving an enemy behind them. The minion vampire's will broke long before that of the English master vampire, and he led the way into the warehouse. Spike, Doyle, and Cordelia followed him inside.
Angel was in chains, hanging from a roof beam, his arms fastened so far above his head that he was forced to stand on tiptoe. The handle of a poker stood out from his shoulder. There were several small holes in the roof, from which sunbeams shone down, perilously close to the souled vampire. Two minion vampires stood in the background. Brian stood near to Angel, holding a stake. However Spike's eyes were drawn to a mild-looking bald man in a white collarless shirt, rimless glasses perched on his nose, who stood beside a brazier, a bench laden with instruments of torture, and, oddly, a gramophone.
“Marcus!” Spike spat out venomously. “I should have known you'd be involved, you sick fuck.”
Marcus smiled beatifically at Spike. “You put me on a retainer, but never provided me with the material on which to practice my art. So I found my own. And now you're bringing me the wherewithal to take my profession into new realms. The realms of the day.”
“Angel!” Cordelia called out, moving towards her boss.
“Back off, lady,” Brian warned, raising his stake menacingly towards the captive, and Cordelia stopped still. “The ring. Now. Or Angelus here gets intimate with a stick, and you can take him home in a doggy bag.”
“You sound like bleeding Gollum,” Spike commented. “You want the sodding ring, go fetch it.” He tossed the ring past Angel. All the vampires' eyes followed it. Spike used the distraction to withdraw an axe, taken from Angel's weapons chest, from under his coat. Doyle and Cordelia produced stakes, and they burst into action.
Simultaneously, the wall of the warehouse burst open, and Oz's van smashed through into the building. Spike beheaded one minion vampire, Doyle grabbed another for Cordelia to take out with a stake through the chest, and Oz fired a crossbow through the van's window to impale a third. Then Spike caught hold of Brian, knocking the stake from his hands with the flat of the axe, and the two Angel Investigations employees reached Angel and began freeing him from his chains.
“No, please, Spike!” Brian begged. “He made me do it. I swear, I'm your man.”
Spike ignored his pleas. He dropped the axe, opened up Brian's jacket, and pulled out a thick envelope. “Don't tell me,” he said. “Let me guess. The money Angel got for the medallion. I suppose Marcus made you take this, too. Fuck off and die.” He took hold of Brian by the scruff of the neck and hurled him into the brazier. The vampire screamed, just once, and then was consumed in a flare of flame.
“Where's the ring?” Spike wondered, looking in the direction he had thrown it. “And where's Marcus?”
Doyle and Cordelia had freed Angel from his chains, and were helping him into the rear of the van. Spike looked across the warehouse and saw Marcus stepping out through a rear door into the sunlight. “Bloody Hell!” he swore. He couldn't pursue without the ring. Cursing again in his frustration, he joined the others in getting Angel into the van, and then drew the sliding door shut behind them.
Oz turned the van around and drove out through the hole in the wall. “How's he doing?” he asked, turning round briefly to look at Angel.
“He'll live,” Doyle replied.
“Not without help,” Cordelia contradicted. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“I hear you,” Oz agreed. “But which one? They tend to specialise in humans.”
“Turn around,” Angel ordered, weakly.
“He's delirious. Ignore him.” Cordelia fussed over Angel's wounds.
“No, he's bloody right,” Spike put in. “The ring'll fix him. And we can't leave it with that bastard Marcus.”
“Marcus has it? God! Turn around.” Angel grabbed the poker embedded in his shoulder and wrenched it out, groaning in agony as he did so.
“So you can do what, exactly?” Cordelia asked. “It's daylight, and you're ringless. You too, Spike. So unless you're changing the act to the Amazing Human Torch Twins, there's not a lot you can do.”
“She's right,” Doyle agreed. “You're death on toast, man. You're in no shape to be fighting a torture demon, and Spike can't help if he fries.”
“Don't care,” Angel said through gritted teeth. “He's got a thing for children, and he's loose. Turn around.”
“Yeah, do it, Oz,” Spike backed Angel up. “He couldn't have got far.”
Oz slewed the van around and set off for the other side of the warehouse. Beyond it lay a pier, with carefree sunseekers wandering along it. He spotted the figure in the white shirt strolling among them and headed straight for him. Marcus turned to face the oncoming van just in time to be struck and knocked flying. He rose to his feet immediately, obviously completely unhurt.
Cordelia leaped from the van and began getting the bystanders out of the way, concentrating her efforts on a troop of Scouts which appeared to have been Marcus' objective. Oz fired his crossbow again, striking Marcus full in the centre of the chest. The torturer ignored the bolt, not even bothering to pull it out, and advanced towards the van. Doyle moved to bar his path, but the vampire punched him solidly and knocked him from his feet, then kicked the Irishman in the ribs.
“There's water behind him,” Angel said to Spike, and tensed himself.
“You're hurt, Angel. Let me take him,” Spike urged, tossing his envelope onto the floor of the van.
Angel shook his head. “He's got the edge with the ring. Together. Double-team him.” Spike grinned at him, pulled the van door wide open, and together they threw themselves out and dived for the torturer, hands linked. They burst into flames as they leaped, but they caught Marcus across the throat and took him with them, over the side of the pier and into the water.
The three vampires emerged from the water in the shaded area under the pier, and began to fight. “What are you going to do?” Marcus taunted. “Kill me?”
“Unless the ring has cursed you with a soul, then yeah, that is the general idea,” Spike replied, hitting Marcus in the stomach.
Marcus ignored the blow and struck back, only to be punched in the floating ribs by Angel. He spun half round, and Spike caught him by the back of the head and slammed his face into one of the pier supports. His glasses, already askew after the impact with the water, shattered and sliced into his face. The cuts healed instantly, and Marcus laughed again. “Soul? Are you mad?” He twisted round and struck out at Spike, who caught his arm.
“Well, that settles that question,” Spike said. “Say hello to Brian in Hell.”
Marcus' amused expression died in an instant as Angel reached for the imprisoned arm and seized the ring. “You never cracked me, Marcus,” Angel told the torturer. “Now that,” he looked at the crossbow bolt which was still protruding from the vampire's chest, “has to be torture.” He pulled the ring from the finger. Marcus glanced down at the bolt in his chest for one brief, horrified, second, and then disintegrated.
Angel sank to his knees as the pain hit him again. “Get it on,” Spike urged him. “Banging a gong optional.”
Angel didn't understand Spike's T-Rex song reference, but didn't waste time thinking about it. He slipped the ring onto his finger and stood up. “I'll send one of the others back with it for you,” he promised Spike.
“No rush, mate,” the English vampire grinned. “Take a walk on the beach. You deserve it.”
Slowly, Angel walked off up the beach.
That evening Spike, Cordelia, and Doyle joined Angel in his apartment, and they opened the second bottle of Irish whiskey. Oz had already returned to Sunnydale, but Spike's business with Angel was not quite finished so he had stayed on. He was going to take a bus back the following day.
“Rachel called again,” Angel told Spike. “She thinks she's going to be okay. She says you helped her a lot. You've given her hope. I'm impressed, and grateful.”
Spike shuffled in his seat, embarrassed at the praise. “I didn't do much. Just passed on a bit of what I learned through being treated like shit by Dru. You're the impressive one, mate. Taking on that Marcus bloke when you'd just been turned into a pincushion - I've made fun of you being a bloody hero before, but you bleeding well really are. You stood up to the torture like - well, like a bloody hero.”
Angel gave a self-depreciating grin. “God, I was that close. One more hot poker and I was giving him everything. Of course, I didn't really have anything to tell him that they hadn't worked out for themselves.” He took a long, slow, appreciative drink, and spotted the way Spike was fidgeting with the ring. “Feel free to light up a cigarette, Spike,” he invited, guessing the reason behind the fidgeting. “I don't mind. Adds to the ambience of a shabby detective agency running on a shoestring.”
“Down these mean streets a vampire must go,” Spike agreed, and lit up. “We've got the trench-coats, we could wear the snap-brim hats, but I don't know how we'd do the being in black and white thing.”
“Well, I'm totally not being the downtrodden mousy secretary who gets overlooked in favour of the vampy murderess,” Cordelia put in. “That's vampy in a trashy, non-bloodsucking way. And I'm not bobbing my hair and smoking a cigarette in a long holder. Unless I get a part that calls for it, of course. Dedicated actress here.”
“Oh, great,” said Doyle. “That probably makes me the sidekick who gets bumped off in the second reel.” He looked meaningfully at Angel, who responded to the cue.
“Spike,” Angel invited, “We'd like you to join us. I can't promise you riches, you're the only client we've had so far who's actually paid us, but I can promise one thing you said you wanted. At least one friend.”
“Two,” added Cordelia, and Doyle chimed in with “Three.”
Spike looked slowly at each of them in turn, emotion welling up in him. He took a long drag from his cigarette to give himself a moment to gain control of himself before replying. “God, you don't know how much this means to me,” he said eventually. “I think this proves I haven't been cursed with a soul, 'cos I'd have bloody lost it now. I'm bloody tempted, but I have to say no. I've got my plans, gonna stick with them. But if it doesn't work out for me in Sunnydale I might just take you up on that offer.”
“It'll still be open,” Angel promised.
Spike played with his cigarette for a moment. “Look, about the ring - you can have it. You could probably make more use of it than me. I can get a different job in Sunnyhell; night security, bouncer, whatever. I just want it for convenience, you need it. Think of all the daytime people you could help between nine and five.”
Angel was amazed and awed by the offer, but shook his head. “They have help. The whole world is designed for them, so much that they have no idea what goes on around them after dark. They don't see the weak ones lost in the night, or the things that prey on them. And if I join them, maybe I'd stop seeing, too. You keep it. The road to redemption is rocky enough without facing any additional obstacles.”
“Not looking for redemption, mate,” Spike denied.
“Maybe not; but, if you keep on as you're going, you're going to find it. I'm proud of you.” He raised his glass and returned to the Film Noir motif. “This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Spike raised his glass in reply. “Round up the usual suspects.”