The Fever, Part 4 Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: Post Chosen. This is my AU AtS S5. Summary: Spike is back, and he's human -- sort of. He's
working for Wolfram & Hart as an outside contractor.
Cleveland, 1984
Ralph Wilson walked the perimeter of his world as he always
did before bed. He thought of it as securing the Fortress of
Solitude.
He always followed the same route. Check the back door in the
kitchen, both the lock in the door handle and the deadbolt
above. Walk to the sink and peek out between the slats of the
Venetian blinds to be sure no one is in the yard. Open the
refrigerator and pour a glass of milk to steady his nerves. On to
the hall closet to part the musty, mothball-saturated coats and
look behind -- just to make sure no one is hiding there. On to
the den. Open the glass front on the bookcase and touch the
plastic bag that covered his Action Comics, No. 1, to reassure
himself that no one has stolen or damaged it. Close the
bookcase and move on to the boxes of carefully indexed
Spiderman and X-Men comics, each enclosed in its protective
bag, to run his fingers along the edges and feel the solidity of
the bundles of paper, and remind himself that these are real.
Check the rest of the collection, those comics with less than
royal status, visually.
Move on down the hall to check the three locks and chain on
the front door. Peek out of the sidelight to make sure no one is
approaching the front porch. On to the living room to look
behind the sofa and the recliner chair to be certain nobody is
hiding there. Rotate the dial on the antenna rotor box to be sure
that the antenna, up on the roof, is pointing due north.
Straighten the Oriental rug in front of the fireplace, to be sure
it's precisely perpendicular to the coffee table, and put a hand
behind the fire screen to be sure there is no draft and nobody
has come along and opened the flue.
Finally, his evening patrol complete, he could mount the stairs
and get ready for bed. His companion tonight would be The
Hulk, Issue 114. It was waiting for him on his bed stand, where
he had laid it out earlier in the evening.
Ralph was halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. He
froze in place, one foot on the next step, his left hand gripping
the railing, his heart pounding in his chest.
Nobody came here at night. His only visitors were the grocery
delivery boy who brought his weekly order of milk, bread and
frozen dinners, and the 14-year-old girl who cut his lawn every
Saturday during the summer. Oh, there was an occasional
teenager selling candy for the high school marching band, and
now and then a replacement window or siding salesman, but
since he never, ever admitted anyone, the neighbors had
stopped calling years ago.
People left him alone. Except, someone was breaking the rules
and standing on his porch ringing his doorbell at 11:30 p.m. on
a Wednesday.
Ralph felt himself hyperventilating. Just as the therapist taught
him -- before the community outreach program was shut down
-- he concentrated on breathing slowly. Don't panic, he told
himself. Don't panic. Everything's going to be all right. Don't
panic. Just a little wrinkle in the routine. Nothing to worry
about. Don't panic.
The bell rang again. His hand tightened on the railing. He felt
dizzy. He could hear his heart pounding. The wall beside him
was beginning to wobble.
"Hey there! Anyone home?" asked a male voice, with what
sounded like a British accent, from beyond the front door.
Ralph squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that this
person on his front porch would believe no one was home and
go away.
"Just want to use your phone. Car broke down. Come on, mate,
have a heart. Help out a couple of travelers down on their luck.
We could use a break."
He wasn't sure why he turned and walked back down the stairs
then. They needed his help. How could he turn them away? But
his dread increased with each step he took down. He was
descending into hell, even if it was just his own foyer.
He turned the knob that withdrew the deadbolt, then paused to
steady his hand. He pulled back the slider for the second lock.
He turned the knob to disengage the third lock. Then he pulled
back the door until the chain stopped it.
"Who are you?" he said in a voice that sounded timid and nasal
even to him.
"Just a couple of stranded travelers," said the man on the porch.
Through the narrow opening, Ralph could see the man was
anything but just a stranded traveler. Billy Idol? Billy Idol was
ringing his doorbell at 11:30 at night. No. That made no sense
at all. He put his face a little closer to the opening. No, it wasn't
Billy Idol -- remarkable resemblance, though. He could see the
man's companion now, a beautiful, dark-haired woman in a
strangely old-fashioned dress that covered her to her ankles.
Hippies. They had to be hippies. Hell no, we won't go. Make
love, not war. Draft beer, not college students. They knew
what he'd done. They were here to punish him.
Ralph shook off that thought. Foolishness. Nothing but
foolishness. Besides, the man looked more punk than hippie.
He had a safety pin through his earlobe. A black, leather duster
hung from his slender frame, open in front to expose a dark T-
shirt and torn jeans.
"Invite us in, mate. We'll just be a moment. Use your phone,
that's all."
Ralph's eyes were drawn to the woman. She was smiling at
him, her eyes intense and mysterious. Her skin was pale, but
her lips were deep red. Her eyes bored into him. He felt like
she could see everything he was, everything he'd done.
He slammed the door and leaned against it.
"Please..." said a sweet, female voice through the mail slot.
"Please let us in. It's so cold and dark out here."
Ralph frowned. Cold? It was August and a warm night at that.
Even so, his hand moved to remove the chain. He couldn't stop
himself. She wanted him. He could feel it. He turned the
doorknob and opened the door.
"So..." the Billy Idol lookalike said, "aren't you going to invite
us in?"
Ralph knew he could still close the door. And he knew there
was something wrong -- very wrong.
"Come in," Ralph said in a flat, toneless voice.
The Billy Idol look-a-like stepped across the threshold and
advanced on Ralph with a predatory grin. His face changed, the
eyes turning yellow, the brow thickening and folding, the grin
widening to reveal jagged fangs.
"Now, invite Drusilla in."
Ralph was paralyzed. He couldn't breathe, let alone speak. The
creature leered at him, a vision of menace embodied.
"If I kill you, she'll be able to come in anyway," Demonic Billy
Idol hissed.
"Don't kill him, Spike," the woman said in a plaintive voice.
"You promised I could have him."
"C-come in," Ralph stuttered.
"There, that was sensible," Spike said, shaking his head slightly
and bringing back his human face. He stepped away from
Ralph, allowing the woman, Drusilla, to approach.
"There you are," she said with a sweet smile. "All locked up in
a box. I heard your screams, I did. I've come to let you out."
"Vampires are real," Ralph breathed.
"Oh, yes," Drusilla purred. "We're real. So very, very real.
More real than the little boy who hides in his dead mummy's
house. More real than the boy who locks himself in a box to
keep the world away. More real than the books of pictures. But
it's all right now. I'll make you real, too."
"Just do it, pet. There's still time to go downtown and get a
proper meal," Spike said impatiently.
"Don't be so hasty," Drusilla said, frowning slightly at her
companion. "All in good time."
Spike shrugged and walked off to explore the house.
"Who are you?" Ralph asked.
"I'm going to be your new mummy," Drusilla said with a sweet
smile. "I'm going to set you free."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ralph saw Spike going into the
den. His stomach twisted. His comics. The vampire was in the
room where he kept his most precious possessions.
Ralph turned away from Drusilla and hurried down the hall to
protect his treasure. In the den, Spike was pulling comics out of
their boxes, tearing them out of their bags, glancing at them
and tossing them over his shoulder.
"What's this shite?" the vampire sneered. "Comic books,
nothing but comic books. She said you had something
valuable!"
"They are valuable!" Ralph protested. "Stop that. You're going
to damage them!"
"These? They're worth something?" Spike said, starting to
sound interested.
Drusilla stood in the door.
"Pictures. He hides in the pictures. Lives in a world of
supermen and monsters." she said. "But he won't have to hide
any more."
Ralph was paralyzed with fear again. The moment of bravado,
as he realized his beloved comics were in danger, had passed.
He knew now. They were going to kill him and take his
collection -- or destroy it. They didn't even know what it was
worth.
He sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands.
Drusilla came to him and knelt in front of him.
"There, there, sweet boy. Everything will be fine. Nothing to
be afraid of. Now, tell mummy what's wrong."
Ralph dropped his hands and looked at Drusilla.
"You're going to kill me," he said in a tiny voice.
"Well, duh..." Spike said derisively. He was standing next to
the glass-fronted bookcase now, about to reach in and touch
Action Comics No. 1.
"Going to set you free," Drusilla said sweetly. "You're full of
death. I can see it. It swims through your veins. I want to taste
it. You'll be all spicy and sour."
"Don't touch that!" Ralph said.
Spike stopped and gave Ralph a malicious look.
"What? Don't touch this?" he said, reaching in and withdrawing
the precious comic book.
"It's very valuable. If you damage it, it won't be worth so
much."
"This? Valuable?" Spike sneered. He opened the comic and
paged through it. One of the brittle, newsprint pages shattered
under his rough handling. "Oops."
The vampire tore the comic book in two and tossed aside the
pieces. Ralph watched the remains of the most valuable object
he had ever owned flutter to the floor. It was more than just the
value, though. That comic book was his shield. It protected him
from the darkness that lurked just outside his field of vision. It
was his anchor. Superman -- the Man of Steel -- was all that
stood between Ralph Wilson and oblivion. It was gone. He was
lost.
"Do it," Ralph said. "Just do it. It's not like my life's worth
living anyway."
"I'll drink the death out of you, and you'll drink a new kind of
life from me," Drusilla cooed. "No more hiding, sweet boy.
You will be one with the darkness. You'll be free."
Ralph nodded. A tear spilled down his cheek. "It's what I
deserve," were the last words he spoke as a living man.
Fred smiled out of Knox's laptop screen. The LCD illuminated
Knox's face with a gentle, blue glow as he made his report.
"We've got a full set of baseline samples," he said. "We've
confirmed that the UHMS is not in danger of developing
symptoms, though he is a carrier. The disease organism has
encapsulated in his blood stream, just as it did in the BHMS
and myself, for that matter."
"Whoa, back up," Fred said. "UHMS? BHMS?"
"Unique humanoid male subject and black human male
subject," Knox replied.
"Oh! You mean Spike and Charles."
Knox nodded.
"We've isolated the organism, which is a microbe, but which
has certain demonic aspects. We'll start testing conventional
anti-microbial agents now, though I expect we'll need to add a
mystic element before we'll get anywhere."
"Oh! That's really exciting. You've identified the first demon
bacteria!" Fred bubbled. "You can write a paper about it!
Maybe we can name it after you."
Knox chuckled. "We don't generally publish our research --
proprietary information, and all. And I'm not sure I want a
demon bacteria named after me."
"Oh..." Fred said, sounding slightly disappointed. "Well, we're
starting analysis on the data you've transmitted. We also have a
set of samples from Angel, and we'll be doing comparisons in
an uninfected person. I hope we can add something useful."
"Can't wait to see what you come up with," Knox replied.
"We'll have a new batch of baseline data in a few hours. The
rest of the subjects should be arriving soon."
"Rest of the subjects? Who would that be?" Fred frowned
slightly.
"Nobody you know."
"I wasn't told about any other subjects," Fred replied.
"Don't worry about it. We're moving at light speed here. We've
got to solve this fast. If you haven't had time to read all the
reports, then it isn't any reflection on you," Knox said calmly.
"I have read all the reports," Fred said, her voice rising. "I've
read everything you've sent. I'm supposed to be in charge of
this project. I need complete information."
"Oh... sorry. If my assistant left something out, I'll have to have
a word with him."
"What other subjects?" Fred asked firmly.
"Other vampires. We've got a team out capturing other possibly
infected subjects. We need a wider selection of blood samples
to get the kind of results we need."
"Possibly infected?"
"Well, we can't really ask them how they're feeling before we
have them under restraint, can we? We've got capture teams
out in a number of regions of the city. In addition to giving us
more infected subjects to work with, we should be able to chart
how far the infection is spreading this way."
"Oh..." Fred said, sounding unsure of herself. "I guess that
makes sense."
"We don't have enough space here to house all the subjects
we're in the process of obtaining, so we're setting up a second
field hospital. Most of the overflow will go there, but we'll
continue doing the analysis work here."
Fred frowned again. "Seems like quite a bit was left out of your
report."
"Hey, consider Diggs fired. He was supposed to send you a
complete summary. If he's leaving out stuff, I don't want him
on the team."
"Oh dear, I'd hate for anyone to lose his job..."
"No, I can't afford to have someone working on this project
who doesn't dot all the 'i's and cross all the 't's. He's out of
here."
"Look, don't be hasty. Don't do anything until tomorrow, at
least," Fred said uncertainly. "Maybe everything hasn't got over
here yet."
"Whatever you say," Knox said. "Diggs is on probation then."
"OK. Could you put Charles on?"
"Sure. I'll go get him."
Knox came back a moment later with Spike.
"Spike? Where's Charles? Is he OK?"
Spike sat down in front of the laptop.
"He's fine -- snoring like a buzz saw. Thought I'd let him sleep
-- unless you've got something to tell him that can't wait..."
"No... sorry... I forgot you and he were up all last night. Let
him sleep. I just wanted to see how he was."
"He's hating being cooped up here -- just like me. But that's the
worst of it."
"I'm interrupting your sleep... I'll let you go," Fred said.
"I was up, anyway," Spike said with a little smile. "Can you
patch me through to the Great Poof?"
"Um... who?"
"Angel."
"Ah, um... not right now."
"What? I thought he'd taken to staying up days to sit in his
grand, sunny office."
"It's not that. I just can't get through to him right now. I've been
trying for a couple of hours."
"He hasn't gone out, has he?" Spike asked, alarmed that Angel
might be roaming the sewers.
"Not that I know of. They sealed off the floor where his office
is. Nobody can go in or out."
"But surely that wouldn't keep you from phoning him."
"I know. But I haven't been able to get a call through. Closest
I've gotten is his voice mail."
"There's something not right here," Spike said slowly.
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing," Fred replied, but her face was
saying something entirely different. "I'll get back to you as
soon as I get through."
"Right... you do that."
Spike got up and let Knox resume his conversation with Fred.
He wandered back to the main room. Ralph was dozing in a
chair next to Maria's bed. Spike put a hand on his shoulder, and
Ralph woke with a start.
"Why don't you go lie down?" Spike asked. "You need some
rest."
"I... I just want to be here in case Maria needs anything," he
said, rubbing his eyes.
"Go in the other room. You can use my cot. I'm not getting any
sleep anyway. I'll keep an eye on Maria for you."
Ralph clearly wanted to stay, but he gave in. Spike sat down in
his vacated chair. He wished he had a book to read, or a
newspaper, or anything to pass the time, for that matter.
He was considering asking one of the techs to put in a request
for reading material with the next supply order, when Maria
stirred. She made a little, whimpering noise and turned over.
"Anything I can do for you, love?" Spike asked.
"No," Maria said without turning to face him.
"All right."
"Wait... could you get me a bit of water?"
"Water?" Spike asked.
Maria turned over and pushed herself up on her elbows. Her
dark hair was tousled around her face. Her eyes were bright --
he'd always thought she had beautiful eyes, though he would
never have admitted it to Drusilla.
"Just a little -- to wash the taste of that stuff they gave me out
of my mouth."
"The synthetic blood? Tastes nasty, eh?"
Maria nodded. "Not so hungry now, but that stuff -- it tastes
like old boots."
Spike brought her a bottle of Evian filched from some
nameless tech's stash in the refrigerator. Maria swished the
water around in her mouth before she swallowed.
"I'm so tired," she said in a tiny voice. "I think they put
something in the old boot juice."
"You should be tired, sweetheart. It's two in the afternoon.
You're supposed to be asleep now."
"Can't sleep. I'm just tired."
"Just rest then." He got up to leave her alone.
"Spike..." she called after him.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. I mean, about attacking you. I was out of my head. I
didn't realize who you were."
Spike chuckled.
"Now don't start that, love."
"Start what?"
"Saying you're sorry. You don't know what trouble that can get
you in. Being a vampire means never having to say you're
sorry."
He looked back, and Maria was smiling at him.
"I loved that movie," she said wistfully.
"Love Story?"
Maria nodded. "I was with Ramon back then. You remember
him? We must have gone to see it together twenty times. We
used to sneak into the theater from the sewers. I miss Ramon.
He really knew how to make a girl feel happy."
"What became of Ramon?" Spike asked. "He was pretty old,
wasn't he? Came over with the conquistadors, didn't he?"
Maria sighed. "Some filthy vampire hunter got him. Can you
believe that?"
"Sorry."
"Now you're doing it," Maria teased.
"Yeah, seem to say that a lot lately."
He started to leave again.
"Spike..."
"Yes?"
"Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Go and get your soul back. That's all anybody could talk about
last fall. Everybody said you'd gone loco. But here you are, and
you don't seem so crazy to me."
Spike was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know if I could explain it so you'd understand, love.
Let's just say, I had my reasons."