Return to Sender, Part 4 Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is over, done, kaput. Summary: Getting Spike back from the beyond, version 238.
The next day's visitor was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, former Watcher, newly
appointed head of Information Services for Wolfram & Hart and
expatriate Englishman. He brought a quart carryout container of
inferior curry -- apologizing profusely for the unavailability of a
decent vindaloo in this uncivilized backwater.
Spike let him in and got out paper plates and plastic flatware. He
had come to expect the daily visits and was prepared this time. He
was wearing the clothes Fred picked out for him -- a pair of khaki
cargo pants and a short-sleeved, black polo shirt. He'd opened the
curtains to let some light into the sparsely furnished apartment, and
even tidied up a bit. The place still lacked that intangible quality
of feeling lived in, but it was marginally presentable.
"I'd ask how you're doing, but I think there is ample visual evidence
that you're doing better," Wes said, looking around and taking in
Spike's attire. "Fred's sartorial taste suits you."
"Ta... I think..."
"She told me about the panic attack, but I wouldn't worry too much
about that. I get panic attacks, myself, at The Gap. Frightening
place. I think I'd prefer to venture into a hellmouth."
"You'd better try it before you say that, mate."
"Yes, of course."
"So, you barely know Xander Harris, but he asked you to check up on
me," Spike said with a faint smirk.
"I wouldn't say that. I had an opportunity to become somewhat
acquainted with young Mr. Harris during my time in Sunnydale -- a
time which, through odd coincidence, coincided with one of the rare
periods in the past five years when you were elsewhere. An odd irony,
I think, but for a few months, you and I might know one another quite
well."
"Oi! Then you're the wanker Watcher -- the one they sent to replace
Rupert."
Wes' mouth tightened. But he didn't rise to the bait.
"I no longer align myself with the Council."
"Who does these days?"
"True..."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"I get the feeling we're getting off on the wrong foot here," Wes
said after a moment. "I'm a former Watcher, you're a former vampire.
Neither one of us is who he was."
Spike relaxed a little bit. "Fair enough. Clean start. Beer?"
He opened the refrigerator, which was now, thanks to Fred's help,
well stocked. There was a 24-pack of Michelob on the bottom shelf.
"As much as I abhor the diluted sewage Americans call beer, I don't
mind if I do."
Spike chuckled. "I know what you mean. I'd kill for a pint of Double
Diamond."
"Give me Bluebird Bitter," Wes said wistfully.
They sat down and dished out the curry.
"So, what practical living skills have you come to impart?" Spike
asked after a while.
"Don't think you need much more of that. Looks like you're getting
the hang of it. Actually, I was hoping you would assist me with
something."
Spike raised an eyebrow.
"A great deal of archival material was destroyed along with the
Council headquarters. While I don't intend to participate in any
attempts to rebuild the Council -- I believe its methods and ethics
are outdated to say the least -- the resources contained in the
Watcher Diaries that were destroyed would be quite valuable to anyone
opposing or even just studying demons. I want to begin the process of
recovering some of that information, hopefully, with greater accuracy
than the old materials offered."
"You want to pick my brain about vampires..."
"More or less."
Spike shook his head. "Most of what you want to know, I'd rather not
talk about."
"Angel says much the same. But the fact remains, you and Angel
represent a resource that is very difficult to access otherwise. The
majority of vampires aren't sympathetic to our goals."
Spike frowned. "My hundred and twenty years as a vampire were marked
by remorseless murder, rape and wanton destruction. To recall those
events..." He looked down at his plate. "I have to remember that
those were things that *I* did. It's not a pleasant task."
"But surely you don't take responsibility for the things you did when
you had no soul."
Spike looked up sharply, his eyes intense. "I bloody well do."
"But you had no soul..."
"I had a brain. I knew I was hurting people. I chose to do everything
I did. No world-consuming evil power forced me to do anything. I knew
what I was doing, but I didn't care. Caring's the only difference --
now I do. But it doesn't take away anything I did before."
"Forgive me. Your ... attitude ... is considerably different from..."
"You might notice, I haven't changed my name. Unlike a certain person
of more than one name I won't mention."
Wes cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Not to change the subject, but
that's something else I need to ask you... your name..."
"William. You knew that," Spike snapped.
"Your surname..."
"Why would you need to know my family name?"
"Documents... you're going to need a birth certificate, a passport, a
drivers license and, most likely, a green card. We can make up a
surname for you, but I thought you might like to have your own."
"William Smith."
"That was your name?"
"No, but it will do for documents."
"I think I need to ask your forgiveness," Wes said carefully. "I
fear, by your reaction, that I've been insensitive."
Spike sighed and relaxed slightly. He realized he had become
unreasonably tense.
"It's OK. You mean well."
He stood and took their empty paper plates to the trash.
"Your history project -- maybe later. Ask me again in a few months."
"Thank you."
Wes took the last swig from his can of Michelob.
"So, Fred is taking you to Lorne's opening tonight," Wes said, trying
to look casual.
The tension in the question wasn't lost on Spike.
"Your bird?"
"Um... no. Really, not. I thought so, a long time ago, but I waited
too long. Now..."
"Don't tell me you think it's too late."
"It is."
"You're probably wrong about that, you know."
"No... too much has happened. It's better this way. We all work
together. Romantic entanglements just make things ... difficult."
"Well, this isn't a date. She just asked me to be friendly. You don't
have to look at me as competition. Nice girl, but not my type."
"No, I know that." Wes sighed.
"She's not seeing anybody now, right?"
Spike turned his chair around and sat back down, straddling the seat
and resting his chin on his hands on the back.
"Not currently," Wes said uneasily.
"Then now's your chance."
Wes frowned. He was reluctant to go into the events that had ended
his friendship with Charles Gunn, and put an end to any aspirations
he might have had for Fred.
"You don't know what went on..." Wes said slowly.
"I know when love's involved, giving up isn't an option."
"I see. And how does that reconcile with your refusal to let a
certain Slayer know you're back from the dead?" Wes replied, fixing
Spike with a steady eye.
Spike sat up straight, surprised at the former Watcher's
counterstrike.
"Well, ah... that's different."
A small smile crossed Wes' lips. He cocked an eyebrow.