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A Chat With Spike 

"I don't know about this, man," Doyle told Angel worriedly as the vampire prepared to leave for Sunnydale. They stood outside the hotel beside Angel's car; the sun had just gone down. "Spike is no one to fool around with, Angel. I mean, I know you know that, man, but, the last time I saw him, he was usin' you for target practice, tryin' to get his hands on that ring of Amarra. Or have you forgotten about that?" 

"No, Doyle. I haven't forgotten," Angel assured him. "I don't trust Spike, but I *do* know him. And things are a little different now."     

"How so?"     

"Well, he's got that chip in his head. . ." Angel looked at the Oracle. "You don't know about this?"     

Doyle shook his head. "Spike *wasn't* my priority. What chip?"    

"This covert military group. . .they had a base in Sunnydale." Angel's look was grim as he thought of a certain member of that military
force. . .and about Buffy. "They were capturing and studying and experimenting on 'hostiles': vampires, and. . .demons. They caught Spike, put this chip in his head that prevents him from doing any violence. He can't hurt any living thing."    

"Do other vampires count as 'living'?" Doyle wanted to know.     

Angel smiled, put a hand on Doyle's shoulder. "I'm not afraid of Spike, Doyle. He's the least of my worries. What concerns me is leaving you here. . .when Saul's out there somewhere getting ready to. . .do who knows what. I'd take you with me, but I can't be sure that Saul isn't *there* waiting for us. At least here Wesley's got the hotel pretty much 'Saul' proof, but I still. . ."     

"I'll be okay, Angel."    

Angel shook his head. "And I really don't like having Gunn out of the loop like this, Doyle. With his experience, his expertise. . .we could really use him on this. I'd feel a lot better knowing he was here watching over you." Doyle didn't reply and Angel looked sharply at him. "You really *do* think there is going to be a problem there, don't you?"     

Doyle nodded. "Yeah. I do."     

Angel sighed. "Well, I wouldn't dare to question your 'Oracle intuition', but, still, I hope you're wrong about this."     

"I hope so too, Angel. Believe me, I do. But I don't think so, man. I'm sorry."     

"Yeah, me too. Like I said, he could be invaluable here. With his experience. . .Except for Buffy, I'd say that he knows more about and has killed more vampires than almost any other human I've ever known."     

Doyle thought about that a minute, then looked up at Angel. "And that doesn't. . .worry you any?"

Angel looked right back at him. "You think it should?" 

"I. . .don't know, Angel." Doyle shook his head. "He's hard to read in specifics, he's so angry, so. . .closed off. I just sense rage and resentment and cynicism. And trouble. It's just. . .he hates vampires. . .he hunts vampires. . .he kills vampires, and. . .*you're* a vampire. It's not like Buffy. She loved you. Even when you lost your soul. I'm just not sure you can count on Gunn to be that charitable."     

"Doyle, if I ever lose my soul, I don't want *any* of you to be that charitable." Angel turned and opened the car door, started to get in.     

"And speaking of the girl. . .what *about* Buffy?" Doyle's question stopped Angel in mid step-in; he turned to face the half-demon.     

"What about her?"

"Well, you're goin' to Sunnydale; *she lives* in Sunnydale." Doyle's look said, 'need I say more?'    

"I'm not going to Sunnydale to see Buffy, Doyle."   

"But what if you do? Angel, I don't want to be the cause of. . ."     

"Doyle." Angel stepped up to stand before the half-demon, put a hand on each of his shoulders, looked him squarely in the eyes. "You are going to have to stop doing this to yourself. You are not the cause or the potential cause of everything that happens. If I see Buffy, I see her. It's not as if I haven't seen her since. . .well, since you've been gone. I have. And I dealt with it. . .and I'll deal with it tonight if I have to. But I *have* to talk to Spike." He released Doyle, stepped away from him back toward the car. "Now, go inside and *stay* there. I'll be back."      

He got into the car, gave Doyle a slight wave of his hand. Doyle waved back, then turned and slowly walked back to the hotel. Angel waited and watched until he was safely inside. Then he put the car in gear, pulled away from the hotel, and started on his way to Sunnydale.

*-*-*-*

It looked the same. It always looked the same. Driving down the quiet streets, with the pretty, neat houses, with their white picket fences, standing all in a row, it was hard to believe that this peaceful looking community was home to pure evil. It was hard to believe that it was mounted on a hellmouth, that things happened here that most people would have to see to believe or thought only existed in nightmares.      

Angel drove straight to the cemetery. It, too, was quiet, as quiet as the dead who inhabited it. Angel knew from experience, however, that it wasn't always this serene. He went to the mausoleum that Spike sometimes called home, entered to find it empty, wondered where he might be. There was no doubt that the chip in Spike's head would call for a change in lifestyle, but what would that entail? And where would it have the punk-blond vampire hanging out?     

Angel started walking, somewhat aimlessly at first, then in a direction he was only half-aware he had taken. It wasn't until he found himself outside of Buffy Summer's house that he realized where his feet had led him. The downstairs was dark; the only light glowed softly through a pulled down shade that covered an upstairs window. It was not the window of Buffy's room. That was. . . A sudden movement beneath an old oak tree that stood near Buffy's house diverted Angel's attention from the faintly illuminated window. His excellent night vision quickly picked out the object of his search; he was standing underneath the tree's broad branches, and taking a long, slow drag off a cigarette.      

Angel was glad to have found Spike; he had been dreading a long, drawn out search, but finding him *here* definitely puzzled him. He also wasn't sure that this was the place to be having a conversation with the 'sire of Saul'. He thought about Doyle's concern regarding the possibility of his meeting up with Buffy, shook his head in wonder, for it now looked like it just might happen. The thought both excited and terrified him. There were never any middle of the road feelings where Buffy was concerned. It was always all or nothing.      

He realized that he was just stalling now; he needed to get on with the business at hand. It was just that chats with Spike were always so. . . convoluted and unpleasant. Fully intending on taking Spike totally off guard, he walked out of the shadows to stand next to the tree, directly across from the blond vampire, but out of his range of vision. "What are you doing out here, Spike?"     

Spike jumped, cursed, dropped the cigarette; small, red sparks flew as it fell to the ground near Spike's feet. He stepped on it as he leaned to look around the tree to see if his ears were- hopefully- deceiving him. They weren't, of course. "Oh, bloody hell." Spike closed his eyes, leaned back against the tree; he figured that if he waited a few seconds, then opened his eyes again, his mind would quit playing cruel tricks on him. It didn't; Angel was still there. "What is this. . .out with the new, back in with the old?"     

"What are you talking about, Spike?"     

Spike shook his head. If Angel didn't know about Riley's departure, Spike sure wasn't going to be the one to tell him. "What the hell are you doing here, Mr. Sorry it won't work, I have to go? Why don't you just stay*gone*?"     

Angel wondered if the chip in Spike's head caused more aberrant behavior than usual. "We need to talk, Spike."    

Spike smiled an amused smile, assumed that 'I'm bored' posture that Saul emulated so well. It gave Angel the creeps. "And what could *we* possibly have to talk about?"     

"I have a problem."     

"Don't we all?" Spike gave an unsympathetic chuckle. "What makes you even *begin* to think that I'd be interested in any of *yours*?"     

"I don't think that you are," Angel told him brusquely. "Any more than I am in *yours*. But you created this particular problem, Spike, so now you're going to have to deal with it. . .and with me."

"Ooooh." Spike faked trembling. "I'm shaking in my bloody boots about *that* one, let me tell you."     

Angel thought of the danger Spike had indirectly put Doyle in, wasn't going to tolerate his insolence or sarcasm. He quickly walked the three steps around the tree, grabbed Spike by the throat, pushed him up against the tree- hard- and pinned him there; Spike's eyes bulged slightly in their sockets. Angel spoke through gritted teeth that were close to grinding, "And let me tell *you* that there's nothing humorous about this. I'm not in the mood for games, Spike; I'm not here to play."     

The chip in Spike's head hadn't diminished his strength any; he wrapped his hands around Angel's wrists and pulled against Angel's vicelike grip around his neck. He managed to free himself with effort, then staggered away from the dark vampire, his hands holding his bruised throat gingerly. "And I. . ." Spike stopped, had to clear his throat before he could go on, "I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about! *What problem*?"     

Angel had walked several steps toward his enemy. He now stopped a few feet away from Spike; he looked directly into the other vampire's eyes as he said, softly, dangerously, "Saul. Saul's my problem, Spike."     

The sudden look of alarm in Spike's eyes came and went so quickly,Angel wasn't sure he'd seen it at all. He watched quietly as the blond
vampire turned slowly away from him, and away from his probing gaze. "Saul," Spike spoke the name as if he hadn't heard it for a long time. "You've met Saul?"    

Angel nodded. "Yeah."    

"In LA?"     

Angel nodded again. "Yeah. In LA."    

"The city of Angels," Spike murmured, then, more to himself than to Angel, "So, he's still alive, is he?"    

Angel answered the comment anyway. "That surprises you? You thought someone would have killed him? He seems hard to kill to me. He says he is anyway."     

Spike gave a mirthless smile. "Hard to kill," he repeated. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He then turned to Angel, addressed him directly, "What is it you want from me, *Angelus*?"     

"Whatever you can tell me. Where did you meet him? How did you meet him? What drew you to him? What made you turn him into a vampire?" Angel stared at Spike until the other vampire was forced to look away. "This is important, Spike."     

"Yeah. I imagine it is. . .to you." Spike shrugged with what Angel felt was forced nonchalance. He had a feeling that Spike was more unsettled about hearing Saul's name than he was letting on. "But, okay, I'll 'bite'." He grinned slightly at his pun. "I met him down in New Orleans. . .in a bar of all places. We had a game we played; we'd pick the drunkest person in the place, follow him home, drink him dry. You can get a pretty good buzz that way you know. He wasn't drunk though; he owned this particular place. This was years after we'd gone our separate ways, after you'd gotten your soul, and went out to walk the earth, and live a tortured life filled with guilt and remorse."    

Angel chose to ignore that last comment. "Darla and Dru were still with you?"     

Spike thought about it a minute; it had been a long time ago. "Darla wasn't. Dru was, though." He smiled. "They didn't always get along so well as I recall. She was jealous."    

"*She* was jealous? It wasn't the other way around?"     

"No," Spike said the word definitively. "Saul doesn't get jealous. Or insecure. Or nervous. Or anything like that. That's partly what 'drew me to him' as you said. He was always so confident, so self-assured. And that was *before* he was a vampire. Not like me you know. I found
that. . .bloody fascinating." Spike paused. "He was also. . .what's the word? He could see things; he knew things. . .things he *couldn't* have seen, *couldn't* have known. But he did."    

"You mean he was clairvoyant," Angel supplied.   

"Yeah. That was the word I was looking for." Spike nodded in agreement. "I thought that his abilities would be. . .amusing. . .and maybe even helpful from time to time."     

"And they weren't?"     

"They were helpful at times; they were *never* amusing. Neither was he, for that matter. I should have known it would happen, that it wouldn't work. He *wanted* to be a vampire; he wanted it too bloody much." Spike's eyes narrowed as he thought about his long lost protege. "His confidence turned into arrogance; his self-assuredness into insolence. . ."     

"You mean he was like you," Angel told him dryly.     

"Worse than me, actually," Spike acquiesced. "And that sixth sense of his. . ."     

"It got stronger too," Angel finished for him.   

Spike nodded. "Yeah. A lot. Along with some other things, powers that I never understood.  He thought he knew everything; he thought he could *do* anything- which he almost could. He was out of control. . .rather like you, *Angelus*." Spike smirked up at Angel; the dark-haired vampire didn't react. "He wouldn't listen, not even to *me*. Well, I couldn't bloody have that, now, could I? So it was either leave him or kill him."     

"And you chose to just. . .leave?"     

"I wouldn't say that I 'chose' to leave, Angel. I would have liked to have killed him, actually. He was a pain in the ass. But I saw enough of what happened to those who had tried to. . .not risk it myself." He turned, looked at Angel defiantly. "You can call me a coward if you want, but the truth was and is that I don't care enough about him *or* what he does to get myself turned into bloody ashes."     

Once again, Angel sensed a forced composure that did not ring entirely true. Saul had gotten to Spike. . .in more ways than one. "So, you don't know how to kill him?"     

"*I* don't, no."     

"Meaning that there's someone who *does*?"   

Spike's eyes shifted evasively away from Angel. "I don't know that for a fact, no. But I imagine there's *someone* out there who can." He looked up at Angel, gave him a spiteful grin. "Maybe it's *you*, Angel. You're the champion to the downtrodden and spit upon, aren't you? Maybe it's you." He gave a slightly edgy laugh. "Maybe you'll bloody kill each other. Now that *would* be one for the history books, wouldn't it?"     

Angel again chose to ignore the other vampires final remark. He shook his head. "No, it isn't me. If it were, he'd be dead already, Spike. Believe me, he'd be dead already."     

Spike studied Angel's face a minute; it was full of intensity and deadly seriousness. "Wow. He's really gotten to you, hasn't he? A chip off the old block, eh?" Angel gave him a look, and Spike chuckled, walked to stand next to the dark vampire. "So, what's he done, Angel? What's he done to get under your thick skin like this? I mean, I know from experience what a huge, bloody pain he can be, but I have to say, it's almost worth it to see you this. . .discombobulated."     

"Worth it?" Angel turned on the blond vampire, his eyes blazing. "Worth it? Tell me Spike, what *is* it worth? How many lives, Spike? How many souls?"     

"Angel, you're talking to me as if I give a damn," Spike told him. "I'm just as soulless as he is, remember?"     

"Are you?" Angel turned away from his old nemesis, missed seeing the troubled look that came into his eyes.      

"Oh, come on, Angel, I *have* to bloody know." Spikes flip tone belied the concern in his eyes. "What the hell's he done to get to you like this? What's my 'boy' done?"    

Angel turned to face the blond vampire. Spike forced his expression to match his voice, but Angel had, once again, caught the serious undertones that lay beneath all the sarcasm. He hesitated, not sure how much to tell the 'sire of Saul'. "He's threatening someone I care about."     

Spike's relief was almost palpable. Angel found that interesting. "Oh, is *that* all? You made it sound as if the world was coming to an end.  Wouldn't happen to be *Cordelia*, now, would it? Can't say as I blame him much there. She always got on my last bloody nerves. . ."     

Angel shook his head. "It's not Cordelia," he interrupted quietly, then dropped the bomb, "It's Doyle."     

Spike's look changed from smug to shock just like that. "Doyle? The mick?" His voice was laced with disbelief. "Now, my understanding was that he was. . .toast. Burnt to a crisp. . .toast." He caught Angel's disgusted look, shrugged slightly. "That was bloody insensitive of me, wasn't it? I'm sorry, Angel. But, then again, it's just *you* so maybe I'm not." He paused.  "I thought the mick was dead."     

Angel nodded slowly, watched Spike's face carefully as he said, "He *was* dead, Spike."     

Spike kept his expression completely neutral; it was too neutral to be real. "Meaning he's no longer dead. Meaning he's alive."     

"Yeah. He's alive."   

"How the hell did you manage *that*?" Spike wanted to know. "Who'd you have to bloody pay or kill to get *that* done?"   

"Nobody Spike. He was sent back."     

"Sent back." Spike mulled that over in his head a minute or two, then turned to Angel. "And Saul wants to kill him?"     

Angel nodded. "He says it's destiny. He says they can't coexist. Yeah, Spike, he wants to kill him. More than that. . .he wants to *destroy* him." Angel watched as Spike's guard slipped a little; he could then see the blond vampire's true reaction to these revelations: he was concerned, he was nervous, and. . .he was holding back. "What do you know, Spike?"     

Spike looked up at Angel, tried unsuccessfully to mask his feelings. "More than *I* bloody want to, less than *you* want me to. But I'll tell you what I *do* know." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He found he really needed a smoke at this point. "If what you're telling me is true, if Doyle really is alive, and Saul really says he wants to destroy him, well, he means it. And *that* means your friend's in a hell of a lot of trouble." He pulled a cigarette out of the pack, put it between his lips, lit it. "And I don't know what the bloody hell you're doing *here*." He puffed on the cigarette a minute, studied Angel through the smoke he'd produced. "Go back to LA, Angel."     

"I need to know how to kill him, Spike."     

"And I don't know what to tell you, Angel."     

"I'm not sure I believe that."    

"Well, believe *this*. . .Saul will not stop. He won't go away. He won't bloody forget. Nothing scares him, Angel. At least, I never saw anything that did." Spike shook his head. "I don't know how to kill him, Angel, but I *do* know that, for now, you're the best chance Doyle has to stay alive. So, go back to LA, Angel, and," he paused for emphasis, then said, "watch your back."     

"Spike. . ."     

"You can't help him from here, Angel."     

Angel's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sound 'concerned', Spike. I don't get this. Why would care about what happens to Doyle?"   

Spike tried to blow Angel off, but the sarcastic tone in his voice didn't quite touch his eyes. "Who said I cared, Mr. Vampire with a soul? You asked me what I knew, and I'm telling you that if you want to protect him you can't do it here." Which was true, but he also just wanted Angel gone. He needed time to think about all this. . .about what it meant.     

Angel suddenly sensed an urgency that Spike didn't even know he'd communicated. "All right, I'm going. But if you think of anything. . ."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to bloody tell you." Spike watched as Angel nodded, then disappeared into the night.      

Spike walked back to the oak tree, leaned against it, blew out another swirl of smoke. "So, Saul," he murmured, "it wasn't just talk, was it? And now you've bloody found it. Now you've found *him*. Your destiny. And ours too."     

"Spike?" Startled, he turned at the sound of the slayer's voice; she stood on the porch of her house, looking at him with bleary eyes. "Spike, what's going on? Was that. . .who I think it was?"     

Spike considered lying to her. She was tired, and could probably be persuaded. . . He then thought better of it, for sleepy or not, she was still Buffy Summers, vampire slayer and former lover of Angel. He nodded, threw down the cigarette, walked toward the porch she stood upon. "Yeah," he said as he stepped up beside her. "That was our long lost Angel."     

"What did he want?" She was staring out into the darkness, her eyes riveted in the direction the vampire with a soul had taken.

"He, uh, wanted to talk to me."    

"To *you*?"     

"Yeah."     

"Why?"     

"It's a long story, Buffy."     

Buffy turned to look at him. Her eyes, a liquidy blue, met his. Oh man, he could get lost in those eyes. "But you're going to tell me, right?"   

"Yeah." Spike nodded, looked away from her, out into the night and, like her, his gaze sought out the direction Angel had taken. "There's going to be trouble, Buffy. There's going to be *a lot* of trouble."