The Soul-Drinker Concludes
Here it is - the overdue conclusion to my P-WO-P story!
It's rather talky, forgive me. I hope it all makes sense, you know, why I resolved it as I did. Keep in mind: this is a buddy picture.
Part One here
Part Two here
“Is today the day we pretend to be under siege and no one told me?” Lorne peeked in Gunn’s office.
Gunn jerked up from a slouch and his hands moved, trying to find a place to hide the toy robot he’d been fiddling with, until he saw it was just Lorne and he sighed and set the tin robot on the desk. “What’s up, Lorne?”
“You tell me. Security is buzzing, everyone is in their office with their door closed, and I doubt Angelcakes is going to cross the lobby singing any time soon.” Lorne sat on the edge of Gunn’s desk, looking at him expectantly.
Gunn flicked the little beanie on the top of his toy robot. He was thinking how all his childhood he’d wanted one just like this; it had stood in a special case at the back of the antiques and junk shop on the end of his block. He used to stand and stare at the tin toys and imagine that if he was a rich kid, he’d have all of them. Now he was thinking how utterly empty it felt, owning this toy he didn’t really feel he’d earned.
In a hollow voice, he said, “Spike lost his soul.”
Lorne raised his eyebrows. “The poor muffin!”
Gunn blinked. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”
“It makes sense now.” Lorne got up and paced to the door and back again. “His aura was grey, grey, grey when I passed him, and anyone who has heard Spike’s rendition of ‘My Way’ knows that’s not right. Poor lemon cake thinks he hasn’t a friend left in the world. What a loss it must have been to him!”
“He has no soul,” Gunn said. He stood. “The Spike we knew is gone, he’s not ‘poor’, he’s a monster. A killer. A…”
“Demon?” Lorne stopped his pacing and looked directly at Gunn, chin raised.
“Shit.” Gunn covered his eyes with one hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…”
“Some of my very best friends have no soul,” Lorne said, expression softening. “And I don’t mean that as some heavy-handed cliché. There is a real difference a soul makes. One visit from Angel’s less charming half is enough to cement that… oh, crumbcake, you’re hurting too, aren’t you?”
Gunn quickly shook his head, face crumpled into a complete denial.
“Honey, I don’t need you to sing to use my mystical power of eyesight and see you’re upset about something. Tell Uncle Lorne all about it. I hate being this far out of the loop and you know I won’t stop pestering until you give.” When Gunn continued to make denial motions, Lorne crossed his arms and said, “I work with celebrities, don’t forget. I won’t be out-stubborned.”
Gunn shrugged. “I like Spike. Liked. I mean, he seemed like a good guy, not too hung up on things.”
“And now you’re not sure how to react to him?”
“And I left him!”
Both men were astounded by the force of his statement. Gunn sank back into his chair. “I left him,” he repeated. “I never leave anyone behind.”
“Pumpkin, you had no way of knowing…”
“No, that isn’t it. If I had known... either way, I should have stayed. To help him, or to take him down. I ran because I was scared.”
“We’re all allowed to be afraid.”
“Are we? I’ve staked friends. I’ve staked... family.” He spoke the last word softly, like it was hard to speak. He looked out the window. “When did I get so weak?”
“Hey. Charles Gunn may be many things, but he is not weak.”
Gunn continued to look out the window while Lorne came around to sit beside him in silent companionship. At last Gunn sighed. “Spike says he wants his soul back. Do you believe him?”
“Yes,” Lorne said, without hesitation. At Gunn’s questioning look, he held up a hand. “I may be wrong about people once in a while, but it’s rare. I know him well enough. And I know you even better. Whatever you did, it was the only thing you could do at the time.”
Not for the first time, Gunn wondered how someone with red eyes could look so kind. “I wish I had your faith in me, man.”
“Do you think anyone had faith in me? The poor excuse for a warrior with no taste for blood and a penchant for ‘sounds that have no purpose’?” Lorne made little air quotes and a disgusted face. “Charles, the past is exactly where it should be - the past. Stop worrying about what you did or didn’t do, and think about what you’re going to do.”
Gunn felt the reassuring weight of Lorne’s hand on his shoulder and sighed. “I’m not sure what I want to do.”
“Think of the man you wish you were - your very best self - and do what he’d do.”
“Move to another dimension and open a nightclub?”
Lorne’s comforting hand slipped off his shoulder to slap his arm playfully. “Taken, champ. Come on, what would Super Lawyer Gunn do?”
“I’m not ‘Super Lawyer Gunn’,” Gunn said, though he smiled, because it sounded like a weird sort of action figure. “They just stuffed some knowledge in my head.” Unbidden, his eyes went to the toy robot on his desk. He felt as artificial and hollow.
“Pish posh!” Lorne shot up, looming over him and looking quite demonic with the light from the window behind him and his eyes lightly glowing - which made the “pish posh” line all the more incongruous. Lorne shook a finger at Gunn. “Does my Rolodex tell me who to call when? Does knowing all the player’s stats tell you who to bet on?”
“Lorne…”
“They stuffed your head with facts, sugarpuff. But you decide how to use them. You apply the knowledge. You choose how to act on it. You lend it context.” He crouched, to meet the sitting Gunn’s eyes. “It’s all you, Charles. And we all have faith in you.” He smiled sadly. “All of us but you.”
“Okay. I’m a lawyer. I’ll do what lawyers do.”
“And what is that, anyway?” Lorne sat back, smiling. “Because I’ve been working here a couple months now and I’ve got no clue.”
Gunn stood up. Lorne rose with him. Gunn looked at his toy robot again, and then at the orderly array of file-folders next to it. “Look up precedents,” he said.
“That’s what lawyers do?”
Gunn nodded, and picked up his folders, straightening them into a stack.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have something to do,” Gunn said, and strode purposefully out of the office.
Lorne sighed. “And I still have no idea what they do.”
***
“But knowing what regaining your soul would entail, doesn’t it conflict with your basic selfish nature to seek it?”
Spike sighed heavily. “For fuck’s sake, Percy, give it a rest.”
“We aren’t going to get an opportunity like this again.”
“To what? Annoy the hell out of a man who just lost his sense of fair play?” Spike scowled significantly, turning to square off against Wesley.
Spike had been trying to lose the watcher, but the security guards stepping into every exit way to cut him off had made escape impossible.
“Would it kill you to answer a few simple questions?”
“Yes.”
Wesley rolled his eyes. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, you’re unreasonable.” Spike gestured at the nearest guard. “Why can’t I just go find the bloody cultists and bring ‘em back for questioning? We’re wasting time.”
“The soul isn’t going anywhere.”
“Do you know that?” Spike raised both eyebrows. “Oh, right - you would if you quit bothering me and did the bloody research!”
Wesley folded his arm and raised one eyebrow. “I’m just asking you how you feel. Some people might consider that friendly.”
“How I feel?” Spike sneered and strode down the corridor, pushing past guards and lolly-gagging workers. “How do I feel? That’s a riot. Feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Feel like my head’s one big bruise and I can’t stop poking it to see where it hurts worst.” He spun on his heel, just long enough to point at Wes and arrest his following. “You. Watchers. You think evil is smart, don’t you? Bollocks. ‘Basic selfish nature’ you say, like I’m so thick I’d put momentary pleasure above all the rest of my life I have to live in. That’s what evil is, mate. Write that in your book: evil ignores all but immediate gratification of self.” Spike mimed writing in a little notebook and crumbling it up and tossing it back at Wesley as he led the way down the stairs to the main level. “Evil is stupid, and doesn’t even know it. I don’t know what I don’t know. Can’t even feel it, like a hole or something, an edge. It’s not there. So I have to second guess every bloody step. Is this what I would do with the soul? I don’t know.” He raised a hand to knock back a lawyer who had bumped him, made a fist and a sour face, and said, “Excuse me.” He shot a glare at Wes as though to say, “See what I have to do?”
Spike crossed the reception area outside of Angel’s office, scanning for Harmony. There was one person here, at least, who wouldn’t judge him for his current condition. He huffed with annoyance, not finding her at her desk, and that’s when he heard the whir.
Wes had one hand in his jacket pocket, and from that pocket came the distinctive whir of a magnetic tape recorder.
Spike opened his mouth, a look of disgust on his face, but Wes cut him off with, “Is it morally acceptable to kill a human being in self-defense?”
Startled, Spike closed his mouth. “Uh, no?”
“What about in the defense of another person?”
“That one’s a trick. I’m thinking… no?”
“More than one person?”
“Hold on. I mean, if there’s a way of saving them without killing, but if there isn’t…”
“What about defending a non-human?”
Spike squinted a bit, started to ask for clarification, and then suddenly realized he didn’t have to answer. He jerked Wesley’s hand out of his pocket and, with more force than necessary, punched the “stop” button on the mini-recorder.
To Wesley’s credit, he didn’t make a sound, though Spike could feel his wrist bones shifting under the pressure of his grip. Then he remembered that was probably bad and pushed the watcher away. “My conscience isn’t your fucking science project!”
Having nowhere else closer to flee to, Spike barged into Angel’s office.
Angel looked up from his desk. He tilted his head to look past Spike. “Wes. Any news?”
“Get him off of me,” Spike demanded, stomping up to the desk. “Was he like this when you lost it? ‘Please, Angelus, tell me how you’re feeling?’ I don’t bloody think so.”
Wesley cleared his throat. “We did find something. It looks like the dagger holds only one soul at a time, so it’s possible if another soul entered it, the occupant soul would be freed to the ether.”
Spike’s anger melted into a confused frown. “This is another of those moral questions, isn’t it?”
“Well, obviously, we can’t take someone else’s soul away from them just to free yours, and even then, we aren’t sure if it would be freed, or just destroyed. And if freed…”
“Well you’re not bloody well doing that!” Spike jumped back, to the side of the desk. He waved Angel toward Wes.
Angel sighed. “Spike, can you just go somewhere and be still and quiet until we figure this out?”
“Percy is doing nothing!”
“I assure you, the entire Mystical Services staff is investigating soul manipulation spells,” Wes said, unfazed. He clasped his hands in front of him, the tape-recorder whirring again. “I’m merely taking advantage of this unique opportunity to quantify the differences. There are psychological and theological questions…”
“Wes,” Angel held up a hand. “You really don’t want to quantify a soul. You can’t.”
“Yeah, you tell him, grandpa.”
“Damn it, Spike.” Angel stood, exasperated. He turned to Spike, and whatever he was about to say was lost as he stared, as though trying to see something behind Spike’s eyes.
“Subject A exhibits a desire to understand Subject S,” Wes said, as quietly as he could.
Two vampiric visages turned on him. Angel shook the fans away first. “Wes? Not now, and not this, okay?”
Wesley’s expression clearly showed that he thought they were both being absolute girls about this, but he said, “I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.” And turned off his tape recorder.
Spike’s features melted into a smirk. He perched on a corner of the desk and picked up Angel’s name-plate. “So, Peaches, how’d that examination of the coroner’s reports go?”
Angel snatched the wooden name-plate from Spike’s hands. “Inconclusive,” he said. “Wes, get him out of here.”
“I’m not some puppy piddling on the carpet!” Spike jumped up and glared at Wesley, intending to stop his advance, which he didn’t. “Why are you all trying so hard to annoy the evil, soulless demon?”
“Returning the favor?” Wesley offered.
Angel looked pained. “Guys, can we just get through…”
All three men jumped a little when the doors to the office burst open.
Gunn strode in, a file folder held up like a banner. “There’s a precedent,” he said.
He looked from confused face to confused face and realized he may as well have spoken Klingon. He sighed, and gave the file-folder a little shake. “Kovacic vs. Vail, 1893. A soul was wrongfully removed from a Brakken demon during a summoning ritual. The demon sued for its return and the judge found the ritual negligent. The firm agreed to return the demon’s soul on behalf of its client, in exchange for a severely reduced fine and dropping inter-dimensional law charges.”
Gunn smiled, seeing that he had everyone’s attention. He dropped the file on Angel’s desk. “What this means, gentlemen, is we have recorded here an exact transcript of how they did it. The process had to be thoroughly documented for the court.”
Wesley was the first to move. He flipped open the folder and scanned the contents intently.
Spike looked as though afraid the paper would combust. “That’s it? You - it’s all in there?”
“There’s a ritual,” Wesley said, flipping paper. “Yes. We should be able to do this. The text is transcripted. It looks Assyrian. I should be able to find the original ceremony.”
Spike gaped. He stepped forward and clapped Gunn on the shoulder. “You saved my soul with… lawyering!”
“Hey man, let’s not phrase it like that?” Gunn raised his hands defensively. “Anyway, Wes still has to do his thing.”
“Extraordinary work,” Wes said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the file. “I might never have found the ritual in question without this.”
“Good. Great.” Angel clapped his hands. “Go do it, Wes. Good work, Gunn. Spike, get out of my office.”
Wes nodded, not looking up, and wandered to the exit. Spike bristled. “You can’t just…”
Gunn put his hand on Spike’s arm. “Come on, let’s leave the boss man to his work.”
Spike looked like he was going to fight it, but then he just shrugged. “All right. Enjoy the soul-crushing office work, Peaches.” He flashed a smile. “Since I’ve got neither, I’m off to get pissed.”
Spike turned from his mocking wave good-bye to see Gunn looking at him very intently. “What?”
Gunn shook his head. “You really aren’t all that different without the soul.”
“Tell that to Percy, would you?” There was a moment of awkward silence. Spike grimaced and shrugged, silently dismissing all potentially “poufy” conversation topics. “Come on, Charlie. Drinks on me.” He started toward the stairs.
“Woah,” said Gunn. “I don’t think getting drunk right now is a good idea.”
Spike turned at the top of the stairs. “Now when is getting drunk ever not a good idea?”
Gunn held his ground. “When you have no sense of right and wrong.”
“You still don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust. It’s about minimizing risk.”
Spike scoffed. “I have just as much self control without the soul.”
“That’s the problem.”
A beat passed, and then Gunn smiled. Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine then. Join me for one glass of what passes for beer around here?”
Gunn nodded. “That I can do.”
As they walked out together, Spike kept looking at Gunn, who had a closed-off expression.
“Did it make you feel better?” Spike asked.
“What?”
“Using the powers of lawyering for good?”
They were at the street doors. Two guards regarded them nervously, shifting their weapons. Gunn turned his back on them. “Dude, you aren’t exactly ‘good’.”
“But you do feel better.”
Gunn stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down briefly. “Yeah.” He looked up. “I feel better because I lived up to my own standards. Soul or not, you’re my friend, and I left you behind. I had to fix that.”
“You felt guilty? Leaving the soulless demon?”
Gunn shrugged and nodded.
Spike laughed. “Souls suck.”
“You’re the one who wants his back.”
It was Spike’s turn to shrug. “Who wants to be willfully ignorant? Besides Captain Forehead, I mean.” He stepped directly in front of the guards at the door. “Oi, Rent-a-cops. If you’re so concerned about protecting the kitties and puppies from yours truly, you can follow us to the bar. Otherwise, I’m gonna stand here and annoy you, constantly, until you give in anyway.”
The guards looked at each other.
Gunn smiled. “Let me handle this?” He stepped forward and talked to the guards, who radioed their supervisor and arranged the trip to the bar. Spike paced and complained of boredom, but soon they were out in the cool night air and everyone’s spirits were up, even the guards.
Soon they were comfortably settled in a booth at the Cat and Fiddle, beers ordered - despite Spike’s perfunctory complaints the bar had a wide array of micro-brews and imports, and Spike appeared to know a great deal about California’s beers. They had a brief discussion about the merits of hopps vs. malts, and the possible wanker-ness of the guards watching them from various points around the room.
Then Spike leaned back, gave Gunn a significant look, and asked, “So what was it, mate?”
“What was what?”
“Why did you run? Why are you still having trouble looking at me?”
Gunn nodded. He took a long sip of his beer for fortification. “My sister, Alonna. She was turned.”
“And you staked her?”
Gunn looked down at his hands. It felt strange, talking about this. Somehow, Alonna’s death felt too big to be summed up with “you staked her.” After a long pause, he said, “Yeah.”
“I killed my mum. Funny story…” Spike trailed off at Gunn’s annoyed look. He sighed. “Yeah, no one ever wants to hear that story. You think it was easier living it? Anyway, you know it was the right thing to do, Charlie. If you’d met me, oh around 1900, you should have staked me, then.”
“Should I have? You saved the world. The world. Saved. I mean, how many guys can you actually say that about?”
Spike looked uncomfortable. “Can’t know what fate’s going to hand you. ‘S a crap-shoot at best.”
“I know.” Gunn returned to looking at his hands, around his glass, not wanting to see the face next to him anymore. “I just have to wonder - could Alonna have been saved? Could she be here, now? Be a part of our team.”
“There’s a reason the watchers keep banging on about a vampire being completely different from the person they were. Any doubt on that and they’d quickly go out of their nebbish little minds.”
“Dude, don’t make this a joke.”
Spike put his hand on Gunn’s shoulder. Gunn looked down at it, momentarily unsure if he wanted the contact, but he didn’t push the hand off. Spike flexed his fingers. “It sucks. Like dying - and you can take my word on that one. But you did the only thing you could, right? Forgive yourself and let the past go fuck itself. Otherwise you end up like Angel, and trust me, that forehead of yours is way too pretty for brooding.”
Gunn snorted. “You’re so full of it.”
Spike smiled and shrugged like it was a compliment.
They drank together, in silence, Spike’s hand still on Gunn’s shoulder, until his pocket buzzed. Gunn fished out his cell phone and read the text message on his screen. “It’s Wes. They’ve got the ritual set up.”
Spike pulled back. “Oh.” He downed the last of his beer in one long gulp. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” He slipped out of the booth and waved the guards over like they were a carpool.
Gunn caught the tight expression on his face as they stepped out of the bar. “You’re nervous!”
“Bugger off.”
“No! You look like the groom at an ugly chick’s wedding.”
“So glad you’re here for this, Charlie,” Spike said. It was meant sarcastically, but didn’t come out that way.
“Me too,” Gunn said, and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders.
THE END
It's rather talky, forgive me. I hope it all makes sense, you know, why I resolved it as I did. Keep in mind: this is a buddy picture.
Part One here
Part Two here
“Is today the day we pretend to be under siege and no one told me?” Lorne peeked in Gunn’s office.
Gunn jerked up from a slouch and his hands moved, trying to find a place to hide the toy robot he’d been fiddling with, until he saw it was just Lorne and he sighed and set the tin robot on the desk. “What’s up, Lorne?”
“You tell me. Security is buzzing, everyone is in their office with their door closed, and I doubt Angelcakes is going to cross the lobby singing any time soon.” Lorne sat on the edge of Gunn’s desk, looking at him expectantly.
Gunn flicked the little beanie on the top of his toy robot. He was thinking how all his childhood he’d wanted one just like this; it had stood in a special case at the back of the antiques and junk shop on the end of his block. He used to stand and stare at the tin toys and imagine that if he was a rich kid, he’d have all of them. Now he was thinking how utterly empty it felt, owning this toy he didn’t really feel he’d earned.
In a hollow voice, he said, “Spike lost his soul.”
Lorne raised his eyebrows. “The poor muffin!”
Gunn blinked. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”
“It makes sense now.” Lorne got up and paced to the door and back again. “His aura was grey, grey, grey when I passed him, and anyone who has heard Spike’s rendition of ‘My Way’ knows that’s not right. Poor lemon cake thinks he hasn’t a friend left in the world. What a loss it must have been to him!”
“He has no soul,” Gunn said. He stood. “The Spike we knew is gone, he’s not ‘poor’, he’s a monster. A killer. A…”
“Demon?” Lorne stopped his pacing and looked directly at Gunn, chin raised.
“Shit.” Gunn covered his eyes with one hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…”
“Some of my very best friends have no soul,” Lorne said, expression softening. “And I don’t mean that as some heavy-handed cliché. There is a real difference a soul makes. One visit from Angel’s less charming half is enough to cement that… oh, crumbcake, you’re hurting too, aren’t you?”
Gunn quickly shook his head, face crumpled into a complete denial.
“Honey, I don’t need you to sing to use my mystical power of eyesight and see you’re upset about something. Tell Uncle Lorne all about it. I hate being this far out of the loop and you know I won’t stop pestering until you give.” When Gunn continued to make denial motions, Lorne crossed his arms and said, “I work with celebrities, don’t forget. I won’t be out-stubborned.”
Gunn shrugged. “I like Spike. Liked. I mean, he seemed like a good guy, not too hung up on things.”
“And now you’re not sure how to react to him?”
“And I left him!”
Both men were astounded by the force of his statement. Gunn sank back into his chair. “I left him,” he repeated. “I never leave anyone behind.”
“Pumpkin, you had no way of knowing…”
“No, that isn’t it. If I had known... either way, I should have stayed. To help him, or to take him down. I ran because I was scared.”
“We’re all allowed to be afraid.”
“Are we? I’ve staked friends. I’ve staked... family.” He spoke the last word softly, like it was hard to speak. He looked out the window. “When did I get so weak?”
“Hey. Charles Gunn may be many things, but he is not weak.”
Gunn continued to look out the window while Lorne came around to sit beside him in silent companionship. At last Gunn sighed. “Spike says he wants his soul back. Do you believe him?”
“Yes,” Lorne said, without hesitation. At Gunn’s questioning look, he held up a hand. “I may be wrong about people once in a while, but it’s rare. I know him well enough. And I know you even better. Whatever you did, it was the only thing you could do at the time.”
Not for the first time, Gunn wondered how someone with red eyes could look so kind. “I wish I had your faith in me, man.”
“Do you think anyone had faith in me? The poor excuse for a warrior with no taste for blood and a penchant for ‘sounds that have no purpose’?” Lorne made little air quotes and a disgusted face. “Charles, the past is exactly where it should be - the past. Stop worrying about what you did or didn’t do, and think about what you’re going to do.”
Gunn felt the reassuring weight of Lorne’s hand on his shoulder and sighed. “I’m not sure what I want to do.”
“Think of the man you wish you were - your very best self - and do what he’d do.”
“Move to another dimension and open a nightclub?”
Lorne’s comforting hand slipped off his shoulder to slap his arm playfully. “Taken, champ. Come on, what would Super Lawyer Gunn do?”
“I’m not ‘Super Lawyer Gunn’,” Gunn said, though he smiled, because it sounded like a weird sort of action figure. “They just stuffed some knowledge in my head.” Unbidden, his eyes went to the toy robot on his desk. He felt as artificial and hollow.
“Pish posh!” Lorne shot up, looming over him and looking quite demonic with the light from the window behind him and his eyes lightly glowing - which made the “pish posh” line all the more incongruous. Lorne shook a finger at Gunn. “Does my Rolodex tell me who to call when? Does knowing all the player’s stats tell you who to bet on?”
“Lorne…”
“They stuffed your head with facts, sugarpuff. But you decide how to use them. You apply the knowledge. You choose how to act on it. You lend it context.” He crouched, to meet the sitting Gunn’s eyes. “It’s all you, Charles. And we all have faith in you.” He smiled sadly. “All of us but you.”
“Okay. I’m a lawyer. I’ll do what lawyers do.”
“And what is that, anyway?” Lorne sat back, smiling. “Because I’ve been working here a couple months now and I’ve got no clue.”
Gunn stood up. Lorne rose with him. Gunn looked at his toy robot again, and then at the orderly array of file-folders next to it. “Look up precedents,” he said.
“That’s what lawyers do?”
Gunn nodded, and picked up his folders, straightening them into a stack.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have something to do,” Gunn said, and strode purposefully out of the office.
Lorne sighed. “And I still have no idea what they do.”
***
“But knowing what regaining your soul would entail, doesn’t it conflict with your basic selfish nature to seek it?”
Spike sighed heavily. “For fuck’s sake, Percy, give it a rest.”
“We aren’t going to get an opportunity like this again.”
“To what? Annoy the hell out of a man who just lost his sense of fair play?” Spike scowled significantly, turning to square off against Wesley.
Spike had been trying to lose the watcher, but the security guards stepping into every exit way to cut him off had made escape impossible.
“Would it kill you to answer a few simple questions?”
“Yes.”
Wesley rolled his eyes. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, you’re unreasonable.” Spike gestured at the nearest guard. “Why can’t I just go find the bloody cultists and bring ‘em back for questioning? We’re wasting time.”
“The soul isn’t going anywhere.”
“Do you know that?” Spike raised both eyebrows. “Oh, right - you would if you quit bothering me and did the bloody research!”
Wesley folded his arm and raised one eyebrow. “I’m just asking you how you feel. Some people might consider that friendly.”
“How I feel?” Spike sneered and strode down the corridor, pushing past guards and lolly-gagging workers. “How do I feel? That’s a riot. Feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Feel like my head’s one big bruise and I can’t stop poking it to see where it hurts worst.” He spun on his heel, just long enough to point at Wes and arrest his following. “You. Watchers. You think evil is smart, don’t you? Bollocks. ‘Basic selfish nature’ you say, like I’m so thick I’d put momentary pleasure above all the rest of my life I have to live in. That’s what evil is, mate. Write that in your book: evil ignores all but immediate gratification of self.” Spike mimed writing in a little notebook and crumbling it up and tossing it back at Wesley as he led the way down the stairs to the main level. “Evil is stupid, and doesn’t even know it. I don’t know what I don’t know. Can’t even feel it, like a hole or something, an edge. It’s not there. So I have to second guess every bloody step. Is this what I would do with the soul? I don’t know.” He raised a hand to knock back a lawyer who had bumped him, made a fist and a sour face, and said, “Excuse me.” He shot a glare at Wes as though to say, “See what I have to do?”
Spike crossed the reception area outside of Angel’s office, scanning for Harmony. There was one person here, at least, who wouldn’t judge him for his current condition. He huffed with annoyance, not finding her at her desk, and that’s when he heard the whir.
Wes had one hand in his jacket pocket, and from that pocket came the distinctive whir of a magnetic tape recorder.
Spike opened his mouth, a look of disgust on his face, but Wes cut him off with, “Is it morally acceptable to kill a human being in self-defense?”
Startled, Spike closed his mouth. “Uh, no?”
“What about in the defense of another person?”
“That one’s a trick. I’m thinking… no?”
“More than one person?”
“Hold on. I mean, if there’s a way of saving them without killing, but if there isn’t…”
“What about defending a non-human?”
Spike squinted a bit, started to ask for clarification, and then suddenly realized he didn’t have to answer. He jerked Wesley’s hand out of his pocket and, with more force than necessary, punched the “stop” button on the mini-recorder.
To Wesley’s credit, he didn’t make a sound, though Spike could feel his wrist bones shifting under the pressure of his grip. Then he remembered that was probably bad and pushed the watcher away. “My conscience isn’t your fucking science project!”
Having nowhere else closer to flee to, Spike barged into Angel’s office.
Angel looked up from his desk. He tilted his head to look past Spike. “Wes. Any news?”
“Get him off of me,” Spike demanded, stomping up to the desk. “Was he like this when you lost it? ‘Please, Angelus, tell me how you’re feeling?’ I don’t bloody think so.”
Wesley cleared his throat. “We did find something. It looks like the dagger holds only one soul at a time, so it’s possible if another soul entered it, the occupant soul would be freed to the ether.”
Spike’s anger melted into a confused frown. “This is another of those moral questions, isn’t it?”
“Well, obviously, we can’t take someone else’s soul away from them just to free yours, and even then, we aren’t sure if it would be freed, or just destroyed. And if freed…”
“Well you’re not bloody well doing that!” Spike jumped back, to the side of the desk. He waved Angel toward Wes.
Angel sighed. “Spike, can you just go somewhere and be still and quiet until we figure this out?”
“Percy is doing nothing!”
“I assure you, the entire Mystical Services staff is investigating soul manipulation spells,” Wes said, unfazed. He clasped his hands in front of him, the tape-recorder whirring again. “I’m merely taking advantage of this unique opportunity to quantify the differences. There are psychological and theological questions…”
“Wes,” Angel held up a hand. “You really don’t want to quantify a soul. You can’t.”
“Yeah, you tell him, grandpa.”
“Damn it, Spike.” Angel stood, exasperated. He turned to Spike, and whatever he was about to say was lost as he stared, as though trying to see something behind Spike’s eyes.
“Subject A exhibits a desire to understand Subject S,” Wes said, as quietly as he could.
Two vampiric visages turned on him. Angel shook the fans away first. “Wes? Not now, and not this, okay?”
Wesley’s expression clearly showed that he thought they were both being absolute girls about this, but he said, “I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.” And turned off his tape recorder.
Spike’s features melted into a smirk. He perched on a corner of the desk and picked up Angel’s name-plate. “So, Peaches, how’d that examination of the coroner’s reports go?”
Angel snatched the wooden name-plate from Spike’s hands. “Inconclusive,” he said. “Wes, get him out of here.”
“I’m not some puppy piddling on the carpet!” Spike jumped up and glared at Wesley, intending to stop his advance, which he didn’t. “Why are you all trying so hard to annoy the evil, soulless demon?”
“Returning the favor?” Wesley offered.
Angel looked pained. “Guys, can we just get through…”
All three men jumped a little when the doors to the office burst open.
Gunn strode in, a file folder held up like a banner. “There’s a precedent,” he said.
He looked from confused face to confused face and realized he may as well have spoken Klingon. He sighed, and gave the file-folder a little shake. “Kovacic vs. Vail, 1893. A soul was wrongfully removed from a Brakken demon during a summoning ritual. The demon sued for its return and the judge found the ritual negligent. The firm agreed to return the demon’s soul on behalf of its client, in exchange for a severely reduced fine and dropping inter-dimensional law charges.”
Gunn smiled, seeing that he had everyone’s attention. He dropped the file on Angel’s desk. “What this means, gentlemen, is we have recorded here an exact transcript of how they did it. The process had to be thoroughly documented for the court.”
Wesley was the first to move. He flipped open the folder and scanned the contents intently.
Spike looked as though afraid the paper would combust. “That’s it? You - it’s all in there?”
“There’s a ritual,” Wesley said, flipping paper. “Yes. We should be able to do this. The text is transcripted. It looks Assyrian. I should be able to find the original ceremony.”
Spike gaped. He stepped forward and clapped Gunn on the shoulder. “You saved my soul with… lawyering!”
“Hey man, let’s not phrase it like that?” Gunn raised his hands defensively. “Anyway, Wes still has to do his thing.”
“Extraordinary work,” Wes said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the file. “I might never have found the ritual in question without this.”
“Good. Great.” Angel clapped his hands. “Go do it, Wes. Good work, Gunn. Spike, get out of my office.”
Wes nodded, not looking up, and wandered to the exit. Spike bristled. “You can’t just…”
Gunn put his hand on Spike’s arm. “Come on, let’s leave the boss man to his work.”
Spike looked like he was going to fight it, but then he just shrugged. “All right. Enjoy the soul-crushing office work, Peaches.” He flashed a smile. “Since I’ve got neither, I’m off to get pissed.”
Spike turned from his mocking wave good-bye to see Gunn looking at him very intently. “What?”
Gunn shook his head. “You really aren’t all that different without the soul.”
“Tell that to Percy, would you?” There was a moment of awkward silence. Spike grimaced and shrugged, silently dismissing all potentially “poufy” conversation topics. “Come on, Charlie. Drinks on me.” He started toward the stairs.
“Woah,” said Gunn. “I don’t think getting drunk right now is a good idea.”
Spike turned at the top of the stairs. “Now when is getting drunk ever not a good idea?”
Gunn held his ground. “When you have no sense of right and wrong.”
“You still don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust. It’s about minimizing risk.”
Spike scoffed. “I have just as much self control without the soul.”
“That’s the problem.”
A beat passed, and then Gunn smiled. Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine then. Join me for one glass of what passes for beer around here?”
Gunn nodded. “That I can do.”
As they walked out together, Spike kept looking at Gunn, who had a closed-off expression.
“Did it make you feel better?” Spike asked.
“What?”
“Using the powers of lawyering for good?”
They were at the street doors. Two guards regarded them nervously, shifting their weapons. Gunn turned his back on them. “Dude, you aren’t exactly ‘good’.”
“But you do feel better.”
Gunn stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down briefly. “Yeah.” He looked up. “I feel better because I lived up to my own standards. Soul or not, you’re my friend, and I left you behind. I had to fix that.”
“You felt guilty? Leaving the soulless demon?”
Gunn shrugged and nodded.
Spike laughed. “Souls suck.”
“You’re the one who wants his back.”
It was Spike’s turn to shrug. “Who wants to be willfully ignorant? Besides Captain Forehead, I mean.” He stepped directly in front of the guards at the door. “Oi, Rent-a-cops. If you’re so concerned about protecting the kitties and puppies from yours truly, you can follow us to the bar. Otherwise, I’m gonna stand here and annoy you, constantly, until you give in anyway.”
The guards looked at each other.
Gunn smiled. “Let me handle this?” He stepped forward and talked to the guards, who radioed their supervisor and arranged the trip to the bar. Spike paced and complained of boredom, but soon they were out in the cool night air and everyone’s spirits were up, even the guards.
Soon they were comfortably settled in a booth at the Cat and Fiddle, beers ordered - despite Spike’s perfunctory complaints the bar had a wide array of micro-brews and imports, and Spike appeared to know a great deal about California’s beers. They had a brief discussion about the merits of hopps vs. malts, and the possible wanker-ness of the guards watching them from various points around the room.
Then Spike leaned back, gave Gunn a significant look, and asked, “So what was it, mate?”
“What was what?”
“Why did you run? Why are you still having trouble looking at me?”
Gunn nodded. He took a long sip of his beer for fortification. “My sister, Alonna. She was turned.”
“And you staked her?”
Gunn looked down at his hands. It felt strange, talking about this. Somehow, Alonna’s death felt too big to be summed up with “you staked her.” After a long pause, he said, “Yeah.”
“I killed my mum. Funny story…” Spike trailed off at Gunn’s annoyed look. He sighed. “Yeah, no one ever wants to hear that story. You think it was easier living it? Anyway, you know it was the right thing to do, Charlie. If you’d met me, oh around 1900, you should have staked me, then.”
“Should I have? You saved the world. The world. Saved. I mean, how many guys can you actually say that about?”
Spike looked uncomfortable. “Can’t know what fate’s going to hand you. ‘S a crap-shoot at best.”
“I know.” Gunn returned to looking at his hands, around his glass, not wanting to see the face next to him anymore. “I just have to wonder - could Alonna have been saved? Could she be here, now? Be a part of our team.”
“There’s a reason the watchers keep banging on about a vampire being completely different from the person they were. Any doubt on that and they’d quickly go out of their nebbish little minds.”
“Dude, don’t make this a joke.”
Spike put his hand on Gunn’s shoulder. Gunn looked down at it, momentarily unsure if he wanted the contact, but he didn’t push the hand off. Spike flexed his fingers. “It sucks. Like dying - and you can take my word on that one. But you did the only thing you could, right? Forgive yourself and let the past go fuck itself. Otherwise you end up like Angel, and trust me, that forehead of yours is way too pretty for brooding.”
Gunn snorted. “You’re so full of it.”
Spike smiled and shrugged like it was a compliment.
They drank together, in silence, Spike’s hand still on Gunn’s shoulder, until his pocket buzzed. Gunn fished out his cell phone and read the text message on his screen. “It’s Wes. They’ve got the ritual set up.”
Spike pulled back. “Oh.” He downed the last of his beer in one long gulp. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” He slipped out of the booth and waved the guards over like they were a carpool.
Gunn caught the tight expression on his face as they stepped out of the bar. “You’re nervous!”
“Bugger off.”
“No! You look like the groom at an ugly chick’s wedding.”
“So glad you’re here for this, Charlie,” Spike said. It was meant sarcastically, but didn’t come out that way.
“Me too,” Gunn said, and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders.
THE END