Family: Blood Calls to Blood
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Chapter
17. Family Matters.
The room was empty, abandoned after the call from Lorne saying that Fred was awake and feeling better. The grey light of dawn filtered through the blinds casting mote laden beams onto the floor. The conference table was strewn with the books and papers of the previous days' work. In a corner, Spike's ashtray overflowed onto the carpet, evidence of his attempts to curb his impatience. Empty coffee cups littered Angel's desk. Outside, the corridor was alive with noise and movement.
"You're sure about this Wes? This Summoning's a mighty powerful spell." Gunn echoed Angel's concerns of the previous night.
"Yeah, Perce. You're messin' with forces we don't understand," agreed Spike. "Well I don't," he said, off Angel's warning look. "Don't tell me you do?"
"I don't have time for this," Angel said. "C'mon. Let's go to work." The two vampires swept through the corridors, Spike's duster billowing behind him as they headed towards the training room. Connor sprinted after them his hastily drained cups discarded on the reception desk.
"I've checked everything a dozen times," replied Wesley, quickening his pace slightly. "Of course, one can never be sure something won't go awry. But Knox has proved invaluable."
"Knox?" Gunn, slowed down to let Wesley catch up. "There's something not quite right about that boy. Him and that Doctor creep."
"Really? Fred seems to think Knox's all right. She told us so - at the picnic. She said she knew he wasn't evil."
"Well, she should know," said Gunn. "She works long hours with him. Longer than with us most days."
"Until recently, you mean," said Wesley, looking pained. "Well, he certainly impressed me when Fred and I tried to track down the source of the message containing the prophecy. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that we wouldn't have found a way to solve our problem if it hadn't been for Knox's work that night." Wesley's pace slowed, his thoughts replaying the events leading to the discovery of Illyria and the possibilities her return held for them.
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Fred squinted at the computer monitor and sighed. She pushed herself away from the desk and rubbed her eyes. "Nothing. I can't get through. Have you found anything?" she asked, turning to Knox.
"I've found something on the Wolf, Ram and Hart. Neat idea of yours to go from the mail server to the demon archives. Had no problem finding them," he called without looking up from his screen. "But I don't think that's going to help us."
"It gets us no nearer the origin of the prophecy," Fred agreed. She shivered and put a hand to her head, swaying a little as she did so.
"Are you okay?" Knox left his computer and quickly crossed the room. "Wesley!" he called.
Wesley looked up from his work on a pile of ancient tomes, startled by Knox's use of his first name. "What . . .?" He saw Fred shudder as a wave of pain swept through her whole body. He rushed to her side and grasped her hand, steadying her by the elbow as she swayed again.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Um . . . should I get her some water or something?" asked Knox, moving towards the cooler.
"No, it's nothing," replied Fred, relaxing as the spasm stopped. "It's gone."
Wesley gazed at her face with concern. He marked the dark circles under her eyes and blue bruising to her lips. "You need to rest," he said sternly. "When did you last eat?"
"I don't feel like eating," replied Fred wearily. "I'm too tired to eat."
"There you are, then. You've just said it all," Wesley scolded gently. "Go home and sleep. Knox and I will carry on here."
"But I feel better when I'm working. It's when I stop . . ." Fred took Wesley's hands in hers. "It's just . . . I don't want to let Angel down. He asked me to track down who sent the . . ."
Wesley observed how cold Fred's hands were, cold and slightly blue. "Go," he repeated quietly. "You're not letting anyone down. You've never let anyone down." He gazed at her fondly, stroking her hair, and reached for the phone.
Fred smiled at him and returned his gaze. "Thank you," she said softly.
Wesley cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'll just call security and get them to drive you home. We need to keep you safe."
As Fred began to gather her things together, she became aware of Knox's presence. He was standing very close, looking at her, a question in his eyes.
"You're seeing Wesley now." It was a statement, not a question.
Fred frowned. "Uh... Oh. OK, " she stammered. That's not connected to keeping me safe in some way, is it?"
"No, I just wanted to get it out there. And I'm totally good with it. I—I know that I've made... advances."
"I'm sorry."
"No, I— I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I love working with you, and that's plenty for me." Knox turned to her computer. "I'll finish that up for you."
"You're sweet," said Fred, picking up her things. She gave Wesley a small smile as she opened the door and left.
"Will you have any better luck, do you think?" asked Wesley peering at the computer screen.
"Luck?" Knox's eyes narrowed. The question had a knife-edge to it.
"With tracking the source of the message?"
"It's not a question of luck. It's skill, expertise, dedication." Knox swung round to face Wesley. "Would you call your research luck?"
"Well, no, not when you put it like that," replied Wesley uneasily. "It's just that with anonymous computer messages, the intent is one of not being tracked down and..."
"And you think that the subjects you research don't share that?"
Wesley thought for an instant. "Good point," he replied. "I apologise. Let's begin that again shall we? How difficult is it going to be to find this thing?"
Knox smiled as Wesley relaxed. "Depends," he said. "What are we looking for and what have we got to go on?"
"Will the full text do?" Wesley pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and carried it over to Knox's workstation. "I copied it from the screen when I couldn't find a way of saving it to disc."
"That rules out tracking the source of the message, then – but not the prophecy."
"But I thought you had ways of getting into the system? Couldn't you . . . "
"I could . . . probably. But it'd take too long." Knox fixed Wesley with a steady stare. "Do you really want to find who sent it? Or do you want to crack what it means?"
"I'd prefer to know where the message came from," replied Wesley cautiously. "But that's not got a lot to do with finding the prophecy itself, so . . ."
"So let's track the prophecy?"
"I think so. If you believe looking for the messenger will slow us down."
Knox took the sheet from Wesley's hand and began to read. "Now is not the time. When the Old One awakes, Then shall the son stand beside the father. Blood will flow and thwart the enemy." He gave a small smile. I can save you so much time," he said gleefully. "You were right in the first place – about luck," he added in response to Wesley's blank stare. "You're lucky you've got me working with you. I've been fascinated by the Old Ones since I was a child. I know just where to start the search."
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Angel and Spike were waiting with Connor for Wesley to catch up, when he arrived at the Training Room.
"It was Knox who suggested we summon Illyria," Wesley explained to Gunn. "He's been somewhat of a fan of hers since he was a child. He knows all about her abilities." Wesley stopped and considered his last sentence. "The term 'her' is a little misleading. We're not really sure if Illyria has a gender, as we know it. But, it helps me to think of it as a her."
Spike gave Wesley one of his patented raised eyebrows and grimaced. "Bloody unhealthy obsession for a young bloke. Should've been into Goths or Heavy Metal." He paused, catching sight of Angel's incredulous glance. "Or been a New Romantic."
"Romantic?" echoed Wesley. "Yes, I suppose he is a Romantic. He certainly has a crush on Fred."
"Who has a crush on Fred?" said a voice behind him.
"Fred! How are you feeling?" Wesley turned to her. He nodded a greeting to Lorne. "And Lorne."
"Better – ish. A little stronger . . . Eager to get back to the real me."
"Is that what will happen?" asked Connor, anxiously. "We'll meet the real – um – us?"
Fred smiled at him. "We are the real us."
Connor pushed open the training room door and held it back for her. The others followed as Fred led the way. Lorne looked up at the observation window where he spotted Knox switching on the lighting and sound systems.
Lorne sat down on a bench. "Um – so Charles was right? There are no other selves. No other 'usses'?" he asked hopefully.
"Not different other . . ." Fred raised her eyebrows, "usses, anyway. At the moment, there are two lines of our time, running parallel to each other. Our existence here is an anomaly."
"We won't cease to exist when Illyria removes Ethan from this line. We will never have existed here. Here won't ever have existed," added Wesley.
"You mean all this will just wink out of existence?" asked Connor frowning. "Creepy."
Angel thought for an instant. "Then we won't remember anything about the last eight weeks or so?"
"Y . . e . . s." Wesley slowly drew out the single syllable. "They'll never have happened,"
"And we'll return – when exactly?" asked Spike.
"If my calculations are correct, sometime during the day Illyria and Connor first meet," replied Wesley. "I believe Angel's destiny depends on returning to that time to defeat them – the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. That's what the prophecy means. When Connor and . . . Spike, I believe, will be fighting alongside Angel."
"Will we all be like we were before?" asked Gunn. "Will I get my powers back?"
"We'll be as we were then, with the memories we had then," said Fred. "I'll be Fred again."
"And I'll be Wesley – with only one set of memories," said Wesley thoughtfully. He glanced at Angel. "The memories of last year were created for a reason," he said softly.
"To hide from the truth?" asked Lorne watching the two men closely.
"To endure it," replied Wesley solemnly. "When we return to our proper time, the fabricated ones will be our only memories." He reached out and touched Fred's cheek and stroked it gently. She gave little sign of her earlier weakness, other than the merest hint of dampness to her skin. "We will all have no memory of who Connor really is."
"Except me," said Angel quietly. All eyes swung to regard the elder vampire. "I didn't lose them when I did the deal," he said, gazing fondly at Connor.
"And I never had 'em in the first place," said Spike briskly, breaking the introspective atmosphere. He threw a brotherly arm over Connor's shoulder. "'S bin nice knowin' ya kid. 'Spect I'll be meeting you all over again . . ."
The door banged open behind him, revealing a dishevelled Ethan struggling in Harmony's grip. "He took a lot of persuading, Boss. Didn't want to come here for some reason."
Ethan stumbled to the floor as Harmony flung him into the room. His face was covered in bruises, his bottom lip swelling around a bloody split. "Could it be that I'm a little unwilling to participate in this spell because you people are summoning some Hell God here to kill me?" he asked, giving her a withering look.
Spike lowered his arm from Connor's shoulder and strode over to Ethan. "Don't worry, old chap," he said, pulling Ethan to his feet. "It'll only hurt for a minute. Your Cleveland self won't know anything about it."
"Ethan doesn't have to die here either, Spike," said Wesley evenly. He turned and gave Ethan an icy stare. "Luckily for you, this particular Hell God is adept at moving through time and dimensions. She merely has to remove you from this one before you sign the contract with Jenoff."
Ethan shrugged Spike's hand off his arm and rubbed his face gingerly. "Now how do you propose to persuade her to do that? Have you a royal warrant granting a stay of execution?"
Wesley remained stone-faced. "Illyria was a great power, both feared and loved. So beloved that after millions of years dead, there are still some of her Acolytes on this earth. Knox is one of them. Be nice to him. He might ask her to spare you."
Lorne looked up towards the viewing window in alarm; the image of a blue-haired, leather clad Fred suddenly flashing into his brain.
"I need to go through a few details with all of you before we start," said Wesley. "Knox will need a little time to set up . . . ah, here he is. I think over there will be just right." Wesley motioned to Knox, who had just entered carrying a small box, which he set down in the centre of the room and began to unpack.
Wesley turned to Angel. "Perhaps we should all go to the observation gallery. Harmony, would you stay here and keep an eye on Ethan? Make sure he doesn't do anything silly."
Gunn, Connor and Lorne disappeared through the door leading to the observation room. Ethan swallowed hard and squinted at the young man crouched on the floor.
"Cheer up, mate." Spike had noticed the mage's discomfort. "You're going to Cleveland. Giles is there, last we heard. You can make his life a misery for a bit when you get there," he grinned.
Ethan considered for a moment. "You think so? You're not just saying that to make me feel better about losing my immortality?"
"Can't lose what you never had, chum," replied Spike. "Bit like the whole Shanshu bugaboo." He glanced at Angel as they left the room together. "Ain't that right?"
Angel frowned. "You still mad about that?"
"Damn right I am. That and Buffy. And it's you who's still bangin' on about being her chosen one."
"I am," said Angel smugly. "Cookie dough, remember?"
"Not at the last Apocalypse you weren't!" Spike said through gritted teeth. "Cookie dough?" Spike's look of confusion was quickly replaced by an irate scowl. "You ever goin' to admit that what I did was for the right reasons?"
Angel sighed. "Look, I thought the Sunnydale Apocalypse could be the one, you know, where the whole Shanshu thing might . . ." He stopped and shook his head slightly. "And then when Buffy sent me away and you did the gig instead . . ." He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Spike, stony faced.
"Oh, so you were jealous."
"Of you?" Angel sneered. "Why? Because you did it to prove something to Buffy?"
"No, because I chose to do it even when she asked me not to." Spike paused and dropped his gaze to the floor. "She told me I'd done enough."
Angel stared at him in surprise.
"Yeah, you heard me," said Spike vehemently looking directly into his eyes. "I . Chose. Nothing to do with prophecies, or reward, or fulfilling a bloody destiny. Free will. That's what it was all about."
"Free will's one thing, but no one really has totally free choice, Spike," said Angel wearily. "We all have our reasons for choosing – or not choosing things."
"Or people," agreed Spike, relaxing a little.
The two vampires stood silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Spike brushed the toe of his boot along the ground, contemplating the patterns it drew.
He finally looked up at his grandsire. "Look, I don't like you, probably never will. But I chose to stay because you're family – you and Connor - the only one I got now that Dru's buggered off somewhere. Just want you to know – in the other line – the Ethan-free one, I'd do the same." He dropped his eyes to the floor. "If it came to a choice."
Angel remained still. The anger he'd felt at Spike's reopening the old wound of competition for Buffy melted away at the sound of that word family. "Let's get back to the others," he said after a long silence. "We've got some farewells to make."
The room was empty, abandoned after the call from Lorne saying that Fred was awake and feeling better. The grey light of dawn filtered through the blinds casting mote laden beams onto the floor. The conference table was strewn with the books and papers of the previous days' work. In a corner, Spike's ashtray overflowed onto the carpet, evidence of his attempts to curb his impatience. Empty coffee cups littered Angel's desk. Outside, the corridor was alive with noise and movement.
"You're sure about this Wes? This Summoning's a mighty powerful spell." Gunn echoed Angel's concerns of the previous night.
"Yeah, Perce. You're messin' with forces we don't understand," agreed Spike. "Well I don't," he said, off Angel's warning look. "Don't tell me you do?"
"I don't have time for this," Angel said. "C'mon. Let's go to work." The two vampires swept through the corridors, Spike's duster billowing behind him as they headed towards the training room. Connor sprinted after them his hastily drained cups discarded on the reception desk.
"I've checked everything a dozen times," replied Wesley, quickening his pace slightly. "Of course, one can never be sure something won't go awry. But Knox has proved invaluable."
"Knox?" Gunn, slowed down to let Wesley catch up. "There's something not quite right about that boy. Him and that Doctor creep."
"Really? Fred seems to think Knox's all right. She told us so - at the picnic. She said she knew he wasn't evil."
"Well, she should know," said Gunn. "She works long hours with him. Longer than with us most days."
"Until recently, you mean," said Wesley, looking pained. "Well, he certainly impressed me when Fred and I tried to track down the source of the message containing the prophecy. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that we wouldn't have found a way to solve our problem if it hadn't been for Knox's work that night." Wesley's pace slowed, his thoughts replaying the events leading to the discovery of Illyria and the possibilities her return held for them.
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Fred squinted at the computer monitor and sighed. She pushed herself away from the desk and rubbed her eyes. "Nothing. I can't get through. Have you found anything?" she asked, turning to Knox.
"I've found something on the Wolf, Ram and Hart. Neat idea of yours to go from the mail server to the demon archives. Had no problem finding them," he called without looking up from his screen. "But I don't think that's going to help us."
"It gets us no nearer the origin of the prophecy," Fred agreed. She shivered and put a hand to her head, swaying a little as she did so.
"Are you okay?" Knox left his computer and quickly crossed the room. "Wesley!" he called.
Wesley looked up from his work on a pile of ancient tomes, startled by Knox's use of his first name. "What . . .?" He saw Fred shudder as a wave of pain swept through her whole body. He rushed to her side and grasped her hand, steadying her by the elbow as she swayed again.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Um . . . should I get her some water or something?" asked Knox, moving towards the cooler.
"No, it's nothing," replied Fred, relaxing as the spasm stopped. "It's gone."
Wesley gazed at her face with concern. He marked the dark circles under her eyes and blue bruising to her lips. "You need to rest," he said sternly. "When did you last eat?"
"I don't feel like eating," replied Fred wearily. "I'm too tired to eat."
"There you are, then. You've just said it all," Wesley scolded gently. "Go home and sleep. Knox and I will carry on here."
"But I feel better when I'm working. It's when I stop . . ." Fred took Wesley's hands in hers. "It's just . . . I don't want to let Angel down. He asked me to track down who sent the . . ."
Wesley observed how cold Fred's hands were, cold and slightly blue. "Go," he repeated quietly. "You're not letting anyone down. You've never let anyone down." He gazed at her fondly, stroking her hair, and reached for the phone.
Fred smiled at him and returned his gaze. "Thank you," she said softly.
Wesley cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'll just call security and get them to drive you home. We need to keep you safe."
As Fred began to gather her things together, she became aware of Knox's presence. He was standing very close, looking at her, a question in his eyes.
"You're seeing Wesley now." It was a statement, not a question.
Fred frowned. "Uh... Oh. OK, " she stammered. That's not connected to keeping me safe in some way, is it?"
"No, I just wanted to get it out there. And I'm totally good with it. I—I know that I've made... advances."
"I'm sorry."
"No, I— I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I love working with you, and that's plenty for me." Knox turned to her computer. "I'll finish that up for you."
"You're sweet," said Fred, picking up her things. She gave Wesley a small smile as she opened the door and left.
"Will you have any better luck, do you think?" asked Wesley peering at the computer screen.
"Luck?" Knox's eyes narrowed. The question had a knife-edge to it.
"With tracking the source of the message?"
"It's not a question of luck. It's skill, expertise, dedication." Knox swung round to face Wesley. "Would you call your research luck?"
"Well, no, not when you put it like that," replied Wesley uneasily. "It's just that with anonymous computer messages, the intent is one of not being tracked down and..."
"And you think that the subjects you research don't share that?"
Wesley thought for an instant. "Good point," he replied. "I apologise. Let's begin that again shall we? How difficult is it going to be to find this thing?"
Knox smiled as Wesley relaxed. "Depends," he said. "What are we looking for and what have we got to go on?"
"Will the full text do?" Wesley pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and carried it over to Knox's workstation. "I copied it from the screen when I couldn't find a way of saving it to disc."
"That rules out tracking the source of the message, then – but not the prophecy."
"But I thought you had ways of getting into the system? Couldn't you . . . "
"I could . . . probably. But it'd take too long." Knox fixed Wesley with a steady stare. "Do you really want to find who sent it? Or do you want to crack what it means?"
"I'd prefer to know where the message came from," replied Wesley cautiously. "But that's not got a lot to do with finding the prophecy itself, so . . ."
"So let's track the prophecy?"
"I think so. If you believe looking for the messenger will slow us down."
Knox took the sheet from Wesley's hand and began to read. "Now is not the time. When the Old One awakes, Then shall the son stand beside the father. Blood will flow and thwart the enemy." He gave a small smile. I can save you so much time," he said gleefully. "You were right in the first place – about luck," he added in response to Wesley's blank stare. "You're lucky you've got me working with you. I've been fascinated by the Old Ones since I was a child. I know just where to start the search."
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Angel and Spike were waiting with Connor for Wesley to catch up, when he arrived at the Training Room.
"It was Knox who suggested we summon Illyria," Wesley explained to Gunn. "He's been somewhat of a fan of hers since he was a child. He knows all about her abilities." Wesley stopped and considered his last sentence. "The term 'her' is a little misleading. We're not really sure if Illyria has a gender, as we know it. But, it helps me to think of it as a her."
Spike gave Wesley one of his patented raised eyebrows and grimaced. "Bloody unhealthy obsession for a young bloke. Should've been into Goths or Heavy Metal." He paused, catching sight of Angel's incredulous glance. "Or been a New Romantic."
"Romantic?" echoed Wesley. "Yes, I suppose he is a Romantic. He certainly has a crush on Fred."
"Who has a crush on Fred?" said a voice behind him.
"Fred! How are you feeling?" Wesley turned to her. He nodded a greeting to Lorne. "And Lorne."
"Better – ish. A little stronger . . . Eager to get back to the real me."
"Is that what will happen?" asked Connor, anxiously. "We'll meet the real – um – us?"
Fred smiled at him. "We are the real us."
Connor pushed open the training room door and held it back for her. The others followed as Fred led the way. Lorne looked up at the observation window where he spotted Knox switching on the lighting and sound systems.
Lorne sat down on a bench. "Um – so Charles was right? There are no other selves. No other 'usses'?" he asked hopefully.
"Not different other . . ." Fred raised her eyebrows, "usses, anyway. At the moment, there are two lines of our time, running parallel to each other. Our existence here is an anomaly."
"We won't cease to exist when Illyria removes Ethan from this line. We will never have existed here. Here won't ever have existed," added Wesley.
"You mean all this will just wink out of existence?" asked Connor frowning. "Creepy."
Angel thought for an instant. "Then we won't remember anything about the last eight weeks or so?"
"Y . . e . . s." Wesley slowly drew out the single syllable. "They'll never have happened,"
"And we'll return – when exactly?" asked Spike.
"If my calculations are correct, sometime during the day Illyria and Connor first meet," replied Wesley. "I believe Angel's destiny depends on returning to that time to defeat them – the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. That's what the prophecy means. When Connor and . . . Spike, I believe, will be fighting alongside Angel."
"Will we all be like we were before?" asked Gunn. "Will I get my powers back?"
"We'll be as we were then, with the memories we had then," said Fred. "I'll be Fred again."
"And I'll be Wesley – with only one set of memories," said Wesley thoughtfully. He glanced at Angel. "The memories of last year were created for a reason," he said softly.
"To hide from the truth?" asked Lorne watching the two men closely.
"To endure it," replied Wesley solemnly. "When we return to our proper time, the fabricated ones will be our only memories." He reached out and touched Fred's cheek and stroked it gently. She gave little sign of her earlier weakness, other than the merest hint of dampness to her skin. "We will all have no memory of who Connor really is."
"Except me," said Angel quietly. All eyes swung to regard the elder vampire. "I didn't lose them when I did the deal," he said, gazing fondly at Connor.
"And I never had 'em in the first place," said Spike briskly, breaking the introspective atmosphere. He threw a brotherly arm over Connor's shoulder. "'S bin nice knowin' ya kid. 'Spect I'll be meeting you all over again . . ."
The door banged open behind him, revealing a dishevelled Ethan struggling in Harmony's grip. "He took a lot of persuading, Boss. Didn't want to come here for some reason."
Ethan stumbled to the floor as Harmony flung him into the room. His face was covered in bruises, his bottom lip swelling around a bloody split. "Could it be that I'm a little unwilling to participate in this spell because you people are summoning some Hell God here to kill me?" he asked, giving her a withering look.
Spike lowered his arm from Connor's shoulder and strode over to Ethan. "Don't worry, old chap," he said, pulling Ethan to his feet. "It'll only hurt for a minute. Your Cleveland self won't know anything about it."
"Ethan doesn't have to die here either, Spike," said Wesley evenly. He turned and gave Ethan an icy stare. "Luckily for you, this particular Hell God is adept at moving through time and dimensions. She merely has to remove you from this one before you sign the contract with Jenoff."
Ethan shrugged Spike's hand off his arm and rubbed his face gingerly. "Now how do you propose to persuade her to do that? Have you a royal warrant granting a stay of execution?"
Wesley remained stone-faced. "Illyria was a great power, both feared and loved. So beloved that after millions of years dead, there are still some of her Acolytes on this earth. Knox is one of them. Be nice to him. He might ask her to spare you."
Lorne looked up towards the viewing window in alarm; the image of a blue-haired, leather clad Fred suddenly flashing into his brain.
"I need to go through a few details with all of you before we start," said Wesley. "Knox will need a little time to set up . . . ah, here he is. I think over there will be just right." Wesley motioned to Knox, who had just entered carrying a small box, which he set down in the centre of the room and began to unpack.
Wesley turned to Angel. "Perhaps we should all go to the observation gallery. Harmony, would you stay here and keep an eye on Ethan? Make sure he doesn't do anything silly."
Gunn, Connor and Lorne disappeared through the door leading to the observation room. Ethan swallowed hard and squinted at the young man crouched on the floor.
"Cheer up, mate." Spike had noticed the mage's discomfort. "You're going to Cleveland. Giles is there, last we heard. You can make his life a misery for a bit when you get there," he grinned.
Ethan considered for a moment. "You think so? You're not just saying that to make me feel better about losing my immortality?"
"Can't lose what you never had, chum," replied Spike. "Bit like the whole Shanshu bugaboo." He glanced at Angel as they left the room together. "Ain't that right?"
Angel frowned. "You still mad about that?"
"Damn right I am. That and Buffy. And it's you who's still bangin' on about being her chosen one."
"I am," said Angel smugly. "Cookie dough, remember?"
"Not at the last Apocalypse you weren't!" Spike said through gritted teeth. "Cookie dough?" Spike's look of confusion was quickly replaced by an irate scowl. "You ever goin' to admit that what I did was for the right reasons?"
Angel sighed. "Look, I thought the Sunnydale Apocalypse could be the one, you know, where the whole Shanshu thing might . . ." He stopped and shook his head slightly. "And then when Buffy sent me away and you did the gig instead . . ." He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Spike, stony faced.
"Oh, so you were jealous."
"Of you?" Angel sneered. "Why? Because you did it to prove something to Buffy?"
"No, because I chose to do it even when she asked me not to." Spike paused and dropped his gaze to the floor. "She told me I'd done enough."
Angel stared at him in surprise.
"Yeah, you heard me," said Spike vehemently looking directly into his eyes. "I . Chose. Nothing to do with prophecies, or reward, or fulfilling a bloody destiny. Free will. That's what it was all about."
"Free will's one thing, but no one really has totally free choice, Spike," said Angel wearily. "We all have our reasons for choosing – or not choosing things."
"Or people," agreed Spike, relaxing a little.
The two vampires stood silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Spike brushed the toe of his boot along the ground, contemplating the patterns it drew.
He finally looked up at his grandsire. "Look, I don't like you, probably never will. But I chose to stay because you're family – you and Connor - the only one I got now that Dru's buggered off somewhere. Just want you to know – in the other line – the Ethan-free one, I'd do the same." He dropped his eyes to the floor. "If it came to a choice."
Angel remained still. The anger he'd felt at Spike's reopening the old wound of competition for Buffy melted away at the sound of that word family. "Let's get back to the others," he said after a long silence. "We've got some farewells to make."