FIC: Fire and Ice (1 of 4)

[shipperx]

:
Title: Fire and Ice (1 of 4)
Spoilers: Post-"Not Fade Away" with strong connections to "Lie To Me"
Genre: Gen
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine. Never been paid and never will be.
Written For: noel_of_spike
Summary As Christmas rolls around, Spike finds himself without plans... so he heads to Canada to atone for an old crime, confronts an ex, and faces down a dragon. He'll need whiskey in his egg nog after this.

Author's Note: Altered a little and re-edited in 2010

I

Leaning against the sofa cushions, Spike closed his eyes and propped his feet on the coffee table, resolved to ignore the Kenny G version of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” that wafted through the teen homeless shelter. He also intended to ignore the fact that there was synthetic snow on the window sill despite it being a sunny, seventy degree day. How any of this evoked the feeling of real Christmas, he could not imagine. There were no crackers, no goose, and no figgy pudding.

Then, for reasons unknown, he took a breath and smiled. Angel might mock him for breathing so often, but breathing had its benefits, and Spike took a moment to savor the spicy scent of gingerbread. Someone was baking, and some part of Spike’s brain zoomed across more than a hundred years, to his childhood when Christmas had held the hope of fresh snow, bells on sleighs and carriages, and fresh rather than plastic evergreens.

As a boy his favorite treat had been gingerbread. His mother had never made it because they had a cook for that, but she had allowed him to buy it for a penny at winter fairs. He'd held the confection in his mitten-covered hands and had delighted in the flavor of ginger, clove, and honey as he'd walked between his parents secure in the knowledge that he was loved.

His reverie was broken by Angel bursting into the room with Gunn yapping at his heels.

“Come on,” Gunn said. “A little turkey, some stuffing. It’s not a big deal.”

Angel glowered.

Gunn said, “Anne’s even willing to buy otter blood.”

Opening one eye, Spike asked, “Will there be congealed little clumpy bits?”

Gunn shot him a look of disgust.

“What?” Spike asked. “Can’t look worse than cranberry sauce. It would be festive.”

Angel growled. “Shut up, Spike.”

Spike gave his best I’m-an-asshole grin, then closed his eyes to continue basking in the smell of baked goods.

Angel said to Gunn, “I’m not stopping you and Anne…” After a pause he added, “And whoever from celebrating Christmas. I’m just saying that I won’t be part of it.”

“Bah-humbug,” Spike said.

Gunn sighed. “Angel, you’re missing the point. Anne wants you to be part of it. When you were the head of Wolfram and Hart, you funded this place.”

If Charlie had hoped to push Angel into the holiday spirit with that remark, he had just made a serious misstep. Spike didn't need to look to know that Angel was even more glum than before. It was only to be expected. Angel had been this way ever since that night in the alley, and who could blame him? Defeat was a hard thing to swallow, and the battle with Wolfram and Hart had been a resounding defeat.

Spike remembered the electric tension running through him as he had stood ready for battle and determined that the battle would be epic. However, if there was one thing Spike knew, it was to never become so set in your expectations that you couldn’t adjust if things went in an entirely different direction.

Things almost always went in an entirely different direction.

The four of them had stood ready for Armageddon, facing demons, monsters, and a giant (or had it been a troll?) only for the Army of Darkness to part, making room for the entrance of one tall, curvaceous woman.

“Lilah.” Angel had looked unhappy at the sound of his own voice as he had said her name. She, on the other hand, had smiled with a cold expression that had reminded Spike of Darla.

Lilah had said that Angel and Gunn, being paid employees of Wolfram and Hart, were to be placed on indefinite leave with the ‘full termination of their contracts’ to be executed at the Senior Partners’ discretion. She had also said that the Circle of the Black Thorn had been replaced, and that the president of the Japanese branch of Wolfram and Hart was relocating to L.A., effective immediately.

While she was talking, Charlie had stumbled and fallen to the ground, his blood mixing with the rain that had sluiced over their bodies, and Spike had been left in the singularly odd position of being the only one to notice.

Spike was good at being the right hand man in a doomed battle. He liked fights. He even liked near-impossible odds. But it had always been the likes of Tara or Willow… or Dawn and Xander, or Fred, or even Buffy who had kept a watchful eye for human pain and mortal danger. Only none of them were in that alley. There had been only been demons: Blue--and her wish to do more violence--Angel, and himself. And Angel, having provoked this fight, had been unable to see a life beyond it. Spike had elbowed Angel, nudging him into noticing that he had a fallen soldier bleeding his life out on the ground.

Angel wouldn’t have left that alley if had been him alone, but an obligation to Charlie had done what no words could. For duty and obligation, Angel would accept defeat. And it had been defeat. It had been humiliating, and it had been futile. Nothing had been accomplished. Nothing had changed… nothing except that good people were dead.

It must be a hard thing to be a leader and to watch your lieutenants die. Angel had lost Cordelia, sweet little Fred, and the Watcher. And Spike didn’t want to ask questions about Drogyn. He suspected that he knew what had happened. Dark cults like the Circle had nasty initiation rites, and Angel had gone through all of them. He’d trod through blood and death with an eye towards… something.

Spike had never been certain what the exact goal had been. Atonement? Saving the world? Whatever it was, Spike figured that Angel had thought it noble, but it must have been a mirage. There was nothing there. It had been sound and fury, signifying… not very much.

They had taken Gunn to the hospital where the doctors had pronounced him ‘not quite dead,’ but it had been close. And two vampires and a million year old demon had been ill equipped to deal with the red tape involved in the American medical system. Luckily Gunn had regained consciousness long enough to suggest that Angel call Anne before lapsing into a medically induced coma.

Gunn’s ‘Anne’ turned out to be a cute bit of blonde fluff who had hated Spike on first sight. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. It had been second sight or possibly third, only Spike hadn’t discovered that fact until later.

When she had arrived at the hospital, on the day when Gunn had regained consciousness, she had greeted Angel warmly and had placed a light kiss on Charlie’s forehead. “You had to play big-time hero.”

Gunn had smiled weakly. “And now I need you to be mine.” He had explained that they could use her help, and she had wanted to know who ‘we’ entailed.

Angel had introduced Blue, who had morphed out of her disguise as the guileless Fred.

Anne had paled and had looked uncertain as she greeted Illyria cautiously. But when she had turned to face Spike, her gaze had turned cold. She had backed away and had reached for the crucifix that hung around her neck.

Gunn had rushed to explain about vampires and souls, but she wasn’t buying that explanation… for anyone but Angel.

Typical.

Spike had seen it before. With Angel there was always the conviction that there were two of him. There was Angelus and the enormous poof, and the two never mixed. They might share some similarities in appearance – and a poor taste in haircuts – but they were two separate creatures. With Spike there was only Spike – which didn’t bother Spike much because as far as he could tell there was only one him. However, he’d never ceased to marvel that Angel somehow convinced people that the two parts of himself had nothing to do with one another.

Spike would laugh about it if it didn’t piss him off quite so much.

Anne’s response to Gunn’s explanation that Spike wasn’t the enemy was to keep her distance. She ignored Spike whenever he came around.

After Charlie had been released from the hospital, he’d taken the time to explain to Spike that if Anne seemed nervous or angry, it was because that she had met Spike in the bad old days. She had been part of a group of Goth teens who had read too much Anne Rice and had listened to too much Evanescence – or whatever it was that kids had listened to in those days. The group had been headed by Buffy’s friend Chevy…

Wait. No. That wasn’t it. But for the life of him, Spike couldn’t think of what it was. Just that the boy’s name had involved a car. Maybe.

Buffy’s friend with the automotive name had wanted to strike a bargain, some overwrought request for ‘eternal life.’ And Buffy had held Drusilla hostage, forcing Spike to release Anne and her friends. But Spike had honored his bargain with the teen. He’d turned the boy, realizing that the git had never thought about the fact that Buffy would know and would meet his newly resurrected ass with the pointy end of a stake.

Spike and Dru had had a good laugh about that one.

Anyway, Anne held a grudge for all that history, and Spike couldn’t blame her, even though her unrelenting distrust had become a source of irritation... which in turn had become Angel’s only source of amusement in the last six months.

After Gunn had hooked up with Anne, an unvoiced truce had been formed between Anne and Spike. Charlie said that his close call with death had redirected his priorities. He was going to steer his ‘helping the helpless’ philosophy into less dangerous territory by using his demonically enhanced brain instead of his mortal body. He became a pro-bono lawyer, defending and working for Anne’s runaways. And, having found himself kicked out of the Wolfram and Hart penthouse, Angel had accepted the offer of a room above Anne’s shelter.

Spike, however, was unwelcome.

Anne hadn’t chased him away with a cross and stake, but she had been visibly pleased to hear that he had a place of his own (fortunately, Lindsey had paid Spike’s six-month lease in advance.)

Things had remained in this relatively peaceful after that, at least until the holidays had begun making people crazy. Now Charlie followed Angel down the hallway begging.

“Come on, man,” Gunn said. “It’s Christmas.”

“Vampires don’t ‘do’ Christmas.” Angel closed the door in Charlie’s face.

Gunn sighed, and Spike couldn’t stop himself. He said, “Could’ve told you you were beating your head against a wall.”

Gunn shook his head. “It’s been almost seven months. I thought…”

“What?” Spike asked. “That he’d get over it?”

”No. Not that. Just…”

“Brood less?”

“Yeah. Was I crazy?”

Spike snorted. “Cheer up, Charlie-boy. Even Angel can’t brood forever.” Though if Spike had to bet, he'd lay money on it lasting five to ten years.

Gunn perked up. “Hey, I might have struck out with one of the soul brothers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hit a homerun with the other.”

Spike eyed him with suspicion. “I don’t deck halls or play Santa.”

“Nah. I’d never ask that.” He ducked his head. “That’s not the gift that Anne wants.”

Spike tensed. “What does she want?”

“Other than me keeping an eye on those gingerbread house cut-outs that she has in the oven?” Gunn sank into the battered chair standing opposite the sofa where Spike had made himself comfortable. “The truth is, she’d like you to make yourself scarce, not hang around much.” Charlie leaned forward. “I’m not talking about forever. Just for the holidays.”

Spike remained carefully still and stopped breathing the scent of gingerbread. “Right,” he said. He stood and grabbed his coat off the back of the sofa. “No problem. “

Gunn looked concerned. “It doesn’t have to be right this second. I don’t—“

Spike held up his hand. “Don’t apologize. She’s your girl. I know what it’s like. A guy does what he can for his girl. “ He’d die for her. Or fight for his soul and die all over again.

Spike knew all about the lengths a man would go to for love.

With more determination than he’d felt for anything in a very long time, Spike ignored the hard knot forming in the center of his chest and said, “Besides, vampires don’t ‘do’ Christmas.”

He closed the metal door behind him as left the shelter, realizing too late that it was still the middle of the afternoon and that he’d trapped himself in the shadowed back alley because sunlight prevented him from reaching the manhole sewer access located near the loading dock.

“Bugger.” He leaned against the brick wall and searched his pockets for a pack of nicotine gum.

He’d thought about taking up smoking again, but had decided against it. He hadn't wanted to incur more of Anne’s wrath.

But he guessed that didn’t matter now. It didn’t look like keeping the peace posed a problem any more, which left him with time to ponder other concerns that he had, the most pressing of which being the need to find a place to live. Lindsey’s pre-paid lease was running out, and, before today’s turn of events, Spike had considered asking if he could also bunk in the shelter. He’d even been willing to bunk with Angel if he had to.

Now, he had to think of something else. And after that came the existential question of what to do with the rest of his existence.

The question had bugged him more and more lately, though never in a truly existential way. He was more pragmatic than that. What he’d really wondered was what in the hell was he supposed to do.

He wasn’t like Angel. He couldn’t perpetually mourn what had been lost or spend lifetimes dissecting his regrets. Angel had raised brooding to an artform, but it would only drive Spike mad. He couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t handle examining and re-examining things that he could not change. He needed something to do.

But do what exactly?

As William he had pursued love straight to his own death. When he had become Spike, he had focused on the twin goals of retaining Dru’s affection and seeking the head of the Slayer. Later, he had concerned himself with other parts of the Slayer and that had turned into what? A desire for redemption? A need to earn Buffy’s respect? More recently, he’d even found himself taking Angel’s causes as his own. But all goals felt like quicksilver to Spike. He could reach for them, but he could never hold them in his hand.

Now, he had to face the fact that if Angel had lost direction, then he had no direction of his own. He could hunt demons – God knows he couldn’t sit still – but was that it? Was that all there was? The hunt for the sake of the hunt alone?

“I told you not to involve me in this,” Anne hissed as she pushed a gangly young man out of the shelter’s loading dock door.

Spike stepped back, not exactly hiding behind a dumpster, but not drawing attention to himself.

The man with Anne looked squirrely in a way that Spike hadn’t seen since Andrew.

The guy said, “Chanterelle, you’ve got to understand.”

“No, I don’t. And my name is Anne. You know that.”

There was an almost dreamy expression on the guy’s face. “We took different names, once. We had dreams.”

“Delusions.” She sounded exasperated. “For God’s sake, I named myself after a mushroom because I thought it sounded pretty.”

The man looked hurt. “It was pretty. It is pretty. You have to see things through different eyes.”

“Is that what you’re telling the kids in my shelter?" There was a hint of strain in her voice. "Are you recruiting them? God, Marvin, did you learn nothing from what happened last time? Playing with the occult is dangerous.”

“Diego. I officially changed my name. It’s Diego, now.” He said it so childishly that Spike expected him to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum.

Anne sighed. “Names don’t make a difference. You’re still the same person, and it’s games like this that almost got us killed.”

“I’m not talking about a game. I’m talking about a sacred ritual. ‘The Long Night.’ It’s the pagan festival of the Winter Solstice, when vampyres gather to celebrate their community.”

Sweet bloody Christ, Spike thought.

Marvin kept talking nonsense. “It’s the night to welcome new members to the coven of the children of the night. It’s a sacred rite of passage.”

It was bollocks.

Anne said, “You’re going to get yourself killed. Can’t you see that?”

Marvin said, “They turned Ford. They can turn me.”

“Into what?” she asked, sounding genuinely distressed. Some part of her must still care about the guy.

Marvin stepped away, looking unhappy. “You won’t go with me?”

“No.” She stood her ground. “I won’t go with you, and I don’t want you filling my kids' heads with this… this crap.” She stepped back inside the shelter. “Don’t come here again.”

She closed the door and squirrelly guy walked out of the alley. In the shadows behind the dumpster, Spike squared his shoulders, knowing that he’d found something to do. He intended to make this year’s “Long Night” one that people would never forget…

Chapter 2