Chapter Text
“Like, really really?”
“Yes, mate! How many times are you going to ask?”
Spike was getting annoyed at this point by Angel’s constant badgering. Was this even the right time to be judging the life choices of an almost 200-year-old vampire? Then again, Angel had been ragging on him for the last century. But in the middle of a battle was not the time to pick a fight. There were other things to worry about—not getting staked was very high on the priority list.
Spike dodged a punch from the vampire and then staked the demon in the heart. The wood punctured in easily, like popping a balloon with a pin needle. As it turned to ash, he continued his rant. “An’ it’s not like Harmony and I haven’t dated before. She always came back.”
Angel finished off the vampire he was exchanging blows with and faced his grandsire. He was tired of discussing Harmony’s reliability. Lives have been and always would be in danger, and if important information were passed to the wrong hands, Angel feared the consequences. Harmony had already betrayed him before. And as his receptionist, she was exposed to many of Wolfram & Hart’s most lethal secrets. He continued to voice his disagreement with the decision to keep Harmony, but no one would listen. Besides, she was trying to be a better person—according to her, anyway. She always seemed to find a way to make up for her mistakes.
“Spike, you can’t tell me that your relationship with her in the past was perfect. You tried to stake her.”
“But she didn’t die, did she?” Spike retorted, grunting as he staked another vampire. “An’ she found that bloody gem that you selfishly destroyed. Imagine how helpful it’d be to us right now.”
“You don’t think she’s going to hold that as a grudge and bite us in the ass when we least expect it?” Angel brushed Spike’s comment off about the Gem of Amara; something his vampire grandchild loved to bring up... regularly.
Spike gave Angel a sideways glance and chuckled. “I’m not worried,” he replied cockily.
The two paused side by side to regroup as more vampires surrounded them. They were at a park in the middle of a Los Angeles suburb, arriving shortly after hearing the struggle between these vampires and the group of teenagers they were preying upon. Fortunately for the teenagers, they had snuck out of their parents’ homes for a late-night smoke session and were probably too high to remember the reality the situation.
“I’m not saying you can’t date her; I’m just saying she can’t be trusted, so be careful what you’re telling her.”
Spike rolled his eyes. The two ensouled vampires turned their backs to each other as the remaining five vampires circled around them. The platinum blond lunged at the three in front of him, kicking one and punching another to the ground, towering over the latter with a stake raised high. The third one yanked Spike off and threw him into Angel, and they tumbled, grumbling obscenities at each other as they untangled and regained balance.
“I thought you two were supposed to be ‘Big-Bads,’ ” the vampire taunted. His crew of vampires rallied behind him. “Thought keeping you away would be much harder.”
The vampire smirked as he watched their faces twist in confusion.
“Keeping us away? From what?” Spike turned to Angel, befuddled, but his frenemy looked just as lost as he was. They held off on attacking, but the vampires had a different idea.
The one that spoke charged at them but was too slow to tackle either. Instead, he looked down at his chest in surprise to find he was staked while he made such a naïve move. In his last moments, he glanced, bewildered, at Angel and Spike—like they had the audacity—and then turned to dust. Through the falling ashes, Angel saw fear on the faces of the remaining four. He stood his ground, vamp face on. He had seen this situation before. They were following a leader, and now that their leader was dead, they were lost and helpless. He continued to stare them down with his piercing, yellow eyes until the four demons scattered into the dark like a flock of birds. Mindless birds. Angel did not feel the need to go after them.
“Well, that was fun. Let’s do it again sometime, mate.” Spike shook off his leather duster and began to walk away. However, he caught a strange, unfamiliar scent that stopped him in his tracks. He peered over his shoulder at Angel, who seemed to have smelled the scent as well.
“Who’s there?” Spike called into the darkness. The park streets were dimly lit by streetlamps, but his enhanced vampire vision didn’t need light to see in the night.
Angel looked around. Unlike his blond counterpart, he recognized the scent immediately. It had been a while since he last smelt it. “Whistler.”
“Long time no see, buddy.”
A man emerged from the trees on the east side of the park. He wore a faded black fedora hat that hid his face, accompanied by a brown leather jacket that glistened as he passed a park lamp. Whistler stopped just short of a lamp light and sat on the bench next to it. His eyes were only a glimmer of light under the shadow of his hat brim as Whistler continued: “We need to talk.”
Still confused and with unanswered questions, Spike spoke with a more aggressive tone in his voice. “An’ who the hell are you?”
Whistler ignored him, his gaze unaltered. “How is the big hot-shot boss doin’?”
Unimpressed and impatient, Angel stepped closer. “What do you want, Whistler?”
“Can’t a guy just catch up with an old friend?” Whistler leaned back and crossed his leg over his knee. Now, the lamplight was just in front of him enough to cast a slice of light onto his face.
“You’ve never come on a social call before. So, what is it?” Angel knew the only time Whistler appeared was when something significant was in the works. He originally had found Angel when he was a weak, pathetic, and ensouled vampire that was feeding off rats in alleyways. Whistler helped Angel find his purpose: To help Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer. Although his journey with the slayer was cut short, Angel was able to find his own way to help fight against evil. Whistler appeared again, to Buffy this time, when Angel had lost his soul and turned into Angelus. Whistler being here now was a very dark omen.
“Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat?” Whistler asked nonchalantly, in a New Yorker accent, his lips smacking as he chewed gum.
“Not hungry.” Angel crossed his arms, showing Whistler his patience was running thin.
“Is anyone going to tell me what the soddin’ hell is going on here?” Spike exclaimed, aggravated that he was being ignored. He paused as he thought harder. “Sod it, I’ve had enough fighting for one night anyway.” He walked away in the direction of his new private loft, courtesy of Wolfram & Hart.
“You’re going to want to hear this, pal,” Whistler called to Spike as the vampire was just exiting the park. The vampire stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn back towards them. Once he had Spike’s attention again, Whistler continued. “There’s trouble in Cleveland.”
“Cleveland? Cleveland, Ohio?” Angel repeated. He then fell pensive, subtly eyeing Spike sidelong.
“What’s in Cleveland?” Spike asked. He took a couple steps towards them, once again confused and clearly growing tired of Whistler’s little guessing game. “Spit it out already!”
“The Powers That Be don’t tell me everything, my friend. I’m just told that they need the vampires-with-the-souls in Cleveland. An’ it’s my job to get you there and provide my… special services.”
“Buffy and her army of slayers are there. Cleveland has its own Hellmouth,” Angel explained, once he gathered his thoughts. The two exchanged an awkward glance, knowing both of their histories with the legendary slayer.
After the Hellmouth was destroyed in Sunnydale, California, Buffy and her newly activated slayers split up into squadrons; some going with her to Cleveland’s Hellmouth, and other squads went to countries all around the world to manage heavy demonic activity. Buffy led the group in Cleveland alongside her friend, Alexander “Xander” Harris. Angel failed to stay in direct contact with her and her army of slayers, but he had always had someone keep tabs on her until her most recent adventure with the Immortal in Italy. He and Buffy had a complicated relationship, and ultimately, it was better to stay apart than to work side by side.
Maybe one day, we’ll fight together again, Angel hoped.
“Oh, of course,” Spike mumbled as he rolled his eyes. “Buffy.” He pulled out a cigarette from its pack and lit it.
Spike and the slayer also had a rough history. Originally mortal enemies, Spike used every chance he had to try to kill her. Once a secret military organization, called the Initiative, placed a microchip in his head to prevent him from harming anyone, he realized demons were exempt from the rule and began fighting them alongside Buffy to get his fix for violence. Then their relationship began to evolve into something else. After a couple years sleeping with each other on and off, the last words Buffy said to him was “I love you,” before he combusted into flames and perished with the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Without him, the Sunnydale Hellmouth and The First Evil would still exist. However, he did not believe that Buffy genuinely loved him—Spike felt anxious at the thought. Maybe now they had a second chance; maybe Buffy did love him? If not, maybe she could?
Maybe, he thought, it was time to find out.
Ever since he was brought back by the amulet that killed him, he had been stuck in an incorporeal state, tied to the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart, unable to see the slayer. Now that he was corporeal again, he had the opportunity to see her. But Buffy was never informed that he was back from the dead. Spike had been trying to come up with the perfect way to tell her that he was alive, but his mind scared him into staying in Los Angeles. Part of him thought it was better for Buffy to not know; their lives would be simpler. Although she would never have a normal life, Spike wanted his slayer to live a happy one, one where he didn’t go barrelling in and mucking things up. What if she found out he was alive, but she didn’t love him anymore? What if popping back into her life makes her unhappy?
All these what-ifs made it impossible to make a decision, but boy, did he miss her. And after hearing what Whistler had to say, Spike wanted to throw all his insecurities away and go to Cleveland now. He once told Buffy he followed his blood… and his blood was screaming for her.
“Is Buffy okay?” he asked, words quick with concern, as he sat next to Whistler on the bench. If he had a heartbeat, it would be racing right about now. Buffy needed to be okay.
Whistler uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his elbows rested on his knees. “I can’t tell you she’s fine, but she’s alive. There is… something out there—a great power. Buffy and the slayers were to protect it, but there are demons and other forces of evil coming at them from every corner of the world. That’s all I know.”
Spike focused on Angel, who was again deep in thought, waiting for him to say something, do something. His silence infuriated Spike, who jumped up and yelled, “Well c’mon, Angel! We have to go to her!”
The older vampire remained calm, while his grandsire began to panic. He needed more details than just Buffy being in trouble. She was always in trouble; anyone who fought against the forces of evil had a marquee on their back that flashed, “KILL ME!”
“Why does she need our help?” Angel asked. “Doesn’t she have an army of slayers at her command?” He continued to ignore Spike, who was staring him down annoyingly—a common occurrence. Of course Angel wanted to see Buffy, but time together with her, without literally being together with her, was a pain he could barely tolerate. “Besides, last time Andrew was here, he made it clear that Buffy no longer trusts me while I’m with Wolfram & Hart.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Spike muttered, side-eyeing his sire.
Whistler shook his head. “She needs you, Angel. Both of you. That’s all I know, that’s all I can say.” He stood up from the bench and looked at the two, continuing: “This is bigger than the slayers, bigger than Wolfram & Hart, and it’s bigger than the rivalry between you and Captain Peroxide over here. If this power isn’t protected, if it falls into the wrong hands… then we are all doomed.” He looked at them hard in the eye to emphasize the importance of the situation.
“Bigger than the Senior Partners? Okay, I think you need to explain this power a little bit,” Angel said as he rubbed his forehead. He looked at Whistler, but a bewildered Whistler acted like he had no idea who the Senior Partners were. He paced back and forth, waiting for a response.
Shaking his head again, the half-demon replied, “I don’t know what power exactly. I don’t even know what it is. It’s not naturally evil, and it’s not naturally good. I don’t know, Angel. But man, I’m starving; can we please go eat somewhere?”
Knowing how connected Whistler was to the Powers That Be, Angel highly doubted that Whistler didn’t know exactly what, and instead, it’s likely the Messenger was told not to reveal everything upfront. That made Angel suspicious.
***
Angel and Spike sat across from Whistler in the cafeteria of Wolfram & Hart, watching him in disgust as he scoffed down his fifth taco. The vampires both grimaced when Whistler began talking with his mouth full.
“Look, I know I’m not much help, but don’t think I’m sending you two in there alone. The Powers That Be said I have to go, too, probably to stay in communication with our two vampire champions—that would be you guys, if you didn’t know already. You know, keep ‘em in the loop.” Whistler slurped down more of his soda until the cup ran dry. He let out a sigh of satisfaction, wiped his face, and then stared at Angel and Spike. “So? Are we going to get on with it?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to drop in on an army of slayers unannounced. We should call her,” Angel suggested after Whistler was done rummaging the remaining scraps on his plate.
“Call her? We don’t have time to call her,” argued Spike. “How long has it been since you called her?”
Angel took a long pause before responding. “It’s been a while. Maybe I should call Giles.”
“And how are you going to contact Giles? He’s in England, last you spoke to him!” Spike rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll meet you lot there.”
“Spike—”
“Angel, I’m not tied here anymore; you can’t tell me what to do.” He was out of the cafeteria before Angel could get another word in.
“I’ll see if Wes can contact him.” Angel rose from the table and made his way to Wesley’s office with Whistler.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was Angel’s long-time partner when it came to fighting the forces of evil. He was also a former Watcher to Faith, the second slayer to be called since Buffy’s first death. His specialty was demonic research and was head of the Special Projects division at Wolfram & Hart. Being both English and former Watcher to the same slayers as well, he would be the best person to contact Rupert Giles. He was reading a book when Angel walked in.
Wesley set his book down, slipping a piece of paper in to mark his place. “Yes, Angel?”
“I need a favour. Can you contact Giles in England?” He glanced at the clock. It would be a late call in England, but Angel’s face and tone told he was on a time crunch.
Wesley reached for the phone on his desk and clicked a number on the dial pad. “May I ask why?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet. I just need to ask him some questions.”
Angel waited patiently as Wesley spoke to one of his assistants on the other line about finding Rupert Giles’ whereabouts. He picked a knickknack up off Wesley’s desk and lightly tossed it in the air. He could hear the assistant through the phone, tapping on a keyboard as he told Wesley it might take a minute.
“Okay, thank you. Please put me through.”
Angel heard the phone faintly ringing as the call was transferred. With each ring, his anxiety grew. It rang for thrice, then another two before someone picked up, and when someone did, it was not Rupert Giles. But Angel recognized the voice on the other end.
A man’s high-pitched cheery voice came through. “Yello’! You’ve reached the England Division Watcher’s Council, this is Andrew, head Watcher of the English Division Watcher’s Council! How may I assist you at this ungodly hour?”
Angel held his hand out for the phone and Wesley gave it to him. “Andrew?”
“Oh! Angel. How… nice to hear from you.” Then, Andrew’s tone grew short and to the point. “Buffy isn’t here.”
“I’m looking for Giles,” Angel spat out before Andrew had the chance to hang up.
“Giles isn’t here either. Thanks for the call though!”
“Wait, Andrew. I need to contact Buffy. Where’s Giles?”
“I don’t know, Angel. Maybe you shouldn’t have been ignoring her for the last six months?”
“I didn’t ignore her! Did you tell her we went all the way to Rome for her?”
There was a pause before Andrew spoke again. “I didn’t tell her you came to Rome, and I didn’t tell her about Spike. And Angel… there’s something I need to tell you about Rome. That wasn’t her.”
Angel looked at Wesley as the information processed in his mind. Unable to hear what was being discussed, Wesley’s expression grew concerned.
“She was a decoy?” he reiterated.
“Maybe you should talk to Giles. He’ll explain everything. I don’t know what I can and can’t say.” Andrew softened his voice, less cynical and more cheery. “I’ll have my people contact your people. Ta-ta!”
Dial tone.
Flustered, Angel slammed the phone down, fighting full strength—it isn’t the first phone he’s punched through a desk here—and hastily left the room. He went into his office to find Whistler sitting at his desk, feet kicked up on the surface. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his phone rang. Immediately he knew who it was.
“That was quick,” Angel mumbled before answering. “Giles?”
“Yes, Angel.”
It was a relief to hear Giles’s soft British voice over the phone. Although he and Giles had a rocky past, the old Watcher always knew Angel had the best at heart for his slayer. He was no longer Buffy’s Watcher, but he did have a place in her heart as a father figure. The two of them always only had Buffy’s best interests at heart. They knew it, and they would always put aside their differences to help their beloved slayer.
“Giles, what’s going on? Is Buffy okay?”
“Angel, I don’t have time to really explain this to you right now, but if you must know, please come to Cleveland. I think we could use a bit of your help… and resources. I’ve arrived back in Cleveland to start a small Watcher’s Council here while Andrew leads the one in England for me until I get back. I’ll give you the address. Bring help if you can.”
Angel snapped his fingers and gestured to Whistler for a pen and paper to write the address down. Meanwhile, Giles continued.
“Have you spoken to Dawn yet? She tried to contact you. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for a while now.”
“I run a business now, Giles. I’m a little busy. And besides, I’m not Dawn’s favourite, so why should she want to talk to me?” There was a bit of jealousy in that statement, as Angel knew how much Dawn loved Spike. Of course, she didn’t know he was alive either, but she would find out soon.
“She said the voicemail sounded like a woman, but the way she set up the voicemail made her seem kind of… I don’t know if this would help… but maybe somewhat scatter-brained? Said she sounded like someone familiar but couldn’t put her finger on it.”
At that moment Angel knew who he had to talk to: Harmony Kendall. She was his receptionist. All his calls go through her first before she would transfer them to him. Harmony had met Dawn once before, in Sunnydale. There was a slight mishap with Dawn accidentally inviting the vampire into their house. Harmony most likely wouldn’t remember the incident, and it was no surprise at all that she failed to notify Angel of any unusual calls coming in. Fortunately, the firm recorded all calls. He would be able to go through backlogs and hear what was said.
“Alright, thanks, Giles. I’ll be seeing you soon.” He hung up and then dialled another number. “Hey, where are you?”
Spike was on the other end of the line, and Angel could hear a car engine revving and the wind whipping from the open windows.
“Where do you think, mate? Headin’ to Clevelend. Sorry I left without much notice; see you soon!”
Dial tone again.
The two-hundred-year-old vampire began to panic. It didn’t show on his face, which remained stoic and broody, but in the anger that lit up his insides. He could not let Spike get to Buffy first; not only because Buffy would be upset that she wasn’t told of his revival, but it was always a competition between these two when it came to the slayer. When they went to Rome to chase who Angel now knows was a decoy Buffy, he and Spike were tripping over each other trying to get to her. What a waste of time that was! We looked like fools, he thought.
“Pack a bag; we got to go,” he told Whistler before leaving his office.
He disappeared into the room behind his own office to load up his weapons. To the contrary, Whistler had no bags to pack, so he remained seated and watched Angel from his desk. On their way out, Angel caught Harmony at her computer.
“Hey, is there something you’d like to tell me?” he asked her irritably.
Already frazzled, she began to stutter. “Okay, so I had a little bit of human blood today, but I promise it was just a sip—”
Angel cut her off. “Not what I’m talking about Harmony.” Then he eyed her closer once he realized what she just confessed to. “But I will revisit that later. There was a call that came in, probably in the last couple days. It may have sounded like a young woman, teenager-y?”
Harmony paused to think. Angel could really see the gears working in her head, nearly grinding up smoke and sparks, but eventually, and in a peppy voice, Harmony remembered. “Oh! I mean, I think? Maybe… I was on lunch and didn’t pick it up, but I heard her on the voicemail. The call logs should have recorded it.”
“Just—Never mind. Let’s find the recording.”
Annoyed, Angel joined her behind her desk and began going through the call logs. He scrolled until he saw a phone number with the caller ID labelled “Ohio.” Not many incoming calls have their state as caller ID, or a caller ID at all to begin with. Wolfram & Hart liked to keep their records very confidential.
Angel clicked on the log, and an audio player program opened in another window on the computer. He instantly recognized Dawn’s voice upon pressing play. She sounded distressed, unfocused, panicked. There was shuffling and scurrying and frantic voices in the background.
“Hey… Angel. It’s Dawn. I know you’re busy running an evil law firm right now—”
“Why does everyone think we’re evil? We’re not, we’re just—” defended Angel, but he stopped when Dawn’s words caught his attention.
“—Buffy’s in trouble. I mean, we’re all in trouble, but they’re all coming after Buffy. Demons from all over the world; other dimensions; other planets. We’re seeing so many of them, and there’s not much we can do to stop them. Slayers from all over the world are coming back to Cleveland to help. Even Willow’s coven is here. I don’t want to tell you what happened over the phone…” There was a brief pause before she continued: “There’s too many people we can’t trust. But Buffy needs you, and she trusted me to make sure you knew. Angel, we really, really need your help—please! Find Giles at headquarters; Buffy and a group of us went into hiding with her but it won’t be long until Amy finds us—”
Then the call was cut. But just before the line disconnected, Angel heard a loud explosion. He grew extremely concerned for the wellbeing of his former lover and her sister. How many days had this been sitting in the backlogs? How many more days would it have been wasting away while Buffy and her family get violently picked off? He did not wait another moment running to the elevator, Whistler struggling to keep up.
Once in the car garage, Angel threw his weapons bag in the backseat of the nearest car to him, and Whistler hopped in the passenger seat. Before he could pull out of the parking space, an old convertible blocked them in. It was Spike.
“Had a change of heart, Angel. I’ll drive.”
As Angel reluctantly got out of the driver’s seat, he grew pensive again. Something told him that this was just the beginning.