16

He wasn’t looking forward to returning to the office, but on the other hand, it didn’t really bother him. After all, he had a part of Bob in him, and Bob just didn’t see it as a major problem. After all, he had died before, and he didn’t see his own death as a big deal.

Logan wondered how much Bob power he actually had. He knew he didn’t have it all - he remembered what that was like; like having a couple of suns living inside him - but he had a bit, and he had a feeling he knew things he shouldn’t know. (Like Jean wasn’t actually dead - well, perhaps now she was, but she didn’t die at Alkali Lake - and the Powers had altered all their memories so they wouldn’t remember all the things she had done since then, or their meetings with her. He really didn’t know how to feel about any of that.) Maybe he only had a bit of his power because he himself wasn’t at full power when he died. He just didn’t know.

But he knew he’d have to tell the others, and that he wasn’t looking forward to. Xander wouldn’t really give a shit; Bren would be crushed; Naomi could well be devastated, and that was certainly what she needed. (Bob could be such a bastard sometimes.) Xander got left behind for the obvious reason - Human - while Naomi was left behind, much to her disapproval, because electricity just wasn’t much of a threat to a being that was made out of energy. It wasn’t even a type of energy she could manipulate. And Bren was just a kid, and Bob didn’t want him in the god fight, so he wasn’t.

The trip back was relatively quiet, save for Willow’s small sobs, which he didn’t understand since she didn’t know Bob, but she said it was sad when anybody died, even if they weren’t permanently dead, and he supposed she had a point. But right now, he just felt numb. He had a feeling everyone else did as well.

Logan led the way into the office, where Bren and Naomi jumped to their feet almost instantly, looking startled and concerned. Xander was simply asleep on the couch. “What happened?” Naomi asked, clearly searching for Bob behind him.

“We heard there was an earthquake, and we wondered if it was connected to what was going on,” Bren added, then continued, “Boy, you guys look like shit. But he’s dead?”

Logan nodded. “He’s dead.”

They had all filed in by now, and Mordred, the last of their line, closed the door. Both Naomi and Bren looked confused, but she asked first, “Where’s Bob?”

He had no choice - he told her. He told them both. Their expressions fell, and although Naomi teared up, it was actually bren who started crying first. “Shit!” he yelled, kicking the wastepaper basket across the room. Xander woke up with a jolt, briefly disoriented, but he got filled in soon enough. He emphasized he was coming back, that Powers just basically got recycled, but he had no idea if anyone believed him.

Finally, Naomi went into the back, and he followed her, hoping to talk to her alone. He stopped her in the narrow hallway. “Naomi, I just -”

“That selfish fuck!” she snapped, turning to face him. Some tears had streaked from her eyes, but she wasn’t exactly crying. “He knew it, didn’t he? He knew he was going to die when he headed out.”

He had no reason to protect him. “Yeah, he must have.”

She scowled violently, and hit the wall with her fist, making sparks shoot from her fingers. “Bastard. That bastard. Is he really coming back, or is that feel good bullshit?”

“It’s real.”

“Good - because when he comes back, I’m going to kill him.”

She turned away, lips twisting as she tried to keep from crying. He reached out to her and pulled her into his arms, holding her and enjoying her smell one more time. God, he missed her. But Bob had been right about one thing - he hadn’t treated her fairly, because he was a dipshit and a coward. She seemed reluctant at first, but then sagged against him, burying her face in his shoulder, struggling to hold back the tears. “I’m so sorry,” he told her, stroking her hair. He felt the sharp sting of sparks, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

“About what?” she sniffed.

“Everything. I fucked everything up, way before Bob fucked everything up.”

She was quiet for a moment, and he could feel her tears soaking into his shirt. “I was never mad at you, Logan. Irritated, but not mad. But Bob? When he gets back, I’m going to roast him like a chicken. Bastard.”

And she could do it too. So maybe Bob might want to rethink his resurrection plans until she cooled down.

Oh hell, what was he thinking? He probably was, the weasel.

*****

He was hoping he could at least finish packing before Chiquita showed up, but he had no such luck. He’d turned to his closet to grab his reserve leather jacket, and suddenly there she was, standing in the doorway in a dress as bright green as a traffic light. “And where do you think you’re going?” she asked archly, hand on her hip.

Spike snorted and shook his head. “I dunno. Away from here. I’m thinkin’ South America. Brazil’s nice this time of year.”

“You’re not going anywhere. I thought we’d already discussed this.”

He turned away from her, throwing his jacket on the bed, and walked over to his bedroom window, looking out over a good slice on the neon Los Angeles night. It should have made him feel like the watcher, but more often than not, he felt watched, and he knew why. “You work for a bunch of bloody evil lawyers, right? I didn’t sign anything, did I? When I put on that fucking necklace thing, I never signed a contract with you people, did I? So I’m a free agent.” Supposedly, if you believed them - and why would you want to? - it all started back then. The moment he put on that sodding necklace, they “owned” him, and whether he continued to exist or not was at their whim. It was a clause he hadn’t realized he was living under - no one had, apparently. So it was never like he had any choice in this matter, and he hated it. One of the good things about being a vampire was you were never supposed to feel powerless, and yet, here he was, trapped in the contract from hell - or wherev! er it was the Senior Partners were from. They wouldn’t even let him die until they were ready for it.

She shook her head, and he didn’t realize until that moment that the gesture could be smug. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse.”

“It’s not law, it’s a rule those fuckers made up because they were bored. Your god boy is dead, and somehow I’m guessin’ Angel isn’t. Maybe you need to get yourself a better soldier.” He found a cigarette, lit it, and all the while surreptitiously watched her reflection in the window. She crossed her arms over her breasts, and cocked her head to the side, as if he’d suddenly started speaking Chinese.

“You think we don’t know your heart’s not really in it? Well, whatever passes for your heart. Which is funny, considering how much Angel has betrayed you.”

He grunted humorously, still looking at her via reflection. He had a feeling if he turned to look at her, he’d try and rip her pretty little head off. “Everybody’s betrayed me. I think it’s a sport.”

“Don’t even think about betraying us, Spike,” she said, in a low voice he supposed was meant to be intimidating, but he actually found it difficult not to laugh. She was about as intimidating as a four legged ant. “You don’t even want to know what will happen to you then.”

“Oh really? Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Just try it,” she replied coldly, and left. He waited to hear the front door close, but didn’t catch it. Then again, had he caught it when it opened? She smelled mostly Human, but he was beginning to suspect there was more going on here than he realized. But wasn’t there usually?

Honestly, he was just glad any god was dead, he didn’t care if it was the one on their side or not. The only good god was a dead one, right? So what if the Partners thought that was tantamount to betrayal? He didn’t like being pushed around, and he didn’t take orders well. He thought they should know that if they were all omniscient.

What were his options? Stay here and being their good little doggy, or try and get the fuck out of dodge, and risk the wrath of the big bad lawyer gods?

There was hardly any choice. He hadn’t been back to Rio in a long time, and there was no better time than the present.

17

As soon as he could get away, he did, as he had to tell a very important person about Bob’s “demise”. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it had to be done.

He walked into the Way Station to find it about half full, reeking of something that smelled like wet moss and road kill, with Sage Francis blasting from the jukebox. As soon as he came in, Helga looked at him expectantly, and said, “It’s about goddamn time! I heard there was a godfight goin’ on. Who is it, and do I need to bring the flamethrower?”

He knew why Bob hadn’t asked her in this fight: she’d have beat the shit out of him whilst he was dying. Helga didn’t have much in the way of sentiment, which was one of her most endearing qualities. “The fight’s over, Hel. We need to talk.”

She just stared at him for the longest moment, as he took a seat on a vacant barstool, and finally she said, “Did you know your eyes are funny color? They’re kind of bluish green.”

He hadn’t realized. But now he knew that that was all the hint she needed. “Okay, everybody out, the bar’s closed!” she shouted over the music.

There was a collective groan from the patrons, and no one seemed to be in any hurry to comply. So she reached under the bar and pulled out a double barreled pump action shotgun, which had been sawed off to a very lethal length. “At the count of five, I open fire!”

They cleared out so fast they knocked over chairs and tipped over beer cans, made the tables scrape across the floor in their haste to flee. He smirked, and admitted, “No one can clear a bar like you.”

“The key is they have to know you’re absolutely serious.” She put the shotgun back under the bar, and retrieved a big ass can of Castlemaine XXX, which she placed in front of him. She got herself a bottle of raspberry flavored vodka and took a swig from it as she sat on the stool behind the bar, facing him. After a moment, she said almost conversationally, “So he’s dead?”

He nodded, opening his can of beer, and told her the whole story. She just nodded, tears sometimes glittering in her eyes, but they were quickly blinked away. She’d already cried over him; she wasn’t doing it again, at least not in front of anyone.

As he ended the story, she sighed impatiently. “Death by primal magic? What kind of stupid death is that? He could have at least died by explosive decompression or something; he would have liked that.”

“He’s died before?”

She shrugged. “Well, supposedly. But it’s Bob, you know - for all I know, he was full of shit. As he likes to say, bullshit’s his middle name.”

“He said he’d back before your birthday.”

“He better goddamn well be! I have no idea what to do with a jar of capers, other than throw them at Thrak on karaoke night.”

They sat in silence for a while, having their drinks, as soft music played on the jukebox, a melancholy Elliot Smith song. It was only near the end of the song that he realized that this was the very song that Bob had been singing tonight. He looked back at the jukebox, wondering what the deal was with that thing. Only Bob would have a magic jukebox. “What?” she wondered.

“I think Bob’s makin’ it known he’s still here.”

She grunted in understanding, and shrugged a single shoulder. “Wouldn’t surprise me. He has to overstay his welcome. It’s a thing with him.”

He could understand. He had a tendency to hang around long after the party was over as well.

As soon as they both finished their drinks, he made to go, as Hel seemed to want to be alone. Still, she gave him a powerful, almost crushing hug that seemed to go on longer than normal. He stroked her back, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and told her, “Call me whenever you need me. I might just hang around for a while.”

She brushed her lips against his, and whispered, “Well, you know where the spare key is if you need a place to crash.”

He did, and he might have to take her up on it, as he had no idea where he was going to spend the night. But he decided to worry about it later - at least L.A. had lots of plentiful cheap shit motels.

He left the bar, feeling better than he thought he would. It had been a weird night, but he had an almost ominous feeling that the weirdness hadn’t really begun. He’d had some of Bob’s power before sure, but never without him around to tell him what to do with it. At least he didn’t have it all; he had no idea how he would have handled that.

He’d just started down the street when he noticed a woman sitting on the hood of an old cherry red Mustang parked across the street. She hopped off the car as she saw him. “Hey - did you make all those demons run out of the bar?” It was Faith, her eyes bright with curiosity and what could very well have been admiration.

“No, that was the work of Helga, the world’s toughest bartender. Don’t ever piss her off, unless you enjoy stuffing your intestines back in. Are you following me?”

She shook her head, then grimaced and held her hands wide. “Well, not exactly. I just wanted to see if you might be interested in gettin’ a drink with me. I have a tendency to get kinda charged up after a fight, and you looked like you might be the same way. I know this bar where the ‘tender has a crush on me, and lets me run a huge tab. He doesn‘t have a shot in hell, but he‘s a dreamer.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and couldn’t help but smile. She met his gaze fearlessly, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. “What?”

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” Since he was, he felt he could tell. It was like gaydar, only … not.

Her dark eyes glittered, and her smile broadened, becoming almost predatory. “Sure am. I’m bettin’ you are too.”

“Guilty as charged.”

She gestured down the street, looking frighteningly young and alive. “Wanna go look for some more?”

He snickered, finding her instantly, enormously appealing, more so than before. She was definitely a firecracker, and he knew she could probably get him in a world of trouble faster than he could on his own. “Yeah, why not?”

How could he resist an invitation like that?

The End  (For Now) ...