The Many Shades of True Heroes
Chapter 7
By L Mouse
Author's Notes: I'm probably mangling my british-isms here. Sorry.
* * * * *
"Lois. Lois!" Buffy called, urgently, from Lois' bedroom door. "Lois, wake up!"
"What time is it?" Lois yanked the covers over her head. "Don't answer that. Early. Go away. I was up until two AM."
"It's six AM and Giles never came home last night." Buffy said. Her voice was urgent and somehow much younger than Lois had ever heard before. "We're going to go out to look for him."
Lois peered over the covers at Buffy -- who was obviously dressed and ready to go. She had on a long coat despite the heat; Lois assumed from personal experience that Buffy was packing a crossbow and some sort of bladed weapon under the coat. Buffy's expression was deadly serious and extraordinarily grim.
"He said the owner of The Magic Book was an old friend. Maybe he just ... spent the night?" Lois said, tentatively. Tweedy Giles didn't seem like anyone to "spend the night" with a friend but she had to ask.
"Giles? No. Anyway, the owner of The Magic Shoppe is some sort of bug demon. And male." Buffy said. With no embarrassment she added, "Not Giles' style."
"You think he's in trouble?" Lois said, a little more concerned now.
"Yeah, I do."
"I'll help you look." Lois kicked the covers off and scrubbed at her eyes. "Just let me wake up."
"Willow's making coffee. And -- thank you." Buffy said.
"Oh, don't sound so surprised," Lois grumbled at her. "I may think Giles is a stuffy, judgmental old fart but it's sort've part of my job to help with stuff like this."
"Gee, thanks," Buffy said, with a wry smile. "It's so good to know you care."
* * * * *
William Clark Smith -- Bill -- was waiting at Mama’s Bar when Spike showed up a half hour after sundown. He was nursing a drink that Spike’s nose identified as Coca Cola straight up -- no booze added. Unusual, for this bar. Not a drinker, then, or smart enough not to drink in a demon bar. Or dead broke and not willing to pay for the booze.
The latter seemed quite probable; Bill was wearing recently laundered but decrepit jeans with holey knees, the same t-shirt as last night, and the same Redwing work boots -- which were practically antiques. He was clean, though, and smelled strongly of cheap shampoo and cheaper bar soap. The guy was definitely down on his luck but he had standards -- something Spike approved of. He’d lived on the edge most of his Unlife, but no matter how bad things got, a chap needed to find a way to have a bath and get quarters for the Laundromat.
“I didn’t think you were going to show up,” Bill said, standing up.
“I’m a vampire, had to wait for the sun set before I headed here,” Spike replied, shortly.
“No, I mean, I wasn’t sure if you’d show up at all. People -- don’t.” Bill regarding Spike with brown eyes that were guarded and wary.
“Said I’d be here,” Spike protested. He flagged Evelyn down with a casual wave as he claimed a booth across from Bill.
“The usual?” The waitress asked, walking over to the table. She glanced at Bill and then gave him a second, appraising, look. “Haven’t seen you here before.”
Bill looked sharply down at the table, not meeting Evelyn’s eyes. He mumbled, “Yeah.”
“The usual. And a plate of hot wings, if you would, and some of those jalapeno cheese fried things.” Spike said. “Thanks, pet.”
Bill said, curiously, “Don’t … people like you … drink … you know …”
“Don’t vampires drink blood?” Spike said, with a grin of amusement. “You can say the word. I’ve been called a whole hell of a lot worse than ‘vampire’ in my life. And yeah, I have to drink blood. I just like food.”
“Oh.” Bill looked down at the table again. He was embarrassed, painfully so.
Odd duck, Spike decided. “So what is it that you wanted to know?”
Bill looked up quickly. “About … everything. The supernatural. Stuff. I’m curious.”
More than curious, to judge by the rabidly curious light that had appeared in those brown eyes. Spike idly noted that women had to swoon around this man. He wondered again why Bill was working as a night security guard on a bankrupt construction site. Maybe the answer was ‘odd duck’ but Spike thought there was more to it than that.
Spike was still trying to figure out how to answer Bill when the bar’s front door opened and trouble -- or, precisely, the resident Slayer -- walked in. He’d seen her from a distance on many occasions. She was short, skinny, dark haired, and had a remarkably nasty disposition. He’d been tempted on a few occasions to bait her just for the heck of it -- and not too long ago he wouldn’t have hesitated -- but he’d never found exactly the right occasion. Plus, he was supposed to be a good guy and picking a fight with the resident Slayer wasn’t in his job description anymore.
She surveyed the bar with narrowed eyes. Mama, behind the counter, frowned at Lois with a tight-lipped and unhappy expression. This Slayer wasn’t welcome here -- he‘d heard Mama vent about her in the past though she‘d never entered when he was around. Mama had mentioned liking Faith to Spike on a few occasions so Spike figured whatever was between Lois and Mama was personal and predated his arrival in Metropolis.
In a low voice, Spike said, “Well, I suppose we could start with Slayers. That’s one by the door… Bill?”
Bill was staring at Lois the Vampire Slayer with a slack-jawed thunderstruck expression. As Spike watched, in amusement, Bill suddenly shut his mouth and looked abruptly down at his drink. He was actually blushing.
The Slayer, to Spike’s mild concern, headed in their direction. “Clark!” she said, “Aren’t you supposed to be checking Hobb’s Bay out?”
Bill looked up from his drink briefly, then down again, and said something that not even Spike’s vampire hearing could decipher.
“Clark!” Lois planted her hands on the table. “Look, flyboy, I thought we agreed …”
“Not Clark,” Spike said, idly, leaning back in his seat with his fingers laced behind his head. He studied the Slayer appreciatively. She really was an attractive woman. “I think you’ve got him mixed up with someone else, Slayer.”
Lois rounded on Spike, hand sliding inside her jacket. Spike had absolutely no doubt that she was reaching for a stake and that she intended to dust him right in the middle of the bar. “You’re a vampire.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Very good. If you’re going to stake me you might wait until I settle my tab with Mama. Otherwise she might be unhappy with you.”
Lois hesitated. Glanced again at Bill, who was looking baffled.
Spike said conversationally to Bill, “Slayers kill vampires. It’s the natural order of things. They’re Chosen to do it by some sort of magical mumbo-jumbo. Kill vampires, take out the occasional Hell God, demon cyborg, or other impossibly powerful bad guy, stop apocalypses, and generally be heroes. They also tend to have short fused, arrogant, beautiful women. Gotta love ‘em.”
Lois started to reach for the stake again.
Spike added, conversationally, “I fought beside a Slayer for several years. Loved her, too.”
Lois stopped. She slapped both hands down on the table, leaned over it towards him, and said, “You’re not Angel. I’ve seen his picture.”
Spike winced. She’d seen Angel’s picture but not his? Well, he’d always known that was how he ranked up -- second best. He managed to vent a disgusted laugh and say, “God forbid.”
“Buffy gives every Slayer Angel’s picture, so we don’t accidentally slay him. So don’t even try to pretend you’re Angel. You aren’t.” Lois said, voice terse, posture downright hostile. If looks could dust he would have gone, “Poof!” without her ever needing to touch him.
“I’d stake myself before I pretended to be that wanker,” Spike said. “Anyway, you might want to let Slayer Central know that Angel’s probably dead -- he disappeared in LA, probably dusted when I wasn’t looking -- no, scratch that, I should really tell Buffy myself, first. It’s only right that she hears it from me since I was there ... Unless she might think I’m gloating. She mustn’t think that, it’s not true …”
Lois said, shortly, “Pay your bill so I can stake you.”
“Might ask Buffy if she wants Spike staked first,” Spike said, amiably.
“Spike’s dead,” Lois said, flatly. “Buffy told me that herself.”
“Ask her again, pet.” Spike said, a grin touching his lips. “See what she says now. I imagine her response will be … colorful.”
Lois straightened up, folded her arms, and said, “You’re Spike.”
“Last I checked.” Spike gave her his most charming grin. It didn’t work; she continued to glare at him.
“She thinks you’re dead.”
“I was.” Spike said, and wondered briefly if he could get away with letting Buffy think he’d only recently been resurrected. Was there anyone left alive who knew otherwise? Probably, on the side of evil. She’d find out sooner or later. Just to annoy Lois he added, “Still am. Dead.”
She gave him a long and thoroughly annoyed glare that only served to make him grin wider. Ah, yes, he’d need to get to know this Slayer better. Baiting her could be a great deal of fun.
She turned her attention to Bill. “Bill Smith, am I right?”
Spike glanced at Bill as well and was surprised by the look on Bill’s face. Bill was regarding Lois with an astonished, intent expression. He’d leaned forward in his seat; he was clearly fascinated by her.
“Uh,” Bill said. He blinked, seemed to realize that she was actually speaking to him, and he turned his fascinated attention to his Coke. “Uh.”
“Bill Smith, Lois Lane. Lois, Bill,” Spike said, introducing them.
“Huh. I thought so.” Lois said. “You really need to meet a friend of mine.”
“So they are related?” Spike asked, curiously.
Lois gave him a surprised glance. “You’ve met Clark?”
“Met him in the unstoppable force sense, yeah,” Spike said, somewhat disgruntled. He hadn‘t forgotten the ridiculously easy way that Clark had defeated him. “They look identical. What are they, clones?”
“There’s somebody else like me?” Bill looked up at Lois. His voice was carefully controlled; Spike couldn’t read what emotion was in it.
Lois met his gaze. Her expression suddenly softened; Spike was startled by the change it made in her. She’d been beautiful before -- now she was stunning. Spike couldn’t read Bill but Lois had evidently seen something that brought the woman out in her.
Bill sucked in his breath, made a vaguely strangled noise, and stared into his Coke. He seemed to find that Coke incredibly fascinating. Lois said, in a gentle voice, “Yeah, Bill, there is. He’s been looking for you, too. I’ll let him explain it -- it’s a bit of a story -- Spike, do you *happen* to know where my apartment is?”
“Sure,” Spike said, easily. He’d made a point of knowing where the major players lived within days of arriving in towns.
“Why am I not surprised? -- Why don’t you bring Bill by tonight, about midnight. We’re regrouping there then.” Lois ran a hand over her head. She looked tired, suddenly, and Spike’s warning bells rang.
“Is something wrong?” He asked, with genuine concern.
She gave him a long, measuring look. “Buffy’s Watcher is missing.”
“Giles?” Spike responded, with somewhat mixed feelings. There were old wounds there; Giles had made it abundantly clear on many occasions what he thought of Spike. Monster. Animal. Thing. Multiple betrayals, deserved and undeserved, both first and secondhand. A room with crosses. God, *Fred* -- would they have lost Fred if Giles had helped Angel when Angel’d swallowed his pride and asked for it? Giles hadn’t exactly been a friend.
“Yeah.” Lois said. “Not exactly my favorite person but he’s one of the good guys …”
“Buffy’s got to be torn up about that,” Spike said, softly. Buffy was probably more than ‘torn up’ - if anything happened to Giles, Buffy would be *devastated.*
“Pretty much.” Lois agreed. “We don’t know what happened -- he went to The Magic Book last night and never came back.”
Spike blew out a sharp, annoyed breath. “He’s probably just lost in the boffin section of the library. Still --want some help looking?”
Lois shrugged. “Don’t see why I should say no.”
“I’ll talk to a few of my sources, see what I can find out.” Spike turned his attention to Bill. “So, Bill, want to tag along? You might find this interesting.”
Bill gave Lois a brief, but very … interested … glance. Lois returned it, and Bill made that awkward squawk again. This time it was a painting of dogs playing poker on the wall that he stared at.
“Or do you want to tag along after the Slayer here?” Spike suggested, with a grin, mostly because he wanted to needle Lois one last time.
Lois surprised him. In a measuring tone of voice she said, “I wouldn’t mind.”
Bill stared at her a moment, mouth hanging open, before he responded, “No, please. I’ll stay with Spike. If that‘s okay, Spike …”
“Sure. Fine. Though I daresay the Slayer might be better company than me …” Now he was picking on Bill.
Bill said, shortly, “Not a good idea.”
Lois opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something, then shut it again. After a minute she added, “See you two tonight.”
After she was gone Spike observed, “I think she might be single, Bill.”
“I can’t … Spike, there’s things about me you don’t know … I can’t …” Bill stared at his Coke again. Spike noted all the ice had melted in it -- that was certainly strange. “Do you really think she is?”
Spike said, “Haven’t ever seen her with a boy or heard any rumor of one.”
“There’s things about me … things you don‘t know. That she doesn‘t know.” Bill said, softly.
Spike leaned back in his chair and regarded Bill with amusement. “What, that you’re an alien from the planet Krypton?”
“A who from the what?” Bill replied, eyes wide and growing wider.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, man,” Spike said. “That’s nothing. Heck, I’m a vampire in love with a Vampire Slayer. At least Lois wouldn’t have a conflict of interest about a relationship with a Kryptonian.”
“Krypton?” Bill said, faintly.
Spike hooted a suddenly laugh. “Oh, boy. You didn’t know, did you? Well, damn. Clark will have to tell you the details because for damn sure I don’t know. Oh, this is rich!”
The glass of Coke suddenly exploded in Bill’s hand. He leaped to his feet, stammering apologies to Evelyn and Mama and Spike. Spike, grinning, stood up as well. He tossed a twenty on the tablet to pay for his uneaten meal and a generous tip, and said, “C’mon, Tentacles, let’s go look for a boffin in need of a rescue.”
* * * * *
“That was …” Bill looked over his shoulder at the magic shop they’d just left. “That was a giant bug.”
“Yeah, he dropped his illusions and whatnot when I came in. Only polite, since I’m a demon and not human. He looks like Hulk Hogan with brown hair if you’re a human customer.” Spike said, conversationally. The shopkeeper had known who Giles was -- had even seen him the night he’d disappeared -- but didn’t know where he’d gone after leaving. “He just looks human to make his human customers comfortable.”
Spike thought he was telling the truth; for a giant bug the shop owner wasn’t a bad chap.
“Next stop …” Spike jaywalked across the street, “… Ollie’s Cafeteria. Bobby works nights; he’s useful. Doesn’t much care for demons but he doesn’t know I am one. He has good info on the human side of things. This isn’t necessarily a demon crime, Giles disappearing -- sometime tonight I’m going to need to look up the location of Ethan Rayne.”
Spike snickered, “Maybe he turned Giles into a frog. For that matter, maybe I could pay him to turn Giles into a froggy …”
“I take it you don’t like this Giles much,” Bill observed. “Why are you looking for him?”
“Giles is a bastard, but he’s one of the good guys and he’s one of Buffy’s oldest friends. It’d tear her to shreds to lose him. And I love Buffy.” Spike said, with a shrug. He pulled the cafeteria door open.
“So Buffy’s your girlfriend?” Bill asked. “You mentioned a Slayer …”
“Buffy’s The Slayer, yeah. Long story, I’ll tell you later. And no, we’re not … she’s not my girlfriend. Never has been. It’s complicated.” Spike scanned the line of cafeteria workers and didn’t see the man he was looking for. He asked the cashier, “Where’s Bobby?”
The girl’s expression darkened. “Some lady came in here, day before yesterday. She had blue hair, blue eyes, this really weird outfit. Skinny but really strong. She grabbed Bobby and threw him into the wall.”
Spike froze, breath catching in his throat. “Illyria … is Bobby okay?”
“He’s still in the hospital. Bad concussion and a broken hip.”
“Damn it.” Spike said, grimly. “She say what she was after?”
“Something about wanting a key. I don’t know why she’d hurt Bobby over a key!” The cashier’s voice rose several decibels. Anger, fear, outrage.
“I do … oh, bloody hell. Illyria’s after The Key. Which means she wants to open a portal. This isn’t good …” Spike spun around and half ran out the door. “C’mon, Bill. This is not good news. I need to talk to Buffy *now*.”
