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Future Sins Past by DreamsofSpike
 
Aftermath
 
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Angel’s initial recovery from the shock of being re-ensouled took much less time than it had the first time around -- possibly because he had been through it all before, and knew what to expect…or possibly because he knew that he could set about the work of atoning for his crimes again, something he had not known the first time around.

Or possibly because a large part of him just didn’t care anymore.

Oh, there was a rather considerable amount of guilt over the crimes he had committed during his time without his soul, as well as those centuries old, that had been temporarily forgotten in his soulless state -- but the guilt Angel felt was overwhelmed by another feeling, much stronger.

Loss.

Strange, that after such an important part of himself had just been returned to him, the strongest feeling he had was that of loss.

He found himself longing for the freedom he had felt during that time, the liberty he had had to revel in simply being what he was, to savor the bloodshed, the mayhem he had created as the pleasure that his kind was meant to take in it. The soul was not meant to be a part of a vampire’s make-up -- he could see that clearly now. Before losing it again, he had thought of it as a gift. A painful gift full of suffering, but a gift just the same, that allowed him to atone for his crimes, to somehow find redemption.

But now -- redemption didn’t seem like such a valuable thing to him.

And he just desperately wished that he could give this painful gift back.

He rose from his kneeling position on the floor, his body feeling strangely heavy, his heart feeling numb. Some part of his mind told him that he should go and find Buffy, should let her know that the danger had passed, and he was back to normal; but there were many reasons why he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

For one thing, he wasn’t sure how to face her, after the things he had done these past few days -- the way he had talked to her that morning, after they had spent the night together and she had freed him from the bondage of his soul.

For another, he wasn’t quite sure that once he found out who was responsible for shoving that soul back into him, he would be able to keep himself from ripping their throats out in a vindictive fury, soul or no soul.

As he stood up, he glanced dully around the room again, his dark eyes falling on the vampiress now sleeping on the bed. He frowned, wondering what he should do about her. He found that after the past few days, he felt more affection for her than he had before -- and yet, he knew that to show it would be a dangerous thing, something that Buffy and the others would not understand.

Perhaps if Dru could be kept under control somehow, he might be able to convince them to at least spare her life…

Gently, so as not to wake her, he scooped her up into his arms and started across the hall. But despite his efforts, her shallow, dreamless sleep was interrupted, and when he reached the bed they had shared, he found that she was smiling up at him wistfully.

“My daddy’s not all gone away, is he?” she whispered, her smile widening slightly as he laid her down on the bed.

He ignored her words, looking past her rather than meeting her dark gaze.

“He might just win the game yet,” Dru went on, a low dark giggle rising in her throat.

“Shut up, Dru.”

Angel muttered the words without any real threat, any real fire, just a heavy sort of weariness, as he gently took her wrist and shackled it to the headboard with a chain that had only been used for their little games before, but that he knew was strong enough to hold her. Dru’s giggle grew louder in anticipation as he repeated the procedure on her other wrist, and he knew that she was expecting something much different than what he had planned.

When he stood up straight again, leaving her bound to the bed, the giggle turned into a petulant whine, as Dru whimpered, “But Daddy -- I’m sorry I’ve been such a very good girl -- I’ll do better, I promise, Daddy -- please…”

But Angel did not even look back as he stalked out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the night -- headed toward the Watcher’s house, where he had last seen Buffy.

***************************************

Spike was still huddled in the corner of the dark warehouse, his weary, muddled mind trying to make sense of all the mingled images coursing through it, past memories and future events not yet happened, intertwining and echoing into a barely distinguishable mess in his thoughts. Yet with each moment that passed, things began to be clearer, and Spike began to better understand what had happened to him.

Not that that was necessarily a *good* thing.

The newly returned soul within him cried out in despair at the torturous weight of guilt that overwhelmed him, as memory after memory, one grotesque picture after another, floated through his thoughts. Men, women, and children that he had murdered without pity -- those he had taken pleasure in torturing -- the countless lives that stained his hands, his soul, blood red.

And then, there were the visions.

Pictures of things that were not yet to come -- but surely would be. He felt as if he had lived them already, actually experienced them, with all the pain, the trauma, the heartbreak, that had not actually taken place yet. He had no idea if he could change things, keep those things from happening, or if they were fated to be regardless of what he tried to do.

But he *did* know that the Slayer and her little friends had no idea of the hell that they were in for.

And he also knew that he had to try to warn them.

And that in itself was a stunning, almost traumatic thing to take in -- that he felt somehow responsible for the Slayer and her band of clueless children. Feelings that he would come to know in the future had become present for him; for Spike had truly seen, *felt* the future awaiting them -- and he doubted that one could feel so strongly, and ever let it go completely again.

What was to have been his future was now his present as well.

He was in love with the Slayer.

He could not deny the intense feeling that filled him for her; but there was more than love there, because he had seen the things that would one day happen between them, the things she would one day do and say. There was pain, and betrayal, and sorrow, shouted hurtful words and acts of vindictive spite, now permeating his memory, though he knew that these things had not yet taken place, might not ever have to.

Still -- he wasn’t sure if he would be able to forgive her.

*******************************

Buffy froze in the street outside the old warehouse, as her Slayer senses began to make her aware that a vampire was somewhere nearby. Of course, there was always a chance that it was not the specific vampire she was seeking at the moment -- not that it really mattered.

A vamp was a vamp, as far as she was concerned.

But the shattered window she saw in the side of the warehouse, the glass thoroughly brushed away to leave the entire square empty, spoke of someone’s making a hasty entrance -- most likely to hide.

And she knew of one specific vamp who would probably be looking to hide right now.

She went to the door of the warehouse, readying herself for swift action. Once she got in, she would have lost the element of surprise, so she would have to react quickly. She drew back her foot and smashed in the door with a single powerful kick, stepping over it into the large, dark, empty room. This warehouse had been abandoned for a long time, and there was nothing stored here at the moment.

That made the huddled vampire in the far corner that much easier to spot.

Well, that, and his striking shock of bleached blond hair didn’t hurt either.

When she saw that he did not seem poised to flee, but rather seemed shaken and confused, and, well -- rather pitiful -- Buffy allowed her wary fists to fall to her sides, though she silently warned herself to be ready. She had not expected him to try to get away in the alley, but he had managed to throw her off her guard and get away.

She was determined that it would not happen again.

“Spike,” she said softly, her voice slightly guarded.

He looked up at her slowly, not particularly surprised by her presence, and she was struck by the tears on his face, the haunted look of confusion and uncertainty in his wide blue eyes.

“Buffy,” he whispered back, further startling her by using her name, rather than his usual address of “Slayer”.

“What happened?” she asked him, keeping her voice calm and even, as she slowly moved toward him. She didn’t want to hurt him, not as broken as he already looked, but she had every intention of getting her hands on him, and not letting him go this time. “You just took off.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before lowering his head into his arms again, heaving a weary sigh. Then he raised his head again, enough to respond, though he was not looking at her.

“Had to take off, Slayer,” he said quietly. “It was just -- too much -- needed -- some space…”

“Okay,” Buffy accepted that cautiously, nodding once, before going on, “What was too much, exactly? What was that -- that magic, back there? Did you do that?”

Spike laughed softly, shaking his head. “No,” he replied with an ironic, mirthless smile. “No, I never have been that much of a bloody masochist.”

“So -- who then?”

“Don’t know.”

Buffy waited a moment before asking, “What did they do? What happened?”

Spike drew in a deep breath, finally leveling his gaze on hers again. “Too much to tell all at once, Slayer. Though -- I *do* want to tell you. I *need* to tell you…”

Buffy was surprised at that. “Oh,” she said, her tone flat, sarcastic without being angry. “See -- I kind of missed that part, what with the throwing me into the wall and running for your life.” She frowned with realization, as she added another question, “And about that -- how exactly were you able to do that, anyway, if you supposedly have this chip in your head that you told me about?”

Spike’s gaze was averted again, as he replied simply, quietly, “I don’t.”

A flash of anger finally registered in the Slayer’s eyes, as she concluded, “So that was a lie, too. And I actually believed that part. I wasn‘t too sure about the soul part.”

Spike knew that wasn’t entirely true; he had seen the innocent trust in her eyes, had known that she had accepted his story about having a soul, and was now just trying to cover for her own naivety. But he let it pass, as he replied in the same quiet, calm tone of voice, “I do have a soul now.”

Buffy’s frown deepened, and she threw up her hands in irritation, rolling her eyes before rounding on him again and snapping, “So you said you had a soul, but you didn’t -- and now you do. And you didn’t say anything about that chip thing, but you had it, and now you don’t.” There was a dubious tone to her voice, as if to let him know that she was almost out of patience with his rapidly shifting stories.

Spike sighed. “That’s about the size of it.”

Buffy blinked, caught off guard by the simple honesty of his answer.

“Oh,” she replied after a moment, pausing a beat before adding, “Okay.”

“I can prove it,” Spike told her quietly. “About the soul. Your little friend can run the spell again. I swear, Slayer, she’ll find it right where it’s *not* supposed to be.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke, at his own misfortune.

The loss of the chip hardly felt worth the things he had gained, at the moment.

“Okay,” Buffy nodded, a relieved sound to her voice. “That sounds like a good idea. And -- and I guess the chip thing, that’s pretty obvious considering the sudden need for a trip to the chiropractor that I’m experiencing…”

“Sorry,” Spike murmured.

Buffy raised one eyebrow, once again wondering at the strange reaction from a soulless vampire. Yet it seemed unaffected, not a deliberate attempt to convince her he had his soul, but just a natural, automatic reaction -- further affirming to her that he was telling the truth.

“But -- there’s more, Buffy,” Spike informed her softly, gazing up at her through serious blue eyes. “Lots more…”

“Well, let’s get back to Giles’ house, then,” Buffy decided, swiftly closing the remaining distance between them before Spike could react, gripping his arm and pulling him to his feet. “We’ll talk about it there, after we’ve proven whether or not you’ve really got a soul.”

She was once again surprised by the vampire’s response, as he did not pull away from her grip, only nodding once in a sort of subdued acceptance, and allowed her to lead him out of the warehouse and back through town, toward the Watcher’s apartment.

And in a flash of premonition, Buffy was suddenly sure that it was not the last time that this very unusual vampire would prove to surprise her.
 
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