“You’ve got a soul?”

“He’s got a soul?”

"Did—did you just say—" Wesley turned to face his boss. "Spike has a soul?"

Astonished queries sounded from the humans spread around the room as they turned from Spike to his grandsire and back again. The green demon, however, said nothing—just watched quietly, eyes narrowed slightly and his lips pursed in thought as he contemplated the newcomer.

“Buffy might have mentioned it,” Angel hedged. “Just in passing. There were other things… It was hectic…”

“You never said.” Wesley’s brow creased as he studied his Angel’s face.

“Just didn't seem worth mentioning, you know,” Angel replied sulkily.

“What do you mean ‘Buffy mentioned it’?” Spike demanded, dropping all pretence at indifference as he advanced on the older vampire. “No bloody way she could know ‘bout it, what with it having only just happened.”

“Just now?” Wesley asked, his curiosity further piqued. “You seem to be handling it rather well, I would have expected…”

“Brooding?” Spike offered. “Wallowing in self pity and an abnormal fascination with rodents?” he continued, with faux brightness. A soft growl drew his attention away from the watcher and back to his grandsire. “Haven’t answered my question, Angelus. How the bleedin’ hell could Buffy have told you…”

“Because it didn’t just happen, you idiot,” Angel barked in response. “The Hellmouth falling on you must have knocked what little sense you did have out of that thick skull of yours. And don’t call me Angelus,” he added with a growl.

“Angel?” Wesley asked softly. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“This? Him being here?” Angel responded. “No, no idea. He should be… Buffy said he didn’t make it. He died in the Hellmouth.”

“Packs a mean left hook for a ghostie,” Gunn piped up, grinning unrepentantly when his boss glared at him.

“Okay,” Fred’s no longer quite so soft Texan voice demanded, “would somebody please tell me who…”

“William the Bloody,” Wesley spoke up, sounding every bit the watcher he claimed to no longer be as he continued. “He's a vampire. One of the worst recorded. Second only to…”

“Me,” Angel stated flatly.

Spike shook his head, slumping back against the wall dejectedly and ignoring their banter as he tried to process Angel’s earlier pronouncement.

Fred frowned. “So Spike and Buffy are…”

“He was, um, an ally of hers for some time; at least that's what Angel told me. That's all Angel told me,” he added.

“So he's a good-guy vampire, like Angel?” Gunn asked.

“He's nothing like me.”

“Too bloody right I’m not,” Spike agreed automatically, before lifting his face to look around the room once more, his eyes flicked from one face to another, finally settling to meet the watcher’s steady gaze. “What’s happening to me?”

*****

“Blondie Bear?”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Spike sank deeper into the couch he was now sitting on and, tucking his hands in his pockets, unconsciously drew his duster closer around him.

“Thank you.” Wesley walked over and removed the mug of warm blood from her hands. “That will be all, Harmony,” he added, looking pointedly at the door.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she huffed. “I want to know what’s wrong. What’s my Blondie Bear doing here and why…”

“Harmony!” Angel’s bellow cut through her tirade. “Get out. And close the door behind you,” he ordered from where he was seated with the others in a rough semi-circle opposite Spike.

Wesley placed the mug down on the coffee table within easy reach of the blonde vampire and pulling up a spare chair, he reversed it and sat down. “What’s the last thing you do remember?” he asked.

“What? You mean like my skin and muscle burning away from the bone? Organs exploding in my chest? Eyeballs melting in their sockets? ‘s that the sort of thing you mean?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the events leading up to your re-ensouling rather than the actual event itself,” Wesley countered. “Although that is rather fascinating, too.”

*****

Spike was beginning to feel like a circus act, with all of them staring at him like he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. Prompted repeatedly by both the watcher and the little Texan bird—Fred, he reminded himself—who scribbled down her notes while smiling shyly at him across the table, he’d told them everything he could remember about the trials; funny how pain both clarified and dulled your perception, leaving some things burning bright and crisp in your mind’s eye while other details slipped away, lost in a fugue of agony and confusion.

“And that’s when you asked for your soul?” Fred asked.

Spike nodded, dropping his eyes to the hands that were now clasped together, dangling between his knees as he perched on the edge of the couch.

“If you don’t mind me asking; why? Why would a vampire willingly choose to reclaim his soul?” A tinge of awe coloured the watcher’s voice.

Spike shrugged, not really wanting to go into details about his motivation with any of them, especially not the vampire who’d glowered across the table at him the whole way through his tale. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

“And the talisman?” Wesley prompted.

“Talisman?” Spike asked.

“Wesley.” Angel nodded toward the door. “A word, please?” When the watcher hesitated he added more firmly, “Now.”

*****

“Do you love her?”

“What?” Spike’s head snapped up, meeting Gunn’s knowing gaze unflinchingly.

“Way I figure it, a guy only does something that stupid if there’s a woman involved. And I’m guessing the woman in this case is the slayer. So, do you love her?”

Spike dropped his head once more to stare at the ground between his boots. “Couldn’t stop if I tried,” he mumbled.

Fred got up from where she was seated next to Lorne and moved to the vampire’s side. Placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, she waited until he looked at her to offer gently, “It’ll all be alright, Spike. Angel’ll figure things out.”

Spike snorted. “Thanks, pet, but I don’t think the great poof’s gonna be in any kind of hurry to suss out what’s happening with me. Or to see me anywhere near Buffy,” he added.

He suddenly remembered what Angel had said about the Hellmouth falling on him. “Buffy!” he cried, jumping to his feet. “Is she… Do you know if she’s alright?” he asked desperately.

“Easy, slim,” Lorne soothed, speaking up for the first time since Spike’s arrival. “Your slayer’s fine. Angel was on the phone with her just this morning.

*****

Angel closed the door to Wesley’s office. Leaning back against the desk, he faced the former watcher. “You were going to shoot me.” He winced slightly as the words came out with more of a whine than he would have liked.

“I was bluffing,” Wesley stated flatly. “It seemed like the most reasonable way to bring an end to the hostilities.” He shrugged and added, “Considering the fact that you were losing, I think my intervention was quite timely.”

Angel studied the man intently, trying to gauge the truth in Wesley’s eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure that Wolfram and Hart had kept completely to their end of the deal, and given their recent history, he couldn’t help but wonder if the watcher’s actions were as innocent as he claimed.

“Angel, do you know something about this situation?” Wesley’s brow creased in thought. “Something you don’t want Spike to know?”

“What would I know?”

“I don’t know,” he responded, his eyes flicking to where Angel’s hand rested in his coat pocket. “Maybe something about that talisman? Where it disappeared to. And why you don’t want me asking Spike anything about it.”