The Truth About Good and Evil

by Jessie

Summary: Spike makes a quick trip to LA in the hopes of receiving some advice from every one's favorite Kareoke bar owner.

Rating: R (Brief bit of language)

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel both belong to other people. Those other people most likely include Joss Whedon, UPN, WB, and a bunch of other folks who I can't recall. Hope they all know that fan fiction equals 'totally harmless'.

Authors Note: So, I know this story has been done before, but I think it's a cool idea, so I'm giving it a try myself. I think it came out pretty well, but I'd appreciate any feedback you can give me.

***

Spike scanned the room briefly and, finding what - or, more accurately, who - he was looking for, stepped up to the bar. He settled himself gruffly and cleared his throat at the demon he'd found a seat by, who immediately turned around to face him.

The demon opened his mouth, about to say something, then shut it quickly and just stared.

"Boy, do you have issues." He finally smirked, and Spike quirked an eyebrow.

"What? That's it?" The vampire seemed unimpressed, though the demon just looked slightly confused. "I didn't come here for the music, mate. If you get my drift."

The demon looked suddenly enlightened, and nodded his head a bit. "Oh. Right."

Spike stared at him for a moment, waiting for more. But, when that didn't happen he raised his eyebrows expectantly and went on. "Well. Do your bloody thing. What - there a surcharge or something?"

The demon looked confused once again, but seemed to get over it more quickly this time. He shook his head, then lowered it and leaned in close. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble friend, but you do know that this involves you singing, right?"

Spike tilted his head to the side slightly, and gave the demon one of his patented 'you must be joking and I've got a big, shinny knife that says so' looks. "Come again?"

"You, a microphone, many many martinis. That stage is over there for a reason." The Host, as Spike was well aware that he was often called - he'd heard about this guy from several different sources on the street - sat back and tilted his head a little as well. "You're telling me you didn't know about this before coming in? You want an analysis, you gotta sing. That's how it works."

Spike sighed frustratedly, glancing from the Host, to the stage, and back again, as if he was an animal who had just realized he was in a cage. He hated that feeling. But then… he had come to LA for a reason, hadn't he? He needed to know what to do next. He needed to know who he was, who he was becoming, and if either of those people would ever fit into a certain slayer's future.

He needed to know. He had to know. And this green guy next to him was the only one who might be able to help.

He swallowed and stood purposefully, heading for the stage. It would only last a minute, he told himself. Just get it over with.

He stood up on the stage, where a shy looking demon with antlers was just finishing up a round of "Only You." The two stared at each other for an awkward moment, before Spike took the microphone from the demons hands in mock anger. "Gimme that bloody thing."

He held it in his hand and looked out over the small yet, oddly, at-attention crowd, and took in a breath - though he didn't need to - deciding that if he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right.

He called up a song - an eighty's punk hit that he knew like the back of his hand, 'cause, well, how could he not? - and sang it with every ounce of his being, while still managing to look as though he didn't want to be there, and trying to get through the ordeal as quickly as possible. It had to be singing, didn't it? Sure, he could sing, but that didn't mean he liked to.

So, of course, it had to be singing.

The moment the song ended, he was off the stage and back at the bar, facing the Host again and looking at him expectantly as the demon's eyes opened even wider.

"Wow."

"That's it? A bloody 'wow'? You wanna discuss my musical abilities before we get started, or could we get to the good stuff now?"

Lorne, the demon, nodded compliantly and gave him a look. "You have issues."

Spike glared at him. "You said that already."

"And boy does it still stand."

The vampire sighed in frustration. "Well?"

The green demon smiled weakly and sighed, as if trying to prepare himself for the speech he was about to give. The demon suddenly summoned the bartender - "can we get this guy a drink?" - then turned back to Spike. "I have a feeling you're gonna need it."

Spike said nothing, not about to pass up a free drink, and waited for the demon to continue. The bartender handed them each a glass of something alcoholic - he wasn't picky - and the Host began speaking again.

"You, my friend, are no vampire." He swallowed a small mouthful of his drink and set the glass down again. Spike shook his head in disbelief and amusement, taking a drink of his own.

"I think you may be a bit off your rocker there." He quirked a smile. "I'm not a vampire?"

"Well…" Lorne trailed off, making a face before continuing, "…you are and you aren't."

Spike set his glass down with a distinct 'thud'. "Listen, I didn't get up on that stage so you could spout off bloody riddles when I was through."

The Host shifted his weight determinedly and got down to business. "Fine. Let me clear it up for you a little, my peroxide pal: This," he wrapped his hands around Spike's drink and pulled it towards him, "is the old, evil Spike. And this," he took hold of his own glass and pushed it forward, "is who you were before that lovely run in with fate and her magic vampire-making stick. Now, every one always just assumes that you're either one or the other. But I've got news for them- the world is rarely ever that black and white. As you- I'm sure- are well aware."

Spike gave a bit of a shrug and a nod, trying to look casual. "Now," Lorne continued, "when you were turned, your mortal self didn't just up and disappear. A little bit of him," the demon poured a little of one of the drinks into the other and set the glass back down, "stayed with you. Now, over the years, that little bit's pretty much been drowned out by all that 'vampire; kill-kill-kill' crap you go through when you’re a creature of the night. But ever since you settled down… Well, over the past couple years that bit of your mortal self has slowly…" He paused to pour quite a bit more of the original drink into the other, " …been growing."

The vampire's brow furrowed in confusion. "What, exactly, are you saying, mate? That, because I've got this sodding chip in my head, suddenly I've gone soft?"

Lorne breathed in largely and purposefully. "I'm saying that, somewhere in that leather-clad self of yours, William is kicking around, itching to get out. And these past couple years, there hasn't been much stoppin' him."

Spike paused, looking at the demon, then turned his head and took a drink, not seeming to care that it was now quite a bit fuller than before. "You're making no bleeding sense. It's not like I have a bloody soul sittin' around at home, waiting for just the right moment to pounce."

"Yes, and no."

"Not this again."

The Host shifted in his seat a second time, setting an arm on the counter top and leaning forward a little such that he looked even more professional in the dim lighting of the bar, though his colorful suit screamed otherwise. "Fine. You want the hard and fast version?"

Spike shook his head again and tried to set the demon straight. "I don't have a soul. I'm a vampire. Grrr." He mock-growled, as if to prove his point, though, if anything, the weak impression only disproved how evil he was. "Get it? Not a bloody bit of soul on me."

"Technically, you're right. At least, in the sense that, say, a certain blonde vampire hunter would think of it." At this Spike's ears perked up a bit, though he quickly hid the reaction. "The universe isn't just right and wrong there, Spikey boy. Black and white, good and evil… it gets messy.

But there was still some argument left in him yet. "I'm evil." He spoke almost off-handedly. "There may be a lot of mess involved, but not a whole lot of the 'good.'"

"Like I said before: you aren't exactly one way or the other." Spike's expression radiated confusion and disbelief, and Lorne sighed, as if trying to explain to a rebellious teenager why curfew was midnight and not three.

"All right," the demon began to elaborate, pointing up at the stage and the newest Kareoke victim. "Take a look at this poor guy. Just got his heart broken by a Brakel Demon. Ugly things, who, by the way, never tip. And they drip this blue ooze when they walk- just hell trying to get out of the carpets." Spike gave him a look, and he cleared his throat and continued. "Anyway, this guy here, my dear Spike, is a vampire. Evil through and through. Totally and completely soulless. Sure, he may still have some residual personality traits from his pre-fang days, but nothing that sets him apart." Lorne paused as the vampire's voice drifted to their ears, then shuddered. "Ugh. Except that god-awful voice and a taste for Garth Brooks. Sometimes I wonder why I still put up with it all."

Spike took another, careless drink and commented dryly, "I'm assuming you had a point in there, somewhere."

The Host gave the vampire what was quickly identified as a 'bite me' look. He'd seen Buffy with the same expression so many times it was hard not to notice the look when he saw it now.

"My point is," Lorne went on, "that musical monstrosity over there is what *I* call a vampire. He'll probably look up one day, see sunlight, and 'poof': one less evil body in the world. No one's gonna cry over this guy's dust, let alone remember which park bench he was sitting on when he was turned. He's evil. You, on the other hand, have some evil *in* you."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you." He seemed genuinely interested at this point, not bothering to hide the fact.

"And why am I not surprised?" Lorne threw his hands up in the air a little, going for the overly dramatic, but coming off as mostly comical in his frustration. "Let me tell you a little story here, Spike. Once upon a time, back when Angelus was the baddest thing to ever grace Buffy Summer's front porch, and Drucilla…" The demon took on a suddenly sarcastic tone, "charming girl by the way; you sure know how to pick 'em." Spike sneered, but not as much as he would have two years ago. "… still made some small bit of sense to those who were paying attention - maybe there was a bit more bad then good in there. William was just a memory to you, and I'm guessing you liked it that way. Now, however, Williams a bit… louder."

Spike nodded his head, somewhat hesitantly, and tried to comprehend what was being said. "And this whole soul business?" He asked warily.

"Like I said before: the universe likes to mix things up. Nothing completely this way, nothing completely that. Well… except for the big bad of country over there. I'll never understand why it was just up and decided one day that vampires were without. Soul, that is. Sure, most of the time that's true. But it's just like with people: most of the time they're generally good, but then, every once in awhile you meet a complete dolt without any conscience or real soul to speak of. You, my friend, are one of those rare exceptions in the vampire world."

He paused to take a drink of what was left in his glass. "And hey- maybe ole' Willy woulda died if you'd stayed all vampish and Hannibal Lector for the good part of another century. But shit happens. Things come up. You suddenly got saddled with this chip and a slayer who has you at her beck and call, and suddenly William's riding high. There's a bit of soul in you, Spike. It may be tainted. Hell, it may be about as bright and chipper as the next vamp who walks through those doors. But it's there. And it's learning not to hide anymore. You're still you. Always have been, always will be. Just… a little less homicidal this time around. You keep this up, and you may just have one slightly used, but more or less *complete*, soul on your hands."

Spike stared at the demon in mute shock for a good thirty seconds, before reclaiming his usual coolness under pressure. "Then why the hell did that bloody poof make with the brooding the moment he got his returned?"

"You talking about Angel? Yeah, he is a bit on the tall, dark, and overly broodsome side. But you gotta understand, Angelus was never… Well, let's just say that, before our favorite darling of darkness, Darla, turned him, he didn't exactly have much in the way of a soul to begin with. It was already dwindling away into oblivion before vamphood ever found its way to our well-loved fashion victim and detective. When he got his soul back - well - it was one of those mint conditions ones. Nice and clean and utterly not ready to face a world in which its owner had done all these unspeakable crimes. Thus: the guilt, the penitence, and so on and so forth. I'm sure you know the story."

Spike swallowed, still stunned, though slowly recovering. "But afterwards… heaven and hell and all that."

"Pffft." Lorne waved a hand. "As if you care."

Spike shrugged. "Still."

"Well, let's put it this way- there are so many so called hells out there, that I wouldn't put much stock in the words of any one who says that there's 'just one and you, you, and you are all gonna meet there next time Death comes a knocking.' The after life is complicated. It's all about fate, and karma, and… I don't understand the half of it. But, what I do know is this: nothing's for sure. Not in this lifetime or any other. So stop looking at the world from a black and white/heaven and hell stance. You know better than that." He paused, and lowered his head ever so slightly. "And so does Buffy. Just give her some time. Let her come to terms with it on her own. She'll get there."

Spike, not knowing what to think, took one last swig from his glass, not taking his eye off the demon. This was a little more than he bargained for, but what could he do about it now? He got up from the bar, still staring mutely at the demon. After a moment, he shrugged self-consciously.

"Right." He mumbled a little, trying to return to whatever casual demeanor he usually owned. But Lorne just grinned at him a little, a twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly Spike wasn't sure if he'd ever recover.

The 'vampire' walked out of the bar, leather duster trailing after him, ready to leave LA.

He'd gotten what he'd come for. And then some.

The End (?)

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