Series: REM Recalled Emotional Memories
Author: Avarice
Email: rrburton@powerup.com.au
Rating: PG through R.
Deal. Pairing: S/A (Aus/Wm)
Disclaimer: This is not Joss' emasculating Spike. This is not Joss' pansyass Angel. But he owns their likenesses. Lucky him.
Dedication: Imagine big George Lucas star wars rolling credits.
Cast: In order of appearance:
Kita: Series beta reader, support and best boy grip
Jess: Creative consultant, beta
Tink: Creative consultant, support
Sandra: Angst coordinator, setter of moods (be they suicidal)
Saber: Section head of flashbacks, inspiration Thank you all so much. You rock without question, and are loved without equal.
Title: Housecall (1/1)
"..fuggin' hellS I swearS.that is the *last* time I help those bleedin' toffs with anythingSbloody idiots the lot of 'emS. Don't appreciate me anyway."
Spike muttered a string of drunken curses as he staggered back into the dank mausoleum in one of Sunnydale's fine cemeteries. Clutching the half-full bottle of whiskey tightly, he stumbled his way through the entrance and blearily looked around for somewhere to sit before he fell.
The night had been a complete write-off in his opinion. Called at sunset to help the blonde Slayer and her pathetic groupies against a big bunch of large and ugly fire-breathing demons was *not* a highlight for him. He couldn't even begin to describe how much the experience had not been a pleasant one.
"I fight th' most demonsScuz I'm the bestS.I kill th' most Seven more than th' witch an' th' whelp an' th' Watcher an' th' werewo- no, wait..he wasn't thereS" Spike giggled idiotically, the blond vampire's slightly slurred speech echoed eerily. "An' I beat th' livin' tar outta *all* of 'emSwellSthe ones Boofy didn't get to firstS.an' you'd think they'd be *grateful* for me help, wouldn't you? You'd think they'd fuckin' donate a pint of O+ for me troubleS" Spike took a swig from his bottle and sat down on the edge of the crypt he used as a bed shakily.
"But no don't even bother to help me patch up me leg." The blond vampire winced as, if on cue, the large scorchmark running from upper thigh to knee that peeked out through the rip in his jeans of the same size began to throb. Spike upped his voice an octave and spoke in a bad impersonation of a female voice.
" 'No no no, I'm the Slayer - a bitch on a mission, and that mission does not include helping vampires who've just risked their incredibly cute immortal asses to save my tight one. What's more, I am an obstinate, dozy mare with less fashion sense than the Turkish entrants in a Eurovision Song Contest.' " Spike's falsetto dropped back to his normal pitch, and he giggled again, which quickly faded into a sigh. He dropped back onto the
crypt and closed his eyes.
" 'least my night can't get any worse"
"You know, I should probably kick your ass for that." The soft voice issued from the shadows. Spike shook his head.
"No..."
Just when you thought you couldn't get any lower.
Angel emerged from the darkness like he belonged to it. He stood a few metres away, eyeing off his drunken childe.
Spike squeezed his eyes shut. "It's just the alcohol...when I open my eyes I'm not going to see the great poof himself..." The peroxide blond opened one eye and, confirming that his sire was truly there, began a new stream of muttered curses. The older vampire just smirked and stood silently.
"Oh for fuck's sake" the younger vampire cursed, refusing to open his eyes."Go on then," he said loudly, wincing as it made his ears ring. "Why don't you? Stake my worthless hide and then leave my ashes the fuck alone. I've got no time for you, Angelus." Angel's smile grew, but he remained silent.
"Well?" Spike growled irritably after a few minutes.
"Well what?" Angel countered, the amusement heavy in his voice.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off being a nonce in LA as opposed to this dump?"
Angel stayed silent for long moments, watching his childe grow increasingly agitated before answering.
"I got information pertaining to the demons you encountered. Came down to help but" he shrugged. "You stopped them. Didn't become necessary to make my presence known."
Spike took all this information in, before scowling at his sire.
"So?"
"So what?" Angel answered.
"If you didn't tell your bitch of an ex or her obnoxious flunkies -- people who actually *like* you -- you were in Sunnyhell.. why in blazes do you show up on *my* doorstep?" Angel took a step closer.
"It's not really a doorstep. More of a big old stone entryway."
"D'you think I care what the fuck it is? Why?"
"Why what?"
"Arrgh!!" Spike screamed in frustration and immediately regretted it, the noise making his head ache. "Why. Are. You. Here?"
"I saw the fight." The older vampire did not volunteer any more information, forcing his childe to press the issue.
"And? And if you say 'and what?', Angelus I swear I'm gonna rip your knackers off and use them as paperweights."
Angel ignored the threat. "You were hurt. I came to see if you were alright." His soft, sincere voice pierced the walls of sarcasm and hatred Spike erected around himself when dealing with his sire. The only sound in the mausoleum was a steady drip of water from an overhead column. The silence was uncomfortable. The blond vampire cast a look at Angel, not knowing whether to snort in derision or smile happily at the dark haired vampire's open statement. He opted for the former.
"As you can see, I'm doin' just fine. Now, if you don't mind or even if you do sod off. I want to finish my alcohol and pass out in peace, thankyousoverymuch. I don't need your help." Spike covered his head with a blanket and rolled over, his back to Angel, cuddling his whiskey bottle.
"You need some form of medical treatment."
"Don't. Go 'way." The younger vampire mumbled. Angel stepped forward and tore the blanket off his childe's body.
"Hey!" Spike yelled in protest as the dark haired vampire physically sat him up again. Angel cast a quick appraising eye over the peroxide blonde, taking in, among other things, the few scorchmarks that wore his black teeshirt thin in some places.
"Coat off." He said quietly. The younger vampire's head shot up in disbelief?
"You what?"
"Coat. Off. Two very simple words, that, when taken together, form an instruction." Angel's gaze hardened as Spike stared sullenly at him, not budging an inch. All the older vampire had to do was to speak in the right tone of voice, a tone of instruction from many years past.
"*Now.*"
Spike's eyes widened as he recognized his sire's dominant manner. Pouting petulantly, he stood and slipped out of the black leather duster. Angel took the long coat and neatly draped it over the edge of the stone sarcophagus.
"Shirt." Angel ordered. The blond vampire scowled and lifted the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor, knowing it would annoy his sire, who was anal about cleanliness. Angel rolled his eyes at the juvenile display, but still it took a fair amount of his willpower not to pick up the discarded black shirt. He turned his attention to his childe's torso. Pale skin stretched tautly over well-defined muscles, that moved and flexed as Spike fidgeted. Angel stepped forward between Spike's spread legs and lay a cool hand on his left pectoral. The younger vampire tensed at the contact.
"Hmm.." Angel murmured, tracing a finger just outside a slight burn mark. "These aren't too bad... your layers of clothing protected you for the most part." He continued to move his hands around his childe's torso, shoulders and arms, sometimes squeezing in a therapeutic, massaging way.
Spike's eyes fluttered closed. Angel moved around to the other side and placed firm hands on the blond's shoulders, and squeezed the highly-strung tendons. Spike's aching muscles cried out in relief as tension from the fight and indeed, from the last few months, began to ebb away under his sire's strong, powerful hands.
Angel ran his fingers down Spike's spine, making the younger vampire shiver. He leaned in close to his childe's ear.
"These should all be healed by tomorrow.. as for that leg..." Spike opened his eyes groggily when Angel stopped his wonderful massages and moved back around to face him.
"Pants." Angel's voice was barely audible. But the blond heard him anyway.
"What?" The older vampire did not need to repeat himself.
"Now wait just one friggin minu-" Spike's voice stopped abruptly as his eyes met Angel's. Even to his alcohol-fuzzed brain, the inherent meaning was all too clear.
Do it, or I'll do it for you.
Spike muttered a variety of extremely colourful curses as he undid the fly of his black jeans. The blond hissed in pain as edges of the torn denim rubbed against the red and blistering skin of his thigh. Angel winced in sympathetic pain and moved to help his childe. They slowly eased the ruined pants down his legs. With their removal, Spike was naked.
The blond lapsed into curses once again. He hated it. He hated being exposed in front of his sire, when in such a clearly vulnerable position, both physically and emotionally. Having Angel here, right in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch... it brought back memories. Many of which were good, but many more were painful and traumatic. The younger vampire bit his lip to keep the emotions they stirred to the surface bottled in.
Angel leant forward and studied the wound closely. When he withdrew to fish around in the pockets of his trenchcoat for something, Spike let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. His jaw clenched and unclenched in a nervous reaction. Dammit, why couldn't he have just passed out as soon as he'd gotten in?
He was jarred out of what-might-have-been-if-I-had-more-whiskey thoughts back to the present. Angel took a bandage out of his pocket. Spike looked at him wryly.
"Shall I have to start calling you the Vamp Doctor now? Since when did you become George Clooney?" Angel smirked and took the almost-empty bottle of whiskey. "It's the coifed, pretty boy hair thing isn't it? I knew you shouldn'tve gotten that telly. Your whole image has gone to pot."
"This is going to hurt." The dark haired vampire announced before pouring the last of the liquid out over Spike's leg to cleanse and sterilize the wound. The blond let out an almighty scream.
"Fucking hell, Angelus! You could have bloody well warned me, you prick!" Spike hissed and rocked back and forth in pain as Angel quickly began to bind up his leg with the fresh bandage.
"I did."
"Yeah, well half a second before the act does not a warning make." Spike ground out. After a few moments though, his hisses turned into a chuckle, which turned into a small laugh. The dark vampire looked up at his childe curiously.
"I oughtta haul your arse into court for malpractice." Spike bit out through a gritted teeth smile. Angel smiled at the blond's comment.
"If it gets the law off my back, I won't charge you for this housecall." He responded.
"I wasn't planning on paying you anyway. Besides Peaches, your bedside manner sucks." Spike retorted.
Angel finished bandaging up the nasty burn, ignoring the terrible pun. The younger vampire looked down at his newly-bound leg, and then up at his sire who stood back to look over his handiwork. Spike tugged at the bandage.
"Not bad." he commented. Angel moved closer again to retrieve the blanket he had torn from Spike's body earlier.
"Lie back." He ordered gently, pleased when the blond complied immediately, using a crooked arm as a pillow and curling his body in a semi-fetal position. The older vampire draped the ratty blanket over his childe's form, tucking it underneath him. Angel ran a light hand over Spike's arm, watching tired blue eyes flutter closed, before sighing airlessly.
Casting one last, lingering glance at the still form, Angel turned to leave.
"Angel?" Spike's voice sounded softly. The dark vampire stopped in his tracks and turned.
"Would you.. uh.. well.. at least until I fall asleep?" Spike cursed his ability to properly ask his question. Even though he was more than half-way drunk and dead-tired, he felt the instant his sire had started to move away from him. It was like sucking all the warmth and air out of a room if you relied on those things to survive.
Angel's lips curled in a smile. His boy wanted him. He walked back and brushed peroxide blond hair away from Spike's temple.
"Of course I'll stay, Will," he murmured softly and pressed a kiss to his childe's brow. "If you want me to." The corners of Spike's mouth curled up slightly and he let out a contented sigh. Angel continued to stroke his hair, and it seemed that in no time at all, the younger vampire was slumbering peacefully.
"Thank you" Spike mumbled in his sleep and pulled the blanket around himself tightly.
"Anytime." Angel whispered, and then he was gone.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Eaauughhh." Spike had a horrible taste in his mouth.
And a pounding headache.
And an aching body.
He slightly lifted the blanket covering him.
And not a scrap of clothing.
Minimal light coming in through the crack in the large stone door, signaled dusk, confirming he had slept soundly through the entire day. The blond blinked wearily, trying to recall details from the previous night. Images flitted through his mind..S demons.. fireS lots and lots of fighting..trying to get drunk.. succeeding.. his sire.. falling as-
His *sire*?
Spike rubbed his head in disbelief. There was no way the great poofwad had visited Sunnydale just to patch up his sorry arse. It had to be either a bad dream or a drunken hallucination. He chuckled sardonically at the notion of Saint Angel donning a nurse's outfit especially to tend to his needs and swore fluently when his head throbbed. The pain reminded him of his injuries. Looking down at his bare chest, the blond observed that the burns and scorches from the previous night's fight had all but faded.
He moved his injured leg experimentally, sitting up and carefully flipping his legs over the side of his sarcophagus bed. Surprised to find it didn't seem to hurt as much, Spike threw off the blanket that had pooled in his lap and gasped. His leg was bandaged cleanly and firmly. And from the diminished discomfort, it seemed it was healing nicely under there.
"It wasn't a dream" The blond muttered to himself, dumbfounded.
Spike sniffed the air. The lingering scent, unique to his sire, was still discernible. Angel had really been there, really taken care of him. He had really stayed until the blond had fallen asleep, just like he used to. Dampness sprang to his eyes which he forcefully wiped away.
"The nonce pays me one visit and already I'm turning into more of a soddin' nancyboy than he is," Spike growled. It was then he looked to where his head had been resting and a small, white card caught his eye. The vampire picked it up.
Angel's business card.
Spike mutely looked at it, not sure whether to tear it up or not. His decision was made unequivocally after he turned it over. On the other side, in impossibly neat handwriting was printed a cell phone number. But that wasn't what got Spike. It was the one word accompanying it.
Anytime.
A lone tear trekked down the blond's cheek, but he couldn't pinpoint for certain as to why he was crying.
Possibly because his sire still cared enough about him to be worried.
Because his sire still cared enough to come after him and patch up his injuries.
Because his sire still cared enough to leave his childe a phone number so he could be contacted again.
Because his sire still *cared*.
Spike wiped the tear away with the back of his hand and sniffled noisily. A small, ghost of a smile curled at his lips as he hopped off his makeshift bed and searched for new clothes.
"Anytime, eh?" He mumbled, pulling on a new pair of jeans.
"Maybe maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Peaches" Spike pulled on his duster and headed towards the door. The blond stopped before he reached it and walked back in. He looked at the card for a moment, before snatching it up and placing it carefully in his pocket, before heading out into the night, whistling a cheerful tune.
Fin
Title: One Week
One week.
7 days.
Spike had exactly one week to find the demon in question, collect the needed information and high-tail it back to Sunnydale.
The blond inhaled on his cigarette deeply, it doing something to soothe his jangling nerves.
Exactly one week.
No more.
The latest big scary threat to the known world was about to rear its very likely ugly head in Sunnyhell. "Big bloody surprise there," Spike had remembered commenting. After hours of research, Giles had discovered a series of incantations that would prevent the Toska'ar demon from coming to full power, making it easy to kill.
After more research he had discovered these incantations were contained in a book long believed to be destroyed.
But after still more research, he was able to find a demon who just happened to have the necessary pages from this book.
It all seemed just a bit too simple.
That's why Spike had been waiting for the catch when he'd been summoned to the ex-Watcher's house.
It seemed this demon would hand over the pages for money. The catch was, he was skittish of humans, especially a Slayer, and would not make the deal with anyone human.
So Spike was cajoled into making the trade with promises of blood and smokes.
And threatened with slow and painful death if he arrived a day later than the week he was given to make the exchange and return. This also applied to skipping the state or country with the money.
One week.
7 days.
168 hours.
So the blond vampire was on his way to meet this demon. And where does this demon chose to do business?
LA, of course.
Another little trump card for the Slayerettes. Spike had been threatened with the intervention of his sire if he did anything but what was required while in the city. The blond vampire had quickly agreed to any and all conditions. Anything to prevent the pathetic little gang from ringing up his sire and telling him to babysit.
Spike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously.
One week.
It had been one week since his sire had visited Sunnydale unbeknownst to everyone but him.
Seven days since Spike had started feeling like he didn't hate his sire as much as he told everyone he did.
One hundred and sixty eight hours since Angel had bandaged his wounds and taken care of him.
10,080 minutes since the blond vampire had felt a little less alone in the world.
And a lifetime since he had felt like Will and not Spike.
Spike's lips turned up at the corners slightly. That was the clincher.
To Darla, he had always been 'boy'.
To frightened commoners all over England, he had been William the Bloody.
To Drusilla, he had been her Spike.
To the most recent incarnation of Angelus, he had been 'sit n' spin'.
But to Angelus, the *real* Angelus, he had always been, and would always be, Will.
*****
Belfast, 1844
Two pairs of boots sounded heavily on pebbled pavements. Delicate shoes made soft clacking noises. Anyone who passed the three travellers pulled up their collar and hurried past, unwilling to go so far as to even make eye-contact with them.
Angelus, Darla and Spike were on the hunt.
The trio had only been in Belfast for one week and already the local population was stricken with the most delightful terror. Rumours of brutal killings by devils surely sent from Lucifer spread like the Plague through the frightened community. Being visitors, and obviously wealthy, the three vampires were duly warned frequently about it not being safe for persons of their high station to be travelling around at night.
Whoever was 'concerned' enough to dispense the warning was usually found dead in an alley come sunrise.
Angelus walked at a slow, measured pace, Darla's arm properly linked through his. The youngest of the three trailed ever so slightly, however never further than an arm's length away from his sire and grandsire. It looked for all the world as if they were out for an evening stroll, or on their way to some grand party.
In reality, Darla was scouting for potential targets, Angelus was protecting his sire's flank and Spike watched their backs and guarded against being taken by surprise.
Darla sighed loudly. "The streets aren't as full with game as they usually are." Angelus looked down, a smile curling his lips.
"Mayhaps these 'devils' there's talk about 're scarin' them away." Spike snorted in laughter.
" 'Mayhaps' it's just your ridiculous moustache, Angelus," he commented sardonically. Darla smirked in amusement and the dark haired vampire scowled at his childe for mocking him in front of his sire, a growl sounding from deep in his throat. Darla patted her childe's hand.
"Angelus," she chided, mirth heavy in her voice. "You were saying to me just this morning you were thinking about shaving it off." Spike's grin grew larger, as Angelus' frown became more pronounced. He hated when his childe jeered him in front of his sire. Darla got vicarious pleasure out of his anger, and often stopped him disciplining Spike immediately. Angelus blew air through his lips testily. The younger vampire was doing it not only to just be an irritation, but to win favour with Darla.
The pretty blond put a hand on his bicep, discouraging him from his initial instincts, which were to drag the insolent vampire into a deserted alley and show him *exactly* who was cleverer. Angelus swallowed slowly, calming himself and raised Darla's pale hand to his lips, brushing them across cool skin.
"Ye wilna miss th' way it tickles, then?" he murmured, scraping blunt teeth across her knuckles. Spike's grin fell away, and was replaced with an aggrieved expression of annoyance. Darla smiled seductively and walked slender fingers over his lips.
Oh yes, Angelus could win Darla's favour too.
Spike cleared his throat. "I'm hungry." he stated abruptly. "Are we going to eat or are you two itching for a quick shag?" Darla pulled her hand away from her childe's mouth.
"The boy has an idea," she purred, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Angelus turned to glance at the younger vampire. The poorly disguised hurt and anger on Spike's face was palpable.
"Nae, 'tis best we sup first," he grinned rakishly. "Build up strength for... later." Darla was appeased by this suggestion and linked her arm into Angelus' again.
"Very well, we shall eat first. But be sure to punish the boy later for his rudeness. Such behaviour cannot go uncorrected." Angelus looked to Spike, a stern expression on his face that somehow, did not reach his eyes. Reaching out, he grabbed the hem of the younger vampire's jacket roughly and pulled him closer, but slid the same hand up under it to rest on the small of his back.
"Dinna be concerned, Darla," the dark haired vampire's eyes smouldered with intent of a completely different nature. "I plan to give Will's hide a good seein' to later on."
Spike just smirked.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Angelus sunk his teeth into Spike's jugular, tearing at the skin. The older vampire drank, not out of hunger, but as a display of superiority. Spike's yell caught in his throat as the sensations of his sire drinking from him made him light-headed. Elegantly manicured nails dug into naked skin, holding him down on the imported linen that covered Angelus' bed.
The older vampire tore his mouth away from his childe's neck and watched with yellow eyes as blood pumped sluggishly from the wound. Spike gasped for unneeded breath as the pain and pleasure of the last few hours finally caught up with him. Angelus bent down again and fastened his mouth over the wound, but instead of draining still more blood, his features melted into those of his attractive human mask, and he swirled his tongue over the punctures, willing them closed.
"Angelus.." Spike murmured, his chest rapidly rising and falling in an automatic response. His sire appeared amused at the blatantly human reaction. The younger vampire closed his eyes and reached a hand to the back of Angelus' head and applied soft pressure. Angelus let out a low growl of approval.
Eventually the older vampire lifted his head. The two wounds had closed up, and come tomorrow would be faded. He looked down at his childe and crushed their lips together in a kiss that was at once brutal and tender, punishing and conciliatory, but always absolute and inescapable.
"*Mine*." He whispered fiercely once they had separated, touching his forehead to Spike's ridges. They melted away as Spike's faux breathing slowly halted. "My Will." Spike could have sworn his undead heart actually pulsed for a moment at his sire's words.
The room's temperature climbed slightly. The younger vampire looked towards the heavily curtained window and observed as the dark green velvet drapes lightened. The sun was rising. Angelus turned Spike's head towards his own.
"Enough. Ye've learnt yer lesson...I *hope*..." his voice took on a slightly dangerous tone. "now sleep." The older man closed his eyes and settled Spike against his body comfortably. Spike lay his head down on his sire's shoulder, absently tracing patterns over Angelus' broad, moisture-soaked chest, wide awake.
"Sire," he spoke up eventually.
"I told ye to sleep, Will. 'twas no' a request." Spike's brows knitted slightly and pressed on.
"Why?"
"Because I'm ye sire, an' I tell ye t' *sleep*." Angelus' irritated voice answered.
"No, not that... why do you keep calling me Will when no one else does?"
The older vampire was silent for a long moment. Spike thought he had fallen back asleep when he received an answer.
"Tha's yer name, is it no'? Why shouldn't I call ye tha'?"
"No one else does."
"An' I'd kill them if they did." His sire answered matter-of-factly. Spike raised his head, confusion etched on his handsome features. Angelus opened his eyes and gave a small sigh.
"Ye may be William th' Bloody t' th' god-fearin' mortals, or Spike to others still fer tha' little habit y'picked up in Essex," his lips curled up in a small smirk. "But t'me. Ye'll always be Will. It dinna matter wha' happens, I know who y'are. Really."
"Who am I?" Spike asked, failing at nonchalance miserably. "I mean, apart from being a bloody good killer and all," Angelus chuckled at his childe's cocky attitude.
"Let's see... apart from being the 'bloody good killer'," The older vampire humoured Spike's colloquialisms. "Y'are a quick, intelligent lad, but ye prefer action rather than book-smarts t' get things done. Ye have no patience t' sit down an' listen t' classical music, yet y'love t' dance. Ye hate bein' told what t' do but *crave*" Angelus purred out the word, "domination." Spike mulled over his sire's words.
"Anything else?"
"Ye have the tightest arse I've ever seen."
"That much is true."
Angelus laughed heartily at his agreement. "In short, ye're Will. An' nobody knows ye like I do, so tha' makes ye *my* Will." Angelus tightened his arm possessively around Spike's body. "Now, 'tis time t' sleep. Will I have ta say it again?"
Queries stemmed for the moment, Spike shook his head mutely and rested his head on Angelus' chest. His sire grunted in approval and pressed a kiss to soft, dark hair before closing his eyes once again.
"Sleep well, Angelus," Spike murmured softly. Angelus yawned tiredly and curled another arm around the other vampire's slighter form.
"Dream with me, Will."
He did.
*****
Spike took a deep drag on his cigarette and leant back against his car, blowing the smoke into a still night. The meeting had gone off without a hitch. As soon as he had arrived in LA, the blond had contacted the demon and made the trade without the least bit of fuss.
Simple as that.
And now he had one week to kill.
One week.
7 days.
The blond vampire walked to a phone box a few metres away. The weak fluoro light made him seem more pallid than usual. He stared at the receiver intently before picking it up and passing it from hand to hand. Spike watched in detached amusement as the receiver floated around by itself in the reflection of the glass.
He clamped the handset between his ear and shoulder while he fished around in the pocket of his duster. Spike pulled out a creased, dirty card and a quarter. The blond squinted out the glass and looked across the street. It was after hours and the Angel Investigations office was closed for the evening. There were no lights on at street level, but that meant nothing. He was there.
Spike looked down at the phone number on the card and back across the street.
"Fuck." He cursed and shoved the quarter into the change slot. The vampire punched out numbers quickly before he could change his mind. Harsh ringing filled his ears as opposed to the steady dial tone.
168 hours.
The phone rang and rang and rang. Spike screwed up his face in distaste.
"..knew this was a bloody stupid idea... fuckin' hell why do I both-"
"Hello?"
The blond clammed up, stunned into silence at the sound of the familiar voice. Try as he might, Spike could not coax his normally faster-than-light mouth to say a word for long moments. The other end of the line stayed annoyingly silent. This was pointless.
"Fuck." He whispered, and went to hang up. The receiver was half-way from
his ear to the phonebox when his sharp ears picked up that one word.
"Will?"
Spike sucked in a useless gasp. It was different hearing it sober. He was finally able to entice his slack jaw into action and replaced the receiver next to his ear.
"Yeah." The blond croaked.
"I was told you were coming."
Indignation was enough to get his mouth moving. "Damn bloody Slayerettes, they can't fucking well keep their gobs shut, can they? What, did they tell you to put a bell around my neck, or what?" The voice on the other end actually chuckled.
"That was my suggestion, actually."
Spike growled. "I don't know why I fucking well bother. Spending money calling an ungrateful prick when I could be buying alcohol or at least doing something a bit more enjoyable than talking to you. This is just painful-"
"Where are you?"
Spike's diatribe was cut short with the question. But before he could answer, a door opened across the street. Angel stood in the doorway to his offices, cell phone in hand. The two vampires stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, before the older man inclined his head slightly.
"Why don't you come on in."
"Why should I?"
"It wasn't a request."
Spike stifled a smile. Of course he could get in his car and drive away. No-one was forcing him to stay.
He hung up the phone slowly and stepped out of the phone booth. Crushing his cigarette into the pavement with his Docs, Spike walked deliberately across the street. The younger vampire reached the door and looked up at his sire. Angel closed his cell phone and gestured inside.
"Will." He nodded.
"Sire." Spike answered before he could stop himself. "Fuck." He cursed again.
A ghost of a smile played on Angel's face as he shut the door behind his childe.
Fin
Title: Just Like Old Times
Standing uncomfortably with his hands in his duster pockets, Spike stood just in the doorway of the Angel Investigations office, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Angel brushed past him and further into the building, silently taking in his childe's unique odor of leather, cigarettes and, if his nose was still working, the tiniest amount of beer. But he wasn't drunk.
Walking over to Cordelia's desk, the dark haired vampire concentrated on straightening up some fashion magazines, making sure they were perpendicular to the stationery and the corner of the desk. When he was sure they were correctly placed, Angel turned and leant against the piece of furniture, folding his arms across his broad chest.
One eyebrow raised slightly, the only movement on his otherwise stoic face in a single question.
Spike, for all the fidgeting, was still as alert as ever. He observed his sire's posture -- relaxed, but carefully guarded, and still ready at a moment's notice to grab the stake shoved idly in the pencil caddy and ram it through his chest if he so much as blinked funny. The peroxide blond chuckled softly. Some things never change.
Angel's eyebrow raised a bit higher at Spike's impromptu descent into merriment, but his childe dismissed his sire's expression with a wave of his hand. Spike looked through the cover of his lashes at Angel. Nothing had really changed in the week since he had seen his sire. Appearance-wise, that was. Then again, nothing had really changed since he'd first set eyes on Angelus in a rowdy pub in one of London's tougher neighborhoods way back in the 18th century.
Sure, the hair had gone shorter, clothes a little duller and the eyes a little more soul-filled, but on the whole, he was the same guy. Matter of fact, this Angel, the one standing right in front of him with annoyance slightly touching his features was closer to his Angelus than the actual Angelus that had been unwittingly released in Sunnyhell.
The Angelus that had killed Jenny Calendar, tried to suck the world into Hell and made Spike's unlife a fucking misery was *not* his sire. Being trapped for a century under the enormous guilt of a soul must have driven the demon in him mad. Once released, it set about dealing out some major payback.
Why it had chosen to ruin his relationship with Dru was anyone's guess. Maybe a punishment for actually spending the last hundred years killing and maiming like any good vampire when it couldn't... maybe it wanted to familiarize itself with something from its bloody past... maybe it was just so addled with jealousy and thoughts of revenge he was attacking the beings that gave him companionship when he was last a soulless creature, as well as the souled version's.
But this Angel... things had happened between the last time he saw his sire after turning up practically on his doorstep after Dru had dumped him and now... even between now and the time he had come to LA in search of the Gem of Amara and nearly had the older vampire tortured to death...
He seemed more comfortable.. possibly even a tiny bit less guilty. Spike couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it was something about his presence... it was as if in some way, he'd come to terms with his split nature -- the souled man and the soulless demon -- and accepted they were both an inescapable part of him. Not *completely* reconciled, of course, that was impossible, but coming close to an acceptance of the supernatural animal that once ran his life, and was now still with him, albeit not in obvious control.
Allowing the demon to become, in some tiny way, a part of him again, instead of an entirely separate entity.
*That* was his sire. Not a mad, uncontrollable beast that made Spike want to hit him with a tyre iron over and over again, but a passionate, controlled, powerful creature that made his knees slightly weak.
Like the creature that was leaning against the desk not three metres away staring at him with an intensity that belied the casual pose.
Spike's knees almost faltered.
The blond cursed faintly at his body for proving his point.
"Angel," the blond finally cleared his throat, breaking the verbal silence.
"Will." Angel replied, interested as to what the younger vampire had to say.
"Your pants are ringing." Angel jumped and thrust his hand into the pocket of his trousers for the cell phone that had started to ring, interrupting his wordless conversation with Spike. The blond snorted at his sire fumbling with modern technology. Give the man a phonograph and a wireless, not portable phones the size of a box of matches or coffee machines you needed doctorates both in Applied Sciences and Engineering to get drinkable coffee out of.
"Angel! I'm glad that you're up. Well, of course you'd be up, because it's night-time and you're not much of a day-demon anywa-"
"Cordelia," Angel stemmed her babble. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, that. I had a vision just as I was walking into my building. It's a good thing Wesley was walking me home because he caught me just before I kissed the pavement-"
"And?"
"Abrupt much? Jeez..."
"Cordelia-" Angel blew a short burst of air between his lips in an exasperated fashion.
"I described what I saw to Wesley. And *he* said it's exactly what Giles described to him. It seems that that Tuscan demon-"
"Toska'ar?"
"Whatever, the one that the bleached wonder was sent here to get pages to defeat, followed him here to try and prevent it."
"But Spike got the pages and is fine."
"How do yo- nevermind, I don't want to know... well, the demon he met with is dead. Intestines torn out and arranged in a variety of interesting ways. I am not asking this Toska'ar guy to come and re-decorate the office."
Angel looked across at his childe who had an expression on his face that was a mixture between worry and curiosity at the older vampire's one-sided conversation.
"Where is it?"
"At a warehouse about five blocks away from you. Seems it was following the peroxide, fangy one-"
"It's not up to full strength yet," Angel murmured to himself. "It must've had to stop and replenish its energy before getting here."
"Why would it be heading to you? It's after- oh." Realization dawned for the former May Queen and she changed subjects almost tactfully. "Well, I'm sure you're not being tortured, and he's not giving you a happy so everything's cool. So, are you going to kill this thing?"
Angel looked at Spike again. The blond now had a completely worried expression and chewed his bottom lip anxiously.
The dark haired vampire collected his thoughts.
There was trouble brewing, and something was threatening his childe.
Just like old times, really.
"I'll be there in five minutes. Take it easy, I'll give you a call back when it's dead." Angel disconnected the phone and shoved it back in his pocket. He grabbed a long black coat from the rack and pulled his arms into it. Grabbing a large fighting axe that had been carelessly leant against the filing cabinet, the older man tossed it to Spike.
Angel disappeared into his basement before appearing a moment later with a large katana. "Come on." He said in a clipped voice, before opening the door and striding out. Spike looked at the weapon in his hands for a moment before running out, shutting the door behind him.
Spike caught up to his sire's long strides and fell into step just behind him. They walked the first block in silence before, without slowing, Angel half-turned to address his childe.
"Gotten yourself into trouble again, eh?"
The blond gave a crooked grin.
::The Ukraine, 1851::
"I swear Angelus, this time it isn't my fault!"
Angelus muttered a string of disbelieving obscenities in another language --quite possibly Gaelic -- as he swung his right fist around to connect with that of a re-animated corpse. Its putrid jaw shattered. Dead eyes widened almost comically for a moment, before it continued to advance slowly on the dark haired vampire.
The jawless cadaver was soon joined by four zombie-brethren who flanked Angelus. He grimaced, slowly retreating backwards and pulled his slightly torn coat onto his shoulders again, where it had started falling off.
Angelus felt Spike's back press up against his own, being similarly forced into the same defensive position from the other side. The younger vampire was sporting a shallow gash on his forehead which trickled blood down his left temple, but otherwise was unharmed.
As a matter of fact, Spike was wearing a broad grin.
"Not yer fault.." the older vampire muttered. "No, y' only had t' seduce, fuck an' kill the favourite mortal o' th' demon Carreau the Merciless.."
Spike actually had the audacity to look hurt.
"Hey! How was I supposed to know Carreau was into young untouched boys wit' black hair? Dirty ol' bastard.." One of cadavers growled raggedly at the insult to its master and lunged early. Spike laughed and kicked his attacker in the stomach. While it was still stunned, the younger vampire crooked his knee and smashed the head of the creature down onto it with a sickening thud. Before the body even hit the ground, Spike was back with his fists up in a classic fighter's stance.
Angelus shook his head briefly.
There was trouble. Spike was in the centre of it and Angelus had to help him fight his way out.
Just like old times, really.
Letting his guard down for that one, brief moment he contemplated the situation was lazy, seeing as their enemies had decided to attack right at that moment. Angelus' head snapped back as one of his attackers landed a punch on his face. The older vampire put a finger up to his lips and wiped away a smear of blood.
"Getting careless in your old age eh, Angelus?" Spike crowed as he dispatched another corpse in an ever-increasingly spectacular manner, as if he were fighting in a ring for some cheering crowd. The scent of his blood sent Angelus' demon into over-drive and his face lost its handsome human planes.
"Lucky shot," the vampire growled at his assailant before throwing a punch that was so powerful, the creature's head actually burst open. "Luckier shot." Angelus muttered superiorly and wiped grey matter from his hands onto his ruined jacket. His childe whistled appreciatively whilst still fighting.
"Nice style old man," the younger vampire complimented as he tore the arm off his rotting opponent's body. "Keep that up an' you'll be almost as good as me." Spike laughed heartily as he used the detached limb as a club and beat its former host back into death.
"Didna no-one ever teach ye t' respect yer betters?" the older vampire growled as he repeatedly punched a cadaver.
"Sure they did. But none o' me betters are here right now..."
Angelus flashed an annoyed, yellow-eyed glare at his childe before going back to his foe. Spike laughed at his sire's anger. The younger vampire concentrated too much on laughing and not enough on his own enemy, thus leaving himself open for attack. The corpse landed a hard kick to Spike's knee, a somewhat weak spot for the supernatural being, causing him to concertina down onto the ground.
Spike groaned in pain and grabbed his wounded knee. A horrific smile crossed the face of the corpse as it bore down on him to finish the job. The garish grin was still on its putrid face when Angelus tore the heart out of its dead body and it dropped to the street, immobile. Spike rocked back and forth in pain, but still took in the fact that all of the zombie minions were dead. A hand appeared in front of his vision, attached to a body with an insufferable smirk.
"Nice style, boy. I especially liked th' part where y' didna get up as he was comin' t' kill ye." The younger vampire rolled his eyes as he was hauled up. He threw an arm around his sire's shoulders to steady himself and they began their slow trek back to the boarding house where they were staying.
"Tell y' what, Angelus," Spike said after five minutes of silence. "You don't tell anyone abou' this an' I won't tell anyone that you actually *helped* me seduce, shag an' kill Carreau's little mortal treat."
Angelus' chuckle echoed eerily down the street.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"What are you laughing at, y'ponce?" Spike grumbled angrily as he limped towards the Angel Investigations office using the blood and slime-encrusted axe as a makeshift walking stick. Angel gave his childe a sidelong glance and smirked.
"Just thinking."
"Yeah well, you think too much," after a moment's silence. "About what?"
"About how you wouldn't have been slashed with the Toska'ar's five inch claws if you hadn't gotten him so angry after calling him a limp-dicked panty sniffer who couldn't even get hard dipping his cock into concrete."
"Oh."
Spike's lacklustre response made Angel begin chuckling again. Which grew as the blond vampire's face showed more and more of his irritation. By the time Angel opened the office door, the dark haired vampire was laughing long and loud.
"Angelus, y'mind phasing it down to a dull roar?" Spike hissed. Angel studied his face, detecting the faintest stain of stolen blood on his cheeks. He acquiesced and ceased laughing, although couldn't quite wipe the grin off his face. The blond limped over the threshold cursing, among other things, pathetic Sunnydale losers, the karma of the universe, army pricks with science labs and foofy sires with penis-extension swords.
Spike's face twisted in genuine agony and didn't get further than a few steps away from Cordelia's desk before he began to fall. But before the obscenities could even form on his lips, Angel had one arm wrapped around Spike's waist, the other holding the blond vampire's arm around his neck. As smoothly as possible, Angel led his injured childe to the elevator. Spike stayed silent for the journey, whether he was sullen, in pain or exhausted, the older vampire couldn't quite tell. Most likely a mixture of all three.
Angel helped Spike over to his bed and sat him on the edge. The blond hissed as his sire poked at the gash.
"Looks like you need patching up again, Will."
Spike actually managed a small grin through gritted teeth. "Seems like only yesterday, doesn't it, nurse?"
"Strip off. I'll get some bandages." Angel ordered succinctly and headed for the bathroom. When he returned with antiseptic and gauze, he couldn't help but chuckle softly. Some things never change. Spike was lying on his bed, shirt and duster in a pile on the ground, one leg out of his jeans and fast asleep. The older vampire knew his childe slept like the dead -- literally and figuratively -- so he carefully finished stripping Spike off. He folded
the clothes and placed them on his dresser and tucked the scuffed Docs under the bed.
Angel cleaned and bound Spike's injured leg, somewhat grateful the blond was asleep so he wouldn't have to hear the complaining. The dark haired vampire then gave Cordelia a quick call to inform her that the demon was dead, asking her to telephone Giles in the morning and inform him of the situation, Also, that since he was extremely tired, he asked that no-one disturb him during the day as he needed to sleep off a few bruises. There was no reason for her or Wesley to know about Spike, and he definitely didn't want either of them to barge in when the peroxide blond was sleeping in his bed.
Spike.
Angel walked over to the bed and spent a long moment drinking in his childe's still form. The older vampire had always loved to watch Spike sleep-- he always looked so innocent, so incapable of any evil. Which was of course the demon's joy and the soul's heartbreak that he was. Angel could not stifle a yawn as he pulled the covers up over the peroxide blond. Dawn was fast-approaching. After considering his options of sleeping on the too-small-for-his-tall-frame-couch or the armchair with the lumpy stuffing, Angel chose to sleep in the bed.
He peeled off his dark grey crew neck pullover and toed off both shoes. Trading trousers for a pair of sweats from the drawer, and leaving on his white singlet, Angel climbed into bed next to Spike. The dark haired vampire tenderly brushed hair away from the blond's temple.
"Dream with me, Will," he murmured before sinking down onto the soft mattress on his back. Just as he was drifting off, however, the other occupant of the bed mumbled something unintelligible and rolled closer, throwing a careless arm around Angel's waist. With that act, he fell back into sleep instantly.
The one recurring thought that meandered through Angel's brain before sleep finally overtook was
*Just like old times.*
Title: Nature of the Beast
Angel turned the shower on to a searing temperature and stepped under the water, letting it hammer into his skin. He had woken after a few hours sleep, to find Spike neatly curled around his body. As much as he enjoyed the feeling, and had been loathe to leave, the dark haired vampire had extricated from his childe's vice-like embrace, gathered Spike's and his clothes up, throwing them into the washing machine and headed straight into the bathroom, where he proceeded to try and scald the skin from his body.
Despite his seemingly outwards indifference to Spike's presence, inside he was a raging river of emotion. It had been so long since anyone had needed him like Spike needed him... it had been so long since *Spike* had needed him like he did now... and as much as he hated to admit -- and would *never* admit to anyone else -- Angel craved his childe's dependence.
Making Penn had been all about molding a little Angelus. Showing his sire he too could create and teach. Drusilla, who came later, was the fulfillment of a sick and twisted obsession -- an experiment into how much the human mind, strong and pure of faith could endure before finally giving way to madness and evil.
Spike was the product of a desire to have a companion. Not a student, and not a broken doll, but a friend, a lover, a comrade. And in that respect, he was successful beyond his wildest imaginings. One look into those ice-blue eyes over masses of people in an overcrowded London bar one evening, and he had known that this was the individual whom he had been searching for.
Over the next few weeks Angelus had stalked this human with the dark wavy hair and cheekbones cut from marble with fervor, culminating in the starless night William the petty thief had become William the Bloody, Childe of Angelus, Scourge of Europe.
They called him the Right Hand of Death itself, if Death were an angel-faced demon. Angelus and William had been unstoppable, carving a blood-soaked swath across Europe. Darla, despite initially having a few reservations about William, and how much of her beloved childe's time he consumed, was ultimately impressed with Angelus' choice. She went on to sire other childer, but always kept close to her Favoured, and his progeny.
The bond between William and Angelus had been incredibly powerful. While the younger vampire had the tendency to be stubborn, willful and downright disobedient, he always eventually submitted to his sire. Their relationship, based on this domination and subsequent submission was abnormal even for the vampire world though -- sires didn't usually love their childer more than they loved say, a doting pet.
Angelus loved William.
It was a love borne of passion and death and blood, but it was still love.
Angelus' demon clamoured for William like nothing else on this earth. He remembered quite vividly the night William had gone off to hunt with a few of the minions, and had not returned by the allotted time. Disobedient he was, but never tardy when his sire was firm. Angelus had waited for hours, his worry mounting by the second. Dawn approached fast and still his childe had not returned.
Panic gripped the dark haired vampire like a vice. It was a suffocating, all-encompassing fear. The thought that something might have happened to his childe, that he would never see his sweet William again filled him with such anxiety that Angelus felt as if someone were pressing a stake into his heart and he was dying slowly all over again.
Hours passed, and still no sign of William. His demon raged and screamed, and it was through the strongest of personal control that Angelus maintained his human features at all, although his liquid brown eyes were ringed dangerously with gold. Angelus paced and wrung his hands, which disgusted him, recognising them as clearly mortal traits. All thoughts of punishing the boy for making him act in such a human fashion died when his childe limped through the door.
And Angelus, Childe of Darla, Scourge of Europe, wept.
The older vampire grabbed his childe and held him close, stroking back the dark waves of hair with a comforting methodical rhythm. It did nothing to alleviate his fears when William had begun to sob quietly into his silk-clad chest. Angelus could no longer maintain his human mask when his boy was crying like this. His demon ached for the blood of whoever had injured and frightened his childe, whoever had kept them separated for so long. And although the need for revenge was great, the urge to make William stop crying was greater.
Angelus forced his vampiric countenance down and picked up his childe, carrying him over to the scented sheets of his bed, and began to comfort his distressed boy the only way he knew how. Angelus' loving brand of dominance was well-known to his childer. Stripping off his clothes, and then William's, Angelus kissed and licked his childe's cool skin, all the while emitting a deep purr that rumbled throughout the room.
Eventually, the younger vampire stopped trembling and began to respond to his sire's tender solace. After a few hours of this kind of consolation, William fell into a deep sleep in the tight embrace of his sire. Angelus stayed awake to watch over his childe's inert form, grasped onto him as if he were a lifeline. It frightened the older vampire beyond belief that this one man could scare him so much. Could terrify him with his absence, when there was nothing on this earth that he feared.
The demon loved him fiercely, unconditionally, wholly, exclusively -- until a dark haired girl, pure as the driven snow with the gift of foresight came into their lives. Angelus became hell-bent on his corruption of her spirit, and did not seem to have enough time for his Favoured boy as he used to. It was in those years, when his own memories were focussed more on Drusilla, that his William had become Spike.
It had taken time, but eventually the three of them had formed a tight-knit family, who hunted and played together with equal ardor. Angelus encouraged the relationship between Spike and Drusilla, hoping they would keep the home fires burning for him at times when Darla called him away from them and to her side. One night he was summoned to her side in Romania, and the next time he had laid eyes on his beloved childer was one hundred years later in a little town in California perched right over the Mouth of Hell.
Once released from the confines of a soul, Angelus' demon had set about destroying the lingering relationship between his childer -- one with the broken mind, one with the broken body. The reasons still weren't entirely clear, but Angel could easily guess why. He had loved them. Truly loved his childer. The demon figured that it was this weakness in itself that allowed the soul to love Buffy, who it hated and reviled with passion.
Coming between their obvious love for one another filled him with some perverse satisfaction. It was also a kick in the face for his boy, who had enjoyed unmitigated access to the older vampire's newest toy for a century, before Angelus had had *proper* time to play with her. Spike needed a lesson in propriety, and Angelus was just the demon to give it to him.
Angel sighed at the thoughts those dark months dragged up. Not only his campaign of terror against his former lover and her friends, but remembering the grief etched plainly on that sculpted face as he took away the only thing Spike had left to lose. The demon was a master of pain and torture, both physical and mental, and no-one who used to love him was spared its barbed edge.
The dark haired vampire forcibly pulled himself out of his painful memories and leant heavily against the tiled wall of his shower. Angel watched the final remnants of muck and grime from his battle with the Toska'ar demon wash off, swirl around his toes and disappear down the drain.
He closed the taps and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a pale, clean towel around his waist. Angel put his hands on the sink and looked into the fogged mirror, staring blankly into the space where his reflection should be.
It was in his nature to want to protect his childe with all that he had.
It was in his nature to want to be needed, just like Spike used to need him, just like Spike needed him *now*.
But... was it *right*?
His instincts screamed at him to reclaim his wayward childe, his prodigal son and begin again. Also playing through his head were a number of scenarios in which he tried to explain his decision to his coworkers and ex friends in Sunnydale -- all of which ended pretty much with him being run through with something large, wooden and sharp. Angel exhaled purposefully. A decision needed to be made, and made quickly.
When did it stop being about what was right or wrong, and start being about the nature of the beast?
+ + + + +
Spike stirred, stretching languidly. He was disoriented, and judging by the lingering pain in his leg, injured. In his half conscious state he deduced he was not in his crypt in Sunnyhell, his home having a much less appealing odor. Spike inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of freshly laundered, clean sheets, slightly acrid medicinal antiseptic, and something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but his brain automatically triggered the word 'home'. The blond vampire burrowed his face into the soft, downy pillows, trying to identify this 'home' scent. It was musky, smelling faintly of sweat and expensive soap and leather and-
Angel.
It was his sire's scent.
Spike's eyes blinked open and he drearily took in his surroundings. Sure enough -- Angel's bedroom. Angel's *bed*, even. The younger vampire's brow crinkled as he tried to remember exactly how he had ended up -- after a quick peek under the sheets -- yep, completely naked, in his sire's bed in L.A.
Gradually, memories of his assignment to retrieve pages to defeat the Toska'ar, and his subsequent battle at Angel's side to kill the selfsame demon came trickling back. He hissed in pain. As did the injury the slimy prick caused.
Pulling back the covers, Spike sat up and gingerly unwrapped his bandaged leg to reveal a wicked looking puckering gash that began mid-thigh, skirted the knee and stopped somewhere around the calf of his left leg. The younger vampire sighed and dropped back onto the bed, right into the Angel-sized indentation on the left side of the mattress. He immediately felt comforted, then disgusted that just lying in the place his sire had vacated could make him feel as if all was right in the world.
Spike closed his eyes and heard faint sounds of water from the shower in the adjoining bathroom. No matter how much he tried to quash it, the feeling of being completely and utterly safe because he was in Angel's bed with his sire just in the next room taking a shower would not go away. The blond vampire remembered what it was like to know the safety of Angel's embrace -- what it was like to be scared, terrified even, and know that his sire would do anything to protect him.
It had been a dark and smoggy night when he had gone hunting with the minions without his sire. Angelus did not mind, but had told him to be home precisely as the clock struck two. William had smiled that cheeky, crooked grin and told his sire that he would be back ten minutes before the allotted time, forseeing no reason that he might be late.
Except on the account of a Slayer.
Spike had just drained a young whip of a girl who had stupidly snuck out to meet her sweetheart by moonlight when he was struck from behind by a force he had never before encountered -- not even on a night when Angelus was particularly brutal.
The Slayer's name was Sondra. She was tall for a girl, and had auburn hair. The minions fanned out, fighting desperately the urge to run. They knew their unlives were forfeit if they let Angelus' favourite fight a Slayer on his own.
Spike put up a valiant effort. He faired better than his companions -- many of whom were dusted -- by virtue of the fact childer were schooled more thoroughly than minions, who were basically expendable. Spike's inexperience with the Chosen One was balanced out by the Slayer's obvious naivete in dealing with a childe of a Master vampire, who was particularly strong.
Spike was scared. They were so evenly matched. Just when it seemed he had the upper hand, the Slayer pulled out a reserve of strength he would have thought long depleted. The younger vampire had never fought anyone who -- when knocked down repeatedly -- refused to stay down and die. It was interesting. Even arousing to a point, but he could do without the hard on while fighting a mortal enemy.
The battle raged on, neither party ready to give up. Sondra's long hair was matted with both her blood and Spike's. Cuts and bruises marred the two combatants, and clothing was torn raggedly. Sondra sent him flying over a pile of rubbish and into a closed-off alleyway. Spike groaned and opened his eyes. Panicked at what he saw, the younger vampire scrambled to his feet. The pink glow of the false dawn loomed on the horizon. And the only thought that ran through his brain was of Angelus.
The thought of never seeing his sire again caused the stolen blood in his veins to turn to ice. The Slayer bore down on him, face bruised and battered, but still defiant and arrogant to the last. Adrenalin coursed through Spike's body and he used this final burst of energy to take his enemy down. A kick to her already weakened shins shattered her right tibia
beyond the realms of her accellerated healing capability.
Sondra fell to the ground with a muffled cry. Spike was so tempted to finish her off, but he did not have enough strength left in his body to perform the act before the sun rose and killed him. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour -- and returning home battered was better than being dust in the wind -- Spike limped off in the shadows, just one world going around in his mind.
Angelus..Angelus..Angelus..
He should have been home hours ago.. Angelus would be particularly savage seeing as how he'd promised to be earlier than his 'curfew'. The younger vampire staggered into his sire's home and headed straight for the master bedroom...
...to be confronted with a hysterical and distraught sire. Angelus gathered him up in a tight embrace, where Spike could no longer contain the fear and pain the Slayer had induced. He wept into the older vampire's chest, the terror and panic that their kind's mortal enemy had allowed to surface in him making him feel vulnerable. The real possibility that he could have lost Angelus forever brought a new wave of grief.
But before he knew it, he was undressed and lying on the bed, while Angelus did his best to make the hurt go away. How he always knew exactly what to do, Spike would never know. His sire's attempts at comfort resulted in a night of unbridled tenderness that had never been equalled.
The corners of the blond's lips turned up in memory. No matter what had happened, Spike had never been able to completely erase the memory from his mind. He could never fully quell the sensation of pleasure he got when Angelus had claimed ownership over him. To belong to him... to be at the centre of his world -- that was more addictive than niccotine.
To know Angelus' devotion was to know the true meaning of the word.
Back then, he had fought against it, not realising what he had until it was gone... Spike never realised how much his existence revolved around his sire until he thought him dust.
Over the past week, after Angel's impromptu housecall, Spike had spent most-okay *all* of his time thinking about what this meant for him. Angel would never be Angelus again. And quite frankly, Spike was glad, seeing as how the last incarnation of Angelus didn't care too much for him.
Angel was a souled vampire, with all the drive and passion of his demon, but without the niggly killing and eating humans aspect.
And now, with the implant, that's exactly what Spike was.
Well, except the part about having a soul.
Spike missed the companionship, the protection, and yes, even the love his sire offered him. The demon within him cried out to its creator in a world that had left it unable to defend itself from its prey. Ostracised by other demons because of his behaviour modification chip, Spike craved the only one who knew how he felt.
Who knew what it was like to have a caged beast inside, chanting for blood and death, and not being able to comply.
Who knew what it was like to be alone.
Spike needed Angel.
Not Angelus, *Angel*.
Spike sighed and dropped a pillow over his face. On the remote chance Angel actually even *wanted* to still have anything to do with him, could he even accept his sire's domination now after a century of being his own master? The demon answered his question.
{Yes} it answered {You were sired of Angelus, the line of Aurelias. His blood is Your blood. It cries to Us, to have Him mold us to His will. You are His Childe, and nothing short of Eternal Death will alter His claim on You. You are His now, as You always have, and shall always be}
The younger vampire exhaled a deep, shuddering breath and gripped the pillowcase reflexively.
Did Angel need, or even want him, though?
Fin
Title: Forgive, Forget, Forsake, Forfeit.
"Just *what* is going on in that thick head of yours?"
"Cordy I-"
"No, forget it. I do *not* want to know."
"It-"
"*Why* Angel? Can you explain this to me in a completely non-icky vampire way?" The leggy brunette folded her arms across her chest.
The dark-haired vampire had reluctantly made the decision to inform his coworkers of his current 'guest'. Spike was currently rifling through his bookcase in the hopes of finding some reading material containing lots of sex, violence and pictures.
As it was, his friends were taking the news in a predictable fashion. At first Wesley didn't understand what all the fuss was about, until Cordelia kindly informed the ex-Watcher of Spike's 'William the Bloody' moniker. He was currently trying to suffuse blood in his pale cheeks by downing as much of Cordelia's foully brewed coffee as possible.
And as predicted, he was getting the verbal once-over by his would-be secretary.
"*Well*?" Angel was asked sternly. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?
"Oh, I thought you were going to interrupt me again," the vampire replied.
If Cordelia's look could kill Wesley'd be running for the dustbuster.
His friend's angry expression dissolved into worry.
"I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all." Angel opened his mouth to reply but she held up a silencing hand. "I know it seems like he's helping out the old gang and all, I know that you can handle him... but I don't want to see you injured, physically or emotionally, okay?" She thought back to the last time Spike had graced LA's finest with his presence and sniffled, not only for the pain he had caused Angel, but in the memory of
their Irish companion who had still been with them at the time.
Angel was not only touched by her concern, but also remembered their mutual friend and was still saddened at his death. Words being somehow unable to console his secretary, he simply held his arms out and let her seek what little comfort there was to be had in his embrace.
"Just be careful," he heard her whisper. "I'll never forgive you if you let him torture you again." Angel chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to her hair.
"I'll be careful; I promise."
+ + + + +
Bored, bored, bored.
Spike sighed as he flopped back on Angel's small sofa, dirty boots on the upholstery. The brooding one had disappeared a while ago, presumably to tell his pet humans his one-time favourite bloodthirsty childe was having a little stay-over, killing time before he had to get back to Sunnydale.
With precious little entertainment available in his sire's apartment, Spike decided he'd like to see the vacuous little cheerleader explode, and the wanky ex-Watcher stutter incoherently.
Considerably cheered up by this thought, he began to climb the stairs, wanting an element of surprise that the elevator just couldn't offer.
It had been difficult to get out of the silence. But eventually, some (recent) common ground had been found.
Demons.
Fighting them, killing them, getting the crap beaten out of by them... you name it, they talked about it. It was as if this one topic was the only thing that kept any communication between them alive.
Spike was afraid that once the talking stopped... there would be nothing.
Nothing keeping him here. Nothing keeping him sane. Nothing keeping unliving.
It somehow seemed a more frightening concept than having Angelus missing, presumed dead for a century. At least he could mask the innermost thoughts he entertained about his sire still loving him to the bitter end with disdain and hatred.
But what if Angel -- who was as close as he was ever going to get to his true sire -- didn't really want him around anymore? If he didn't, this truth would come out when they stopped talking. The minute they ceased the almost polite 'shop talk' and baiting.. that was when the truth would eventually rear its ugly head.
Spike didn't have a good track record with the surfacing of true feelings.
Spike didn't *like* the surfacing of true feelings.
If there was one thing Angelus had impressed on him (apart from always guarding his perimeter) it was to never let *anyone* -- enemy or friend -- know your weaknesses.
If he found out now that the only reason Angel had patched him up in Sunnydale, and then here, and let him stay was out of the soul's desire to keep a watch over the demon's transgressions.. if it was revealed that the dark haired vampire was just keeping an eye on his wayward childe for some divine payback for the universe, the karmic circle, redemption and all that rubbish...
... if he found out Angel didn't *really* care...
...point him in the direction of the nearest broom handle. A wretched excuse for a vampire such as himself didn't deserve the honour of being dusted by a stake.
On second thought, maybe he didn't want to face his sire's colleagues just yet... they'd probably know about his little implant problem about now, and the blond didn't really feel like deflecting barbs from people he wouldn't have even bothered killing last year. Spike slowly backed down the stairs, opting to delay the inevitable. He sighed and went back to perusing the books.
One particular volume stood out, both from the shelf and his memory. A book of collected verse by the Irish bard Amergin. Spike crinkled his brow. This.. this was very familiar... he took it from the shelf and opened it almost reverently. The blond managed a hollow chuckle at the title page. A slight watery brown mark marred its otherwise good condition.
Yes, he *had* gotten quite the thrashing for spilling his sire's good whiskey over this most prized book...
Spike flicked through the pages slowly, allowing himself to become submerged in memory. Nights of listening to Angelus' deep timbre reciting passages from memory.. or reading longer works out from this very book... nights when there was no irksome blond vampiress demanding acknowledgment, nor a dark-haired one playing for attention in her own childlike way.
But something wasn't quite right... there was a memory buried in the blond's mind. He closed his eyes, running idle hands over the thick cover, trying to recall the instance from his brain. His eyes snapped open as he remembered.
1898
"Bloody hell, Dru, would you stop the caterwauling and help me *look*!"
Spike growled, tearing pillows off the sofa and hurling them at cabinets in frustration.
It had been once week since Drusilla had collapsed in a sobbing heap in the living room of their home of the moment, refusing to get up. Spike had tried everything to calm the vampiress, but to no avail. She hadn't eaten in days, except for meagre morsels he'd been able to force down her throat.
Spike was becoming more and more frantic. The same few thoughts kept circling around his head..
Angelus... Angelus would know what to do... Angelus would know how to fix her... Angelus would know how to make it better...
Spike had been content to be the strong one until a minion of Darla's had turned up on their doorstep with the news that not only had their sire disappeared, but he was leaving for America.
The vampire's world came crashing down.
Enraged, he vented his terrible anger on the stricken population of Zagreb. Not known for his mercy at the best of times, Spike was a demon gone mad with grief. He could attribute Drusilla's despair to something now, and her pain combined with his own made him unstoppable.
Upon returning from the blood-soaked streets, Spike had wanted to find and touch the last thing he knew his sire had held... something he knew the older vampire was fond of. The first thing that sprung to mind had been Amergin's verses.
Not finding it immediately in the bookshelf or Angelus' bedroom, Spike once again became uncontrollable, tearing at carpet, yanking drawers out and pushing bookshelves over.
"Spike?" a small voice asked. The vampire overturned a table and spun around, panting with exertion. Drusilla had stopped crying for the first time in seven days. Spike's anger-distorted features crumbled and he crouched beside the vampiress.
"Yes, ducks?"
"He's gone... Miss Edith tells me he's grown wings and flown away..." Tears from red-rimmed eyes began rolling down her cheeks once again.
"Sshh, not to worry, pet..." Spike pulled her into his lap, rocking back and forth soothingly. "I'm here to look after you,"
He knew that he wouldn't let anything happen to Dru. Spike would make Angelus proud -- wherever he was. Besides, if nothing else, she was a reminder of their sire's presence.
The older vampire rocked his sibling into a fitful sleep in his lap, amid the ruins of the room. Spike's head snapped up. For a second, he'd felt a familiar presence, but his grief was too overpowering.
For it was then and there that he was finally able to let his own tears fall; for the first and last time.
+ + +
"This book..." Spike mused, turning it over in his hands. "...went missing just... just after *he* did..."
Now that was an ugly thought. The blond vampire didn't like where these ideas were leading him.
If the book disappeared just over a century ago only to be found in Angel's basement apartment...
"That means..."
He came back to retrieve it.
*After* the curse.
The book dropped from Spike's hands.
"Son of a bitch."
Fin