Title: Sad Eyes Never Lie: Reclamations 1 - The Nature Of
Heroes
Author: BuffyWatcher
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 for this Series
Warnings: Please be aware that this Story series will/may contain some extremely
mature elements including, nudity, sexual situations, Dominate/submissive
elements, Blood-play, Slash, violence, and mature language and adult
situations. This story however is pretty mild being a suitable for most readers
and is mainly to set up the plot diversion from canon to AU
Writer’s Notes: This story contains references to the current season of Angel: The
Series as well as the occasional reference to the Buffy: The Vampire Slayers
series. Spoilers for some episodes may be contained within this story from time
to time but for the most part it takes places in an AU (Alternate Universe)
setting. For those that would like a bit of background into this series please
read on. For those that feel comfortable with the back history, please feel
free to proceed directly to the story.
The song featured in this story is Sad Eyes by Enrique Iglesias and is available in wav
format for those interested in hearing it, drop me an email and I’ll see about
sending you a copy.
Distribution: I’m not overly fussy; just let me know where it’s going so
I can visit. If you’re already archiving my work somewhere than consider that
your permission to archive this story and any of my future ones.
Feedback: Constructive comments always welcome and may be sent here: deepkori@hotmail.com
Website: Upon A Dark Moon Rising: http://www.oocities.org/stormbuffsinc/home.html
Writer Credits: Special thanks to an excellent Beta/Editor Ghost_Forge
for a first class job on this story. I just may have to adopt him as my full
time Editor/Beta.
*
Back History:
Season Finale of Buffy: TVS
Having received a mysterious gemstone pendant from Angel intended for a
“champion” to wear, Buffy makes plans to take on the forces of hell in one
grand battle. To that end she gives Spike the pendant to wear and has
The fifth (current) season of Angel:
The Series
The City of
Early on in his life as a vampire, Angel began a bitter rivalry with
fellow vampire, Spike, that ended only when Spike died a horrible death,
sacrificing himself to save the world for Buffy Summers, the woman he and Angel
both love. When Spike suddenly re-materialised
in Angel's offices, the rivalry began anew. Walking the earth as a ghost, Spike
is furious about his new incarnation, especially when he sees the power and
money now at Angel's command. Angel wants nothing more than to send Spike on to
whatever hell awaits him, but no one knows how or why Spike has returned.
During their following adventures Spike is returned to a corporeal state by
means no less enigmatic and unfathomable than the one precipitated his “reincarnation”
in the first place.
This story arc will take place mainly encompassing the first few shows
of the current Angel series as far as some of the general facts will remain
pretty much intact, however for the most part this arc will diverge from the
televised show considerably. At the beginning of this series Spike was sired by
Drusilla; who was in turn sired by Angelus (according to canon for the series)
but it was Angelus that moulded
the fledgling vampire into William the Bloody. Please proceed to the story.
*
Chapter 1
The City of Angels; a strange name to give to a city all but drowning in
the decadence of money, sex, and every other vice known to man, the man
silently observing thinks. Spike leans against the rich leather of the couch in
Angel’s office, silently observing the million twinkling lights as he smokes
his cigarette slowly. From these lofty heights the city looks almost like a crown
of stars in a sea of moonless black satin; a deceptively pretty face to hide the sins that are the lifeblood of this so
called City of
Angel looks up from his work surreptitiously;
observing the silent observer in his office. The heavy glance; so filled with
intent hadn’t escaped his notice. Nor had it escaped his attention the
countless times he has seen that exact same look before. Though he would never
admit it to another living soul; he’s secretly glad that Spike has seemingly
clawed his way back from whatever afterlife his kind are consigned to. Only a
few days after getting the news that Spike was gone; his existence sacrificed
to close the Hellmouth forever; the grapevine brought news that Drusilla
herself was gone. He wasn’t overly surprised to hear that news; having figured
that Drusilla would sense the death of her Childe and would in her own naïvely
madness follow her dark prince to his fate. The news though not unexpected was
no less devastating to hear; as it meant he was more alone than ever. None of his “family” was left and despite
their differences and the radical gulf that separated their lives he mourned
each and every one of them. In his heart of hearts however it was the loss of
Spike that struck him the hardest. As much as Angelus once shaped a young
William Masters into the unholy terror that would become Spike, so he fancied
it was due in part to his own example that Spike had died defending life rather
than revelling in its
destruction. Angelus may have created Spike but it was Angel that had saved him
in the end; or so he thought until that time so shortly passed when fate cast
Spike back into the struggle between good and evil once more.
Angel steals another furtive glance at the silent vampire standing
statue still as he smokes and observes the city so far below. He drops his eyes
back to the stack of endless reports on his desk, trying to concentrate but his
eyes are drawn time and again to the silent observer. Their reunion had been
anything but cordial he knows from Spike’s point of view; indeed from
everyone’s point of view he imagines. Only he knows the deeply dark secret he carries
locked inside him and if he has his way that’s the way it will stay. The memory
of watching Spike’s resurrection and the sickening realisation of just how painful his passing must have been, stole
all emotions from him, leaving a sickening vacuum. He knows his half-growled
choking out of Spike’s name sounded to all the others as a woodenly angry
protestation at Spike’s return. What none of them could know is how his heart
would have stopped beating; if it beat at all anymore. He knew nothing but the realisation that Spike, by whatever
kind fate was once more put on the planet to bedevil his every waking moment.
He couldn’t have been happier.
It was a sadly short-lived relief however as it seemed Spike was back
but less than whole. His heart secretly hurt for the tortured vampire as he was
consigned to being little more than smoke and mirrors. He remembers with some
shock the earnest discussion precipitated by Spike himself, asking that his
return be kept quiet. It was in that moment that he realised just how deep Spike’s feelings for Buffy did run. She was
free for the first time in her life; to HAVE a new life and he refused to be
the chain that would bind her to the old one. He found himself being strangely
distressed by that realisation
and his words had been unnecessarily cruel, as he replied it was unlikely
anyone would care he had returned.
His mind chased back to the night that they discovered that the evil
ghostly demonic force that was Pavane, was trying to consign Spike to the
bowels of hell. He remembers trying to hide his feelings behind a gruff bravado
as he revealed his own fear that escaping eternity in hell was impossible.
Spike will never know how hard it was for him to say the things he said about
them both being doomed for the lives they had taken; that no amount of good
deeds could ever truly atone for them. He remembers hiding the soul-numbing
fear as Spike vanished for the last time and he remembers the blood chilling
mercilessness that had him beating the bastard that had hurt Spike and
consigning Pavane to a fate worse than death for what he had done to Spike.
He replays to the day that the mysterious box arrived for Spike and the
ghostly existence he’d been consigned to was abruptly ended. From ghost to
flesh and blood, from powerless to every inch the master vampire. He replays
the fight he and Spike had over the bogus chalice and the realisation that deep inside him there
was a secret pride in the strength Spike exhibited; even if it was turned
against him. He had hidden the true reason he was determined he would be the
one to drink from the Chalice and it had nothing to do with saving the world he
would later admit to himself. It had everything to do with not wanting to risk
Spike’s life on the unknown; there was no way to know what the Chalice would
actually do to the one that drank from it. He told himself his motives were honourable and a necessity but in
truth it was selfish though all the same a necessity. As long as Spike was
around; existing somewhere in the world he wasn’t alone anymore. There would
always be someone that shared much of his ever lengthening history; a
compatriot that could understand on some level; that while they may be polar
opposites; that they were also connected….
The strident ringing of the phone jolts him from his reveries of the
past few months and he stifles a curse as he picks up the phone. “Angel.” He
says tersely; irritation clearly adding an edge to his voice. His knuckles go
white as he grips the phone and he grimaces as he feels the plastic of the
receiver start to crack under the pressure and he forces his hand to relax. “I
see. Give me ten minutes then bring them to my office.” Angel hangs up the
phone slowly; as though it were made of fine china. Spike catches the motion
out of the corner of his eye and stands, gathering his duster around him and
prepares to leave the office. He knows the routine well enough by now to know
that he’ll be filled in on anything of importance should his assistance be
required and until then to be seen and not heard is the rule of the day but
better still to be neither seen nor heard. “Spike wait.” Angel says softly;
standing and walking around his desk. “It’s Giles, Buffy, and Dawn; seems
they’re back from Europe and have a lay over in LA for the evening so thought
they’d drop by.” He locks his eyes on Spike’s back; seeing the stiffening of
his muscles even from a distance. “Perhaps I should warn them before they see
you? If you could give us a few minutes then come back….” Spike doesn’t turn
around, merely nods silently; walks from the room and up the stairs to the
large office that has been converted to an apartment of sorts for him. Angel
sighs as he prepares himself for a reunion that he had frankly expected to
never take place.
In all too short a time he hears the sound of the elevator and moves out
of his office and into the airy central atrium to await their arrival. He
spares a glance up the stairs to where he knows Spike can hear them approaching
and he stifles the impulse to run up the stairs and tell him to hide; that
he’ll get rid of them and nothing will have to change. It’s a fleeting impulse
and he laughs at himself for the mad impulse to protect Spike of all people.
He’s glad the offices are pretty much deserted at this time of the night,
leaving just himself and his companions alone for the most part.
The elevator opens to admit a trio that walks out of the elevator
proceeded by one of the stiffly attired night watchmen. As soon as they spy
them he’s got an armful of Buffy and Dawn, both talking a mile a minute and
he’s on the receiving end of a stiffly proper pat on the shoulder from a
bemused looking Giles. The night watchman leaves at Angel’s quiet nod of
permission as he steers the trio into his glass walled office. “How was
“Uhm fine, just fine.” Giles says absentmindedly as Buffy and Dawn
launch into a new verbal attack about the joys of
Angel leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers under his jaw and
lets the cacophony of noise wash over him and through him. He’s hearing every
word and that’s truly quite a fit with both Buffy and Dawn in full chatter
mode. Truth be told he’s become rather use to the quiet of this time of the
night, when Spike’s characteristic restlessness seems stilled and they actually
managed a restful evening fighting little more than an endless mountain of
paperwork. His silence however doesn’t go unnoticed and soon the chatter dies
down to the occasional comment. He rises in that silence and crosses to the
wall and trips a hidden switch to reveal a state of the art safe which he opens
with easy efficiency and carefully removes a velvet bag before he closes it
once more. He opens the bag and carefully shakes the contents out into his palm
and gently places it on the desk, keeping his hand over it for several moments.
With his other hand he punches in an intercom code and waits to hear the soft
tone that tells him the receiver has been activated on the other end. “Could I
get something to drink please?” He says quietly. “Can I have anything brought
for you?” Angel asks only to be met with a trio of shaking heads.
“Just a mug of blood for me please.” He says quietly; knowing that Spike has understood his true meaning
loud and clear.
He sits down in his chair letting his hand fall away from the object he
placed on the desk. The curious trio lean forward to see what it could be and
as Buffy leaps to her feet shaking her head and quivering he knows she has recognised the pendant. “Where… where
did that come from?” Her voice is gruff as her hand rises as though to touch it
but she pulls back and falls back into her chair; her eyes shining and glassy
bright with a shimmer of tears.
“It arrived in the mail one day with no return address. You didn’t send
it then?” He asks quietly, hoping against hope that in someway at least one
mystery will be resolved regarding Spike’s miraculous return. The hope dies in
the identical shaking of three heads. Dawn is openly crying and even Giles
looks moderately glassy eyed as he does his best to comfort Dawn.
“Who would send that back here now; how would they even know where to
send it TO in the first place? I don’t understand why someone would… or even
how someone would be able to find that. There… there was nothing left but a big
smoking crater.” A tear finally leaks from Buffy’s eye and she dashes it away
with a violent sweep of her hand. Angel wonders if Buffy’s feelings for Spike
were deeper than she realised in
the wake of his loss and he feels a brief flare of jealousy stirring inside his
stomach.
“That is a mystery none of us have been able to solve and in truth it
has become a minor concern when weighed against what else has been returned
along with it.” Angel says quietly as his sharp ears hear the almost
supernaturally soft footfalls approaching the stairway down to the main level.
The sharply coppery smell of blood wafts out to tickle his nose and he has to
shake his head over how contrary Spike can be at times. His eyes turn to look
out the glass partition as the first black boot appears and then the second.
The trio turns to follow his rapt gaze and freeze as black-jeaned legs framed
in butter soft black leather slowly walk down the stairs.
Angel rises and crosses to the
entrance of his office to the litany of,
“Oh my gosh …bloody hell that can’t be… he’s DEAD.” As
the trio behind him begins to mutter like some obscenely bizarre chorus; he
quietly waits for Spike.
Spike forces himself to relax and draws an air of practiced calm over
him like a shield. He had many years to perfect the illusion of being
irreverently bratty and invincible; it was a necessary lesson to learn when
being reared as a fledgling by Angelus; one to whom weakness had all the appeal
of a dinner bell.
He’s barely handed the mug to Angel with a pithy comment about not being
his handmaiden; that he’s sure they all expected; when he’s got an armful of a
crying Dawn. Spike tenderly cradles the young women falling to one knee and
stroking her hair as she cries against his chest. Angel watches in frank
amazement as one of the deadliest vampires to ever walk the planet tenderly
comforts the young human woman. “Shhhh, Lil Bit; shhhh, it’s alright.” Spike
holds Dawn tightly; careful to rein in his inhuman strength; as she cries and
clings to him.
“Oh I say.” Seems to be all the shocked Giles can say over and over
again in an endless mantra. Buffy just stares mutely at the vision of her
younger sister being comforted by the vampire she last saw dying to save the
world.
Dawn clings to Spike pressing her face into Spike’s chest repeating her
own mantra. “It is you, it is you.” There is not a doubt in her mind that
however it has come to be this is indeed the man that spent those many months
looking after her before Buffy’s own miraculous return. Her tears give way to
happy laughter as she hears the soft almost purring sound of comfort deep in
Spike’s chest as he holds her close and strokes her hair. It became a familiar
and even a necessary sound during her mourning for Buffy and hardly a night
went by when it wasn’t the soundtrack of comfort that lulled her to sleep. She
has heard and even seen that Spike is hardly the poster child for sweetness and
light; he may have at one time been one of the most ruthless vampires on the
planet but to her he has always been a protective pseudo big brother. She cried
often in those days mourning his loss, even as her laughter now celebrates his
return. She looks up from his chest as he helps her to her feet, tenderly
cleaning away the tracings of the tears from her cheek and presses a soft kiss
to her forehead. Dawn looks over at Buffy and hurries over to her stricken
sister as Spike once more sinks down to one knee.
Angel steps forward smoothly into the gap laying a heavy hand on Spike’s
shoulder as they both wait to see what Buffy is going to do. Angel wonders if
he truly knows his one time protégé at all in the light of the astonishing
tenderness he displayed towards Dawn. His hand tightens in empathy on Spike’s
shoulder and is astonished to feel the subtle resistance as Spike presses
against his hand. Angel’s eyes close as the memory of Angelus’ many nights with
Spike standing in just such a way. The subtleties of vampire interaction are
complex but never more so than it is between a Sire and Childe. He
sighs to realise that while
Drusilla may have sired Spike she had never been his true Sire, that job was assumed by Angelus.
No Spike was the Childe of
Angelus, created and honed to compliment his dark Sire in every way. Angelus was a cruel Sire to be sure but a proud one as his Childe; even in his defiance became his finest masterpiece of
destruction.
Spike was a force of nature, as wild and destructive as a raging forest
fire, a symphony of agony that Angelus revelled
in even as he forced Spike into the submissive role as his Favoured Childe. While the sheer cruelty and horror of how that was
accomplished has long haunted him he knows that it was a necessary evil; much
as the thought makes him nauseous it’s also one he cannot deny had to happen.
Angel looks down at Spike, to
where his hand grips his shoulder so tightly it is likely a human’s bones would
have been crushed and he knows the truth. Spike’s sheer destructive potential
would even now be raging out of control were it not for those subtle silken
chains; that even now subliminally moderate his behaviour; that Angelus cruelly cut into him. He knows that it is
likely that Spike is even unaware that the old conditioning to some extent
remains, as he has been able to apply it in subtle ways to maintain some
control over his Childe to this
very day.
He feels the darkness inside him stir, knowing the deep, darkly
forbidden pleasures to be found with renewing the blood bond between Sire and
Childe and he pushes it away violently; stepping away abruptly dropping his
hand from Spike’s shoulder. Again his pride is almost tangible as Spike remains
stoically strong, every inch the passionate master vampire he was raised to be.
Movement catches his eye and he turns his head to see that Buffy has woodenly
lurched to her feet.
Buffy stares frozen at the sight of Spike that swims before her eyes.
She knows every angle and dip of that beautiful face. She almost laughs at the
idea that a man can be beautiful but in Spike’s case that is exactly what he
is; a vision of almost painfully exquisite masculine beauty. The shock of
platinum blond hair that has never been seen in nature, cropped close to his
head on the sides and back; with the top being just a few inches longer
undulating in soft waves that no amount of gel seems to tame. Those darker
brows that arch with almost feminine perfection over those glacial blue eyes
that would seem to stare right through to her core; but somehow a flame hotter
than any sun burns in the depths of those icy eyes. Sculpted cheekbones that
could have only been the work of some pure artistry of nature; that add an
inhuman handsomeness to his features. She drowned in the liquid icy fire of
those eyes; has felt the strength in that deceptively slender form that in
reality is all muscle and steel-corded strength.
She has felt the tender trap that is his sensuous mouth, with its lower
lip curled full and soft yet somehow still fitting for his masculine yet almost
feline beauty. That is what Spike seems to have been fashioned for; for love
and lust and fantasies untold; he is every deep, dark, wet dreams she has ever
had made manifest. For a time she was the focus of this rare creature’s very
existence she knows; even now feels his presence wrapping around her in a
carnal embrace. She knows the siren call of that wild, untamed aura that clings
to him tighter than a barnacle to a rock that defies the pounding of the
strongest storm tossed waves. “Spike.” She says with
absolute authority; it is indeed unmistakably Spike that by whatever miracle
kneels like a black knight only feet away. Her breath catches in her chest as
he rises smoothly to his feet, with the panther like grace that is his alone,
and tosses his roguish black duster aside so that it flares like gigantic black
wings around him.
Before the leather of his duster settles she is in his arms and the
leather closes around her even as his arms pull her into him. She buries her
face against his neck and breathes deeply, pulling that remembered scent of
vanilla and cinnamon and the elusive essence that is just Spike himself deep
into her lungs. She lifts her head and cups his beautiful face between her
hands and gently pulls his mouth to hers. The kiss only lasts for seconds and
then she is stepping away. “It’s good to see you.” She says softly; clinging to
him; unable to bring her arms to release him. “What happened?” They all listen
intently as Spike quietly recounts what has happened since his return. “Why
didn’t you come back to us Spike? We all thought you were dead.” Buffy says
quietly. She watches as Spike slowly pulls away from her; turning on his heel
to face away from her.
“I am dead Pet. I have been for centuries and your place isn’t with the
dead any longer. It’s with the living.” With those quiet words Spike slowly
walks out of Angel’s office and ascends the stairway once more. In that moment
every person knows just how deep his feelings for Buffy truly were and how
honest. Demon aside; Spike has always been capable of love on a level few
people will ever know and still less could understand. He loves when he loves;
as honest in his hatred as he is with his love; he has always been unique.
Angel watches until he can know longer see Spike; shocked by what three
small sentences reveal about the enigmatic man. He turns to see Giles
corralling Buffy and Dawn and gently steering them from the room. As they reach
him Buffy pauses and placing a finger under his jaw turns his face to hers;
pressing a twin of the kiss Spike received to his own lips. “Take care of each
other Angel.” She says softly before catching up with Giles and Dawn at the
elevator to return to the land of the living.
He finds his steps carrying him out of his office and up the stairs to
knock softly on a heavy wooden door that swings open at the soft touch. Spike
is standing looking out the window in much the same way he had been in his
office earlier. “They’ve gone then.” He says gruffly; it’s not a question.
Angel slips into the room and looks around and silently corrects his
first impression. It may have a bed and a small couch but nothing will make
this room any less than the office it was before it was converted. Spike has
never voiced any complaints about his accommodations so he had never actually
found the time to stop in and have a look at what the maintenance people had
come up with.
“That was a hard thing you did; but it was the right thing to do too.”
He says quietly as he comes up behind Spike and replaces his hand on his
shoulder. “You should have told me. That this room was so…Spartan I mean. With
the resources of a company this large I’m sure we can come up with something
better than … this.” He says looking around at the dismally impersonal room.
Spike merely shrugs.
“What does it matter? I’ve spent quite a few years in places that make
this look like a palace. It’s definitely an improvement over being …whatever I
was before. Dead just seems to be an inadequate word since I was already dead. His
laugh holds little actual mirth but it’s something at least. Angel tightens his
grip briefly and lets his hand fall from Spike’s shoulder. He flops on the couch
and lets his head flop back boneless on the back of the cushion and grimaces;
even the couch is uncomfortably lumpy. He hears the whispery sounds of Spike
moving around the sterile pen that serves him as a home; as though oblivious to
the company sharing his meagre
space.
Angel finds the sounds soothing and almost finds that he’s drifting off
to their soundtrack. The softly seductive sound of leather slipping off silken
skin, draws his attention with all the strength of a shout and letting his
eyelids droop to shield his eyes he watches as Spike slips his ubiquitous
leather duster off before carefully laying it over the back of a chair. His
lips almost twitch at the care Spike has always shown for the single piece of
attire but the smile is washed from his face as Spike catches the edge of his
back t-shirt and strips it over his head with a single smooth motion; letting
it fall with an utter lack of concern to the floor. Angel forces his eyes to
close tightly but he doesn’t need them to have the image of Spike half
undressed stamped indelibly into his mind.
He knows that many people would at first glance write Spike off as being
physically weak; as his form is built more along the slender whipcord lines of
a gymnast or a swimmer rather than that of one of the world’s deadliest master
vampires. It’s an all too common mistake and unfortunately for those that trust
their initial impressions it proves to also be a fatal mistake. Whatever Spike
may lack in physical stature it is compensated by an unholy boneless agility
and a speed that would rival any cheetah in a full run. Where most vampires
turn their supernatural strength to merely tearing into their opponent, Spike
is all fluid grace and as deadly as quicksilver. At times it’s almost poetic
watching him fight…
The thought is frozen in his mind as he hears the soft metallic clink of
a jeans zipper and he finds himself drawing in an unnecessary breath that he
all too quickly expends out in a snarling growl as the clink becomes a
clanging.
He is out the door in a split second and he knows Spike is right at his
heels … or not; as he easily sprints past him with a speed that comes easily to
him. He clears the high front of the security with a single agile leap,
twisting with an easy agility to land facing the computer screens as his duster
settles around him like black wings. Before he’s even completely landed his
fingers are flying over the keyboard checking on their status as the others
converge from seemingly all over the building. “Twelve on the roof, six in the
stairwell, and looks like four more coming down in the west elevator.” He
reports tersely, his fingers flying over the keyboard with unnatural speed.
“The west elevator is on security lockdown between the helipad and the
Penthouse. They should be contained. I’m activating the internal security
protocols, now.” A new claxon alarm sounds throughout the building as heavy
metal shutters activate to close off windows and vital access points. Angel
just leans on the desk and watches in amazement as Spike; looking every inch
the strong and competent leader he is; effectively limits the movements of the
shadowy contingent of their bad guys of the week.
“Gunn, Wes, armoury;
you’ll handle the 6 coming down the stairwell if they manage to get through the
doors. Angel and I will handle the wankers on the roof. Fred you man the
cameras and you’ll be our eyes and ears. MOVE.” Spike
barks galvanising them into
action as he vaults back over the desk and Fred hurries to take his place as he
heads at a dead run for the other stairwell up to the roof.
Angel follows Spike; setting aside his questions for another time. The
time to talk is over; it’s time to fight now! Fred is obviously doing her job
as the heavy metal door blocking the stair well access rises just as Spike
leaps and kicks the door open before bounding up the stairs with a panther like
roar. Angel almost laughs out loud as he pounds up the staircase after the
younger vampire; wondering if Spike realised
he’d roared a vampire territorial call. Laughing in sheer happiness that Spike
feels he’s defending his territory Angel cries out his own vocal ownership and
finds his blood supercharged as the ancient ritual taps into his primal
instincts as a predator.
Spike hits the door to the roof with devastating violence, taking in the
situation within milliseconds as he easily clears the eight foot leap to drag
down the 2 nearest black garbed thugs. He tosses them as easily as twigs into
the largest group of comrades bowling the group over as Angel flashes past him
diving into the pile.
Spike runs down the stragglers and tosses them into the main pile as
Angel decimates them with devastating kicks and punches. The fight isn’t an
easy one by any means; whomever these thugs are they’ve been well trained.
However they haven’t been trained enough as the fight quickly proves to be all
too one sided and the thugs have apparently had enough as they start to dive
for the edge of the building. Glancing at Spike and seeing he’s in no need of
assistance, Angel runs to the edge of the building and can’t believe his eyes
as he sees the thugs have opened base jumping parachutes and are even now
landing and cramming into several plain black vans. As he is watching Angel is
caught in the back and lifted off his feet as the thug that Spike was fighting
barrels by him and they both tumble over the edge.
Angel’s shocked cry is cut short as he feels a steel-corded hand clamp
around his ankle, keeping him from falling; as he hears a painful groan and the
sound similar to the snapping of a tree branch from above him. Angel doesn’t
waste time watching the fate of the thug as he carefully turns around and
catches hold of the slender ledge that thankfully surrounds the helipad and is
able to right himself and scramble back onto the roof.
As he tumbles beside Spike; safely back on terra firma his ankle is
released; as Spike presses a palm to his ribcage with a silent snarl that
doesn’t bode well. Angel stares as he realises
that Spike didn’t have time to grab his t-shirt when the alarm sounded and just
tossed his duster over his bare chest. Knowing there will be time to take stock
of injuries later Angel bounds to his feet and helping Spike to his; the pair
race back down the stairs.
They burst out of the stairwell and into the executive floor looking; no
pun intended; like a pair of avenging angels. To their relief Gunn, Wes, and
Fred all look fairly intact with no real serious injuries evident. Fred catches
sight of them and hurries over throwing her arms around Spike who catches her up
against him by reflex; only to hurriedly set her down and press his palm to his
ribcage.
The exchange doesn’t go unnoticed and Fred grabs Spike’s hand and starts
marching him to her lab; ordering the others to drag their sorry rears along so
she can check them all over. Fortunately most of the injuries are just
superficial; a little iodine and a Band-Aid here or there suffice to take care
of most of them.
Angel hops off the Aluminium
lab table and settles in to watch Fred try and bully Spike up onto the table to
take his place as the last of the ones to be ministered to. “Hop up Spike and
take the coat off.” Fred says, patting the high table. As he predicted Spike
starts shaking his head before she has even finished her sentence. “A feed or
two and I’ll be right as rain, Sunshine. They’re only cracked and not broken.”
Spike softens the refusal with a tender stroke on her cheek with the back of
his fingers. Angel doesn’t miss the stiffening of Wesley’s shoulders as Fred
leans into the slight caress and is about to intercede when it seems Fred knows
just how to handle Spike.
“I’d like to make sure, please Spike. You know I’ll fret and worry if I
don’t.” Fred taps the table again and to his surprise Spike nods tersely and
gingerly climbs up so as not to jar his ribs. Angel bites back a growl as Fred
runs her hands carefully up Spike’s chest, catching the duster and pushing it
back off his shoulder; baring his chest with an alarmed hiss of breath. Spike’s
chest is already showing the signs of massive bruising and painful swelling and
he hisses softly as Fred’s hands explore some of the more tender areas.
Angel bites back a hiss of his own as it seems to him that Fred is
enjoying running her hands over Spike just a little too much; even as he’s
unable to turn away and stop watching the tender scene. He glances at Gunn and
Wes; he isn’t too surprised to see that they seem equally transfixed as he
turns his attention back to Spike and Fred. He must admit that most of the time
it truly escapes him just how beautiful Spike truly is; how perfectly formed he
is, the small scars and imperfections from a life well lived only serving to
frame that perfection. He follows Fred’s hands scowling over the bruises
marking Spike’s fair skin; bruises received saving him. “Well I think you’re
probably right about the ribs not being broken but we should still brace your
ribs until they’ve healed completely.” Fred says concerned. Angel notices that
she is still stroking the skin of Spike’s chest with subtle movements of her fingertips
and he wonders if she even realises
what she’s doing; even as he knows she likely doesn’t realise at all. Spike’s effect on people is one of slow seductions
of their senses, like hearing music from far off that slowly gets louder and
louder until it fills you; becomes all that you can hear as it sinks into you
and finds a home inside your darkest dreams.
He knows it’s a subconscious and involuntary response and it’s only
magnified by the fact that Spike has no where to channel his passions. Harmony;
while a pleasant enough diversion isn’t nearly enough to keep and hold Spike’s
interest for long and he understandably has shown little interest once he was
past that initial stage.
Angel is brought out of his reverie as Spike catches Fred’s hands and
tenderly pushes them away as he slips off the table; pulling up his duster.
“I’ve broken more ribs than I can even remember Sunshine, I’ll be fine in no
time.” Spike walks from the room with his duster flaring out behind him like a
cape. Angel turns back from watching him leave to see his eyes aren’t the only
ones that seemed caught up in his departure.
“What happened anyway?” Gunn says; shaking his head after a moment as
though suddenly regaining his senses.
“I was thrown off the roof. He caught me.” Angel says shortly. He notes
the bandage clasped loosely in Fred’s hand and gently removes it; bring her out
of whatever stupor she was in.
“He should really have those ribs bound until they heal.” She says
distractedly; rubbing her hands together absent-mindedly.
“I’ll take care of it.” He says as he follows Spike.
His scent is easy to track; being as familiar as his own and he finds
himself standing outside his door once more knocking softly. “Come in Angel.”
He hears faintly and he pushes the door inward and closes it after him with a
soft click and freezes. Spike has removed his coat and is sitting on his bed
with his back against the wall wearing only the tight black jeans he’s always favoured; the top button of his jeans
are undone and his knee is bent and he’s resting his forearm on it holding
a lit cigarette. As he’s watching that
graceful arm delivers the cigarette to a waiting mouth for a long slow drag and
a leisurely exhale before settling back down on his knee with an easy grace.
“Did you want something, Mate?” Spike asks softly; his eyes tracing the
curling patterns of smoke in the dark room.
“To thank you for what you did up there.” Angel says; stepping closer.
“And for this; Fred really thinks it would be best if your ribs were bandaged
until you can heal completely and I agree.” He holds up the bandage and looks
into Spike’s eyes; willing his compliance silently and he receives it as Spike
rolls gracefully to the edge of the bed, putting his cigarette out.
“Alright, Mate; it’s not worth upsetting the poor girl so make with the
bandages if it will make her feel better.” Spike sighs; resigned to his status
as an utterly toothless wonder of a vampire to be manipulated by sweet young
human girl.
“I’m not sure she’d appreciate being called a girl Spike.” Angel says
quietly as he kneels in front of Spike; running his own hands over the injuries
as gently as possible. Satisfied that Spike was correct in his estimation that
his ribs were only cracked and not broken he carefully begins wrapping the
bandage around his ribs.
“She is a girl to me, Angel. Then again Giles seems to be little more
than a boy to me either.” Spike says quietly; the humour in his voice is fleeting but there.
“You care about her don’t you?” Angel keeps his head lowered; feigning
concentration on his task; however as often as he’s had to patch Spike up in
the past he could do it just as easily with his eyes closed.
Spike glances down and says. “I assume you mean Fred? She’s hard not to
like really; she was the only one that seemed to care what was happening to me
when I first got here. And about the only one that seems to have accepted me,
so sure I consider her a friend.” He says with a nonchalant shrug. “I think it
may be time however that I left. It’s a big world out there; though it seems to
be getting smaller every day and I need to find where I belong in it.” Spike
doesn’t notice as Angel’s hands momentarily fumble with the bandages and he
just keeps talking. “Buffy and Dawn don’t need me to look after them any longer
and best for them to live their lives like normal girls now that they can.
Maybe one day they can forget that monsters are all too real and be happy.”
“That was very noble; what you did; letting her go.” Angel says quietly;
as he secures the bandage.
“She was never mine to keep Angelus. Her heart only has room for one man
of the demonic variety and we both know it’s not me. I was just pitch hitting
for a while. Thanks, Mate; that does feel a bit better.” Spike says running his
hand lightly over the bandages as Angel rises to sit on the bed beside him. “I
admit I just may miss Dawn more than Buffy however. It was nice to be needed
for a while.” He admits haltingly. “Reminded me…of old
times.”
“Why DID you stay Spike? Why did you DIE for them?” Angel can’t keep the
anger from shading his voice with a gruff edge.
Spike leans forward and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the small
table beside the bed and lights one, considering how to answer that question.
“I told myself that I was protecting Buffy, Dawn, everyone and maybe I; even
once; just wanted to know what it felt like; to be a hero and not the dragon
being slain to bring about the big, happy, shiny ending. I always was good at
not examining my motives too closely wasn’t I?” He continues as Angel
reluctantly nods and fights back a smile. “I guess I did it because I wanted to
be more than I was.” Spike rises and walks to the window, his voice low and
soft and dreamy.
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above:
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love:
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of
breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this
death.
His voice trails off to silence as he takes in the moonless night. Angel
rises and joins him at the window. “I was always fond of that poem. I wouldn’t
have thought that William
Spike thinks about the question briefly. “Enough to
keep me from having to look in here too often.” He says simply; tapping
his fingertips against his temple and taking another drag of his cigarette.
Angel contemplates Spike briefly; wondering when he grew up.
Part of him knows and recognises
Spike as an equal, a Master Vampire with no little reputation of his own; but
there is part of him, locked deep inside that knows regardless of what he is,
there was a time that he yielded all that he was to sit at the side of his dark
Master, his cruelly angelic Sire. Angel forces those
memories away, with a disgust at the very thought of how he once was.
“You should feed then get some rest if you want those ribs to heal any
time soon.” Angel says quietly. “Come with me.” He puts a hand on Spike’s
shoulder and deftly steers him out of the room, snagging his duster as he
passes by it. Spike wonders what lunacy has invaded Angel this time but finds
he’s trailing the older vampire down the stairs, slipping into his jacket as
it’s tossed to him. “That room is horrible; you should have said something.
There are three bedrooms in the penthouse, pick one and I’ll have your things
moved in the morning.” Angel says implacably as he jabs his finger into the
elevator button impatiently. Spike is stunned that he would offer to share his
precious “space” with him. “By the way…how did you know how
to do all that stuff?” Angel asks motioning towards the nearby security
desk.
“I was bored so I took to watching the security guys.” Spike says with a
shrug. “I figured it could come in handy since you started sending everyone
home nights; so they’d stop getting on your nerves.” Spike breathes in a soft
plume of cigarette smoke. Angel’s shoulder stiffen for a heart beat and then
he’s laughing and after a moment so is Spike; as the elevator doors open and
they step inside and they close after them.
Angel unlocks the door and motions for Spike to enter ahead of him and
then follows him in. “Why don’t you go ahead and pick a room and I’ll make us
something to eat.” Angel says quietly; nodding with satisfaction as Spike moves
to do as he suggested.
Spike remembers the layout of the penthouse vaguely and remembers
roughly where Angel’s room is so he heads down the other hallways looking for
the other three bedrooms. He finds one opposite Angel’s own suite on the
opposite side of the building, looking out towards the hills and another
smaller room just a few doors down but can’t seem to find the third. It finally
occurs to him that Angel must have accidentally been counting his own suite.
After a minute or two he decides
to take the Suite opposite Angel’s own to give them a measure of privacy; not
wanting to intrude more than necessary while he considers his options. Money
isn’t a problem thanks to some investments he was lucky to make at the right
time. He has to laugh at what would happen to his reputation if it ever became
known that he has quite the healthy stock portfolio and an innate affinity for
patterns and numbers that lends itself naturally to brokering said portfolio on
his own.
He takes a few minutes to explore the room; pleased to find that whoever
designed it has thoughtfully provided a small kitchenette with a sink,
refrigerator, and a state of the art microwave/convection oven as well as a
bathroom. He realises that it
was likely intended for a
The sweetly coppery tangy scent of warmed blood reaches him just as a
soft tap brings his head around to see Angel lounging in the doorway holding
two mugs. He waves Angel in as he slips his jacket off and carefully folds it
over the back of a chair. Angel hands him a mug before taking a sip of his own.
“Nice choice, I almost chose this one myself when I moved in here.” He says; as
he quietly takes a seat on the couch facing the large picture windows. Spike
takes a grateful sip from his own mug as he follows curling up in a huge,
plump, overstuffed chair set at a right angle to where Angel is seated. Spike
licks his lips before taking another sip; savouring the warmth. Whatever else could be said against Harmony,
she sure does mix a mean vampire cocktail.
“I appreciate the offer of the room, Mate. Thank you and I’ll try to
stay out of your hair.” He says quietly. “Been thinking about maybe even
looking for a job. In a city this size there’s sure to be quite a few
nightshift jobs available that I’m suited for.” He says hesitantly. He
grimaces; knowing what’s coming and Angel doesn’t disappoint him for long as he
laughs so hard he almost drops his mug, sloshing the contents over the rim and
onto his hand. The laughter dies abruptly; as Spike’s hand dashes out
rattlesnake quick to catch the errant drops before they can drip from Angel’s
hand cleaning them off his hand with a cat delicate flick of his tongue.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d ever be the type to find gainful
employment, Spike.” Angel says flatly; trying to get over the tingles caused by
watching Spike lick the drops of blood off his fingertips.
“You may have known the man I was Angel but never presume that you know
the man that I am now.” Spike says; the steel in his voice can be clearly
heard. He leans forward and set the mug down with a soft click and stands.
Before Angel realises what’s
happening Spike’s striding from the room, sweeping his duster around him as he
goes. It’s the sound of the elevator doors opening and closing that brings him
to his senses and sends him cursing after Spike. By the time he’s able to
recall the elevator there’s no sign of Spike in the building. Angel is fuming
in the elevator ride back up to the Penthouse, cursing and clenching and
unclenching his hands; in an effort to avoid hitting something.
The first move he makes is to call the security desk and inform them
that Spike is to be escorted to him immediately upon returning to the building.
It’s only an hour until dawn breaks so surely he’ll have to return by then.
The sun rises and there’s no sign of Spike; nor the six months of
sunrises following it.
*
Chapter 2
A limo cruises by a trendy dance club in an upscale part of town;
slowing so the dark garbed occupant can survey the scene with a curious glint
in his dark eyes. With a nod to the driver the limo is smoothly pulled over and
a smartly attired chauffeur opens the doors to let a curious quintet alight
from the interior. Dressed to the nines the quintet are the epitome of LA
nightlife and even among the city of a thousand glittering stars they will
never be overlooked. At a nod from Angel, Lorne moves through the crowd smoothly
and within moments they are ushered through the crowd and straight into the
club.
Angel looks around and is surprised to see that the dance club is
actually tastefully done with a curious mixture of old world tangibility and
intangible touch of the dreams and fantasies of the new age. The bar is
actually set up to resemble an old fashioned Irish pub, full of warm which
woods and highly polished brass. The dance area rather than being flashy and
overly bright with garish neon is romantically lit with an amazing inlaid wood
floor. The lighting overall is subdued and casual. Despite the curious
old-fashioned theme and the lateness of the hour; nearly every available space
seems to be occupied; yet not so much though that the atmosphere is stiflingly crowded.
However the club is not what Angel has come here to find. He scans the
interior; his vampiric senses easily piercing through the sea of humanity and
the endless multitudes of scents to lock in on a familiar faint scent. He
strides through the crowd as straight as an arrow; his friends falling in
behind him with natural ease.
They pass through to the back of the club. Angel sniffs lightly and
turns into a side doorway; through into a short open passageway; and through
that into a small lounge that seems to be predominately couches and candles
with a small bar at the far end. Nearly every couch and table has someone
laying claim to it and mostly female someone’s Angel notices. The dance music
from the club is muted here and the music of a small band provides the
soundtrack for the small lounge. The light is subdued here with the only
non-candlelight illumination coming from soft wattage light bulbs flanking a
small stage and the small bar. Angel stops in his tracks as his eyes absorb the
sight of the man that has managed to elude the combined resources of one of the
largest law firms in the country for almost half a year.
If it hadn’t have been for a
contact of Lorne’s mentioning she’d visited a small club in a quiet part of
town; one that just happened to boast one of the most handsome men she’d ever
seen in her life; they’d probably still be looking for Spike. In and of itself
the woman’s comments may not have risen to many suspicions in a town where
beauty is traded on every corner as easily as secrets and lies in other towns.
The woman’s dreamy poetic dissertation on how any man’s eyes could be so blue
and burn all at the same time had Lorne running to Angel’s office in short
time.
Spike is seated on the stage along with a keyboard player and a drummer,
strumming a guitar softly; with an easy skill; and looking right into Angel’s
eyes, with a deferential nod. Angel scowls at that slight gesture of
recognition; Spike could well be greeting some casual acquaintance rather than
a man he’s known for most of his 128 years. Angel gestures to the bar, one of
the few places not overflowing with humanity; that will allow them to sit
together. Wesley gallantly helps Fred up onto one of the plump cushioned stools
and takes another for himself as Angel, Lorne, and Gunn take the last three
empty seats.
The bartender walks over and asks for their orders, in a low voice so as
not to intrude in the quiet atmosphere and the music. Angel orders a whiskey
distractedly, not turning around; his eyes are locked on Spike. He’s not going
to disappear on him this time. As the bartender returns with their drinks Angel
takes the chance to ask a question. “Has the blond guitar player been playing
here long?” He says quietly turning just long enough to pick up his glass;
before returning his eagle sharp gaze back to his quarry. “Not that long, a few
months. Business has sure picked up though since he started playing here.” The
bartender returns in a quiet voice. “He’s a real popular attraction.” The man
chuckles quietly and returns to his work.
Angel watches Spike playing the guitar and remembers the nights he used
to play for him, Drusilla, and Darla; he’s lost none of his talent. He is
wearing a simple t-shirt and black leather jeans with softly polished black
leather boots; and he’s never looked better to Angel’s eyes. Angel stifles a
smile at the thought that perhaps there was a time or a hundred that he looked
equally good if not better. As the song ends with a practiced flurry of his
fingertips; a young woman calls from the mesmerised crowd. “Sing Spike; please?” Her request is soon echoed
by a chorus of cajoling voices and Angel catches his breath; it’s been over a
century since he’s been treated to that particular pleasure.
Angel can almost feel the weight of Spike’s eyes as they slowly brush
his form, from shoes to hair in a slow pass. “Any requests then, Cutie?” Spike
asks gently; singling out the young woman that asked him to sing with ease.
“Could we hear Sad Eyes?” She asks hopefully and Spike smiles and shakes his head
over some private joke. “Sad eyes, gentlemen if you please as a treat for the
lovely ladies here this evening.” Spike’s lips turn up at one corner; in his
characteristic sexy pout that no doubt every person in the room thinks is aimed
directly at them. Spike adjusts the microphone up a tad and strums it softly as
his band mates pick up the tune. Spike lets his eyes slip closed as he loses
himself in the slow song.
Every day here you come walking
I hold my tongue, I don't do much
talking
You say you're happy and you're
doin' fine
Well go ahead, baby, I got plenty of
time
Because sad eyes never lie
Because sad eyes never lie
Spike sways lightly as his clear husky voice dances inside the words of
the slow song; as images of times long past and far from these shores replay
for him.
Lorne’s forehead creases briefly as he realizes that he’s unable to
“read” Spike but it is a minor realization that is soon pushed aside in favour
of enjoying a pretty song being sung by an even prettier voice.
Well for awhile I've been watching
you steady
Ain't gonna move 'til you're good
and ready
You show up and then you’re shying
away
But I know pretty soon you'll be
walkin' this way
Because sad eyes never lie
Because sad eyes never lie
Angel stares at Spike; lost in another time from long ago; far from
these shores; in another land; carried by the sensual crooning of a voice that
still haunts his occasional dream.
Baby don't you know I don't care
Don't you know that I've been there?
Well if something in the air feels a
little unkind
Don't worry darling, it'll slip your
mind
Angel snaps back to the present; reaching out to the blood of his blood;
WILLING him to open his eyes and look at him. It may have been over a century
since Spike last felt that connection but it seems that he still does as his
eyes slowly open and lock into Angel’s darker gaze.
I know you think you'd never be mine
Well that's okay, baby, I don't mind
That shy smile's sweet, that's a
fact
Go ahead, I don't mind the act
Here you come all dressed up for a date
Well one more step and it'll be too
late
Blue, blue ribbon in your hair
Like you're so sure I'll be standing
there
Angel takes a definite pleasure in the fact that despite everything that
has passed between them; that their connection to the past, to each other, and
to their blood remains. Deep inside; where he is confined and locked tightly
from a waking mind; the darkness that is Angelus stirs at the voice from the
past; and grins. There was a time when that voice sung and screamed and begged;
for him and him alone; for the pleasure of his Sire; and even the darkest of
demons can smile at the beauty of the symphony.
Sad eyes never lie
Sad eyes never lie
Sad eyes never lie
Sad eyes never lie
Spike draws out the last line with a yearning that is almost tangible in
the air; a question that begs for an answer; and Angel almost gets to his feet;
subconsciously wanting to answer the question he sees in those burning glacial
eyes. He looks around the small lounge and sees that several men and women HAVE
gotten to their feet; eyes locked on Spike as he carefully sets his guitar
aside and rises from his stool and stalks gracefully off the stage. Several
people approach him but he deftly eludes the needy, grasping hands; ignoring
the casual offers for companionship as he approaches Angel and company.
Fred’s face is glowing with a happy smile and for a moment Spike regrets
that his leaving may have worried her. Gunn’s purely masculine slap on the back
and tersely muttered; “Good set, Spike.” Is about as close as he’s going to
come to expressing his relief at seeing him; Spike knows. Wesley nods with his
usual English reserve well intact. Lorne is his usually bubbly, effervescent
self and goes into raptures about the possibility of representing Spike as his
manager. Spike laughs and politely declines ever having the need for a manager;
as he passes by them to slip behind the bar.
He has carefully managed to avoid looking at Angel; as he turns his back
and gets out a pair of wineglasses and pours in a measure of a hearty red wine.
He moves aside some bottles to reach a small heated carafe tucked into a corner
and pours in a healthy amount of warm blood before swirling the glasses with a
practiced hand and turning around. He leans against the counter and slides a full
wine glass to Angel silently before slowly slipping his own. Angel tosses back
the whiskey in his glass before accepting the wine glass with a polite nod.
Spike nods to the band and they begin to play some quiet atmospheric tunes to
entertain the crowd.
“We need to talk.” Angel says implacably. It’s neither a request nor is
it necessary to mention that it should be in private. Spike nods and catching
the Bartender’s eye motions him over with a casual flick of his head.
As Spike moves to meet him halfway;
Angel finally notices that he’s a lithe, good looking man of roughly thirty
years old. As the man slides a slow hand over Spike’s hip to pull him closer;
to hear Spike’s quietly uttered words; Angel determines he’s all too
comfortable with touching Spike and his eyes narrow in displeasure. The young
man nods in answer and Spike turns back and catches his glass and walks from
behind the bar towards the far wall.
He doesn’t need to look around to know that Angel is silently following
him. Spike pulls a card key from the pocket of his pants and slides it into an
almost concealed reader slot. After a second a low buzzer sounds and the wall
slides inward and Spike motions Angel to enter; before pulling out the card key
and following him, the door silently closes behind them.
Angel looks around in some surprise at the tastefully decorated lounge
and kitchen. A flight of stairs lead up to another level and there is a warm
fire going in the wood burning stove. To his surprise an attractive young woman
of no more than twenty; is curled on the sofa with books open all around her
and a large notebook balanced on her leg and greets them with a warm smile that
Spike returns easily. “How goes the studying, Pet?” He asks as he leans over to
look over her shoulder and ruffling her hair with an easy affection.
“I think I’m going to be ready to pass the admittance exams thanks to
you. That memorisation trick you
taught me works like a charm.” She says happily. Spike nods satisfied before
rising and motioning for Angel to head upstairs with a flick of his head. Spike
lingers to ruffle the top of the young girl’s hair again before following Angel
up the stairs. The upper level of the loft is comfortably appointed with plump,
overstuffed couches and chairs arranged into several smaller conversation
areas; all of which are blissfully unoccupied at the moment. Spike walks to the
right and down a short course of steps into a sunken conversation pit built
around a small wood burning fireplace and sinks into the thick cushioning of
the couch, setting his drink on a low table in front.
“What is this place? Who was that person? What are you doing here? Why
did you leave?” Angel asks in an unhurried rush as he follows Spike and sits
next to him, draining his glass with a quick toss of his head.
“Any particular order you’d like me to answer those in?” Spike asks
dryly before continuing. “This is the V.I.P lounge, that was Marti one of the
owner’s 2 children; she’s studying for her assistant nursing license exam, I
work here, and why would I stay? That about cover it all?” Spike says
succinctly as he takes Angel’s glass and hands him his own to replace it.
Angel leans forward and sets the glass down with aching slowness and
precise deliberation, and in seconds has his hand wrapped around Spike’s throat
squeezing slowly. Spike tries to speak and Angel tightens his hand, squeezing
tighter and tighter still as Spike tries to free himself.
Angel feels his features slipping into its inhuman guise and a low growl
starts to rumble from deep in his chest. He smiles wolfishly as Spike reacts
instinctively; stilling his struggling and going limp and letting his eyes slip
shut and his head tip back to expose his throat. At the younger vampire’s
capitulation, Angel loosens his grip; though his hand remains on Spike’s
throat, his fingertips stroking the bruises already forming under his hand.
“Shall we try this again hmm?” He says gruffly; as his face ripples back into
its human guise. “Why. Did. You. Leave?”
Angel leans back; taking a seat on the glass coffee table, hiding his
smile as Spike leans forward to keep the light touch around his throat. Angel
lets his hand fall away and picks up the glass of wine laced blood; taking a
drink before placing the edge of the glass to Spike’s lips so he can drink
obligingly. He nods satisfied; as the blood already starts to take the
bruising.
Spike brushes his fingertips to his throat tracing the bruises he knows
must be there; even as they’re undoubtedly fading. It has been over a century;
but it seems he is still the Childe
of Angelus after all.
Angel seems to read his
expression and he correctly determines what has put the dark shadows into his
eyes. “You told me that I didn’t know the man that you are, only the man that
you use to be. You were right but you were wrong too. I may not know everything
about the man you are now that was true. However I knew the man that you were;
better than any other being on this planet; as I still know you now. You ARE
the Childe of Angelus, William
and you always will be.”
Spike trembles faintly under that heavy hand; resting so lightly on his
skin for a few seconds before his eyes narrow; the glint of determination
returning to chase the shadows from the depths of his eyes. He meets Angel’s
eyes and slowly sits back, crossing his arms over his chest, defying the elder
vampire to stop him. Angel smiles and chuckles; the sound dances over his skin
like a tender caress.
“THAT is what will always make you MY Childe, Spike.” Angel says
proudly. “As much as Angelus is William’s Sire; remade you in his image, so
Spike is ANGEL’s Childe; you
have been remade in MINE.” Angel says softly, so softly that even Spike’s keen
hearing can barely hear it.
Angel lifts the glass of wine to
his lips and slowly takes a sip; impaling his tongue on the razor tip of a fang
he lets some of his own blood drip down into the glass as he drinks. He holds
the glass up to Spike, surreptitiously
withdrawing his fangs and sucking softly as the wound in his tongue heals over;
smiling as Spike downs the last of the blood and wine with a toss of his head.
He’s counting silently in his head; as Spike leans forward to set the glass on
the table; right on the count of zero, Spike’s eyes roll back and he slumps
forward.
Angel catches his slight form and stands turning them deftly he sits
down on the couch with Spike’s unconscious form leaning against him. Angel
wraps an arm around Spike’s shoulder, tipping his head back with his free hand
and as his face shifts once more to sink his fangs into the soft flesh. He
drinks deeply but briefly, taking in Spike’s essence; his life is in his blood;
Angel dines well.
He reluctantly pulls his fangs
from Spike’s throat licking the wounds until they begin to close and leaves
Spike reclining against the couch; while he resumes his seat on the coffee
table. He savours the sweet yet
spicy flavour of Spike’s blood;
almost humming with the feel of his power, his memories, his LIFE; as his own
body assimilates the delicious dissonance that is Spike. He knows that it was wrong
to force Spike to re-forge their blood bond and he’s not overly proud of
himself for having done it anyway. All he knows is that Spike must stay in his
life; as necessary to him as the blood that sustains him.
He spoke truly when he told Spike that he was as much Angel’s Childe; as much as William was the Childe of Angelus. Angelus may well
have forged the weapon of destructive anarchy that was William the Bloody;
Spike though is all Angel’s creation. He knows it now; more than ever before;
with Spike’s blood in his veins after more than a century; bringing those dead
veins back to life; that he is responsible for Spike.
Angel glances at the still form of Spike and marvels at just how unique
he is. Until now, with his life running through his veins; he truly had no
inkling of just how rare he truly is. Even without a soul, he could love; love
to the breadth and a depth that even those with a soul will seldom know. Though
his heart has been long stilled, it amazingly retains its power to rule his life.
Spike IS life. He is the cry of a newborn child, a wild foal’s first trembling
attempts to stand, the rush of the wind beneath an Eagle’s wings. He is a
vampire; the personification of death, of the predator; yet it is to him that
life clings in every cell like a jealous lover that will not free him. As he’s
watching Spike starts to stir and Angel reaches over and shakes his shoulder.
“It’s not long until morning, why don’t you come back to the penthouse
with me and we can finish our talk tonight?” Angel says softly; reaching over
and helping Spike to sit up, keeping his hand on a shoulder to keep him
upright.
He hides a smile as Spike yawns hugely; causing his fangs to extend and
bears more than a passing resemblance to a sleepy cat. Spike blinks sleepily
and only nods, trying to stand and almost losing his balance. Angel stands
quickly wrapping an arm around Spike’s back and pulling him against his chest
with one arm. He holds him easily and digs into his pocket for his cell phone
using his thumb to hit the auto-dial.
Spike yawns again and leans into Angel’s chest; clenching his silk shirt
in his fists and lays his head on a shoulder and closes his eyes again. Angel
strokes his hand through Spike’s hair comfortingly while he waits for the
chauffeur to answer. He’s surprised by how silky and soft it is; he would have
thought that the bleaching would have left it somewhat over-processed.
The chauffeur answers at last and Angel asks him to bring the limo
around to pick them up. Angel hangs up and auto-dials Gunn’s phone to tell him
the limo is being brought around front. Gunn tells him that he’ll Sheppard Fred
and Wes out of the club and will meet him out front. Angel closes his phone and
wrestles it back into his pocket. “It is time to go home Spike.” Angel says
rousing the dozing blond reluctantly; this time he’s not able to stop his smile
when Spike yawns again.
He waits while Spike grabs his jacket and guitar then follows him
through the club. He keeps a hand on Spike’s shoulder guiding him with a firm
but gentle hand out of the club to join the others on the sidewalk. Angel’s
eyes narrow; as Fred smiles brightly; when she sees Spike has accompanied him
and hurries over to him; giving Spike a big hug that he returns with
uncharacteristic ease.
Angel knows that the sedatives he
laced into his bloodstream; along with the other insidiously potent effects on
Spike; are likely partially responsible for Spike’s no pain attitude at the
moment. Angel’s eyes narrow and he makes a soft rumbling sound deep in his
chest too soft for the human ears around them; Spike quirks his head then
disentangles himself from Fred and moves slightly behind and to the right of
where Angel is standing.
Angel hides his satisfaction as Spike’s dozing mind reacts to the low
sound and returns to his side; it seems more of Angelus’ teachings remain in
him than he first thought. The limo pulls up and Gunn opens the door; motioning
for the driver to stay inside. Angel puts a hand behind Spike’s back guiding
him into the warm interior before following him. Within moments they’re on
their way and Spike’s head has flopped back to rest on the seat; his features
relaxed and his eyes closed. By the time they’ve driven a block Spike’s tipped
over slightly to rest his head on Angel’s shoulder.
Angel hides a smile and resists the urge to pull him closer; with the
others looking on and sharing amused smiles. He did a good job of convincing
them that Spike would be better off with them as the mysteries surrounding his
return and subsequent re-corporealisation remain unsolved.
They’ve all bought into his perfectly plausible explanation for why he
wanted Spike located and returned to the Penthouse. He just neglected the
reason had as much to do with a loneliness; that for a time had faded with the
rebelliously roguish vampire for company. Additionally Spike’s prowess as a
fighter would give them a formidable asset in their cause.
As the gentle movement of the
limo soon as his own head dipping over to rest near Spike; an image of Spike fighting once more by his side as not
only a trusted ally but once more as his loyal Soulmate; drifts teasingly
through Angel’s mind.
Angel wakes to a soft hand on his shoulder and a quiet voice.
“Angel….we’re home…Angel?” The sound of Fred’s voice rouses him and he looks
around somewhat confused for a moment; and stunned as he cannot remember when
he last fell asleep with other people around. Angel smiles and she answers his
smile with a shy one of her own; as he looks around in the back of the limo;
finding it empty.
He all but leaps out of the limo with Spike’s name starting to form on
his lips when he stops dead in his tracks at the sight of Gun holding a
sleeping Spike in his arms.
“We couldn’t wake him.” Gunn says with a shrug. The movement disturbs
Spike and he murmurs sleepily turning slightly in his sleep to curl tighter
into Gunn’s chest. Angel’s heart constricts painfully at the sight of Spike
sleeping so innocently in the larger man’s hold. Spike has always seemed more
angel than demon when he is sleeping and all his defences are down.
Angel’s rational mind knows that it’s the effect of his blood that has
left Spike so vulnerable; causing him to display the softer side of his nature
that so few beings will ever know from the deadliest of all his Childer. Angel strides over to Gunn.
“I’ll take him now.” His voice may be harder than stone but his hands
are gentle as they take the sleeping vampire from Gunn; gratified as Spike
curls against his chest and rubs his cheek on his shoulder before stilling once
more into sleep. “Goodnight
everyone, I’ll take care of him.”
Angel strides for the elevator
but pauses as he steps through turning and saying quietly; as Fred darts past
him helpfully swiping her card key through the lock and pushing the elevator button.
“Thank you for helping me to find him.” Before stepping backwards into the
opening elevator and hitting the penthouse floor with his elbow.
Wesley, Fred, and Gunn share a silent look before heading to their own
respective apartments. It has been a long six months and maybe now they can
actually get a decent day’s sleep.
In the elevator Angel looks down at the slumbering vampire in his arms
and shakes his head in exasperation. Having reclaimed the blood of his Grand-Childe has given him amazing new insight
into this remarkable creature spawned of his blood filtered through Drusilla’s
mad veins.
He looks down at the pale hair;
almost silver white against his black coat and trails his gaze over the lithe
body without a spare ounce of fat to be seen anywhere. His clothes are simple
and functional yet still manage to somehow be quintessential “Spike”, the
beauty of form and function married harmoniously.
Spike has always be a unique juxtaposition of a million separate
creatures all rolled into one; even before he was sired to his undead state. A
shy, introspective poet while alive that desired little from life but a warm
home, a loving mother, and a breathing, living sweetheart to call his own.
In death William would become the
symphony of destruction, the purity of violence, the seductive lure of
sexuality that is unrestrained and the pride of the Scourge of
Until a Gypsy’s curse took the sum of his universe away; turning his
dark world even darker than the shadows of hell itself. William the Bloody
would find no consolation in the blood and agony; no even that purpose was
taken from him in the end. William would become Spike in the fullness of time
and while he knows that the name was given in recognition of his cruelty; he
has always secretly believed it was a message to him. The Spike in his side
that would always be there, inching deeper and deeper as it drew blood through
the years; always there to remind him of a Grand-Childe that he’d abandoned long ago; of perhaps what should have
been and never was.
Angel adjusts his hold on Spike; carefully holding him tighter as he
steps off the private express elevator into the penthouse. He carefully carries
Spike through the penthouse to the room he’d picked out all those months ago.
He carefully sets Spike down on the bed and looks at him considering his next
move with the analytical caution of a chess grandmaster.
He carefully removes Spike’s precious Duster; crossing to the closet and
carefully hanging it up and setting it into the full closet; smoothing its
folds with tender consideration. Reluctant to wake him; Angel returns to the
bed and removes Spike’s boots carefully setting them into the closet beside
several sets of new boots.
He slips Spike’s socks off and pads quietly into the bath and drops them
into a laundry basket. He looks at Spike’s prone form as he returns to the
bedside; considering if he should remove any further clothing. Even as the
thought occurs he’s sinking to sit on the side of the bed near Spike’s hip,
looking at him quietly. After a moment a strong hand slides slowly under his
back and pulls him up with the same ease as he could pick up tissue paper and
leans him against his chest. Angel slides his other hand around Spike’s back
catching the edge of his simple red t-shirt and slowly slides his hand under
the edge. He drags his hand slowly up Spike’s back marvelling at the difference between the silken skin and the
rougher cotton of the t-shirt. He carefully shifts Spike enough to get the
t-shirt off; setting it carefully over his knee; and pauses.
Somehow the idea of removing Spike’s lather pants seems a much harder
proposition to manage; he thinks as he carefully sets Spike back down against
the pillows. Angel looks down at his own clothing and fingers the soft silk of
the button front shirt he’s wearing; in moments his chest is bare as he slides
Spike into the shirt and buttons it part way up his chest before sliding his
hands under and gently undoing Spike’s leather jeans and pulling them off. He
can’t help silently laughing at his sudden fit of modesty.
Nodding; satisfied that he’s done everything he can to make his younger
charge as comfortable as possible; Angel slips his coat over the back of the
nearby sofa and drops the t-shirt into the laundry basket in the bath before
turning back the covers and tenderly tucking Spike under their warmth. He
sweeps up the leather jeans and carefully hangs them in the closet; sweeping
the room with his eyes to make sure everything is tidy and in place.
Angel turns off the lights and gathering his coat quietly leaves the
room; trying desperately to forget the sight of Spike wearing nothing but his
black silk shirt and muttering to himself about which was silkier the shirt or
Spike’s skin.
In the silvery dark of the moonlit room the blonde’s eyes snap open;
their icy depths flaring with heat as he gathers Angel’s shirt around him, inhaling
the scent as he curls into the comfort of the soft bed with an enigmatic smile.
Humming the chorus to Sad Eyes
the master Vampire closes his eyes and finally drifts off into true sleep but
the soft smile never leaves his lips as his last thought for the evening
crosses his mind. Sad Eyes never do lie and maybe now Angel’s eyes will be just
a little happier.
TBC
*
To Be Continued in the next instalment of this series: In The Nature Of Heroes: Reclamations 2: By Buffywatcher.
Angel has only started to realise
Spike’s importance in his life when fate once more steps in and threatens to
separate the vampires for good as Spike is once more called upon to make a life
or death decision. One that will forever change the lives of
everyone around him.