Couch Confessionals

Angel was busy staring out his window in his new high rise office at Wolfram and Hart. Well, to be honest, he was brooding. A pastime he indulged in often;well, constantly. If you were to catch him in a particularly good mood, he might even admit to it. Spike walked in, through the wall and stood back watching Angel for a moment, thinking up a nice stinging comment. He was, after all, supposed to be haunting Angel.

"So, what's on the 'genda? Rousting a nest of venomous retirement plans?" Spike asked, walking towards Angel. One thumb was crooked in the waist of his pants, a trademark gesture. Angel visibly stiffened at the sound of his voice and rolled his eyes, obviously not in the mood for the younger vampire. 

Ignoring the blonde for a moment he walked over to the crystal decanters. He poured himself a glass of blood and sipped at it thinking, rather, brooding again. Angel looked as though he wanted to say something to Spike, yet had a hard time sorting out the words. Finally,he speaks.

"Shop's closed Spike. Come back and haunt me tomorrow," Angel said, downing the rest of his blood. And the rousing game of insults began. He set the glass back down on the table.

"Air's too rarefied up here for my taste, anyhow. Down with the dregs is where I belong, isn't it?" Spike asked, quirking his eyebrow. Now why had he left himself open like that? Spike was just asking for Angel to hurt him.

"And yet he's still here," Angel said, to no one in particular. He walked over to the window again, possibly to continue the bout of brooding that was interupted earlier.

"Just thought we could hang is all. Couple of vampires from the old days doing our...hangy thing," Spike said in a very un-Spike manner. It is somewhat reminiscent of the Scoobies. He is shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Angel to say something.

"You're starting to feel it, aren't you? How close you are now...to hell?"

"What if I am? Not like it's such a big, bleeding deal, is it? If a ponce like you could break out-"

"I never escaped from hell. All I got was a short reprieve. Not even sure how I managed that," Angel said with a sigh.

Spike either just didn't get it or was trying to make light of the fact that he had one leg in the door to hell, which was being yanked hard. He looked incredulously at Angel, thinking that,as always, Angel was trying to make a big deal out of small potatoes. "Oh, put your martyr away, Mahatma. Fred told me all about your great, shining prophecy. Pile up all your good deeds and get the big brass ring handed to you like everything else." This time for Spike there was no great shining purpose, nothing to tie a lifeline on and just take it. This time, he was just going to hell in a hand basket. 

Angel turned to face Spike, a scowl set in his features. "Except for one small catch. The prophecy's a bunch of bull. They all are. Nothing's written in stone or fated to happen, Spike. You save the world, you end up running an evil law firm."

"Or playin' Casper with one foot in the fryer," Spike said with a snort. Always one to walk that fine edge, he was, and now look where it got him. A one way ticket to hell, and the train ride there is chock full of opportunities to torment Angel.

"You think any of it matters?" Angel asked, whispering in Spike's ear and circling. "The things we did? The lives we destroyed. That's all that's ever gonna count. So yeah, surprise. You're going to hell. We both are." Finally tired of the repartee, Angel sat on the couch.

"Then why even bother?" Spike asked, scoffing. "Trying to do the right thing, make a difference...?" his voice trailed off.

"What else are we gonna do?"

"So that's it, then. I really am going to burn," Spike said solemnly. He got a look in his eyes, one that showed he was trying to come to grips with it. It was not bad enough he had died twice, now he had come back to die yet again. How do you die as a ghost? It'd be more like going *poof*.

"Welcome to the club," Angel said, spreading his arms in a mock welcoming gesture.

Sighing, Spike sat on the couch beside Angel. "Least I got company, eh? You and me, together again. Hope and Crosby. Stills and Nash. Chico and the-"

"Yeah, are we done?" Angel asked in annoyance.

"Never much for small talk, were you? Always too busy trying to perfect that brooding block-of-wood mystique. God, I love that," Spike said sarcastically.

"Not as much as I love your nonstop yammering," Angel shot back.

"The way you always have to be the big swingy, swaggerin' around, barkin' orders..."

"Never listening..."

"Always interrupting..."

"And your hair. What color do they call that, radioactive?" Angel asked ,mockingly shielding his eyes from the glare of Spike's hair.

"Never much cared for you, Liam, even when we were evil," Spike said,surprising Angel. He never thought Spike knew Angel's mortal name. Go figure.

"Cared for you less."

"Fine."

"Good," Angel said with finality. "There was one thing about you...," he said.

"Really?" Spike asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I never told anybody about this, but I-I liked your poems."

Spike frowned at this revalation. "You like Barry Manilow."

"So?" Angel asked in confusion. "What's wrong with Barry Manilow?"

"It's Barry bloody Manilow! That's what's wrong!" Spike exclaimed in exasperation. Angel was obviously not getting what was so wrong with it. Sighing, Spike rolled his eyes and tried to explain. "It shows bad taste. So, being that you like bloody Manilow, means you don't know what's good."

"But I know my poetry, and yours was good," Angel said, trying to comfort his Childe. Granted, Angel didn't actually sire Spike. But he did raise him to be the vampire he became. So, in Angel's mind, Spike was his.

They both sat there, each contemplating the merits of the other. Angel wanted to touch Spike, needed to touch him, reassure himself that even though he probably was going to hell, Angel didn't hold it against him. They'd both done enough things in their unnaturally long life to regret forever. Comforting a ghost was not easy. Angel lifted his hand to run it just where Spike's cheek should have been. Spike turned and looked at his Sire, the blue depths of his eyes showing the emotion that was running through him, or what was left of him. Love, pain, anger, resentment, grief, all of it in plain sight, so plain it had made Angel gasp. Never in all the years Angel had known the younger vampire had he ever left his emotions so raw, so obvious. Never had Spike opened up so fully to anyone, especially Angel.

"I-I'm sorry William," Angel said with real remorse. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Eh, don't beat yourself up over it, ya big Pouf," Spike said, forcing the emotion away. It was just too real for him, so real it hurt, even in his ghost-like state. Looking at Angel he saw love and compassion, and the truth of his apologies. 

Leaning towards Angel, Spike tried to kiss him, leaving only a ghost like imprint on the lips of his Sire. Growling Spike stood up.

"I can't bloody take this!" he said, pacing the room. "The waiting, the wondering when and how it will take me." Spike continued to rant, leaving Angel stunned and speechless on the couch. Putting a hand up to his lips, Angel traced the faint, receding feeling of Spike's ghostly lips on his.

Before Angel could say anything to calm the blonde raging in his office, Spike left,curses trailing behind him, leaving Angel stunned and immobile on the couch.