Remember Me

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Summary: Spike has just had the tracer removed from his back. To keep them all safe, Giles takes everyone to Angel's in Los Angeles. Angel did not know about the chip and is shocked by the condition of his childe. They shelter at Angel's during a power cut, and the long night brings on intense memories for both vampires. Angel and Spike find that memories are sometimes not enough.

AUTHOR: Jenny
EMAIL: ladymoluk@hotmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.squashduck.com/ltd/index.htm
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Spike/Angel
SPOILERS: Season 4 after 'The I In Team' when the Initiative tries to kill Buffy.
DISCLAIMER: The usual, they are not mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Angel and Spike find that memories are sometimes not enough. This fic portrays Riley as an evil character. There are scenes of male rape. If any of this offends you, please do not read on.
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Chapter 1

Angel POV / Spike POV

It’s gotten quiet at last. It’s been hectic since they arrived. All of them: Giles, Buffy, Xander, Anya, Willow, and...Spike. They didn’t tell me all of it – not the parts about Riley, her new love. I already knew that though, Cordelia had told me. And I could smell him…in her. But I sensed real fear from Buffy. And that frightens me. Nothing has ever frightened her before, but this...Initiative...seems to have. She claims they set her up: that they are trying to kill her. They needed a place to hide, to get away while they plan, so they came here, to LA.

It was just bad timing I suppose, that we ended up having one of our regular LA blackouts. Suddenly, the whole apartment plunged into darkness. Too dangerous for them to go out, I insisted they all stayed over night. So here we all are, in the dark, trying to sleep.

The girls took my bed, the three of them huddled together for comfort. Giles and Xander are trying to sleep, sitting on the couch with feet propped up on my coffee table. Giles looks suddenly very old and worn. This new danger is something of this world. Something human: beyond his knowledge.

I am lying on my training mat in the corner, not sleeping.

And Spike? He ignored my offer of one side of this mat, preferring apparently to sit the night out. He is perched on the side in the kitchen where he has been since he arrived. Not moving. Silent. Except that is, for the screaming that it seems only I can hear.

Looking at him, so still and so silent, you might think he was uncaring. You might think his external appearance indicated a resigned acceptance of his fate. Maybe it's because I'm his Sire that I can hear it. All Vampires give off imperceptible sounds; low, warning growls when angered, soft silken purrs when aroused, but I have never heard this sound in any other Vampire before. It is like an engine being shredded at high speed, in low gear, an incessant keening sound. It is a terrifying sound of something under incredible pressure, about to snap.

When they first arrived they were all full of Sunnydale and the Initiative, all talking at once, all trying to tell me their parts of the story. Except for Spike. He went over to the corner where he is sitting now and just stayed there, inspecting a hole in the back of his duster. Not moving. Silent. Except for the screaming of course.

Giles told me about the chip. Just in passing, while he was talking about the work of the Initiative, ‘They seem to be chipping demons to stop them feeding. Spike got one. They have extensive facilities...’ Spike didn’t even look up, as though the conversation was about another Vampire, not him. He just sat there, not moving. Silent. Except for that awful screaming.

When deciding on sleeping arrangements, Xander joked that they could chain Spike in the bathtub. Again. Just a joke. Spike stayed in his corner. Not moving. Silent. But for the screaming, which rose in volume.

Willow told me about a spell she’d just done. She thought it was funny. It had made her hair stand on end. To stop the Initiative finding Spike through the tracer they had shot into his back. While Giles dug it out. Without anaesthetic. But she added that as an afterthought while pouring herself some juice. Spike didn’t react. He stayed on the counter. Not moving. Silent. But for screaming that by now, made my demon enraged.

So...Spike has been chipped, chained up and shot. And no one thought to tell me. I guess I played my not-caring-about-Spike game a little too well.

I can dimly see his outline from here. I can see his blond hair, see his pale face and hands. The rest of him, clothed in his habitual black, blends into the total darkness in this room. The humans are all asleep now. I can hear their individual breathing patterns: smell their blood. The apartment has never been so full of blood. It calls out to me.

Now he knows they are asleep, he slides silently off the counter and comes over to the mat. He lies quietly down, folds his arms over his chest and like me, proves that he is dead. No breathing. No warmth. No blood. Just a cold, white figure lying next to me. Not moving. Silent. Except for the deafening scream, that only I can hear.



Two hours more have passed of this long, dark night. I can smell the human bodies now too. They have started sweating their individual scents into the air. The room is full of them. Invading my space. Spike lies six inches from me and makes no presence at all.

I wonder what he is thinking about.

Does he think I have let him down in some way? Does he think that I should owe him more than this? This total disinterest in his welfare that I have shown since he came to Sunnydale. I wonder if he has any inkling of the real reason behind my apparent indifference. I wonder if he remembers our life together after his turning. He never shows any sign that he does.

I turned him because I could. I turned him for Dru. For her to have a distraction. I had no interest in him. He was just there. When I fed, he came along and fed too. When I took Dru, he was there too. When I took Darla and Dru in a tangle of bodies and blood, he took them too.

I had thought that the body of a man in the same bed as me would revolt me. And it did: at first.

But, oh! How distinctly I remember the first time. The first time when having come in a rush into one of those cold, female bodies, I had stretched out a hand in the dark to caress a soft breast, and found my hand, instead, on a hard, cold chest. The erect nipple under my hand grazed my palm slightly. I remember that. So I must have left my hand there long enough to feel that much. Before I snatched it away with a hiss of displeasure.

He was silent. I pretended to myself it hadn’t happened. But the next time, later that night, it was more difficult to dismiss. Inside one of them, Dru, Darla, it didn’t matter, they were one and the same then, I reached up to ravish and bite cold lips and found he was already there. His lips on hers: his soft tongue in her mouth. He pulled back fractionally, waiting to see if I would let him continue. And I don’t know why I did it. It was not how I saw myself. But I moved fractionally to one side too and kissed him, instead. It was a passionless kiss at first. Cold hesitant lips: on cold unresponsive ones. But something in the total illicitness of the act found response deep in my bowels. I became frantic in my thrusting, desperate to reach release.

And then he opened his mouth to me.

I came in deep, heaving waves of cum in one body, but it was another body I was thinking of.

The next day, I could not face him. On waking, I pulled away from his touch and caressed the women. I buried my need in their bodies, ignoring him.

I should have kept that resolve and stopped it then. Should have. Tried. Couldn’t. Because that touch of his chest, that one intense kiss had set up a desperate need in me for more. I couldn’t wait to pull the girls into bed but became frantic if he did not come too. And when there? It was his body I watched. I watched him as he entered Dru. I studied his face when Darla lay sucking his swollen, hard cock. I watched and waited for the moment when under the pretence of moving down to lick and nuzzle in their soft folds, I could lay against his arousal, smell his scent, feel his skin without their notice.

He noticed of course. He always noticed.

It went on for months. Every day, long hours, passing the daylight time. Three of them: only one that mattered to me. Sometimes I resisted. Then I felt strong and clean. Sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes I gave in to that intense desire to have it his hand I was holding, his lips I brushed with mine, his chest I sank my head onto when I was done and spent.

But he became increasingly...cocky. His personality began to change gradually from the William who was just...there, to the confident, arrogant Vampire who called himself Spike. I should have said something to reassert my position. My role as his Master, his Sire. I tried once. Hiding in a mine shaft because of his excess, I challenged him with his growing lack of control. I challenged this new, strange 'Spike', persona. He laughed, and for the first time, called me a poofter. So I never challenged him about it again. He had a power over me because of my…desires. My self-loathing knew no bounds. Both my demon and my memories of a human life, revolted by my perversion. I was a powerful Master Vampire who wanted another male body. I had been a devout Catholic, but I wanted to sin. I could almost hear my Father's derision, ringing in my ears.

I was a coward too, because I could not face…her. My Sire. I could not face her…belittling of me. I could not face her disgust. I could not face her delight in my weakness.

So although after that challenge he never again openly took advantage of the situation, I nevertheless felt the balance of power shifting between us. He knew what I wanted, and he used that knowledge. How he must have hated me. My abuse of the power I had over him. How his skin must have revolted to at my touch.

So sometimes, in that communal bed, when he put himself deliberately in my way, deliberately made sure it was his soft skin I caressed, his body I fell asleep against, I knew what he was doing. He was tempting me like the very devil he was becoming. And as I didn’t admit it was happening, he could do as he wanted. In that bed he had the power and the control and I became his victim.

And then, that was it. I left. I didn’t see him again for nearly one hundred years. A long time to forget. To forget that part of myself which I couldn’t face. Time to try and become like a human male, with a human girlfriend.

Then he came back.

But by then I could do nothing anyway, for fear of hurting Buffy. I was offered a girl’s soft kisses. I was offered a girl’s arousal. I was offered a girl’s passion. And in a desperate attempt to be what I thought I should be, I took them all.

And it seemed to me that he did not remember anyway. That he did not remember me and our soft, stolen kisses, our embraces in the dark under the pretence of other, allowable embraces.

But I notice he never misses the opportunity now, to call me poof. I notice he treats me with derision. I notice he never turns to me. He never comes to me as his Sire. Even being chipped and chained and shot. Not to me.

So perhaps he is lying here in the dark remembering too. And hating me still.

The irony is, I don't think it matters now that I do want Spike. I left my Catholic superstitions very far behind. My demon is suppressed. Darla gone. I don't think Buffy would even know. I lived with Spike and Dru in the factory and Buffy never questioned it. Vampires live together. Like wolves. I am in LA: she is Sunnydale. All the things that chained me to a way of thinking, of being, gone. Now I face no one's wrath, no one's derision or disgust…not even my own.

So I lie here wondering if his body has changed at all. I wonder if the hollows around his collarbone are still as deep. I wonder if his ribs still show, proud and sharp round his chest. I wonder if he is still scarred. From me, and my teeth on him. I wonder if his body would respond the same to my touch. If that nipple would be hard and taut again under my touch. What does it feel like to touch someone? I think I have forgotten. But it makes me hard to think of it. I wonder what his body would feel like…those parts I haven't felt. I wonder what his body would taste like…those parts I haven't tasted. I wonder what his body would be like to be in…that body I have never entered.

I don't want to be alone anymore.

I wonder what he is thinking.



The alarm clock I plugged in alongside the mat, to alert me to the return of power, suddenly comes on. But needing resetting, it starts blinking, on and off, on and off, on and off. Even with my eyes tightly closed I can see the ghostly light, on and off, on and off. It's torture and I let it torture me. The irritation creeps under my skin making me frantic. But I plugged it in next to the wall and now Spike is lying between it, and me. If I stretch out my left arm, from this angle I am sure to touch him. To use my right arm I need to turn on my side facing him.

I haven't been able to face him for over one hundred years. I don’t want to start tonight.

On and off. On and off. I think I will go mad.

I turn and stretch out my arm and pull it out of the wall.

I would have lain back down and resumed my quiet waiting. I would have, but as I stretch across his still, deathly form, my hand does brush against his chest.

I feel my cold, dead heart stir to life again and all things seem possible.

I can feel his nipple, taut and erect under his shirt.

So this time, I leave my hand there a little longer. I leave it there through the long night. Until the sun comes up. He does not move. He stays silent. Except for that scream, that by now almost splits my soul in two.



When the others are ready to go, they look towards him. 'Come on Spike, get moving, we're going. Chivvy that little Vampire butt of yours.'

I look at Spike.

I look at them.

'Spike's…staying.'

He does not move.

And remains silent.

But the screaming is worse.



If I could have driven that stake through my heart, I would have done. I have been brought low. So low I can’t even see myself. So low I just let them order me around, tell me where to go, tell me what to do. I’m nothing but a fucking joke now. If I remind them I am still bad, they just laugh and offer me their necks. What a great joke: Spike can’t bite. They chained me in his sodding bath for fuck’s sake. Me. I have no defence against life anymore. And you need defences, when you are dead.

Sometimes I feel so desperate I think the cable anchoring me to this unlife will just...snap. I have been fighting for over one hundred years. I’ve fought everything and everyone to stay at the top of the food chain, and what’s it all been for? So I can sit chained in the food’s bathtub and be fed their disgust. Sometimes I think, if I turn my head quickly enough, that I can hear a high-pitched screaming. I sometimes wonder if it’s coming from me. But I’m not here. So it can’t be.

And now they have brought me here: to him. This is the worst. This is the lowest I have ever been. He is the very last person I would have come to for help.

I hate him.

I wonder what he is thinking about, lying beside me in the dark. I wonder if he remembers. I wonder if his body is yearning towards mine, as mine is to his. As it has been for over one hundred years.

He made me what I am. Not by turning me. That was just a whim. Something he felt like doing one night cus he was drunk and cus he could and cus I cried and begged him not to.

No, he made me in one touch.

He touched me one night, in his passion, in his thrusting and he did not immediately withdraw his hand. I thought that he had felt it too. I thought he must have felt my need for him because he did not withdraw his hand. I thought he must have loved me too, because he did not withdraw his hand. Not till I had felt his palm graze my nipple. Not till I felt my world turn upside down because the beautiful Angelus had touched me, not them. And if I doubted his desire even then, I was made sure of it later that night when I felt his lips on mine. I let him know my desire, I opened my heart to him and I thought he had responded.

I felt myself stretch into his love, his notice. I became bold. I found myself. I thought I was his love. I mirrored myself on him, his extravagance, his power and his flamboyance. The most beautiful creature I had ever known, wanted me. Wanted my body, my caress, and my arms to hold him when he was done and spent.

Sure, he seemed to want to keep it secret. We never spoke of it. But that was okay too. Cus that made it all for me. I didn’t have to share his love, like I had to share him.

But every fucking night I wanted more than he would give me. Every night, trying to get more, trying to get closer, trying to make it my body he was touching. My body he was entering. But he never would. Never did.

And then, that was it. He left. I didn’t see him for over one hundred years. I thought he would remember. I thought he would remember what he was to me. But he didn’t. He has ignored me ever since.

I want to say…remember me…but I don't know whether it would be a question or an imperative.

So I’m not so sure now that he did love me. I’m not so sure now that he did want me. It’s all so long ago. So much has happened since, that I can’t separate what was, from what I wanted it to be. I think now, and I think about this a lot, I think he never wanted me. I think now, that he never loved me. I think now, that it was the prelude to the great joke I have now become. And looking back on that time, from this great distance, I think now that that was when I started to…fade. His denial of me made me less. And the rot set in.

Now I am so pathetic they talk about me as if I wasn’t here. Why didn’t he say something? When they told him about the chip. When they told him they had chained me in a bath and made me drink pig’s blood. When they told him I had been shot. I was listening. REAL carefully. I was listening to see if he would be mad, if he would defend me. But nothing. As if I wasn't there.

So I think I am actually disappearing. I feel as if I am. No reflection in a mirror. No impact on people. When I go, there will be no trace of me at all. So if I make no impact now, and I'll leave no trace on going, then I can’t be here at all. I can only define myself by others’ reactions to me. So there is nothing to prove I am actually here. If I stay still enough and quiet enough, perhaps I just…won't be. Would anyone remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land?

I wonder what he is thinking now.

I hate myself more than any of them could hate me. More than even he must hate me.

I've tried not feeding. To make them guilty. To make them try to make me. But they didn’t even notice and the clawing hunger was so bad I started taking my own blood, from small deep cuts.

But they didn’t notice that either. So I stopped.

Then I had to beg. Then I had to perform. So I act for my supper. The Big Bad…tell us a joke, do something funny and we'll give you a cookie. Run a little errand for us and we'll give you some money to buy your disgusting blood. Cus even though you're a joke, you're still disgusting…don’t ever forget that. You are beneath our notice. But they even tired of that.

So I got myself a new little game. Oh yeah, I’ve got a real nice hobby now, and I can do as I fucking like, if I’m not really here.

I had no choice to come here with them. They feed me, they pay for my smokes and I can't live without either. So I had no choice except for the sun. But I kinda wanted to see what he would say. I wanted to see him rise in fury in my defence, to lash out at them for their treatment of me. But I guess he is not the Sire I have made up in my mind and I am not the Childe he remembers.

He's not asleep. I wonder what he is thinking.



The fucking alarm clock has been flashing for the last five minutes. I know he’s not asleep, why doesn’t he do something? I can’t, cus I’m not here.

Oh. Apparently I am. Cus Angel has just laid his hand on me. Again.

Oh.

Good.

Now I am not only their errand boy, and a joke. Now I am to be his whore as well. Well it’s as good a way as any of earning your blood. Better than some. And who cares? I’m not really here. So I don’t. Care. I don’t.



When it’s day I move silently over to the couch. I’m not here, but they fucking notice me anyway. Fat boy, who I would kill in an instant and rip his heart from his body and suck him dry and dance on his cold dead shell and vomit his essence to the stars, speaks. I don’t listen. The screaming has gotten louder and covers his words so I don’t have to hear them.

But I hear Angel.

He wants his little fuck bunny to stay.

This’ll be fun.

I’d say something.

But I’m not here.

So I don’t.

Chapter 2

I do not think I can bear this any longer. I bore one hundred years of the torments of hell. But I cannot bear this. He's been here four days and he won't speak to me. Well, he will, if asked a direct question, he will lift his head and not looking at me, give a monosyllabic reply. But that's not the bit I cannot bear. He won't talk about that night. Or about anything else important. If I try to make him, he walks away. If I follow, he leaves. But even that is not the part I cannot bear.

It's when he comes back.

That's the part that seems worse than anything I suffered in hell. Because when he returns, he…when he comes down the stairs, I can smell…oh God. This is too much. This is too much to bear, or to relate.

The first time I didn't believe it. He'd been gone about four hours. I had tried to push him to talk about what had happened on that first night. I wanted him to talk about the chip. I wanted him to talk about anything. I wanted him just to talk, to say something. To stop just sitting there like a…dead thing. Because that is all he has done since he got here. He just sits there. All day. No change. No movement. Just that awful keening sound I realise now he doesn't know he is making, getting louder every time I appear. The loudest when I try to talk to him. He doesn’t eat, he doesn't sleep. He just sits there. And I think I am going mad. I want to make him move. I want to force him to be loud. I just want him to be himself again. But I have no idea how to help him. So I kept trying to make him talk to me, and that's when it happened for the first time.

Four hours. Not long, but long enough for me to worry about him. I kept coming down to see if he had returned. And at last he had. But I smelt him, before I heard or saw him. It was indescribable. The smell. Layer upon layer of human cum, mixed with human piss. And the unmistakable smell of fresh, human blood. All of it: on his clothes, on his skin…inside him. I couldn’t believe it. I don't know what shocked me more, the smell of cum, or of blood. I flew down the stairs, ready to accuse him of feeding again. Ready to accuse him of lying about his chip. But when I got downstairs, all I heard was the sound of retching in the bathroom. I watched from the door as he vomited what seemed like pints of blood and…other stuff, into the bowl. He was on his knees. Filthy. Dishevelled. Silent but for the sound of his retching and the never-ending screaming. I went over to him, ready to hear an explanation, ready to be forgiving, but when he saw that I was there, when he realised I had been watching, he flew at me, in full game face. He almost bit me. He almost came alive for one second and became again the Spike that I remembered. The Spike I want. But it was not to be. He stopped. He face reverted to its human form. He lowered his head and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he resumed his habitual place on the couch. Not moving. Silent.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, not to rush in and make this awful situation worse. I sat down beside him and put my hand out as if to touch him. He moved quickly enough then. He flung himself off the couch and stomped over to the corner of the room. I followed him. He moved again. Never meeting my eye. I begged. I pleaded. Just talk to me. But when there was nowhere left to move to in that room, he made for the stairs and…left again.

I waited downstairs for him this time. It was only an hour and he was back. But the same smell was on him. The same smell! For the briefest of moments, he gave me a look. I think it was a look of triumph. I don't know why, but in that awful moment, he gave me a look of triumph. But then nausea overtook him and he stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it in time before falling to his knees again. I am completely lost. Nothing in my past life or unlife has prepared me for this.



I'm not here, so it's no good trying to talk to me. I won't play that game. I won't respond. Cus if I do then I must be real. And I can't feel this bad and be real. So I've put myself somewhere else and that is a much better place than this. That's a place where I am loved and needed and cared for. Loved for being me. Needed for being me. But I wish it weren't so fucking noisy here. That bloody screaming just follows me around. I'm beginning to wonder if it's the sound of my mind unraveling.

He won't leave me alone. He wants to talk. He's had three fucking years to talk to me since I came to Sunnydale. Well sorry Mate. I'm not here anymore and I ain't gonna talk to anyone.

Remember me?

Hah!

He don't even remember himself.

He watches me. He follows me. He wants me. Well you're watching a ghost. You're following a shadow. You're wanting a empty place.

I am so lost even he cannot find me.

But he won't leave me alone. Can't he see I'm not here? Why won't he just fuck me, suck me, beat me or piss off and leave me. Why fucking talk? I've got NOTHING to say. And what I do say don’t matter, cus I'm not here. So piss off, Angelus. Let me rest in peace. Let me take my life and bury it in a hole six foot deep.

I can't bear this any longer. I have to leave. I have to play my little game for a while. I want to feel better. I want to be here for a few moments, to feel real. So I leave.

Oh yeah. Feeling better now. Feeling really loved. And needed. Oh yeah, really needed. They couldn’t need me more. No one else'd blow 'em kneeling in this piss and shit. But they love me. For that minute or two it takes to do 'em, they love me.

I can hardly remember how I started my game now. I had almost disappeared completely I think. I turned up at the Watcher's one evening, broken from yet another demon beating. Bleeding. Cold. Alone. I don't know what I wanted, or expected. Blood would have been nice, but kindness better. I just wanted someone to be kind to me. I just wanted someone to notice me. But if they did, it was only to laugh. So that's the day I started my new game. I was crossing back through the park and saw him standing in the shadows by the public urinals. Not a good place to be after dark in Sunnydale, or anywhere else I'd have thought. But fuck, what do I know? I'm not here anymore, so don't matter what I think.

I stopped to look at him. He looked at me and offered me money. It was so easy and somehow, so familiar. I seemed to remember doing this before. Where or when I couldn't have said. But a shadow of a memory ghosted across my brain. When I told him what I wanted for payment he looked surprised. For the fraction of a second it took him to get himself out that is. When I'd finished, I stood up and asked him to pay me. He tipped his head back and pulled his jacket away from his neck, exposing the smooth, white, human flesh. Invited thus, I started to feed. I got about fifteen seconds of bliss before panic made him flinch and the flinch sent rockets of pain into my head. He scurried away and left me kneeling in the piss, in agony. But I felt a lot better. Yeah. He really needed me and for a second there, as he came in tiny, pathetic spurts into my mouth, he really loved me. Guess it ain't easy getting laid when you're old. And fat. So he needed me, and I think I'm not so invisible now. He saw me alright. He kept his eyes fastened on my face the whole time. He watched every second that his cock was in my mouth. He studied me avidly while I swallowed him.

Before I had even stood up, another came in. He let me feed for twice as long before he chickened out. But five or six of them later and even I was beginning to feel full. And oh, so loved. So needed. So it was pure luck really that when I got back to my crypt, just thinking about all that love and all that need made me puke. Lucky, cus it meant I got to go out and do it all again.

And lucky me now, cus now I'm in LA. And there is an eternity of love and need for me in this city. I ain't ever gonna run out of people to love me.

So I found the nearest bar and made my way into the bathroom. It never takes long. Maybe they see me coming in. Weird, seeing I'm not here. Maybe I'm just a very, very lucky Vampire, cus it's never long before they start to follow me in. And funny. Not one of them has ever balked at my charges, or forfeited on the deal. Not till he felt my fangs descend into his vulnerable neck that is. Then most of them pull away leaving me in agony with the merest taste of paradise on my tongue. But that's okay, just means I get to be loved even more. Get to be loved till I feel full. Oh yeah, the feeling of all that blood in my body makes me feel real. I love myself then, as it goes in.

Love myself even more as it comes out later though. That's the best bit. Cus then there's the anticipation of doing it all again. Never going to run out of love now.

But he's going to be a problem. I can see that. He was watching me.

I hoped for one minute that he might actually do something. That he would connect with me. That I would prove to be real without the vomit and the shit and the blood and the cum and the endless piss. But I think he decided to be non-judgemental.

Well judge this, fucker.

I went out and did it again. It was worth it for the look on his sanctimonious face when I got back.

But he is going to be a problem. Yep, I can definitely see that. He's going to ruin my new game. And at the moment, it's the only thing keeping me here. The tiny, physical bit of me that has to stay here.

So I guess I'd better start including him. Cus I just know there's gonna be a lot of extra love for me from him. Yeah, I'll get loved real good from Angelus. Always did. Always will.

Maybe this time he'll remember to look at me afterwards.

I wait till I sense that he is asleep. It took him hours. Fucking broody git.

I undress and stand beside the bed looking down at him. He is more beautiful than when I loved him. His new hair suits him. Maybe I'll tell him that if I need a chat up line. I'll see. Always good to compliment 'em. Gets it over with quicker. Makes 'em cum quicker. So you can move on, get more love.

I kneel on the side of the bed and wait for him to waken. He opens his eyes. And fuck, I think he's been awake a while, cus he ain't startled at seeing me here, naked, on his bed.



I awoke the minute he came into the room but I sensed enough pain, to pretend I hadn’t. Through my half closed eyes I watched his quiet approach.

My father once found a deer cornered in the end of our orchard. It was only a young fawn, but albino. Pure, milky white like a small, quivering ghost. Its eyes are staring at me now. Echoes of memories down centuries of pain.

I try to open my eyes gradually, gently so as not to startle this ghost.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asks, in a voice so flat and toneless it even sounds like a voice from the grave.

Although deep down I sense that this may be one of those life defining moments upon which future years of pain are founded or avoided, I act instinctively, hoping that what I do is right.

I reach out my hand and pull him slowly but surely into my embrace, spooning him to me: his back to my chest, tight and secure.

For long minutes he lies like a coiled spring. There is tension in every muscle, a highly evolved flight or fight response evident in his posture. But gradually the tension eases. Imperceptibly, the awful, endless keening lessens to a more acceptable...mewing. I dare not move. The fawn is still at last, not quivering. But it’s wary. Oh, so wary. There is no threat to you here little one.

I am completely flaccid against his hips. There is no threat for you here, Childe.

I can smell his soft hair. He smells like the Spike I remember. My face is inches away from the soft, blond hairs on the back of his neck. Did I once lift other, longer blond hair away from another neck and wish it his?

My hand rests on his hip. The bones are sharp and dip down creating intriguing hollows. His skin is flawlessly smooth. His body fits to mine like pieces in a child’s puzzle.

I can just see the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the long, dark outline of his lashes framing his deeply troubled eyes. There is almost no noise now, he is actually...softening in my embrace. I squeeze him tighter to me. The only movement I feel he will tolerate.

But my body betrays me. I have been celibate too long. My cock stiffens against his hips.

His eyes fly open and, like a drowning man reaching the surface, he takes a huge, unexpected gasp of air. It’s like he is returning to his body and found the pain too great. He wrenches free of my arms and stumbles to the door. I don’t follow him. I don’t blame him. I have betrayed him. Again. But, oh! The smell of him: the feel of him. The need of him is overwhelming.



The fucker, the fucker, I hate him...just for a minute I came back. Just for a moment I felt kindness. I wasn’t expecting it, I was expecting cock in my mouth, I was expecting to sweat, I was expecting blood and pain, but I got kindness. For a short while I came back cus there was kindness. Not for long though. It was just foreplay. Can’t be much fun fucking someone who ain’t there. I fucked a dead body once. I’d just killed it, so it was real fresh. Still warm, still pliant. I thought it would be fun. Weren’t. It was awful. Guess that’s what I felt like.

So he brought me back.

The fucker, the fucker. I hate him. Well it don’t matter cus I know where I can find love. All I need is another bar, another bathroom, another kind stranger. The kindness of strangers.

Don’t take me long to find one either. And they always follow me in. Am I sending off some sort of signal? Do I have ‘easy lay’ tattooed on my forehead? Would they have followed me in here when I was still here? When I was the Big Bad. No. They ran from me then. But not now. Can’t run when I’ve their cocks in my mouth. Can’t run when I’ve my fangs in their throats.

This one is good: his pain threshold is high. I get at least a pint before he pulls away in terror at his own boldness. What do they think when I make the deal? That I am some weird fucking human who wants to suck blood? Don’t they realise that they are dealing with the devil? Guess I’m not even here enough to frighten sad fucks in public lavatories these days.

Don’t care. When they wrap their arms around my head, when the dig their fingers into my hair, when they start to feel the exquisite pleasure of being blown by something that don’t need to breath, something that don’t gag, it’s all there is. It’s all I need. The fucker, the fucker, I hate him. This is all there is. I hate him. But there is this.

There were a lot tonight. Saturday night. Good for beer and a blow. Only...I didn’t like that many. Not all at once. Not when they realised I couldn’t fight back. But I don’t care. I’m not here, so it can’t be my eye I can’t see out of. It can’t be my fingers bent so far back they touch my wrist. Can’t be my face slit open with a razor to make me smile. Apparently I don’t smile much when they’re loving me. How did I know? I can’t see myself. But it’s not me anyway, I’m smiling where I am, cus it’s nice there. Thought I was smiling here. Sorry. I’ll do better next time. I’m learning new rules to this game. I’ll learn faster. Sorry.

Fucker’s up, in his chair, reading. Bugger. Ignore him. Get to the bathroom. What first? Vomit. Like that bit. Always best to go with what you enjoy. Strip. Getting good at that. Had to do that tonight. Well, I like to please an audience. Shower. One day, when I do finally stake myself, which I’m planning real soon, one day, I will miss this. Under this shower I do come back for a moment. Like being in the fucker’s arms again. I do come back. If it’s hot enough and long enough, I can create enough steam to make another world. I see myself as a vague, translucent figure in a swirling world of steam. And I like that. It’s natural camouflage for a pale Vampire. But shit, that ruins my illusion. Ain’t supposed to be red. Guess they cut me up more that I thought. There’s a river of blood running down my chest from the razor cut, a torrent of blood from between my legs. The stall is filling with a pool of my blood. It’s strangely hypnotic to watch. Wonder how much will flow before I become hollow. Where will it go? Will small sewer creatures sense it passing, amidst all the shit going though LA’s drains, will they still their furtive scurrying and think...'Vampire blood is passing'. Am I truly mad now?

How long has passed? Why am I on my knees? Again. I’ve been on my knees already tonight. I was hoping to stand for a while. To stand up for myself. But I can’t. I couldn’t even push the first one away. When he entered me, I pushed back, and as he fell I felt the searing pain that brings me to my knees. Angelus once drove a railroad spike through my wrist. Can’t remember why now. Think it was cus he wanted me, but who knows, it was all so long ago, so much pain, so much blood, so much fighting since. Was I Spike already then, or was that my inspiration? But even that didn’t make me fall to my knees. I thought no pain would ever be worse than that spike. But this searing in my brain makes me want to weep, like a child. It is the worst pain imaginable, and all I did was push him so he fell.

Why am I lying now in this pool of warm water-blood? It’s very, very, nice. Looks pretty, tastes good too. And still the steam envelopes me. Guess I won’t need to try and stake myself now. Won’t have to face even that failure again. Warm water’s gonna do it for me. I’m going wash right down this drain, fluid ounce by fluid ounce.

Fuck. What’s that?

Oh fuck, I knew he would ruin everything.

He’s been here all the time I think. He never leaves me. He is in this water. He is in my blood. He is my pain. He is God. He sees all. Even me, when I am not here.

Please...don’t.

Please...leave.

Please...don’t see me.

I’m not here.

Please...don’t bring me back.

Chapter 3

I couldn’t cope with his mental pain, but this - this is all too familiar. This is pain of an understandable kind: deep slash cuts on his face and arms; broken fingers and penetration wounds. This I can cope with. Yes, I can cope with him now. Now I can lift him gently out of the shower stall and carry his unconscious form into the bedroom. Now I can bandage; heal; treat. Now, for this short time, he is all mine and I can help. Some of his wounds are healing already. He must have fed well tonight. I don’t think the fingers are broken, only dislocated. I pop them back into their sockets. He must have put up quite a struggle, defenceless as he is.

I feel as though time has stood still in this bedroom. My reading lamp sends a soft arc of light over his inert form. He is so still and quiet and beautiful. I don’t want to think about what brought him to this state tonight, and I don’t want to think about the future. I just want to be here, now, where I am needed. That’s a sort of love in itself: to be needed. A tiny thought flitters across my mind before I have time to stop it and examine it. It seems to me that it was critical to what has been going on here over the last four days, but it’s gone before I can work it out.

However much I just want to stay here with my Childe: nursing him; holding him; loving him - I do have to face the future. We cannot go on like this. Something has to change. And from our respective positions on this bed, it seems to me that it is Spike who needs to change. He is the one half beaten to death; the one vomiting up his life’s blood into the toilet every night; the one whose beautiful face is slashed through as though someone were trying to join him from ear to ear. So I do need to think about what has brought him here to this state tonight. I need to find out what Spike has been doing and why.

I start with a phone call to Giles. I am a good actor. I keep my burning hatred for him out of my voice. I just think about the factory and enjoy the memory of his pain.

‘Giles. It’s me. I need some information.’

‘Oh, well if I can help…fire away.’

‘It’s Spike. He’s not…well. I want to know more about the chip.’

‘Well, there’s not a lot more I can tell you. As I told you, it was implanted by this pseudo-military group known as the Initiative. He wasn’t meant to escape of course. So I don’t think they had really thought through what the effect would be on a demon running around loose. They’ve made a few attempts to recapture him, which is one of the reasons we came to you. He was endangering us all. I tried to get him to leave Sunnydale, but being Spike, he refused. He had some ludicrous idea they would take it out and turn him back. As if. Quite funny really.’

‘Why did he come to you for help? Initially, when he escaped?’

‘Well I suppose he had no choice: he was starving. Who else was there?’ Quite. Who else indeed? Not his Sire, who ignores him and betrays him.

‘How was he acting? When he was with you. Was he…different? Strange? I know it’s not always easy to tell with Spike, but is there anything useful you can tell me?’

‘Well naturally he seemed odd. It was the first time I’d ever had a chance to talk to him, without fearing he was about to rip my throat out that is. He…gosh, do you know, I’ve never actually thought about this before…he seemed strangely animated…full of…life. Yes, he was full of beans. Furious about being chipped of course. But he wanted to talk…all the time, about his shows, books, his music. He was rather exhausting. But what an amazing knowledge he has of demon languages and lore. But I had a…visitor, so I sent him to Xander’s. I don’t think things went quite as well there. You know about the suicide attempt I suppose?’

‘Angel?’

‘Angel…are you still there, the line seems to have gone funny.’

‘Yes. I am still here. No. I didn’t know. Perhaps you could tell me.’

‘Oh. Well, Xander and Willow found him. He had tried to stake himself apparently. But he seemed to recover well…once he found he could still fight: demons that is. Well, until he became a target for them of course. But he certainly keeps the demon population of Sunnydale out of Buffy’s hair while she’s worrying about this new Initiative. They’re all attacking Spike instead.’

‘So how has he been living…feeding, since being chipped?’

‘Well, I fed him of course, when he was here. Then I supposed Xander must have. I never asked actually. When Xander kicked him out, I’m not sure. I know he’s living in a crypt in the cemetery. It’s a ghastly place. I suppose he has his sources of blood. I really don’t know. He still came over occasionally. He never asked to be fed, so I suppose I assumed he was fending for himself. But on reflection, he never asked any of us for anything. In fact he didn’t really talk at all. He just used to turn up, sit here for a while, then go. I’m sorry Angel, there’s not much more I can tell you.’

‘Oh, no, Giles. You’ve told me plenty.’

And he has.

I cannot imagine what life has been like for Spike since this abomination happened to him. Far better he were staked than – this. This is wanton cruelty. Like pulling wings off flies. Doesn’t matter how much you hate flies, how much more evolved you are than a fly, kill it: don’t torture it for sport. What mentality could do this to a Vampire whose whole life is feeding and blood? It’s what we are. I repress it. But it took me over eighty years of insanity to be able to. Spike can’t. It must torture him day and night. And then to find yourself totally alone…a victim of thoughtless human cruelty…deliberate demon hatred.

I wonder he is as sane as he is.

But I am beginning to have an idea what I need to do. Where I saw only darkly, I see clearly now. Where I was unsure, now I am certain. The thought I barely had comes back with startling clarity. Spike has no one. Not one person who cares for him. Everything needs to be needed. Even demons. Especially demons like Spike who has more humanity than most of the human scum I come across in LA. Spike with his human passions. Spike with his human feelings. Spike with his human capacity to love.

Oh! I know exactly what to do now. I have never been so needed and I will not fail him again.



Soon as the poof goes, I’m out of here. Fucking lack of reflection. Can feel me face healing, but I want to see how bad the mark is. Want to see if I’m respectable enough for me new friends. Don’t want to frighten them off.

He’s on the phone. I can hear a mumbled conversation. Probably trying to get the fuckers from Sunnyfuckingdale to come back for me. Not been a very good houseguest so far. Well, serves the fucker right for ordering a dead thing, who ain't even here, to stay with him

Well, I won’t be staying much longer, Mate. Got places to go. Permanent places.

Soon as I hear him go upstairs I slide out of the bed and try to find my clothes. Fuck. Where are they? I do not believe he has taken them. Fucker. I hate him. Right, what’ll fit me out of this shit?

Don’t take me long to find my way out of the tunnels into a suitable bar. It’s great coming up through the sewers: shit coming the wrong way. It’s funny. I like to laugh. Best thing about tonight though? I found some cash stuffed into the pockets of these pants, so I’m gonna have a blast before I make some new friends.

I order a bottle of something – don’t care what and prop myself up at the bar. If I drink it quickly enough I can get to work before I start to think about anything. Stay numb, stay unfocused. That’s best.

I’m onto my second bottle when I sense I’m being watched. I get up and go to the bathroom. I really need this tonight. I’m fucked up and in pain as well now: so much need. But I know it’ll all go away soon. As they all do, he agrees to my terms readily. Prick! He has no idea what I am.

What am I?

Don’t think about it…get on your knees…you are beneath us…get on your knees…take this cock…it is given for you…suck it now…hear him groan…he needs me…feel his hands rip at my hair…how much love can one Vampire take…suck some more…feel him coming…it’s his gift to me…so much love…fuck! What was that?

I feel a vice-like grip on my shoulder ripping me away. I’m flung into a corner of the bathroom. Think my new friend’s a bit upset: I had him in me teeth. I think he got a bit…torn. But he don’t seem to be hanging around to complain. Just as well, as the searing pain in me head from hurting him don't make me feel much like having to listen to complaints. Nope, he ain't hanging around for some reason.

Ahh.

Neither would I. Angelus is here. Or is it Angel? I can’t see much difference most of the time. One is only the other: but with a mask.

Oh…piss. I knew he was going to ruin everything.

This is nothing to do with him. I am dead. I’m not here: I can do what I like. That’s my rule. If I’m not here, nothing matters. If it mattered, that would mean I was real and that ain’t possible. Cus if I am…where the fuck have I been recently? But I ain’t in the mood to explain all this to the fucker. So I get up and face him. Got cum on my face. Good. I slowly lick it off: making sure he is watching. Want this to be yours poof? Well come over here then, my rates are real low tonight, special offer from the scar-face boy.

Woops. Fucker didn’t like me tempting gesture. He comes for me and backhands me into the wall. I bite my tongue and the blood runs freely down my chin. I steady myself and turn to face him again.

‘Bring it on, Angelus. Let’s finish this. Here: now. I’m tired.’ He gives the tiniest of nods…I’m not sure whether to himself, or in response to my words. They are the first I’ve spoken to him voluntarily in over four days. I thought he’d try to talk to me. I thought he’d want to be understanding. I thought he’d try to be non-judgemental like before. I didn’t think he’d actually take me up on it. Fuck. He’s very big. He’s very strong. But I’m not here, so nothing matters.

I hit him.

Oh. That felt good. My punch lands squarely on his jaw. He reels back against the wall. I close for a well-placed kick to his stomach before he can recover. As he falls to his knees, I bring my forearms down, hard onto the back of the neck. It’s been a violent, unexpected attack and I’ve got the upper hand now. I spin round to gain maximum momentum and kick him in the head. He goes down.

I’m feeling a lot better now. That felt very good. I turn towards the door but find myself being propelled through it. We fly in a tangle of Vampire bodies into the bar.

I’m not sure if it's the blood, the growling, or the fact we're both in full game face by now that gets the punters running. Fucking funny though.

Ain’t so funny when he starts smashing my face into one of the tables. I feel my nose mash, then my top lip split open and I’m sure my razor cut has opened up and is bleeding again. Can’t see too well for the blood now. See well enough to push him backwards over the bar with a well-placed kick to his vitals. There’s a high-pitched scream from behind the counter and I hear retching, I fling myself over on top of him and try to kick him again. He catches my leg and flips me onto my back and straddles my hips. He starts hard, repetitive punches to my face. What’s left of it. What is this obsession everyone has with my face? Fucking annoying. I reach behind and grab a bottle from under the bar and smash it against the side of his head. It connects with a satisfying crunch and…oh, whisky…yum…washes down my wrist. I jam the broken, jagged end into his face and give it vicious twist. He howls in pain and falls backwards off me. I get up and attempt to leap back over the bar, but he catches my leg and pulls me back. As I fall, I get one leg caught on the pumps and end up trapped with it - like a log ready for chopping. Oh. Not good.

Fucking hell! He jumped on me fucking leg. I distinctly hear a crack. I feel it even more distinctly. Shit. If this gets any worse I'm gonna have to come back, just to survive. I mean, I want to go. Permanently. That's what was for dessert, after me main course. But I don't want to go by the fucker's hand. I wanted his hand to do something else: once. But not a good time to think of that now. I disentangle myself and manage to get back over the bar. My leg is snapped cleanly in two, just below the knee. Hurts like hell.

Oh bloody hell! I'm flattened under sixteen stones of pure Vampire muscle.

Okay, okay. This is getting serious now. I'm gonna come back. Just for a while. Just till I send this fucking poof to hell for the second time. Wish I had me crowbar back. Now that was fun!

Oh yeah!

The Big Bad is back!

Mate!

I reach up and snap the table leg in half. I twist under his weight…shit, my leg!...and ram it viciously into his…stomach. Fuck. Was aiming for the heart. Easy shot, can't believe I missed! And why are you fucking laughing?

'Think that's funny. Mate?' I roll to one side and get into a fighting crouch.

'Hello, Spike. Welcome back!'

What the fuck? Patronising git! I hit him at full force with my shoulder and propel him and his fucking grin into the wall. I rip out the stake and go again for his cold heart. He brings his knee up hard and…

Jesus! My bollocks! Oh God! Oh fuck! I'm gonna…uhhh. More vomit. Aim for his shoes. Oh yeah! That hurt him more than the stake.

This is getting unpleasant now. Slipping around in second hand cum and blood ain't nice. But you gotta go with what you got…he falls hard when I hook me hands around his legs and yank him towards me, making him slip in the muck.

'Stop laughing you bastard! I'm gonna kill you.'

'Okay, Spike. You do that. You can do anything you like little one. Now that you're back.'

Err…did I say I get Angel and Angelus confused? Maybe that was only when I was confused then. When I was away for a while. Cus this sure ain't fucking Angelus I've got pinned under me in the vomit. Angelus never called me…that. Can't believe Angel did either.

What's happening here?

I'm at a loss now. I can' t quite remember what this fight was about. Don't think I started it.

Maybe I'll just finish it though.

I snap the metal leg out from the booth nearest me and take a little trip down memory lane.



I knew the moment it worked. I saw him come back. I actually saw the blank, lost look leave his face and the animated, pissed off, loud demon I love, come back. And you know what? That damn screaming just stopped. Cut off. Like someone finally got into the right gear. Oh yes. Spike is back.

This was a risk. A risk he might not take the bait and fight me: a risk he might actually win – although, admittedly, that was only a small risk: a risk it might not work. Now all I've got to do is keep him here.

I knew in my heart of cold hearts what he was doing. There was no other way he could get in such a state every night, so much blood, so much cum. It was obvious I suppose. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. But it was still a shock. That he could be brought so low. I guess he must have been in absolute hell and no one saw it. No one cared enough to look. Hell can make you do things like that. I should know. I sucked a lot of cock in Hell. Not nice small, human ones either.

But he's back now. And pissed off enough to stay around for a while I hope. But I really don't like the look he's got on his face now and I definitely don't like the metal stake's he's waving around in front of my face. Time to end this. I flip him off me and reverse our positions. I effortlessly wrestle the spike out of his hand: his fingers still aren't that healed and his grip is pretty weak. We could be back one hundred years. I drove a spike through his wrist once. I wanted to crucify him I think, for my sins. Because I loved him and I shouldn't have done. Because I wanted him and I shouldn't have done. Won't be any crucifying here tonight.

'Hello, Spike. Remember me? I'm the one who drove one of these…' I put the jagged end of the spike against his wrist…'through here. Remember? Want me to do it again?'

'If you do, it'll be the very last thing that'll ever give you pleasure in this world. Mate.'

'Oh, I won't get any pleasure out of it, Spike. I didn't the first time. I did it because you didn't love me. And you didn't want me. And I loved you and I wanted you. I loved you: hated myself. So I just gave a little push…like this.'

'Ow. Stop that you fucker. No way are you driving that through there. And what the fuck are you talking about Angel? You have never, ever loved me. I should know. I'm the one who's suffered your fucking neglect all these years. I'm the fucking one who's been pining after you like some sodding Labrador on an airfield all these years.'

'Err…' allusion totally lost on me, but I get the sentiment…'you are lying as usual, Spike. You loathed me. When I…' God, after all these years, I still can't face it, can't face myself…'When I touched you: when I kissed you…you were revolted. Don't lie to me, Spike. I know you too well. What? Stop laughing, Spike. Shut up! Stop it!'

'You! You know me! Oh, fucking give me strength, Angel. I have loved you all my dead life. Every moment: wanting you. Every deed: done for you. But you have always been so far up your own arse you could never see it. I wanted you when you touched me. I'd have turned over for you faster than it would have taken you to say, please! Jesus Angel! When you kissed me I practically sucked your fucking tongue off. What did you actually think that was all about then?'

'You are doing it again, Spike. You're twisting the truth of the past to suit your own purposes. You know it revolted you. You used it against me. You became unmanageable, demonic.'

'Fucking hell, Angelus! I became you! I wanted to be you! I thought you'd like it! Am I being a fucking pillock here or are you totally dense? Have you thought all these years that I hated it? Oh God. Oh God, what a bloody mess. Get off me. I'm sick of vomit and you've got it in your hair. Did I tell you, your hair looks great…better tell you in case you think I hate you or something. I do hate you by the way. Let me up. Now. I've had enough. I want a shower. I want some blood. Pig's blood. I want a good night's sleep in a comfortable bed. And then I want some fun. So put that little cock substitute of yours away…oh yeah, I don’t need a degree in fucking psychology to know what driving that into me was all about…so put it away…if you're lucky and your shower is hot enough…if you're lucky and your bed is soft enough…if you're just lucky, you can drive the real thing into me tonight and I'll be sure to let you know real definite that I like it. How's that for a deal, Pet? Now let me up!

'Are you intending to stop talking at all tonight?'

'If you put your cock in my mouth later I might. But if you don't let me up we ain't ever going to get to the nice bits of Spike's road trip to LA.'

I am going to let him up. Especially as he said I have vomit in my hair. That's a very worrying thought, now nagging at the back of my mind. But not worrying enough to prevent me slowly closing on his mouth with mine. Cold hesitant lips again.

But his cold lips are anything but unresponsive.

As I release his wrists he buries his fingers in my hair pulling me softly into the kiss. His tongue thrusts into my mouth. I've imagined this act every single night since I left him. In lonely beds around the world his mouth has matched with mine. In long, boring hours of daytime inactivity, his tongue has explored my lips, forever brushing lightly: lovingly. But no imagination could have prepared me for the tingle running down my spine, the hard insistent erection that sets my balls on fire. Nothing. No dream, no memory has been as good as this. I am actually kissing Spike. And he is kissing me back. There is no mistake this time: we are kissing each other.

But I really want to get that vomit out of my hair.

'Home?'

Chapter 4

I’m actually nervous. I’m…embarrassed. I have never taken a shower with anyone before. Although I’ve been naked in front of Spike a thousand times - although he’s seen me with Darla, with Dru, with human victims - although he’s seen me in every imaginable position - I’m embarrassed now. This is just ridiculous. I’m supposed to be taking a shower but in all the confusion of getting back, I’m not sure whether he said he was going to join me or not. And now I don’t like to ask. In case he thinks I’m pushing things or something. I’ve learnt over the last four days to assume nothing about Spike and what he is likely to be thinking. He is a law unto himself.

The trip back was…different. Spike was…variable. One minute he seemed his old self – complaining, vocal, rude, funny, sexy as hell – but the next he was moody and quiet. I didn't sense that awful, vacant Spike returning though, more the old Spike I knew: quiet. He seemed to be trying to puzzle something out. But what with his leg, my stomach and a few miles of rotten sewer to negotiate, I was too occupied to ask him what.

That’s why I should go out now and ask him directly. So there will be no misunderstandings between us anymore.

It's gotten quiet now. Oh god! Why does this never get any easier? I thought I had this all sorted in my mind. I thought I knew what I wanted. But I don't. Not really. What am I doing even contemplating taking on this troubled, damaged demon? I am supposed to be on a path to redemption: to becoming human once more. Where the hell is Spike supposed to fit into that plan? He is hardly going to aid my redemption – more like damn me to hell again. And if he doesn't; if I do get my, 'prize', what then? How could we have anything together, me human, him still demon?

This is just a fantasy. This is something I have thought of through long nights to keep me sane. This is not real. It's dangerous to try and make fantasy: reality. You end up ruining one and losing the other. What are we going to do? Live here, like…Vampire lovers? As if the Powers That Be are going to let that go unchallenged. He is still basically evil. I wonder what he would do right now, if I were able to take that chip out for him. I somehow don't think he would go back to Sunnydale to thank everyone for being so kind to him. Well, he might but the 'thank you' would probably be a little messy.

So this is not going to work. I cannot give up what I have strived for…for him. I gave up Buffy for this chance at redemption. If I don’t pursue my aim, I will end up insane. The guilt of my evil will drive me mad – I will be back in alleyways, chasing rats. I have to atone. I need to be forgiven. And if that means giving up this chance of happiness: so be it.

But how to tell Spike!

I wrap a towel around my waist and take the longest most painful journey of my life. I'd rather walk back through the gates of hell. If I find him naked, coming towards me, I will be damned. I will play out my fate till I am either staked or insane, but I could not turn him down.

He's sitting fully dressed in the kitchen, sipping some coffee.

Before I can speak he looks up and I almost think I can see tears in his eyes. Can't be. This is, Spike. Spike, has never cried to my knowledge in all the years I've known him. But as he so vocally pointed out tonight: I don't seem know him all that well.

'I'm not staying, Angel. I'm going back. Home.'

Oh.

I was supposed to start this. I was supposed to tell him that this wouldn't work. He was supposed to fling himself on me, rip away this towel, kiss me and…make love to me. I was supposed to give in and beg him to stay. That's how this was supposed to go. It's how this always goes…in my shower fantasy. I decide my redemption is too precious. I come out – always dressed in this towel – to tell him to go, but he wins me round with those eyes, that mouth, those hands. And this time it was going to be for real. Not once, in all my fantasies, has Spike ever initiated this conversation and told me he was leaving.

Oh.

'Why?'

'I'm not sure as I understand it meself, Mate. But this…' and he waves his hand vaguely around the apartment…'this ain't any more real for me than…you know…what I've been doing. It seemed like a good idea when you were sitting on me: in the bar. But I was thinking about it all the way here. What am I going to do, Angel? What am I going to be? Besides some kind of fuck toy. Sorry, Pet…I know that's not what you'd be thinking about me…but it's what I'd be thinking about meself. It's as if I've been doing that recently for someone…I don't know, it's all hazy and unreal, but I need to be sure. '

'Don't do this, Spike.' I sit down opposite him at the table. Has it suddenly got cold in here, or is it just that I am still wet? I've started to shiver, so it must be cold. 'This is ridiculous. You'd be yourself. Nothing more: nothing less.'

'Uh huh. Well maybe you can tell me who that is then, cus I'm sure as hell I don’t know. Cus I'm not really back am I, Angel? I'm not, William, I'm not, Spike – not with this chip. I'm someone new: post-Spike, I suppose. But whatever – whoever - I am, I need time to find that out. And being here with you would be too…easy. I'd just lose myself again. And as much as I enjoyed not having to listen to that fat git, Harris, I really don’t want to start disappearing again.'

'I'm not acquiescing to this rubbish, but, playing Devil's advocate, where would you go?'

'There's only one place really.' He looks up with an expression that tears my dead heart in two, 'Sunnydale.'

'Spike! For God's sake! It was being there, that got you like this. Why there of all places?'

'You know why.'

And I suppose I do. He can't find himself anywhere else. Because that's where he got lost. But, oh…this is more than I can bear.

'I'm coming too. You are not going back to live in a damp crypt, with no one. We'll get somewhere. I'll…' but before I even finish my sentence he stands up and with the saddest of smiles, starts walking over to the stairs.

'There is no place there for you anymore, Angel. You know that. That is fantasy. This is the real world. I've been trying to escape it, Mate. But it don't go away. It's always going to be there when the fantasy ends. I need to go back alone and I need to…oh god…am I actually going to use this phrase…I need to find myself again.' He pauses on the bottom step. 'Don't follow me, Pet. It'll only make it more difficult. And I've beaten you up enough tonight…you are getting on a bit you know. I'll be in touch. See ya.'

And with that: he leaves. What did I think about the Powers That Be not approving? I feel like screaming to them, very loudly and very clearly: fuck you!



I'm so fucking grown up I'll be buying a cardigan soon. I don't really believe I just did that. Specially as I've no fucking car and no bloody money for a bus. Sodding hell. Why didn’t I just stay one night, fuck a car out of the poof and then leave. I never think things through. Must be something to do with the sight of Angel in that towel. I knew if I didn’t leave there and then, I'd be sitting in that chair forever. And regardless of all his so-adult reasoning and playing Devil's whatnots, I would be his fuck toy. That's what his pet humans would think. That's what I'd think. Fuck. What did I really think I was doing even contemplating staying with him? This isn't…then. This isn't me, and him, cutting a swath through Europe: Vampire lovers. That's the fantasy. That's what I wake up hard to every morning. This is working-Angel who pretends to be human and the chip boy. I don't want to fight demons for a living. I don’t want to hang around that apartment all day waiting for the high and mighty Angel to decide to come down and stick it to me cus he's bored and the in-tray's empty. I want me, and him. Cutting a swath. Vampire lovers. Shit: Vampire fuckers – I'm not fussy. Nah…who am I kidding? Vampire lovers.

Oh, but it's a fucking long walk back to Sunnydale. Wonder if I changed me rates…to a ride, I could…hum, now's there's a thought.



Fucking lorry drivers. Just cus they have big, 'trucks', they're still dickhead lorry drivers in my book.

Nice to be home. Not. Smells even worse than when I left. I think a major redecoration is in order with this place. Tomorrow. Yeah and maybe the fucking-sun'll-come-out-tomorrow as well.

Oh…bloody hell!

What was my reason for coming back to this shit hole? Why didn't I want to stay with Angel in his nice LA apartment? Why did I give up free blood and sex with Angel? Am I the stupidest sodding demon on the face of this sorry planet? Except for Angel that is.

I'm right back where I started before I started to disappear. I feel solid enough now though. Pissed off with myself, but real enough. Fucking hell, I hate my life. And what is that sodding noise? Oh, no! Don't tell me it's me again. Don't tell me I've starting fucking whining again…cus that was just embarrassing.

What is that noise? Ain't me. Sure of that. That's human. That's a human baby: crying. Ahh, ignore it. It's cold outside…it won't be crying for long.

Ow!

Fuck! What the hell just happened there? I'm just standing here…not hurting anyone…chip shouldn’t be going off. And shut up you stupid baby…I'm in pain here.

Ow!

Again! Why is this sodding chip going off? Shut up! Fuck you…will you SHUT UP!

OW!

SHUT UP!

OW!

SHUT UP!

OW! OW! OW!

Oh.

All right. Where are you? I'm coming. Jesus it's cold out here. Well, for California it's cold…should try Sunderland in February. Come on little fucker where are you? Ahh, here we are.

For God's sake. A baby girl is sitting on the damp, cemetery ground, crying piteously. Well, I ain't gonna pick you up. I've got things to do.

Ow! Oh no you don't!

Ow! Ow! Oh, God, stop!

All right! I'll pick you up. Ow! Gently…picking you up gently! Okay?

Oh God. I can see the headlines now…Vampire kidnaps baby for bizarre satanic rituals…this, is not good.

I carry the little fucker into the crypt. At least swearing at it don’t set me chip off, so I enjoy that for a while.

Oh sodding hell…what is that? Is that snot on my duster? This duster has survived earthquakes, floods and bullet holes. I do NOT want snot on it!

I wipe the little fucker's face with a rag. At least it's stopped bloody crying. It's sitting in my armchair staring up at me. I have no idea how old it is. It don't seem to be able to walk.

Why me?

I was supposed to be finding myself tonight, and I had a whole plan worked out. Well, all right, I was just gonna go to sleep and hope everything would be better in the morning. But that was a plan of sorts. Better than some I've had. I wanted to think about the last few days. I wanted to think about Angel, and that is in the…biblical sense of thinking about Angel. I wanted to…shit, did I want to brood? Nah. Can't have.

But I did not want to be babysitting. THAT was definitely not in me plan.

Its eyes are the colour of the ocean at midnight, under a bright moon. Its eyelashes frame them like delicate strokes on a Japanese scroll. Damp with its tears, they glisten like jet.

Oh, God.

I squat down in front of her.

'Where have you come from, eh, Pet? And what am I supposed to do with you? Can't stay here, Luv. Don't think you'd like living with Spike too much. It's horrible here. Cold and damp and full of dead things. Like me.' But she seems to like the idea, she stands up and starts…bouncing. Too bad baby, you can't stay here. I've got to get you back where you belong. I'd take a bet someone, somewhere is missing you.

Oh, bollocks!

'Come on, baby. We're going to Uncle Giles'.'



I'd rather suck Harris' cock than go crawling back to the Watcher's, but I have to get little blue-eyes here back where she belongs.

She's as light as a feather and clings to me as I carry her through the cemetery. I cover her with my duster – just so I don't get stopped and asked awkward questions. No other reason.

Soon as the old git opens the door I blurt out, 'Don't stake me…she's nothing to do with me…I just found her…and, oh, by the way, I'm back.' No need to tell them just how true that is.

Trust my luck all the fucking children are here too. Don't they ever do proper teenage stuff…like shagging and drugs! Jesus! Oh well, baptism by fire. I'm back, so they'd better get used to it.

'Well, come in then…and give her to me.'

Soon as he tries to take her from me, she lets up a howl of protest and the bloody chip goes off again.

'Oh, God…stop. Leave her! I'll hold her. Let go! I'll hold her till you find her bleeding parents.' I ignore the stares of the children and plonk myself down on the couch and get little lady comfortable. She stands on me, peering balefully at the Watcher over my shoulder. She starts bouncing again. Little dancer this one.

The girls, of course, are all over me now. Should have tried this, years ago. Only, didn't have a good track record with bringing Dru babies: she tended to eat 'em! Harris is spitting mad. I give him an irritating grin behind their backs.

'Baby suits you, Spike. Maybe you should think about having one. Oh…duh!…my memory…you can't, can you? You're dead!'

Now, few days ago, I'd have been a tad upset about shit like that from him. Think he was the first person I stopped hearing when that fucking screaming started. Now though? He's just a greasy, fat, irritating git whose gonna be dead when I'm still here, still fighting and fucking and still beautiful.

'Why don't you shut the fuck up, Harris, and go do something useful like buy some milk and some nappies for 'er.' He's about to protest but the girls give him outraged looks that he didn’t think of it himself. He folds under their combined, feminine wrath and stomps off complaining to himself.

Little un's gone very still and very quiet on my shoulder. She's asleep. She's incredibly warm and soft and her blood is so fresh. I inhale deeply into her neck. Just to smell the blood of course.

The girls are tiptoeing around me, bringing me stuff, so I don’t have to move. Good this. Last time I was here they didn't even see me. Watcher's making phone calls about the baby. I almost turn round and tell him not to bother till she's awake. That she can't go when she's asleep. But it's too late. He comes over with a look of satisfaction on his face.

'I have a very strong feeling that we are going to be having visitors in an hour or so. Seems our little friend here was a 'tug-of-love' victim. She was kidnapped by her father two months ago apparently. Last week he was found, murdered. She's been missing ever since. Her mother and her…lawyers I think…are coming here with the police as soon as they can. She's thirteen months old apparently, and called Daisy.'

Daisy. Huh. I haven't seen one of those since I was human. Or haven't noticed. Daisy. Tug-of-love? That ain't love. That's just greed. That's just spite. I'm a bloody demon and I know more about love than that.

But don't even think about Angel here, now. Don't think about Angel while I have this warm baby in my arms. Don't think about Angel when I can smell her soft hair. That's just not fair. As usual, fate decides to choose this moment to give me a swift kick in the balls. The phone rings.

'Yes, hello. Rupert Giles here. Oh, Angel…it's you again. Yes, he is here now actually, he arrived about ten minutes after your last call. Funny coincidence. No, I'm sorry he can' t come to the phone he's rather occupied. Okay, I'll try.' He stretches the phone over to me and I find myself, in the middle of this bizarre event, talking to Angel. With the whole fucking Scobbie gang listening in, including fat boy who has just got back.

'Hi.'

'Hello. How are you?'

'Err…about the same as when I saw you a few hours ago. I'm at the Watcher's and the Slayer is here. With Red and…all of them.'

'Why couldn't you come to the phone? How did you get back to Sunnydale? I suddenly realised you didn’t have your car. Why did you go? When are you coming back? Why are you at the Watcher's. What's happening, Spike…talk to me.'

'Yes…as I said…I'm at the Watcher's, Mate. They are all here. Listening.'

'Oh. Well, do you need me?'

How do I answer that? Yes, Angel, I need you like I need blood, like I need my eternity. 'No, I'm okay, I'm handling things.'

'Oh, so you're not thinking about me at all?'

'Angel.'

'Yes?'

'Guess what I'm holding.'

'I give up…is this going to be rude?'

'A baby…Angel…Angel, you still there?'

'Okay, Spike, I'm staying really calm. Did you say, a baby?'

'Yep!'

'You have never held a baby in your entire life. Why now?'

'I found 'er, outside me crypt…she's a missing person sorta…well, not now, cus I found 'er. She's going home soon.'

'What's she like?'

'She's beautiful.'

'Oh. I miss you. I've sent you something. I've sent it to Giles'. Can you collect it from there?'

'Guess so, what is it?'

'It's a surprise.'

'Oh. Is it rude?'

'Are they all still listening?'

'Sort of…so it is?'

'Sorry, no. I just want to tell you I miss you and I…want you. Right now. As in…want you!'

'Oh…not a good time to do this, Angel. Cus I do too now. You. And like I said…audience!'

'Damn!'

'Yeah'

'Shall I come up there? Please say, yes.'

'You wouldn't like my crypt much.'

'Would you be in it?'

'Duh! Pillock.'

'Then I'd love it!'

'Okay then, if you…Oh My God…what is that? That smell? Fucking hell!'

'Spike…Spike, what's wrong?'

'Oh…I've got to go. I'll ring you back. Later. Okay?'

'All right…but…'

I drop the phone. 'Help, someone, get her off me.' I've smelt decaying plague victims I'd rather have asleep on my shoulder than…oh God!

'Someone take her. Now!'

'I thought your chip went off every time we took her away from you?'

'It can frazzle me brain to sweetmeats for all I care…just take 'er and…decontaminate 'er.'

'Oh, goodness, I see what you mean. Buffy…your department, I think!'

'I'm a Slayer, Giles. I don't do diapers!'

'Oh, for goodness sake…give her to me…I'll do it.'

'Well done, Will. Hey you could use magic to do it!'

'Xander!'

I don’t care if Red calls down all the powers of Satan, as long as I don’t have to smell, that, anymore. I take the opportunity to have a stretch. And wrap my duster a little more discretely over my rather obvious bulge. Wonder what Angel is doing with his. Not hiding it, I bet. I'm tempted to phone him up and ask him. But I need a lot more privacy than this!'

'Beer, Spike?'

Life turns on tiny incidents. The Watcher's just offered me a drink. I take it from him as if I were a man, a friend: alive.

'Thanks.' Hardly adequate: he has just helped me find a little piece of myself.

Red brings a fresh, clean and now, very wide-awake baby back into the room. Wide awake and missing…'Ow! Give her back. Now! Ow! Stop laughing, Harris! Ow!'

So I baby-sit for a few more hours. But eventually she has to go. I slide quietly away into the bedroom and leave through a window. No point trying to explain anything about me to cops, or frantic mothers. Giving her to the Watcher was…painful. Just as well she heard her Mother's voice, and the chip didn't go off.

So I'm rather at a loss now. Dead tired. But, kind of lost. The crypt looks even less appealing than it did a few hours ago. Colder; damper; gloomier. For the first time, I think I'd rather be at the Watcher's. As much as I loath them all: I kind of like them too. Some of them.

I get down as far as I can under the covers of my old bed. I wonder what Angel is doing now. I forgot to phone him back. Guess he'll be worried. If I'd stayed in LA we'd be in bed together now. It would be his hand reaching down to brush against the tip of my cock…like this. It would be his hand I'd guide to fondle my aching balls. His strong grip would take my swollen shaft and pull the foreskin back, then squeezing it up, milk these drops of precum.

Oh, God. If I close my eyes I can picture him lying alongside me. This time there would be no disgust, no fear, no reason not to…ah, he has taken my cock in his mouth. The cold is not so noticeable, it's not so dark in here anymore cus I'm seeing lights going off behind my closed lids. I'm not lonely anymore, cus he is here. And when I come, in a rush of endless, cold seed, it is his tongue taking it off my hand.

As I come down from the intense orgasm, I can't keep the fantasy going, but I know, with a certainty borne of shared blood and passion…I know that in LA, Angel has just come too and in his mind, my hand was on his cock. And I know that now, his thoughts are on me too.

 

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