A man’s face appeared at the huge glass door and peered around the lobby of the hotel. No one came out to greet the visitor, in fact to his eyes the place looked abandoned. He entered anyway, partially to investigate further but also because he was being barged out of the way by a blanket-covered figure, which looked suspiciously like it was on fire.
“Move you daft git!” The scrappy blue blanket was thrown to the floor and heavy boots stamped out the odd spot that had started smouldering while their owner muttered in disgust. “Idiots, leaving the underground parking locked.” His voice trailed off as he looked around and registered the overwhelmingly empty feeling that surrounded them. “Fucking hell, where is everyone?!”
Giles ran a tentative finger along the reception desk, coming up with at least a month's worth of dust before continuing his silent investigations. The blond figure behind him gave a disgusted huff and slumped onto the central couch. “Told you he wouldn't want to know. He didn't even leave a forwarding address.”
The Watcher sighed, Spike with a soul was almost worse than Spike without one. Since the vampire had turned up on his doorstep in England six weeks earlier, there had been numerous occasions when he’d considered letting the vampire greet the sun or possibly just going ahead and staking him himself.
Over the past few weeks Giles had been a reluctant passenger on the emotional roller coaster ride the vampire had been taking, as he veered wildly from voluble depression at his violent and murderous past to remarkable highs as he tried to reclaim his identity as the big bad. There was certainly enough material to write a fascinating paper on William the Bloody, but he reflected somewhat ruefully, it was a pity that Spike hadn't turned out more like his brooding Sire than a cross between Charles Manson and Mickey Mouse on speed.
It was only the memory of what Spike had done to help them during that terrible summer when Buffy was dead that had persuaded him to take the vampire in at all, but there was a limit to what Giles could offer in way of help. Spike needed to speak to someone who understood something of what he was going through, so Giles had reluctantly decided to bring him here to LA, much against his own inclination to never see Angel again. It may have been four years since Angelus had put in an appearance in Sunnydale, but the memories of Jenny's death were still very painful for him and the scars on his body kept them fresh.
However, personal feelings aside, the ideal solution for both of them was for Giles to pass responsibility for Spike over to his Sire, thus leaving the reluctant vampire sitter free to escape on the next plane. Unfortunately, he had not thought to call ahead, after all the Champion for the Powers was unlikely to be out of town on a business trip, and the resultant deserted hotel was simply going to complicate the whole ‘transfer of ownership’ process.
“Hello? Is there anyone here?”
Giles' voice almost rose to a shout, in that awkward embarrassed way of someone trying to demand an answer without doing anything so crass as draw attention to themselves. Even so, his voice echoed around the huge building, which only served to emphasise the total silence that enveloped them.
Checking the office door and finding it unlocked; he entered, continuing his search for clues as to why the members of Angel Investigations were missing. There was post piled up on the desk, which suggested someone was still around keeping an eye on the place and the red light on the answer machine was flashing. He felt a slight twinge of guilt over violating their privacy, but rewound the tape and played the messages anyway.
A woman’s voice, not Cordelia’s, and with a southern drawl said, “Sorry, but Angel Investigations has temporarily relocated please leave your message after the tone or, if you need help urgently call....” Giles grabbed a pen and jotted the number down on a notepad, pushed the door closed and called it the moment the tape finished.
“Hello, my name is Rupert Giles. I used to be a…an acquaintance of Angel's....”
Spike could just about hear one side of the conversation through the closed door of the office.
“Yes, well… Quite. Actually I'm at the hotel at the moment. You will? That would be most kind. I’ll see you in about ten minutes then. I'll be here. Thank you very much.”
The door opened and looking more than a slightly confused Giles came out. “That was a friend of Angel’s, co-workers.” He indicated over his shoulder at the telephone. “She said they would come and meet us here. It was strange; she sounded a little anxious and yet relieved that I'd called.”
Spike shrugged and returned to fiddling with his nails, feigning lack of interest. He didn't think Angel would have helped him anyway, their last meeting hadn't exactly been a friendly family reunion, what with the red-hot pokers and the pliers. He shuffled down in the seat trying not to think about that day, he'd come a long way since then and found the memory painful and sort of embarrassing at the same time. He'd been such a pratt. All that lone wolf shit. Look where it had got him, first muzzled and now leashed.
Turning back towards the office, Giles shook his head in despair. He had to get the vampire some help, he wasn't eating properly, and his usually thin frame was gaunter than it had been when he’d first escaped from the Initiative’s holding pens. Nightmares plagued him when he tried to sleep, and one afternoon Giles had the disconcerting experience of William the Bloody sobbing on his shoulder when one particularly horrific memory had come flooding back. A quick browse along the bookshelves offered no inspiration, in fact the collection lacked many of the basic texts that every Watcher kept at hand.
He returned to the lobby and the pair sat together in uncomfortable silence, Spike kicking his heels against the polished floor. Giles fought the urge to tell him to stop, knowing how ridiculous it sounded for anyone to tell a one hundred and twenty year old master vampire to sit still.
He couldn't help feeling just a little bit sorry for the forlorn figure, ...who was now trying to unpick the stitching on the seat.
“Spike, please.” The blond head came up and blue eyes met Giles’, gone was the wicked flash and the quizzically raised brow, instead the eyes had greyed and taken on a haunted, hunted look. Spike slumped lower in his seat and stopped moving completely, doing a passable impression of a corpse.
“Thank god,” the front doors opened and a slim, mousy haired, girl burst in, closely followed by a tall, black man. “Someone who might know what's happening, what with Angel disappearing and Cordelia disappearing and Connor, just pfft, gone...”
Giles stood and moved towards the couple waiting for an appropriate break in the monologue, but soon realised the young woman was going to talk all evening unless forcibly restrained. He extended a hand, “Hello, I'm Rupert Giles. We spoke on the phone.”
“Hi,” his hand was clasped and pumped up and down, “I'm Fred, and this is Gunn, Charles Gunn. My real name's Winifred, but y'know I just don't like it, so everyone just calls me Fred and, oh, I guess you don't need to know all that.” She looked behind her for reassurance and gave a quick tight smile.
Twenty minutes later and Giles was fairly sure he had the whole story. There wasn't much to it really, to someone used to living on a Hellmouth. Angel had gone off for a romantic liaison with Cordelia. Then Connor…Angel's son… Angel had a son? Giles' jaw had really dropped at that point. Angel had a son? How? When? Then the whole Darla and Holtz debacle had to be relayed and, anyway, it seemed that Connor had slipped out past his baby sitters a little later. The long and short of the whole sorry saga was that all three of them had disappeared about six weeks ago and there had been no sign of them since.
“Probably shagged the stupid bint and lost his soul again.” Fred and Gunn turned toward the voice. Spike had lain on the couch, silent and unobserved until now.
‘Ahh,’ thought Giles, ‘this isn't going to be easy.’ Adopting a forced but cheerful demeanour he set about introducing the assembled throng. “Um…let me introduce William, a friend of Angel's from way back.”
Fred went to offer her hand, but Gunn held her back and challenged the vampire to declare himself correctly. “William, as in William the Bloody, right? As in Spike, Angelus' Childe?”
“The one and the same.” Spike rose from the couch, unfolding in a way that reminded Giles momentarily of a cheetah, and dropped into the overly relaxed posture he had seen many times - Spike was ready to fight.
One unfortunate side effect of the soul Spike had acquired in Africa was that its presence had somehow suppressed the effects of the Initiative's chip, so now there was only the soul stopping the vampire from hurting humans. Giles had discovered this to his cost one night when he had tried to restrain Spike and had been hurled against a wall. The fact that the vampire had immediately apologised had done little to mitigate his glee at discovering he could once again defend himself.
“I think we all need to calm down.” Giles offered himself as peacemaker, stepping between the two men who were squaring off. “Spike is here to see Angel because, well... because he has also been gifted with a soul.”
“Gift, bollocks, some fucking gift.” Spike looked at the floor obviously uncomfortable that Giles had told virtual strangers about his condition.
“So he's not dangerous?” Fred had looked curious rather than afraid, and patted Gunn's arm reassuringly.
“No, not dangerous.” Giles confirmed ignoring the low growl behind him as Spike kicked at the couch, sending it flying several feet across the lobby and he raised his eyes heavenward. “Petulant, stroppy, infuriating, yes. Dangerous? No, not really.”
“Shit man, how many soul-ed vampires can one city handle?” Gunn snorted in disgust, but backed down from the confrontation.
“This could actually be incredibly good fortune.” A sudden thought had occurred to Giles as he considered the situation. “We have a missing Angel and conveniently enough, the means to locate him.”
“Huh?” Three faces turned towards him, erstwhile enemies finding a common bond in confusion.
“You, Spike. Since Angelus is your sire you should be able to sense him if you get within a mile or two. Since Fred and Gunn say they know where Angel was heading that night, we can start there and see if you come up with anything.”
“Won't work. It’s been too long,” Spike lied, “I won't be able to sense him, ‘cos I haven't tasted his blood since the idiot went and got himself cursed.” His mind returned again to their last meeting. It is hard to torture someone with needle nosed pliers without getting blood everywhere, and Spike was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however he didn’t feel that now was the time to mention it, humans never understood the blood thing.
“Spike! I'm really starting to lose patience with you. Angel is the only one who can help you at the moment and I think you owe it to yourself, if not us, to at least try.”
The vampire gave him a filthy look then shrugged, capitulating to the inevitable in the face of Giles’ determination. “I could give it a go, I suppose.”
“Thank you.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The view from Point Dume was spectacular in the twilight; the large houses that dotted the coast were fading as the sun set and stars were just becoming visible in the coruscating glow. Steep cliffs dropped away at their feet toward the sea, and the three of humans stood watching in silent appreciation until the sun dropped below the horizon. A couple of minutes later, Spike joined them from the car.
“Anything?” Giles asked.
Spike looked up toward the west and out into the bay. “Give us a chance, Rupert,” his normally acid tones tempered by concentration. For a few moments he stood, letting the gentle evening wind just move around him, savouring the newborn night and the feel of his world coming to life. Then a gentle tug, nothing profound, just a hunch really - out to sea.
“I need to get down there.” Spike pointed at the cove below them. A narrow, steep path led down the cliff, and as the human’s made their way carefully down, the vampire leapt ahead, dropping from rock to rock until he reached the sandy bay. He could definitely sense something as he descended, and by the time his boots touched the sand he was certain Angel had been there. He inhaled deeply, scenting the air, trying to fix where the trace of his Sire was coming from. It took less than five minutes to find the cell phone wedged between the rocks, broken but not completely smashed.
“He made it this far then.” Fred turned the damaged phone over and over in her hands, searching for anything that may give them a clue as to how it had got there. “Can you pick anything else up?” She looked hopefully at Spike.
“Just a general ‘out there’ feeling.” He indicated the ocean stretching out before them.
“Not terribly helpful, Spike.” Giles looked out over the bay. “A ship? Why would he go out to sea?” Turning around he realised he was talking to himself, all other eyes were fixed on a figure jogging towards them along the surf line.
“Cordelia?” Fred ran quickly towards her, being the first to believe what she was seeing. Five years in Pylea had given Fred a lot of faith in what her eyes told her, however unlikely it might seem. Cordelia slowed, bending over and putting both hands on her knees, her breathing deep and a little ragged as if she had been jogging for some time.
“Where did you go? What happened? We all thought you must've been sucked through another portal, cos like, there's a lot of that in LA. Then we found the car and it'd been towed.” She stopped, Cordelia was glowing, a pale nimbus surrounded her and, as Fred put out a tentative hand, she felt a tingling emanating from the aura.
“No time,” Cordy gasped. “Got a message from the Powers, need to tell you, you’re doing the right thing, follow Spike's instincts.” The shimmering increased and Cordelia's figure slowly dissipated in front of their eyes.
“Follow his instincts,” Gunn grunted. They turned and looked at the blond vampire staring out to sea. “Guess we're gonna need a boat then.”
*~*~*~*~
“There, there. You did well. That wasn't so hard.” Cordy sobbed onto the shoulder, or more accurately the upper arm, of the huge demon that acted as her guide from the Powers That Be. He patted her gently, obviously unsure of what to do.
“You don't understand. You can't possibly understand.” She raised her head and looked him in the eye, her face luminous with tears. “I promised him. I gave him my word that I would be the one to do it.”
*~*~*~*~
“Here. Right bloody here.” Spike jabbed his cigarette at the deck of the boat. “Down there. I can feel him, like he's crawling around under my skin.”
An involuntary shudder ran through his body. That was a completely inadequate way of describing what he felt. The last time he had tried to track his Sire had been over a hundred years ago while they hunted, but time in those terms meant nothing to the blood bond, the feeling was still strong. It was strange, he would have thought that the souls would make a difference, but they didn't. To Spike's senses Angel felt exactly the same as Angelus.
“He's at the bottom of the sea?” Giles removed his glasses, rubbing the salt spray off on his jacket. “Why would he be at the bottom of the sea?” He hesitated as the vampire's body language changed his shoulders and back stiffening from the implied insult. “I don't mean to question your word Spike, but what could possibly keep him down there. He'd, he'd have to be completely incapacitated.”
“I'm only saying what I feel.” Spike looked Giles straight in the eye. “The Powers said to trust my instincts and I say here.” He jabbed at the deck again.
Luckily, the only vessel they had been able to get at such short notice belonged to Eddy the Octopus, LA's best-known demon smuggler and a satisfied customer. Its sonar quickly revealed an anomalous reading on the seabed, and its heavy lifting equipment easily raised a large container to the surface.
“But why?” Fred was staring with disbelieving astonishment at the heavy metal coffin they had dragged from the ocean bed. “Why would anyone do something so cruel?”
She studied the unconscious form inside, its eyes closed, and the ghostly pale face still and relaxed.
*~*~*~*~*~*
“Listen to me, human. I know what he needs to heal and it isn't this crap.” Spike hurled the bag of pig's blood at the wall, where it burst with a satisfying squish and colourful splash. “The poor bastard hasn't fed for nearly two months and its going to take more than that to bring him round.”
Spike knew he was winning, without Giles to back them up the others were backing a losing horse. The Watcher had caught the first plane he could get out of LA, less than twelve hours after they found Angel, leaving Spike to nurse his Sire back to health. As soon as he had left, Spike set about convincing the others that Angel needed human blood. He'd not even bothered to mention it until Giles had gone, well aware of the dangerously ambiguous feelings the man still harboured toward Angel.
When there was no answer, he spun around on the humans, standing defiantly by the reception desk, and changed the habits of several lifetimes. “Please. We can buy it, I'm not suggesting we slit some poor bastard’s throat. But Angel needs it; he won’t heal properly without.”
Eventually, they relented and Gunn purchased several bags from a contact he had at a local blood bank. A few hours later, Spike was in Angel's room armed with human blood and facing the task of getting his unresponsive Sire to feed.
Having tried several methods unsuccessfully including holding Angel on his lap, as you would a baby and slowly dripping the blood into his mouth, Spike gave up. The best way was simply to feed him from his own mouth, and he took a large swig of blood, teased open Angel’s teeth with his tongue and allowed the life giving substance to slide down his Sire’s throat.
It was strange having such close physical contact with Angel after so many years. When Angelus had been in Sunnydale he'd been much more interested in Dru than him, put off by the injuries Spike had suffered when the church organ had fallen on him. Like all vampires, Angelus was aroused by blood, but had little tolerance for anything that required long term healing. Plus, of course, he’d been as mad as a bloody hatter.
And this situation was a complete reversal of the role they’d had in the past, Angel as the helpless childe and Spike as the strong protective sire. He sort of liked that and, after he had finished, sat in the darkened room just holding Angel, appreciating the feel of the body he hadn't touched for so long, and wondering whether these new found feelings for his Sire would survive him coming round. It was interesting to discover that his soul hadn't changed his attitudes regarding sex, not the consensual kind anyway and he guessed that, soul or no, basic vampiric nature couldn’t be denied.
After a couple of days, Spike was happy enough with his Sire's progress to leave him for some much-needed sleep. Although Angel had not yet roused, Spike guessed that what he needed now was peace and quiet while the demon used the blood to heal the body.
When he woke, Spike went down to the office and found Fred and Gunn just leaving for the night. He passed on the good news about Angel’s condition and assured the pair that with some decent sleep their boss would be as good as new. They left in a much happier mood, and with Fred promising to bring beer and snacks with her as a reward for all Spike's hard work, when they returned the following afternoon.
He returned to Angel's room and stood contemplating the sleeping form, happy that his nursing over the last few days seemed to have done the trick. Angel had obviously regained consciousness at some point during the day, and had showered and dressed before falling asleep again.
He dug around in his pocket for a cigarette - he’d refrained from smoking around the humans but Angel wasn’t going to suffer - then lit one and frowned as he took a long drag. It was weird, when he was asleep you couldn't tell. One look when he was awake and that soul bore straight through you, but asleep? That could so easily be Angelus asleep on the bed. Leather pants, hair washed and gelled just so… “Oh shit!” The cigarette dropped from Spike’s hand.
The figure on the bed stretched and opened his eyes. “Hello, William.”
Spike damn nearly made it to the door before Angelus hit him in the middle of the back, smashing him face first into it. Bringing his elbow back sharply he was rewarded by a satisfying crunch as it connected, but instead of being released Spike was hurled forward again, face first into the doorjamb, his already broken nose sending waves of pain through his head.
“Want to try that again, Will? Fists and fangs, boy - just you and me? Think you can take me?” Angelus punctuated his words by continuing to smash Spike's face against the doorjamb, until he sensed him start to loose consciousness. Pulling Spike's head right back, he ran a finger down the white neck, paused, then sank his fangs into the blue vein. As his borrowed blood was drawn from his body Spike felt a passing regret that he hadn’t sampled the human blood himself; at least it would have given him a fighting chance.
Angelus let the limp form drop to the ground, playing with Spike was no fun when he was unconscious so his games would have to wait. But in the meantime he could ensure everything was ready for when his Childe came round. He stacked what was left of the human blood in one corner, then went to retrieve his chest, normally kept well away from human eyes at the back of his wardrobe. He carefully unpacked it, reacquainting himself with each individual item and lovingly laid them out on the table. After moving the bed to the other wall, exposing the iron rings deeply embedded in the brick, he went to retrieve the heavy set of shackles and chains that were kept in the office.
As he carried them back upstairs Angelus’ thoughts turned to Cordelia, his soul-ed self’s new passion, as a link to the Powers she was far too dangerous to be allowed to live, yet he didn't want her dead, it would be a waste of a Seer. Would it be possible to turn a part demon? Darla and Penn were dead, Dru had gone, he had one Childe left and the taste he'd had confirmed his suspicions. His Childe had a soul, a dirty soul. He'd been tempted to stake him immediately but he had other ideas for Spike, plans that had been a long time in the making. And what was it Marcus had said, “Creatures with souls have something to lose.” So much the better, if Spike had something to lose, it would make breaking him that much more satisfying.
It had been one of the things that had brought his sanity back, chained all those weeks in that coffin. Plans for Spike, for Wesley, for the other humans his pathetic soul-ed self had cared for, and for the Slayer. Oh yes, the Slayer. He had it planned so much better than last time.
Memories of his brief escape in Sunnydale were vague. It was a blur, too much power, too quickly, all centred around his obsession with the Slayer, akin to that he had felt for Drusilla but less focused, less deliberate. This time he'd had an opportunity to plan, time to get his thoughts organised. With a grin he bounded up the last couple of stairs, he felt like his old, old self again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Wakey, wakey.” Spike reluctantly came back to a world full of pain and blood. His eyes just wanted to roll back in his head, but the insistent slaps wouldn't let him rest. He forced them open.
“At last. I thought you were gone for good there, boy.”
The slaps stopped, and Spike shook his head forcing the room back into focus. The pain in his head and nose was starting to fade as his accelerated healing powers kicked in, but he still felt weak and drained. Angelus was standing, arms folded, looking out of the window. There was nothing between him and the door, nothing between him and an escape route. Spike flew towards it, but found himself flat on his face again as the chain between his ankle and the wall brought him up short.
“Bloody hell, mate.” He grabbed the chain and yanked on it hard. It was a pointless exercise; Angelus would not have bothered chaining him to a wall unless the chain was certain to hold. “Let me out of this, you stupid Irish git.”
Spike was starting to feel distinctly nervous. The figure by the window had not moved or responded to his insult, and that meant only one thing, he was thinking. And when Angelus started thinking instead of just kicking the shit out of you, the best place to be was somewhere else.
“I was just thinking” - Spike suppressed a small groan - “of all the good times. When our little family was still together. Good days they were, William. I was remembering your first massacre, when we ended up being chased into that mine.” He paused then swung round to face his naked Childe chained to the wall. “I should have staked you then, it would have saved me the trouble now.”
“If you’re gonna stake me, do it. Just stop yattering.” He didn't see the backhand blow coming. It knocked him flying across the room and slamming against the limit of the chain, which held fast. Spike's leg didn't, and the pain from separated ankle, knee and hip joints, on top of his re-fractured nose, saw the darkness closing in again.
This time a bucket of icy water brought him round. Vampires may not need to breathe, but a face full of cold water would wake even the dead. Angelus was squatting in front of him holding his head up by the hair, waiting for his eyes to open.
“How many pokers, William? Eleven, twelve? Plus a hundred years in hell. Not to mention touching what's mine. And she is, mine to hunt, mine to kill, mine to fuck if I damn well please, and I can't recall you asking permission to share, Childe.”
Spike’s brain might have been slightly the worse for wear but he understood the gist of his Sire’s words. He was talking about Buffy, but how could he know about them? And if he had known why the hell hadn't Angel come and pissed on their parade? One word from him and Buffy would have gone running, Spike was under no illusions that he had simply been a convenient substitute until the real un-dead love of her life turned up, however much he might like to kid himself.
He kept his eyes lowered as he considered his options. There was no way he was going to look the git in the eye. Angelus would see it as a challenge, and Spike was going to have to play his cards very carefully to get out of this without getting dusted.
“What's this, Will? Going coy one me. I've not seen that look on your face for a long, long time. Such a pretty face.” A cool finger stroked Spike's face from eyebrow to chin.
Damn, this was not the reaction he'd been aiming for, he'd hoped submissive would get him out alive or at least still un-dead, and he'd forgotten what reaction submissive tended to bring out in Angelus. Spike shuffled backward closer to the wall, away from the figure looming over him and looked up.
“Get away from me, you fucking poof. Spike's all grown up now and he doesn't do that kind of thing any more.”
“Oh you will, Spike.” Angelus stood up and moved towards him, loosening the zipper on his leather pants.
Spike was close to panicking. This wasn’t what he'd been thinking when he'd held Angel in his arms, consensual had been a little more central to those daydreams. But there was no way he was going to get away without doing it, so maybe he should and play for time, see if he could convince Angelus to unchain him. It wasn't going to be nice and it wasn't going to be pretty but he could do it, if it meant getting out of this room with his hide intact, he would do just about anything.
Angelus noted the slump in Spike's shoulders and rewarded his Childe with a pat on the head. “Good boy. You know what to do now?”
Spike hauled himself up onto his one good leg until his face was on a level with the bulge in his sire's pants, then looked up, tacitly seeking permission to continue. With a brief flash of tongue as he licked his lips, Angelus nodded, “Go ahead, William. You have my permission.”
He eased the leather pants down carefully, revealing a hard cock already weeping from the slit, and put his lips to the tip, kissing gently and relishing the flavour he hadn't tasted for so many years. Slowly, he allowed his mouth to encircle the head, running his tongue around the inside of the foreskin then bringing it up to flick around the sensitive slit, probing gently. Hearing a slight moan escape from Angelus' lips, he used one hand to pull the foreskin back completely and pushed his mouth down the shaft until the tip hit the back of his throat. Holding still, gripping tightly with his lips and just a little with his teeth, he ran his tongue hard up and down the prominent vein that graced the underside of his Sire’s cock.
“Jesus and Mary boy. I'd forgotten you had such a mouth.” Angelus leaned forward against the wall, taking his weight on one hand and putting the other down to ruffle the blond hair buried in his groin. “Deeper, Will.” He held the head still and thrust into that unresisting mouth.
Spike relaxed his throat just in time to accommodate his Sire's movement and swallowed repeatedly allowing his throat muscles to grip and massage. He heard another moan, louder than the first and, confidence rising - this was just like riding a bike - set about deep throating Angelus until the fucker’s brains blew out.
Simply enjoying the feel of Spike's mouth, Angelus put his plans for revenge and discipline on hold for a few minutes, it was better to let the boy relax anyway, let him think he could win. He could feel the tightness in his balls as his orgasm rose, and he gripped Spike’s head pushing in deeply as he shuddered and released his cold seed into his Childe's throat for the first time in over a century.
When he’d finished, Spike sat back, smiling contentedly and licking the last of his Sire from his lips, “Heh, I thought I'd forgotten how to do that. Not bad, huh?”
Angelus stood upright with a snort, stalked to the other side of the room and threw Spike a bag of blood. “Feed. You need your strength.”
Suppressing a sigh of relief that he was to be fed, and with human blood, Spike ripped it open, swigging down the contents with the ease of the long practised. “Now what? If you liked that so much, how about you unchain me and we can carry on enjoying ourselves.”
“I seem to remember a time when we had lots of fun with you chained up.”
A frisson of excitement ran through Spike’s body at his words, they brought back memories he’d thought long buried and forgotten. Some bad, some so much better, of long days when the family were trapped in the house by the sun and the creative ways they found to while away the time. And by the looks of Angelus he was remembering the same things as he walked back across the room stroking himself erect again. This Spike knew and could deal with, he had a lot of faith and it was all in Angelus’ weaknesses. A couple of blowjobs and the chain would be off then he would be free to dust the bastard at his leisure. To that end he waited until his Sire came close enough and took him gently in his mouth.
But Angelus had other ideas. Much as he was enjoying his Childe's attentions this was about Spike's punishment not his own continued pleasure. Shifting his weight, he grasped a handful of Spike’s hair holding him still and started to piston into his face, grinding his pelvic bone against his Childe’s still healing nose, feeling it fracture again.
The change took Spike completely by surprise. Blood was now running down the back of his throat and he wasn't sure if it was from his nose or if Angelus had caused more damage. He wanted to choke, even though he didn't need to breath he was feeling suffocated. He tried to shuffle back, give himself space, and time to re-establish the rapport he felt they’d been reaching. The back of his head hit the wall and he was trapped. He put his hands up to push Angelus away, only to have them grabbed and held in a bone-crushing grip. Trying not to whimper out loud, Spike forced himself to relax, if this was the way it was going to happen he had to ride it out. Nothing was getting broken that wouldn't heal, and if he couldn’t talk properly for a couple of days it wouldn't be the first time and probably wouldn't be the last. Bastard wasn't going to last long anyway.
This wasn't the plan. Much as he wanted to come in his Childe's mouth again, to feel him swallow, the plan was more important. With a groan Angelus pulled away then reached down and brought himself off, straight into Spike's face, covering hair, eyes, and blooded nose with cold come. Yes, that was more like it. Humiliation. Pain and humiliation, then a little pain again, just for good measure.
Fucking bastard. Spike could feel come dripping from his hair and, unable to use his hands to wipe his face, he had no choice but to sit there and let it drip. He tried to shake his head to clear his eyes but the hand gripped his hair again. Bracing himself for another pounding Spike was surprised to find himself pulled to his feet. His damaged leg gave out, but he was able to transfer his weight to the other. As his eyes focused he found himself looking into curious brown ones.
“Your mouth is still good, boy, but what about the rest of you?” Spike shivered. This was not good, a blow job was one thing, but what Angelus had in mind was something he'd not allowed to happen since he had lost his Sire and had become a master in his own right. Having said that, currently, he wasn't in a position to object, so he was not surprised when he was spun round and pushed against the wall. He spread his arms out across the wall and pushed his ass back, bracing himself as best he could.
The human blood he had been feeding on for days was potent and Angelus was as hard as he had been moments before. Gripping the back of Spike's neck with one hand, Angelus pushed his cock teasingly against his Childe’s ass. He could feel tight taut muscles instinctively fighting against experience, one to brace the other to relax. He smirked, ‘Fight yourself boy’, he thought, using those moments of confusion to reach for some things he'd left unobtrusively on the table.
Spike screamed. Pain. Holy shit, that hurt, but not what and where he expected. Out of the corner of his eye he could see what had caused the mind numbing agony in his left wrist. A spike had been driven straight through it, pinning him to the wall. Again pain and Spike tried to throw his head back desperately gasping for unneeded air as another was driven through his right.
“Eleven or twelve? Let's call it an even dozen.” The words were murmured in his ear. This time the pain through his knee was almost irrelevant, there was just the sensation of being forced against the wall. The real agony hit later when Angelus got up to eight and ran out of limbs.
“Dammit boy. Will you stop passing out on me?” Angelus paused in his task and pouted, now he would just have to wait again. Still every cloud, and all that; this could be a good opportunity. Blood was flowing down Spike’s limbs, red tracks on white skin, such white skin, even for a vampire he was pale. Moving closer, Angelus snuffed at his Childe's hair, inhaling the scent he'd thought was long lost, such a wonderful scent, a little bit of fear, a lot of rebellion, and all Will. He licked the blood from Spike's arm, savouring the taste then, grasping both white hips, drove himself into his Childe's body relishing the sensation as the tight muscle tore.
Spike came round again; he was doing that a lot recently. He should have fed more, better, longer. His body hurt - all of it. The spikes in his limbs created circles of searing heat around them, his head and nose were pounding to a pulse he didn't have, and he could feel something tearing as Angelus forced his way in. He tried to hold still, but twenty years of conditioning betrayed him, and as the cock inside him hit his prostate repeatedly, he could feel himself becoming aroused, despite the pain, his body was reacting as it had been taught.
A hand reached round and grasped his erection, pulling slowly and firmly. “See, boy. I knew you'd remember.”
Spike moaned. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or the pleasure, or maybe both? The tearing had slicked his hole so the agony from there was reducing, and was soon overlaid by waves of pleasure. Angelus let his climax wash over him, enjoying the sensation of coming in that tight body and continued to thrust. Spike was panting, his balls starting to tighten. He was so close. So close. The hand suddenly clamped around the base of his erection, effectively cutting off the orgasm that had just about left his balls, and Angelus pulled out fast, leaving him empty and aching. His cock was replaced by the cold steel of a railway spike, which impaled his guts at the precise moment his Sire released his grip and growled; “You can come now, boy.” As the darkness closed in again Spike knew that good, well-conditioned demon that he was, he had come on command.
Angelus checked the clock. He had five hours before the pets came back and he wanted to be finished and gone before then, five hours and such a task. He cocked his head to one side and considered his canvas, spinning the sharp blade between his fingers. The stock of blood would ensure that Spike kept coming round, but purely because Angelus enjoyed a musical accompaniment to his work. This part of the plan wasn't about testing, reasserting Sire’s rights or humiliation, it was about a message; a message for the human pets and to the world at large, that he was back. A small incision lifted a strip of white skin and Angelus saw that it was good.
*~*~*~*~*~*
“Spike?” A tentative knocking on the bedroom door followed Fred's voice. “Are you asleep? I have beers and snacks.” She hesitated before going in, knowing that Spike tended to sleep naked and a little embarrassed by what she may see.
“Hell, he should've answered the door by now.” She muttered under her breath as she pushed the door open with her foot. The room was pitch dark, and Fred could feel something sticky on the wall next to the light switch.
Her frantic screams brought Gunn sprinting up the stairs. Taking one look in the room he grabbed Fred and pulled her away, turning her towards him so she could no longer see. He led her outside and sat her down against the wall. “Fred? Fred?” The screaming at least had stopped but now she just looked blank. “Fred speak to me. Are you okay?” Gunn shook her slightly and saw her glazed eyes come back into focus before she started babbling.
“My god, Charles, Spike! What? How?” She shook her head. “Help him. Get him down. My god, we can't leave him like that. Where's Angel? Is he in there? Is he…dead?” With a sharp shove she pushed Gunn towards the room.
Loath to leave her but understanding the urgency, Gunn opened the door and shied back from the overwhelming smell of blood. Cautiously he walked in, trying to ignore the details that assailed him. Spike was nailed to the wall. Someone, or something, had nailed him to the wall, arms spread wide, legs crossed, and head hanging forward, like a grotesque parody of the crucified Christ. There was blood everywhere - walls, ceiling, and floor, and he could feel the carpet wet under his feet as he approached the suspended body.
He must be alive Gunn rationalised, vampires, dead vampires, make dust not blood, but how - he couldn't understand. He'd seen a few injured vamps in his time but nothing like this. He knew he needed to get Spike down but how, there was so little skin left? It was all lifted and hanging away in long bloodied ribbons and Gunn was sure he could see the white of bone beneath the blood here and there. Nails first, no not nails, spikes, railroad spikes. Whoever had done this knew their victim well; they must have, to use Spike's torture implement of choice and the one that had earned him his nickname.
As gently as he could, Gunn released the vampire from the wall, supporting his body against his own, then carried him over to the bed lying him face down, to conceal the most disturbing of his injuries - he would never look at a pepperoni in the same way again. “Fred?” He called quietly. “I've got him down. I think he's going to be okay.”
Fred peered round the door suppressing a shudder at what she saw. “Angel?” she asked.
“No sign. Not even a pile of dust, so he either got away or they've taken him.”
A small whimper escaped Spike's lips and Gunn almost smiled. He could see that the holes where the vampire had been impaled were already smaller.
“Charles, get me dressings, needles...it’s all down in the office. Bring me anything you can find. We need to...we've got to do something. I'm not sure where to start?”
Fred looked at the body on the bed. He looked freshly peeled, yet none of the skin was missing, just lifted carefully away from the flesh in strips. The only place where he was relatively undamaged was his face. She carefully wiped away the blood. On his left cheek was a bloody gouge in the shape of a cross.
*~*~*~*~*~*
The door to the apartment burst off its hinges, flying several feet into the room and a string of frustrated curses accompanied its sudden arrival.
From his position at the desk with his back to the door, Wesley raised his eyes impassively to the wall in front of him. “Your invitation is revoked Angel, as you would know if you had bothered to speak to Gunn.”
His simple statement was followed by another round of cursing from the hallway that was suddenly replaced by a deathly hush. Wesley leaned back in his chair and lifted his hand unconsciously to touch the scar on his throat. It had been over two months with no word from anyone at Angel Investigations, and he'd been hoping that it was over, that they had all decided to leave him alone. The silence was broken by quiet words from the hall.
“Wes? Wesley? I'm sorry. Just let me in. All I want to do is apologise to you, face to face.”
Wesley stood up, purposely keeping his back to the doorway. “You can do that without me inviting you in. Oh, and by the way, I'm charging you for the door.”
Then he turned and slowly made his way over to the open archway that separated the two living areas of his apartment. Although outwardly the vampire standing in the doorway looked calm and was standing quietly, almost humbly with his head down, Wesley couldn't help noticing that his hands were in almost constant movement, stroking the doorframe, and up and down the edge of his leather jacket. He was also balanced on the balls of his feet, not an unusual stance for a fighter but, he was...Wesley could only describe it as jiggling. Where had he seen that before?
“Come on, Wes. Let me in. I'm not going to hurt you.” The ex-Watcher backed away slightly. There had been a definite snigger accompanying those words, and a rather frightening conclusion that may explain the subtle changes in the vampire’s behaviour was starting to fall into place in his mind.
“I'm not going to let you in without protecting myself, Angel. So if you want to talk, you'll just have to wait until I'm ready to let you in.”
He headed for the bedroom, needing the privacy only a wall and closed door could offer. As he entered the small room Wesley glanced back at the vampire just as Angel raised his head and he caught the glint of gold in his normally dark eyes. The sight was far from reassuring and, closing the bedroom door behind him, he hurriedly found his cell phone and punched in Gunn's number.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. “Gunn? It's Wesley.”
“Wesley. Oh thank god.” It was Fred and not Gunn who had answered. “Something really horrible has happened. Something got into the hotel and, and…”
Short, dry sobs started down the phone, and then Gunn's voice cut in. “Wes? Something has got Angel, and it's made a right mess of Spike. Left him hanging out to dry, so to speak.”
Spike? Angelus' childe? What was Spike doing there?
“Listen Gunn.” Wesley’s voice was hardly above a whisper, not wanting to alert the vampire out in the hall. “Listen carefully and don't interrupt me. Nothing has got Angel, he's here. He is also, I think, Angelus.”
He ignored the swearing from the other end of the telephone and ploughed on. “I have no idea what has happened, but you have got to get out of the hotel. You must take Fred and leave. Go somewhere where he can't find you… No, I don't want to know where. Just keep her safe because he'll be coming for you.”
Again he paused, listening to Gunn's determined voice. “No. No, you are not coming here to dust him yourself. I don't care what he's done. Don't. Argue. Gunn. Just this once, listen to me. Get out. Get Fred out. If Spike's important, get him out too. Go somewhere Angel doesn't know. Somewhere he has no invitation to enter. Just go.”
Wesley hung up, took a deep breath and dialled again.
A lightly pleasant female voice answered. “Wolfram and Hart. How may we be of service?”
“Put me through to Lilah Morgan...I don't care if she's in a meeting. Just tell her it's Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and I have an important package for her to collect.”
He tapped his fingers urgently on the wall as he waited to be connected. Eventually, there was a click and Wesley heard Lilah’s voice asking him what the hell was so important that it was worth dragging her out of a meeting.
“Lilah? You wanted Angelus; he's all yours. Get yourself down to my apartment and get the bastard contained. Oh, and one last thing Lilah, bring twice what you think you need, we're not dealing with Angel anymore.”
With a deep breath, Wesley slipped his phone into his pocket. Now all he had to do was keep the Scourge of Europe interested enough not to leave without letting him into his apartment. Not the easiest of tasks. Opening the weapons trunk that lived under his bed, Wesley took out a crossbow, a sword and lastly three stakes, which he pushed into the back of his jeans. Taking another gulp of air, he stepped back into the living room. Now, if he could just avoid getting the vampire so angry he fired the apartment block to flush Wesley out....
He addressed the vampire, who still stood in the empty doorway. “I've thought about this encounter a lot, Angel, and I'm not letting you in until I've explained. You may well kill me when I do let you in, but at least I will have had the satisfaction of knowing that you heard all I had to say.”
“Know all that. Forgiven you. Just let me in.” The delay was obviously making it difficult for Angelus to keep up the deception. “Come on, Wes!” The vampire was virtually bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet now.
“No, you don't understand Angel, and you need to.”
Wesley launched into a full exposition of his role in Connor's disappearance, everything from initially finding the prophecy, through talking to the Loa outside the burger bar, and culminating with Justine stealing the baby and slitting his throat. He finished to an accompaniment of increasingly frustrated vampire in the public hallway. Having exhausted that subject he moved on to speak of his feeling's, the sense of betrayal and desperate hopelessness as his life bled away in the park, how he had hoped that Angel would at least understand, if not forgive. Finally, Wesley recounted his shock at Angel trying to kill him in the hospital, and how he fervently hoped that this would not come over as a delaying tactic.
Silence. ‘Damn, did he just say that out loud?
“Delaying me for what, Wesley?” All pretence now gone and in full game face, Angelus lunged at the door, only to be thrown back by the invisible barrier that blocked his way. He grasped the doorframe with each hand and Wesley could see the wood splintering under his powerful grip.
“Fred and Gunn coming to rescue you, heh. I really hope Fred's coming, Wes. I love Fred; she'd make such a tasty snack and some decent company. What do you think? Do you like the idea of your little girl keeping me happy for the couple o' hundred years?”
Refusing to rise to the bait, Wesley zoned out the vampire’s un-pleasantries and strained to detect any sign or sound of Lilah. There was nothing. Wesley shrugged, this wasn't what he'd planned, but at least Angelus' frustrated determination to hurt him psychologically was keeping him here and occupied. He must make a note of this somewhere. Angelus, when roused, was not perceptive. Persistent and arrogant in the extreme, but not overly alert to possible danger.
The taser bolts hit with no warning, and the vampire went down like he'd been pole axed. Seconds later he was back up, three tasers were not enough to keep this demon in full blood lust out for long, and with the speed only a master vampire can achieve, he was on his feet and systematically destroying Lilah's forces.
From the corridor, Wesley could hear the sounds of fighting and a desperately shouted radio communication for immediate backup, until the call was abruptly cut off with a gurgling scream. Then there was quiet, the eerie silence only broken by the squawking of the radio. Wesley cautiously popped his head out of the doorway. The hallway looked like a riot in an abattoir. At least seven corpses and associated body parts littered the floor and walls, but of Angelus there was no sign.
Further down the hall another door opened and a white-faced Lilah peeped out. Wesley lost his temper; stalking up to her he grabbed her jacket and shook her, hard. “I told you to bring twice what you thought. Jesus Christ, woman! What did you think you were doing, taking a Sunday stroll?”
He was deeply shaken. Wolfram and Hart had been his best hope of getting the vampire contained quickly, and Lilah's over confidence had let them all down. Far from being contained, Angelus was now loose in LA and no good was going to come from that at all.
Lilah took a deep shuddering breath. “W-what was that? I've never seen anything move so fast.”
“That, you stupid woman, was Angelus. Not the half-domesticated guy I used to work for. I suggest you imagine your worst nightmare and then keep on imagining...and your unbelievable incompetence has let him loose on this city.”