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Maybe Someday. Chapter 8.
Am feeling rather cheery today - the sun is shining which just makes everything that much better! :)
So, I give you more fic. We pick up straight where we left off, which means moreSpangel Spike and Angel interaction! Ahem. With flashback! As usual many hugs for my brilliant beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh!
Previous chapters here.
Feedback is better than chocolate, so please give me some?
Chapter 8
Standing by a window in Rome, the air still warm after a day of sunshine, the hellish battle in an alley in LA seemed a lifetime and a world away. Looking back, Spike was still astounded that he hadn’t been killed. There was a quote stuck in his head that he couldn't place, that summed it all up: “Life’s a bitch and then you don’t die!” How many times now had he met certain death head on and yet somehow survived? Having to pick himself up again and continue fighting...
For Spike the pain had been familiar. There had been 147 days when he had been in this situation before - the bonds of grief tying him to people he’d otherwise try to avoid. Fighting alongside someone with the face of a girl he once held dear. It was the same and yet different. There was less guilt - this time, he had saved the child. And the bonds to Angel... well, that’s where it all got complicated.
He had woken up in an unfamiliar place, but had sensed enough to figure out that he was in a bed, his entire body was in pain and there was blood nearby. He had found a large jug and swallowed the contents in one go, passing out as the empty jug dropped to the floor.
Next time he woke, he was able to take in the surroundings a bit more. He was lying in what might be a hotel of some kind, although it had obviously been empty for a long while. The jug was by his bedside, refilled, and it was only as he put it down on the floor that he realised that it had contained human blood. Eyes widening he finally looked around and saw that in the bed next to him was Angel, although he appeared to be asleep still. Feeling rather spooked he tried to sit up, but the instant agony told him that he was obviously still badly hurt... a good few ribs were cracked and one leg felt unusually dead. At that moment Illyria entered the room, and when she saw that he was awake, spoke. “Do not move. Your injuries are grievous and you need to rest and mend.”
He blinked. Illyria acting as a nurse was something he had never envisaged. But if she had brought the blood... “Where did you get the blood from?” he asked, eyeing her wearily. It was perfectly possible that she had gone out and drained the first few people she had seen. He hoped not, but with her you never knew.
“I found a place of healing that had much blood in storage, just like the facilities of Wolfram and Hart. I took sufficient for both of you.” He nodded gratefully and sank back in the bed, conscience laid to rest.
They had stayed in their hiding place for a few days, until they were mostly healed. Illyria brought more blood - always human, although they asked her not to - and after a while even Angel felt the silence between them oppressive. So they had talked. Trying to work out what to do, where to go and what had happened during the fight. Angel had lasted longer and Spike felt cheated.
“Well - it’s probably because I ate Hamilton just before the big battle... he had the power of the Senior Partners in his blood.”
“A-ha.” Spike answered, “Was that why you could kill the dragon also? Or was that just practice, what with living with one for 150 years?”
Angel had responded to this casual remark with such fierce protectiveness that Spike had been taken aback. Angelus had called Darla far worse than a dragon back in the day, so why this sudden anger? Then he recalled what Dru had told him in Sunnydale years ago, and asked what had happened to Darla and Dru once she’d gone back to LA alone. This had caused brooding of hitherto unseen proportions, but finally Angel had made up his mind and told Spike the whole story. Going back several years to when Wolfram & Hart had first brought Darla back as human and relating everything that had passed since. Spike had at first found it hard to believe it all - especially when Angel told him about Connor - but knowing that it was much too far-fetched to be made up, he listened quietly, not wanting to stop Angel’s sudden openness.
“Funny how history has a habit of repeating itself,” Spike thought later when they were half-asleep again. “Although Angel’s secret’s a hell of a lot more complicated than Buffy’s was. Well, at least he isn’t likely to start kissing me...” he frowned as he cast a glance at his grandsire and decided to make him call Nina as soon as possible.
When they were finally ready to leave, one more surprise was waiting. Illyria had come to see them sporadically, but she seemed preoccupied and they had wondered what she had been doing. Leaving the Hyperion they found out. In the garden there were now two graves - one for Gunn, one for Wesley. More surprising was that they had tombstones. Gunn’s was small and simple, bearing the words: ‘Charles Gunn, a brave fighter’. Wesley’s was larger and bore this inscription: ‘Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Great Watcher and Warrior, The One who always sought The Truth.’ The writing was hard to make out, as the stone was covered with the rotting corpse of Cyvus Vail. The vampires stood speechless for a long time, wondering how this had happened. Illyria never explained.
They had decided to go to England and made their way across America as fast as possible, but with a great many fights on the way. It was obvious that Wolfram & Hart wasn’t going to let them get away without a fight, but strangely the demons sent to kill them were never very numerous. Nevertheless, the constant battles were wearing them down, and when they finally found a boat they were very relieved. During the voyage Spike reflected on how his life had changed since his last boat-journey abroad. Pain was mostly what he could remember - pain, guilt and ghosts. At least he was his own man now.
They stayed in London for a good while, recuperating more thoroughly. Their tentative relationship with the new Council brought a temporary halt to the attacks, and Giles let them have free reign of the facilities. Until one day they discovered something in the Council’s library. An old book, brought in by Roger Wyndam-Pryce, which contained a mesmerising hint of a way to get at the Senior Partners. And so their wandering through Europe had begun, slowly zigzagging their way south as one clue led to another. Until they came to Rome.
***********
The view from their room - deadly sunshine and oblivious people; so much light and life just outside their reach. Maybe forever. They both knew how fickle prophecies could be, how higher powers would happily use them for their own purposes. They fought the darkness because that was what they had chosen, no matter the reason, although sometimes Spike wondered about Angel’s motivations. Was he only fighting because there was nothing else for him to do? It seemed like he was finally going to find out.
Angel looked at him, eyes hard. “I’m free now, I can do what I want. And what I want is revenge. I want to destroy the Senior Partners, in any way I can. I’ll do whatever I have to. I know I’ll never be able to touch the Powers, but at least I have the satisfaction of having seen one of them dead at my feet. And..." a short hesitation, then in a softer voice: "I want a better world for my son. A world where he doesn’t have to fight.”
He stopped and his eyes grew distant, before he turned to look at Spike again: “As for Buffy... it hurts, but I don’t think it would ever have worked out. I’m not the man she fell in love with - not even close. She deserves better.”
Spike looked at him open-mouthed.
Angel chuckled slightly. “I’m not saying she should go for you. Still have no idea what she sees in you, but I know enough not to interfere... she’s very stubborn!”
Spike slowly shook his head: “Why... why are you telling me all this now?”
Angel shrugged and looked out the window again. “Dunno. Thought I’d better get it all out of the way.”
Spike nodded, then a thought struck him: “You don’t think I’m putting Buffy in danger, do you? She said she wasn’t worried, but she doesn’t know Wolfram & Hart...”
The older vampire mused on this, then shook his head, a small smile on his face: “Until yesterday she was dating The Immortal. If Ilona hears that she’s now seeing you, she’ll probably just think that Buffy has a penchant for a certain type...”
“Riiiight...” Spike replied, not sure whether he should be offended or not.
Letting the subject drop, Angel turned around and walked back to his bed picking up his shirt. “Shall we get some dinner?”
Spike considered. “Think the place is ‘self-catering’... well it was 50 years ago anyway.”
Angel sighed. “Fine. Let’s leave it until we’ve found our guy.”
“Ok. Will just give Buffy a call, and we can be on our way. Presume Illyria is still here.”
**************
They had to wait for a long time before their next meal. Their contact turned out to be a very elusive character, and failed to show up. Trying to call the number he had left them, they got a message that the phone had been disconnected. The contact was supposed to have taken them to a demon-lord, but trying to find him on their own became increasingly difficult. The town was full of old, important demon-families and trying to find out which one their contact had been working for was practically impossible. Also the town was teeming with demons, all of them apparently spoiling for a tussle. At first it was a great release to be able to fight and Spike relished the opportunity to vent all his pent-up frustration, but as the night went on and there seemed no end to the boneheads who challenged them, it began to wear them out; even Illyria became wearied of the constant brawling.
At around 2 in the morning, Spike found himself standing in front of a shop-window, absentmindedly admiring a motorbike. Angel, who was by now in a foul mood, didn’t feel that this was a useful way to spend the time: “Spike - what the hell are you doing looking at bikes? First it was a jewellers - we’re not here to shop!”
Looking over his shoulder, Spike explained: “I used to have a bike just like that one back in Sunnydale, it was-” He noted the look on Angel’s face and gave up, turning his back on the display. It was a long night indeed.
Finally a few hours before sunrise a small, hairy demon of unknown origin was able to impart the knowledge that their contact had worked for ‘The Mighty Lord Omishkar’ who had departed to Napoli a few days before, taking all of his household with him. As they tiredly made their way back across the city, they found themselves surrounded by a large group of particularly nasty-looking demons, clearly looking for trouble. 10 minutes later the demons were all dead and Angel, Spike and Illyria covered in blood and demon guts, since the species for some reason exploded when killed.
As Spike futilely tried to clean his sword, he looked at Angel. “So what now? I guess we’d better set off for Napoli.”
Angel, who was absentmindedly poking at a demon head, thought for a a long time, brows furrowed and eyes distant. Spike kept quiet, wondering what his grandsire was pondering now... there was a grim determination on his face that didn’t bode well. Finally he spoke:
“No. I’ll go with Illyria. You go... you go be with Buffy.” He lifted his eyes and looked at Spike, a host of conflicting emotions fighting for supremacy. “Take her out - treat her - buy her stuff... whatever makes her happy these days.”
Spike looked at him in shock, but Angel met his eyes darkly, and after a moment Spike nodded. “I see.”
“As long as you never tell me anything about what you do!” Angel added.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Spike answered with a ghost of a smile, as he slowly walked off.
Chapter 9.
So, I give you more fic. We pick up straight where we left off, which means more
kathyh!Previous chapters here.
Feedback is better than chocolate, so please give me some?
Chapter 8
Standing by a window in Rome, the air still warm after a day of sunshine, the hellish battle in an alley in LA seemed a lifetime and a world away. Looking back, Spike was still astounded that he hadn’t been killed. There was a quote stuck in his head that he couldn't place, that summed it all up: “Life’s a bitch and then you don’t die!” How many times now had he met certain death head on and yet somehow survived? Having to pick himself up again and continue fighting...
For Spike the pain had been familiar. There had been 147 days when he had been in this situation before - the bonds of grief tying him to people he’d otherwise try to avoid. Fighting alongside someone with the face of a girl he once held dear. It was the same and yet different. There was less guilt - this time, he had saved the child. And the bonds to Angel... well, that’s where it all got complicated.
He had woken up in an unfamiliar place, but had sensed enough to figure out that he was in a bed, his entire body was in pain and there was blood nearby. He had found a large jug and swallowed the contents in one go, passing out as the empty jug dropped to the floor.
Next time he woke, he was able to take in the surroundings a bit more. He was lying in what might be a hotel of some kind, although it had obviously been empty for a long while. The jug was by his bedside, refilled, and it was only as he put it down on the floor that he realised that it had contained human blood. Eyes widening he finally looked around and saw that in the bed next to him was Angel, although he appeared to be asleep still. Feeling rather spooked he tried to sit up, but the instant agony told him that he was obviously still badly hurt... a good few ribs were cracked and one leg felt unusually dead. At that moment Illyria entered the room, and when she saw that he was awake, spoke. “Do not move. Your injuries are grievous and you need to rest and mend.”
He blinked. Illyria acting as a nurse was something he had never envisaged. But if she had brought the blood... “Where did you get the blood from?” he asked, eyeing her wearily. It was perfectly possible that she had gone out and drained the first few people she had seen. He hoped not, but with her you never knew.
“I found a place of healing that had much blood in storage, just like the facilities of Wolfram and Hart. I took sufficient for both of you.” He nodded gratefully and sank back in the bed, conscience laid to rest.
They had stayed in their hiding place for a few days, until they were mostly healed. Illyria brought more blood - always human, although they asked her not to - and after a while even Angel felt the silence between them oppressive. So they had talked. Trying to work out what to do, where to go and what had happened during the fight. Angel had lasted longer and Spike felt cheated.
“Well - it’s probably because I ate Hamilton just before the big battle... he had the power of the Senior Partners in his blood.”
“A-ha.” Spike answered, “Was that why you could kill the dragon also? Or was that just practice, what with living with one for 150 years?”
Angel had responded to this casual remark with such fierce protectiveness that Spike had been taken aback. Angelus had called Darla far worse than a dragon back in the day, so why this sudden anger? Then he recalled what Dru had told him in Sunnydale years ago, and asked what had happened to Darla and Dru once she’d gone back to LA alone. This had caused brooding of hitherto unseen proportions, but finally Angel had made up his mind and told Spike the whole story. Going back several years to when Wolfram & Hart had first brought Darla back as human and relating everything that had passed since. Spike had at first found it hard to believe it all - especially when Angel told him about Connor - but knowing that it was much too far-fetched to be made up, he listened quietly, not wanting to stop Angel’s sudden openness.
“Funny how history has a habit of repeating itself,” Spike thought later when they were half-asleep again. “Although Angel’s secret’s a hell of a lot more complicated than Buffy’s was. Well, at least he isn’t likely to start kissing me...” he frowned as he cast a glance at his grandsire and decided to make him call Nina as soon as possible.
When they were finally ready to leave, one more surprise was waiting. Illyria had come to see them sporadically, but she seemed preoccupied and they had wondered what she had been doing. Leaving the Hyperion they found out. In the garden there were now two graves - one for Gunn, one for Wesley. More surprising was that they had tombstones. Gunn’s was small and simple, bearing the words: ‘Charles Gunn, a brave fighter’. Wesley’s was larger and bore this inscription: ‘Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Great Watcher and Warrior, The One who always sought The Truth.’ The writing was hard to make out, as the stone was covered with the rotting corpse of Cyvus Vail. The vampires stood speechless for a long time, wondering how this had happened. Illyria never explained.
They had decided to go to England and made their way across America as fast as possible, but with a great many fights on the way. It was obvious that Wolfram & Hart wasn’t going to let them get away without a fight, but strangely the demons sent to kill them were never very numerous. Nevertheless, the constant battles were wearing them down, and when they finally found a boat they were very relieved. During the voyage Spike reflected on how his life had changed since his last boat-journey abroad. Pain was mostly what he could remember - pain, guilt and ghosts. At least he was his own man now.
They stayed in London for a good while, recuperating more thoroughly. Their tentative relationship with the new Council brought a temporary halt to the attacks, and Giles let them have free reign of the facilities. Until one day they discovered something in the Council’s library. An old book, brought in by Roger Wyndam-Pryce, which contained a mesmerising hint of a way to get at the Senior Partners. And so their wandering through Europe had begun, slowly zigzagging their way south as one clue led to another. Until they came to Rome.
***********
The view from their room - deadly sunshine and oblivious people; so much light and life just outside their reach. Maybe forever. They both knew how fickle prophecies could be, how higher powers would happily use them for their own purposes. They fought the darkness because that was what they had chosen, no matter the reason, although sometimes Spike wondered about Angel’s motivations. Was he only fighting because there was nothing else for him to do? It seemed like he was finally going to find out.
Angel looked at him, eyes hard. “I’m free now, I can do what I want. And what I want is revenge. I want to destroy the Senior Partners, in any way I can. I’ll do whatever I have to. I know I’ll never be able to touch the Powers, but at least I have the satisfaction of having seen one of them dead at my feet. And..." a short hesitation, then in a softer voice: "I want a better world for my son. A world where he doesn’t have to fight.”
He stopped and his eyes grew distant, before he turned to look at Spike again: “As for Buffy... it hurts, but I don’t think it would ever have worked out. I’m not the man she fell in love with - not even close. She deserves better.”
Spike looked at him open-mouthed.
Angel chuckled slightly. “I’m not saying she should go for you. Still have no idea what she sees in you, but I know enough not to interfere... she’s very stubborn!”
Spike slowly shook his head: “Why... why are you telling me all this now?”
Angel shrugged and looked out the window again. “Dunno. Thought I’d better get it all out of the way.”
Spike nodded, then a thought struck him: “You don’t think I’m putting Buffy in danger, do you? She said she wasn’t worried, but she doesn’t know Wolfram & Hart...”
The older vampire mused on this, then shook his head, a small smile on his face: “Until yesterday she was dating The Immortal. If Ilona hears that she’s now seeing you, she’ll probably just think that Buffy has a penchant for a certain type...”
“Riiiight...” Spike replied, not sure whether he should be offended or not.
Letting the subject drop, Angel turned around and walked back to his bed picking up his shirt. “Shall we get some dinner?”
Spike considered. “Think the place is ‘self-catering’... well it was 50 years ago anyway.”
Angel sighed. “Fine. Let’s leave it until we’ve found our guy.”
“Ok. Will just give Buffy a call, and we can be on our way. Presume Illyria is still here.”
**************
They had to wait for a long time before their next meal. Their contact turned out to be a very elusive character, and failed to show up. Trying to call the number he had left them, they got a message that the phone had been disconnected. The contact was supposed to have taken them to a demon-lord, but trying to find him on their own became increasingly difficult. The town was full of old, important demon-families and trying to find out which one their contact had been working for was practically impossible. Also the town was teeming with demons, all of them apparently spoiling for a tussle. At first it was a great release to be able to fight and Spike relished the opportunity to vent all his pent-up frustration, but as the night went on and there seemed no end to the boneheads who challenged them, it began to wear them out; even Illyria became wearied of the constant brawling.
At around 2 in the morning, Spike found himself standing in front of a shop-window, absentmindedly admiring a motorbike. Angel, who was by now in a foul mood, didn’t feel that this was a useful way to spend the time: “Spike - what the hell are you doing looking at bikes? First it was a jewellers - we’re not here to shop!”
Looking over his shoulder, Spike explained: “I used to have a bike just like that one back in Sunnydale, it was-” He noted the look on Angel’s face and gave up, turning his back on the display. It was a long night indeed.
Finally a few hours before sunrise a small, hairy demon of unknown origin was able to impart the knowledge that their contact had worked for ‘The Mighty Lord Omishkar’ who had departed to Napoli a few days before, taking all of his household with him. As they tiredly made their way back across the city, they found themselves surrounded by a large group of particularly nasty-looking demons, clearly looking for trouble. 10 minutes later the demons were all dead and Angel, Spike and Illyria covered in blood and demon guts, since the species for some reason exploded when killed.
As Spike futilely tried to clean his sword, he looked at Angel. “So what now? I guess we’d better set off for Napoli.”
Angel, who was absentmindedly poking at a demon head, thought for a a long time, brows furrowed and eyes distant. Spike kept quiet, wondering what his grandsire was pondering now... there was a grim determination on his face that didn’t bode well. Finally he spoke:
“No. I’ll go with Illyria. You go... you go be with Buffy.” He lifted his eyes and looked at Spike, a host of conflicting emotions fighting for supremacy. “Take her out - treat her - buy her stuff... whatever makes her happy these days.”
Spike looked at him in shock, but Angel met his eyes darkly, and after a moment Spike nodded. “I see.”
“As long as you never tell me anything about what you do!” Angel added.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Spike answered with a ghost of a smile, as he slowly walked off.
Chapter 9.
no subject
Heee! I don't like slash at all, but nevertheless I have this HUGE soft spot for Spike/Angel...
I could definitely see this going on between them.
Oh, good. It's tricky finding the right balance.
I kind of chuckled with the dead body on Wesley's grave. So Illyria.
Illyria is a writer's gift!