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Because Cavemen Have Fire. Chapter 2.
I swear, this fic is like crack. Well it’s like that to *me* - what it's like to anyone else I don't know. And it’s very distracting - I don't think I've ever written anything this fast! Anyway, here’s chapter 2 - hopefully one or two of you will find the time to read even with Christmas breathing down our necks... I hope you enjoy - I certainly enjoyed writing it! :)
First chapter here.
Also many, many thank you’s to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh for the super-fast beta! *smooches*
And *if* you read please let me know how you liked it?
Chapter 2
The story took a long time to tell. It was obvious to Buffy that Angel was leaving something out, but considering what he left in she was almost grateful. His voice was even and calm, relating tragedies and horrors as though speaking of someone else’s life - not that he wasn’t affected, but his feelings were so tightly under control that she could barely glimpse them.
Halfway through she dug out a couple of chocolate bars and a bottle of water from her bag, since the meal she’d eaten around lunchtime had been less than substantial. She realised that Spike had been right - the question of why they were sleeping together was the least of it. Because there were things in this story that made her very uncomfortable, things that reminded her of the ruthlessness of The Council before the new Slayers had taken over... Dispatching ‘dangerous persons’ in cold blood, doing deals where the end result overrode any qualms about methods. Slowly she moved backwards until she sat with her back against the foot end of the bed, as far removed from Angel as she could get without actually getting off the bed. Not only had he fallen off her pedestal, he was now busy digging himself into a hole. And he still hadn’t explained why he’d started to work for W&H in the first place...
Finally the tale came to the point when they’d all disappeared, and she could tell how raw their feelings still were when looking at their drawn faces. But Angel’s voice never wavered as he recounted their last glorious shining moments. It was breathtaking and terrible, and she was spellbound as Angel’s tale came to the point when an entire army was attacking them.
“Don’t know what happened,” he said. “There was a huge flash and then we were all alone. It must have been Illyria, because she’d vanished too.” He stopped and pulled a hand through his hair in a motion so tired that Buffy’s heart ached. But she didn’t reach across to him.
Spike was playing with his lighter, nervous energy hanging around him, and after a moment he continued the tale. “Didn’t know what to do... we weren’t supposed to have survived. Went underground, hoping that W&H thought we’d died too...”
“Literally underground?” Buffy cut in, grasping at the opportunity to change the subject. “What’s it like? I’ve been wondering, you see, because one of the other Buffies is underground. Is it bad? I feel kinda sorry for her.”
“Other Buffies?” Angel asked, shooting Spike a glance.
“Oh, I never told you about me, did I? Well I’ve got two doubles - one’s underground, and the other’s in Rome, living the life of Riley.” She frowned. “Actually no, I’m living the life of Riley, what with the dangerous, underpaid missions. She’s living the life of... the Olsen twins...What?”
They were both staring at her, the strangest expressions on their faces.
“So... you’re not... were not... dating The Bloody Immortal?” Spike asked.
“No,” she said petulantly. “It’s not fair. From the reports I’ve read he’s like - perfect! What do I have to do to earn some time off?”
But Spike and Angel weren’t really listening, instead they were grinning at each like loons, obviously sharing some sort of private moment.
It wasn’t easy - she didn’t know how to respond to them anymore. Her head was too full of the information she’d just been given to think clearly. What should she do? Let them go on their way? Bring them back to The Council? What did they want to do?
“Um, so what are you doing here? OK, so it’s not exactly Hollywood, but it’s not the centre of nowhere either. Why did you stop being underground?”
“Well we’ve been trying to figure out how to recreate something like the spell that Lindsey used to keep him hidden from everyone.” Angel replied.
”Lindsey...” She thought back, tried to remember which one was Lindsey. Oh yes...
“The guy you had killed?” she asked, not trying very hard to keep the coolness out of her voice.
“Yeah, him.” Angel replied, not meeting her eyes. She swallowed involuntarily, and took a deep breath. Was the man she had fallen in love with still there somewhere underneath the grim, callous warrior now sitting across from her? Who reminded her of Giles at his worst (“Come on. Say it. Tell me to kill my sister.” “She’s not your sister.”). When she thought back, she could see that the iron will had always been there, like the time when The First had goaded him into suicide... he would have died for sure if it hadn’t been for the snow. But that had been an act of sacrifice - where had that Angel gone?
And Spike... She still didn’t know what exactly had happened to him either, or what his deal with Angel was. There’d been snippets in the longer tale - Spike had been a ghost, then they’d had a big fight, before slowly learning to tolerate each other more or less - but how and why they’d become lovers was a tale still untold. She didn’t get it - she thought that she’d known him better than anyone, that he’d loved her more than anything in the world... and yet he’d stayed with Angel instead of coming to her. Events that had made her flinch he’d barely acknowledged, appearing almost more concerned about Angel, never moving from his side as he narrated.
Seeing her eyes were fixed on the lighter (and oh the memories...) Spike bit his lip, quickly stuck it in his pocket and continued telling her about the spell.
“Only need one more ingredient - a mystical artefact known as an Ishtan Globe. A... ‘source’ said it was to be found not far from here.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “I’ve got it!”
“What do you mean you’ve got it?” Angel scrutinised her, frowning.
“I’ve got it, right here in my bag!” she jumped off the bed and retrieved the bag, and as she rooted through it - looking for the softly glowing doodad - she told them about her mission.
“Well that explains why you were in the neighbourhood and how you got through our defence barrier,” Spike said. “I’d been wondering about that.” Then he slowly reached out for it. “Can I have a look?”
“Keep it,” she said, and then almost dropped it as her phone rang.
It was Willow again, and Buffy tried to give as little away as possible, saying that she was fine but couldn’t talk right now and that she’d call Willow back. And could she please discourage Giles from even thinking about calling.
As she closed the phone she realised that she was very tired. Looking at the two of them she yawned.
“Um... is it OK if I get some sleep now? I’ve been up for like 24 hours straight and there’s also jet-lag and stuff...”
A little later she was snuggled up at the foot end of the bed with Spike’s pillow under her head, and the blanket around her. Angel had made a motion as though to get up, but Spike had told him to stay put (she guessed that he’d sensed her discomfort and was silently grateful) and had sorted her out. She vaguely wondered if she could pretend to be asleep and overhear what they’d say when she was out, but far too soon the world disappeared into a soft haze.
*****
Spike and Angel faced each other across the bed on which their Slayer was asleep. Carefully Spike bent down and pulled up the blanket a bit more - the house wasn’t exactly brimming with warmth.
Their girl - their woman - right there with them. Of course she was so much more than that. The judge of their souls, the arbiter of their lives...
“Well that didn’t go too badly.” Angel remarked, “I mean she took the... you and me thing remarkably well!”
Spike shook his head. “Oh come on. She worked that one out the minute she saw us in bed. She was obviously a bit freaked out, but she’ll cope - Buffy is pretty much unshockable when it comes to sex. Main problem I’m guessing is trying to wrap her mind about you not being all that straight... which given your taste in clothes is kinda funny.”
He smiled a little, but then continued soberly. “The other stuff - W&H and killing people... that she might not forgive you - us - for.” Catching Angel’s eye he continued, “You should have told her about Connor.”
“No.” Angel said in a voice that brooked no arguments. “She doesn’t need to know and that’s the end of it! Understood?”
Spike shook his head and wondered why the hell he always fell for the broken ones. Dru, Buffy, Angel... Dru had been beyond mending of course, and he still wasn’t sure if he’d helped Buffy or not. But Angel... he’d done his best, but he had a feeling that it would take shock treatment to get through to him - and Spike wasn’t the one to do that.
Determined to change the subject, Angel asked, “What did you mean she’s unshockable?”
Spike sighed. Well, there was no point in forcing the subject of Connor now... he’d find the right time soon enough.
"Well she and I did pretty much everything - so as far as the sex goes I can't think she's too freaked out. Not a little girl anymore, trust me. I mean she was almost teasing us about it! As for the other stuff..."
He caught Angel's eyes, holding them for a moment, before biting his lip and looking back down at Buffy. "Well, what she doesn't know about she can't be shocked by..."
Angel went back to studying her, and Spike found himself dragged into the same reverie - it felt like a sunbeam had come and landed in their hands for a few moments. Their girl, so full of light and life and everything they wished for. Except of course that it was an illusion. They knew it - knew that she would slip out of their hands again, leaving them blinded and dazed and alone. At least they’d be alone together.
Angel sighed and tore his eyes off her. “So, what now?” he asked.
“We get a box to put her in?” Spike suggested, and Angel silently buried his head in his hands.
Spike grinned, then looked towards the window and the diminishing light and sighed. “Better go get something to eat I suppose - maybe some candles too. I should probably go before it gets dark - less chance of getting attacked! And the shadows will be long now.”
Angel nodded agreement before slowly getting of the bed, grimacing.
Spike frowned. “How’s the leg? It looked bad...”
“Getting better,” Angel said and experimentally put his weight on it before wincing. “Damn. Hurts like hell, but I don’t think there are any fractures.”
Spike nodded and walked round to his clothes pile, picking up his T-shirt and inspecting it sadly. “Ruined. Bloody tentacles. Can I borrow yours for going out - I’ll nab some new ones if possible.”
“Well if you’d worn your coat...” Angel said pointedly.
“If I’d worn my coat it would have been in shreds as well.” He shrugged into Angel’s dark purple shirt and made a face, half from distaste, half from pain. “God I look like a bleeding ponce in this.”
“If you hadn’t tried to get yourself killed maybe your clothes wouldn’t be falling apart. You’re lucky you didn’t end up as a novelty vampire statue!” Angel replied. Then he narrowed his eyes, studying Spike closely. “Your arm OK? I’m not letting you go out there if you can’t fight properly.”
Spike flexed his fingers experimentally. “Yeah, bit... stiff and tingly, but nothing to worry about.”
Angel didn’t look convinced, but Spike pulled on the duster and his boots, then started rummaging through the holdall. “Sword might be a bit overkill... think a dagger’ll be enough?”
He slowly weighed it in his hand and checked the blade. It was a little stained after the last lot of demon blood, but seemed sound. Should be sufficient.
“Strap on a wrist-stake as well,” Angel suggested, “Can’t help to be prepared.”
Spike nodded and moments later was ready to go. “Have we got any money left?”
“A bit... try not to spend it all!” Angel said and handed him a couple of notes.
“I’ll do some ‘creative’ shopping then,” Spike replied and turned to go.
“Spike!” Angel called out and Spike looked over his shoulder. “Just... be careful.”
Spike grinned.
“Never!” he said, and then with one last glance at the bed he silently slipped out the door.
....
When he came back almost an hour later, Angel was sitting on the floor, all the various spell ingredients spread out before him. He was rereading the vague descriptions they’d found in an old compendium, frowning in concentration.
“Hey there,” Spike called quietly, “Stop worrying for a minute - dinner’s here!”
He pulled out several bags of blood from his paper bag and held them aloft. “Got them for free and everything - halfway through the sale the butcher grew another head and tried to eat me. Shoulda brought the sword after all - would have made life easier. Dunno if that means they’ve almost caught up with us, or if he just didn’t like vampires.” He shrugged, not bothered either way. “Of course then I bought a pizza for Buffy, so... still a dip in the funds.”
Angel sighed and beckoned him over. “This makes no sense, dammit. We could do with someone who actually knows magic...”
“Like, say, Willow...” Spike said casually, and handed Angel one of the blood bags.
Angel frowned, and Spike shrugged and let the matter fall. “Looked through some cupboards downstairs but couldn’t find any mugs. So primitive it is...”
He tossed Angel a blood bag, then after depositing the pizza and the rest of the shopping near the bed, he sat himself down next to the other vampire and bit into his meal.
Fangs, blood, life... it was always primitive. No matter if it came in a pretty cup or straight from the vein it hit the same spot inside - far deeper than a soul or conscience could reach.
After a few moments of quiet, Angel handed Spike half the sheets of paper. “See what you can get out of that. It’s mostly in Latin, but there are some parts that don’t appear to make sense.”
Spike looked it over and frowned. “Might be in code, like the DuLac script - needed the cross to translate it.”
Angel swore and threw his head back against the wall. “I don’t need this, dammit!”
“Shh!” Spike whispered, and Angel instantly looked towards the bed. But Buffy was still fast asleep and didn’t even stir. They looked at each other for a moment, a little unsure. It had only been the two of them for these past six months - hiding, fighting, hunting; stealing across the underworld like shadows. In many ways it felt like the old days again, but without the girls and killing demons instead of humans... well mostly. The intrusion into their world of not just someone else, but the woman they both loved, felt surreal - like a dream. Now and again they’d forget that she was there and be startled by the blonde hair on the pillow.
Sighing they went back to attempting to translate the document, but Spike felt increasingly frustrated. Sitting still; waiting; doing things slowly and painstakingly always made him restless, and with Buffy in such close proximity the feeling was tenfold increased. After a couple of hours, Angel, who was probably suffering in the same way but far better at hiding it, suggested lighting some candles, and Spike readily jumped to his feet. Moments later the room was bathed in a soft golden light.
Angel looked up, and then frowned. “Are you still wearing my shirt?”
“Uh... yeah. Must have forgotten. Got some more by the way, so I’ll get out of this one!”
He pulled off the duster and then the shirt, flinching lightly.
“That’s it, I’m having a look at that sting!” Angel said, determinedly, and Spike sighed.
“Fine - but apart from a little numbness it’s - fine! Your leg got off far worse!”
“My leg didn’t get stung by a paralysing agent strong enough to immobilise even you for eternity!” Angel replied, and with a suppressed wince of pain stood up.
The shirt held in his right hand, Spike lifted his left arm - which did feel a bit off if he was honest - and Angel carefully inspected the tiny, triangular sting between his armpit and shoulder blade.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he said after a moment. “Still a few green tendrils under the skin, but they should die soon without anything to sustain them.”
Slowly he shook his head, exasperated. “What the hell did you attack it for alone? If you’d waited for a minute we could have had a plan!”
Spike scoffed. “Plan? Where’s the fun in that?”
“This isn’t about fun, Spike! It’s about not taking stupid risks and nearly getting the both of us killed!” There were cracks in Angel’s calm facade now, and it was like a red flag in front of Spike’s eyes.
“I’ve been telling you this for more than 120 years Angel, but there’s no point to life without risks! Step out of your bloody comfort zone sometimes, it’d do you a world of good! But no... you’d rather sit behind your big desk and calculate every move before you make it. Oh no wait - you made the big desk disappear with another of your calculated risks! When will you bloody learn to just let go?”
“Spike!” Angel was in his face now, anger and frustration growing exponentially: “Will you just - Shut. The. Hell. Up!”
“Make me!” Spike grinned, tongue against teeth - obnoxious, challenging, cocksure. Hell yeah, this was more like it!
And then Angel got that look on his face - eerily calm and dangerous. His eyes turned dark and glittering, and Spike could swear that he could see Angelus far, far behind them - stretching and flexing, getting ready to pounce.
A beat - then Angel pulled him into a fierce kiss. The shirt fell out of Spike’s hand, dismissed and forgotten, as he hungrily responded to the offered release. It wasn’t always like this, but sometimes...
Their kiss was blood and history, fangs and terror in the night, and sins that could never be forgiven. Time came unstuck under their hands and unfolded, the tapestry of their lives at their fingertips.
Spike could feel it tingling through him... the feeling of power and life and bright sparks in the darkness. He needed to tear something to pieces, needed to fight with fists and fangs and his back against the wall. Or maybe do something else instead...
As they slowly pulled apart, he could see his feelings mirrored on Angel’s face, and he smiled triumphantly.
Then their moment was broken by a soft, sleepy whisper from the bed:
“Please... don’t stop...”
Chapter 3.
First chapter here.
Also many, many thank you’s to
kathyh for the super-fast beta! *smooches*And *if* you read please let me know how you liked it?
The story took a long time to tell. It was obvious to Buffy that Angel was leaving something out, but considering what he left in she was almost grateful. His voice was even and calm, relating tragedies and horrors as though speaking of someone else’s life - not that he wasn’t affected, but his feelings were so tightly under control that she could barely glimpse them.
Halfway through she dug out a couple of chocolate bars and a bottle of water from her bag, since the meal she’d eaten around lunchtime had been less than substantial. She realised that Spike had been right - the question of why they were sleeping together was the least of it. Because there were things in this story that made her very uncomfortable, things that reminded her of the ruthlessness of The Council before the new Slayers had taken over... Dispatching ‘dangerous persons’ in cold blood, doing deals where the end result overrode any qualms about methods. Slowly she moved backwards until she sat with her back against the foot end of the bed, as far removed from Angel as she could get without actually getting off the bed. Not only had he fallen off her pedestal, he was now busy digging himself into a hole. And he still hadn’t explained why he’d started to work for W&H in the first place...
Finally the tale came to the point when they’d all disappeared, and she could tell how raw their feelings still were when looking at their drawn faces. But Angel’s voice never wavered as he recounted their last glorious shining moments. It was breathtaking and terrible, and she was spellbound as Angel’s tale came to the point when an entire army was attacking them.
“Don’t know what happened,” he said. “There was a huge flash and then we were all alone. It must have been Illyria, because she’d vanished too.” He stopped and pulled a hand through his hair in a motion so tired that Buffy’s heart ached. But she didn’t reach across to him.
Spike was playing with his lighter, nervous energy hanging around him, and after a moment he continued the tale. “Didn’t know what to do... we weren’t supposed to have survived. Went underground, hoping that W&H thought we’d died too...”
“Literally underground?” Buffy cut in, grasping at the opportunity to change the subject. “What’s it like? I’ve been wondering, you see, because one of the other Buffies is underground. Is it bad? I feel kinda sorry for her.”
“Other Buffies?” Angel asked, shooting Spike a glance.
“Oh, I never told you about me, did I? Well I’ve got two doubles - one’s underground, and the other’s in Rome, living the life of Riley.” She frowned. “Actually no, I’m living the life of Riley, what with the dangerous, underpaid missions. She’s living the life of... the Olsen twins...What?”
They were both staring at her, the strangest expressions on their faces.
“So... you’re not... were not... dating The Bloody Immortal?” Spike asked.
“No,” she said petulantly. “It’s not fair. From the reports I’ve read he’s like - perfect! What do I have to do to earn some time off?”
But Spike and Angel weren’t really listening, instead they were grinning at each like loons, obviously sharing some sort of private moment.
It wasn’t easy - she didn’t know how to respond to them anymore. Her head was too full of the information she’d just been given to think clearly. What should she do? Let them go on their way? Bring them back to The Council? What did they want to do?
“Um, so what are you doing here? OK, so it’s not exactly Hollywood, but it’s not the centre of nowhere either. Why did you stop being underground?”
“Well we’ve been trying to figure out how to recreate something like the spell that Lindsey used to keep him hidden from everyone.” Angel replied.
”Lindsey...” She thought back, tried to remember which one was Lindsey. Oh yes...
“The guy you had killed?” she asked, not trying very hard to keep the coolness out of her voice.
“Yeah, him.” Angel replied, not meeting her eyes. She swallowed involuntarily, and took a deep breath. Was the man she had fallen in love with still there somewhere underneath the grim, callous warrior now sitting across from her? Who reminded her of Giles at his worst (“Come on. Say it. Tell me to kill my sister.” “She’s not your sister.”). When she thought back, she could see that the iron will had always been there, like the time when The First had goaded him into suicide... he would have died for sure if it hadn’t been for the snow. But that had been an act of sacrifice - where had that Angel gone?
And Spike... She still didn’t know what exactly had happened to him either, or what his deal with Angel was. There’d been snippets in the longer tale - Spike had been a ghost, then they’d had a big fight, before slowly learning to tolerate each other more or less - but how and why they’d become lovers was a tale still untold. She didn’t get it - she thought that she’d known him better than anyone, that he’d loved her more than anything in the world... and yet he’d stayed with Angel instead of coming to her. Events that had made her flinch he’d barely acknowledged, appearing almost more concerned about Angel, never moving from his side as he narrated.
Seeing her eyes were fixed on the lighter (and oh the memories...) Spike bit his lip, quickly stuck it in his pocket and continued telling her about the spell.
“Only need one more ingredient - a mystical artefact known as an Ishtan Globe. A... ‘source’ said it was to be found not far from here.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “I’ve got it!”
“What do you mean you’ve got it?” Angel scrutinised her, frowning.
“I’ve got it, right here in my bag!” she jumped off the bed and retrieved the bag, and as she rooted through it - looking for the softly glowing doodad - she told them about her mission.
“Well that explains why you were in the neighbourhood and how you got through our defence barrier,” Spike said. “I’d been wondering about that.” Then he slowly reached out for it. “Can I have a look?”
“Keep it,” she said, and then almost dropped it as her phone rang.
It was Willow again, and Buffy tried to give as little away as possible, saying that she was fine but couldn’t talk right now and that she’d call Willow back. And could she please discourage Giles from even thinking about calling.
As she closed the phone she realised that she was very tired. Looking at the two of them she yawned.
“Um... is it OK if I get some sleep now? I’ve been up for like 24 hours straight and there’s also jet-lag and stuff...”
A little later she was snuggled up at the foot end of the bed with Spike’s pillow under her head, and the blanket around her. Angel had made a motion as though to get up, but Spike had told him to stay put (she guessed that he’d sensed her discomfort and was silently grateful) and had sorted her out. She vaguely wondered if she could pretend to be asleep and overhear what they’d say when she was out, but far too soon the world disappeared into a soft haze.
Spike and Angel faced each other across the bed on which their Slayer was asleep. Carefully Spike bent down and pulled up the blanket a bit more - the house wasn’t exactly brimming with warmth.
Their girl - their woman - right there with them. Of course she was so much more than that. The judge of their souls, the arbiter of their lives...
“Well that didn’t go too badly.” Angel remarked, “I mean she took the... you and me thing remarkably well!”
Spike shook his head. “Oh come on. She worked that one out the minute she saw us in bed. She was obviously a bit freaked out, but she’ll cope - Buffy is pretty much unshockable when it comes to sex. Main problem I’m guessing is trying to wrap her mind about you not being all that straight... which given your taste in clothes is kinda funny.”
He smiled a little, but then continued soberly. “The other stuff - W&H and killing people... that she might not forgive you - us - for.” Catching Angel’s eye he continued, “You should have told her about Connor.”
“No.” Angel said in a voice that brooked no arguments. “She doesn’t need to know and that’s the end of it! Understood?”
Spike shook his head and wondered why the hell he always fell for the broken ones. Dru, Buffy, Angel... Dru had been beyond mending of course, and he still wasn’t sure if he’d helped Buffy or not. But Angel... he’d done his best, but he had a feeling that it would take shock treatment to get through to him - and Spike wasn’t the one to do that.
Determined to change the subject, Angel asked, “What did you mean she’s unshockable?”
Spike sighed. Well, there was no point in forcing the subject of Connor now... he’d find the right time soon enough.
"Well she and I did pretty much everything - so as far as the sex goes I can't think she's too freaked out. Not a little girl anymore, trust me. I mean she was almost teasing us about it! As for the other stuff..."
He caught Angel's eyes, holding them for a moment, before biting his lip and looking back down at Buffy. "Well, what she doesn't know about she can't be shocked by..."
Angel went back to studying her, and Spike found himself dragged into the same reverie - it felt like a sunbeam had come and landed in their hands for a few moments. Their girl, so full of light and life and everything they wished for. Except of course that it was an illusion. They knew it - knew that she would slip out of their hands again, leaving them blinded and dazed and alone. At least they’d be alone together.
Angel sighed and tore his eyes off her. “So, what now?” he asked.
“We get a box to put her in?” Spike suggested, and Angel silently buried his head in his hands.
Spike grinned, then looked towards the window and the diminishing light and sighed. “Better go get something to eat I suppose - maybe some candles too. I should probably go before it gets dark - less chance of getting attacked! And the shadows will be long now.”
Angel nodded agreement before slowly getting of the bed, grimacing.
Spike frowned. “How’s the leg? It looked bad...”
“Getting better,” Angel said and experimentally put his weight on it before wincing. “Damn. Hurts like hell, but I don’t think there are any fractures.”
Spike nodded and walked round to his clothes pile, picking up his T-shirt and inspecting it sadly. “Ruined. Bloody tentacles. Can I borrow yours for going out - I’ll nab some new ones if possible.”
“Well if you’d worn your coat...” Angel said pointedly.
“If I’d worn my coat it would have been in shreds as well.” He shrugged into Angel’s dark purple shirt and made a face, half from distaste, half from pain. “God I look like a bleeding ponce in this.”
“If you hadn’t tried to get yourself killed maybe your clothes wouldn’t be falling apart. You’re lucky you didn’t end up as a novelty vampire statue!” Angel replied. Then he narrowed his eyes, studying Spike closely. “Your arm OK? I’m not letting you go out there if you can’t fight properly.”
Spike flexed his fingers experimentally. “Yeah, bit... stiff and tingly, but nothing to worry about.”
Angel didn’t look convinced, but Spike pulled on the duster and his boots, then started rummaging through the holdall. “Sword might be a bit overkill... think a dagger’ll be enough?”
He slowly weighed it in his hand and checked the blade. It was a little stained after the last lot of demon blood, but seemed sound. Should be sufficient.
“Strap on a wrist-stake as well,” Angel suggested, “Can’t help to be prepared.”
Spike nodded and moments later was ready to go. “Have we got any money left?”
“A bit... try not to spend it all!” Angel said and handed him a couple of notes.
“I’ll do some ‘creative’ shopping then,” Spike replied and turned to go.
“Spike!” Angel called out and Spike looked over his shoulder. “Just... be careful.”
Spike grinned.
“Never!” he said, and then with one last glance at the bed he silently slipped out the door.
....
When he came back almost an hour later, Angel was sitting on the floor, all the various spell ingredients spread out before him. He was rereading the vague descriptions they’d found in an old compendium, frowning in concentration.
“Hey there,” Spike called quietly, “Stop worrying for a minute - dinner’s here!”
He pulled out several bags of blood from his paper bag and held them aloft. “Got them for free and everything - halfway through the sale the butcher grew another head and tried to eat me. Shoulda brought the sword after all - would have made life easier. Dunno if that means they’ve almost caught up with us, or if he just didn’t like vampires.” He shrugged, not bothered either way. “Of course then I bought a pizza for Buffy, so... still a dip in the funds.”
Angel sighed and beckoned him over. “This makes no sense, dammit. We could do with someone who actually knows magic...”
“Like, say, Willow...” Spike said casually, and handed Angel one of the blood bags.
Angel frowned, and Spike shrugged and let the matter fall. “Looked through some cupboards downstairs but couldn’t find any mugs. So primitive it is...”
He tossed Angel a blood bag, then after depositing the pizza and the rest of the shopping near the bed, he sat himself down next to the other vampire and bit into his meal.
Fangs, blood, life... it was always primitive. No matter if it came in a pretty cup or straight from the vein it hit the same spot inside - far deeper than a soul or conscience could reach.
After a few moments of quiet, Angel handed Spike half the sheets of paper. “See what you can get out of that. It’s mostly in Latin, but there are some parts that don’t appear to make sense.”
Spike looked it over and frowned. “Might be in code, like the DuLac script - needed the cross to translate it.”
Angel swore and threw his head back against the wall. “I don’t need this, dammit!”
“Shh!” Spike whispered, and Angel instantly looked towards the bed. But Buffy was still fast asleep and didn’t even stir. They looked at each other for a moment, a little unsure. It had only been the two of them for these past six months - hiding, fighting, hunting; stealing across the underworld like shadows. In many ways it felt like the old days again, but without the girls and killing demons instead of humans... well mostly. The intrusion into their world of not just someone else, but the woman they both loved, felt surreal - like a dream. Now and again they’d forget that she was there and be startled by the blonde hair on the pillow.
Sighing they went back to attempting to translate the document, but Spike felt increasingly frustrated. Sitting still; waiting; doing things slowly and painstakingly always made him restless, and with Buffy in such close proximity the feeling was tenfold increased. After a couple of hours, Angel, who was probably suffering in the same way but far better at hiding it, suggested lighting some candles, and Spike readily jumped to his feet. Moments later the room was bathed in a soft golden light.
Angel looked up, and then frowned. “Are you still wearing my shirt?”
“Uh... yeah. Must have forgotten. Got some more by the way, so I’ll get out of this one!”
He pulled off the duster and then the shirt, flinching lightly.
“That’s it, I’m having a look at that sting!” Angel said, determinedly, and Spike sighed.
“Fine - but apart from a little numbness it’s - fine! Your leg got off far worse!”
“My leg didn’t get stung by a paralysing agent strong enough to immobilise even you for eternity!” Angel replied, and with a suppressed wince of pain stood up.
The shirt held in his right hand, Spike lifted his left arm - which did feel a bit off if he was honest - and Angel carefully inspected the tiny, triangular sting between his armpit and shoulder blade.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he said after a moment. “Still a few green tendrils under the skin, but they should die soon without anything to sustain them.”
Slowly he shook his head, exasperated. “What the hell did you attack it for alone? If you’d waited for a minute we could have had a plan!”
Spike scoffed. “Plan? Where’s the fun in that?”
“This isn’t about fun, Spike! It’s about not taking stupid risks and nearly getting the both of us killed!” There were cracks in Angel’s calm facade now, and it was like a red flag in front of Spike’s eyes.
“I’ve been telling you this for more than 120 years Angel, but there’s no point to life without risks! Step out of your bloody comfort zone sometimes, it’d do you a world of good! But no... you’d rather sit behind your big desk and calculate every move before you make it. Oh no wait - you made the big desk disappear with another of your calculated risks! When will you bloody learn to just let go?”
“Spike!” Angel was in his face now, anger and frustration growing exponentially: “Will you just - Shut. The. Hell. Up!”
“Make me!” Spike grinned, tongue against teeth - obnoxious, challenging, cocksure. Hell yeah, this was more like it!
And then Angel got that look on his face - eerily calm and dangerous. His eyes turned dark and glittering, and Spike could swear that he could see Angelus far, far behind them - stretching and flexing, getting ready to pounce.
A beat - then Angel pulled him into a fierce kiss. The shirt fell out of Spike’s hand, dismissed and forgotten, as he hungrily responded to the offered release. It wasn’t always like this, but sometimes...
Their kiss was blood and history, fangs and terror in the night, and sins that could never be forgiven. Time came unstuck under their hands and unfolded, the tapestry of their lives at their fingertips.
Spike could feel it tingling through him... the feeling of power and life and bright sparks in the darkness. He needed to tear something to pieces, needed to fight with fists and fangs and his back against the wall. Or maybe do something else instead...
As they slowly pulled apart, he could see his feelings mirrored on Angel’s face, and he smiled triumphantly.
Then their moment was broken by a soft, sleepy whisper from the bed:
“Please... don’t stop...”
Chapter 3.
Because Cavemen Have Fire. Chapter 2
And Angel is still keeping secrets (Connor).... but Buffy noticed that something was off.
Looking forward to what Spike will explain why he didn't search for Buffy after being back.
(We get a box to put her in? Heh - I even have an icon saying that somewhere *g*)
Re: Because Cavemen Have Fire. Chapter 2
Oh yes! :)
(not sure what the Council wanted with it / wanted it for).
Mostly didn't want it falling into the wring hands etc.
And Angel is still keeping secrets (Connor).... but Buffy noticed that something was off.
She's a smart girl, is Buffy! (And of course Angel keeps secrets. Since when doesn't he?)
Looking forward to what Spike will explain why he didn't search for Buffy after being back.
I am trying to remember if that is actually addressed. Might happen 'off-screen'...
(We get a box to put her in? Heh - I even have an icon saying that somewhere *g*)
TOTALLY couldn't help myself! *g*