Everything is a vicious cycle
Yes, another update! Don't drop over in surprise. =)
Title: The Boundaries of Love (5/?)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: R?
Disclaimer: Joss is God. I’m only a minor servant, borrowing his playthings.
Summary: Angsty. This is one of my more serious fics. Spike gets a mysterious visitor after the whole Cup of Perpetual Torment business. A sacrifice is made, setting off a chain of events that will change Spike forever and test the boundaries of his love for Angel.
Note: This is unbetaed so all mistakes are mine. Please point them out if you see one. By the way, please feel free to offer constructive criticism.
Previous parts here.
The scalding hot shower water lashed at Spike’s back like the pinpricks of a thousand needles. Yet, he still felt cold. He supposed that it had something to do with the differing perspectives and all. Once, he was a cold, lifeless thing with no body heat to lose and no warmth to begin with. But now, he had something to lose. He was no longer as resilient as he once was.
The soap slipped from his trembling fingers and in his haste to catch it, he banged his elbow against the bathroom tiles painfully. His Slayer healing powers would ensure that the bruise faded by the next morning but even it had its limits.
Retrieving the soap, he lathered up his inner thighs and continued scrubbing the skin there. The water washed away red.
So much blood and it just wouldn’t stop trickling down his thighs. He would never be clean.
It wasn’t you, you stupid sod, he told himself. But it didn’t matter. He might not have killed Alaia but he had killed so many others just like her. Young, trusting, innocent girls - how many others had watched him with the same sad, pained eyes?
It was only fitting that he should bleed as they did. Only blood could wash away blood and there was so much of it on his hands.
But it’s different, a voice inside of him insisted. Alaia and the other girls bled for death while he bled for life. He was menstruating, bleeding so that another circle of life could begin again. Not that he wanted to, he thought bitterly. He belonged to death, not life.
Slamming his fist against the tiles, he cried out in pain and anger, needing the outlet. His hand left a hole in the wall but it wasn’t as big as the one in his soul, the gaping emptiness where his identity used to be. All of that had gone down the drain with Patrick’s visit.
Patrick. His mind seized upon the name furiously. It was all the man’s fault. Patrick had taken his body, his identity, and his unlife, and had left fresh blood in their stead. Not to mention, all those bloody dreams.
He had woken up from the latest dream in a cold sweat. When he had seen his own menstrual blood and felt the dull throb of pain in his stomach, he had stumbled to the bathroom and thrown up into the toilet. After the wave of nausea had passed, notions - each crazier than the one before it - had flitted across his mind like cars whizzing by on a busy highway. Had Alaia come for her revenge? Or perhaps, more frighteningly, was he Alaia? Was she representing him in the dream? Could the dream be a premonition of his fate?
He had always thought that the dreams were Patrick’s memories but what if he was wrong? What if he was indeed having Slayer dreams and they were warning him about Patrick?
So his thoughts had gone round and round, leaving him tired and cold. Turning the hot water off, he stepped out and scrubbed his body dry. He threw the bloodied towel into a corner in disgust. As he rummaged through the cabinet below the sink for a pad or whatever it was that birds used when they had their menses, he was glad that the mirror above it was all fogged up from the steam. Right now, he didn’t want to see his reflection, didn’t want to be reminded of who he had become.
However hard he tried to shut them out, the thoughts forced their way in nonetheless. He hated being someone’s puppet. Had too much spirit to be complacent with someone else manipulating his every thought and action. But that was what he was now - Patrick’s bloody puppet. He had always known the man was using him somehow. Still, he had thought that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. He helped Patrick and Patrick helped him in return. After all the dreams though, he wasn’t so sure that Patrick could be trusted to fulfill the other end of the unspoken bargain.
What was the man’s angle? What was he playing at? If he was indeed an emissary of the Powers, was he simply following the Powers’s orders or did he have his own hidden agenda?
Spike stalked into the bedroom and sat down heavily on the messy bed in frustration, not knowing what he could do but wanting to do something still. He couldn’t just perform his usual charge-in-and-torture-answers-out-of-his-prey routine. First of all, even if he could find the wanker, he was too weak with his all too human body, despite it being that of a Slayer’s, to fight an emissary of the Powers. Secondly, there were just too many unknown factors. God, how he hated all this mindfuck crap. Couldn’t villains nowadays just stick with killing and maiming?
He needed answers and he needed them now or else his brain was going to explode from all the pressure and stress. There was only one person who could help him, who he trusted to help him.
He started to get dressed. Ripping up the packaging, he stuck the pad into his knickers before pulling them on, hoping that it was how the bloody thing worked. Then, spotting his jeans, he tugged them on as well, feeling something small and thin in the pocket poke his thigh.
It was the vial.
Bloody hell! In all the confusion since last night, he had forgotten about it. Should he go ahead with the plan or wait until he found out more? If he didn’t use the vial’s contents, Patrick would know something was up but if he did use it, he was afraid of the possible consequences. What if Patrick had lied to him?
Yanking at his hair in frustration, he let out an irritated sigh. With angry, jerky movements, he finished dressing. He felt constrained and wound up too tight. To his horror, his eyes began tearing up. He screamed at his own impotence, wanting to do nothing but scream until his vocal chords tore up. What wouldn’t he give for all this to be a nightmare and to wake up back in his own body again.
Breathe, just soddin’ breathe, his mind whispered. He inhaled deeply and forcefully as if the rapid influx of air could drive away his troubles. After a few minutes, his fury reluctantly dropped down to a manageable level and he could think somewhat clearly again.
Though he didn’t like it, he had no choice but to take things one cautious step at a time. He would risk using the vial so that Patrick didn’t suspect anything. Then, he’d try to find a way to minimize the damage.
Half an hour later, he arrived on the floor of the CEO’s office with his new purchases. His stomach twisted into knots, adding to the general discomfort his menses and stress had brought him. What his mind tried to ignore, his senses couldn’t. Stepping out of the elevator, his Slayer senses flared into high alert, signaling the presence of a Master vampire in the vicinity.
Angel.
Ever since he had woken up, the dream, his menstruation and Patrick had distracted him almost enough for him to not brood over the fact that he had opened his eyes to an empty bed. He could no longer suppress the treacherous turn his mind insisted on making. Laughing bitterly inside, he took comfort in the fact that at least Angel wouldn’t suspect anything was amiss upon sensing his dread and anxiety.
“Harmony…” he said in greeting to the bubbly pink clad secretary.
“Hi, Mina!” Harmony chirped cheerfully. She peered hopefully at Spike’s purchases. “Hey, you bought coffee?”
Spike forced himself to smile. “Yeah, one for everyone in the gang, including you,” he replied.
“Aw, you’re so sweet!” Harmony gushed.
“Uh…thanks,” Spike muttered weakly, feeling sick in his soul. He didn’t think he could stand to look at her happy, trusting face anymore, not when he knew how wrong her description of him was. “Would you mind bringing coffee to the others?”
“Sure!” Harmony said brightly. She reached for the tray.
“I’ll bring Angel’s coffee to him personally,” Spike stated with a sudden lump in his throat, squeezing the tray tightly with his hands.
“Bossy’s actually with Wesley right now…hey! You can bring Wesley his too!”
“Oh…right…” Spike trailed off, trying to hide his disappointment at not catching Angel alone. He laughed nervously when she looked at him inquisitively.
Removing two coffees, he handed the tray to an eager Harmony.
“Um…why don’t bring the rest to the others while the coffee is still hot?” he suggested, hoping she’d go away before he broke down.
Harmony looked delighted to have an excuse to leave her desk. Watching her rush off, he let out a sigh of relief and took a few minutes to compose himself before heading toward Angel’s office.
As he neared the doors, his Slayer enhanced hearing could pick up parts of the conversation going on inside. He hesitated, not wanting to eavesdrop but unable to resist.
“It felt familiar…like I had been there…with her before…” Angel said hesitantly.
Spike remembered Angel kissing him sweetly and delicately as if he was made of porcelain. It had never been like that between the two of them and it felt…nice. Angel had made love to him and the experience was everything he had dreamed of and more.
“What do you mean exactly?” Wesley questioned curiously. “Do you mean to say that you knew her before?”
Spike’s heart began to speed up and he had to move away from the doors in order not to arouse Angel’s suspicion. Along with trepidation came irrational hope. He crushed the seedling before it could sprout. Angel recognizing him in any way was a bad thing. It wouldn’t do to have Angel and his mates figuring out what was going on at this time, not when even he himself wasn’t exactly sure.
As soon as he felt himself calm enough, he stepped closer to the doors again.
“…she doesn’t deserve to be a substitute,” Angel stated, tone filled with remorse.
It was exactly as he had suspected. When Angel had slowly pushed inside of him, the vampire had groaned deeply with pleasure, features registering surprise and…fleeting sadness?
Immediately, Spike had guessed the reason for the sadness. Angel must have been remembering another night, another tryst with another Slayer, albeit a much more ill-fated one. The momentary regret and sadness in his eyes, they were for what he could never have.
Once again, Spike found himself moving away from the doors, emotions overwhelming him. He wanted to bang his head against the wall. Maybe the physical pain would distract him from his emotional pain. Or maybe he ought to hurl himself off the building. That would ensure that Angel remember him always, not as a substitute but as him.
“Take care of him for me…”
Cordelia’s last words echoed in his mind, breaking into his melancholy mood like a splash of cold water on an unconscious sleeper.
What was up with the thoughts that had just come over him? It was almost as if he was out of control. Every little thing had set him off into either a deep brood - god, he was becoming just like the bloody poof - or a sobfest. He was losing sight of the ultimate goal, finding it hard to continue the fight. Depression made him want to give up.
He knew he wasn’t usually like this. What was wrong with him?
As if on cue, the discomfort in his stomach increased slightly, reminding him of what time of the month it was. Bugger it all, it was the sodding hormones! He remembered the same rollercoaster of frustration and depression from Buffy and the Niblet when they had their menses. At the time, he had found it all amusing.
Spike almost sighed in relief. His previous suicidal thoughts had scared him more than he had expected. Even at his lowest points, he was a fighter and a fighter he would stubbornly remain to the very end.
Feeling more comforted by his renewed belief in himself, he walked closer to the office doors again.
“…You drank from her?” Wesley shouted.
Unconsciously, Spike lifted his hand to the bite mark hidden by his turtleneck. When he had felt his own climax draw near, he had bared his neck as usual, too caught up in the pleasurable sensations to remember he was human. Equally lost, Angel hadn’t hesitated to strike with his fangs. It had been the feeling of being home that pushed Spike over the edge, his orgasm rocking through him with the force of a tidal wave and taking his consciousness along with it.
“She wanted it!” Angel said desperately.
“And that excuses it, I suppose?” Wesley argued. “I cannot believe that you lack the self-control to prevent yourself from taking advantage of her love and admiration for you!”
“I didn’t mean to do it!” Angel cried, tone filled with gut wrenching remorse. “I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing!”
Spike’s heart sank. It hadn’t meant anything to Angel other than something else to brood over. He had been foolish enough to believe Angel’s passionate declaration of love last night. Obviously, Angel had been grieving over Cordy’s death and hadn’t been in his right mind. Taking comfort in someone who reminded him so much of his first love and his family, Angel had falsely believed himself to be in love with Spike. But really, it had only been the desire for companionship.
If nothing else, Spike would treasure the bite mark as a reminder of the one night Angel actually made love to him. Blinking away his tears and squaring his shoulders, he rescued his lover from Wesley’s inquisition with a knock on the door. He walked into the suddenly silent office, seeing the uncomfortable expressions on the two faces.
“Coffee?” he somewhat croaked.
The two males looked visibly relieved as they took the cups. From the furtive glances they kept aiming at him, they seemed to have expected something else. Wesley quickly murmured his gratitude before finding an excuse to leave the room, shooting Angel a meaningful glance as he left.
The doors closed behind the former Watcher with a final thud like a portent of doom. For a few moments, Spike struggled to find something to say. He was at a loss for words. It was so much easier before, when Spike had still been a vampire and they had traded insults daily. Spike felt saddened by this realization. How had it come to this - hatred being the only thing that sustained their relationship?
“Uh…thanks,” Angel interrupted his reverie.
“Huh?”
“You know…for the coffee…and also…sorry…for the whole um vomit thing…”
“Oh…” Spike swallowed hard. “It’s alright,” he mumbled. So they were back to being polite strangers.
Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was hard to breathe when the reason for your pain suffocated you with his mere presence.
“I need a car,” he blurted out.
Angel’s gaze snapped to his in surprise. “You’re leaving?” the vampire exclaimed incredulously.
Spike caught the sudden panic and regret in brown eyes before they were hidden again. His stomach fluttered nervously, bouncing between hope at what the panic possibly implied and despair for himself that he should live and die merely by the expressions of a man he ought to despise. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t be in this situation again but with the defensive armor gone, all his tumultuous feelings had flooded to surface once more.
“I need to go somewhere…Giles…uh…” He couldn’t come up with anything plausible and hoped that Angel would get the idea without further elaboration.
“Oh yeah…right.” Angel nodded, smiling weakly. Spike hated how comforted he felt upon seeing the vampire’s relief. He didn’t need this, not right now, when he had so much to worry about already.
“So…car?” he queried, somewhat impatiently.
“You can uh take whichever one you want,” Angel answered, a little flustered at Spike’s brusque manner.
With a terse nod, Spike turned to go.
“Mina?” Angel called out uncertainly.
Spike halted, shoulders stiffened in expectation. He had hoped to avoid this but it seemed that Angel wasn’t just going to let it slide. By now, he knew how it went. Buffy had pounded the whole leaving-after-sex “talk” into his brain. He knew he wasn’t wanted and he knew Angel would tell him it was a mistake.
“I-I have to go…” he insisted, running out the doors without looking back.
It wasn’t until he was safely behind the elevator’s closed doors that he allowed himself to collapse. He wasn’t one to normally run away but it hurt so badly and he didn’t want to see the pity and guilt on Angel’s face. Not when the presence of the empty vial burned a hole in his pocket.
************
“Ooh…I know those eyes…”
Spike couldn’t contain a snort. “Yeah, ‘s me, witch,” he said, struggling to sound more flippant than he felt.
“Still so eloquent, my friend. Glad to know some things haven’t changed even when others have,” the witch Kalynine spoke, staring pointedly at Spike’s body as she opened her apartment door wider for Spike to enter.
“Long story.” Spike sighed as he threw himself onto her sofa.
Kalynine smiled, her magically enhanced young face crinkling up prettily. “You know how I love a good story and yours are always so exciting…” She settled comfortably into her usual armchair.
Spike filled her in on everything that had happened ever since Patrick first appeared in his apartment in what seemed a lifetime ago. Her expression grew graver as he told his tale.
Sipping delicately from her teacup, she was silent for a few moments after he finished.
“Well?” Spike demanded impatiently.
“It might help if I had a better picture of what happened.”
Spike exhaled heavily. “I’ve told you everything I can bloody remember.”
“A picture is worth a thousand words…”
“Do I look like a soddin’ artist to you?”
Why did he save her life again? Oh, right. He had done it unintentionally.
Kalynine shook her head amusedly. “The mind overshadows DaVinci in its brilliance.”
“What are you suggesting?” Spike asked suspiciously.
“A spell that would allow me inside your mind.”
Spike’s eyes widened. “No bleedin’ way!”
“Then I cannot help you, my friend,” Kalynine replied.
Cursing under his breath, Spike got up and paced. “There’s no other way?”
“Not when time is of the essence.”
Spike smiled bitterly. The world seemed determined to fuck with him.
“Fine,” he announced, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Do your bloody worst.”
“Ever with the dramatic gestures,” the witch commented dryly. She got up and pattered into the kitchen, gathering up jars of different stuff.
“Where do you want me?” Spike questioned when she had come back.
“Anywhere I can have you,” Kalynine answered with a twinkle in her eye.
Unable to hide a genuine smile, Spike flopped back onto the sofa, grateful to have someone else take over the reigns for the moment. The witch began opening jars and sprinkling things over him while mumbling. Slowly, Spike started to feel sleepy, soothed by the sound of her hypnotic voice. It had been so long since slumber had come easily.
Falling deep into the tunnel of unconsciousness, he nevertheless felt the reassuring presence of his friend. It seemed like ages had passed by when he opened his eyes again.
And found himself in a different world.
“What?” he blurted out in disbelief.
Surveying the scene before him, he realized he was in some sort of courtroom, a grand lavishly furnished room filled with spectators behind him and a long panel of somber judges before him. He stood alone, hands bound behind his back, in the middle of the room, all eyes on him.
“You, Atrocius of the Order of Akkonian Mages, have been found guilty of two of the most heinous of crimes…the murder of your sister, the Doomed Prophetess Alaia…” the head judge intoned as the crowd murmured loudly in incredulity.
Hold on a tick, they had the wrong bloke! It was Patrick they wanted. Also, who were all these gits? Were they the Powers?
“…and high treason for founding the Order of Thymidian Mages, a secret group dedicated to the practice of the darkest and foulest of magics,” the judge continued.
“Where’s the evidence?” Spike found himself shouting. His eyes widened in shock. That hadn’t been his voice!
The judge inclined his head to a robed man standing quietly on the side, who held up two objects.
“Scythe and necklace left at the scene of the murder,” he explained. “Also, the testimony of the dying prophetess and the great Sylenius himself.”
Pandemonium exploded among the spectators and Spike could feel the weight of all their accusatory stares. He himself was stunned. Apparently, he was in the body of some other bloke, who didn’t appear to be Patrick, based on the sound of his voice. Who could it be then? If Patrick hadn’t done all this, who could have? Who was giving him these dreams?
“The High Akkonian Court of Atlantis would have sentenced you to death,” the judge proclaimed, “but for the intervention of your lover, Sylenius, a well-respected member of our Order. Instead, we hereby sentence you to a lifetime of servitude so you may earn your penance as a mere mortal, stripped of memory and status and cursed to spend your reincarnations reliving the torment you have visited on your loved ones through your betrayals.”
Spike opened his mouth to protest but triumphant, cruel laughter escaped him instead. The judges frowned and the spectators shivered at the maliciousness of the sound.
“Curse you!” he spat out with a sneer, his voice no longer under his control. “Curse you, fools!”
The courtroom suddenly shook and fear crossed the faces of all in it, except for Spike or rather, Atrocius.
“You’ll never humble me!” he bellowed arrogantly even as raging water gushed into the room, smashing through doors and windows.
Panicked bystanders screamed and tried to get away. The pale faced judges remained frozen in their seats.
“My Order shall live long after you!” Atrocius cried gleefully.
The water levels increased rapidly, sweeping most people off their feet. Atrocius didn’t seem to care that he would soon be drowned as well but Spike wasn’t so reassured.
“Y-you won’t get away with this!” the head judge stammered.
“Oh yes I will!” he shot back, eyes gleaming with victory. “My Order will flourish in this plane while you all are trapped in another by this flood. Why did you think I allowed this farce,” he looked mockingly around the courtroom, “to play out?”
“A diversion,” uttered one of the other judges in realization, “But how? We had captured all the members of your Order.”
“We have more converts than you know,” he stated smugly. His countenance did not change even as the water level reached his neck. The judges were standing on their desks to avoid getting drowned.
“You will not live to see this play out!” countered the head judge angrily.
“Oh…but you all have ensured that I will,” he replied snidely. “You have sentenced me to live forever, have you not?”
Comprehension dawned on the judges’ horrified faces.
Suddenly, a familiar, pain-filled, furious voice screamed at him. “You used me!”
Spike tried to turn to see who it was but a wave knocked him over and he could only glimpse the blurry outlines of a figure wading towards him, knowing deep in his heart who it was. Sylenius.
Another strong wave swept him out of the courtroom and into the open. Even as he struggled to break the surface of the water with his hands bound, he noticed that the earth itself was collapsing. The hungry flood water swallowed more and more land and the whole island visibly trembled.
Atlantis…the paradise that sunk beneath the sea, Spike realized belatedly. Something knocked into his head and he caught a glimpse of the scythe and the necklace. As before, the design of the pendant captivated him. He somehow knew that he was supposed to understand the significance of its design. A broken circle surrounding something…
“An end is merely a beginning,” Alaia’s ghostly voice whispered, her voice echoing around the edges of the sky. “So continues the cycle unbroken…”
Then, he was pulled under by relentless currents of cold water that chilled him to the bone.
Title: The Boundaries of Love (5/?)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: R?
Disclaimer: Joss is God. I’m only a minor servant, borrowing his playthings.
Summary: Angsty. This is one of my more serious fics. Spike gets a mysterious visitor after the whole Cup of Perpetual Torment business. A sacrifice is made, setting off a chain of events that will change Spike forever and test the boundaries of his love for Angel.
Note: This is unbetaed so all mistakes are mine. Please point them out if you see one. By the way, please feel free to offer constructive criticism.
Previous parts here.
The scalding hot shower water lashed at Spike’s back like the pinpricks of a thousand needles. Yet, he still felt cold. He supposed that it had something to do with the differing perspectives and all. Once, he was a cold, lifeless thing with no body heat to lose and no warmth to begin with. But now, he had something to lose. He was no longer as resilient as he once was.
The soap slipped from his trembling fingers and in his haste to catch it, he banged his elbow against the bathroom tiles painfully. His Slayer healing powers would ensure that the bruise faded by the next morning but even it had its limits.
Retrieving the soap, he lathered up his inner thighs and continued scrubbing the skin there. The water washed away red.
So much blood and it just wouldn’t stop trickling down his thighs. He would never be clean.
It wasn’t you, you stupid sod, he told himself. But it didn’t matter. He might not have killed Alaia but he had killed so many others just like her. Young, trusting, innocent girls - how many others had watched him with the same sad, pained eyes?
It was only fitting that he should bleed as they did. Only blood could wash away blood and there was so much of it on his hands.
But it’s different, a voice inside of him insisted. Alaia and the other girls bled for death while he bled for life. He was menstruating, bleeding so that another circle of life could begin again. Not that he wanted to, he thought bitterly. He belonged to death, not life.
Slamming his fist against the tiles, he cried out in pain and anger, needing the outlet. His hand left a hole in the wall but it wasn’t as big as the one in his soul, the gaping emptiness where his identity used to be. All of that had gone down the drain with Patrick’s visit.
Patrick. His mind seized upon the name furiously. It was all the man’s fault. Patrick had taken his body, his identity, and his unlife, and had left fresh blood in their stead. Not to mention, all those bloody dreams.
He had woken up from the latest dream in a cold sweat. When he had seen his own menstrual blood and felt the dull throb of pain in his stomach, he had stumbled to the bathroom and thrown up into the toilet. After the wave of nausea had passed, notions - each crazier than the one before it - had flitted across his mind like cars whizzing by on a busy highway. Had Alaia come for her revenge? Or perhaps, more frighteningly, was he Alaia? Was she representing him in the dream? Could the dream be a premonition of his fate?
He had always thought that the dreams were Patrick’s memories but what if he was wrong? What if he was indeed having Slayer dreams and they were warning him about Patrick?
So his thoughts had gone round and round, leaving him tired and cold. Turning the hot water off, he stepped out and scrubbed his body dry. He threw the bloodied towel into a corner in disgust. As he rummaged through the cabinet below the sink for a pad or whatever it was that birds used when they had their menses, he was glad that the mirror above it was all fogged up from the steam. Right now, he didn’t want to see his reflection, didn’t want to be reminded of who he had become.
However hard he tried to shut them out, the thoughts forced their way in nonetheless. He hated being someone’s puppet. Had too much spirit to be complacent with someone else manipulating his every thought and action. But that was what he was now - Patrick’s bloody puppet. He had always known the man was using him somehow. Still, he had thought that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. He helped Patrick and Patrick helped him in return. After all the dreams though, he wasn’t so sure that Patrick could be trusted to fulfill the other end of the unspoken bargain.
What was the man’s angle? What was he playing at? If he was indeed an emissary of the Powers, was he simply following the Powers’s orders or did he have his own hidden agenda?
Spike stalked into the bedroom and sat down heavily on the messy bed in frustration, not knowing what he could do but wanting to do something still. He couldn’t just perform his usual charge-in-and-torture-answers-out-of-his-prey routine. First of all, even if he could find the wanker, he was too weak with his all too human body, despite it being that of a Slayer’s, to fight an emissary of the Powers. Secondly, there were just too many unknown factors. God, how he hated all this mindfuck crap. Couldn’t villains nowadays just stick with killing and maiming?
He needed answers and he needed them now or else his brain was going to explode from all the pressure and stress. There was only one person who could help him, who he trusted to help him.
He started to get dressed. Ripping up the packaging, he stuck the pad into his knickers before pulling them on, hoping that it was how the bloody thing worked. Then, spotting his jeans, he tugged them on as well, feeling something small and thin in the pocket poke his thigh.
It was the vial.
Bloody hell! In all the confusion since last night, he had forgotten about it. Should he go ahead with the plan or wait until he found out more? If he didn’t use the vial’s contents, Patrick would know something was up but if he did use it, he was afraid of the possible consequences. What if Patrick had lied to him?
Yanking at his hair in frustration, he let out an irritated sigh. With angry, jerky movements, he finished dressing. He felt constrained and wound up too tight. To his horror, his eyes began tearing up. He screamed at his own impotence, wanting to do nothing but scream until his vocal chords tore up. What wouldn’t he give for all this to be a nightmare and to wake up back in his own body again.
Breathe, just soddin’ breathe, his mind whispered. He inhaled deeply and forcefully as if the rapid influx of air could drive away his troubles. After a few minutes, his fury reluctantly dropped down to a manageable level and he could think somewhat clearly again.
Though he didn’t like it, he had no choice but to take things one cautious step at a time. He would risk using the vial so that Patrick didn’t suspect anything. Then, he’d try to find a way to minimize the damage.
Half an hour later, he arrived on the floor of the CEO’s office with his new purchases. His stomach twisted into knots, adding to the general discomfort his menses and stress had brought him. What his mind tried to ignore, his senses couldn’t. Stepping out of the elevator, his Slayer senses flared into high alert, signaling the presence of a Master vampire in the vicinity.
Angel.
Ever since he had woken up, the dream, his menstruation and Patrick had distracted him almost enough for him to not brood over the fact that he had opened his eyes to an empty bed. He could no longer suppress the treacherous turn his mind insisted on making. Laughing bitterly inside, he took comfort in the fact that at least Angel wouldn’t suspect anything was amiss upon sensing his dread and anxiety.
“Harmony…” he said in greeting to the bubbly pink clad secretary.
“Hi, Mina!” Harmony chirped cheerfully. She peered hopefully at Spike’s purchases. “Hey, you bought coffee?”
Spike forced himself to smile. “Yeah, one for everyone in the gang, including you,” he replied.
“Aw, you’re so sweet!” Harmony gushed.
“Uh…thanks,” Spike muttered weakly, feeling sick in his soul. He didn’t think he could stand to look at her happy, trusting face anymore, not when he knew how wrong her description of him was. “Would you mind bringing coffee to the others?”
“Sure!” Harmony said brightly. She reached for the tray.
“I’ll bring Angel’s coffee to him personally,” Spike stated with a sudden lump in his throat, squeezing the tray tightly with his hands.
“Bossy’s actually with Wesley right now…hey! You can bring Wesley his too!”
“Oh…right…” Spike trailed off, trying to hide his disappointment at not catching Angel alone. He laughed nervously when she looked at him inquisitively.
Removing two coffees, he handed the tray to an eager Harmony.
“Um…why don’t bring the rest to the others while the coffee is still hot?” he suggested, hoping she’d go away before he broke down.
Harmony looked delighted to have an excuse to leave her desk. Watching her rush off, he let out a sigh of relief and took a few minutes to compose himself before heading toward Angel’s office.
As he neared the doors, his Slayer enhanced hearing could pick up parts of the conversation going on inside. He hesitated, not wanting to eavesdrop but unable to resist.
“It felt familiar…like I had been there…with her before…” Angel said hesitantly.
Spike remembered Angel kissing him sweetly and delicately as if he was made of porcelain. It had never been like that between the two of them and it felt…nice. Angel had made love to him and the experience was everything he had dreamed of and more.
“What do you mean exactly?” Wesley questioned curiously. “Do you mean to say that you knew her before?”
Spike’s heart began to speed up and he had to move away from the doors in order not to arouse Angel’s suspicion. Along with trepidation came irrational hope. He crushed the seedling before it could sprout. Angel recognizing him in any way was a bad thing. It wouldn’t do to have Angel and his mates figuring out what was going on at this time, not when even he himself wasn’t exactly sure.
As soon as he felt himself calm enough, he stepped closer to the doors again.
“…she doesn’t deserve to be a substitute,” Angel stated, tone filled with remorse.
It was exactly as he had suspected. When Angel had slowly pushed inside of him, the vampire had groaned deeply with pleasure, features registering surprise and…fleeting sadness?
Immediately, Spike had guessed the reason for the sadness. Angel must have been remembering another night, another tryst with another Slayer, albeit a much more ill-fated one. The momentary regret and sadness in his eyes, they were for what he could never have.
Once again, Spike found himself moving away from the doors, emotions overwhelming him. He wanted to bang his head against the wall. Maybe the physical pain would distract him from his emotional pain. Or maybe he ought to hurl himself off the building. That would ensure that Angel remember him always, not as a substitute but as him.
“Take care of him for me…”
Cordelia’s last words echoed in his mind, breaking into his melancholy mood like a splash of cold water on an unconscious sleeper.
What was up with the thoughts that had just come over him? It was almost as if he was out of control. Every little thing had set him off into either a deep brood - god, he was becoming just like the bloody poof - or a sobfest. He was losing sight of the ultimate goal, finding it hard to continue the fight. Depression made him want to give up.
He knew he wasn’t usually like this. What was wrong with him?
As if on cue, the discomfort in his stomach increased slightly, reminding him of what time of the month it was. Bugger it all, it was the sodding hormones! He remembered the same rollercoaster of frustration and depression from Buffy and the Niblet when they had their menses. At the time, he had found it all amusing.
Spike almost sighed in relief. His previous suicidal thoughts had scared him more than he had expected. Even at his lowest points, he was a fighter and a fighter he would stubbornly remain to the very end.
Feeling more comforted by his renewed belief in himself, he walked closer to the office doors again.
“…You drank from her?” Wesley shouted.
Unconsciously, Spike lifted his hand to the bite mark hidden by his turtleneck. When he had felt his own climax draw near, he had bared his neck as usual, too caught up in the pleasurable sensations to remember he was human. Equally lost, Angel hadn’t hesitated to strike with his fangs. It had been the feeling of being home that pushed Spike over the edge, his orgasm rocking through him with the force of a tidal wave and taking his consciousness along with it.
“She wanted it!” Angel said desperately.
“And that excuses it, I suppose?” Wesley argued. “I cannot believe that you lack the self-control to prevent yourself from taking advantage of her love and admiration for you!”
“I didn’t mean to do it!” Angel cried, tone filled with gut wrenching remorse. “I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing!”
Spike’s heart sank. It hadn’t meant anything to Angel other than something else to brood over. He had been foolish enough to believe Angel’s passionate declaration of love last night. Obviously, Angel had been grieving over Cordy’s death and hadn’t been in his right mind. Taking comfort in someone who reminded him so much of his first love and his family, Angel had falsely believed himself to be in love with Spike. But really, it had only been the desire for companionship.
If nothing else, Spike would treasure the bite mark as a reminder of the one night Angel actually made love to him. Blinking away his tears and squaring his shoulders, he rescued his lover from Wesley’s inquisition with a knock on the door. He walked into the suddenly silent office, seeing the uncomfortable expressions on the two faces.
“Coffee?” he somewhat croaked.
The two males looked visibly relieved as they took the cups. From the furtive glances they kept aiming at him, they seemed to have expected something else. Wesley quickly murmured his gratitude before finding an excuse to leave the room, shooting Angel a meaningful glance as he left.
The doors closed behind the former Watcher with a final thud like a portent of doom. For a few moments, Spike struggled to find something to say. He was at a loss for words. It was so much easier before, when Spike had still been a vampire and they had traded insults daily. Spike felt saddened by this realization. How had it come to this - hatred being the only thing that sustained their relationship?
“Uh…thanks,” Angel interrupted his reverie.
“Huh?”
“You know…for the coffee…and also…sorry…for the whole um vomit thing…”
“Oh…” Spike swallowed hard. “It’s alright,” he mumbled. So they were back to being polite strangers.
Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was hard to breathe when the reason for your pain suffocated you with his mere presence.
“I need a car,” he blurted out.
Angel’s gaze snapped to his in surprise. “You’re leaving?” the vampire exclaimed incredulously.
Spike caught the sudden panic and regret in brown eyes before they were hidden again. His stomach fluttered nervously, bouncing between hope at what the panic possibly implied and despair for himself that he should live and die merely by the expressions of a man he ought to despise. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t be in this situation again but with the defensive armor gone, all his tumultuous feelings had flooded to surface once more.
“I need to go somewhere…Giles…uh…” He couldn’t come up with anything plausible and hoped that Angel would get the idea without further elaboration.
“Oh yeah…right.” Angel nodded, smiling weakly. Spike hated how comforted he felt upon seeing the vampire’s relief. He didn’t need this, not right now, when he had so much to worry about already.
“So…car?” he queried, somewhat impatiently.
“You can uh take whichever one you want,” Angel answered, a little flustered at Spike’s brusque manner.
With a terse nod, Spike turned to go.
“Mina?” Angel called out uncertainly.
Spike halted, shoulders stiffened in expectation. He had hoped to avoid this but it seemed that Angel wasn’t just going to let it slide. By now, he knew how it went. Buffy had pounded the whole leaving-after-sex “talk” into his brain. He knew he wasn’t wanted and he knew Angel would tell him it was a mistake.
“I-I have to go…” he insisted, running out the doors without looking back.
It wasn’t until he was safely behind the elevator’s closed doors that he allowed himself to collapse. He wasn’t one to normally run away but it hurt so badly and he didn’t want to see the pity and guilt on Angel’s face. Not when the presence of the empty vial burned a hole in his pocket.
************
“Ooh…I know those eyes…”
Spike couldn’t contain a snort. “Yeah, ‘s me, witch,” he said, struggling to sound more flippant than he felt.
“Still so eloquent, my friend. Glad to know some things haven’t changed even when others have,” the witch Kalynine spoke, staring pointedly at Spike’s body as she opened her apartment door wider for Spike to enter.
“Long story.” Spike sighed as he threw himself onto her sofa.
Kalynine smiled, her magically enhanced young face crinkling up prettily. “You know how I love a good story and yours are always so exciting…” She settled comfortably into her usual armchair.
Spike filled her in on everything that had happened ever since Patrick first appeared in his apartment in what seemed a lifetime ago. Her expression grew graver as he told his tale.
Sipping delicately from her teacup, she was silent for a few moments after he finished.
“Well?” Spike demanded impatiently.
“It might help if I had a better picture of what happened.”
Spike exhaled heavily. “I’ve told you everything I can bloody remember.”
“A picture is worth a thousand words…”
“Do I look like a soddin’ artist to you?”
Why did he save her life again? Oh, right. He had done it unintentionally.
Kalynine shook her head amusedly. “The mind overshadows DaVinci in its brilliance.”
“What are you suggesting?” Spike asked suspiciously.
“A spell that would allow me inside your mind.”
Spike’s eyes widened. “No bleedin’ way!”
“Then I cannot help you, my friend,” Kalynine replied.
Cursing under his breath, Spike got up and paced. “There’s no other way?”
“Not when time is of the essence.”
Spike smiled bitterly. The world seemed determined to fuck with him.
“Fine,” he announced, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Do your bloody worst.”
“Ever with the dramatic gestures,” the witch commented dryly. She got up and pattered into the kitchen, gathering up jars of different stuff.
“Where do you want me?” Spike questioned when she had come back.
“Anywhere I can have you,” Kalynine answered with a twinkle in her eye.
Unable to hide a genuine smile, Spike flopped back onto the sofa, grateful to have someone else take over the reigns for the moment. The witch began opening jars and sprinkling things over him while mumbling. Slowly, Spike started to feel sleepy, soothed by the sound of her hypnotic voice. It had been so long since slumber had come easily.
Falling deep into the tunnel of unconsciousness, he nevertheless felt the reassuring presence of his friend. It seemed like ages had passed by when he opened his eyes again.
And found himself in a different world.
“What?” he blurted out in disbelief.
Surveying the scene before him, he realized he was in some sort of courtroom, a grand lavishly furnished room filled with spectators behind him and a long panel of somber judges before him. He stood alone, hands bound behind his back, in the middle of the room, all eyes on him.
“You, Atrocius of the Order of Akkonian Mages, have been found guilty of two of the most heinous of crimes…the murder of your sister, the Doomed Prophetess Alaia…” the head judge intoned as the crowd murmured loudly in incredulity.
Hold on a tick, they had the wrong bloke! It was Patrick they wanted. Also, who were all these gits? Were they the Powers?
“…and high treason for founding the Order of Thymidian Mages, a secret group dedicated to the practice of the darkest and foulest of magics,” the judge continued.
“Where’s the evidence?” Spike found himself shouting. His eyes widened in shock. That hadn’t been his voice!
The judge inclined his head to a robed man standing quietly on the side, who held up two objects.
“Scythe and necklace left at the scene of the murder,” he explained. “Also, the testimony of the dying prophetess and the great Sylenius himself.”
Pandemonium exploded among the spectators and Spike could feel the weight of all their accusatory stares. He himself was stunned. Apparently, he was in the body of some other bloke, who didn’t appear to be Patrick, based on the sound of his voice. Who could it be then? If Patrick hadn’t done all this, who could have? Who was giving him these dreams?
“The High Akkonian Court of Atlantis would have sentenced you to death,” the judge proclaimed, “but for the intervention of your lover, Sylenius, a well-respected member of our Order. Instead, we hereby sentence you to a lifetime of servitude so you may earn your penance as a mere mortal, stripped of memory and status and cursed to spend your reincarnations reliving the torment you have visited on your loved ones through your betrayals.”
Spike opened his mouth to protest but triumphant, cruel laughter escaped him instead. The judges frowned and the spectators shivered at the maliciousness of the sound.
“Curse you!” he spat out with a sneer, his voice no longer under his control. “Curse you, fools!”
The courtroom suddenly shook and fear crossed the faces of all in it, except for Spike or rather, Atrocius.
“You’ll never humble me!” he bellowed arrogantly even as raging water gushed into the room, smashing through doors and windows.
Panicked bystanders screamed and tried to get away. The pale faced judges remained frozen in their seats.
“My Order shall live long after you!” Atrocius cried gleefully.
The water levels increased rapidly, sweeping most people off their feet. Atrocius didn’t seem to care that he would soon be drowned as well but Spike wasn’t so reassured.
“Y-you won’t get away with this!” the head judge stammered.
“Oh yes I will!” he shot back, eyes gleaming with victory. “My Order will flourish in this plane while you all are trapped in another by this flood. Why did you think I allowed this farce,” he looked mockingly around the courtroom, “to play out?”
“A diversion,” uttered one of the other judges in realization, “But how? We had captured all the members of your Order.”
“We have more converts than you know,” he stated smugly. His countenance did not change even as the water level reached his neck. The judges were standing on their desks to avoid getting drowned.
“You will not live to see this play out!” countered the head judge angrily.
“Oh…but you all have ensured that I will,” he replied snidely. “You have sentenced me to live forever, have you not?”
Comprehension dawned on the judges’ horrified faces.
Suddenly, a familiar, pain-filled, furious voice screamed at him. “You used me!”
Spike tried to turn to see who it was but a wave knocked him over and he could only glimpse the blurry outlines of a figure wading towards him, knowing deep in his heart who it was. Sylenius.
Another strong wave swept him out of the courtroom and into the open. Even as he struggled to break the surface of the water with his hands bound, he noticed that the earth itself was collapsing. The hungry flood water swallowed more and more land and the whole island visibly trembled.
Atlantis…the paradise that sunk beneath the sea, Spike realized belatedly. Something knocked into his head and he caught a glimpse of the scythe and the necklace. As before, the design of the pendant captivated him. He somehow knew that he was supposed to understand the significance of its design. A broken circle surrounding something…
“An end is merely a beginning,” Alaia’s ghostly voice whispered, her voice echoing around the edges of the sky. “So continues the cycle unbroken…”
Then, he was pulled under by relentless currents of cold water that chilled him to the bone.