Fic update!
Thank god for thanksgiving break. I finally have time to work on this story. Hope ppl are still interested!
Title: The Boundaries of Love (6/?)
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.
Warning: Some parts of this aren’t exactly canon. Ok, I admit, most of this deviates from canon quite a bit. I’ve twisted things around to suit my needs especially concerning certain groups of beings.
Previous parts here.
To die in your dreams is to die in reality, or so it has been said.
And, an insidious voice whispered, would that be so bad?
In the surreal, hazy world underneath the water, even as his lungs burned desperately for breath, Spike found a strange sense of peace and tranquility that he hadn’t felt since the moment before dusting in Sunnydale.
For a second, his thrashings stilled. Death, and all that it promised, could be his again.
Sudden bubbles of air caught his attention, rousing his mind from its stupor. They were followed by a blurry male face, drifting into view. Blinking rapidly, he struggled to make out the man’s identity. However, the face refused to come into focus, remaining elusively out of reach.
Not that he needed to see it to tell who the man was. Only one person would come for him, or rather the man whose body he was inside. No other would risk everything to save Atrocius from himself.
Water brushed past Spike’s body gently as Sylenius lifted a hand to caress his face. At the touch, he closed his eyes, humbled by the strength of the emotions emanating from underneath the other man’s skin.
Pain. Bitterness. Resignation. Love. He could feel them all as if they were written onto his very soul.
A pair of lips met his chastely yet, far more intimately than any other touch they had ever shared, as they floated together in a world of their own, deep within the eye of the storm.
For a fleeting instant, Spike felt anger and jealousy surge through him. Atrocius didn’t deserve such love and devotion. Had he ever gone against his very own nature and sacrificed everything he possessed for love?
No, but yet he had been granted the very gift that was denied Spike. The gift that he had selfishly squandered for power and dark magic.
Spike felt a gentle brush of fingers on his eyelids. He didn’t even realize he had closed his eyes during the kiss. The fingers traced the outlines of his eyes and Spike unconsciously pressed his face closer to them, desperate enough to bask in the comfort of a stolen touch. Would it be so wrong to want to stay here, to be another person?
Even as the tempting thoughts of a new beginning whispered in his mind, he knew, deep in his heart, that this kiss could never be anything other than goodbye.
With a strong shove, Sylenius propelled him upwards, hurtling him back to life. As his head broke through the surface, Spike felt the world exploding around him in Technicolor. Sounds, sensations, images roared and whipped around him in a frenzy. Cold. Wet. Loud. Bright. Instinctively, he shut his eyes, which had opened when he surfaced.
As his senses adjusted and his body pulled in much needed air, the cold and wetness gradually seeped away. Puzzled, he opened his eyes only to meet Kalynine’s concerned gaze. Instead of the open sea, he was back in her apartment, covered with a blanket and curled up in a ball on the floor next to the sofa.
“It was so bloody real this time,” he murmured half to himself, in wonder and disbelief. “Before, there had always been some sorta distance, you know? But this time I felt every soddin’ sensation…”
The witch regarded him with a troubled look.
“What?” he demanded, feeling unsettled.
“My friend,” she said gravely, “in your…dream…I felt the presence of the Old Ones…”
“Who the buggering fuck are them?”
“They are ancient beings that lived long before our time. Pure blooded demons, far stronger and deadlier than the ones that exist now.” Her eyes flickered with dread.
“What are they doing in my bloody dream then?” Spike rubbed his face in frustration. He had thought to get answers but this new development had only brought more questions.
“If I am correct, you are dreaming of events that took place in the history of the Old Ones. It has been said that most of them had perished in an enormous flood, akin to that recorded in the Bible and other creation myths from cultures around the world.”
“Fuck!” Spike paced. This wasn’t good.
“That’s not the worse of it, my friend,” Kalynine added ominously.
“It never is,” Spike muttered rebelliously.
“That pendant from the necklace…do you recognize the design?”
Spike thought hard for a moment. “It seemed familiar…like I should soddin’ well know what it is but I just can’t wrap my bloody mind around it.”
Kalynine pulled out a pad and a pen. She drew the exact design down on the page, every last detail blooming beautifully under her expert fingers.
“Cor, I didn’t know you were such a bloody good artist!” Spike breathed in surprise.
The compliment did nothing to soothe her anxiety.
“Look,” she hissed urgently, pointing at the design with almost fear in her countenance. “What do you see?”
Spike’s eyebrows knitted up as he peered at the sketchpad. “A not-quite circle of arrows surrounding three animal heads?”
“Those are thorns not arrows…and the circle is broken for a good reason…”
“Let me guess, once the circle completes all hell will break loose?” he remarked flippantly.
“This is no joking matter, Spike,” Kalynine chastised in frustration. “This,” she stabbed her finger at the sketch, “is the Circle of the Black Thorn.”
She stared at Spike expectantly but he didn’t have a clue what that meant. “So what?” he asked in bewilderment.
“The Circle of the Black Thorn is made up of the most powerful, evil demons in our world. It is an army that protects…”
“A dog, a sheep and a deer?” Spike scoffed.
“No, it protects the wolf, the ram and the hart…in other words…” she stopped dramatically and let him make the connection.
Spike’s eyes widened in horror as connections clicked in his brain.
“Wolfram and Hart?!?”
************
Marcus Hamilton surveyed the scene with a wry smile. The messy bedding strewn with cum and blood and the lingering, powerful, musky scent of sex in the air - all of it spoke of a good night of debauchery or should he say…lovemaking?
Add to that Angel’s obvious distraction the day before and this morning…he smirked as he left Mina’s bedroom to report to the Senior Partners. The plan was going along just swimmingly.
************
Spike broke most of the traffic rules as he drove back to Wolfram and Hart, his ears still ringing with Kalynine’s last words.
“The circle needs only one more link to close and once it is closed, the wolf, the ram and the hart shall become untouchable. That must be stopped at all costs.”
He understood what Patrick’s role was now. Patrick wasn’t working for the Powers. The man was working for Wolfram and Hart, established by the surviving Thymidians who had made it out from the flood.
Spike cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? The man had been using him from the beginning and distracting him with lies about saving Angel. In fact, Patrick was getting him to help the Senior Partners regain their former glory by eliminating their enemies - Angel and gang, who were working for the Powers, the Akkonians who had lost their connection to the world and could only work through their Champions.
Kalynine had taken a look at the traces of fluid from the vial Patrick had given him. She had confirmed what he had suspected - that Patrick had lied to him. Instead of sending the user into an unconscious, death-like state as Patrick said it would, the vial’s contents was designed to interfere with a certain portion of the user’s brain. Which part it was, she couldn’t tell.
Yet, it didn’t make sense. Spike growled as his pounding headache made itself known. If Patrick wanted to kill Angel and his friends or at least, maim them in some way, couldn’t the man do it without Spike? Or was Patrick unable to get inside Wolfram and Hart? Perhaps, he was a disgraced Thymidian who was trying to get back into the Senior Partner’s good graces?
Or maybe the Senior Partners wanted someone to take the fall in case the plan didn’t work. The Powers were gone from the world but they still had their followers so the Senior Partners might not want to risk the development of an all out war unless they were absolutely sure they would win. Having Spike as a scapegoat would come in handy then.
Different possibilities whirled around inside Spike’s head, all of them bad. Frustrated at everything including the traffic jam, he honked his horn at the drivers in front of him, earning himself several glares. He didn’t care. If he didn’t get back to the firm soon, he was going to kill someone.
As traffic ahead eased up, he floored the car, praying that he wasn’t too late but in his heart, he knew it was. Why did he have to be knocked out for so long anyway? If only he had recovered faster, he could’ve been back at the firm already.
Finally squealing to a stop inside Wolfram and Hart’s garage, he bolted to the elevator, jabbing frantically at the buttons. Should he go directly to the office or should he wait until he had composed himself? Like this, he was bound to arouse suspicion and until he figured out a way to stop Patrick and the Senior Partners, he needed to proceed cautiously.
Someone ought to award him a prize for being so patient. He hadn’t thought so much about each and every move he had made ever since he was William. Too bad Angel would never know it was all for him.
With difficulty, he managed to suppress his impulse to stop at the office. Arriving at his apartment, he was confronted by the sight of his mussed up bed and it brought back unwanted memories of his night with Angel. He shouldn’t have left the “Do not disturb” on the doorknob but he hadn’t wanted anyone to enter his apartment while he was away.
Suddenly, unconsciousness claimed him viciously as his mind screamed with the forceful and painful intrusion of another’s presence.
“Where were you yesterday and this morning?” Patrick demanded, voice struggling to contain his anger.
And he scores, Spike thought gleefully even as his mind reeled from Patrick’s abrupt assault. It gave him a small measure of accomplishment to ruffle the man’s normally cool exterior. Of course, he’d like to ruffle Patrick up more than that…preferably, into tiny bloody pieces. Slowly and painfully.
“Keeping tabs on me, pet?” Spike sneered with one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Newsflash, loverboy, ‘m not your property and I don’t answer to you.”
Though he tried to keep his hatred out of his tone, he couldn’t prevent himself from being as obnoxious as he could. He wanted to strangle the slimy git but he couldn’t, so he’d have to settle for mocking and baiting the man with words until he could.
“I am not your loverboy or pet or anything,” Patrick stated coldly. “And to counter your argument, you do answer to me. You may not be my property but we are working together and you need to stay in contact or else the plan will fail.”
Spike thought he could detect a trace of anxiety. He smirked inwardly. So the wanker obviously did need him to finish the plan. That could be turned to his advantage.
“So what is the soddin’ plan?” he asked while lazily stretching to work out all the kinks in his muscles. “If you want me to play, I gotta know all the rules, don’t I?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “So is that what you’ve been doing yesterday? Checking up on whether or not I’ve lied to you? So…what did you find?”
Spike gave a harsh bark of laughter. “’M not a total idiot, mate. I can bleedin’ think for myself and I don’t need to ask around to know that you’ve been keeping things from me. You haven’t lied but you haven’t told me the whole truth, have you now?”
“What did you do yesterday?” Patrick demanded insistently.
Spike smiled secretively. “Tell me yours and I’ll soddin’ well tell you mine.”
The vein on Patrick’s forehead throbbed prominently and for a second, a dark look flashed across his face. Spike took a step back reflexively, blanching inwardly at what he interpreted to be deep, unremitting hatred, resentment that had lain dormant for lord knows how long. Had he gone too far and pushed the man over the edge?
Patrick composed himself quicker than Spike could blink.
“The plan is as it was before: isolate Angel from his friends so that you become the only lifeline he has,” he replied, his voice unreadable.
“’S that what the vial does then?” Spike pursued, not satisfied.
“In a way…yes,” Patrick answered vaguely. “But before you jump to conclusions, I want to remind you that I am not your enemy. I admit that I have kept some things from you but I did not wish for your emotions to get in the way.”
“My emotions?” Spike lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “You mean, the fact that ‘m not an unfeeling, cold bastard like you and I actually care about people?”
Patrick laughed darkly. “Yes, indeed. You do care, don’t you? Too deeply, in fact.”
His words irked Spike. “Oh does the caring offend you then?” the former vampire spat. “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, mate. You’re not included on the bloody list of people I care about!”
Smiling bitterly, Patrick replied, “I never was.”
Before Spike could ask him what he meant, he faded away from the dream. Spike was left incredibly confused as his eyes reopened to the familiar ceiling of his room.
“I never was.” What was that supposed to mean?
It almost sounded as if the man had cared whether or not Spike felt anything for him. But that was impossible. They had only known each other for a very short time and Patrick had never tried to make himself likeable or showed any affection toward Spike. It was strictly business between them.
Angrily, Spike dismissed it as another way for the man to screw with his mind. Patrick was obviously up to no good. Why else would Spike be having all these warning dreams?
He leapt up and decided to head downstairs instead of sitting there and agonizing about everything. The world didn’t need two brooding vampires with souls. Belatedly, he realized, with a stab of pain, that there was only one vampire with a soul now.
Swiping his eyes angrily with the back of his hands - damn bloody hormones - he hopped into the elevator. Despite his efforts not to think about Patrick, his thoughts kept circling around the man. The elevator doors opened and he didn’t even notice.
“Hey Mina.”
He jumped, flushing nervously.
“You alright?”
“’M fine,” he lied. “Just a little tired…from my trip.”
“Maybe you should go grab some coffee.”
Spike nodded halfheartedly.
“Oh and by the way, thanks for the cup o’ joe yesterday.”
Bloody hell. He had almost forgotten about the vial.
“It was a little too sweet but I needed the sugar and caffeine rush anyway. Best cure for a hangover.”
So the other man didn’t taste anything off, Spike thought with…relief?
“Hey, gotta run. I have an appointment with the doc.”
“Nothing wrong, I hope,” Spike asked weakly. His heart thundered in his chest.
“Nah…just a routine checkup, that’s all.”
Nodding without thinking, Spike got off the elevator, allowing the other man to get on. As the elevator doors closed on Gunn’s smiling face, he hoped to God that he was wrong about Patrick’s intentions.
Title: The Boundaries of Love (6/?)
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.
Warning: Some parts of this aren’t exactly canon. Ok, I admit, most of this deviates from canon quite a bit. I’ve twisted things around to suit my needs especially concerning certain groups of beings.
Previous parts here.
To die in your dreams is to die in reality, or so it has been said.
And, an insidious voice whispered, would that be so bad?
In the surreal, hazy world underneath the water, even as his lungs burned desperately for breath, Spike found a strange sense of peace and tranquility that he hadn’t felt since the moment before dusting in Sunnydale.
For a second, his thrashings stilled. Death, and all that it promised, could be his again.
Sudden bubbles of air caught his attention, rousing his mind from its stupor. They were followed by a blurry male face, drifting into view. Blinking rapidly, he struggled to make out the man’s identity. However, the face refused to come into focus, remaining elusively out of reach.
Not that he needed to see it to tell who the man was. Only one person would come for him, or rather the man whose body he was inside. No other would risk everything to save Atrocius from himself.
Water brushed past Spike’s body gently as Sylenius lifted a hand to caress his face. At the touch, he closed his eyes, humbled by the strength of the emotions emanating from underneath the other man’s skin.
Pain. Bitterness. Resignation. Love. He could feel them all as if they were written onto his very soul.
A pair of lips met his chastely yet, far more intimately than any other touch they had ever shared, as they floated together in a world of their own, deep within the eye of the storm.
For a fleeting instant, Spike felt anger and jealousy surge through him. Atrocius didn’t deserve such love and devotion. Had he ever gone against his very own nature and sacrificed everything he possessed for love?
No, but yet he had been granted the very gift that was denied Spike. The gift that he had selfishly squandered for power and dark magic.
Spike felt a gentle brush of fingers on his eyelids. He didn’t even realize he had closed his eyes during the kiss. The fingers traced the outlines of his eyes and Spike unconsciously pressed his face closer to them, desperate enough to bask in the comfort of a stolen touch. Would it be so wrong to want to stay here, to be another person?
Even as the tempting thoughts of a new beginning whispered in his mind, he knew, deep in his heart, that this kiss could never be anything other than goodbye.
With a strong shove, Sylenius propelled him upwards, hurtling him back to life. As his head broke through the surface, Spike felt the world exploding around him in Technicolor. Sounds, sensations, images roared and whipped around him in a frenzy. Cold. Wet. Loud. Bright. Instinctively, he shut his eyes, which had opened when he surfaced.
As his senses adjusted and his body pulled in much needed air, the cold and wetness gradually seeped away. Puzzled, he opened his eyes only to meet Kalynine’s concerned gaze. Instead of the open sea, he was back in her apartment, covered with a blanket and curled up in a ball on the floor next to the sofa.
“It was so bloody real this time,” he murmured half to himself, in wonder and disbelief. “Before, there had always been some sorta distance, you know? But this time I felt every soddin’ sensation…”
The witch regarded him with a troubled look.
“What?” he demanded, feeling unsettled.
“My friend,” she said gravely, “in your…dream…I felt the presence of the Old Ones…”
“Who the buggering fuck are them?”
“They are ancient beings that lived long before our time. Pure blooded demons, far stronger and deadlier than the ones that exist now.” Her eyes flickered with dread.
“What are they doing in my bloody dream then?” Spike rubbed his face in frustration. He had thought to get answers but this new development had only brought more questions.
“If I am correct, you are dreaming of events that took place in the history of the Old Ones. It has been said that most of them had perished in an enormous flood, akin to that recorded in the Bible and other creation myths from cultures around the world.”
“Fuck!” Spike paced. This wasn’t good.
“That’s not the worse of it, my friend,” Kalynine added ominously.
“It never is,” Spike muttered rebelliously.
“That pendant from the necklace…do you recognize the design?”
Spike thought hard for a moment. “It seemed familiar…like I should soddin’ well know what it is but I just can’t wrap my bloody mind around it.”
Kalynine pulled out a pad and a pen. She drew the exact design down on the page, every last detail blooming beautifully under her expert fingers.
“Cor, I didn’t know you were such a bloody good artist!” Spike breathed in surprise.
The compliment did nothing to soothe her anxiety.
“Look,” she hissed urgently, pointing at the design with almost fear in her countenance. “What do you see?”
Spike’s eyebrows knitted up as he peered at the sketchpad. “A not-quite circle of arrows surrounding three animal heads?”
“Those are thorns not arrows…and the circle is broken for a good reason…”
“Let me guess, once the circle completes all hell will break loose?” he remarked flippantly.
“This is no joking matter, Spike,” Kalynine chastised in frustration. “This,” she stabbed her finger at the sketch, “is the Circle of the Black Thorn.”
She stared at Spike expectantly but he didn’t have a clue what that meant. “So what?” he asked in bewilderment.
“The Circle of the Black Thorn is made up of the most powerful, evil demons in our world. It is an army that protects…”
“A dog, a sheep and a deer?” Spike scoffed.
“No, it protects the wolf, the ram and the hart…in other words…” she stopped dramatically and let him make the connection.
Spike’s eyes widened in horror as connections clicked in his brain.
“Wolfram and Hart?!?”
************
Marcus Hamilton surveyed the scene with a wry smile. The messy bedding strewn with cum and blood and the lingering, powerful, musky scent of sex in the air - all of it spoke of a good night of debauchery or should he say…lovemaking?
Add to that Angel’s obvious distraction the day before and this morning…he smirked as he left Mina’s bedroom to report to the Senior Partners. The plan was going along just swimmingly.
************
Spike broke most of the traffic rules as he drove back to Wolfram and Hart, his ears still ringing with Kalynine’s last words.
“The circle needs only one more link to close and once it is closed, the wolf, the ram and the hart shall become untouchable. That must be stopped at all costs.”
He understood what Patrick’s role was now. Patrick wasn’t working for the Powers. The man was working for Wolfram and Hart, established by the surviving Thymidians who had made it out from the flood.
Spike cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? The man had been using him from the beginning and distracting him with lies about saving Angel. In fact, Patrick was getting him to help the Senior Partners regain their former glory by eliminating their enemies - Angel and gang, who were working for the Powers, the Akkonians who had lost their connection to the world and could only work through their Champions.
Kalynine had taken a look at the traces of fluid from the vial Patrick had given him. She had confirmed what he had suspected - that Patrick had lied to him. Instead of sending the user into an unconscious, death-like state as Patrick said it would, the vial’s contents was designed to interfere with a certain portion of the user’s brain. Which part it was, she couldn’t tell.
Yet, it didn’t make sense. Spike growled as his pounding headache made itself known. If Patrick wanted to kill Angel and his friends or at least, maim them in some way, couldn’t the man do it without Spike? Or was Patrick unable to get inside Wolfram and Hart? Perhaps, he was a disgraced Thymidian who was trying to get back into the Senior Partner’s good graces?
Or maybe the Senior Partners wanted someone to take the fall in case the plan didn’t work. The Powers were gone from the world but they still had their followers so the Senior Partners might not want to risk the development of an all out war unless they were absolutely sure they would win. Having Spike as a scapegoat would come in handy then.
Different possibilities whirled around inside Spike’s head, all of them bad. Frustrated at everything including the traffic jam, he honked his horn at the drivers in front of him, earning himself several glares. He didn’t care. If he didn’t get back to the firm soon, he was going to kill someone.
As traffic ahead eased up, he floored the car, praying that he wasn’t too late but in his heart, he knew it was. Why did he have to be knocked out for so long anyway? If only he had recovered faster, he could’ve been back at the firm already.
Finally squealing to a stop inside Wolfram and Hart’s garage, he bolted to the elevator, jabbing frantically at the buttons. Should he go directly to the office or should he wait until he had composed himself? Like this, he was bound to arouse suspicion and until he figured out a way to stop Patrick and the Senior Partners, he needed to proceed cautiously.
Someone ought to award him a prize for being so patient. He hadn’t thought so much about each and every move he had made ever since he was William. Too bad Angel would never know it was all for him.
With difficulty, he managed to suppress his impulse to stop at the office. Arriving at his apartment, he was confronted by the sight of his mussed up bed and it brought back unwanted memories of his night with Angel. He shouldn’t have left the “Do not disturb” on the doorknob but he hadn’t wanted anyone to enter his apartment while he was away.
Suddenly, unconsciousness claimed him viciously as his mind screamed with the forceful and painful intrusion of another’s presence.
“Where were you yesterday and this morning?” Patrick demanded, voice struggling to contain his anger.
And he scores, Spike thought gleefully even as his mind reeled from Patrick’s abrupt assault. It gave him a small measure of accomplishment to ruffle the man’s normally cool exterior. Of course, he’d like to ruffle Patrick up more than that…preferably, into tiny bloody pieces. Slowly and painfully.
“Keeping tabs on me, pet?” Spike sneered with one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Newsflash, loverboy, ‘m not your property and I don’t answer to you.”
Though he tried to keep his hatred out of his tone, he couldn’t prevent himself from being as obnoxious as he could. He wanted to strangle the slimy git but he couldn’t, so he’d have to settle for mocking and baiting the man with words until he could.
“I am not your loverboy or pet or anything,” Patrick stated coldly. “And to counter your argument, you do answer to me. You may not be my property but we are working together and you need to stay in contact or else the plan will fail.”
Spike thought he could detect a trace of anxiety. He smirked inwardly. So the wanker obviously did need him to finish the plan. That could be turned to his advantage.
“So what is the soddin’ plan?” he asked while lazily stretching to work out all the kinks in his muscles. “If you want me to play, I gotta know all the rules, don’t I?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “So is that what you’ve been doing yesterday? Checking up on whether or not I’ve lied to you? So…what did you find?”
Spike gave a harsh bark of laughter. “’M not a total idiot, mate. I can bleedin’ think for myself and I don’t need to ask around to know that you’ve been keeping things from me. You haven’t lied but you haven’t told me the whole truth, have you now?”
“What did you do yesterday?” Patrick demanded insistently.
Spike smiled secretively. “Tell me yours and I’ll soddin’ well tell you mine.”
The vein on Patrick’s forehead throbbed prominently and for a second, a dark look flashed across his face. Spike took a step back reflexively, blanching inwardly at what he interpreted to be deep, unremitting hatred, resentment that had lain dormant for lord knows how long. Had he gone too far and pushed the man over the edge?
Patrick composed himself quicker than Spike could blink.
“The plan is as it was before: isolate Angel from his friends so that you become the only lifeline he has,” he replied, his voice unreadable.
“’S that what the vial does then?” Spike pursued, not satisfied.
“In a way…yes,” Patrick answered vaguely. “But before you jump to conclusions, I want to remind you that I am not your enemy. I admit that I have kept some things from you but I did not wish for your emotions to get in the way.”
“My emotions?” Spike lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “You mean, the fact that ‘m not an unfeeling, cold bastard like you and I actually care about people?”
Patrick laughed darkly. “Yes, indeed. You do care, don’t you? Too deeply, in fact.”
His words irked Spike. “Oh does the caring offend you then?” the former vampire spat. “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, mate. You’re not included on the bloody list of people I care about!”
Smiling bitterly, Patrick replied, “I never was.”
Before Spike could ask him what he meant, he faded away from the dream. Spike was left incredibly confused as his eyes reopened to the familiar ceiling of his room.
“I never was.” What was that supposed to mean?
It almost sounded as if the man had cared whether or not Spike felt anything for him. But that was impossible. They had only known each other for a very short time and Patrick had never tried to make himself likeable or showed any affection toward Spike. It was strictly business between them.
Angrily, Spike dismissed it as another way for the man to screw with his mind. Patrick was obviously up to no good. Why else would Spike be having all these warning dreams?
He leapt up and decided to head downstairs instead of sitting there and agonizing about everything. The world didn’t need two brooding vampires with souls. Belatedly, he realized, with a stab of pain, that there was only one vampire with a soul now.
Swiping his eyes angrily with the back of his hands - damn bloody hormones - he hopped into the elevator. Despite his efforts not to think about Patrick, his thoughts kept circling around the man. The elevator doors opened and he didn’t even notice.
“Hey Mina.”
He jumped, flushing nervously.
“You alright?”
“’M fine,” he lied. “Just a little tired…from my trip.”
“Maybe you should go grab some coffee.”
Spike nodded halfheartedly.
“Oh and by the way, thanks for the cup o’ joe yesterday.”
Bloody hell. He had almost forgotten about the vial.
“It was a little too sweet but I needed the sugar and caffeine rush anyway. Best cure for a hangover.”
So the other man didn’t taste anything off, Spike thought with…relief?
“Hey, gotta run. I have an appointment with the doc.”
“Nothing wrong, I hope,” Spike asked weakly. His heart thundered in his chest.
“Nah…just a routine checkup, that’s all.”
Nodding without thinking, Spike got off the elevator, allowing the other man to get on. As the elevator doors closed on Gunn’s smiling face, he hoped to God that he was wrong about Patrick’s intentions.