[FIC] Midas - R (Tissue Warning) - S/A - (4/4)
So here it is, the last part. Once again thank youto all the feedbackers and my goddesses. Please be kind.
Previous parts at www.livingindreams.co.uk/whisper
TITLE: Midas (4/4)
AUTHOR: Jennie
EMAIL: Jenexell_fic@yahoo.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: All stuff BtVS and A:ts belong to joss and co. I’m not making any money from this so don’t bother suing me.
RATING: R for graphically disturbing imagery.
SPOILERS: general up to the end of both series.
DISTRIBUTION: My Site www.livingindreams.co.uk/whisper You want it? Take it! Just tell me where!
SUMMARY: Post NFA - If silence was golden then Angel truly had the Midas Touch.
PAIRING: S/A
Feedback: PLEASE.
Part Four
November 2004.
Angel cocked his head to one side and studied the blonde vampire in front of him. He knew the far away look in Spike’s eyes all too well. Spike would spit feathers if he ever told him this, but without the option of openly ranting, Spike had taken to getting lost in his memories, otherwise known as brooding almost as much as he did. But this wasn’t just any far away look, this one was special. Special because no matter how he tried, Angel couldn’t get Spike to let go of what happened that night.
He couldn’t imagine how he must have looked to Spike when the blonde had entered the cabin a little over an hour after sunset. When Spike had screamed out as he left, the pain had made his knees buckle and he’d fallen into one of the bedposts on their bed. Curled up on the floor, blood flowing from a deep cut on his forehead, all he’d been able to do was cry. All he could see in his mind was those books and want they meant. He’d felt so lost, so desperately lost. Since the whole ordeal began Spike had been his rock, his strength. While Spike kept smiling, kept saying with glance and touch that everything would get better he’d believed. But those books, those books meant Spike didn’t believe anymore and if Spike didn’t believe how could he? He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to waste away to nothing but a putrid corpse that would eventually give in and turn to dust. He didn’t want to go back to hell. But it looked like he didn’t have a choice.
Realisation hit like a freight train. The finally shattering of his denial and more painful tears had come, each hiccupped sob bring more pain and smacking him in the head with more harsh reality. He’d cried so hard he’d passed through the storm and out the other side in a strange numb detachment. Uncurling from the floor he’d looked at the blood like it was an alien substance, and then just as numbly, he’d cleaned it up. Blood was bad, Blood could hurt Spike, and Blood had to be cleaned. Numb, broken, surreal.
As he’d left the bedroom he’d found the books and he’d just sat on the couch holding them for hours. It was only when the sun began to rise that he realised time had passed at all and that’s when feeling had returned. Not panic, not anger, just desolation. Spike was gone. Spike wouldn’t be coming back. He was alone. It seemed slightly hysterical looking back on it, but at time the thought had come to him that maybe if he looked at the books, did what Spike had silently asked then Spike would somehow know and come back. And as he read and studied the diagrams, the real truth had hit him, and the tears had returned.
When Spike had slipped guiltily through the front door of the cabin that evening, he’d found Angel on the couch, curled up around one the books, his face stained with tears and blood. Even if they could have spoken, there would have been no words that night as Spike had woken and lead an emotionally drained Angel into the bathroom. Neither had attempted eye contact as Spike had painstaking cleaned and dressed the wound on his forehead and lead him to bed. Spike had sat with him until Angel had fallen asleep, and only returned to the bed when the sun had started to rise.
Angel had woken as soon as Spike had joined him in the bed. When the blonde finally tipped over into restless sleep, Angel had stiffly crawled out from under the covers and returned to the living room. He’d found the books neatly piled back inside their carrier bag, sitting by the front door. He knew Spike had planned on returning them, but he’d had other ideas. He’d had so much to make up for.
Spike blamed himself, but Angel knew where the blame really lay. He’d been selfish, hadn’t seen or wanted to see how everything was effecting Spike. The tension between them had been building for days since he’d found out Spike was infected. Spike meanwhile had to deal with that, and all the extra restrictions he’d put on their relationship.
Spike was a communicator, a highly social animal. Angel was well aware that it was the biggest difference between them. But in his total central focus he’d overlooked how his complete withdrawal from all physical contact would remove the last vestiges of social interaction between them. Spike had just been desperate to connect and he’d prevented that. When that was combined with the stress of being a full time carer to a less than co-operative patient he was surprised Spike hadn’t blown sooner, or more dramatically.
But that night and long day had become the eye opener that he really needed. It had drawn so much into sharp focus and made him accept certain aspects of their relationship now.
When Spike woken with the sunset, he’d found Angel sitting crossed legged on the bed in front of him. Angel had looked paler than normal, drawn, and so very, very sad. He’d handed spike a book with three pages marked with tiny scraps of paper and then when he’d been sure he’d had Spike’s attention, rather shakily signed him a message.
Spike had just blinked and looked lost, but Angel had nodded to the book. Angel had watched Spike scan the pages then nod, opening his arms for him. Angel had gladly fallen into the embrace.
His first words in almost two months had been “Forgive me”.
Angel blinked and frowned as a pointy finger poked him in the shoulder. He looked down into Spike’s concerned face and realised that he’d been miles away and While Spike had obviously shaken himself out of his revelry some time ago, Angel had lost himself in his own.
“Stop it.” Spike signed with a mock frown. “Pillock”
A small smile quirked the corners of Angel’s lips. After that night they’d spent many night just reading the books Spike had bought and practicing, sometimes each sitting with a sign dictionary in hand, holding slow, but in depth conversations. Then one night Spike had arrived back at the cabin with another book. “The British Sign Language Dictionary of Slang and Curses.” Obviously it wasn’t endorsed by any deaf association, and Spike had made annotations and improved on it since then. Still, it was fun to see Spike gesticulating wildly when he was annoyed. Angel couldn’t help but think that who ever had painstakingly developed the language had never considered that a 124 year old vampire would come up with a with a way of saying “mother fucking son of a three legged German goat with herpes.” And boy hadn’t that taken a while to translate.
Spike looked mildly affronted, knowing he was being mocked in Angel’s head, but brushed it off when Angel leant down and kissed his cheek, before slowly making his way back into the bedroom. Shaking his head, Spike turned to follow, just in time to see Angel’s fatigue finally catch up with him. As the taller Vampire’s knees Buckled he darted forward, helping him back onto the bed. His concern grew as Angel struggled to lift his legs onto the mattress, and carefully did it for him, settling himself on the edge.
“How long have you been up?”
“A couple of hours” Angel replied with a shrug.
“You were in the bathroom all that time?” Spike gesticulated with angered concern.
Angel just shot Spike his now quite common, ‘stop mothering me’ expression, which made Spike soften and run a hand through his hair.
“I worry.”
“I know” Angel signed back with a small smile, then he nodded at Spike’s wrists. “How are they?”
Spike held his wrists out for inspection and Angel tenderly took hold of his hands, running his thumbs up and down the black lines. Letting go he nodded in satisfaction. “Less today.”
Spike nodded, and restrained himself from replying “more today” as he looked at Angel’s chest. Instead he leant forward and pulled up the edges of one of the bandages there. The white cloth was stained with shades of reddish browns and black, and under it, a ragged sore looked festering and painful. This had been a more recent development; the rot was eating its way to the surface in places. Mostly where the skin was thin and delicate, but also where the rot was more prominent inside. Angel’s back, chest and neck all had them, as well as a few other places.
“These need changing”
Angel looked away. He was tired, he hadn’t lied to Spike, he’d woken nauseous and had to stagger into the bathroom and there he’d stayed until Spike had returned. Between Coughing, vomiting and just having to stand for so long he was exhausted. Spasms of pain were shooting up his legs and from his lower back. The thought of having his bandages changed now almost made him cry.
Angel allowed his head to be turned as Spike cupped his cheek. Neither of them liked this, it had become the most hated repercussion of the Rot.
“Maybe later ok?” Spike offered sympathetically.
Angel nodded. “thank you.”
“Tea?” Spike smiled with a quirked eyebrow.
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Spike shifted on the couch and smiled when Angel head butted his thigh gently in annoyance. The evening had progressed smoothly. They’d moved into the living room, and after Spike had brought in two cups of tea, they’d sat just chatting and practicing their signing. When Spike had noticed Angel tiring, he’d got them both something to eat and then they’d settled in for the rest of the night.
This was what made everything worth it, these moments. Sitting on the couch, Angel curled up beside him with his head in his lap. Sometimes they would read, sometimes only Spike read and Angel dozed. They could spend hours like this. More often than not Angel would fall asleep, like he was on the verge of doing now.
The night air was getting chilly, and Spike pulled a soft wool throw from the back of the couch and draped it over Angel, his smile turning to a silent chuckle as angel snagged a corner and pulled it up around his shoulders to his chin. With an amused shake of his head, Spike returned to his book which was resting on the armrest. He wished he could purr, but knew it would spoil everything, so just revelled in the warm feeling which was settling in his chest. It was in these moments that he wasn’t Angel’s nurse and protector, but his lover and friend. It was this peaceful comfort which kept him going, and every second of this time reminded him why he stayed, why he lived through all the horror and heartache… why he loved Angel.
Loved him enough to stay, loved him enough to give up on the things in life that had seemed so important just a few months ago. And he would still stay, even when these moments weren’t possible, because he had his memories to hold on to. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that one day all he would have at all were memories, but Angel needed him and he loved him too much to let him down. He’d loved for more than a hundred years; he didn’t think he even had the choice to stop now.
On his lap, he felt Angel stiffen. Spike frowned and concentrated, trying to work out what could have brought on this change. There was nothing even on the edge of his hearing that would affect Angel this way, but when he sniffed the he felt his insides freeze.
Damp air, and a tinny smell that could only mean…
A flash of white light lit the curtains from outside and Angel sat upright with a jolt. Spike caught Angel’s eye and they just stared at each other with frozen terror. Spike realised he was counting down in his head, and then he saw Angel’s jaw begin to wobble. On the very edge of his hearing the beginnings of a rumble were already registering.
No, not now. Spike watched Angel shake his head in desperate denial and he wanted to scream. There hadn’t been a single storm in the whole time they’d lived at the cabin and now it looked like one was about to make its presence felt. The rumbling was getting louder, the storm a long way off, but the roll of thunder was building in the back ground. Spike leant forward and clasped Angel agonized face between both hands and did the only thing he could think of. He just had to time to mouth three words…
“I love you.”
…Before Angel’s hands flew to his shoulders and his back arched, his head thrown back in a silent scream as the thunder crashed all around them. Spike hung on to Angel for dear life has he convulsed in his grip, the thunder still rumbling out. Angel’s nails bit harshly into his shoulders, tears pouring down his face and his chest rising and falling as he took great harsh breaths as if it would ease the pain.
As the sound drifted off Angel slumped, and Spike slid them both to the floor, wrapping his arms around Angel’s shoulders as he rocked in agony, his hands clutching at his ears. Another flash lit the room and Angel bolted forward. He didn’t get far, just collapsed resting his forehead on the floor. The rumble built quicker this time and Spike watched horrified as Angel began to beat his head on the floor. Acting quickly, he pounced on Angel, rolling him onto his back, straddling his legs and pinning his hands above his head. Angel was mouthing something and Spike strained to work out what Angel was trying to say. When he did his own tears started to fall.
“Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!”
He’d never felt so utterly powerless in his life. This time when the thunder reached its peak Angel arched again, crashing his head into the floor and there was nothing Spike could do to stop it. On and on the thunder kept coming, Angel had started to growl and hiss, no longer aware enough to realise that he was causing himself nothing but more pain. He was acting on instinct, a wounded animal desperate for escape and throughout all this all Spike could do was watch, unable to help, unable to ease Angel’s pain. Angel’s face shifted and the growling grew louder; amber eyes burned into spike with their plea for mercy.
Unable to bare that look in Angel’s eyes any longer. Spike lowered his head to Angel’s chest and sobbed.
“I’m sorry, hold on luv, just hold on. I’m sorry I can’t stop this.”
The gap between the lightning and thunder was getting ever smaller now, the volume growing with each strike.
Suddenly the air went very still and Spike looked up and deep into Angel’s pain hazed eyes. The air crackled, every hair stood up spike’s body. Angel’s eyes cleared for a second, and Spike could do nothing more than stare.
When the next strike hit, it could only have been yards from the cabin. The noise was instant and deafening. Spike crunched up against the onslaught of sound, his sensitive vampire hearing overwhelmed by the blast.
When he looked up he let out the howl he’d been holding in. Angel’s eyes were blank, he hadn’t even cringed when the thunder hit. A trickle of blood dripped slowly from both his ears.
“Angel…”
Another flash of lightning, another thunderous barrage, but Spike paid it no heed.
“Angel… Please…”
There was no response to his plaintive plea, not even a twitch. Spike collapsed to the floor and pulled Angel’s unresponsive form into his arms. He'd wished the silence would end, and now he wished it would return. But the storm couldn't last forever, like all things in life. Whatever he wished now, he knew, that one way or another the silence would soon be ending for good.
The End
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Angel: Nothing in this world is as it aught to be..
Jennie: Duh Angel thats why theres fanfic!
http://www.LivinginDreams.co.uk -> My collective.