Darkening Angel Chapter 41
Hello darlings! Back from my vacation and I come bearing an update! *mwah*
Previous Entries in Memories
Chapter 41: The Game
Spike awoke groggy, sore, and irate. He held still, though, pretending to still be asleep as Angel kissed him and cuddled and finally got out of bed.
It was already feeling like an eternity since he’d taken the pills. His only hope of getting through this any longer was just to be unconscious.
Angel stood by his dresser, frowning down at his chest and alternately holding ties against himself. “Spike? Get my grey shirt. The silk.” He casually waved toward the closet.
Spike blinked in confusion and only in the bare nick of time clamped down on his sarcastic response to such a request. Fortunately, Angel’s back was turned as Spike ground his teeth and gestured his frustration a bit, just to get it out so he didn’t stomp all the way to the closet.
Did he really put up with this? Spike felt like he was returning to his body after a vacation to find the sub-letting tenant had left the water running and let it all go to pot.
With an utmost effort of will, he fetched Angel’s grey silk shirt and brought it to him. “This one?”
“Thanks,” Angel smiled at him and started holding ties up against the grey silk. “What do you think? Burgundy on grey?”
Do I look like a pouf? Spike cleared his throat, frowned seriously, and said, “Yeah. Lighter color brings out your eyes.”
“Really? Thanks!” Angel looked genuinely pleased as he shrugged out of his black shirt and slipped the grey on.
I deserve a flipping Oscar for not slapping him, Spike thought. The very peevishness cheered him. “So, love, I was wondering if I could go visit Fred today? Seeing as how she’s back and all. I could make sure she’s settled, put in another good word for you?”
Angel glanced up from looping his tie around his neck. “No, Spike, she’ll be busy, doing delicate, complex stuff you don’t want to interrupt.”
Grown up things, you mean? Insufferable prat. “I won’t be any bother. Know how to hang back, don’t I?”
Angel finished tying the tie and left it loose to turn and put his hands on Spike’s shoulder’s. “Baby, you got such a big outing yesterday, you should stay in and relax. You’re tired.”
Spike opened his mouth to protest, and saw, fuck, he saw Angel’s calculated look, waiting for the suggestion to take hold. He slumped. “Yeah, think I could use some rest, now that you mention it.”
Angel gave him a wet, condescending kiss on the cheek. Spike clenched his fists, but had to force them to open and relax as Angel’s hands passed lightly down his arms to give him a little hand-squeeze before turning back to adjusting his tie.
Spike crawled back under the covers, hiding his face until Angel was gone and silently praying that Fred got things sorted before he snapped.
***
“Lorne!” Fred slipped sideways through the closing elevator doors.
“Well, hi, darling!” Lorne picked Fred up in an enthusiastic hug, his cell phone pressed into her back, his horns catching a few strands of her hair as he set her down. “It’s so good to have you back with us. Just between us, I was petrified for a while there. There’s nothing worse than being a seer and not knowing the future when someone you love is involved.”
“Oh, you big softy.” Fred ran her thumb across his bright green cheek. “Got a few minutes in your schedule?”
Lorne held his phone high, making a dramatic show of holding down the “power off” button. “For you, sugerlump? I have all day.”
“Great. It’s about Spike.”
Lorne’s smile faded. He looked at the elevator doors and the awkward silence lasted long enough for them to open. Fred stepped in front of him, frowning at him in concern.
Lorne sighed. “I can’t help with Spike,” he said, and gently stepped around her.
“Then you know what I’m going to ask,” Fred said. “Or you’re guessing.”
She watched the shiny maroon fabric of his jacket bunch between his shoulder blades, but he kept walking, head down.
When he reached the door to his office, he said, quietly, “I don’t want it to be this way.”
“So do something about it!”
He gave her a despairing look and opened the door. He crossed straight to the mini bar. “I had a vision, Freddles. A very clear one. Technicolor. And when I say it was bad, I don’t mean the choreography.”
Fred crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what, we choose between saving Spike and something worse? Lorne, this isn’t right! It’s not good for Angel, either. It’s doing something to him, I can tell. The man who saved me from Pylea would never have murdered thousands for one person.”
Lorne sank into a round, comfy-looking chair. He looked up, eyes gleaming. “Oh, Fred. We all would have done the same thing.”
“Would you have?” Fred studied his face. He dropped his gaze and drained half his glass. He visibly relaxed with the drink and looked at it like a trusted friend. Fred was starting to worry about Lorne. “How accurate are these visions? I mean, do they always come true?”
“Oh yes.” His eyelashes flicked up and down, a quick glance like the brush of a broom. He took another, smaller sip of his drink. “It wouldn’t be any fun, otherwise, would it?”
“Well, you might not be willing to chance it, but I have to. It isn’t right, no matter what, to leave Spike in the hands…” she flailed, hating how she had to phrase things, not wanting to make Angel the bad guy, still. “Subjugated like that.”
“Don’t.” Lorne set his empty drink down and straightened. “Please, Fred. I’m begging you. Spike has to stay with Angel. He’s the sacrifice for the greater good. You were willing to die to save a thousand strangers, weren’t you? Is this any different?”
Fred frowned. It was different. It had to be, but she couldn’t quite formulate her argument. “Wait a sec. Your visions are supposed to be tied to the destiny of the person singing, aren’t they?”
“That doesn’t make them conditional.”
Fred sat down across from him, feeling a little excited. “No, but if it’s tied to an individual destiny, some other factor can also change that destiny. That person is the focus around which these vertices of fate rotate. Move the focus, move the vertices.”
Lorne squinted. “Sugar blossom, it’s magic, not science. Anyway, you’re making my head hurt.”
“Well, just tell me whose destiny it was!”
Lorne sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Years ago, a young lawyer came into Caritas with a beautiful tenor and an unquiet conscience. He’s in the holding cells, here, now, and I wish I’d resisted the urge to hear him sing again. His name’s Lindsey McDonald.”
***
Spike showered, threw the sheets down the laundry chute, drank some blood, and watched about ninety seconds of television, divided evenly amongst all the channels he could surf through.
It wasn’t even ten o’clock and he was going barmy. He couldn’t fill two hours until Angel came for lunch, and he didn’t want to.
Fortunately, he didn’t actually have any magical compulsion holding him there, just the fear of getting caught, and that was becoming a flimsier bond every passing second.
“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading for the elevator doors.
Continued -->
Previous Entries in Memories
Chapter 41: The Game
Spike awoke groggy, sore, and irate. He held still, though, pretending to still be asleep as Angel kissed him and cuddled and finally got out of bed.
It was already feeling like an eternity since he’d taken the pills. His only hope of getting through this any longer was just to be unconscious.
Angel stood by his dresser, frowning down at his chest and alternately holding ties against himself. “Spike? Get my grey shirt. The silk.” He casually waved toward the closet.
Spike blinked in confusion and only in the bare nick of time clamped down on his sarcastic response to such a request. Fortunately, Angel’s back was turned as Spike ground his teeth and gestured his frustration a bit, just to get it out so he didn’t stomp all the way to the closet.
Did he really put up with this? Spike felt like he was returning to his body after a vacation to find the sub-letting tenant had left the water running and let it all go to pot.
With an utmost effort of will, he fetched Angel’s grey silk shirt and brought it to him. “This one?”
“Thanks,” Angel smiled at him and started holding ties up against the grey silk. “What do you think? Burgundy on grey?”
Do I look like a pouf? Spike cleared his throat, frowned seriously, and said, “Yeah. Lighter color brings out your eyes.”
“Really? Thanks!” Angel looked genuinely pleased as he shrugged out of his black shirt and slipped the grey on.
I deserve a flipping Oscar for not slapping him, Spike thought. The very peevishness cheered him. “So, love, I was wondering if I could go visit Fred today? Seeing as how she’s back and all. I could make sure she’s settled, put in another good word for you?”
Angel glanced up from looping his tie around his neck. “No, Spike, she’ll be busy, doing delicate, complex stuff you don’t want to interrupt.”
Grown up things, you mean? Insufferable prat. “I won’t be any bother. Know how to hang back, don’t I?”
Angel finished tying the tie and left it loose to turn and put his hands on Spike’s shoulder’s. “Baby, you got such a big outing yesterday, you should stay in and relax. You’re tired.”
Spike opened his mouth to protest, and saw, fuck, he saw Angel’s calculated look, waiting for the suggestion to take hold. He slumped. “Yeah, think I could use some rest, now that you mention it.”
Angel gave him a wet, condescending kiss on the cheek. Spike clenched his fists, but had to force them to open and relax as Angel’s hands passed lightly down his arms to give him a little hand-squeeze before turning back to adjusting his tie.
Spike crawled back under the covers, hiding his face until Angel was gone and silently praying that Fred got things sorted before he snapped.
***
“Lorne!” Fred slipped sideways through the closing elevator doors.
“Well, hi, darling!” Lorne picked Fred up in an enthusiastic hug, his cell phone pressed into her back, his horns catching a few strands of her hair as he set her down. “It’s so good to have you back with us. Just between us, I was petrified for a while there. There’s nothing worse than being a seer and not knowing the future when someone you love is involved.”
“Oh, you big softy.” Fred ran her thumb across his bright green cheek. “Got a few minutes in your schedule?”
Lorne held his phone high, making a dramatic show of holding down the “power off” button. “For you, sugerlump? I have all day.”
“Great. It’s about Spike.”
Lorne’s smile faded. He looked at the elevator doors and the awkward silence lasted long enough for them to open. Fred stepped in front of him, frowning at him in concern.
Lorne sighed. “I can’t help with Spike,” he said, and gently stepped around her.
“Then you know what I’m going to ask,” Fred said. “Or you’re guessing.”
She watched the shiny maroon fabric of his jacket bunch between his shoulder blades, but he kept walking, head down.
When he reached the door to his office, he said, quietly, “I don’t want it to be this way.”
“So do something about it!”
He gave her a despairing look and opened the door. He crossed straight to the mini bar. “I had a vision, Freddles. A very clear one. Technicolor. And when I say it was bad, I don’t mean the choreography.”
Fred crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what, we choose between saving Spike and something worse? Lorne, this isn’t right! It’s not good for Angel, either. It’s doing something to him, I can tell. The man who saved me from Pylea would never have murdered thousands for one person.”
Lorne sank into a round, comfy-looking chair. He looked up, eyes gleaming. “Oh, Fred. We all would have done the same thing.”
“Would you have?” Fred studied his face. He dropped his gaze and drained half his glass. He visibly relaxed with the drink and looked at it like a trusted friend. Fred was starting to worry about Lorne. “How accurate are these visions? I mean, do they always come true?”
“Oh yes.” His eyelashes flicked up and down, a quick glance like the brush of a broom. He took another, smaller sip of his drink. “It wouldn’t be any fun, otherwise, would it?”
“Well, you might not be willing to chance it, but I have to. It isn’t right, no matter what, to leave Spike in the hands…” she flailed, hating how she had to phrase things, not wanting to make Angel the bad guy, still. “Subjugated like that.”
“Don’t.” Lorne set his empty drink down and straightened. “Please, Fred. I’m begging you. Spike has to stay with Angel. He’s the sacrifice for the greater good. You were willing to die to save a thousand strangers, weren’t you? Is this any different?”
Fred frowned. It was different. It had to be, but she couldn’t quite formulate her argument. “Wait a sec. Your visions are supposed to be tied to the destiny of the person singing, aren’t they?”
“That doesn’t make them conditional.”
Fred sat down across from him, feeling a little excited. “No, but if it’s tied to an individual destiny, some other factor can also change that destiny. That person is the focus around which these vertices of fate rotate. Move the focus, move the vertices.”
Lorne squinted. “Sugar blossom, it’s magic, not science. Anyway, you’re making my head hurt.”
“Well, just tell me whose destiny it was!”
Lorne sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Years ago, a young lawyer came into Caritas with a beautiful tenor and an unquiet conscience. He’s in the holding cells, here, now, and I wish I’d resisted the urge to hear him sing again. His name’s Lindsey McDonald.”
***
Spike showered, threw the sheets down the laundry chute, drank some blood, and watched about ninety seconds of television, divided evenly amongst all the channels he could surf through.
It wasn’t even ten o’clock and he was going barmy. He couldn’t fill two hours until Angel came for lunch, and he didn’t want to.
Fortunately, he didn’t actually have any magical compulsion holding him there, just the fear of getting caught, and that was becoming a flimsier bond every passing second.
“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading for the elevator doors.
Continued -->