What We Hold Onto Pt. 1 of 2
Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)
Rating: M
Pairing: Spangel, past Spuffy, past Bangel, past Fanged Four, past Darla/Angelus
Word Count: 2040
Warnings: mild angst, fluff, feelings, post-NFA, future fic
Summary: Angel and Spike get nostalgic after Spike snoops thru the long-forbidden steamer trunk.
A/N: written for 1_million_words Weekend Challenge with the three things prompt of: Window, Sketch Pad, and Pine Cone (pine cone will be in part 2). This spiralled away from me once I started writing it, so posting it in two parts.
"You kept these?"
Taking one last scan of the quiet, snow-laden woods surrounding them, Angel turned away from the cabin window to find Spike standing in the doorway to the bedroom, one of his old sketch pads in his hand. His eyes were wide with confusion and some deeper, more raw, emotion Angel couldn’t quite give name to.
"Thought I always told you to keep out of that steamer, Childe", Angel asked in mock-chastisement.
"Got bored, got nosy. Don't deflect, Sire."
Angel sighed and crossed the open space of the living room to the younger vampire, looking past him to find the old trunk open, a few other sketch pads and loose drawings strewn across the floor, some yellowed with age, their corners curled and brittle, others white and crisp as though recently added to the collection, and his leather-bound portfolio open on the bed. Pulling Spike into his arms briefly and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, he took the sketchbook from him and backed him up to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress they’d shared for the past few weeks.
Spike kept uncharacteristically quiet as he watched Angel gather up the papers into a neat, ordered stack and place them next to the portfolio. He’d expected the brunette to hide the drawings away, lock them up in the trunk again along with whatever other trinkets and mementos he kept in there and shove the old steamer back in the closet where he’d found it.
Instead, Angel turned his attention to the trunk, rummaging through the sturdy wooden chest for a few moments before standing up again, a few cloth-wrapped items in his hands as he came to join Spike on the bed. Placing the mysterious items aside, he picked up one of the sketch pads and turned to face the blonde.
"All the years we've been traveling from place to place, dragging that trunk around since we left L.A., and you've only just now peeked in there?"
"'S the first time we've stopped anywhere for more than a few weeks." Spike watched Angel flip through the pages of drawings as he responded, taking note of the images brown eyes lingered over before continuing on. "First time we've had some decent peace and quiet. Always wondered what you kept in there, pet. Thought it was money or valuable trinkets Angelus had stashed away; figures it'd be your li'l memory cache, instead of somethin' useful to help us stay in blood and accommodation through our eternity."
Angel huffed a quiet laugh and turned the pad around so Spike could better see the page he had been looking for.
"Yeah, tha's another thing. Most of these, I remember you doin'. But this," Spike pointed to the picture of him and Illyria sparing down in the Hyperion's converted basement, the godking's arm bandaged from a fight they'd narrowly won the night before, "I don't remember you being down there with us that night, don't recall even sensing you near-by. There's more than a few in these books of yours I didn't know you were there for. Some even long before Sunnyhell. Mind tellin' me what was up with you pullin' your stalky-stealth gig back then? On me?"
"What can I say? You've always been my favorite subject, William." Angel set the sketches aside and pulled the portfolio over, unwinding the leather cord holding it closed and pulled out the topmost page, a scrap of paper that was slightly singed around the edges. He heard the soft gasp as Spike saw the image. "Remember this one, then?"
"How…?"
"Buffy sent it to me, along with a few other things of yours she managed to salvage that day before it all disappeared. Your Zippo's in the trunk, too, I believe, along with a couple of your rings. And that 8-track of The Ramones you loved so much. Don't think it works anymore; a bit too melted."
Spike carefully took the paper from Angel’s hands, grimacing slightly at the crude doodle and the memory that came with it.
"Told you she said you were in her heart, Spike. She sent me those things, before you came back, with a note telling me she knew you were in mine, too, and that they should be with someone who could keep them safe for more than just a few years. I think she knew, somehow, that you'd be back some day; or maybe she just thought I'd appreciate the mementos more."
"Angel...Christ, mate, why'd you not tell me before? All that time in your ivory tower, I thought you still hated me, regretted me. Even these past years, kept waitin' for you to turn me out, tell me you were tired of me. An' you had all this tucked away?"
"I never regretted you, Childe." Angel smiled slightly at his dumbstruck lover as he stared back at him. "You always thought Buffy was my biggest obsession, but you have no idea how close a watch I kept on you over the years. How many pages of charcoal and lead are here, boy, and how many of them are filled with you? There are many things I regret, and many of them are on those pages, but never you. I only regret what I did to you, what I made you feel you had to hide away. I could never regret the Champion you've become; despite all of Angelus' efforts, my efforts, to drive out every last ounce of humanity in you, you became a good man, Spike, a hero. I could never be anything less than proud of you."
Spike sniffed, swallowing down a sob that tried to rise up his throat at the soft praise he'd longed to hear for so many years. He took the portfolio from Angel, reverently placed the embarrassingly childish drawing of his Sire back within it and bound it back up, setting it aside for further perusal. Fighting back the need to curl up in Angel’s lap and let out the myriad emotions coursing through him at the revelation of the elder vampire's true feelings, he scooted closer to him and pointed at the small pile of treasures.
"Gonna show me what those are then, or what? Dyin' of curiosity over here, luv."
Angel chuckled softly at his Childe's teasing dramatics, reminded slightly of the fledging William’s playful demeanor, and reached over to ruffle the curls Spike had allowed to remain ungelled since they had left the city. He had noticed the slow sloughing of the brash shell his boy had taken to hiding behind over the past decades, secretly pleased to see the return of the softer young vampire he had missed shining out from those enticing blue eyes.
Laughing louder at the scowl Spike aimed at him as he ducked away from the large hand that was mussing up his hair, Angel grabbed one of the cloth-covered trinkets and unwrapped it, revealing three small, framed photographs. The first was a faded Daguerreotype of himself and Darla, the petite blonde sitting primly in a regal, high-backed chair as Angelus stood behind her, one broad hand curled over the back of the chair, the other linked with Darla’s on the armrest. The second, slightly less faded than the first, was a tintype that showed Angelus sitting rather than standing this time. Darla stood beside him, a trace of a smile on her face, her arm outstretched to drape over Angelus' shoulders. Drusilla and William perched lightly on either armrest, angled towards Angelus, his hands just visible, curling around each slim waist. Dru looked straight at the camera, a knowing, dreamy, look on her face. William and Angelus had met gazes as the flashbulb went off, and even all these decades later, no one could deny the swirl of emotions, the heat and longing, that shone through both sets of eyes.
The third photograph was modern, a picture of his newest family, taken shortly after Connor's birth. A smiling Angel held Connor in one arm, the tiny baby bundled snuggly in his blue blanket. Cordelia stood beside him, his free arm wrapped around her back, holding her close as everyone tried to fit into frame. Next to Cordelia, Gunn and Fred beamed at the camera, Fred's head resting on Charles' shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other's waists. On Angel's other side, stood Wesley, his eyes squinting slightly without his glasses on, lips parted on a laugh at some joke Lorne made next to him, Seabreeze in hand and raised towards the camera.
Spike took each photo as it was handed to him, lingering over the picture of the four of them the longest, thin fingers tracing over never-forgotten features of his dark plum, azure eyes studying the look shared between him and his Sire, remembering the haughty reprimand they'd received from Darla at nearly ruining the photograph by not looking directly at the camera. A soft smile twisted his lips at the memory, and he felt himself harden at the memory of the day the four had spent in their big four-post bed, bodies twining and rutting until the women had fallen into a sated slumber, Angelus pulling William to him to put into action the thoughts that had passed through his mind as he'd stared at the slim blonde in the photographer's studio, wreaking pleasure on his lithe body until they exhausted themselves, the elder vampire wrapping limbs around him, pinning him half-beneath him as they finally fell asleep, contented purrs rumbling deep within their chests.
Pushing the memory aside as he looked over the third picture, Spike couldn't help the unbidden twinge of jealousy at the love he saw shining from each face of Angel’s L.A. family, something he never quite shared with the Scoobies. He didn't begrudge his Sire it, though. Angel had cared deeply for the people he'd gathered around him to help his fight for good, long before Spike had found himself falling for a Slayer and starting to give a damn about her sister and friends. Joyce had been the one exception to that; he'd cared for her well enough even before thoughts of Buffy had begun plaguing him, and she'd shown that affection right back, the mother in her soothing the humanity in him when he needed someone to talk to, always good for a shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate with the mini marshmallows she'd quickly learned he liked.
The photo of the L.A. crew, if he remembered correctly, seemed to be taken just around the time he'd been starting to find himself happy enough around the Slayer and the rest of the Sunnydale gang, just before turmoil and strife broke out on both sides. He felt a pang of sadness, remembering Angel telling him the story of how Holtz had managed to make his way through the centuries to exact revenge, resulting in the kidnapping of little Connor and all the chaos that ensued from that one action. Somehow, through all that insanity, all that pain, Angel had found a way to, sort of, fix things. Connor had quickly forgiven him after he got his memories back, understanding that his father had done what he felt was best and quite possibly the only way left to save his son. The boy had recently married some pretty blonde-haired girl he fell head over heels for in college, proving himself Angel’s son through and through. They'd settled down somewhere in San Francisco and it probably wouldn't be long before Angel got word of a grandchild on the way.
Sighing, Spike rewrapped the frames and set them on his other side.
"D'you suppose the ones of Darla an' you, and the four of us, count as Memento Mori's? Bein' that we're dead, an' all." Spike chuckled at the glare Angel shot him and shook his head appeasingly. "Still don't know how to take a joke, do ya, Da? I'm glad you kept 'em, luv, really. 'S nice to know they didn't get lost."
"They're almost as important to me as the people in them", Angel responded meaningfully. "Now, are you going to keep making jokes, or did you want to know what the other two things were?"
Rating: M
Pairing: Spangel, past Spuffy, past Bangel, past Fanged Four, past Darla/Angelus
Word Count: 2040
Warnings: mild angst, fluff, feelings, post-NFA, future fic
Summary: Angel and Spike get nostalgic after Spike snoops thru the long-forbidden steamer trunk.
A/N: written for 1_million_words Weekend Challenge with the three things prompt of: Window, Sketch Pad, and Pine Cone (pine cone will be in part 2). This spiralled away from me once I started writing it, so posting it in two parts.
"You kept these?"
Taking one last scan of the quiet, snow-laden woods surrounding them, Angel turned away from the cabin window to find Spike standing in the doorway to the bedroom, one of his old sketch pads in his hand. His eyes were wide with confusion and some deeper, more raw, emotion Angel couldn’t quite give name to.
"Thought I always told you to keep out of that steamer, Childe", Angel asked in mock-chastisement.
"Got bored, got nosy. Don't deflect, Sire."
Angel sighed and crossed the open space of the living room to the younger vampire, looking past him to find the old trunk open, a few other sketch pads and loose drawings strewn across the floor, some yellowed with age, their corners curled and brittle, others white and crisp as though recently added to the collection, and his leather-bound portfolio open on the bed. Pulling Spike into his arms briefly and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, he took the sketchbook from him and backed him up to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress they’d shared for the past few weeks.
Spike kept uncharacteristically quiet as he watched Angel gather up the papers into a neat, ordered stack and place them next to the portfolio. He’d expected the brunette to hide the drawings away, lock them up in the trunk again along with whatever other trinkets and mementos he kept in there and shove the old steamer back in the closet where he’d found it.
Instead, Angel turned his attention to the trunk, rummaging through the sturdy wooden chest for a few moments before standing up again, a few cloth-wrapped items in his hands as he came to join Spike on the bed. Placing the mysterious items aside, he picked up one of the sketch pads and turned to face the blonde.
"All the years we've been traveling from place to place, dragging that trunk around since we left L.A., and you've only just now peeked in there?"
"'S the first time we've stopped anywhere for more than a few weeks." Spike watched Angel flip through the pages of drawings as he responded, taking note of the images brown eyes lingered over before continuing on. "First time we've had some decent peace and quiet. Always wondered what you kept in there, pet. Thought it was money or valuable trinkets Angelus had stashed away; figures it'd be your li'l memory cache, instead of somethin' useful to help us stay in blood and accommodation through our eternity."
Angel huffed a quiet laugh and turned the pad around so Spike could better see the page he had been looking for.
"Yeah, tha's another thing. Most of these, I remember you doin'. But this," Spike pointed to the picture of him and Illyria sparing down in the Hyperion's converted basement, the godking's arm bandaged from a fight they'd narrowly won the night before, "I don't remember you being down there with us that night, don't recall even sensing you near-by. There's more than a few in these books of yours I didn't know you were there for. Some even long before Sunnyhell. Mind tellin' me what was up with you pullin' your stalky-stealth gig back then? On me?"
"What can I say? You've always been my favorite subject, William." Angel set the sketches aside and pulled the portfolio over, unwinding the leather cord holding it closed and pulled out the topmost page, a scrap of paper that was slightly singed around the edges. He heard the soft gasp as Spike saw the image. "Remember this one, then?"
"How…?"
"Buffy sent it to me, along with a few other things of yours she managed to salvage that day before it all disappeared. Your Zippo's in the trunk, too, I believe, along with a couple of your rings. And that 8-track of The Ramones you loved so much. Don't think it works anymore; a bit too melted."
Spike carefully took the paper from Angel’s hands, grimacing slightly at the crude doodle and the memory that came with it.
"Told you she said you were in her heart, Spike. She sent me those things, before you came back, with a note telling me she knew you were in mine, too, and that they should be with someone who could keep them safe for more than just a few years. I think she knew, somehow, that you'd be back some day; or maybe she just thought I'd appreciate the mementos more."
"Angel...Christ, mate, why'd you not tell me before? All that time in your ivory tower, I thought you still hated me, regretted me. Even these past years, kept waitin' for you to turn me out, tell me you were tired of me. An' you had all this tucked away?"
"I never regretted you, Childe." Angel smiled slightly at his dumbstruck lover as he stared back at him. "You always thought Buffy was my biggest obsession, but you have no idea how close a watch I kept on you over the years. How many pages of charcoal and lead are here, boy, and how many of them are filled with you? There are many things I regret, and many of them are on those pages, but never you. I only regret what I did to you, what I made you feel you had to hide away. I could never regret the Champion you've become; despite all of Angelus' efforts, my efforts, to drive out every last ounce of humanity in you, you became a good man, Spike, a hero. I could never be anything less than proud of you."
Spike sniffed, swallowing down a sob that tried to rise up his throat at the soft praise he'd longed to hear for so many years. He took the portfolio from Angel, reverently placed the embarrassingly childish drawing of his Sire back within it and bound it back up, setting it aside for further perusal. Fighting back the need to curl up in Angel’s lap and let out the myriad emotions coursing through him at the revelation of the elder vampire's true feelings, he scooted closer to him and pointed at the small pile of treasures.
"Gonna show me what those are then, or what? Dyin' of curiosity over here, luv."
Angel chuckled softly at his Childe's teasing dramatics, reminded slightly of the fledging William’s playful demeanor, and reached over to ruffle the curls Spike had allowed to remain ungelled since they had left the city. He had noticed the slow sloughing of the brash shell his boy had taken to hiding behind over the past decades, secretly pleased to see the return of the softer young vampire he had missed shining out from those enticing blue eyes.
Laughing louder at the scowl Spike aimed at him as he ducked away from the large hand that was mussing up his hair, Angel grabbed one of the cloth-covered trinkets and unwrapped it, revealing three small, framed photographs. The first was a faded Daguerreotype of himself and Darla, the petite blonde sitting primly in a regal, high-backed chair as Angelus stood behind her, one broad hand curled over the back of the chair, the other linked with Darla’s on the armrest. The second, slightly less faded than the first, was a tintype that showed Angelus sitting rather than standing this time. Darla stood beside him, a trace of a smile on her face, her arm outstretched to drape over Angelus' shoulders. Drusilla and William perched lightly on either armrest, angled towards Angelus, his hands just visible, curling around each slim waist. Dru looked straight at the camera, a knowing, dreamy, look on her face. William and Angelus had met gazes as the flashbulb went off, and even all these decades later, no one could deny the swirl of emotions, the heat and longing, that shone through both sets of eyes.
The third photograph was modern, a picture of his newest family, taken shortly after Connor's birth. A smiling Angel held Connor in one arm, the tiny baby bundled snuggly in his blue blanket. Cordelia stood beside him, his free arm wrapped around her back, holding her close as everyone tried to fit into frame. Next to Cordelia, Gunn and Fred beamed at the camera, Fred's head resting on Charles' shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other's waists. On Angel's other side, stood Wesley, his eyes squinting slightly without his glasses on, lips parted on a laugh at some joke Lorne made next to him, Seabreeze in hand and raised towards the camera.
Spike took each photo as it was handed to him, lingering over the picture of the four of them the longest, thin fingers tracing over never-forgotten features of his dark plum, azure eyes studying the look shared between him and his Sire, remembering the haughty reprimand they'd received from Darla at nearly ruining the photograph by not looking directly at the camera. A soft smile twisted his lips at the memory, and he felt himself harden at the memory of the day the four had spent in their big four-post bed, bodies twining and rutting until the women had fallen into a sated slumber, Angelus pulling William to him to put into action the thoughts that had passed through his mind as he'd stared at the slim blonde in the photographer's studio, wreaking pleasure on his lithe body until they exhausted themselves, the elder vampire wrapping limbs around him, pinning him half-beneath him as they finally fell asleep, contented purrs rumbling deep within their chests.
Pushing the memory aside as he looked over the third picture, Spike couldn't help the unbidden twinge of jealousy at the love he saw shining from each face of Angel’s L.A. family, something he never quite shared with the Scoobies. He didn't begrudge his Sire it, though. Angel had cared deeply for the people he'd gathered around him to help his fight for good, long before Spike had found himself falling for a Slayer and starting to give a damn about her sister and friends. Joyce had been the one exception to that; he'd cared for her well enough even before thoughts of Buffy had begun plaguing him, and she'd shown that affection right back, the mother in her soothing the humanity in him when he needed someone to talk to, always good for a shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate with the mini marshmallows she'd quickly learned he liked.
The photo of the L.A. crew, if he remembered correctly, seemed to be taken just around the time he'd been starting to find himself happy enough around the Slayer and the rest of the Sunnydale gang, just before turmoil and strife broke out on both sides. He felt a pang of sadness, remembering Angel telling him the story of how Holtz had managed to make his way through the centuries to exact revenge, resulting in the kidnapping of little Connor and all the chaos that ensued from that one action. Somehow, through all that insanity, all that pain, Angel had found a way to, sort of, fix things. Connor had quickly forgiven him after he got his memories back, understanding that his father had done what he felt was best and quite possibly the only way left to save his son. The boy had recently married some pretty blonde-haired girl he fell head over heels for in college, proving himself Angel’s son through and through. They'd settled down somewhere in San Francisco and it probably wouldn't be long before Angel got word of a grandchild on the way.
Sighing, Spike rewrapped the frames and set them on his other side.
"D'you suppose the ones of Darla an' you, and the four of us, count as Memento Mori's? Bein' that we're dead, an' all." Spike chuckled at the glare Angel shot him and shook his head appeasingly. "Still don't know how to take a joke, do ya, Da? I'm glad you kept 'em, luv, really. 'S nice to know they didn't get lost."
"They're almost as important to me as the people in them", Angel responded meaningfully. "Now, are you going to keep making jokes, or did you want to know what the other two things were?"