Waiting 7a/7
I decided not to wait so long between chapters. So, here's the latest. I'm sorry that's it's divided into so many sub-chapters, but the lj's only take so much data, it's hard to know where to cut them up. The orginal chapters were much longer.
Title: Waiting
Author: Soulseeker Rating: NC17 for language, slash, and dark theme.
Summary: Can Spike go on without his love?
Pairing: Spike/Xander implied. Spike/Angel
Part: 7a/7
Rating: NC-17 for adult themes, language and sexual content
Feedback: Yes, it gives me the warm and fuzzys.
Disclaimers: I owe nothing. I just got a new job and I don't even get paid until the next month.
Waiting pt. 7
Previously in Waiting:
With those parting words, Angel forced himself to turn his back on Spike and leave the room.
Spike stared at the closed door for a long time. He couldn’t believe that Angel had just left him to decide his fate for himself. He’d never made any kind of important decision for himself before. Being turned by Dru wasn’t a choice that he’d made. Being used by Angelus, becoming Spike, going after Slayers had more or less happen by adapting to his situation at the time and on survival then by any real choice. That also rang true when he teamed up with Buffy against Angelus. He would’ve done anything to get away from that maniac, but he also knew he wouldn’t have been strong enough to take Dru with him. So the decision to side with Buffy had been made more out of necessity then anything else. After being chipped he had turned to the Scoobies, again a decision based for his survival. Falling in love . . . no, his heart had decided that for him. And now he was faced with the choice of life or death. Spike was suddenly scared shitless.
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Angel forced himself to continue walking to his office. Every second he traveled away from Spike only made him want to rush back to the blond and tell him that he wanted Spike to live. But that wouldn’t be right. If Spike really wanted to die, sooner or later he’ll accomplish his goal. Angel would rather lose him now, then sometime in the future when he would be even more attached to Spike. Losing Spike now would be extremely painful; losing him later would kill the older vampire.
Reaching his office, Angel closed the door but kept the lights off. He didn’t want bright lights, he needed the gloomy darkness for brooding. Pulling out a hidden bottle of hundred year old Irish whisky, he settled himself down on the couch for a long self-pitying session. Angel just hoped that Spike would chose to live, even if it meant the blond going back to Sunnydale. He could deal with the distance as long as his Childe remained alive. Too weary to search for a glass, the vampire took a healthy swig from the bottle. He welcomed the burn traveling down his throat.
Angel wondered how he could further spend the time he gave Spike. Deciding against catching up on paperwork, because he would’ve had to turn the light on, he fumbled around his side table for his cell phone. He wanted to see if he could access his voice mail messages. Fred had been going over the instructions with him every day, drilling him on the many features. He could’ve stayed happy only knowing how to turn the damn thing on and off, but the others got upset if he missed an important message. Well, more pissed then upset.
Three tries later brought him success and Angel grinned because just last week, it took him eight. Thirty-two messages, most of them from his crew. Angel vowed to get good and drunk before listening to them. After all, booze couldn’t hurt if most of them were of Cordy yelling at him. He took another drink.
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Spike slowed the frantic pacing he’d begun after Angel left, ending up at the boarded windows. He knew that the sun was up, he could feel the warmth through the wood. Just a short time ago, he would’ve happily ripped these boards off and gone up in flames. So, what was stopping him now? What was preventing him from finding his final rest? That prancing Nancy boy who just left, that’s why. Angel said that he trusted him. Spike had never heard those words from another soul’s lips except from Xander’s.
The thought of his beloved sent a sharp pain through his heart. It wasn’t as acute as it usually was, sending fear through Spike at the thought that he was forgetting Xander. His mind frantically searched his memories, latching desperately onto the ones with a dark haired, brown-eyed laughing man. Spike let the tears come as he let the precious memories and emotions flow.
Xander reacting to something that Spike had said. Head thrown back, grinning face, dancing eyes, infectious laughter. Spike had kept coming up with more and more outrageous stories just to get a glimpse of that special look Xander gave him.
Xander during patrol with his own special fluid grace. Muscles bunching and releasing as he stuck hearts and snapped necks.
Being ‘forced’ to watch early Saturday morning cartoons and listening to Xander encourage the Roadrunner. He always took the Coyote’s side.
Laughing at Xander’s grossed out face when he poured blood over his cereal and pancakes.
Licking chocolate off the corner of Xander’s mouth, which always led to a long snogging session on the couch.
Realizing for the first time that he was truly and deeply in love while watching Xander take care of him.
The amusing glint in Xander’s eyes as he teased one of the girls or the Watcher.
Making Xander stand shirtless in front of the big windows as the sun shone. He wanted to see the human in the sunlight while he stayed in the shadows of the bedroom. Xander’s eyes reflecting love and sadness because Spike wasn’t able to join him. Xander coming to him with his still sun warmed body and making tender love to him.
Xander’s confused and bored face as he and Rupert had a discussion about 19th. Century English poets.
Xander heatedly debating the merits of American football over the English version.
Xander tickling Dawn, laughing as much as the Lil’ Bit.
Xander’s quiet tears as Spike struggled with another needless painful headache.
Listening to Xander’s enthusiastic talk about Star Trek Voyager and feeling the slight jealousy over Seven of Nine. Until Xander bragged about how his boyfriend made the female half-Borg look like a sea hag.
Xander’s glazed look as he tried to explain the exciting game of Cricket.
Feeling that funny little flutter every time Xander proudly introduced him as his boyfriend.
Xander’s worried look every time the vampire was hurt on patrol.
Feeling disbelief at first when Xander told Spike that he loved him. Not daring to hope because he’d been hurt too often before. He vamped out and demanded for Xander to say that he loved a monster . . . a thing . . . a killing machine. Closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t see the utter disgust on the human’s face and then shock when feather-like kisses touched his ridges. Xander told him that he loved all of him, that he was more then a monster, a thing, or a killing machine. Would a monster bake cookies for Dawn at 3 a.m. because she woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep? Would a thing buy a shy Tara a scarf because it was chilly outside and it matched her eyes? Would a killing machine spend painstakingly long hours translating a demon language text to save Giles wear and tear on his eyes? No, to all of that. He might technically have a soul any longer, but he had a heart; a big one. And more important then all of that, Spike was his and he would never let him go.
The little shiver that went through him every time Xander touched him, no matter how innocent.
Christening every stick of furniture in every room by having hot wild sex in, on, or under it.
Feeling the tickle of a paint brush as Xander painted chocolate sauce designs on his naked body. Getting painfully hard as Xander described what the dark confection looked like on his pale skin. Spike coming hard without any touch to his cock when Xander started to lick and nibble his thighs clean. Then he got hard again as Xander told him what his cum looked like on the chocolate flower he drew. Xander licking that flower off his body and then sharing a cum chocolate flavored kiss.
Xander’s look of total love as he slowly and carefully entered the vampire for the first time. The sweet and gentle love making had the vampire in tears afterwards. Xander tenderly holding him as he explained that he wasn’t crying because it hurt, he was crying because he finally felt loved.
Xander holding him tightly, rocking him after one of his numerous nightmares. Xander’s voice had been filled with retribution and anger towards the ones that hurt his Spike.
The smitten look on Xander’s face as he proudly introduced Spike to his construction crew for the first time.
The dangerous glint in brown eyes whenever another human looked like he was going to mess with his vampire.
The warmth of Xander’s hand in his as they strolled down the streets.
Looking down as he rode Xander’s hard cock and seeing those half-closed eyes darken with desire and lust.
And then the not so good memories came.
Xander’s pale, fearful look being replaced with anger at Spike. Xander had been out of his mind with fear when he couldn’t find Spike in his usually hiding holes after the sun came up. His normally cheerful face had contorted in anger at Spike, demanding to know why he’d walked out on him. Buffy was back, why wasn’t he happy about that? So he and the others didn’t tell Spike what they were up to, so what? Spike would’ve told Dawn, and none of them wanted to get the girl’s hopes up, only to be let down if it hadn’t worked. It worked, so what was his fucking problem?! Spike, sobering up and dealing with a killer hangover, let go with his own rage. Didn’t the git understand that they all could’ve been killed if something went wrong? You just didn’t fuck around with Dark Magic like that, everybody knew that! Magic always had consequences, it always came back and bit you in the ass! Red could’ve lost control and brought back something other then Buffy. Did they think of that? Or Buffy could’ve come back ‘wrong’; evil. She could’ve gone after Dawn before anyone could’ve stopped her. Spike caused her death in the first place, he couldn’t have stood to see her die a second time. Didn’t Xander understand about that? Couldn’t he see that it would’ve destroyed Spike to see another person he cared about die? Still angry with each other, not wanting to admit that each was wrong, the make-up sex was full of blood and violence, each fighting the other for dominance and control. In the end, worn out, covered with blood and cum, they held each other as they both cried over the lost of trust they had. Forgiveness was neither asked for nor given. They started anew in Giles’s destroyed bedroom. And when that Dark Magic did come back and bit them on the ass, Spike had the good graces, or sense, not to chant ‘I told you so, I told you so’.
The murderous look in Xander’s eyes then that drunk attempted to rape the defenseless vampire on his way home from the Magic Box. Xander had been well on his way to beating the bastard to death when he happened to see the tear soaked face of the shaking blond. With one last kick to the nuts, he told the nearly unconscious man to never go near his boyfriend again. Xander slowly helped the vampire to stand up and pull his pants back up to his narrow waist. Spike’s zipper had been half-way ripped off, so the human just buttoned them and placed his own over-shirt around the quivering shoulders; Spike’s shirt wasn’t fit to use as rags. A look of hurt and sadness flashed in deep brown eyes when Spike involuntarily flinched from him. Spike had yet to utter a single sound and Xander soothingly murmured nonsense as he carried the terrified blond the rest of the way home. Spike felt the cleansing hot water as Xander bathed the dirt and blood from his body. He heard the worry sound in Xander’s voice escalated into near panic the longer Spike remained silent. That attempted rape had prompted flashbacks so sever, that the vampire couldn’t speak, feed, or sleep for three days. For three full days and nights he’d laid huddled in the middle of their bed, flinching every time Xander came near him. After the second day, Xander called in reinforcements. Spike saw the girls talking to him, but all he could hear were his own screams as one male after another brutally violated him. On the fourth day, Xander had been confused and a little upset when Spike had crawled into his lap, trying to initiate sex; begging Xander to erase the memory of the others touching him. Xander held him close, rocking him until he fell into a fitful sleep. Sitting on the opposite sides of the couch one week later, Spike finally unburden his heart. He told Xander everything, from the first time Angelus raped him to the attempted rape that Xander stopped. The blond even confirmed the suspicions about the ‘mugging’. He recounted every little detail and spoke in a dull, monotone voice. The vampire stared at his clasped hands he held in his lap. He didn’t once look at Xander, not wanting to see the disgust on his beloved’s face. After all, he was used goods, tainted . . . filth. He had felt anger radiating from the human, sure that at any minute Xander would throw him out and he wouldn’t blame the human one little bit. Blue eyes looking at Xander in surprise as he announced that he was going to castrate that fucker Angel. And then he was really going to hurt him. Spike frantically crawled into Xander’s lap, talking him out of it. Telling him that Angel wasn’t Angelus any longer and it was the demon that had hurt him, not the soul. He told him that if he did kill Angel, a lot of innocent people would die if the souled vampire weren’t around.
Xander had led Spike to the bedroom then, slowly stripping the vampire and laying him in the middle of their bed. He then proceeded to gently touch and kiss the blond all over; from the soles of his feet to the soft hair on his head. The dark haired man made love to the blond for hours. Sometimes slow and sweet, other time hard and fast until the only memories that Spike’s body held was of Xander. Xander had finally eradicated the ghostly memories of the others. Never again would he feel any other touch but Xander’s.
And then the last memory of Xander came to the devastated vampire.
Xander making slow love to Spike early in the morning before going off to work that fateful day. Cold legs clinging to blood-warmed hips, pale arms wrapped around tan shoulders, a lust filled voice chanting, stuttering Xander’s name as blunt human teeth bit his slender neck as a hot, hard cock battered his secret spot deep inside him. Spike coming again and again as Xander speeded up until one last hard shove had the human spilling hot cum deep inside the cool tight channel. Spike laid limp and weak as Xander tenderly cleaned them both up and tucked the vampire securely under the covers. Spike had clung to his love when he bent down for one last kiss, trying to drag him back in for more. A deep chuckle from his love and promises whispered into the sleepy vampire’s ear of more then that after work. The sound of pounding on the door woke him up from a deep sleep. Listening in disbelief as the girls told him about an accident at work. Spike wouldn’t believe them, they were lying to him. Xander had promised to come home and do naughty and wicked things to him. Xander always kept his promises, so the bints were wrong. Not listening to Red, he cooked his human’s favorite foods and planned on a hot, sexy bubble bath after dinner. Spike sitting alone at a table set for two, his stomach clinching and feeling dread every minute that Xander was late. Waiting all night and into the next day, still at that empty lonely table. Then feeling anger at Xander for worrying him and making him wait. He still wouldn’t listen to the girls. Xander had made a promise to him and he never broke his promises. And since Xander had promised to come home, Xander would come home. That was that, end of story. His heart surged with joy at the sound of a knock on the door. Xander had simply forgot his key again and needed to be let in. Feeling his joy plummet when he saw June, Debbie, Connie and Susan standing there, tears pouring down their cheeks, holding covered dishes in their hands. The realization that Xander wasn’t coming home that day, or any other day, ripped through him like an electric shock. That’s when he went into the bedroom and begun to shut himself down, cutting himself off from the rest of the world. He welcomed the cold numbness that started to spread throughout his body, grateful that he wouldn’t have to see, hear, or feel anything ever again.
Spike came back into himself, crouched on the floor and crying. Xander had been his only reason for living; his only reason for being. He wasn’t whole without Xander; a broken, useless vampire, that’s what he was. Nothing but filthy garbage to be used and thrown away.
Angel had given him a decision, a choice to make all by himself. The only future he saw for himself was bleak. A long existence filled with loneliness and despair, darkness and pain. Before Xander, he’d been nothing and was still nothing without him. He would never see Xander’s sweet smile again. Never see those brown eyes sparkle. Never hear that joyous laughter full of bright hope and love. Never hear whispered promises in the middle of the night. Never feel the gentle, loving caress that always came before tender lovemaking. Never feel strong arms around him after a nightmare or the petal soft kisses that chased the bad dreams away. He’ll never again drift off into sleep by listening to that strong heartbeat.
Xander was gone, so what was the use of him sticking around? He didn’t fear Hell, it couldn’t be any worse then living without his love. Spike stood up and curled his hands into fists. One or two good punches should shatter a few boards; it wouldn’t take much sunlight to do the job. Pulling back one arm, he was just about to throw the first punch when another memory hit and it wasn’t one about sharing his life with Xander. He fell to his knees, hands clawing his head as if to stop the memory. But the floodgates had already been opened and he was helpless to prevent the onslaught. An anguished tortured cry echoed throughout the room.
Spike wondered why he was standing in a large room, surrounded mostly by strangers. He registered that he was wearing a suit, but couldn’t remember putting it on or why he was wearing it. He wondered where Xander was before that thought drifted off like a dandelion puff in the breeze. He couldn’t seem to hold a thought or even really feel anything. He felt . . . numb, distant . . . as if he was standing on the outside of his own body. Nothing felt real and he couldn’t gather up enough brain power to worry about why that was wrong.
He felt a warmth surrounding his hand and realized that someone was holding it. He sluggishly thought that it was Xander and tried to focus his eyes on the warm hands holding his. Those warm hands were too small, too delicate and fragile looking to belong to his big and strong Xander. He let his eyes follow the hands, up the arms, past the shoulders and focused on the face. It was Tara. Tara was holding his hand. But why was Tara holding his hand like that? Xander’s the only one allowed to hold his hand like that; Xander said so.
He wanted to demand to know where Xander was, but he couldn’t get his muzzy brain to form the words. Suddenly feeling frightened, his eyes drifted across the sea of people, trying to find his Xander. But before he could, and older man stepped into his view, a very pregnant young lady behind him. A few seconds later, a name came out of the fog.
Hal. This was Hal, one of the men who works with Xander. Why was Hal just standing there in an ill-fitting suit looking so nervous? And then another stray thought floated by. Hal hated gays, never made any bones about how he felt. He’d actually seen the man cross a busy street rather then come in contact with Xander and him.
He’d asked Xander once why he just didn’t find an excuse to fire the jackass. Xander said that he was a hard worker and never let his prejudices interfere with his job. So he told queer jokes, big deal. As long as he did his job and didn’t actively seek out a way to deliberately hurt one of the other openly gay men on the crew, he was welcomed on the site. So why was this faggot hater talking to him? Unwillingly, he found himself listening to Hal when all the other voices sounded like so much gibberish.
“Listen Spike, I’m really sorry about Xander. I was the one he pushed out of the way. He saved my life and I’ll never forget that. Seems really stupid now to hate a man because he’s qu . . . uh, dates another guy. I can’t promise to change right away, but I hope to be a better man because of Xander. Oh, this is my daughter, Molly.”
Reaching behind himself, he helped the girl forward. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, she carried a soggy tissue in one hand. She reached around Spike and hugged him as best as her swollen belly would allow. She kissed his cheek before letting go and tearfully told him, “I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a good man and because of him, Daddy’s alive to see his first grandchild. I’ll never forget that. My husband and I’ve talked it over and we’ll be proud to name the baby after him. I hope when he or she’s older that you’ll tell him or her all about Xander.”
Hal awkwardly shook his hand and led his daughter away. Spike was about to ask ‘What loss?’ when the absence of Hal’s departure unblocked his view. His eyes fastened on the long oak box a foot away.
No . . . not a box. His struggling mind finally supplied the correct word: coffin. He was in a room with a coffin and he didn’t know who died or where Xander was. He wanted to ask Tara who was in there, but the answer slammed into him like a freight train. Xander was in that coffin. It had to be him, because otherwise Xander would’ve been standing beside him and it would’ve been him holding his hand instead of Tara. Xander always stuck close by when they were in a room full of humans, just in case he started to feel nervous. Xander knew how defenseless the young vampire felt surrounded by strangers and always made sure to stay close; offering love and protection just with his very presence. Spike always felt safer with Xander around, but now he didn’t feel safe. He didn’t feel safe at all. So, if Xander wasn’t beside him, that meant that the body in the box was his love.
Xander was laying in a closed coffin, no air, no light. Spike remembered waking up in his own coffin when he’d been turned and then buried. All he’d known at the time was suddenly waking up in the dark with an incredible hunger gnawing at his belly. That all consuming hunger seemed to vanish when he realized that he was buried in a box deep beneath the English soil. The panic grew as he realized that there was no air, no light, no way out. He began to claw at the wood, shredding his hands and ripping his fingernails out. The longer he was in the box, the greater the horror at being trapped forever grew. Heedless of the fact that there was no air, he began to scream in terror, his ruined hands scrabbling at the wood, feet and knees kicking the sides in an effort to find an escape.
Then dirt was clogging his mouth and nose, cutting off all sound and intensifying the fear. Clawing his way upwards, hands bleeding from the inflected wounds, blinded and deafen by dirt darker then the pit of hell, he finally reached the surface, reached freedom. He pulled himself out of the grave, gagging and retching mud, terrified from his ordeal and faced his new existence; his grinning lunatic of a Sire, Drusilla, who then proceeded to tell him that she was his new mommy.
Spike had the wild urge to rip the top of Xander’s coffin off. He wanted to save his love from the fear of waking up alone and frightened, trapped in an enclosed space. And then he realized that Xander was never coming back to him. So, Spike began to shut himself down again. As long as he didn’t have to think or feel, he wouldn’t hurt. Xander’s death would cease to be and his pain would end.
Spike came back to himself, a huddle ball on the floor, tears running down his sharp cheekbones. He had walled himself off against the rest of the world as much as he could, thinking that the loss of his love would be felt less. But he discovered that it hadn’t. The world had kept turning, bringing births and deaths every day, bringing wonderful and not so wonderful things into existence. Spike had lived for 126 years, witnessing and causing wars, both mortal and demon. He’d seen new inventions and listened to life beginning and ending. He’d felt painful betrayal and ultimate love. He’d gleefully caused death and saved lives. He’d hit rock bottom and soared with the eagles. He’d actually like being the Hero instead of the Grimm Reaper. He had more to give then just this and it wouldn’t be fair to kill himself now.
Xander had given his own life to save a man who hated him. His death nearly crushed Spike, but it did bring a new beginning for Hal. Spike reasoned that killing himself would tarnish the memory of a good man. If Hal could change, Spike could certainly live. Besides, by now Molly’s little nipper would be saddled with a hero’s name. He decided that he should stick around for awhile, at least until the little crumb snatcher was old enough to hear about it’s namesake. And the only one he felt who would do Xander’s memory justice would be him.
His true and final decision made, Spike picked himself up off the floor, wiped his tears away and resolved himself to his choice. He knew that it wouldn’t be easy, this living without his Xander, but it was the right choice for him. Spike finished off the last of the blood, turned off the lamp and went in search of Angel. It was time to face his Sire as an equal.
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Angel held the half-empty bottle close to his face and squinted at it in the dim light. It was his second bottle and he was well on his way to getting shit-faced, having past being completely soused three hours ago. Or was it four? He couldn’t tell any more. All he was sure was, his Childe was going to die and he couldn’t do anything about it.
He vaguely realized that being depressed, broody and drunk was not a good combination. Half-way though his first bottle, he’d gotten enough courage to listen to his messages. After the fifteenth try, he had been rewarded with the sound of Gunn’s voice telling him that Wesley’s hand had been badly fractured. They were putting a cast on it, giving him pain killers, and allowing Gunn to take him home.
Second message was also from Gunn, telling Angel that if he needed anything, he was at English’s place making sure that nothing further happened to him.
Third message was again from Gunn, informing him that he and Wesley thought that it was best to have the girls stop by Wes’s place first. They’ll tell them about Spike after they arrived. If they told Cordy over the phone about what was going down, it was very likely that she’d bust down the hotel doors to stop Angel. The vampire snorted at that. There would’ve been no ‘likely’ about it. Cordy had become very protective over Spike. She would’ve tried to stop it regardless of the consequences. There would’ve been no way that she’d understand the mating ritual or the fact that Spike would’ve died anyway.
Fourth message was from Wesley, stating that Gunn had lasted all of a half minute before spilling his guts under Cordy’s Death Glare. Angel was impressed that the demon hunter lasted that long.
The fifth message was from a shrill voiced Cordelia. Angel had to hold the phone away from his ear with one hand as he fortified himself with booze with the other. His Seer had informed him that if he so much as touched one curl on poor Spike’s head, she’d make Angelus look like a Goody Two-Shoes. She was well into describing in gruesome detail about what she was going to do to him, when there was muttered curses in the background, yelling, and then there was the sound of the phone hitting the floor before dead silence.
The sixth call was from Fred. She told him that the guys managed to overpower Cordelia and now she was tied to a chair. Angel heard Cordy yelling threats in the background before a sudden and blissful silence. Fred then informed him that Gunn had just gagged Cordelia. Angel would’ve found it funny under different circumstances, but he was in a morose mood. Damn, why couldn’t he be a happy drunk?
The rest of the messages were the same and he steadily drank on. One or the crew members called to ask when it would be safe to let Cordy go or to lend their understanding support. Apparently only Fred, Wes, and Gunn was on his side. Although they did think that Spike had mated and Angel didn’t have the courage to tell them otherwise.
He’d even received a few calls from Lorne, offering his own brand of support. The Host had briefly met Spike a few weeks into his stay on the request from Angel. He wanted his Childe ‘read’ and Lorne had done everything he could to get the blond to sing for him. The young vampire had simply looked at the green skinned demon sadly and informed him that the music had left his heart and quietly walked back to his room. Lorne had then shut himself up in Angel’s office and proceeded to cry all over Fred’s shoulder. He hadn’t needed to hear him sing to know that Spike was hurting badly. In fact, Lorne had become so upset over Spike’s loss that Wesley had to escort him home. After that he avoided the hotel, not wanting to be overwhelmed by the strong emotions coming off of Spike. And no one blamed him.
Angel squinted at his watch, trying to figure out which one of the five he saw had the correct time. How much time had passed? Should he go up now to sweep up Spike, or wait for a bit longer? A morbid giggle escaped the drunken vampire’s lips. When he had thought to sweep Spike off his feet, this wasn’t what he had in mind. He gave a deep sigh, sniffed in self pity, hiccupped, and went to take another swallow. However, the bottle was empty. Angel held the bottle up-side down and after deciding that the middle bottle was the real one, stuck it up to his eye to see inside if a drop remained.
Or, he tried too. After hitting his hair, chin, the wall behind him, cheek and nose, he finally maneuvered the opening to one eye. Unfortunately for the drunk vampire, when he closed one eye and tried to see out of the other, he belatedly realized that he held the bottle up to the closed eye. His fuzzy brain didn’t have enough coordination to close the open eye and open the closed eye. Sighing in disappointment, he dragged the bottle down until he managed to hit his mouth. A sloshed vampire stuck the bottle back into his mouth, his tongue exploring the inside neck for any trace of alcohol. After a thorough licking, he lowered the bottle, intending to find another full one.
Only the bottle refused to let go. Angel stared cross-eyed at the bottle hanging off the end of this tongue. For some reason, this struck him as funny and he giggled. Angel tried to pull it off with one hand. No go. Then he tried the other hand. The bad bottle still hung on. He wrapped both hands around the offending object and tugged. Still nothing. Angel wagged his tongue and watched the bottle wave in the air. He waved back. Angel then decided that the bad bottle was truly evil and wanted to go into his fangy face and bite the bad bottle. But he forgot how to do that.
The drunk vampire began to feel very sorry for himself. He was sitting in the dark, on the couch and he had a bad evil bottle biting him. His Childe was now probably dusty and scary Cordy was out to get him. He gave another pitiful sniff and started to hiccup again. The hiccupping caused thee bottle to move and Angel began to paw at it like a kitten with a ball of yarn. That’s how Spike found him twenty minutes later.
Spike had almost given up finding his Sire. He’d started in Angel’s bedroom, and not finding him there, tried his own room. Spike wondered around the hotel, checking Fred’s room, kitchen, and library. Still no sign of Angel. It figured, he thought. ‘I decide to live and Angel’s off somewhere having himself a wank.’ Spike had just about given up when he spotted movement inside Angel’s office. Wondering why he hadn’t thought to check there, he slowly opened the door and was greeted by a sight that he’d never forget for the rest of his long life. Angel was playing with a bottle attached to his tongue. The sight stopped the blond for a half-minute before he reached over and with one slight tug, disengaged the bottle from Angel’s tongue.
The vampires stared at each other; one in astonishment, the other in pouting self-pity. Angel stared at the ghost of Spike. It made perfect sense to Angel. He’d let his Childe down for all those years, betraying and ignoring him, and now that the blond was finally dead, he was going to be haunted by the Spirit of Spike. His Childe might be dust, but at least he’ll be able to see, if not touch, the blond vampire for the rest of his existence. It would be a bittersweet torture for the souled vampire, but it was more then he deserved.
Angel stared mournfully at the ghost of his Sweet Will and wondered if the spirit would talk to him or just silently stare at him with that disappointed look upon that perfect face. Angel didn’t blame the ghost. He was pretty disappointed in himself, too.
Spike stared at a drunk Angel, weaving in his seat, vainly trying to sit upright. The younger vampire had never seen Angel drunk before. Come to think about it, he’d never seen Angelus drunk very often either. A truly drunk Angelus had no control whatsoever, becoming violent at the slightest provocation. Not that he’d ever needed drinking as an excuse before.
The younger vampire had tried very hard to stay out of range of a drunk and enraged Angelus. The beatings and rapes had nearly dusted him several times, often requiring several days of healing. Then, of course he was punished by Darla for setting off Angelus. Spike had been very fortunate that Angelus dislike losing control so much, as he’d only had to contend with the rages only once or twice a year. Oh, Angelus still drank, quite a bit actually, but never the staggering amount that it took for him to go truly ballistic. And for that, Spike was extremely grateful.
So, this was a wasted Angel. Damn, the man even brooded when he was drunk. Spike wondered if Angel had any brain cells left unpicked by booze and stated the obvious, “You’re drunk.”
Angel stared at the phantom for a long few minutes before his sloshed brain kicked into gear. His voice was slurred and he still hiccupped though his very long and complicated speech.
“Youse a ghosted.”
Surprised, the blond vampire gaped at him. Angel thought that he was a ghost? The surprise turned into mild disgust. Angel already thought that he killed himself. Hadn’t even given him a benefit of a doubt that he would choose life. Oh, Peaches had said that he was letting him decide whether to live or die, but apparently he thought that Spike was going to do himself in anyway. For some reason, that hurt.
Spike leaned as close to the fumes as he could stand and addressed the sloshed vampire. He waited until Angel had more or less focused his blurry eyes on him.
“I’m not a ghost, ya’ booze hound.” Spike spoke very slowly and clearly, hoping to get though the alcohol haze that enveloped Angel’s brain. The vampire blinked wide-eyed up at him.
“Sssur’ ya’ are. Wh’ won’ ya’ be? I’d . . . I’d offed meself if the live of my love was sm . . . smo . . . smoosheded. Is alla my fault. Pushed ya’ way, when I coulda’ have’ed everythin’. You by m’ side, we coulda been somethin’. We coulda’ been contenders. Nobodyed woulda’ fucked wit’ us. ‘Stead I crushed ya’ lika’ a bug under m’ boots. Poor lil’ bug. Love ya’ lil’ bug. Always has. No, not a lil’ bug. Morea likea caterpillar. My lil’ caterpillar. Got turned inta’ a bat, ‘steada butterfly. Shoulda beena butterfly. Makea bootiful butterfly you woulda. Never getta be a butterfly. Now, my poor Lil’ Caterpillar’s a ghostie and ‘m gonna be next. Cordilly’s gonna get me for smooshin’ ya’, Lil’ Caterpillar. Gonna let’er too. Fuckin’ Fates, that’ll learn ‘um! Hey! Ya’ think that when ‘m dusty, I’ll get ta be a ghostie, too? We can be ghosties ‘gether! Peaches an’ Lil’ Caterpiller hauntin’ tha’ Hip . . . Hypo . . . Hyphen . . . this place!”
And then Angel really began to ramble and to actually start crying over the ‘fate of his poor Lil’ Caterpillar’. Spike was both amused and perplexed by this. Angel said that he loved him, always had. The few times that Angel had said those words to him, Spike had reacted in anger and hatred. After Angelus’ treatment, who could’ve blamed him? But Angel wasn’t Angelus any more, Spike had even defended the wanker to Xander. And it wasn’t as if he loved Angel, hell, he still hated his guts! Still, the thought that Angel could be reduced to this blubbering mess over his ‘demise’ softened him to Spike. Somewhat.
Then the blond gleefully chuckled. Angel had just provided him with years of blackmail material. This is, if he woke up and forgot everything. Spike just couldn’t believe the nickname that Angel just called him. Lil’ Caterpillar, indeed. Spike feverishly hoped that the drunk vampire blacked out this whole ridiculous conversation. He was the Big Bad, damn it, and no way in hell would he ever be called ‘Lil’ Caterpillar’. It was demeaning, that’s what it was, and Spike would’ve rather be called Fangless then to be referred to as some kind of worm. Although, it was touching in a poetic stance, but Spike refused to consider what that might mean. He hated Angel’s guts and that was that.
The blond leaned down closer to the rambling drunk. It was time to end this pity party. He wasn’t dead, well, deader, and it was an insult to him to be declared dust before his time.
Less then a hand length away, Spike patiently waited until Angel dissolved into a hiccupping mess. The wanker was truly pathetic.
“Angel, I’m not dust. I’m still alive.” Spike spoke slowly and clearly.
Angel looked at him, lover lip in full pouting mode and tears streaming down his cheeks. He reminded Spike of a little boy who had his favorite toy taken away. The dark haired vampire even sounded childish when he informed Spike, “Are so dusty. Can prove it too!”
Spike was pretty sure that Angel could prove that people can set their own breath on fire, if the smell of alcohol fumes coming from the drunk was any indication. He raised a slim blond brow in skepticism.
“You can prove that I’m a ghost?”
“Uh huh!” Angel’s head bobbed up and down until he nearly lost his balance.
“This I gotta see. Ok, Angel. Prove to me that I’m a ghost.”
Angel clumsily slapped a hand over one eye, nearly knocking himself unconscious in the process, and squinted the other one. Looking hard, he raised his other hand, forefinger extended, and proceeded to play ‘Eenny, Meany, Miney, Moe’, with the various Spikes filling his blurry vision. Satisfied that he’d found the ghostly vampire, Angel promptly stuck his finger up Spike’s nose. The blond yelped in indignation and jerked back, rubbing his nose.
“That was truly disgusting, mate! Satisfied that I’m real now?”
Angel just stared at him in awe, as if he’d seen the Holy Grail. Using Spike as a pole, he climbed up the younger vampire and wrapped him in a clumsy bear hug. Head spinning, he gleefully announced, “Spiky! You not more deader! You save-id my life from Cordilly! She yelled at me. Threatened me, too. Cordilly can be mean som’times.”
Spike really began to struggle when the drunk vampire stared to give the trapped vampire wet, sloppy kisses.
“Get off me, ya’ wanker!”
The younger vampire finally managed to break free and stood outside of a weaving Angel’s reach. The larger vampire just grinned stupidly at him and then he got a funny look on his face. Spike wasn’t sure if he was going to hurl or pass out. Tentatively, he stepped closer to the swaying drunk, confident that he could get out of the way if vomiting was involved.
“Angel? Ya’ ok, mate? Listen, if ya’ gonna toss yer’ cookies, let me know and I’ll get outta the way. Angel! Say something!”
The last thought running though the blond’s mind was, ‘Oh, Hell no!!’, just before Angel’s eyes rolled up and he passed out. Right on top of Spike.
Spike laid flat on his back on the floor, with a very large, very unconscious vampire pinning him down. Spike pushed ineffectively on the heavy shoulder. He yelled in Angel’s ear.
“Get off me, ya’ big lush! Wake up, lard ass, ya’ crushing me!”
Nothing. And then Angel began to snore. Spike rolled his eyes and struggled to get the dead, or rather deader, weight off him. It took him a half-hour to turn Angel over and, at the end of it, Spike laid panting on the floor with a still snoring Angel beside him. Shit! Was Angel really that fat, or had he gotten so weak from not feeding that something this simple nearly did him in?
Spike pulled the rest of his toga out from under Angel’s body and weakly sat on the couch. He had to get his act together now. He needed to start feeding regularly and training again. Right now, he wouldn’t even be able to take on the Nibblet and that bought a wave of self-loathing.
He’d been so wrapped up in his grief that he hadn’t cared what happened to himself. Well, all that was going to stop. He had to earn his keep around here, pull his own weight. He wasn’t going to let anyone else take care of him anymore, that had been Xander’s job. He was the Big Bad, damn it! And it was time for him to start acting like it. Spike fingered the sheet wrapped around him. He briefly wondered what happened to his clothes and picture. He needed a new kit anyway. If he was going back to fighting demons, he could hardly do that in Xander’s clothes.
Besides potentially damaging them, the enemy would laugh themselves silly when they see him wearing the loud shirts and loose shorts hanging below his hips. Although, that would just make it easier to kill them. Spike pictured an eight foot demon rolling on the ground with hysterical laughter and chuckled himself.
The blond yawned. He’ll deal with everything later. Right now, he was tired and the couch was comfortable. He stretched out and drifted off into the first peaceful sleep in ages.
T.B.C.