FIC: Reflections 11: Promises 3/3
Author: Trepkos
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Rating: NC17 overall
Standard disclaimer: no profit made, no copyright infringement intended.
Feedback: It’s what I live for
Previous parts:
Reflections 1: Down the Rabbit-hole 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 2: Through the Looking Glass 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 3: Sentence First! Verdict afterwards! 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 4: Where do we go from here? 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 5: On the Road to Los Angeles 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 6: The Players Assemble 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 7: Reunion 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 9: Caritas 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 10: Trials 1/6 2/6 3/6 4/6 5/6 6/6
Reflections 11: Promises 1/3 2/3
Reflections 11: Promises 3/3
Saturday 3rd February
Spike sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. He touched a tentative hand to his mouth, and glanced quickly at it.
Thank God.
Only then did he dare to cast his gaze to his right where Riley was - yes, just sleeping: not unconscious. He’d bitten Riley last night: bitten him on the neck - a place he’d always denied himself until now - and he could see the mark he’d left; but in the dream that had woken him it had been so much worse.
He touched Riley’s shoulder.
“Riley … wake up, pet.”
“What?”
Riley was a little groggy, and clearly less than overjoyed at being woken.
“Wha’ time is it?”
Spike looked at the clock on the TV.
“Oh; sorry love; it’s only half-eight.”
“That’s, like midnight for you,” Riley said, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you awake so early?”
“Bad dream,” Spike said shortly.
At once, he felt Riley’s hand on his cheek, and covered it with his own.
“And I want to give Wesley a call, to check on the girl. He’ll be up by now won’t he?”
“Sure, he’ll be on his third cup of tea by now. Go ahead - his number’s on my mobile.”
But Spike wanted Riley to do the talking.
“Wanna do it for me?”
“You can use my phone, Spike,” Riley said, a question in his voice. “You’re hip to the twenty-first century.”
“Yeah, but … what do I say? ‘How’s dinner?’; ‘How’s my victim doing?’ It’s embarrassing isn’t it; especially after the load of codswallop I came out with a few days ago - making out I had more self-control than a barrel-load of Vulcans. That all went pear-shaped pretty damn quick.”
“He’ll be fine with you,” Riley assured him: though he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his phone, all the same. “He’s pretty cool: one of the good guys.”
“Deserves better than the Ponce,” Spike grumbled.
Riley paused, his finger over the speed dial button, and looked up. “What d’you mean?”
“Oh. You didn’t know? Bloke’s got a crush a mile wide on Angel.”
Riley’s eyes widened a little. “He never mentioned …”
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he? He’s only known you five minutes; probably didn’t think it was ‘appropriate’. Gotta keep a stiff upper-lip.”
“So … are he and Angel -”
Spike shook his head.
“No: Angel’s still obsessin’ over the Slayer: and/or Darla: some little blonde anyway. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not the brightest button in the box when it comes to that stuff: probably hasn’t twigged even now. Right pair they’d make. Both so bloody repressed they’d take a year to reach first base, and spend the next ten in a joint angst-fest.”
Riley wrinkled his nose. “Poor Wes.”
“Give ‘im time, he’ll get over it: like I said, it’s just a crush. He needs to get out more, is all: probably spends too time with his nose stuck in some dusty old books, if I know my Watchers.”
“So: you don’t think this thing will go anywhere then?”
Riley frowned, clearly concerned for his new buddy.
“No; nor should it.” Spike said firmly. “Liam’s a ladies’ man at heart; always has been. He’ll take a man alright, but when he does, it’s mostly about showin’ you who’s boss: or sometimes just crushing you for sport.”
With mild astonishment, Spike noted the absence in his heart of the anger, resentment, or even embarrassment that such reminiscence usually brought. That was new. He shrugged. “Wesley doesn’t need that. I mean, look at him: he needs someone that’ll build him up not flatten him.”
“I guess.” Riley paused, thinking. “You like him, then?”
“Wesley? Yeah … not, like that, but yeah … he seems like a good sort. Why? You got that look that says there’s something up your sleeve.”
“Maybe: just an idea.” Riley started calling before Spike could interrogate him further. “Hi, Wes, it’s Riley.”
“Riley! Oh, good. I wondered where you’d got to.”
“’Wilshire Grand.’”
“Huh! Very swanky! Well, you can tell Spike to stop worrying, if that’s why you called. The girl’s okay; though I’m afraid they gave her an anti-rabies shot before I could think of a reason they shouldn’t.”
Spike winced. Not a wild dog.
“She had a transfusion, and she’s been referred for psychological counselling and diagnostic tests. She was babbling about death being the only way to live, so they thought they’d better keep her in for observation.”
“Oh, well, that’s … great news. I suppose. I guess she must need help.” Riley touched the bite-mark on his neck reflexively but didn’t appear perturbed.
“How is Spike faring?” Wesley said quietly. “Is he alright?”
“Ask him yourself.”
Spike made frantic refusal gestures but when Riley tossed the phone to him, he caught it with a resigned grunt.
“Wes. Thanks for … you know: takin’ care of things: that girl. And for lookin’ after my fella these last few days. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Wesley insisted. “He was a model house-guest; I hardly knew he was here.” He paused before continuing a little tentatively, “Angel told me what happened: why it happened. That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Did he now?”
That was a shocker.
“That was decent of him. Bit of a false start to my new life all the same.”
“I’m sure it must have been most distressing for you,” Wesley replied.
Once again, Spike was momentarily thrown; sympathy for the Devil: and from an ex-Watcher too.
“Yeah, well. What is it they say? ‘Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better’?”
“That’s the spirit.”
Wesley sounded like he was pepping Spike up, ready for the Big Push.
“Anyway, Spike, I do hope you and Riley are intending to stop by at the Hyperion later today. Angel was most … well, he’s anxious to see you.”
This could be fun.
“Is he now?” Spike said, trying not to sound too interested.
“Very much so,” Wesley replied fervently. “He doesn’t say it, but … please don’t go tearing off home without seeing him again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Wes.”
Spike heard Wesley sigh with relief.
“Don’t tell him that, mind! Let him sweat for a bit.”
Wes sighed again, this time in exasperation. “But you will -”
“Yeah, we’ll be along: after sunset, okay?”
“Bless you, Spike.”
Spike gave the phone a dubious look. “Yeah, well …”
“So -” Wesley said, getting back to his usual businesslike self, “- shall I pack up Riley’s things for him and bring them along there?”
Spike couldn’t see any reason he shouldn’t. “Yeah, that would be great. See you later then.”
“And we still have to have that talk you promised me.”
“See you Wes.”
~~
Wesley had been hanging around expectantly in the back office for most of the latter part of the afternoon, trying to look busy, but unable to concentrate. In so far as Angel’s moods could be judged at all, he, too, seemed distracted. Wesley prayed that Spike hadn’t changed his mind: decided he’d rather not see Angel after all. If he were to send Riley to collect their possessions instead, Wesley didn’t know quite what Angel would do.
But he need not have worried, because - as good as his word - Spike pushed through the Hyperion front doors half an hour after sundown, tugging Riley along behind him.
Wesley decided to stay semi-concealed in the office for the moment, to see how Spike and Angel would deal with one another without his interference. He saw Spike nudging Riley in the ribs and pointing to where Angel was sitting behind the front desk, making no sign that he’d heard them come in.
“Told you,” Spike said.
Angel looked up.
“Tosser!” Spike greeted him cheerfully.
“Oh: Spike; Riley; hi,” Angel said, trying rather too hard to sound casual.
He set his - apparently absorbing - paperwork aside.
“I didn’t know whether you’d show up. Thought you might have decided to just up and leave.”
“Couldn’t do that mate,” Spike said, batting his eyelids and smiling a smile of sweet reassurance.
“Oh.” Angel’s face lit up slightly. “Why’s that?”
“Left my coat here didn’t I?” Spike replied with every appearance of seriousness.
Angel sagged. “Oh; yeah; of course.”
Coming out of the back office, Wesley shook his head reproachfully at Spike.
Spike bit his lip. “I’ll just go get my stuff then, okay?”
“Yeah; sure; you do that.”
Angel bent his head to his papers again.
Wesley saw Spike wink at him, and tutted impatiently. They really were as bad as each other. He scribbled something on Angel’s ink blotter, and then tapped pointedly on it.
Angel squinted at what he’d written, and shifted in his chair. Looking embarrassed, he said, “Spike, you don’t have to rush off. Why don’t you and Riley stick around - stay here for a night or two? Do your old man a favour. It’s not like we don’t have room, and it’s free.”
Spike eyed him suspiciously. “So; what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing! I just …” He shrugged helplessly. “Oh, do what you want, Spike, I just thought it would be … I dunno -”
Angel picked up his pen and started writing on his blotter, not looking at Spike.
“- nice or something …”
Spike shot a smug grin at Riley.
“No more tricks?” he said, kicking the Reception desk with a show of petulance.
“No more tricks, I swear.”
Angel swallowed and looked up at Riley, then at Spike.
Spike ducked his head. “Guess it’s up to Riley then,” he said. “His folks are missing him something rotten.”
Spike kept his face carefully neutral, and Wesley suspected that if he’d tried for sincerity he’d have lost it completely.
“They miss you too, Spike,” Riley said seriously, looking Angel in the eye.
Wesley didn’t think he’d ever seen Angel look as vulnerable as he did right then, and he was mightily relieved when Riley - looking back fondly at Spike - said: “Alright. So long as it’s what Spike wants, it’s fine with me.”
Angel nodded briefly. “Great. That’s great.”
“We weren’t actually leaving town tonight anyway,” Riley admitted. “I have both cars in the auto shop getting detailed.”
Wesley suppressed a smile, while Angel just looked confused.
“It’s a bit of a dilemma, actually. We don’t really want to drive all the way back to Iowa separately, so I was wondering - Wesley, do you feel like taking a trip out to the farm sometime: spend a few days with us? I was thinking you could drive Spike’s car to our place, stay a few days and fly back. Your flight would be on us; and anything you spend on gas, of course.”
Wesley swallowed, suddenly almost overcome. He remembered so clearly the joy of being invited to stay with friends as a child, and the disappointment - no less crushing for being expected - when his parents, sent polite refusals on his behalf, as they invariably did. It was a cruel irony that since he’d been free to make his own decisions - in all his adult life - no one had ever asked him to be a guest in their home; until now.
Taking Wesley’s silence to mean that further persuasion was needed, Riley went on, “I would let you take the SUV but it’s packed with munitions I wouldn’t want you getting caught with, and Spike’s car’s too conspicuous to take them in that.”
“Of course; I’d be delighted,” Wesley said, finally managing to get a sentence together. “That would be wonderful, yes.” He cast a pleading glance at Angel. “That is, if you can spare me?”
“Sure Wes,” Angel said gruffly. “Any time you like; we’re not busy, and Gunn’s finished his business in South Central.”
“It doesn’t have to be straight away,” Riley added. “Just, whenever’s convenient.”
Out of the corner of his eye Wesley saw Spike nudging Riley.
With barely perceptible reluctance, Riley added, “Angel: you’re invited too.”
“I am?”
Angel’s brow creased as if he’d been given two shovels and told to take his pick.
Riley sighed. “Sure; but honestly? I can’t see you having much fun on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Precious little cover, and not much demonic evil to fight in Iowa.”
“Yeah, and believe me, I’ve looked,” Spike volunteered, with heartfelt disgust.
“You’re right of course,” Angel conceded, regretful but at the same time, somewhat relieved. “The city: LA. That’s where I’m needed. I should probably stay here.”
When Wesley saw the resignation in every line of Angel’s body, his heart clenched. He’d have given anything to lighten the burden. If only he were stronger: could find some steel in his backbone, like that other, darker version of himself he’d glimpsed in those strange visions. It must be in there somewhere. He rubbed his lower back reflexively.
“So: nap-time?” Spike’s voice broke into his reverie.
“You only just got up!” Riley protested.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t napping!” Spike said mischievously.
Angel and Wesley tried not to look at each other, and Riley gave Spike a reproachful dig in the ribs.
“What?” Spike said. “I was watchin’ the telly.”
Riley turned to the others.
“Sorry,” he said confidingly. “He gets like this when he’s over-tired.”
Then Wesley and Angel watched in mild astonishment as Riley Finn took William the Bloody firmly by the hand and led him - un-protesting - up to his room.
~~
Spike was pleased to find the place mercifully free of cheerleaders, dead or alive. Not only that, but it had been tidied up by some kind, or guilt-ridden person. A momentary panic quickly subsided when he saw his coat on a hanger on the back of the door.
Riley’s overnight bag sat near the dresser. Riley opened it and sniffed his clothes suspiciously, then reddened slightly.
“What’s up?”
“These are fresh out of the tumble dryer,” Riley said, grateful but embarrassed.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Spike raised an eyebrow. “That Wesley’ll make someone a lovely little wife one day.”
The remark earned him a playful swat on the behind.
“It’s not effeminate to be able to look after your own stuff,” Riley told him.
“Or your mate’s?” Spike said grinning. “I tell you, me and the ex-Watcher’ll be having words if he’s ironed your smalls.”
“Yeah: because that’s your prerogative.”
“As if,” Spike grunted.
“Well, I might insist on it, if you’re gonna wear this.”
Riley was digging something out of his pocket.
“What’s that then?”
Spike felt suddenly nervous. For a microsecond, the uncomfortable idea that it might be some kind of collar fleeted across his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. What then? It couldn’t be a ring. Maybe a chain or bracelet: something in the Goth metal idiom, perhaps, with a skull motif, or runes, or a dragon.
Riley held out a jewellers’ envelope, and Spike took it, slightly embarrassed. Still: at least it wasn’t a padded presentation box.
“I wondered what secret mission you were on: didn’t think it could have taken all afternoon to get the cars sorted.”
He opened the envelope with clumsy fingers, and tipped it over his palm.
“Oh.”
Breathing hard, Spike looked at what he held in his hand. He turned the ring - a design of leaves twined around each other, in gold and silver metals - between his thumb and forefinger, examining it intently as he collected himself.
At last he said, “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
Riley huffed out a breath. “It’s not magic,” he said, apologetic.
“Yeah,” Spike assured him, looking up at last, blinking. “Yeah, it is.”
“I just wanted to … I mean, after you got me that ring, I wanted to get you one straight off, but then, I didn’t want you to think it was just a reflex. That I didn’t really mean …”
Spike just looked at Riley, with his head on one side, his lips slightly parted.
Riley swallowed. “But ever since then I’ve been worried you might have thought I didn’t feel …”
He paused, waiting for some sign - reassurance - but for once, Spike couldn’t think of anything to say.
“If you don’t want to wear it, that’s … I mean … I know silver’s more your thing, and this is gold: that bit that looks like silver - it’s not, it’s white gold -”
At last Spike took pity on him and stemmed the flow of words with a finger to Riley’s lips.
“Shhh!” he said. “You’re thinking again. It’ll rot your brain you know.” He kissed Riley softly and dropped the ring into his palm. “Well; you gonna do the honours: make an honest vamp of me?”
Riley smiled that frank, open smile of his: the one that made Spike’s heart hurt.
“Sure,” Riley said, fumbling with the ring.
“This is it then,” Spike said, a little breathlessly.
“This is it,” Riley confirmed, looking steadily at him.
“I might have to do something sappy now,” Spike warned him quietly.
“Please, go ahead,” Riley said as he finally managed to put the ring on Spike’s finger. “I’ll surely feel better if you do.”
Keeping tight hold of Riley’s hands, Spike looked down at them as he began, “I know I’m not much of a catch, and a bloke like you could have done a lot better for himself -”
Riley opened his mouth to protest but Spike held a hand up to stop him, and continued, haltingly at first, but gaining confidence as he went.
“- but I take you, Riley Finn: if you’ll have me: my friend, partner, lover, whatever you want to call it: gonna keep you safe, defend you against all-comers, no matter what happens, demons, apocalypses, parallel universes, I don’t care what, I’m sticking with you. Richer, poorer: all that crap.”
He swallowed and raised his head to look Riley in the eye.
“You get the lot, for what it’s worth: my hand; my arse; my cock - you own every part of me - but most of all: my heart; my love.”
The look on Riley’s face - so proud and … happy - it almost made Spike look behind him to see whether it was meant for someone else.
“You’re wrong about one thing,” Riley said. “About, doing better for myself. I can’t see how. Can’t do better than to have the person you love, loving you right back.”
“S’pose not,” Spike said.
Still holding onto Spike’s hand, Riley said, “My turn?”
Spike inclined his head in assent, then Riley spoke as though primed for the moment.
“Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your friends will be my friends, and your loves will be my loves. Death shall never part you from me.”
Spike blinked and swallowed.
“You been rehearsing?”
Riley shrugged, admitting guilt.
Spike frowned, cocked his head, glanced at the door, and began stalking towards it while extending the impromptu ceremony with the volume turned up a notch.
“In the presence of Angel - who’s probably eaves-dropping from his desk - and Harmony and Genevieve, listening outside the door -”
This last was growled, as he flung open the aforementioned door, revealing the startled pair.
“Oops!” Genevieve jumped backwards, clapping a hand to her mouth.
“Sorry!” Harmony squeaked. “But, you guys! You’re so …!”
With a low threatening rumble rising in his throat, Spike let his game-face come slowly to the fore, and the girls backed away down the hallway, giggling nervously behind their hands, then turned and made off, squealing.
~~
TBC
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Rating: NC17 overall
Standard disclaimer: no profit made, no copyright infringement intended.
Feedback: It’s what I live for
Previous parts:
Reflections 1: Down the Rabbit-hole 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 2: Through the Looking Glass 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 3: Sentence First! Verdict afterwards! 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 4: Where do we go from here? 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 5: On the Road to Los Angeles 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 6: The Players Assemble 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 7: Reunion 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 9: Caritas 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 10: Trials 1/6 2/6 3/6 4/6 5/6 6/6
Reflections 11: Promises 1/3 2/3
Reflections 11: Promises 3/3
Saturday 3rd February
Spike sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. He touched a tentative hand to his mouth, and glanced quickly at it.
Thank God.
Only then did he dare to cast his gaze to his right where Riley was - yes, just sleeping: not unconscious. He’d bitten Riley last night: bitten him on the neck - a place he’d always denied himself until now - and he could see the mark he’d left; but in the dream that had woken him it had been so much worse.
He touched Riley’s shoulder.
“Riley … wake up, pet.”
“What?”
Riley was a little groggy, and clearly less than overjoyed at being woken.
“Wha’ time is it?”
Spike looked at the clock on the TV.
“Oh; sorry love; it’s only half-eight.”
“That’s, like midnight for you,” Riley said, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you awake so early?”
“Bad dream,” Spike said shortly.
At once, he felt Riley’s hand on his cheek, and covered it with his own.
“And I want to give Wesley a call, to check on the girl. He’ll be up by now won’t he?”
“Sure, he’ll be on his third cup of tea by now. Go ahead - his number’s on my mobile.”
But Spike wanted Riley to do the talking.
“Wanna do it for me?”
“You can use my phone, Spike,” Riley said, a question in his voice. “You’re hip to the twenty-first century.”
“Yeah, but … what do I say? ‘How’s dinner?’; ‘How’s my victim doing?’ It’s embarrassing isn’t it; especially after the load of codswallop I came out with a few days ago - making out I had more self-control than a barrel-load of Vulcans. That all went pear-shaped pretty damn quick.”
“He’ll be fine with you,” Riley assured him: though he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his phone, all the same. “He’s pretty cool: one of the good guys.”
“Deserves better than the Ponce,” Spike grumbled.
Riley paused, his finger over the speed dial button, and looked up. “What d’you mean?”
“Oh. You didn’t know? Bloke’s got a crush a mile wide on Angel.”
Riley’s eyes widened a little. “He never mentioned …”
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he? He’s only known you five minutes; probably didn’t think it was ‘appropriate’. Gotta keep a stiff upper-lip.”
“So … are he and Angel -”
Spike shook his head.
“No: Angel’s still obsessin’ over the Slayer: and/or Darla: some little blonde anyway. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not the brightest button in the box when it comes to that stuff: probably hasn’t twigged even now. Right pair they’d make. Both so bloody repressed they’d take a year to reach first base, and spend the next ten in a joint angst-fest.”
Riley wrinkled his nose. “Poor Wes.”
“Give ‘im time, he’ll get over it: like I said, it’s just a crush. He needs to get out more, is all: probably spends too time with his nose stuck in some dusty old books, if I know my Watchers.”
“So: you don’t think this thing will go anywhere then?”
Riley frowned, clearly concerned for his new buddy.
“No; nor should it.” Spike said firmly. “Liam’s a ladies’ man at heart; always has been. He’ll take a man alright, but when he does, it’s mostly about showin’ you who’s boss: or sometimes just crushing you for sport.”
With mild astonishment, Spike noted the absence in his heart of the anger, resentment, or even embarrassment that such reminiscence usually brought. That was new. He shrugged. “Wesley doesn’t need that. I mean, look at him: he needs someone that’ll build him up not flatten him.”
“I guess.” Riley paused, thinking. “You like him, then?”
“Wesley? Yeah … not, like that, but yeah … he seems like a good sort. Why? You got that look that says there’s something up your sleeve.”
“Maybe: just an idea.” Riley started calling before Spike could interrogate him further. “Hi, Wes, it’s Riley.”
“Riley! Oh, good. I wondered where you’d got to.”
“’Wilshire Grand.’”
“Huh! Very swanky! Well, you can tell Spike to stop worrying, if that’s why you called. The girl’s okay; though I’m afraid they gave her an anti-rabies shot before I could think of a reason they shouldn’t.”
Spike winced. Not a wild dog.
“She had a transfusion, and she’s been referred for psychological counselling and diagnostic tests. She was babbling about death being the only way to live, so they thought they’d better keep her in for observation.”
“Oh, well, that’s … great news. I suppose. I guess she must need help.” Riley touched the bite-mark on his neck reflexively but didn’t appear perturbed.
“How is Spike faring?” Wesley said quietly. “Is he alright?”
“Ask him yourself.”
Spike made frantic refusal gestures but when Riley tossed the phone to him, he caught it with a resigned grunt.
“Wes. Thanks for … you know: takin’ care of things: that girl. And for lookin’ after my fella these last few days. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Wesley insisted. “He was a model house-guest; I hardly knew he was here.” He paused before continuing a little tentatively, “Angel told me what happened: why it happened. That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Did he now?”
That was a shocker.
“That was decent of him. Bit of a false start to my new life all the same.”
“I’m sure it must have been most distressing for you,” Wesley replied.
Once again, Spike was momentarily thrown; sympathy for the Devil: and from an ex-Watcher too.
“Yeah, well. What is it they say? ‘Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better’?”
“That’s the spirit.”
Wesley sounded like he was pepping Spike up, ready for the Big Push.
“Anyway, Spike, I do hope you and Riley are intending to stop by at the Hyperion later today. Angel was most … well, he’s anxious to see you.”
This could be fun.
“Is he now?” Spike said, trying not to sound too interested.
“Very much so,” Wesley replied fervently. “He doesn’t say it, but … please don’t go tearing off home without seeing him again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Wes.”
Spike heard Wesley sigh with relief.
“Don’t tell him that, mind! Let him sweat for a bit.”
Wes sighed again, this time in exasperation. “But you will -”
“Yeah, we’ll be along: after sunset, okay?”
“Bless you, Spike.”
Spike gave the phone a dubious look. “Yeah, well …”
“So -” Wesley said, getting back to his usual businesslike self, “- shall I pack up Riley’s things for him and bring them along there?”
Spike couldn’t see any reason he shouldn’t. “Yeah, that would be great. See you later then.”
“And we still have to have that talk you promised me.”
“See you Wes.”
~~
Wesley had been hanging around expectantly in the back office for most of the latter part of the afternoon, trying to look busy, but unable to concentrate. In so far as Angel’s moods could be judged at all, he, too, seemed distracted. Wesley prayed that Spike hadn’t changed his mind: decided he’d rather not see Angel after all. If he were to send Riley to collect their possessions instead, Wesley didn’t know quite what Angel would do.
But he need not have worried, because - as good as his word - Spike pushed through the Hyperion front doors half an hour after sundown, tugging Riley along behind him.
Wesley decided to stay semi-concealed in the office for the moment, to see how Spike and Angel would deal with one another without his interference. He saw Spike nudging Riley in the ribs and pointing to where Angel was sitting behind the front desk, making no sign that he’d heard them come in.
“Told you,” Spike said.
Angel looked up.
“Tosser!” Spike greeted him cheerfully.
“Oh: Spike; Riley; hi,” Angel said, trying rather too hard to sound casual.
He set his - apparently absorbing - paperwork aside.
“I didn’t know whether you’d show up. Thought you might have decided to just up and leave.”
“Couldn’t do that mate,” Spike said, batting his eyelids and smiling a smile of sweet reassurance.
“Oh.” Angel’s face lit up slightly. “Why’s that?”
“Left my coat here didn’t I?” Spike replied with every appearance of seriousness.
Angel sagged. “Oh; yeah; of course.”
Coming out of the back office, Wesley shook his head reproachfully at Spike.
Spike bit his lip. “I’ll just go get my stuff then, okay?”
“Yeah; sure; you do that.”
Angel bent his head to his papers again.
Wesley saw Spike wink at him, and tutted impatiently. They really were as bad as each other. He scribbled something on Angel’s ink blotter, and then tapped pointedly on it.
Angel squinted at what he’d written, and shifted in his chair. Looking embarrassed, he said, “Spike, you don’t have to rush off. Why don’t you and Riley stick around - stay here for a night or two? Do your old man a favour. It’s not like we don’t have room, and it’s free.”
Spike eyed him suspiciously. “So; what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing! I just …” He shrugged helplessly. “Oh, do what you want, Spike, I just thought it would be … I dunno -”
Angel picked up his pen and started writing on his blotter, not looking at Spike.
“- nice or something …”
Spike shot a smug grin at Riley.
“No more tricks?” he said, kicking the Reception desk with a show of petulance.
“No more tricks, I swear.”
Angel swallowed and looked up at Riley, then at Spike.
Spike ducked his head. “Guess it’s up to Riley then,” he said. “His folks are missing him something rotten.”
Spike kept his face carefully neutral, and Wesley suspected that if he’d tried for sincerity he’d have lost it completely.
“They miss you too, Spike,” Riley said seriously, looking Angel in the eye.
Wesley didn’t think he’d ever seen Angel look as vulnerable as he did right then, and he was mightily relieved when Riley - looking back fondly at Spike - said: “Alright. So long as it’s what Spike wants, it’s fine with me.”
Angel nodded briefly. “Great. That’s great.”
“We weren’t actually leaving town tonight anyway,” Riley admitted. “I have both cars in the auto shop getting detailed.”
Wesley suppressed a smile, while Angel just looked confused.
“It’s a bit of a dilemma, actually. We don’t really want to drive all the way back to Iowa separately, so I was wondering - Wesley, do you feel like taking a trip out to the farm sometime: spend a few days with us? I was thinking you could drive Spike’s car to our place, stay a few days and fly back. Your flight would be on us; and anything you spend on gas, of course.”
Wesley swallowed, suddenly almost overcome. He remembered so clearly the joy of being invited to stay with friends as a child, and the disappointment - no less crushing for being expected - when his parents, sent polite refusals on his behalf, as they invariably did. It was a cruel irony that since he’d been free to make his own decisions - in all his adult life - no one had ever asked him to be a guest in their home; until now.
Taking Wesley’s silence to mean that further persuasion was needed, Riley went on, “I would let you take the SUV but it’s packed with munitions I wouldn’t want you getting caught with, and Spike’s car’s too conspicuous to take them in that.”
“Of course; I’d be delighted,” Wesley said, finally managing to get a sentence together. “That would be wonderful, yes.” He cast a pleading glance at Angel. “That is, if you can spare me?”
“Sure Wes,” Angel said gruffly. “Any time you like; we’re not busy, and Gunn’s finished his business in South Central.”
“It doesn’t have to be straight away,” Riley added. “Just, whenever’s convenient.”
Out of the corner of his eye Wesley saw Spike nudging Riley.
With barely perceptible reluctance, Riley added, “Angel: you’re invited too.”
“I am?”
Angel’s brow creased as if he’d been given two shovels and told to take his pick.
Riley sighed. “Sure; but honestly? I can’t see you having much fun on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Precious little cover, and not much demonic evil to fight in Iowa.”
“Yeah, and believe me, I’ve looked,” Spike volunteered, with heartfelt disgust.
“You’re right of course,” Angel conceded, regretful but at the same time, somewhat relieved. “The city: LA. That’s where I’m needed. I should probably stay here.”
When Wesley saw the resignation in every line of Angel’s body, his heart clenched. He’d have given anything to lighten the burden. If only he were stronger: could find some steel in his backbone, like that other, darker version of himself he’d glimpsed in those strange visions. It must be in there somewhere. He rubbed his lower back reflexively.
“So: nap-time?” Spike’s voice broke into his reverie.
“You only just got up!” Riley protested.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t napping!” Spike said mischievously.
Angel and Wesley tried not to look at each other, and Riley gave Spike a reproachful dig in the ribs.
“What?” Spike said. “I was watchin’ the telly.”
Riley turned to the others.
“Sorry,” he said confidingly. “He gets like this when he’s over-tired.”
Then Wesley and Angel watched in mild astonishment as Riley Finn took William the Bloody firmly by the hand and led him - un-protesting - up to his room.
~~
Spike was pleased to find the place mercifully free of cheerleaders, dead or alive. Not only that, but it had been tidied up by some kind, or guilt-ridden person. A momentary panic quickly subsided when he saw his coat on a hanger on the back of the door.
Riley’s overnight bag sat near the dresser. Riley opened it and sniffed his clothes suspiciously, then reddened slightly.
“What’s up?”
“These are fresh out of the tumble dryer,” Riley said, grateful but embarrassed.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Spike raised an eyebrow. “That Wesley’ll make someone a lovely little wife one day.”
The remark earned him a playful swat on the behind.
“It’s not effeminate to be able to look after your own stuff,” Riley told him.
“Or your mate’s?” Spike said grinning. “I tell you, me and the ex-Watcher’ll be having words if he’s ironed your smalls.”
“Yeah: because that’s your prerogative.”
“As if,” Spike grunted.
“Well, I might insist on it, if you’re gonna wear this.”
Riley was digging something out of his pocket.
“What’s that then?”
Spike felt suddenly nervous. For a microsecond, the uncomfortable idea that it might be some kind of collar fleeted across his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. What then? It couldn’t be a ring. Maybe a chain or bracelet: something in the Goth metal idiom, perhaps, with a skull motif, or runes, or a dragon.
Riley held out a jewellers’ envelope, and Spike took it, slightly embarrassed. Still: at least it wasn’t a padded presentation box.
“I wondered what secret mission you were on: didn’t think it could have taken all afternoon to get the cars sorted.”
He opened the envelope with clumsy fingers, and tipped it over his palm.
“Oh.”
Breathing hard, Spike looked at what he held in his hand. He turned the ring - a design of leaves twined around each other, in gold and silver metals - between his thumb and forefinger, examining it intently as he collected himself.
At last he said, “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
Riley huffed out a breath. “It’s not magic,” he said, apologetic.
“Yeah,” Spike assured him, looking up at last, blinking. “Yeah, it is.”
“I just wanted to … I mean, after you got me that ring, I wanted to get you one straight off, but then, I didn’t want you to think it was just a reflex. That I didn’t really mean …”
Spike just looked at Riley, with his head on one side, his lips slightly parted.
Riley swallowed. “But ever since then I’ve been worried you might have thought I didn’t feel …”
He paused, waiting for some sign - reassurance - but for once, Spike couldn’t think of anything to say.
“If you don’t want to wear it, that’s … I mean … I know silver’s more your thing, and this is gold: that bit that looks like silver - it’s not, it’s white gold -”
At last Spike took pity on him and stemmed the flow of words with a finger to Riley’s lips.
“Shhh!” he said. “You’re thinking again. It’ll rot your brain you know.” He kissed Riley softly and dropped the ring into his palm. “Well; you gonna do the honours: make an honest vamp of me?”
Riley smiled that frank, open smile of his: the one that made Spike’s heart hurt.
“Sure,” Riley said, fumbling with the ring.
“This is it then,” Spike said, a little breathlessly.
“This is it,” Riley confirmed, looking steadily at him.
“I might have to do something sappy now,” Spike warned him quietly.
“Please, go ahead,” Riley said as he finally managed to put the ring on Spike’s finger. “I’ll surely feel better if you do.”
Keeping tight hold of Riley’s hands, Spike looked down at them as he began, “I know I’m not much of a catch, and a bloke like you could have done a lot better for himself -”
Riley opened his mouth to protest but Spike held a hand up to stop him, and continued, haltingly at first, but gaining confidence as he went.
“- but I take you, Riley Finn: if you’ll have me: my friend, partner, lover, whatever you want to call it: gonna keep you safe, defend you against all-comers, no matter what happens, demons, apocalypses, parallel universes, I don’t care what, I’m sticking with you. Richer, poorer: all that crap.”
He swallowed and raised his head to look Riley in the eye.
“You get the lot, for what it’s worth: my hand; my arse; my cock - you own every part of me - but most of all: my heart; my love.”
The look on Riley’s face - so proud and … happy - it almost made Spike look behind him to see whether it was meant for someone else.
“You’re wrong about one thing,” Riley said. “About, doing better for myself. I can’t see how. Can’t do better than to have the person you love, loving you right back.”
“S’pose not,” Spike said.
Still holding onto Spike’s hand, Riley said, “My turn?”
Spike inclined his head in assent, then Riley spoke as though primed for the moment.
“Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your friends will be my friends, and your loves will be my loves. Death shall never part you from me.”
Spike blinked and swallowed.
“You been rehearsing?”
Riley shrugged, admitting guilt.
Spike frowned, cocked his head, glanced at the door, and began stalking towards it while extending the impromptu ceremony with the volume turned up a notch.
“In the presence of Angel - who’s probably eaves-dropping from his desk - and Harmony and Genevieve, listening outside the door -”
This last was growled, as he flung open the aforementioned door, revealing the startled pair.
“Oops!” Genevieve jumped backwards, clapping a hand to her mouth.
“Sorry!” Harmony squeaked. “But, you guys! You’re so …!”
With a low threatening rumble rising in his throat, Spike let his game-face come slowly to the fore, and the girls backed away down the hallway, giggling nervously behind their hands, then turned and made off, squealing.
~~
TBC