To Spike's annoyance, Angelus went on like a yappy talk show host instead
   of just getting the dirty deed done. "You're soft, Spike. You've lost your
   edge and everyone sees it except you. Dru knew. Why else do you think she
   dropped you for me faster than a piece of rottin' trash?"

   Ouch. That hurt but not nearly as much as the self-recrimination Spike was
   subjecting himself to. He'd been a damn idiot, falling for Angelus' act,
   allowing misplaced hopes, and a few quick gropes to seduce him. Spike
   understood now why Willow had regarded Angelus with such terror...and that
   she'd been trying to protect him. There had been no betrayal but the one
   Spike imagined.

   To top it off, Angelus just wouldn't shut his trap. "You make me sick,"
   the other vampire continued. "You're an embarrassment to my line. The
   William I sired would have taken his own life before he let himself become
   the whimpering, sniveling ass wipe that you've turned into. But you haven't
   done it so I'm going to do it for you." He hefted the stake.

   Spike's expression never changed. His emotions were caught in a freeze
   frame and nothing was breaking them free. This wasn't real. It couldn't
   be. His gut twisted on a spaghetti fork at the hateful denunciation. He'd
   striven for years...decades...to win the slightest display of pride or
   approval from Angelus. The closest he'd ever come had been the night he'd
   killed his first Slayer. And that had been Angel NOT Angelus, offering up a
   slight smile and sincere congratulations.

   Angelus had given him decades of crap, always withholding affection and
   approval. His sire had give Spike NOTHING and now...THIS. Spike refused to
   believe that it could end like this. They'd been through too much together,
   passion and obsession, love and hatred, for Angelus to kill him in cold
   blood.

   An abrupt question ripped Spike from his reverie, catching his attention.
   "You came here expecting to go another round with Angel, didn't you?"
   Angelus demanded.

   "What?" Spike gasped, swallowing more blood in order to croak the word out.
   Angel == Angelus. What the hell was the difference beyond an iota of
   sanity and a pair of leather pants?! It was only just starting to dawn on
   him that differences existed and were significant.

   "My prissy soul," Angelus continued. It was weird to listen to the wanker
   talk about himself in the third person. "You and he trade a few punches and
   insults, sneak a few gropes between blows, and it ends with both of you
   bruised but not much worse for wear. Neither of you dies, cause that ends
   the affair."

   Spike blinked, shocked out of his freeze frame completely. "What the hell
   are you talkin' about, you bloody pillock?" the blonde demanded. What
   affair?! Angelus had lost his ever-freakin' marbles!

   "I'm talkin' about you and your damnable infatuation with my prissy soul!"
   Even more of Angelus' thinly spread sanity slipped away as he raged.
   "Pisses me off to no end. I've spent the last two years forced to watch the
   two of you flirt and frolic like bosom bottom buddies."

   The words struck a deeper chord in Spike, one of truth. He performed a
   mental double take. Well, yeah. In a way, he had come here expecting to
   just go another few rounds with Angel, another battle in their unending war.
   And if Angelus wanted to nitpick, then Spike had come to LA looking for
   Soulboy and not Psychoboy.

   "What? You thought it was me, Will, your beloved sire? Hate to break this
   to you, but you would have been a pile of dust on the ground ages ago if it
   weren't for Angel."

   Fuck, didn't the motherfucker's batteries ever rundown? "You're crazy,"
   Spike muttered, glancing once again at the stake poised over his heart.
   Understanding dawned. This was it. The end. It would end here in a dark
   alley just like it had started. Full circle.

   "Maybe a tad," Angelus conceded. He flipped the stake with a causal toss
   and caught it, taunting. "You came here today expecting to play with Angel.
   But you didn't count on me."

   Dread and searing pain flooded Spike, well beyond anything physical. A few
   short hours before Spike had held a stake to his own heart and contemplated
   suicide but... Not like this. Tears glittered in his eyes. 'Please
   sire...' If he begged, would it make a difference?

   But no, Spike could see that Angelus was set on this course. The stake
   rose for the final blow. "Oh, and one last thing..." Angelus added and
   Spike shuddered. Shut the fuck up and get it over with already!

   "I know with certainty that Willow-witch-bitch didn't shag you," Angelus
   finished. The sound of Willow's name on Angelus' lips tore out his
   whimpering heart. Why? Why couldn't just one lover belong only to Spike?
   Why did he have to share every last one with his sire?

   "Been shaggin' her box and arse," Spike lisped weakly. In his dreams...
   Blood fluid trickled from the corner of his mouth. He eyes flinched and it
   hurt. What did Angelus know that Spike didn't? How long had Spike agonized
   over his sire's mysterious hold over Willow? Was this to be the final
   degradation? Being told but unable to do anything about it? Frustration
   and helplessness left him feeling impotent.

   Angelus cleared his throat and spat full in his face. The gob hit him in
   the eye and slid down his cheek, leaving a wet, slimy trail. Humiliated,
   Spike gagged and turned his face aside. Angelus wasn't content with his
   death. He wanted Spike broken down to his spirit, completely emasculated...
   And the real kicker was that he was succeeding...

   "Willow didn't fuck you because she wouldn't... couldn't... without my
   permission. I have too much on her," Angelus sneered. With a final twist
   of the knife, he hissed, "She may have been passing time with you but she'd
   never have shagged you. Not *ever* without my permission. I give all your
   women a good seein' to cause I have the knackers."

   Fury seized Spike but it was empty. The last remnants of his heart were
   shattered. "I hate you," he hissed but the blonde didn't even have that in
   him anymore. He was hollow. Willow had never been Spike's... Not in any
   way that was real.

   Angelus smirked, evil, nasty, a face full of teeth. "You know, I still owe
   you one for that stunt with the crowbar. So I guess your lily white arse is
   about to meet the great wooden shaft. See you in hell, boy-o."

   He swung the stake, plunging it toward Spike's heart. The blonde squeezed
   his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to know the precise moment it was over. A
   tear trickled from under his closed eyelids.

   The blow never came.

   Well, fuck.

   Gurgling sounds and the clatter of wood to the ground brought Spike's
   startled eyes open. Angelus had doubled over on top on him, clutching his
   chest. "I have a soul," he gasped, "I will not take an innocent life." The
   voice had a decidedly feminine pitch.

   Spike felt his undead heart jumpstart. The Poufter! "Spike is about as
   innocent as the devil himself," Angelus croaked, in a full, throaty male
   voice. Mentally, Spike dubbed him "Demon Guy". "Let me kill him," Demon
   Guy pleaded with The Poufer. "He's a pain in the ass for everyone."

   "I like him," The Poufer's girly voice exclaimed. "He's cute, almost
   adorable, in a Spike'o'licious kind of way." Spike felt his eyes bulge.
   Oh????????????? "Spike'o'licious" now, was it? In spite of everything, a
   tiny grin touched his lips.

   "Spike'o'licious?" Angelus grumbled, "Fuck. Chew him up and blow him, why
   don't you?"

   "That's your job!" the soul replied with sassy impertinence. "I'm not the
   Great POOF!" A bark of laughter escaped Spike, causing his broken ribs to
   expand and contract like a xylophone.

   "Bloody hell!" Spike hissed, clutching his side, fighting gales of
   laughter. "Ow ow ow!" He had never heard anything as funny as Angelus
   arguing with himself. He hoped--no *needed*---the dynamic duo shut up.
   Soon. The dual demon/soul comedy team was just killing him!

   Growling, Angelus changed to game face and doubled over to the pavement, no
   longer crouching over Spike. The blonde watched with mixed bafflement and
   barely contained hilarity as his sire's demon battled with his sire's soul
   for dominance. Game face on, game face off. On and off, on and off... The
   facial morphing served as a physical manifestation of the internal struggle
   occurring.

   It would have been fucking hilarious if Spike had been able to move. As it
   was, he choked back laughter and wondered why it was that every single
   member of his close family seemed to have gone nuts. "Yer a bloody loon!"
   Spike exclaimed, in case Angelus had any doubts.

   Apparently, he didn't. "No shit!" the dark haired vampire bellowed. "Tell
   me something I don't know!" Abruptly, Angelus' entire body convulsed.

   His eyes turned gold. Not tawny game-faced demonic gold but soul gold.
   They were the color of polished coins. Beautiful. Spike felt his lips part
   but the moment passed so fast he would later question what he'd seen.
   Angelus' eyes returned to their deep chocolate color and he fell silent and
   still. Spike watched warily, waiting.

   "Spike, are you OK?" Angel...us? asked.

   "Fine and dandy," Spike snapped. For a bloke who'd just gotten the crap
   beat out of him! The blonde jerked and scooted away as one of his sire's
   hands extended toward him. "Don't touch me!" he snarled, dragging himself
   along the sidewalk with his arms rather than endure Angel's touch.

   "I'm sorry," Angel apologized. (Yes, definitely Soulboy this time.) He
   followed Spike wearing an expression of sincere contrition that turned
   Spike's gut. "He just slipped out!" Angel babbled. "It was an accident!
   You caught me off-guard and I've been having trouble keeping him under
   control!" He reached for Spike again.

   "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Spike roared, torn between terror and revulsion. He
   didn't care that he was bleeding all over the pavement and that his lower
   legs were almost useless. He could not stand to have Angel touch him.

   Stricken, Angel froze, a long, guilty expression marring his homely
   countenance. "I really am sorry," Angel finished weakly.

   "I can see that," Spike replied dourly. "Bloody sorry and sad. You're so
   wretchedly pathetic that I'd ask the Slayer to off you if I thought she'd
   comply." Miserable excuse for a vampire that he was... The sick bastard
   had developed a worst case of schizophrenia than Drusilla. Even at her
   worst, Dru had never held complete conversations with herself!

   Spike dragged himself to the wall, still using his arms. He kept going on
   sheer willpower. The blonde knew his spine was damaged and only the searing
   pain burning like wildfire through his entire back and legs gave him any
   hope of avoiding going back into a wheelchair.

   "Are you going to be OK?" Angel asked.

   "Oh, fine!!!!" Spike's reply was rife with sarcasm.

   "I can't just leave you here," Angel explained. The Great Pouf waved his
   hands about uselessly. "Especially, considering...morning, sunlight, POOF!"
   He mocked an explosion.

   Spike gritted his teeth. "I'll be fine. Go away."

   "But the sun will come up and..."

   "Angel, if you come near me right now, I'll retch on both of us." It was
   the complete and total truth. Panting, Spike settled against the cinder
   block wall to rest. Oi, but unlife sucked right then.

   "Oh." Angel stood, shoved his hands into the pockets of his billowy black
   coat, and gazed down at Spike with pathetic puppy dog eyes. Spike's desire
   to barf increased. "Spike, why did you come to LA?" Angel finally asked.
   "Was it about Willow..." Long pause. "Or me?"

   Spike glared up at his sire with iced blue eyes. This time, he wasn't
   going to lose track of what was important. "Willow is mine," he snarled.
   "My property. Hands off. Maybe you and her were spankin' friends before
   but those days are done. Read my lips, KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF'A HER OR I'LL
   RIP YOUR BLOODY HEART OUT."

   "Don't threaten me, you candy-ass," Angel sassed. "You're the one lying on
   the ground." He stuck his hands on his hips and jutted out his chest like a
   big sissy girl.

   Motherfuckingbastard!!! "Bite me!" Spike shouted.

   "Gladly! Pull down your pants!" Comically, Angel changed to game face.
   Spike once again found himself at a loss. Too much crazy shit had happened
   in too short a time. He didn't know what to say--or better--what he should
   avoid saying to avoid another bout with Angelus.

   Spike wasn't a coward but he wasn't stupid either. It was the soul glaring
   at him now out of those deep brown eyes but it could as easily be the demon
   again. He'd had more than enough for one night. The blonde looked away
   first, fussing with his clothes in a weak attempt to save face. Fuck oh
   Fuck, his back HURT!

   "You tell *Willow* that I'm going to turn her over my knee and beat her
   bare ass raw the next time she decides to share about my purported spanking
   fetishes," Angel informed him. He clenched his fists. "In fact, I'm going
   to do it anyway for this time."

   Spike shot to his feet. To his amazement, his back and legs held. ""You
   stay away from her or I'll kill you," he snarled. "She's mine an' you'll
   keep clear if you know what's good for you!" He was a kitten hissing in the
   face of a Doberman, but Willow was all he had left worth fighting for.
   Dignity and pride were shattered.

   In disgust, Angel threw up his hands. "I'm not talking to you anymore,"
   the gesture clearly said. The dark haired vampire swiveled on his heel and
   turned to march off, disappearing into the shadows of the City of Angels.

   "Crazy bastard!" Spike shouted after his departing sire. Then he set about
   the long, slow, and painful task of dragging his wretched hide back to the
   Thunderbird.

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