It took all of Spike's remaining strength to drag himself from the alley
  and back to the Thunderbird. The blonde ached from head to toe as he
  fumbled with the keys and opened the door. He wavered on his feet, staying
  upright through guts and determination.

  Angelus had broken at least one vertebrate and maybe three. Spike knew
  that he had passed within a hair's length breadth of final death, and he
  would be lucky if he managed to stay out of a wheelchair.

  The encounter with his sire had shocked him to the core, and Spike remained
  locked securely in a coma of shock as he climbed behind the wheel of the
  car. Trance-like, he made the drive back to Sunnydale and parked in the
  garage of the Crawford Street mansion. He was a zombie as he staggered back
  into the house where Willow waited near the fireplace.

  The witch's head jerked around at his sudden entrance and she dropped the
  iron poker she'd been angering the dying embers with. "Spike! Where the
  fuck have you been?" she demanded, crossing the room to him in quick
  strides.

  "LA," he answered, still numb inside, willing to oblige any questions she
  put to him with answers. He turned blue eyes full of pain on the woman who
  had upended his world.

  Willow's green eyes widened and she hissed. "LA?" She seized his arms,
  shaking, and Spike whimpered as a bolt of pure pain shot through his spine.
  "Spike," Willow's voice rose to a shriek of panic, "What the hell have you
  done?!"

  "Angel," he began and Willow cut him off. With strength born of
  adrenaline, she slammed Spike into the wall. The back of his skull collided
  with the plaster and the jolt jarred his poor spine so hard that the
  blonde's head swam.

  "What about Angel?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a low, deadly tone.
  The panic was still there but channeled into violence. "Spike, so help me
  if you've hurt her..."

  Spike stared at Willow blankly. His pain-fogged mind kept insisting that
  her face should morph at any moment into a demon's, finally revealing the
  true nature he suspected. There was too much rage in her eyes for control.
  The vampire was unaware of the tears trickling down his cheeks. It hurt it
  hurt it hurt... So much blinding pain...

  She saw and stopped. "Spike?" The command was more even this time and she
  reached him. Spike lifted his eyes to her face, unable to focus. He gasped
  and clutched at her arms as she lowered him to the floor. "Who did this to
  you?" she asked, sickness and anger coloring her tone.

  "Angel," he managed. "Angel I--" A sharply indrawn breath cut off his
  confession as his back protested being settled on the ground. Scurrying,
  Willow dragged a blanket and throw pillow off the couch. She propped the
  pillow under his head and draped the blanket over his shivering form.

  "Shh, shush." Willow shut him up and scrambled to her feet. "Wait here,
  don't move. I'll be back in a second." Before he could answer, she was
  gone.

  "Right," Spike mumbled. "Like I was just gonna go for a stroll in the old
  park. No worries." He waved a dismissive hand to an empty room. "The Big
  Bad is just fi-I-I OOOOOWWWWW FUCK!" Panting, Spike abandoned any thoughts
  of trying to sit up. His bleeding sire had shattered his back like a
  crystal vase.

  Where the hell had Willow gotten too? In agony, Spike looked around, being
  careful to move only his head. That too hurt but not as much. His ego
  quailed as he scanned the empty room. She'd left him! All alone and
  broken! Probably gone running off to her precious Angel, just like
  Drusilla!

  Somewhere, the world's smallest violin began to play for Spike. Willow
  hadn't even had the decency to finish him off before she'd gone. He was
  doomed to waste away to nothing until he looked like a fuckin' Ethiopian,
  unable to hunt or move or go out for blood at Willy's. The longer he
  thought about it, the more grievous his list of imagined wrongs grew. Spike
  sniffled like a giant baby.

  On cue, Willow appeared holding a mug. "Stop trying to move, you idiot."
  She grabbed his head and forced it to the side, shoving the mug under his
  nose and upended it. Spike gulped down an entire glass of lukewarm blood at
  her insistence. It wasn't like he was being given an option. He
  immediately felt better as the blood settled in his gut, spreading warmth
  and life-giving energy.

  "Now tell me what happened," she said, placing a hand under his chin and
  lifting it with gentle fingers. "You went to LA. I got that much. Now
  tell me who hurt you."

  He swallowed. His pride cried to lie but her eyes were compelling and the
  combination of pain and lethargy spreading through his body was
  intoxicating. He found himself succumbing. "Angel," he slurred. He
  paused, thought, considered. "Did you drug me?"

  "Yes but just a little," she murmured sweetly. "What do you mean Angel?"
  Her eyebrows furrowed in skepticism. "Angel wouldn't..." She shook her
  head. "Hell, Angel *couldn't* right now. He's not capable of taking you in
  a fight."

  Spike waffled between umbrage and pride. In one breath, she'd both
  insulted and complimented him. Something didn't quite sit right, though.
  "What's that mean?" he asked, iced eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Not
  capable."

  "Nothin'," she snapped.

  "You're lying." Spike's jaw set stubbornly. "Angel's lost it. His soul,
  or conscience, or soft fuzzy glow, whatever the fuck you want to call it.
  The wanker must of gone and gotten 'happy' again cause he's lost it."

  Color drained from Willow's face and the hand gripping his chin turned
  rigid. Her reaction went deeper than honest fear. She was terrified. "Oh
  God, oh Fuck, oh Jesus," she breathed. She let go of his face and lurched
  to her feet.

  "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Spike growled as his girl
  reached for her shoes. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected and his voice
  thickened with a burr as anger and fear set in. She meant to do something
  stupid. He knew it!

  "LA," she answered without looking at him. "Angel. Back where I belong.
  Maybe it's not too late."

  "You stupid bitch!" Spike exploded, sitting up despite a burst of crippling
  pain. "He'll twist your neck till your bloody head pops like a grape!"
  Rage and outrage combined in his heart. She belonged with Angel like hell!

  Willow's back stiffened and she swiveled to face him on her heel. "I have
  to go. I don't want to but I have a duty to fulfill. I have to go back
  before someone else gets hurt."

  There were tears in her eyes as she sank to her knees beside him. Spike
  opened his mouth to demand what precisely she thought she could do, and then
  stopped.

  Pieces clicked into place.

  "Spike, so help me if you've hurt her..."
  "Willow?! What did heeee-shhheee say?!"

  Willow calling Angel "she"; Angel referring to Willow as "he." Spike's
  disbelieving gaze roved over the black clad, impossibly stealthy, brooding
  little redhead kneeling beside him. Angelus, who'd always been a bit of a
  Nancyboy, had been positively girlish... At least, while the soft gold
  light had been in control.

  "Shit," the blonde muttered, staring at his 'She Demon' with wide eyes.
  "You're him. IT. That thing in Angel's head." Her face twisted in a
  grimace and she extended a hand. Spike jumped away.

  Her hand froze and then withdrew. "Yes," she agreed, resigned. "Except
  I'm not in Angel's head right now," she-he-it added with dark humor.

  "Shit. Fuck. What the fuck are you?" Spike demanded, a mixture of panic
  and disgust rising in his gut. He'd almost fucked this *thing*.

  "Dunno. I've wondered about that myself." One shoulder rose and fell and
  an inscrutable mask settled on her face. Now more than ever Spike could see
  the similarities. She wore Angel's stoic expression; she possessed Angel's
  remoteness and reserve. SHE WAS ANGEL. "I used to think I was Liam. For a
  while, I wondered if I was just some random soul they pulled out of the
  ether."

  Her arms crossed, the first crack he'd seen in her reserve. "The truth is
  that I'm just a gatekeeper," she told him bleakly. Her eyes held such stoic
  acceptance that Spike instinctively longed to rebel. "I exist to keep that
  *thing* in check."

  Thing. She chose the exact same word for his sire, dripping with disdain,
  that Spike had picked for her. The vampire fidgeted, suddenly confronted
  with his ever so apt choice of words, and not entirely comfortable with what
  it implied. Only a while ago, he'd been thinking of her-ANGEL--in terms of
  affection, endearment, and respect.

  "How'd this happen? Where's Willow?" he asked sharply, changing the
  subject. He studied Angel's body language with a predator's perception.
  What really confounded Spike was how he could have missed it. It was
  obvious.

  Irony tugged the corner of her mouth into a crooked smile. "Where do you
  think she is?" Angel asked tartly. "Trapped with my demon." Resignation
  intact, she stood, preparing to leave.

  Spike panicked. She was going back to Angelus in a way William had never
  imagined in his darkest musings, and once they were rejoined, this quixotic
  creature would be beyond his reach forever.

  FUCK! It was too fucked up!!!

  "You still haven't said how," he pointed out loudly.

  "Long story." She cut him with a look. "If you're ever in LA, give me a
  call and we can grab a beer." She smirked, mocking and daring him. As if
  he could somehow reconcile his hatred of sire with his desire for this
  exquisite little tease.

  Spike's entire demeanor morphed. "I hate you," he hissed, glaring at her
  with all of the hatred his heart held for Angelus. "I hate you."

  Angel changed too. She grabbed his shirt with clenched fist and hauled
  Spike off the floor. "I am so fucking sick of you blaming me for what HE
  did. GET IT STRAIGHT. I. WASN'T. IN. THERE." Each word punctuated with a
  hard rap of her fingers stabbing his breastbone. Spike blinked, a little
  stunned at her vehemence.

  "I wasn't in there when he stole Dru, I wasn't in there when he ridiculed
  you, and I wasn't in there when he broke your back! Got that?!" She
  snarled and shook him. A final shove sent him slamming down onto the floor.
  Spike yipped in pain.

  "I'm starting too get it," he hissed under his breath. She didn't hear and
  he didn't repeat himself. But he was...getting it. The soul and the demon
  weren't the same. It was like the two separate and distinct piles of
  drawings on the floor: Sinner and Saint; Bad Ass Vampire and Flouncy Nonce.
  Except that the Angel he'd gotten to know was a far cry from a saint.

  "What?" she demanded.

  "Nothin'." Spike stared at her strangely. Thoughts, what-if's... Yeah,
  he'd known the difference all along... 'You think you can fool me?!' Oh
  yeah, he'd known...

  Memories affirmed it. Darla hadn't told Spike and Dru what had happened to
  Angelus but he'd been there for the gypsy massacre. He'd guessed. And then
  Angelus had returned two years later for that single, memorable night during
  the Boxer Rebellion. Angelus had been glum and quiet. Different.

  A different person? Spike blinked. "Yeah right. You're not him in your
  imagination! You're seriously deranged," he told Angel. "In a
  schizophrenic, split personality fashion, and I mean that in the nicest way,
  old salt."

  She stared at him and her eyes lost all anger and hope. "Yeah. Right.
  Whatever." Resignation again. Spike hated that, they way she accepted his
  rejection so casually. It burned. She knew she wasn't the demon and Spike
  knew it. She was supposed to fight him, dammit!
 

  There she went packing off to LA N' Angelus again. Spike growled, cursing
  his own weakness. He had nothing to stop her with but words so he chose
  them precisely. "Don't' think escape is so easy," he taunted. "Angelus
  told me all 'bout how much you love me, pet."

  She froze in her tracks and he gloated. He had more than enough weapons to
  wage a war of words. He'd conquer her yet. Angel tossed that mane of red
  fire over her shoulder and returned to Spike, just as he had anticipated.
  The blonde grew smug. He had her hooked; now he just had to reel her in.
  There was no way she was leaving.

  Wide green eyes gazed at him, vulnerable, and then her lips pursed and a
  hellfire temper sparked. "Spike," she said evenly, "I loved Darla, and I
  loved Buffy. And yes, I even loved you a little." She smirked; her voice
  hushed to a caress. "I have a soft spot for pretty blondes, sweetie. Don't
  take it personally."

  Her head tilted back and the perfect cruelty he associated with his sire
  entered her eyes. Spike gnashed his teeth, knowing exactly what was coming.
  She knew him too well: where he was weak and where he hurt worst.

  "You're beneath me."

  The words never crossed her lips but Spike heard them anyway. It cut so
  deep that she might have taken out his heart. He blinked back tears and
  looked away. Tears. His eyes full of pansy ass tears! No fucking way! It
  was the drugs, his broken vertebrae, and the unbearable pain... The Big Bad
  bit his lip and looked away from the emerald eyes raping the last of his
  heart and pride.

  A hand seized the back of his head. Startled, Spike's eyes widened as
  Angel dragged him into a hard, unyielding kiss. She forced his lips open:
  ravaging, violating, and claiming. It ended as suddenly as it begun. Angel
  pressed the side of her face against Spike's, holding him tight. "I love
  you, William."

  Her hands stroked his back. "Y-you know that if I'd been in there, this
  would have never have happened?" Her voice broke and Spike knew that he had
  won. At last, she was HIS. She exhaled warm breath and silken lips
  caressed the shell of his ear. He shivered and sighed. Heaven.

  "I know," he answered. Yeah, he was thick but he'd finally figured it out.
  Angel did not equal Angelus. "You love me?" he demanded, needing to hear
  it again.

  "I love you," Angel promised, "Always, forever." His eyes drifted shut as
  she placed a fleeting kiss on his lips. He was lost in her heat.

  Abruptly, she released him and rose, departing the room on quick, sure
  strides. Each one carried her further from Spike, who lay on the floor, too
  stunned to react, too injured to follow. Finally, a cry of denial tore from
  his throat. He knew where she was going. Away. Back to Angelus...

  "ANGEL NOOO! DAMMIT, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! COME BACK HERE YOU
  BASTARD!" Spike screamed his guts out but she was gone. He was alone.

  Again.

  A sob tore from his throat as he tried to understand, to reconcile, and to
  comprehend. He'd longed for love, yearned for it, needed it to exist the
  way he needed blood. And it had just been given and taken in one harsh,
  cruel action. And she'd left him ALONE, the one thing he couldn't stand to
  be.

  Sobbing, the blonde turned onto his side and buried his face in his arms.
  He cried out his guts and his heart and his demonic soul until he drifted
  off into the merciful oblivion of sleep.

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