SERIES: Phases

AUTHOR: Tisienne Blue

E-MAIL: tisatko@msn.com

DISCLAIMER: I am not Joss... if I were, I'd have a much nicer apartment...

RATING: PG-13, I think (language)

PAIRINGS: A/W; S/W (at the moment)

DISTRIBUTION: Charity can have it, of course... anyone with other fic of mine may, also... anyone else, just ask...

FEEDBACK: is appreciated...

DEDICATIONS: To George, still... also to Mystra, and to the Candy Orgy, in it's entirety... Plus: Ali, Nutmeg, Kitti, Carrie and Natty... glad you liked the last one!!!

NOTES: Sequel to 'The Beginning Of the End' and 'Stuck In the Middle'... still some angstiness (OK, not a word... I know!!!) Takes place immediately after the events in 'Stuck In the Middle', oh, and * *= emphasis...

&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

~1~

He could smell the bastard all over her the minute she walked in the door. His scent was in her clothes, in her hair, even on her skin... He could smell the traces of the bloody prick's saliva on her when she spoke... breathed, could smell the slight tinge of her unwilling arousal, and he *hated* it, all of it! His only consolation, as he added up the overcast day and her early return from the College, was that she was not happy... she'd seen the git, had even let him touch her, but... she wasn't off somewhere, having a nice little romp, she was *here*, at *home*... with *him*!

That didn't stop him from being angry, though. He wanted nothing more than to drag her, screaming, into the shower, then scrub every last trace of the one she loved from her flesh. But he couldn't. Not without scaring her, anyway, and the *last* thing he needed or wanted was for his woman to be *frightened* of him. He sighed, everything having taken only a moment to flash through his mind, and smiled at her from his spot on their couch. "Hullo, pet..." he said softly, hiding his fury, "You're home early..."

She stood hesitantly in the doorway, watching him watch TV. He looked good, but of course, he always did, and she wanted, more than anything, to throw herself into his arms and let him try to make her forget. She held herself back, though... If she went to him, she knew, he would smell her love somehow... sense him on her, and she didn't want that... besides, after a year of trying, he *still* hadn't managed to dim her memory... not even a little, and after what had happened at the school... She nodded slowly, meeting his eyes. "Something happened and I... I just wanted to come home..." She shrugged out of her jacket, dropping it and her books on the table by the door. "I'm gonna take a shower, OK?" She sighed in relief when he just nodded, and started down the hall towards their bedroom.

He got up, switching off the television, and followed her into the hallway. "Fine, pet..." he said, just loudly enough for her to hear, "Look, I've got some things to do since it's so cloudy out... I'll see you later, all right?" He snatched his coat from the hook it hung on near the door, and slipped it on as he walked out into the steel grey day, still seething at what the bastard had tried to pull.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He sat brooding in his favourite chair, trying to decide what he should do next. He knew that she still loved him, that she wanted him... He had thought, at first, that it was just a matter of making her admit to it, but obviously that wasn't it at all... She *did* admit it. She hadn't even tried to lie about that. But she wouldn't have him.

It was a situation that he'd never imagined. They were incomplete without each other, and they both knew it... neither of them would ever be whole, not without their being together, and still she chose to stay away... to keep herself from him... and he felt like he was dying inside. Every time she said good-bye, every time she turned away, every time she refused to accept that he was her future... her destiny... it felt like he died a little bit more.

It wouldn't be so bad if he thought her unaware, ignorant of the effects of her refusals. But he knew that she *was* aware! He had seen it in her eyes earlier that same day, heard the emptiness, the hollowness in her voice... she knew *exactly* what she was doing, and for the first time... the *very* first time, he wished that she hadn't wrought her spell so well, that he *could* lose the soul again. Because, if he could... she would be his, willing or not... He sighed, standing up. But he didn't want her that way.

He wanted her back with him, it was where she belonged. He wanted her willingly, happily, even... unworried, carefree, ecstatic, and merry... delighted, as he would be with her. He sighed again, completely in the dark as to how to achieve that outcome. Maybe he'd damaged her too much, made her unable to ever trust again.

No, he decided, because she trusted her lover... trusted him to care for her, to keep her safe, and to never, ever hurt her... She trusted her lover to do all the things that *he* should be doing... He didn't even notice, as he paced, deep in thought, the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. There had to be a way... there just *had* to! He couldn't let her go... not now... not like this...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He had known where he was going before he even left the apartment. He'd known as soon as he'd smelled him on her. Of course the bastard wanted her back, of course he wanted to tear her away from him... but he didn't have the right!

He stood at the end of the long drive, staring at the large house... *mansion*, the prick called it, but it was really just a big bloody house, nothing special about it if you ignored some of the accouterments...

He shook his head angrily, and took yet another deep drag from his cigarette before starting along the graveled way... It was time to have this out, time to end it. And one way or another, the sodding git would be out of her life for good and all.

He flicked the little that was left of his cigarette off into the long brown grass, and pushed the door open. His eyes were drawn to the pacing form of the one he was there to see, and he snarled to himself as he stepped fully within the room, slamming the door behind him. "Angel." he growled.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He had known his childe was there long before the blond had even started up the drive. He could feel him, feel the waves of desperate anger flowing towards him. He supposed he couldn't blame him... after all, had their positions been reversed, *he* would have been just as incensed, probably even more so. The difference was, of course, that their positions *weren't* reversed, and he *would* have her back... even if it took an eternity. He would never give up... never leave her again. He would be there every time she turned around, every time she thought she was alone... He would never give up on her... on *them*... he couldn't.

He deliberately stood still when her lover entered. Didn't react when the door was slammed shut. He waited for it, and when the growl came, he replied with a sense of calm. This was it, he knew, the time when the lines would be drawn. The things that they both knew to be true would finally be spoken, and what happened from there... well, that was anyone's guess. "Spike... come in."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been quite a fight, Angel realized, looking about the now cluttered living room. He had taken some hard shots, but had given some as well. He bent slowly, hissing as his ribs scraped against each other. A few of them were broken, but they'd heal quickly enough. He pulled most of one broken chair from the floor, tossing it through the shattered french doors behind him as he looked again at the blond sitting on the couch. "You know," he finally said, limping over to the one mostly-intact chair that was left, "I *could* just order you away from her... I'm your Sire, I have that right."

Spike sighed, running his fingers along the edges of the deep gash in his forehead. "No, Angel, you don't." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as his eyes met the other man's. "You're not my Sire, Angel. *Angelus* was my Sire, and you?... Well, you're no Angelus, are you, mate?" He sat up straighter, still holding his eyes to the dark haired man's brown ones. "And even if you were... I love her, Angel... and I don't like seeing her hurt." He leaned back, finally, against the couch. "And seeing you is hurting her. When you didn't show up that night, it was like someone had reached deep inside her and snuffed out her fire... her spirit. She couldn't think, couldn't sleep, hell, she was barely even managing to feed herself! She was falling apart, from the inside out, and..." He stopped, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "It was like she was broken, and the only reason she let me in, let me love her, and care for her, was because I wasn't *you*... I was no threat to her, y'see. There was no chance in hell that she would ever love me the way she loved... loves... you."

Angel stared, his eyes wide, he knew, at the things his childe was telling him. "And that's OK with you... that she's with you because..."

"Well, I'm not *thrilled* about it, you bastard, but... I accept it. It was months before she started caring about anything, and weeks after that before she finally admitted that she was still alive, and she's *still* not even close to being her old self. But she was improving, she was getting better. She actually began feeling some measure of joy, began feeling worthwhile again, and then you!" The blond snarled, his blue eyes turning golden. "Then you just *had* to come back here, and when she told you no, you couldn't just leave like any other decent souled chap would've done, could you? No, of course not! Not 'Angel, Vamp Detective'! *You* had to stick around, watching us, trying to chase after her!"

He was shocked at the blond's vehemence, to say the least. "You knew... that I was watching..."

"Well, of *course* I knew, you bloody git! I could *feel* you out there..." He smirked slightly, ready to drop his bomb. "And so could *she*." He stared intently into Angel's brown eyes. "And that's why you have to leave. No! Let me finish!" he demanded when the older man would have objected. "Having you around, *feeling* you all the time... it's making her weak. She's not coming back to you, no matter how much you may want her to, and I know you can't see it, but every time she senses you, she retreats just a little bit further into that shell I've been trying to pull her out of! You're hurting her just by being nearby, more than you did when you abandoned her!" He leaned forward again, his sincerity readily apparent in his eyes. "You have to leave, Angel... leave, and let her finish piecing her life back together..."

Angel couldn't believe this was happening. He was *hurting* her? All he'd wanted to do was *love* her! But... he thought back to that first night when he'd seen her again, when Spike had been tracking her through the woods. She'd been... well, not as vibrant as she'd been before, but he'd thought that that was because she was with *Spike*, of all people... and then he compared *that* Willow with the one he'd seen at the college earlier, and came to one simple, yet inescapable, conclusion. Spike was right. He *was* hurting her... causing her pain, and that was the last thing he'd ever wanted... the last thing he *did* want. He sighed unhappily, running one large hand through his hair, and nodded slowly. "All right, Spike..." he finally said, "I'll go." He stood, glancing again around the room. "I'll clean this up, and I'll go, but..." he sighed again, "I'm going to write her a letter. You'll see that she gets it?"

Spike nodded as he stood, himself. "Yeah, Peaches," he said softly, "I'll see to it." He smiled slightly before turning and leaving without another word.

Angel watched sadly as his childe left, and began picking up the broken furniture from the floor. So much for his future, and any hope of happiness... he piled the pieces of broken wood just outside the garden doors, and grabbed the broom from the closet, sweeping up the dust that had flown from the now shattered furniture as he wondered why he was bothering... it wasn't as if it mattered what the house looked like... his life was over, and he knew it. There was nothing left for him now, and... what good was redemption to him? Would it fill his heart with joy, make him feel ten feet tall just for having it as his? Could redemption or forgiveness make him happier than he had any right to be, fill him with the desire to be the man it thought he was? Of course not, he answered himself, sitting down finally on the couch, leaving everything where it lay. Redemption was something to be sought by a man with hope in his heart, with a desire to do good works, and that wasn't him... not anymore. All he really wanted, now, was for it to be over. He sat there for a while before finally forcing himself to his feet. He crossed the cold stone floor and sat at his desk. Pulling pen and paper from the top drawer, he began to write his apology to the woman he loved.

~2~

She sat bolt upright in the bed, the barely stifled scream slipping past her hand as her glance darted around the room. She relaxed slightly as her lover tore into the room, responding, somehow, to her fear.

"What, love?" he asked gently, sitting beside her and wrapping her in his arms, "What's wrong?" He held her tighter as she shuddered against him. "Shhh.. shhh..." he whispered against her ear, "It's all right, I'm right here... I won't let anything hurt you, love..."

She huddled into his cool chest, taking comfort in his softly murmured reassurances as she felt her heartbeat slowly return to normal. "I... I'm all right, Spike..." she finally said, pulling away slightly and meeting his eyes. "It was... a dream... just a dream..." It was then that she noticed the almost healed cut across his forehead. "Spike!" she cried out anxiously, "What happened? Are you all right?" She raised her hands from her lap then, running them searchingly over his wonderfully cool skin as she searched for more injuries. Her eyes narrowed, and she started making a mental list at each pained hiss he loosed. "Spike," she said again, commandingly this time, "Tell me!"

He sighed deeply, afraid of hurting her with the truth, but even more afraid of lying to her and getting caught at it... his Willow didn't take kindly to secrets. "I went to see Angel... we talked." He clutched tightly at her hands when she would have pulled away. "Listen pet... please, just... hear me out." He sighed again, relieved, when she slowly nodded. "He's been making you crazy, love... lurking about, watching you... I just wanted to tell him to leave you alone... leave town and go back to LA, or wherever the hell he *wants* to go!"

She snorted slightly in disbelief. "And talking required you coming home with a big cut on your head, at least three bruised ribs, a sore back, and..." she twisted slightly, looking at his back, "A big bruise over your kidney... how?"

He laughed slightly, glad that he'd left his jeans on... she really didn't need to see his knee just yet... better to wait until it healed up a bit more. "We're vampires, love... that's part of the conversation process for us." He grinned in response to her small smile. "But he *is* leaving pet. I'll be surprised if he's not gone by morning."

She sighed herself then, relieved. He would leave, and she could go back to feeling safe, and that was more important to her than the fact that she felt empty and cold most of the time... She would go back to floating, more or less comfortably, through life... Spike would keep her safe, and so what if she was never truly happy? She was content, and that was more than so many people had. Angel would leave, and she would be... the same. She leaned into her lover's strong body, wrapping her arms around his waist, and didn't notice the tears seeping from the corners of her eyes.

He did, though. "He's leaving a letter for you, love," he said softly, rubbing her back in small, slow circles. "I guess to say good-bye..."

"No, Spike..." She raised her slightly swollen, red-tinged eyes to his icy blue ones. "I want to see him... make sure he knows it's over, that I *want* it to be over."

"Are you *sure* about that, pet? Because I remember how you were before..."

"I'm sure, Spike," she said softly as she slid from the bed and began getting dressed. "I've let this go on for long enough... I can't keep sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop." She sighed, seeing the look in his eyes. "If he doesn't hear it from me, and really *believe* it, how can either of us really move on? How can I really be with you?"

The blond bowed his head slowly, knowing she was right. "Fine, pet, but I'm not happy about this, you know..."

She crossed slowly to him, and rested one small warm hand on his shoulder. "I know." She turned away, glancing back over her shoulder to see him still sitting there, on their bed, picking sadly at the sheets. "I'll be back soon..." she said in parting, and walked down the hall, out into the evening air.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He had been trying to compose his letter for hours now, and still had no idea of what to say. How was he supposed to tell the woman he loved more than anything that he was sorry? Not sorry for loving her, because that wasn't possible, but... sorry for hurting her, for leaving her and not returning quickly enough, for tearing her apart inside, making her heart die? He had been a man of words since he'd become a souled creature, and now that he needed some of those many words he'd read and understood and existed by, they were nowhere to be found. How could he tell her the truth? That in her he'd found his purpose, his goal, his destiny, and his heart's desire, all wrapped up in one, and that without her, he had... nothing... It was all gone, he saw that now... there was no reason, no hope, and certainly no light left in his pitiful excuse for a life. There was only darkness. He sighed, and regardless of what he knew he should say, wrote instead the truth. His existence held no meaning... she wasn't his... never would be again, but... he would always be hers. He had to give her at least that much... let her know that even if she couldn't trust him enough to be his, he understood, and it wasn't her fault. None of it had ever been her fault. He signed the letter shakily, and stood, placing it on the couch as he crossed to the shattered garden doors and the random stack of broken furniture left over from his little scuffle with his childe. Soon, he told himself, as he began rummaging through the debris, soon it would be over, and... he'd be gone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She had taken the long way to the mansion, trying to think, to find some way to explain her feelings to him. That she loved him he already knew. That she feared his hold on her heart, he didn't. Yes, she was afraid to trust him again, afraid to let him in, but... she was more afraid of herself, of what she might do to keep him if she ever had him again. He was everything to her, but she couldn't be with him... not now... not ever. She had to tell him... she would rather be cold and empty inside than lose herself in him, because that's what would happen. She was weak. She'd always been weak. She just couldn't do it, couldn't lose herself in the effort to become an 'us'... and he'd left her. He'd left, and he hadn't come back. He'd promised, and hadn't kept his word. And wrapped up somewhere in there, she'd have to make it clear to him that she'd be OK... as long as she knew that he was out there, being Angel, she would be able to somehow cope... that he was a good man, demon not withstanding... Her mind was spinning through all of the things she wanted to say when she realized that it didn't matter. She was almost at his door, and she couldn't feel him... he wasn't there. She went inside anyway, wanting to, for one last time, be surrounded in him, in the things that carried his history, his style, his scent...

She stood, shocked, staring at what little remained in the living room. One chair, leaning madly to the side, a coffee table with a broken leg, and the couch... She saw the white sheet of paper, saw her name at the top... and she couldn't help herself, she had to see what he'd said. She crossed the room and picked it up, slowly sinking onto the cushions as she read, her eyes blurring slightly as she truly cried, for the first time since the night he hadn't come to her. The sobs felt like they were being torn from her chest, and her throat was raw by the time she finished. She moved her swollen, red eyes to the top of the page and read it again, suddenly afraid that the dream she'd had hadn't just been a dream... "Angel..." she moaned, eyes darting again around the room, finally coming to rest on the pile of dust by the broken french doors. "No..." she whispered, slowly getting up and moving towards it, "No, Angel... please..." She sank to her knees, sobbing again, more deeply this time. "No..." she keened, collapsing forward into the dust, "No..."

She lay there and cried until she could cry no more. It didn't matter *what* he had written, it *was* her fault. It was *all* her fault... she was a truly bad person... and she didn't deserve to live. Not that she wanted to... what good was her life to her, anyway? She had somehow managed to destroy everything bright and good in the world, and all because she had been afraid. Now... now he was gone, and her world was darker than the blackest midnight. She would have been fine, knowing that he was still out there, fighting the good fight, seeking his redemption, but... she had taken even *that* from him... Well, she decided, she would fear no more. She opened her eyes slowly, finally noticing the rather large pile of shattered furniture just outside the doorway. It was fitting, she thought, slowly rising to her feet. She stepped through the door, sorting through the rubble until she found exactly what she was looking for. It was sharp, and long, and while she suspected that it would hurt, she didn't care... after all, she had caused so much pain, it was only right that she experience some of her own.

She went back into the house, picking up the letter her love had left for her and quickly scribbled across the bottom with the pen she snatched up from the desk, before returning the page to where she'd found it. She gazed around the room one more time, and returned to the dust she'd lain in earlier, lowering herself to the floor and curling up beside it. "I'm so sorry, my love..." she whispered softly, as she slid the long, sharp piece of wood between her own ribs, forcing it in until she blacked out.

She didn't know that she had missed her heart, or that she was twitching wildly as her blood leaked out into a pool around her. She didn't even know that she had managed to slip the stake deep enough that it came out her back. She knew nothing. Not that her skin had turned almost translucent, or that her eyes had rolled up into their sockets... She had no idea of the truly heart-rending picture she presented...

But Angel *did*, because that was what he found when he got home.

End-- Pt 2
 

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