SERIES: Phases (#6)
AUTHOR: Tisienne Blue
E-MAIL: tisatko@msn.com
DISCLAIMER: I am playing in Joss' sandbox without his permission or knowledge...
RATING: PG-13-ish, I think... some references to blood, a few naughty words, but nothing too serious...
PAIRINGS: A/W; S/W; A/W/S...
DISTRIBUTION: Charity can have it (duh...*g*), and anyone with other fic of mine can have it, too... list archives, also... otherwise, just ask... I'll say yes.
FEEDBACK: sure... gets you a dedi, too...*giggle*
DEDICATIONS: This series is, of course, for George... also to: Darkgem, Ali, Noreen, Charity, Isis, and Nutmeg--- thanks for the feedback, my luvs... and to the CO, in it's enirety... too cool, chicas...
NOTES: this comes immediately after ...It Goes On... in this series, and there is still just a bit of angst a-comin'... also, as always, I am working without a beta, so all mistakes, of whatever kind, are solely my own, and I do apologize for them... Oh, and * *= emphasis.
MORE NOTES: Regarding the sporadic fashion in which I post: I am currently juggling two stories and four series, along with my day-job (which keeps me tied up for close to 70 hours a week), so please forgive the amout of time between postings... RL is a major pain in my butt right now. OK, that said...
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Spike's suddenly furious eyes flew to the tall form of his Sire. "What in the hell is going on here, you bloody bastard?" he cried, fingers literally itching to wrap themselves around the prick's thick neck, "What did you do?"
Angel couldn't think... couldn't even begin to formulate an answer. She'd thought he was dead? Why would she think he was dead? He was standing right *there*, and OK, not breathing, but... not exactly dead, either... at least not in the way he assumed she'd meant. He forced his shocked eyes away from the sobbing redhead and settled them on the blond, shaking his head slowly, eyes wide.
Spike growled and sank to his knees beside the girl, one hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back. "There, pet..." he murmured softly, still angry with the older vamp, "It's all right... Angel's *fine*..." He sighed almost happily when she uncurled her body and threw her arms around him. "It'll be OK, love... you just need to eat something..." he said softly into her ear. He stayed where he was, just holding her, until she nodded slightly against his neck, then he stood, still holding her tightly in his arms. "Peaches?" he directed towards the still-silent dark-haired vampire.
Angel nodded and turned away, going into the kitchen to warm some blood for the woman he loved, who was his... grandchilde, now? His mind raced while he waited for the microwave to finish its cycle. For some reason, Willow had thought that he was dead, and she had apparently decided that that was a good enough reason to *kill* herself? What had she been thinking? Or was she even thinking at all? And what about Spike? Had she even spared a moment's thought for what her *lover* would feel if she had succeeded? Apparently *not*, he realized, just as the tone indicated that the blood was the proper heat. He pulled the mug from the microwave, his mind still running in circles. She didn't want him, she'd sent him away, she'd thought he was dead and tried to die, but she didn't want him, she'd sent him away, she'd... He paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of his childe and Willow, sitting on the couch. They looked... *good* together... almost happy. He shook his head quickly, completely confused, as he stepped forward and crossed the room, handing the mug to the blond. "Here," he said flatly, "Feed her." He started to move away, to go to the chair nearby, when his eyes caught the edge of the piece of paper peeking from under the couch, and he swooped down to pick it up. It was, of course, the letter he'd originally written to his love, and he was thrilled, for a moment, that she'd never seen it, although he wasn't entirely sure of just how it had ended up on the floor. He hid it behind his body as he moved to the chair and sat. His eyes scanned the words he'd written, and he was surprised at the despair and hopelessness he'd implied in his written words. He was doubly glad that she hadn't had the opportunity to read it, at least until he got to the end and saw the phrase she's written there. 'Never without you, my love,' she'd written, 'Never again...'
His eyes grew wide, and they flew to the small pile of dust by the french doors, the dust that was almost completely saturated with her life's blood, and... he understood. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to pretend that none of it had ever happened... that he hadn't written the letter, that she hadn't seen it, that she hadn't reacted the way that she had... that she was still human. He looked at her again, sitting there on the couch, his childe's arm around her shoulders as she drank for the first time. But it *had* happened, and she *wasn't* human anymore... and it was all his fault. His shoulders slumped as he took the blame onto himself. It didn't matter what he did, he realized. Every time he cared for someone, he ended up hurting them... and when he loved them? He hurt them even more.
Spike watched his Sire from the corner of his eye, even while he muttered encouraging words to his witch. He could see the great poof closing himself off, going into full-on brood-mode, and he couldn't help wondering what, exactly, had been on that sheet of paper that Angel was trying so hard to hide. Whatever it was, the older vampire obviously was disturbed by it. His attention was pulled back to his love then, as she lowered the now-empty mug from her lips, and he smiled gently at her. "Feel better, love?" he said softly, taking the mug from her unresisting hand and placing it on the floor beside him.
Willow nodded slightly at her blond lover, her eyes firmly fixed on the dark-haired man she loved. She really *had* thought him dead. The letter, and the dust by the door... she had been so *sure*, and yet... there he was! He was alive, or at least, as alive as she'd ever known him to be, and... now, she would live forever. "Yeah," she said, barely audibly, dragging her eyes away from Angel's broody form. "I... I'm much better now..." She looked at Spike, and had it been possible, her dead heart would have been racing at the love she saw in his eyes. "But I... I think I need to sleep some more..." She smiled slightly again when he released her, and she stood, heading into the bedroom she'd woken up in.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She wasn't really tired, but... she needed to think about what she was feeling, because somewhere along the line, she'd gone and fallen in love... with Spike. She arranged the covers carefully over herself and rested her head on the pillow while she tried to figure out just how it was possible for her to be in love with two men... vampires... at the same time, and why she hadn't even suspected that it was so until just that moment. After the fourth or fifth time her mind had run in circles over the question, she finally decided that it didn't matter. Maybe it was her current status as one of the undead, but she didn't care. All she knew was that she loved them both, and she wouldn't let either of them go... the three of them would just have to find a way to make it work! That decided, she closed her eyes for a moment, and the fatigue that she had denied feeling mere minutes earlier swept her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spike waited until the redhead was in the bedroom with the door firmly shut before speaking. "So," he said, his earlier anger bubbling up again, "What is it that you're hiding there, Peaches?"
Angel looked up, surprised. "I don't..."
The blond growled, and was up off the couch and in front of his Sire's chair in less than a moment. "I'm talking about *this*, you big poof!" he snarled, waving the sheet of paper he'd plucked from the older vamp's lap in front of him, "What is it? A suicide note? Some effort to explain herself, what?" He stepped back, clutching the paper triumphantly, only to be shocked and even more angry when the bloody prick hit him in the head!
The dark-haired vampire had still been a bit dazed from his own thoughts when his childe had snatched the page from his lap, but that didn't mean he had to stay that way. He leapt from his chair and slammed one large fist against the side of the boy's head, grabbing at the sheet of paper when the blond's grip on it loosened. "You don't need to see that, Spike," he growled, blocking the boy's return punch. "It has nothing to do with you!" He folded the page quickly and put it in his pocket, not even seeing the kick coming that caught him in the gut. He doubled over, and fell to the floor when the blond's body barreled into him.
Spike straddled his Sire, glaring down at him as he punched him repeatedly in the face. "Why?" he shouted, still swinging. "What could she possibly have said that you don't want me to see? Why did she do it, Angel?" His questions continued, although the blows were slowing, and small sobs were breaking apart his words. "Why?" he finally moaned out, his hands coming to rest on the older vampire's chest as he cried.
Angel almost cried himself, seeing the pain on his favourite childe's face, and he pulled the boy down against him, his arms around the blond's slightly smaller form. "Hush... hush, childe," he murmured, rubbing the boy's back comfortingly, "It wasn't your fault... it *isn't* your fault... you did nothing wrong..." He sat up, the blond still clutching at him desperately, as he repeated the words over and over. Finally, he released his hold on the boy, and swallowed hard, his deep brown eyes meeting his childe's blue ones. "It wasn't you, Spike," he elaborated, letting the truth of his words show in his eyes, "It was *me*." He sighed then, seeing that his childe didn't believe him, and dug the letter from his pocket. "Here."
Spike watched, exhausted from his recent emotional fit, as his Sire stood and returned to the chair he'd been in earlier. He glanced quickly at the folded bit of paper in his hand, and levered himself back up onto the couch before unfolding it. His eyes traveled quickly over the lines written there in Angel's broad, almost old-fashioned strokes, and finally came to rest, for what felt like an eternity, on the one line the woman he loved had written across the bottom. He glanced quickly at his Sire, then at the bloody pool of dust, before going back to the letter and reading it again, his eyes trapped, once more, by Willow's few words. "Well, that's it, then." he finally said, after swallowing hard a few times. He placed the letter carefully on the couch beside him and stood, grabbing his duster from the floor beside him. "I understand," he said sadly, heading towards the door, "I finally understand."
Angel watched as his childe left the mansion. The boy needed to think, he understood that, but he'd be back, and when he was... well, it would be better for all of them if Angel was long gone. He stood, himself, and went into the kitchen. It was a bit of a drive to LA, and he really should eat before he left.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spike had been thinking, and thinking hard, the entire way back to the apartment, and it had all become very clear to him. It didn't matter that he loved the little witch more than anything, more than himself, even... she loved his Sire. Hell, she even loved him enough to try killing herself because she thought he was dead. He saw again the words she'd written... 'Never without you, my love... never again...' That pretty much said it all, as far as *he* was concerned. It was obvious to him, what he had to do... He had to leave. If he loved her, and he *did*, he had to go, had to stop trying to be everything for her that he could never be. Because just as he'd told Angel that he was no Angelus, well... Spike was no Angel.
He gazed sadly around the apartment where he'd been so happy with her, where he'd tried so hard to make *her* happy, and picked up the duffel bag into which he'd thrown most of his things. He wasn't sure of just where he was going, but he'd be all right, as long as he got away from Sunnyhell... as he'd told Druscilla once, this town was cursed for him. He turned and started for the door, grabbing, on his way out, the framed photograph of her that he'd taken at the birthday party he'd thrown for her just six weeks earlier. She'd been beautiful that night, and almost completely happy... He slipped the photo, frame and all, into the pocket of his coat as he walked slowly to the black DeSoto and climbed in. The poof would make her happy, he told himself, as he drove off into the night.
End.