PAIRING: Angel/Spike
RATING: PG-13, but I'm working on the smut... ;)
SUMMARY: Written as a response to the LJ Loving Angel 69 Angel/Spike "I Will Not Fade Away" Ficathon Challenge: The final episode of Angel left us all hanging, the credits rolling just as the battle began. What happened during and/or afterwards? Angel lost all of his friends, and is consumed with grief. What a perfect opportunity for Spike to pick up the pieces.
DISCLAIMER: They don't belong to me, and I make no money from this.
FEEDBACK: If you like it, please let me know. Thanks.
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***In walking, just walk. In sitting, just
sit. Above all, don'twobble.***
Spike awoke and immediately froze as he realized that Angel's arms were wrapped tightly around him. Angel hadn't objected to him staying in the bed but as comforting as this was, it really worried him. It had always been second nature to Angel to be the one in control of their relationship and after the first few turbulent years Spike had taken the path of least resistance.
He'd still had a mind of his own, but wouldn't give Angelus the satisfaction of having to make Spike bend to his will. Spike had obeyed Angelus just enough not to be staked immediately, but he had made damn sure that Angelus knew he wasn't any lapdog to roll over and do tricks. It was all different now, Spike knew that somehow he had to help Angel through his pain but he just didn't know where to start. He'd never had much success with his plans, prefering to go on gut instinct, but all his gut was telling him now was 'ohhhh... what do I do?'
Angel was still deep in sleep, and was nestled in so close to Spike it felt as though he was almost part of him. Spike gazed intently at him, committing each feature to his memory; Spike felt as thought he'd so nearly lost him and wanted to make sure that he remembered everything about him. The pale skin was such a shock now against the unkempt dark hair and he had lost so much weight that at first glance he looked years younger. However, even in the release of sleep, lines were now deeply etched into his brow. Spike reached up with his free hand and gently stroked Angel's forehead, wanting to rub away the worry.
Angel's eyes flickered open, blinking away the sleepiness. A hesitant smile crossed his lips. "Morning, a grá."
Spike's whole body clenched with fear; fear of what he'd almost lost, fear of what he still stood to lose. He wanted to fight these feelings; he didn't want to let Angel know just how much he meant to him. He didn't think that Angel could cope with knowing that he was his whole world now. So difficult to do that when Angel kept calling him things like that. A grá....
.My Love.
Spike unhappily recognized the signs for what they were; just the same as Angel being trapped between the man and the monster last night. He was now grasping towards the past, at the bond they had shared before; to take some small amount of comfort in that closeness. Spike could so easily let him do that, he could let him become Angelus again somehow, his own Angelus. As much as Spike wanted to recapture their past, that idea was not fair on Angel. He had suffered enough to retain his soul, and Spike knew what a precious thing that little spark was.
Buffy's words floated through his mind. `You faced the monster in you, and you fought back. You risked everything so you could be a better man. And you can be. You are.'
That was what he owed Angel. The chance to be the better man he knew Angel was. Angel must have sensed his discomfort, his smile faded slowly as he released his hold. Spike dared not move at first, and then quickly pushed himself up off the bed. If Angel could not care for himself, then it was down to Spike to do it for him. He was the only one around, the only one Spike himself would trust to bring Angel back from that knife's edge, to help him live again.
In silence, he helped Angel into the bathroom, and ran the bath for him. Not too hot, just how they both liked it and added a few drops of lavender oil, the aroma filling the room. It had always made Spike feel better, the fragrance reminding him of his mother long ago. He left Angel to get into the tub and ran downstairs. He wanted to make sure the towels were fluffy and warm. He threw them into the dryer, and then grabbed a couple of bags of blood from the fridge. He ripped them open, poured them into mugs and put them into the microwave to heat up.
The sheer normalcy of this suddenly hit him square between the eyes. He could imagine Angel doing exactly the same things in this kitchen while he was surrounded by his friends, laughing and chatting. In the short time he had been there Spike had felt like it was home and he realized that Angel would feel the same. But for Angel the ghosts of memories haunted this home. At that precise moment Spike knew he had to get him away from there. Not just away from the Hyperion, but also out of LA, he had to remind Angel that he had other friends and other people that cared about him.
He had only coped himself when Buffy died because of Dawn, he loved her to bits and for a little kid she had a good head on her shoulders. Together they had worked through their grief; they had forged a bond that had even survived through what he had done.
Yes, Spike knew all about the five stages of mourning. Denial, anger and all that bollocks. He still wasn't sure which one he was on, but he knew for sure that Angel hadn't even got past the first one. The whole way Angel was acting screamed out his isolation, blocking out the pain and denying what had happened, it made their deaths unreal. That in itself was really bad as Angel needed to accept what had happened to their friends, he needed to let them go. They deserved to be remembered as what they had been, people who had been willing to go that extra bit, to give everything to make it a better world.
Spike wondered where he could take Angel; he needed somewhere neutral. He needed to find someone who would help them and support them, but who would let them go at their own pace. There was just one person that he could think of that wouldn't interfere. One person that was inherently compassionate, but far enough removed to let them work at it. Just so long as he was willing to help, that was the question. It would be the understatement of the century to say that relations had been strained the last time they had spoken to him
Spike was willing to crawl over broken glass and beg like a pup; he would do anything if he could help Angel. He picked up the phone and dialed. "Hullo, Rupert? I need a big favour."
Twenty minutes later, he was back up in the bedroom with mugs of warm blood and the towels. Angel was still lazing in the tub and glanced at Spike as he entered the bathroom.
"Here you are. Drink it while it's still warm." Angel took the mug from Spike's outstretched hand, and gulped down the contents.
Spike was trying very hard not to look at Angel, or rather, at his very naked body. Focusing on the other's face, focusing anywhere apart from where he wanted to look, Spike noticed that Angel still hadn't washed his hair. He swallowed, hoping that his voice would sound even and steady. "Want me to wash your hair for you?"
Angel nodded. Spike moved to the end of the bath, and pushed Angel's head gently down into the water for a few seconds. Letting him back up, he flipped open the shampoo bottle and squeezed out a small amount into his palm.
He started to work on Angel's hair, luxuriating in the silken feel between his fingers. The hair was longer than it had been in a while and Spike almost smiled as he realized that Angel obviously hadn't been using hair-gel recently. Angel pushed back into Spike's gentle fingers, clearly enjoying the affectionate massage. His eyes closed and his face relaxed, becoming devoid of almost anything other than contentment.
This had been Spike's undoing when he was turned. Angelus had been an evil bastard; there was no doubt about that. However, in the same way that Spike was the layer that hid the soft William from their cruel world, there was also a gentler man underneath Angelus' demonic surface.
When William had entered his life, Angelus had let himself relax. Yes, there had been torture, pain and terrible things, but that was just a Sire teaching his Childe as Drusilla had clearly been incapable of doing it. Fear and respect went hand in hand in all matters of vampiric life. Yet there had also been tenderness and closeness; shared moments, just like this one now.
Spike wondered anew at the contrast between the two sides of Angelus that he'd seen. Angelus had certainly made Spike into the monster he'd been, but he was a monster who was devoted completely to the older vampire. Even more so than the other Sire/Childe relationships that he had since seen. However Darla had disapproved of their relationship, jealous of their closeness, and soon Angelus had pulled away from him.
Mentally shaking away these gloomy thoughts, Spike focused on Angel's hair once more. He rinsed out the lather, and handed a big fluffy towel to Angel who wrapped it around his waist as he stepped out of the tub. Spike wished he would say something; since last night Angel had hardly spoken to him unless he was asked a direct question.
As if hearing this unspoken desire, Angel looked straight at Spike and whispered a quiet "Thank you."
Only a few words, but Spike resisted the urge to hug Angel. He so much wanted to tell him how he felt about him know, but he didn't know what scared him more. Would Angel move towards him? Worse still, would he make no movement? Spike escaped back into the bedroom, and started to pack.
***With a little help from my friends***
Giles had been wonderful to them, for despite the pain both of them had caused him in the past he still welcomed them into his home. He had accepted Spike's request for them to share a room without any hesitation - or removing his glasses to clean them. That quirk had always made Spike smile, knowing he was that uncomfortable had been reason enough to try to embarrass him on a number of occasions.
Giles had not made any stupid suggestions as to what to do, or made unreasonable demands of them. He just made sure that he had stocked the fridge and after showing them around, he had let them have the run of the place, saying he had to stay in London for a few days on Council business. Starting the Watcher's Council over again took up a lot of his time and he wanted to make sure it was done properly now.
Spike suspected that he was just giving them a little time alone and was very grateful for his sensitivity. Before Giles left, Spike asked why he had agreed to all this, given their history. He felt humbled by the quick and honest reply. "Do you think that only you two have the right to humanity? I may not be the perfect man, but I strive to be the best that I can. Not to eventually forgive you would make me the monster you used to be."
Spike recognized the truth within this statement, for protestations of friendship would have rung falsely in his ears. After all, Giles had looked the other way when Wood tried to dust him. Spike did respect him, even though he probably would have had to have his fingernails pulled out to admit it. If he thought hard about it, Spike would sincerely have liked to be his friend. Maybe in some other life they might get the chance.
Giles's house was set in a beautiful part of the country. Spike remembered visiting Westbury when he was alive. He had seen the famous White Horse that was carved into the chalk hillside. On a whim, the other night he had set out to see it again, taking Angel with him. From a distance, it had looked exactly the same, gleaming bone-white in the moonlight. He had felt slightly disappointed to realize that it had changed. Concrete now covered the chalk, stopping nature's reclamation. Like so many things, it looked unaltered from afar, but you could see the changes once you looked closer.
They walked wordlessly back to the house with Angel's hand in his all the way. Spike knew that this silence was probably his fault; he wanted to talk to Angel, but didn't know where to start. They just had too much history together, and he was afraid that he'd say something that would only take Angel further back into himself. Spike did take a little comfort in knowing that Angel's nightmares were less frequent, though he still held onto him tightly during the night.
The turning point came when Giles returned from London. He started to ask Angel questions, saying that it was to help him restore the archives destroyed by the First's machinations. Spike remembered the warning to never trust an Englishman and being one himself, after a fashion, he should know. Under that civilized veneer Giles was just as devious as the next man was.
They both understood that the healing process would only start once Angel began to talk. After a while, he did, regaling both men with tales of demons and mystical history. He was a consummate storyteller, and they would sit, enthralled by his accounts. He never once spoke about himself or the others in their wicked family, but at least he was now communicating.
Spike couldn't help but be jealous at the easy relationship the other two men were developing and he found himself biting his tongue on more than one occasion. He was desperate to release the old, devil-may-care Spike but was frightened that this would destroy the fragile connection he and Angel now shared. Instead he played practical jokes on Giles, like just now when he'd covered the toilet bowl with Clingfilm. He figured he was safe with this one as there was no chance of catching Angel out with it. Giles was more than mad at him, Spike could easily tell. Still, he reflected, it had been worth it as his smirk deepened into a grin.
Giles scowled and wagged his finger at Spike, as if he should be scared of that unimpressive digit. "Spike, just how old are you? You're like a schoolboy at times... a naughty schoolboy."
Spike wiped the grin off his face and looked at Giles with wide, serious eyes. "You know me, born naughty."
Giles shot them both an exasperated look, and slammed the door shut. They looked at each other, both biting down on their bottom lip. Then Angel laughed a deep, loud, raw laugh and Spike's laughter quickly joined his. They rocked with the laughter and perhaps the rocking brought Angel into his arms, but as soon as he was there, Spike held him tightly, never wanting to let go. Emotions flooded him as he realized that Angel's arms were holding him just as tightly. As their laughter faded, they leant back against the couch, silent but still wrapped up in each other's arms. This time, Spike could tell that Angel was holding him in a need to be close to him rather than a need for comfort.
It was only the beginning of the road back home, but at least it was a start.
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