Author's Notes: Ok, so I'm bored, wanted some Spike and Angel action which got me to thinking about the little confession Angel made about Spike's poetry while they were sitting on the couch in his office. Takes place during and after 'Hellbound'. I kind of reworked the ending, made Spike corporeal a little sooner then in the show. Everything has happened up until the point Spike and Angel get to his office. This was supposed to be all smutty, but then it went to a serious and angsty place.
Rating NC-17 *WIP*
Warnings: This fic contains Slash m/m
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~Part: 1~
Angel was busy staring out his window in his new high rise office at Wolfram and Hart. Well, to be honest, he was brooding. A pastime he indulged in often;well, constantly. If you were to catch him in a particularly good mood, he might even admit to it. Spike walked in, through the wall and stood back watching Angel for a moment, thinking up a nice stinging comment. He was, after all, supposed to be haunting Angel.
"So, what's on the 'genda? Rousting a nest of venomous retirement plans?" Spike asked, walking towards Angel. One thumb was crooked in the waist of his pants, a trademark gesture. Angel visibly stiffened at the sound of his voice and rolled his eyes, obviously not in the mood for the younger vampire.
Ignoring the blonde for a moment he walked over to the crystal decanters. He poured himself a glass of blood and sipped at it thinking, rather, brooding again. Angel looked as though he wanted to say something to Spike, yet had a hard time sorting out the words. Finally,he speaks.
"Shop's closed Spike. Come back and haunt me tomorrow," Angel said, downing the rest of his blood. And the rousing game of insults began. He set the glass back down on the table.
"Air's too rarefied up here for my taste, anyhow. Down with the dregs is where I belong, isn't it?" Spike asked, quirking his eyebrow. Now why had he left himself open like that? Spike was just asking for Angel to hurt him.
"And yet he's still here," Angel said, to no one in particular. He walked over to the window again, possibly to continue the bout of brooding that was interupted earlier.
"Just thought we could hang is all. Couple of vampires from the old days doing our...hangy thing," Spike said in a very un-Spike manner. It is somewhat reminiscent of the Scoobies. He is shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Angel to say something.
"You're starting to feel it, aren't you? How close you are now...to hell?"
"What if I am? Not like it's such a big, bleeding deal, is it? If a ponce like you could break out-"
"I never escaped from hell. All I got was a short reprieve. Not even sure how I managed that," Angel said with a sigh.
Spike either just didn't get it or was trying to make light of the fact that he had one leg in the door to hell, which was being yanked hard. He looked incredulously at Angel, thinking that,as always, Angel was trying to make a big deal out of small potatoes. "Oh, put your martyr away, Mahatma. Fred told me all about your great, shining prophecy. Pile up all your good deeds and get the big brass ring handed to you like everything else." This time for Spike there was no great shining purpose, nothing to tie a lifeline on and just take it. This time, he was just going to hell in a hand basket.
Angel turned to face Spike, a scowl set in his features. "Except for one small catch. The prophecy's a bunch of bull. They all are. Nothing's written in stone or fated to happen, Spike. You save the world, you end up running an evil law firm."
"Or playin' Casper with one foot in the fryer," Spike said with a snort. Always one to walk that fine edge, he was, and now look where it got him. A one way ticket to hell, and the train ride there is chock full of opportunities to torment Angel.
"You think any of it matters?" Angel asked, whispering in Spike's ear and circling. "The things we did? The lives we destroyed. That's all that's ever gonna count. So yeah, surprise. You're going to hell. We both are." Finally tired of the repartee, Angel sat on the couch.
"Then why even bother?" Spike asked, scoffing. "Trying to do the right thing, make a difference...?" his voice trailed off.
"What else are we gonna do?"
"So that's it, then. I really am going to burn," Spike said solemnly. He got a look in his eyes, one that showed he was trying to come to grips with it. It was not bad enough he had died twice, now he had come back to die yet again. How do you die as a ghost? It'd be more like going *poof*.
"Welcome to the club," Angel said, spreading his arms in a mock welcoming gesture.
Sighing, Spike sat on the couch beside Angel. "Least I got company, eh? You and me, together again. Hope and Crosby. Stills and Nash. Chico and the-"
"Yeah, are we done?" Angel asked in annoyance.
"Never much for small talk, were you? Always too busy trying to perfect that brooding block-of-wood mystique. God, I love that," Spike said sarcastically.
"Not as much as I love your nonstop yammering," Angel shot back.
"The way you always have to be the big swingy, swaggerin' around, barkin' orders..."
"Never listening..."
"Always interrupting..."
"And your hair. What color do they call that, radioactive?" Angel asked ,mockingly shielding his eyes from the glare of Spike's hair.
"Never much cared for you, Liam, even when we were evil," Spike said,surprising Angel. He never thought Spike knew Angel's mortal name. Go figure.
"Cared for you less."
"Fine."
"Good," Angel said with finality. "There was one thing about you...," he said.
"Really?" Spike asked hopefully.
"Yeah, I never told anybody about this, but I-I liked your poems."
Spike frowned at this revalation. "You like Barry Manilow."
"So?" Angel asked in confusion. "What's wrong with Barry Manilow?"
"It's Barry bloody Manilow! That's what's wrong!" Spike exclaimed in exasperation. Angel was obviously not getting what was so wrong with it. Sighing, Spike rolled his eyes and tried to explain. "It shows bad taste. So, being that you like bloody Manilow, means you don't know what's good."
"But I know my poetry, and yours was good," Angel said, trying to comfort his Childe. Granted, Angel didn't actually sire Spike. But he did raise him to be the vampire he became. So, in Angel's mind, Spike was his.
They both sat there, each contemplating the merits of the other. Angel wanted to touch Spike, needed to touch him, reassure himself that even though he probably was going to hell, Angel didn't hold it against him. They'd both done enough things in their unnaturally long life to regret forever. Comforting a ghost was not easy. Angel lifted his hand to run it just where Spike's cheek should have been. Spike turned and looked at his Sire, the blue depths of his eyes showing the emotion that was running through him, or what was left of him. Love, pain, anger, resentment, grief, all of it in plain sight, so plain it made Angel gasp. Never in all the years Angel had known the younger vampire had he ever left his emotions so raw,so obvious. Never had Spike opened up so fully to anyone, especially Angel.
"I-I'm sorry William," Angel said with real remorse. "I'm sorry for everything."
"Eh, don't beat yourself up over it, ya big Pouf," Spike said, forcing the emotion away. It was just too real for him, so real it hurt, even in his ghost-like state. Looking at Angel he saw love and compassion, and the truth of his apologies.
Leaning towards Angel, Spike tried to kiss him, leaving only a ghost like imprint on the lips of his Sire. Growling Spike stood up.
"I can't bloody take this!" he said, pacing the room. "The waiting, the wondering when and how it will take me." Spike continued to rant, leaving Angel stunned and speechless on the couch. Putting a hand up to his lips, Angel traced the faint, receding feeling of Spike's ghostly lips on his.
Before Angel could say anything to calm the blonde raging in his office, Spike left, curses trailing behind him, leaving Angel stunned and immobile on the couch.
~Part: 2~
Spike walked purposefully down the hall, through doors and walls. People avoided him, even though he couldn't do anything to them, not really. He was pissed off. The talk with Angel had delved too deep into emotions he'd long ago hidden away.
"Bloody Ponce!" Spike yelled, scaring two interns. Anyone who knew Spike, en-souled or not, knew he was upset when he didn't even stop to gloat at causing fear in others. No, this Spike was on a mission. Single mindedly plowing his way through Wolfram & Hart to his destination.
Finally he reached it, coming to a halt just outside the doors. Spike didn't want to hear 'I don't know's', and 'We're working on it's'. No, this time, he wanted answers. Needed them like he used to need blood or Dru. This constant 'on the verge of Hell' was getting to the blonde. He was never known for his patience, and Hell was trying his. He could feel it like a tingling on his ghostly neck. A cool sensation that promised heat and fire so hot you would wish it really did burn. Steeling himself, Spike took an un-needed breath and walked through the doors to get his answers.
----------
"Angel," Gunn said from the door. He was getting no answer from the still vampire on the couch. After a few minutes, Gunn tried again, walking fully into the room. "Yo Angel..."
"Huh?" Angel asked. He was clearly lost in his thoughts, hands still tracing his lips, wishing Spike was still there tracing them with his own, real hands. Gunn had been talking again, now calling his name, bringing Angel back from his thoughts.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Angel asked.
"Well, while you were zoning on your couch, Spike was scaring some of the employees. They say he was muttering something about a 'ponce'--"
"Don't worry about him," Angel said cutting Gunn off. "Do you know where he went?"
"They saw him standing in front of the Research Department, just standing there talking to himself. Do you want someone to go make sure Fred is ok? They were saying he looked pretty damn mad," Gunn said trying to read Angel's brooding expression.
"No, uh, it's ok. I'll go make sure everythings ok," Angel said and left the office. Gunn stared at his retreating back in confusion. There was just something wrong to him.
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Spike inhaled a breath, filling his ghostly lungs to calm himself, and walked through the doors. He saw the person he was looking for writing on a whiteboard in her office. Walking with a purpose, he went up and stood beside her.
"Anything yet, Luv?" he asked Fred, startling her and making her yelp in surprise.
"Spike! Good, you're still here, and...and not there," Fred said smiling at him.
"Looks that way. Though, I don't know for how long."
"Oh," she said with some sadness in her voice. "Well, I'm working on something now that would alter this reality to bend to yours," she babbled, making more notations on the board, "causing an EMP pulse wave...that would wipe out every electronic in a ten thousand mile radius..." Degected by the failed theory, she sumped into her chair and sighed.
"I'm sorry Spike. I'll keep trying. This was a long shot anyways."
"It's all right, Ducks. Least you're trying, actually seeming to care," Spike said turning away from her to look out the window on a world he could no longer effect.
"Do you mean Angel?"
"Ya know, they're right about you Fred. You are the smart one. Yeah, the great Angelus, bloody ponce. His favorite Childe has front row seats to see Satan himself and the stupid bugger can't even be bothered to care. I mean, I know I haven't been all soul having as long as him, but I do have one you know. It's there, eating away, settling in. He won't even tell me what to expect. I mean he went to Hell, spent three hundred years there. He knows what it's like!" He stilled when his rant had ended. Just stood there shivering as if he could feel cold, as if he could feel anything at all.
Fred stood there. She didn't know how to comfort him, didn't know what to say. She knew what it was like to be lost. To feel so alone in a world full of people. Absently she tried to reach out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it fell through him. Turning around Spike gave her a wry smile.
"Uh, so I should probably look for some other solutions to your, uh, problem," Fred said nervously going back to her notes and flipping through them.
"Yeah," Spike said absently. He really wanted a cigarette, or a mug of blood, anything to make him feel alive again.
----------
Outside Fred's office Angel slumped down to the floor, hanging his head so passers-by wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. He sat there listening in while his boy ranted and raved about how he thought Angel didn't care. How many times now has he failed Spike? Too many, and now his boy was going to Hell. Angel vowed to himself that he would try to help Spike, because not even he deserved a fraction of what Hell could offer someone like him.
Getting up off the floor before anyone could see him, he quickly wiped his eyes and headed for his office. Angel was making a mental list of everything he had done wrong. 'I left him, came back and then left again in China,' he thought. 'I abandoned him for years with my crazy Childe, his Sire. As if that wasn't bad enough, Angelus returned in Sunnydale to torment him, yet again. I never really listened. I thought I cared. But I didn't, not really. It all began with the curse in Romania, back in 1898...'
~Part: 3~
"Harmony," Angel said into the intercom, "Have Records cross-reference everything on Spike and I, and send it up."
"Sure thing, Boss," Harmony said. Angel sat waiting for the files when she came across the intercom again. "Uh, Boss, what do you mean by 'cross-reference'?"
Angel sighed and said, "Never mind. Just get me connected to Records. I'll ask them myself. You can get me a glass of blood."
"No problem Boss!" she said enthusiastically. He really wasn't in the mood for 'bubbly' Harmony. Not when Spike was riding the fine line between his ghostly state, and true death.
Spike's words continued to ring in his ears. Every word ringing frighteningly true. He didn't care. Why should he? Ever since he had gotten his soul, what was it...three times now, he's been fighting against everything he had once represented. Vampires, and Spike was lumped right in there with them. He had even set his lovely Drusilla on fire, all for getting in the way. He'd been after Darla, not Drusilla.
Harmony walked into the office, blood and paper in hand, and cleared her throat. "Here ya go Boss," she said walking up to his desk. "A nice warm glass of blood, and the extension for Records. Anything else?"
"No," he said grabbing the piece of paper and picking up the phone. He made the request to the mono-tonal worker, and hung up. Looking up, he saw Harmony still standing their, fidgeting with the buttons on her blouse. He could tell by smell alone that she was nervous, and her stance screamed 'questions'. "What?" Angel asked.
"Oh, well, I was just wondering...," Harmony said coming a little closer to his desk. "Uh, what do you need with records of Spike? I mean you guys have known each other for...well a long time. I'd think you'd know everything and--"
"Harmony," Angel said cutting her off. "If I wanted you to know I'd tell you."
"Fine. I was just wondering," she said softly. He'd hurt her feelings, yet he just didn't care. He had more important things to think about. Like family, and how everything had come to this. So wrapped up in his thoughts was he, Angel didn't even notice Harmony leave and a messenger boy come in and deliver a stack of twenty compact disks all labeled 'Angelus/Spike'.
Angel continued staring off in that place he went when nothing around him registered, and all he was left with were his thoughts, his memories. Years worth of blood, soul or no soul, blood ran rampant through his life. Every day was filled with it, in some form or another. From veins, or in glasses. It made no difference anymore, it was all red and flowing.
He reached for the glass Harmony had brought in for him and drank quickly then set it aside. Noticing the stack of compact disks he grabbed desperately for them and flipped through. Each CD was meticulously marked with years, and even locations on some.
Curious, Angel inserted the CD with the earliest date, 1753. He knew what would be on this CD, but was none the less in wonder of what the all mighty law firm would deem important enough for their files. Opening the folder on the computer he read.
It was all about him. From his childhood, to adulthood, and then on to Vampire-hood. Angel was surprised to find out exactly how much they knew about him. Not even the Watchers had this much information, he doubted they even knew his human name. He had to sort through some of the more legal words to get to the heart of what was being read.
None of this was new to him. He knew exactly what kind of 'man' he was as Liam. A drunken lay-about that was only destined to death, either at the hands of a jealous husband or some sexual disease. All that had changed though when he met Darla in that alley. It changed everything. Then he'd become the thing that brought death to everyone he kissed. Destruction to every town or home he visited. He'd relived this portion of his life, his time with Darla, so often that he didn't need the fancy words on the screen. Angel had his own memories for that.
Removing the disk he moved on, flipping through two more disks that held things he could describe in more, up close detail. He debated seeing what they had to say on his 'courting' of Drusilla, but that wasn't what he was after. William, Spike was what he wanted to read about, needed to know. What his boy had done in the years Angel wasn't there?
Angel inserted the CD labeled 'William/Drusilla London, England 1880'. He only vaguely remembered this day. Not having actually been there for the Siring of William, he knew only a few details. Some of which were given by Drusilla, and therefore were almost useless.
A sniffling, crying, whining man bumping into them telling he and Darla to watch where they were going. William had had no idea to whom, or rather what he was speaking to. Angel had never in all the years as Angelus bothered to find out why William had been crying that night. It wasn't important, it was a life left. Dead and gone. Like so many others through the years. Now it seemed almost vitally important.
Wolfram & Hart had done some of their homework on the young William. Though, their research hadn't started until about a year ago. Apparently Spike was of no concern to them...until that is, he got his shinny new soul. Many records had been lost through the years. No last name was known for William. Only details scattered through the ages, and those collected by the Watcher's Council were available to the law firm.
Apparently it looked as though William had been a poet. A bad one at that. Never amounting to much and over zealous. Reading a bit more Angel was surprised, though not much, that William's father had died while he was still a child of three. He was raised by his mother. That could be part of the reason for the young vampire William always butted heads with Angelus. He wasn't used to having to compete for attention with another male figure around.
So many fights, so many arguments between the two head strong males. It was always fighting, fucking, or killing with Angelus and William. Sometimes all three at once. It would always start off with Angelus taunting William about the fact that Drusilla always chose her Sire over her Childe. Even as a vampire his proper upbringing would not allow William to accept the fact that his love was not faithful to him. Yet he never blamed her. Always choosing instead to blame Angelus. Saying that it was his fault, he'd lured her into his bed.
Angel winced remembering the first time he'd taunted William with Drusilla's infidelity. Tears poured down the young vampire's face, red tinted tears of pain, hurt and anguish, before they finally gave over to rage and anger. William had charged at Angelus attempting to kill him or at least hurt him. All Angelus had done was laugh at the pitiful attempt, being much stronger than the younger vampire, everything fell away like feathers. That had only served to add fire to William's flame.
When he'd found that his blows were not affecting the older vampire, William had taken off on a killing spree. He had taken to the streets and washed them with the blood of the people. London had been washed in red that night. By the time William had come home, everyone was after them, including the Watcher's. They'd had to flee the city in fear of their immortal lives due to his rampage.
Angelus was not pleased at all. He abhorred fleeing. It made him feel weak, and he was not weak. He was a master vampire by that time in his own right. Teaching William the error of his ways was a treat for the mighty Angelus. Days, no weeks of torture at his hand. Angel could still hear the crack of the whip, the rattle of the chains, and the cries and pleas of William to stop. Saying over and over again that he was sorry. It was the first and last time William ever apologized.
Sitting back Angel took a deep un-needed breath and sat back looking away from the screen. Tears yet to be shed sat welling in Angel's eyes. Swallowing a lump in his throat Angel could taste William's blood from that night when he'd licked at the wounds he'd caused.
~Part: 4~
Shortly after leaving Angel, Spike appeared in the Science Lab. It was empty and silent and the perfect place for Spike to make a fool of himself. He sought an outlet for his frustration by kicking through tables and punching through walls. He affected nothing. He touched nothing. He was…nothing. Nothing but energy that had no outlet, no way to make its presence known to the world around him. Heck, half the time he blinked out into nothingness, only to pop back unaware of where he had been and how long he’d been gone.
His anger and frustration spread beyond his condition to the only one who could tell him what to expect, the only one he would or could accept sympathy from. ‘And the stupid Ponce can’t even be bothered with me,’ Spike ranted to himself. ‘Holed up in that fancy office of his, doing everything he can to keep away from me…’ The ghostly tears came back. He swiped at them petulantly, only to stare at his hand where they smeared. They didn’t feel wet, they didn’t hold weight, they were just there…something that resembled tears, but not the real thing.
----------
Toweling off quickly, Angel moved into his room to find clothes. For the first time in a while, he was aware of consciously choosing his apparel. He wanted to look nice for Spike. He wanted…hell; he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Well, that’s not true. He knew he wanted Spike to stay, to not go to hell, to be made corporeal again. Angel wanted to be able to hold him again, to feel him.
Finally, after going through half his wardrobe, he found something suitable. While black, the shirt hugged closely to his form and the pants were the black leather that he knew Spike liked. Everything he wore was for Spike. Even the ancient scent. The bottle was old, tarnished yellowish-brown from the cologne. It had been a gift from Spike years upon years ago. And he’d kept it ever since. Most of the cologne was dry now but the flakes melted when they contacted his damp skin and left the traces of a scent.
He was nervous and jittery. This was important to him, important to Spike. He was going to tell him. He was going to tell him how he felt and what he planned to do about Spike’s…’situation’. Angel just wasn’t sure how Spike would react. It’d been forever since they’d loved each other in their own way. Would he accept it? Or throw it back in his face as he’d done everything else since Angel got his soul?
Now dressed and ready to talk, Angel walked confidently out of his pent house suite and down to the main lobby of Wolfram and Hart. The only thing he had to do now was find Spike.
----------
The door to the Science Lab opened and closed quietly. Fred walked in and watched Spike rant and rave. She felt sorry for him, and somewhat mad at herself for not being able to help him. She watched as he tried to kick, punch, and knock things over with no success. Feeling guilty, she turned to leave, when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It was only there for a second, just a flicker of something.
Turning back around Fred tried to see it again, but she couldn’t. Then, she turned as she’d just done, and nothing. Finally, she looked away, and saw it again. Just another flash, just another flicker of something. Some fuzzy something connected to Spike. She was sure of it. Turning again, Fred kept her eyes facing forward while she tried to see out of the corner of her eye. There, just barely visible, was a thread or rope of something. She couldn’t quite tell what it was though, but it was definitely connected to Spike. She could see it going around his neck, like a leash of some kind.
Her gasp startled Spike and he jumped, landing directly inside of a table, bisecting him neatly.
“Hey! I’m the ghost-y here. I’m the one that’s supposed to do the bloody sneaking up on people,” Spike said hotly. He was embarrassed. He’d been caught in a weak moment and by Fred no less. He liked her, and he didn’t want her thinking he was weak. Spike was not weak.
“S-sorry,” Fred said, and turned to walk up to her office. “I, I just needed to get something.”
“Look Pet,” Spike said, reaching out to stop her, but his hand went through her. Sighing loudly he said, “I’m sorry. I was just pissed is all.”
“Spike, it’s ok. Really. But, uh, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah, Luv. What’s tickling that brain of yours?”
----------
“Harmony,” Angel said, grabbing her arm, “have you seen Spike?” The tone of his voice edged on panic and desperation.
“I don’t know. I mean should I?” she asked confused.
Angel let go of her and began walking again. He didn’t hear her call out to him and ask what was wrong. Faces turned to him, some confused, some frightened, and some uncaring. He didn’t see any of them. Angel’s eyes were trained on a shock of white-blonde hair he saw at the end of the hallway. Just the smallest glimmer of hope in a vast sea of hopelessness. But, he was so far away, not looking back. Didn’t he know that Angel wanted to talk to him? That he had something important to say to him?
The throng of people pushed, shoved, and maneuvered Angel away, down towards the opposite end of the corridor. He never saw this many people before just milling around. He tried frantically to push past them, to call out. All those people acted like a wall, keeping him away from his goal. He couldn’t make his way through, over, or around them. They stopped his progress at every turn. They didn’t even react when he hit them. It was no use. Spike was at the elevators, unaware of Angel trying to get to him.
Angel watched in shocked silence as the elevator doors closed, and he could no longer see Spike. The arrow pointed down.
A cold shiver ran down Angel’s back. Down…Spike was going down.
Voices, disembodied and soft as a whisper floated up to him.
“Doesn’t want you.”
Staring into the faces around him, Angel tried to find the source of those words. They hurt him, stung him. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. No one looked at him, they didn’t look at anything.
“Never wanted you.”
“Not true,” Angel said. The voices were getting louder, faster, and now coming from all directions. It was overwhelming. All of his doubts voiced for everyone to hear, for Spike to hear.
Closing his eyes, Angel dropped to his knees. The voices flowed over him, under him, around him, wrapping him like a blanket. They told him he wasn’t good enough for Spike, that he had never wanted Angel. That Angel should just not even bother, just crawl back into his hole.
“No!” Angel roared, standing up.
The penthouse, his bedroom, naked and wet...everything registered at once. It had been a dream. He’d fallen asleep after coming out of the shower and dreamt it all. Angel was frantic. He’d slept! How long though? Looking at his clock on the dresser he saw it’d only been for a few minutes, but that was a few minutes too long. He dressed quickly, not noticing that he’d put on the same clothes as he had in the dream, and ran out of the room in search of Spike.
~Part: 5~
Walking into Fred’s office, Spike looked around. He’d been in here a few times before, but now he was actually <i>seeing</i> the office. It was sparsely furnished and not a scrap of anything to personalize it. It was bleak and almost sad looking. A white board sat off to the right side of the desk. Symbols and writing covered every inch of it. Spike hadn’t a clue what it said, but he found it interesting nonetheless.
“So, Luv,” Spike said as he walked further into the room. He trailed his hand just above the surface of the desk, trying desperately to feel the cold stainless steel. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Fred didn’t know how to say it, it was impossible to her. Well, not impossible, she just didn’t understand what was going on yet. Her mind whirled and searched for an explanation, but came up blank. Her hands fidgeted nervously, and she couldn’t stand still.
“Well, I, I’m sorry to have walked in on you like that,” she began, and then shook her head. This wasn’t what she wanted to talk about.
“S’alright Luv. It’s your Lab I suppose.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just, when I went to turn away, I saw something,” Fred said. She closed her eyes and envisioned what she’d seen connected to Spike. “Something’s holding on to you, leashing you. I don’t know what it is. Nevertheless, I saw it. It was wrapped around your neck like a leash. I couldn’t see where it led to though.”
She finally opened her eyes and looked apologetically at Spike. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what it is, or where it came from.”
“Look Pet, don’t worry about it. At least we know it’s there now…,” Spike said, his voice trailing off. He didn’t like the idea of anything being tied to him, in the real world, or this spiritual/noncorporeal world he’s stuck in now.
“I want to run some more tests on you, if that’s alright. Now that I know it’s there, I might be able to pick up an electrical signal on it. Then I would be able to trace it back using its unique signature--” Fred babbled, but was cut off by Spike.
“I get it. Not like I could feel you poking and prodding anyways. Do what you want. I’m yours,” Spike said. He smiled at her as she blushed.
----------
The elevator wouldn’t move fast enough for Angel. He knew he should have taken the stairs. Hell, he could crawl faster than this. Tapping his foot and crossing his arms, Angel waited and counted with the elevator. Five…four…three…
“Come on!” Angel yelled, hitting the side of the elevator. It left a fist-sized impression, but he didn’t notice. The doors opened with a soft ‘whoosh’ and Angel made his way out into the lobby of Wolfram and Hart.
Angel had been in such a hurry he hadn’t thought out where exactly he would go. Stopping in the middle of the lobby, he looked around. There weren’t many people around. Lorne was at Harmony’s desk talking to her, telling her a story maybe, judging by the laughter he heard.
Lorne looked over at Angel and waved, but he didn’t wave back. He had to find Spike before it was too late, before…before he was taken away from Angel. Where to look first? He didn’t know where Spike liked to go, or what he liked to do now. He just hadn’t paid that much attention, and now he was paying for it.
Jolting Angel out of his thoughts, Lorne said, “Whatcha looking for Boss Man?”
“Huh?” Angel asked. “Oh, Spike. Do you know where he is?”
“I don’t know. Should I?” Harmony said, coming up behind Lorne.
Those words…he knew them. They were from his dream.
“Angel-cakes, you look like you’ve seen, well, a ghost, and not the bleached kind,” Lorne said, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder. “You sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah…yeah. I’m fine,” Angel said, looking around the lobby. He knew that if he saw Spike’s bleached mop of hair, that he was indeed reliving his dream. When he couldn’t find him, Angel let out a sigh of relief and turned an apologetic smile to the two of them.
“If you see him…” Angel said, his voice trailing off as Harmony and Lorne nodded, and Angel took off again in search of Spike.
Walking through the corridors, Angel couldn’t remember Wolfram and Hart being so…busy. It could almost be considered a throng of people moving about. He flashed back on his dream and he could feel panic rise up in him. He <i>had</i> to find Spike. He just had to. Pushing his way through the crowd, Angel ignored the cries and yells of protest.
He caught a glimpse of blondish hair, but it wasn’t Spike. The lump in his throat subsided a bit, but he pressed on. Angel was almost frantic by the time he reached the end of the corridor. He didn’t remember it taking that long. Either way, he was at a crossroads. Left or right. To the right was Wesley’s office and Fred’s lab. To the left were other offices and the stairs to the basement. He headed left.
---------------------------
“So, got anything yet?” Spike asked. It’d been almost an hour since Fred began running her tests on him, trying to find out what was leashing him.
“Almost,” Fred said, distracted. She couldn’t seem to find the signature of whatever it was that had Spike literally by the neck. She was starting to get frustrated.
“Here, stand over here, straight, and don’t move,” Fred said, pointing to a spot on the floor. Spike moved obediently, but watched her. She turned to the side, trying to look out the corner of her eyes. Just when she was about to give up again, she saw it for a brief moment.
“There! It’s still there!”
“Yipee.”
“Sorry, I – I just wanted to make sure. I can’t get a reading on it and I’ve tried <i>everything</i>.”
“’S all right. You’ll get it.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think it’ll be tonight,” Fred said yawning.
“Go get some sleep, Pet. You look knackered. I’ll just amuse myself with Angel.”
And with that, Spike walked off and through the door.
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