Ronin: Within You Part 10a
Spike landed on his back, in a flurry of black leather and ..hair. His
hair was in his face. Startled, he shook it off. Then,
with the telltale shrug of his lean shoulders, he climbed to his
boot clad feet, and looked around. Nothingness. Alot of
white nothingness. He glanced down at his own form. With the exception
of the bizarre return of the long, reddish-brown
locks....and an old song he could not identify suddenly plaguing
the edge of his conciousness...nothing was amiss. He
still mostly resembled the neo-punk vampire, down to the Doc Maartans.
Still the Big Bad.
All right then. As it should be.
He sniffed the air for any trace of Angelus. All he smelled was...incense.
Bittersweet and cloying. Oddly familiar. Ah
yes! It was the kind the idol worshipping Catholics used at their
Mass....He was taken aback again by his train of
thought..he hadnt regarded that term in...about two hundred years.
<<Essence...>>
This was what Angels mind had conjured in response to the Essence Demon!
Some sort of Catholic version of the
afterlife.
<<Bloody terrific. And me a Protestant. Well...was...>>
Spike followed the scent down a long hallway; keenly aware that the smell
of Angel...and his fear...was mingling with
the pungent odor of incense. Angel was here. And Angel was afraid.
The last time Spike had caught that scent was when he crashed Sunnydale,
and Buffys PTA extravaganza all those
years ago. Angelus was in glorious game face, and bent over the trembling
body of Xander. He had even offered
Spike the first bite. He looked his old self. He sounded his old
self. Cocksure and autocratic. But under the familiar
smell of his Sire, had been..fear. Pure and simple. Noone but another
immortal could have picked up on it.
Actually, probably noone but Spike. It was the only way the blond
vampire had recognized it was a trap.
Angel had not even smelled like fear when Spike had tried killing him...any
of the times Spike had tried killing him. No.
Torture and death were not what the souled vampire feared. That long
ago night in the schoolhall, Angel had not been
afraid of his own demise. Rather, he feared losing the mortals he
had only begun to realize he cared for, more than he
should. He had feared that with one slip, their deaths would fall
on him.
Spike wondered briefly if Angel felt that rush of protective dread every
time he fought with Buffy...<<used to fight with
Buffy>>. Or, if perhaps, it had been the result of conflicting
loyalties. If even then, somewhere deep inside, Angel knew
he would not be able to stake his favorite Childe.
Another shrug of the black clad shoulders as he thought aloud, ::Thats
rot, mate. If youd offed the Slayer that eve or any
other youd have been talcum powder.::
Indeed, the rules had been established that first meeting, and further
amplified every other thereafter. Come after me,
we fight. The best man wins. Come after those I love, I kill you.
Unspoken, certainly. But nonetheless true. And mutually
understood.
So....what was it that Angel was afraid of now? Here, in what looked for
all the world like an Altar Boys version of
Paradise? Spike halfheartedly continued his futile attempts to place
the tune he could not be rid of, and stalked the
hallway in search of his Sire.
End Ronin:Within You Part 10a