<> and ** are thoughts and/or emphasis..the story
makes which obvious. I hope.

Distribution: Just let me know where its going first, please. Archive away.
Feedback: Please feed my fameslut demon. It gives her a happy.
 
 

Ronin: Within You Part 1a

Los Angeles, Present Day

Angel was drumming his fingers on the top of his desk impatiently. He was so
*not* good at this kind of thing. "Yes, thats correct. One dozen. Every
week. No, only white. Yes, Sunnydale Memorial Gardens. Buffy Anne Summers.
<<annoyed now>> I dont know the plot number, Im paying you enough, you can
figure it out. No...no..a note isn't necessary. Yes, Bank of London. Account
number... "

Spike stopped eavesdropping at that point. The amusement of listening to his
Sire attempt business transations with the mortal world had faded when he'd
realized the intent. Angel hung up the phone and looked at his Childe
expectantly, waiting for the inevitable smart ass retort. It never came.

Instead, "How long you going to send them for?" There was actually a quiet
respect in the blondes tone.

Angel caught that, despite the ache in his chest which his previous task had
only served to intensify. He smiled a little, but Spike noticed it didn't
quite reach his eyes. "I set up a perpetual account. I suppose they'll keep
arriving long after I'm dust on the bottom of someones shoes."

The other vampire just nodded, trying unsuccessfully not to get a mental
picture of the last.

When he finally opened his mouth to say something, he realized Angel was lost.
 

...It was years ago, when Buffy was still in High School. Her mother was in
the hospital, and Buffy had feared she was dying. Angel couldn't comfort her
about mortality, how could he? It would have been hypocritical. So he had
stood silent when she attacked him in her sorrow and her rage, and accused
him of being unable to comprehend her fears. Again, she had been right.
Except for one small detail. He knew then that he would be devestated if he
lost her to deaths hand. And he realized, at that very moment, that one day
he surely would. As if reading his mind, she had lashed out, "Sure, you'll
mourn me, but for what? Maybe fifty years? Then you'll forget. You'll forget."

He hadn't bothered to argue then. Gods, he wished he had bothered to argue.
Wished he had said, Buffy, I'll mourn the loss of you until I cant remember my
own name... Wished he had crushed her with his kisses. But he hadn't. Now
there were roses.

Angel realized suddenly that a pair of blue eyes were studying him closely,
and a platinum shadow was hovering , cautiously, on the edge of his thoughts.
They had shared so much blood recently, the younger vampire pretty much had
a random access pass into his Sire's conciousness. Angel shook off his
reverie. The intrusion wasn't entirely unwelcome. His Childe had been his
single saving grace after Buffy's murder. Immediately after her death, Angel
had thought eagerly of greeting the sunrise. He had been more than willing to
give his body back to Angelus. Anything to kill that pain. Angel had been
seconds away from feeding off two pretty children in an alley; seconds from
ending the quest for a redemption which had never seemed so far away, or so
pointless. Then the voice calling to him. In his angushed state of arousal
Angel had barely recognized the small blond figure who called out his mortal
name.

Spike...reluctant guardian of his Sire's soul. Two months ago Angel wouldn't
have allowed Spike in the same city with him. Now he slept in his bed.

Angel didn't know if their union would be at all tempered or softened by the
mortals which would soon surround them. He clearly recalled every detail of
their first incarnation together, however, and it made his human side more
than a little nervous.

Angelus had adored the brutality inherent in sex acts. It always reminded him
of killing. And if that was indeed the end result, well so much the better.
Fighting, feeding, fucking. All very close on the vampire spectrum. All
consecrated by the demon. The stories regarding Angelus... preferences were
accurate, and certain details had even found their way into the present days
texts. Angel never could stomach reading about his own sexual perversions in
the musty books which had filled the Watchers shelves. It wasn't necessary
anyway. The movie version played itself out in his head nightly. And, when
Penn had come to L.A., Angel had shared the visions of his kills in dreams.
He remembered telling Cordelia how much he enjoyed those vicarious visions of
death. In sleep, the soul had no purchase.

Cordelia had naively assured him that everyone had a dark side, "The Powers
That Be know you, Angel. They know you're not **him**. They know the
difference." He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing at her.
How could *they* know the difference when even *he* didn't?

Yea, he wanted to say, sit on my lap little girl, and let me tell you all
about my dark side.

Let me tell you how Penn's cleaned it up a wee bit. See, I didn't just carve
little crosses on their faces with insipid Goth jewlary. I carved them *all*
up, skillfully as a surgeon, and sucked the marrow off their bones like you
would gnaw on riblets. I marked every one of my kills, but it was with a
different symbol in each town. I still remember some actually... Glascow was
my initial, Swansea was a heart....the cliched cross I really only used once
or twice..the last time was in Romania I beleive. My infamous Gypsy girl got
the cross between her lovely tits, if I recall correctly. Oh, and did the
books mention I had a weapon of choice for my personalized engravings? Gods,
it was an exquisite dagger.. jade handle and smooth, silver blade. Samurai class.
I loved that knife. I stole it from what must have been some meals prized collection.
Carried it with me for almost two centuries, before losing it by that Gypsy campfire.
I marked my Childer with it as well. In fact, every one of the vampires I sired has some
sort of telltale badge which branded them as *mine*. You've seen the scar on
Will's eye? That was me. Tricky to do, that. You have to carve them before you
turn them, because of course, once they're dead, they won't scar. But they're
still human then, and they don't much appreciate the cuttings. And the smell
of their fear makes it even harder to cut them just once... its like those
potato chips, you know..? So I would make alot of cuts as I fed, then heal
them all with my saliva...all except the one I found the most pleasing. That
one they got to keep for eternity. Dru has the most splendidly detailed
pentagram carved on her ass. Squirmed so much when I was doing it I had to
knock her out in order to finish it properly.....

Angel shook with fear and longing at the ancient memories. Of course, Angel
had his soul now. William, however, did not. It was easy to make the
assumption that Spike was just a V-chip away from mayhem. Angel didn't need
anyone to draw him a schematic detailing his Childe's baser side. Spike was,
by his very nature surly and vulgar, not to mention instinctually amoral. On
the other hand, he was also loyal to a fault and he made no secret about his
uncharacteristic love for his Sire. And Angel felt neither qualms nor guilt
about accepting that love. Which, in itself was a shockingly new experience
for the nearly 250 year old vampire. In the brief period of time since Buffy's
murder, William had already become comfort and confidante, teacher and
tormentor, brother and lover. Angel made no comparisons between his feelings
for Spike and his feelings for Buffy. It would have been unnatural for him to
do so, akin to a parent trying to decide whether they loved their child more
than they loved their spouse. The love was equal, but vastly different. Freed
of such irrelevant moral restraints, Angel had simply allowed his love for
his Childe to make its way into his life in whatever form it chose to take.
Despite his penchant for self-denial, Angel knew he simply could not get
through this time alone. And apparantly, he *was* supposed to get through it.
Apparantly, he still had some purpose he was meant to serve.

He wanted desperately to believe that was the reason why William had been
given back to him. <<One door closes>>. Nonetheless, he continued to curse
The Powers That Be for the events which preluded their reunion. <<This was a
big fucking door.>>

"What else needs being done round here?" :Again the voice brought him back to
the present.

Angel rubbed his eyes. Gods, he hated paperwork. It was what he paid Cordy
for. But she and Wesley had remained in Sunnydale after the funeral. Tying up
emotional loose ends. Something Angel had found impossible to do in that
town. Buffy was no longer alive in Sunnydale, but Angel felt her presence
everywhere he went. It was why he had to leave for LA in the first place. He
couldn't stay away from her if he wasn't ...away from her. The impossible
obsession only flourished in the face of her sudden, horrific death. It was
easier here. It was far.

A not so gentle slap to the side of his dark head. "Ow! What?!"  A scowl.
"Oh,...uhm...here...", Angel tossed a weeks worth of mail at the annoyed
vampire. "Sort through these", he ordered.

Spike gave him another scowl and a mock salute, but nonethless began
separating the mail. He tossed half, unopened onto the desk, and half into
the trash. Angel shot him a warning look. "What?! Boring, human crap."

Then Spike caught sight of a small package. "Hullo, then, what's this?"
Grabbing for it before Angel had a chance to react, he tore it open, and
poured the contents into his palm.

Angel reached for the discarded wrapper. No note enclosed. No return address.
Postmark: Prague. A small shiver ran through the older man. "Will", he
began, "what was in the package?"

Spike shrugged, and showed him his open hand. In it was a tiny, green stone,
about the size of a quarter and triangular in shape. He raised a quizzical
brow at the strange look on his Sire's face.

"Who's this thing from? And what the hell is it?" Angel didn't reply, just
showed William the package, and pointed to the postmark.

For one moment, Spike was torn between clutching the mysterious object to his
chest and tossing it down onto the desk. "Dru...", he whispered, "you think
this is from Druscilla."

Angel narrowed his eyes, stared hard at the vampire before him. "Do you? You
know her better than I do."

Taken aback by the admission, Spike took a deep breath and stalled before
answering, "Im not sure." He shrugged again, and the clouds lifted. "My
princess never went in much for niceties. If she was gonna send ya a gift it'd
more than likely be some poor fellows bullocks." With that he handed the
trinket back to Angel.

Angel had to grin at his Childe's sudden return to form. He envied that
ability. Maybe it required the lack of a soul. Still, he had to agree with
Spike. "You're right. So..I'll just let Wesley take a look at it when they get
back from Sunnydale.". He tossed the stone into the top drawer of his desk.

"Good idea, mate," the smaller vampire said. Then, a solicitious grin,
"Now that all this mortal nonsense is cleared up, you fancy goin downstairs
and havin a fuck?"

Angel blinked. Then he laughed, and allowed himself to be pulled out of his
chair, and into the elevator leading to his apartment.

End Part 1a
 

Next

Return