!!DIALOGUE IS ENCLOSED IN COLONS NOT QUOTES (( :: )) because I have a
                 haunted keyboard.!!!   <> and ** are thoughts and/or emphasis..the story
                 makes which obvious. I hope.

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                 Feedback: Please feed my fameslut demon. It gives her a happy.

                 Ronin: Within You Part 8

                 When Angel came to, he was immediately aware of two things. The first was the
                 unbelievable pain in his skull. It seemed to be centered at the back of his
                 head, but its tendrils radiated, groping for the backs of his eyeballs, the
                 muscles of his jaw, and the bridge of his nose, which felt as if it had been
                 shattered.

                 He reached a tentative hand to his forehead, and the mere touch of his
                 fingertips brought a fresh wave of excruciating pain. Still, he was relieved
                 to discover that there was no blood, and no obvious wound. All his bones were
                 in their rightful place. He groaned.

                 If this was what Spike had to endure every time he tried to feed it was no
                 wonder he had gone from a rabid Bulldog to the equivalent of a vegetarian
                 Chihuahua.

                 The second thing Angel was immediately mindful of was the light. It was
                 radiant, fairly blinding in its intensity. No matter how long a Vampire lived
                 in Darkness, they never forgot the feel of the Light. Angel had often
                 wondered if that was part and parcel of the Nightwalkers curse. Most demons
                 abhored the memory of the Light. Angelus had. He had vehemently despised the
                 Sun, for its warmth and purity, for what it symbolized. Life.

                 Angel, on the other hand, treasured the memory like some sort of sentimental
                 family heirloom. Of all the worldly things he was denied after his transformation to
                 vampire, it was the simple comfort of morning that he missed the most.
                 Sometimes, he would rent movies that contained scenes of sunrises. He would
                 sit in front of his television, transfixed, and hit the Rewind button on his
                 VCR over and over. He would stare for hours, hypnotized by the sight of the
                 of the blue and gold fingers of dawn as they wrapped themselves around the
                 Earths horizon. He knew he was a boring romantic that way. He didnt quite
                 care.

                 In the past two-hundred-and-fifty-some years Angel had only personally
                 experienced the sunshine twice. Once when he was given Immortality, and once
                 when he was given Mortality. And although he had given both up willingly,
                 albeit at great personal cost, he never forgot the sensation of standing,
                 bathed in that yellow Light. He could still close his eyes, and conjure the
                 feel of that soothing warmth on his face.

                 This light, this heat, was more intense even than that.

                 Angel struggled to stand, but was not surprised to discover his legs refused
                 to support his weight. The level surface of the wall behind him offered no
                 assistance. The wall. Now that was curious. Despite the powerful glow
                 emenating from- wherever-, the smooth surface he leaned against was cool to
                 his touch.

                 So too was his skin, it felt no warmer at all than usual. Odd. Despite popular
                 misconception, he was not a cold blooded creature. Rather, much like a
                 lizard, his body temperature could rise to accomodate the temperature of the
                 air around him. Which was precisely why exposure to the Sun was so deadly to
                 vampires. With their preternatural metabolism, they warmed too quickly to
                 adjust to that kind of intense heat. After only seconds, they would literally
                 fry from the inside, like a turtle stuck on its back on hot asphalt. Only
                 faster. And, as Spike would say, ::not half as funny to watch.::

                 Spike! Memories came crashing back suddenly, like they always did after a
                 heavy sleep. But slower this time, and with numerous gaps. He had been with
                 Spike..in his
                 apartment...in L.A....Now Spike was alone <<danger>> ...and he was
                 here...Where was here? What exactly had he been doing before here? He couldnt
                 recall. <<William in danger>>

                 The small hairs on the back of Angels neck stood at attention.

                 Ignoring the pain which now seemed to crawl through every vein soaked in
                 stolen blood, he climbed to his feet. He turned his head to get a better look
                 at his surroundings, moaning his discomfort as the waves washed over him with
                 each small movement he attempted. He called on his heightened senses to try
                 and determine if there was anyone- or anything- in this place with him.

                 But the mirage of light reflected off of everything equally, and all he could
                 see ahead of him was more sparkling white. The only scent in the air was his
                 own. He swallowed. He smelled a little like fear. He looked down and noticed
                 that his hands were trembling slightly. For the first time, he also noticed
                 his clothing. Loose fitting, comfortable garb, and also, all white. Slacks
                 and a long sleeved shirt, bare feet. Nothing he would have conciously chosen
                 for himself, in any incarnation. Something made him reach a shaky hand up to
                 touch his hair. He found it was shoulder length now, and tied into a loose
                 ponytail with a simple leather string. He frowned. He had not worn his hair
                 that way since the early 1900s, when he cut it short, into the style of the
                 time.

                 Of course, it had never grown back. Corpses dont grow hair. At least, the
                 demon which animated his corpse didnt. His demon didnt bother to do anything,
                 really, that wasnt pertinent to the bodys immediate survival. Which for the
                 most part, had always been all right with Angel. He had never particularly
                 missed the daily ritual of having to shave.

                 Angel swayed unsteadily on his feet and grabbed once more at the wall for
                 support. He muttered a few uncharacteristic curses to himself, and was
                 startled when his voice seemed to skitter along the flawless surface of this
                 plce, then return to him in a perfect echo. As if he was standing at the
                 entrance to a long hallway. Taking a deep swig of oxygen into his dead lungs,
                 he started to walk.

                 ************************************************************************
                 Spike became concerned when he realized the blood flow was not ceasing. The
                 pressure he applied to his Sires nose did nothing to even slow the bright
                 crimson onslaught, which by now had covered countless towels and two
                 bedsheets. The knowledge that Angel was not going to bleed to death was less
                 than comforting. Especially since the dark vampire had made no movements
                 whatsoever since Spike had laid him on the bed about an hour or so ago.

                 But what worried the blond vampire more were the wounds on Angels body. They
                 were Spikes own bite marks, from where he had fed off his Sire during their
                 latest round of demonic lovemaking. By all accounts, the teeth marks and the
                 surrounding brusies should have healed by now. And although the holes were
                 now as small as pinpricks, they were still completely visible. The blue and
                 yellow abrasions encircling them were also still apparant. That was simply
                 not kosher. At all. It was if Angels supernatural healing processes had
                 stopped right around the time this insane nosebleed had begun.

                 ::Fuck::, Spike muttered to himself as he at last gave up his apparant futile
                 attempts to stop the neverending flow of blood.

                 ::Fuck::, he intoned again, as he realized what he was going to have to do.

                 ::Fuck!:: Louder this time, as he picked up the phone and began to dial.

                 ::This is Wesley::. Spike grimaced. The mans voice alone worked his nerves.

                 ::Ya, whatever. Listen, we got trouble here. You and the chit need to get
                 back to LA right off. Oh - and bring the witch.::  Spike hung up the phone
                 without further explanation. He hoped it was enough to bring the mortals
                 here. He really did not want to have to converse with that useless Watcher
                 any longer than necessary. And at the moment, it made his skin itch not to be
                 in the same room as his Sire.

                 He walked the ten paces back into the bedroom quickly, ignoring the phone
                 which had already begun ringing incessently. Angel still had not moved, but
                 it looked as though the bleeding had slowed. A little. Spike wanted to be
                 comforted by that. But he couldnt help wonder if perhaps that was simply
                 because there wasnt that much blood left inside of Angel anymore.

                 ************************************************************************
                 Angel wandered slowly down what was, as hed suspected, a long hallway. He
                 felt some of the strength returning to his stiff limbs as he moved. He was
                 also beginning to make out what appeared to be shadowy figures ahead. He
                 inhaled. No scent. As he passed the images they shimmered, then took solid
                 form.

                 Only when he stood directly in front of each could he discern their full
                 shapes and details. And then, he had to turn his face away. They were statues
                 of Christ. Thirteen in all. The Stations of the Cross. He recalled the
                 religious significance from his mortal days as a Churchgoing, if
                 hypocritical, young Catholic. When Sundays confessions gave him a shiny new
                 soul with which to sin again on Monday.

                 He studied the sculptures out of the corner of his eye, they were truly
                 amazing works of art. The detail was exquisite. Angel could make out every
                 straining muscle on the replica of the human Jesus, as he struggled to carry
                 his own cross. He could see the unshed tears in the eyes of Mary, as she
                 looked on in abject horror and sorrow while her son was being crucified.
                 These were not mere statues. The vampire would not have been at all surprised
                 if they climbed down off their pedestals before him and took in a living
                 breath. Again, Angel was overcome with the instinct to look away.

                 When he once more lifted his head, the statues were gone. Instead, further
                 onward swirled a kalaidescope of color. Each hue danced with the impossible
                 light radiating from behind it. The visual symphony then rained over an altar
                 directly below. A stained glass window. He recognized it as identical to the
                 one in his childhood Church in Ireland. Only magnified a hundred fold in size
                 and splendor.

                 The fragments of glass and light coalesced to create religious symbols,
                 sacred talismans he remembered from his boyhood, and as Angel watched, the
                 light on the altar splintered, shone ever brighter, until he was nearly
                 blinded with the sight of it. When the shine had mellowed somewhat, and he
                 was again able to look directly at the velvet draped altar, he saw the space
                 was now completely blanketed in the purest of white roses.

                 Buffy.

                 Angel swallowed a whimper, and fought the urge to fall to his knees.

                 ************************************************************************
                 ::What!?:: the thick Cockney accent demanded into the receiver. The perpetual
                 ringing was driving him out of his friggin mind.  Despite his reluctance to
                 chat it up with the mortals his Sire seemed to enjoy associating with, Spike
                 had felt compelled to answer the phone. If for no other reason than because
                 perhaps they had some sort of useful information.

                 ::Spike, I want you to listen to me very carefully -:: began the proper
                 British voice. Spike sneered at the condesending tone, and battled against
                 slamming the receiver down again. Pointless exercise, he knew. The tosser
                 would just call back. Again.

                 ::Dont give me orders Watcher! Just tell me what I need to know.::  Silence
                 met his tirade.  ::Watcher! Talk to me you bloody -::

                 ::Spike. Tell me whats going on there. Where is Angel?:: Shaken as the
                 vampire was, it took him a moment to realize that the calm voice on the other
                 end of the phone belonged now to the other Watcher.

                 Giles was also a bit grating, but Spike had a begrudging respect for this
                 Watcher. Not that he would ever admit it, even under penalty of a sharp stick
                 to the chest. Especially now, after the fiasco that had been the Slayers
                 funeral, and his Sires conspicuous absence from it. Still, he was the one
                 with the books, and hopefully, the answers. So, emotionally torturing the
                 wanker would have to wait. Dammit. Spike never was much good at delayed
                 gratification.

                 The vampire kept his tone deliberately clipped. ::Angel is unconcious. His
                 nose has been bleeding for about the last two hours, non-stop. Im assuming it
                 has something to do with the Catalyst Demon. Any ideas what?::

                 He heard Giles sharp intake of breath, and he did not like the sound of it.
                 The bespectacled Englishman had always been more of the stiff upper lip sort.
                 The only time he ever saw the man lose it was when he had accidentilly been
                 changed into a demon himself.  Talk about your happy moments.

                 ::Exactly what preceded Angels loss of conciousness?:: Giles queried.

                 Spike grinned a bit. Perhaps hed be able to work in some emotional discomfort
                 after all. ::Well, we were having us a bit of a shag, love.::  He so
                 regretted not being able to see the expression on the humans usually stoic
                 face.

                 ::I - I see...Then, what happened?::   Giles recovered quickly. Sod it all.

                 Spike hesitated, uncertain if he should reveal his Sires return to previous
                 demonic form to this man, and therefore undoubtably to the rest of the Scooby
                 Crew. He certainly did not want to risk the merry band staking Angel in their
                 overzealous foolishness. But he also couldnt risk withholding information
                 which may be pertinent to his Sires recovery.

                 In the end, prudence won out. He gave Giles an abbreviated version of what
                 had occured since the last time Angel had been in contact with Wesley via
                 phone. When Spike was through speaking, Giles let out another breath, then
                 was again silent.

                 ::Will you quit with the breathing, Watcher, and just tell me what the devil
                 is going on with my Sire?!::  Spike finally snapped.

                 Giles chose to ignore both the obvious impossibility of the vampires order,
                 as well as Spikes undisguised worry , further revealed by his reference to
                 Angel as his *Sire*.  It was apparant from all of the above that there was
                 more going on
                 between the two vampires than mere... shagging. Giles was certain he did not
                 want to dwell on this fact in any sort of detail.

                 ::Spike, you and Angel are both in grave danger. We have found a good deal
                 more information about the Demon you are facing. It is a catalyst for
                 Essence.::

                 ::A wha -?::

                 ::An Essence Demon. It is imbued with the Essence of the Caster, who Angel
                 seems to suspect is Druscilla?:: Giles did not pause for an answer, just
                 continued in a troubled tone. ::It will then draw on the Essence of the
                 intended Host, whom I assume is Angel. Anyone else who comes into physical
                 contact with it will be similarly effected. It will act on your darkest and
                 most hidden thoughts and feelings, bringing them all to the surface.::

                 ::Swell,:: Spike intoned, although truthfully, he had guessed almost as much
                 from the past days events.

                 ::Spike, Im afraid theres more,:: Giles continued.

                 ::Of course there is,:: the vampire deadpanned.

                 ::An Essence Demon is a powerful entity when envoked by a human Spellcaster,
                 and sent to a mortal Host. But, if it was truly envoked by a vampire,
                 particularly a - a - disturbed one, and then sent to another demon, it
                 becomes not only unpredictable, but its power is also magnified to a
                 frightening degree.::

                 Spike frowned, ::why is that?::

                 ::Because all demonic senses are heightened. Therefore, the results of the
                 Essence catalyst will be magnified as well. These results could be enough to
                 cause insanity, and also quite possibly-- :: Giles fell silent suddenly, as
                 he remembered to whom he was speaking, the legendary temper associated with
                 the being on the other side of this phone line.

                 ::And also what, dammnit?!:: Spike demanded. He heard another intake of
                 breath. What a bloody annoying human habit.

                 ::Possibly death, Spike. Should the Essence Demon take complete control over
                 the Host, the power it will eventually exert as it gains in strength may
                 become enough to induce the kind of insanity resulting most often in self
                 injury.::

                 Spikes brain had stopped functioning at the word *death*.  ::In English this
                 time, Watcher!:: he demanded.

                 ::Angel could very well attempt to kill himself. The madness such demons can
                 induce has been known to be that strong. there are accounts of --::

                 Spike cut him off. :: My Sire is *not* going to off himself. And you wanna
                 know why? Cause you bloody idiots are gonna get off yours arses and get to
                 L.A with the cure for this fucking demonic piece of rock. If you dont, Ill
                 personally -- ::

                 It was Giles turn to interrupt what Spike needed no reminding had been the
                 beginnings of a completely idle threat. As Giles had once reminded the blond
                 demon long ago, thanks to the Initiative, he could now do no more than lick
                 someone to death.

                 The Watcher felt an odd twinge of pity for the vampire. Spike was alone with
                 an unconcious, and obviously quite ill Angel. He was, essentially, helpless.
                 And, the tone in the normally swaggering creatures voice had been
                 unmistakably filled with agonized worry.

                 Nonetheless, Giles chalked up his newfound concern for Spike as spillover
                 from the incredible emptiness in is heart since the death of his beloved
                 Slayer.

                 ::Spike, your threats are unnecessary. I am currently talking to you from the
                 car. We are on our way to Los Angeles. All of us. We shall see you in less
                 than two hours.::

                 Spike hung up the phone. Stunned.

                 ******************************************************************************
                 ******************

                 End Part 8
 

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