Colours Of Red

Part I, Chapter 1

It was unnerving being watched—stalked, almost.

Angel didn’t like it, but he wasn’t going to intervene—not just yet, anyway. He wanted to know what the man wanted, so allowed the human’s eyes to roam over him whenever he stepped from his office to speak to Harmony, allowed the young man to hover near him when he entered an elevator—and at the last moment dash inside with him.

Unnerved turned to intensely curious, so Angel continued to let it go. He felt no threat, which he knew was possibly a mistake. He was tempted to take Wesley into his confidence, but the words “I’m being followed by a guy from Accounts” didn’t have the air of menace and authority he usually went for. So he waited until the man made a move. He would eventually. They always did.

He had other things on his mind anyway. He always had other things on his mind these days.

By coincidence, they had discovered that the drug Calendula protected minds from Lorne’s psychic abilities. They could no longer trust the readings they had done of the staff. They were planning to redo them all—drugs’ test first, then a reading. He divided the departments up between them: his inner circle—the people he trusted.

‘Why don’t you get Spike to take a few departments?’ Wesley turned the page of his list, frowning.

Angel looked up. ‘Spike.’

‘Well… yes. He could do a slack handful of mine, if you like.’

‘Spike.’

Wesley looked up. ‘Yes! Spike! He’s capable of running a simple drug test, isn’t he? Blood… right up his alley, so to speak.’

‘Spi—.’ Angel’s saw Wesley’s warning look and did not repeat the name again. ‘I don’t….’ Did he? Did he trust Spike? It was a hard concept to get his head around. Trust had never been a feature of their relationship. Fear had—Spike had sometimes feared him and done what he had been told to do. Power had—he had sometimes held so great a sway over his family that they had all obeyed him. Self-interest certainly had—Spike had often appeared at his side, his trusted lieutenant, because at that very moment, what his sire wanted had coincided with what Spike wanted. But trust?  ‘I don’t think he’d want to help.’ ‘Help with what, Mate?’

Angel winced. He didn’t want to be proved wrong. Or maybe right. Spike would agree to help because he wanted to appear helpful—self-interest, as ever.

Wesley seemed oblivious to Angel’s dilemma and replied happily, ‘We need some help with the drug testing programme.’

Spike flung himself into the couch. ‘I’m not watching people wee.’

‘Er… I’m sorry?’

‘Piss. I’m not watching….’

‘I know what weeing is; I meant….’

‘On the other hand…. Could be fun. You have to pay to see that on the net, like.’

Wesley nodded to himself and turned back to Angel. ‘So, as you were saying: no help from Spike.’

‘Hey!’

Angel smiled inwardly and chalked one up to him. Much to his annoyance, Spike sighed and sat up. ‘I’m only joking! Bloody hell, can’t you people take a joke anymore? I know it’s blood testing. I’ve been helping Fred get the pointy things ready! Happy?’

Wesley picked up his list. ‘Right, if you are serious about helping, you can take some of the departments.  The motor pool; Special Ops… what else…?’

‘Accounts.’

‘Hmm?’

Spike got up and peered over the man’s shoulder. ‘I could do those last two: Accounts and Typing.’

Angel tented his fingers under his chin. Three hundred years of reading people (and one hundred of those reading this smallish one) set alarm buzzers tingling in his spine. ‘Why those?’

Spike lifted his eyebrows innocently. ‘Why what?’

‘Why those?’

‘Those what?’

Angel narrowed his eyes, and Spike sighed again. As a gesture of martyred innocence, it was losing its veracity.  ‘I don’t care which ones I do!’ Angel heard something, but he couldn’t identify what the something was. Spike staring at him with innocent eyes distracted him.

So it was agreed.

Angel continued to sit at his desk long after the building emptied. He was trying to fathom Spike’s angle—why he wanted to help. Nothing came to him, and with a groan of stiffness, he levered himself up from the chair. He needed some physicality. He felt like killing something. L.A. was good for that.

Carefully selecting a weapon, he headed to the elevators.

He felt eyes on him again.

Accounts. Connections tickled his mind, but before he could scratch and work out the link, a very nervous voice coughed and said, ‘Sir?’

Angel turned cautiously, the sword heavy and reassuring in his hand. If Spike was involved in this, it would probably be bad.

‘Yes.’

His young stalker came closer.

Angel didn’t even try to put him at his ease. ‘Talk.’

The man seemed confused then waved his hand and tried to explain, but he was so nervous he was incoherent. Angel held up his hand. ‘Slower, maybe?’

The man nodded and managed to say, ‘I stayed late. I wanted to speak with you.’

‘You could have spoken to me any time over the last three days you’ve been following me.’

A deep blush followed this, and Angel almost felt guilty being harsh to something so lovely. The blush enhanced the man’s intense prettiness, but that only provoked Angel more. ‘What do you want?’ He kept the tone harsh. Experience had taught him that very bad things could come from very pretty, very innocent-seeming things.

‘Well, here’s the thing, see. I need some advice, and you seemed the best person to ask. But he says you’re…. I mean, not that he doesn’t say nice things about you sometimes, too. Well, not actually about you. But he could! He says nice things about the people you know!’

‘I’ve just lost a very valuable slice of my eternity. You’ve got one more chance before I either behead you or fire you, and I’m not sure which I’d enjoy more.’

‘Yes. Sorry. Only, here’s the… sorry. It’s Spike.’

‘Spike.’ He seemed doomed today to have conversations where he repeated that name inanely.

‘You’ve known him longer than anyone.’

‘Spike.’ Damn.

‘And I wanted to ask you…. See, here’s…. sorry. Okay! It’s his Birthday, and I want to buy him a present, and I thought I’d ask you what he’d like! Don’t cut my head off!’

Angel wasn’t sure he could have coordinated a hiccup let alone a beheading. ‘You want to…. I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard right.’

Having gotten over his initial fear, the man almost warmed to his theme. ‘See, it’s next week, and I just don’t know what he’d like. What do you buy someone who could just steal anything he wanted anyway? But then I remembered… well, actually, he was talking about you, and I thought—but only good things! Well, not as bad as he sometimes says—so, anyway, when he was telling me about the time you two… and I thought: the boss would know what to buy him! Did anyone ever tell you that you aren’t very… approachable?’

‘Birthday.’ It was an improvement on Spike, anyway.

‘Well, yeah. Didn’t you know?’

Angel shook his head slowly. ‘Human birthday?’

‘Er…. Oh, right, well, yeah, I guess. He didn’t say. But he wouldn’t want to celebrate becoming a vampire, would he? He said some huge horny beast turned him. Wouldn’t want to celebrate that.’

‘Horny beast!’

‘Or horned, maybe. We were kinda… busy… at the time, so I don’t….’

‘Busy.’ Whoa. Busy? Accounts? I’ll do accounts. Spike was doing accounts? Angel blinked and held the man with a gaze that was able to hold considerably more powerful creatures than he. ‘Why do you want to buy Spike a present?’

‘Huh?’

‘Why do you want to buy Spike a present? It’s a very simple question.’

‘Because…. I don’t get what you mean. Why wouldn’t I want to buy him a present?’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘But you don’t love him.’

There were a number of replies to this, but Angel didn’t make any of them. He processed things in his mind rapidly then asked softly, ‘Does he know this?’ Busy?

The man blushed prettily and shrugged. ‘I tell him, but he’s… ya know.’

Angel nodded as if he did. ‘You and Spike.’

There was nowhere for the blush to go. Angel watched it stay constant, but he heard the man’s pulse rise as he nodded in confirmation.

Angel suddenly lifted his arm and swung the sword, its whooshing sound and the speed of his movement making the man stumble back. ‘I don’t have time for this now. I’m going….’ To kill something. Someone. Move away from me now.

The man held up his hands defensively and backed away. Only when Angel was in the elevator did the human remember the whole point of the conversation. He saw from Angel’s expression, however, that asking again would not be good for his health.

Angel ran his fingers down the edge of his sword, liking the feel of the cold steel. He concentrated on the coolness of the metal for as long as he could, but other thoughts clamoured to be let in.

Spike and a man? Since when? Why? And where? How? Shit no!—kick that thought into touch.

But Spike? And another man? Since when? The elevator murmured softly to a halt two floors above where Angel wanted to get off. Still deep in thought, he hardly noticed.

‘Evenin’, Mate. Whoa, big sword!’ Spike lit a cigarette, leant across Angel to push the button. ‘You on overtime or something? Do you never actually leave this bloody place?’ He blew some smoke out on his inconsequential questions.

‘When did I turn you?’

Spike’s cigarette hovered. ‘Huh?’

‘What month did I turn you?’

‘How the hell should I—August. Why? An’ is that the first bloody time you’ve ever voluntarily mentioned…?’

‘It’s October now.’

‘Oh my God! Have we fallen through a time dimension? Oh, no, it was October when I stepped in! I kinda know what month it is, wanker!’

‘You were born in October?’

‘Are you on something? Ohhh! You’ve been sampling the blood testing! You bugger!’

‘It’s your Birthday this month?’

Spike tipped his head to one side and pursed his lips. ‘You’ve spoken to Ben.’

Ben? Something surged through Angel’s body. It felt like the constant need he had to kill and hurt things—but not quite. Those feelings he controlled. This one overpowered him, and he leant on the sword for a moment. ‘What’s going on, Spike?’

‘Nothing that I’m thinking is your business.’

‘Everything to do with… this firm… is my business.’

‘Not my personal bloody life!’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing! Jesus!’

 ‘Nothing! I’m collared in my own damn firm by your…!’

‘My… what? My what, Angel? Finish what you were going to say.’

‘Your… friend.’

Spike laughed unpleasantly. ‘Yeah. He is that. My stop.’

Angel looked puzzled; Spike sighed and clarified. ‘My stop—I get off here.’ He waited until the doors slid open then cast softly over his shoulder, ‘I’ve bin getting off a lot recently.’ Laughing at his own joke, he sauntered off with a small wave of his hand.

Part I Chapter 2

‘You’ve got to stop this, Mate.’ Spike didn’t fling himself into Angel’s chair in his usual irritating way. He sat carefully, leaning forward purposefully, elbows on knees.

Angel signed another letter, not looking up.  ‘I’m busy.’

‘I know. You’ve been a very busy boy the last two nights. You’re following him—stalking him—and it’s got to stop.’

‘You’re delusional.’ The ink ran out in his pen. Angel tutted softly and rummaged in a drawer for a new bottle.

Spike watched the elaborate filling of the fountain pen for a while then said calmly, ‘You sat on the roof opposite the apartment and watched all last night and the night before.’

‘You are mistaken. And I’m really not interested in whatever this game is you’re playing.’

‘I saw you. I watched you watching him.’

Angel looked up sharply, a small drip from the pen staining the paper he’d been studying. ‘You think I’m going to believe that you have the skill to watch me without me knowing it? Me?’

Spike leant back and lit a cigarette. ‘I do it all the time.’ He frowned for a moment, as if he’d admitted more than he’d intended and added, ‘Occasionally.’ Still not liking the taste of that, he said less convincingly, ‘Well, I did last night, anyway.’

‘What’s going on, Spike? I know you. This is something you want me to think is one thing, but which is actually something quite different. But I won’t see what it really is until it comes up and hits me hard from behind—crowbar-like.’

‘Huh? Just run that past me again.’

‘What are you up to?’ He snorted faintly. ‘Do you seriously want me to believe that you’ve suddenly become…?’

Spike leant forward accusingly. ‘I know what you were gonna say.’

Angel looked pained and lowered his eyes.

Spike grinned and said slyly, ‘Happy.’

Angel looked up, his face for one moment rippling with confusion and guilt in equal measure. Before he saw the trap—admitting that his thought was far less generous than that—he said sharply, ‘No, I wasn’t.’

Spike chuckled and stood up. His tone did not match the small laugh. ‘No, I know you weren’t. Just fuck off and leave us alone, Angel. We don’t need your self-hatred and twisted angst messing with what we’ve found.’  He sauntered out and headed, Angel noticed, to Accounts.

* * *

Wesley was reading, and he looked up, always pleased to see Angel.

Angel went to the bookcase and feigned interest in something.

Wesley sighed. These sorts of visits from Angel weren’t so enjoyable. He got up and poured them both a drink. ‘What’s he done now?’

‘What?’

‘Spike. I assume this little chat is going to be about Spike. Obliquely or not.’

Angel didn’t bother to give this foolishness credibility by acknowledging it. ‘I want to review our policy on inter-staff relationships.’

Wesley took a sip of whisky, slightly nervously. ‘Oh. Do we have one of those? I haven’t read it—not that if I had I’d stop trying to…. Well, not that you could call it trying, exactly. Hoping, certainly—.’

‘Wesley?’

‘Oh, yes, policy.’

‘Relationships between colleagues—I want to… ban them.’

‘Ah. May I ask why? Or even how….’

‘How is the easy part.’ Angel fingered an imaginary sword and felt it cut through human flesh. Feeling better, he said in a lighter tone, ‘I’m just trying to establish the right level of professionalism, Wes. It’s a pretty standard clause in most offices, isn’t it?’

‘I have no idea. This is hardly a standard office.’

‘All the more reason to ensure that we are utterly professional at all times!’

‘So, Cordelia…?’

Angel ignored this as easily as he ignored the fact he didn’t show up in mirrors: centuries of practice tuning out the unpalatable. ‘Good. We’re in agreement. I’ll have Gunn review the policy then.’ He sauntered out, very pleased with the way the discussion had gone.

* * *

Discovering from Gunn that he was CEO but that he couldn’t bring in such a policy without being sued by most of the lawyers in the firm angered Angel on some fundamental level.  He brooded about it for a number of days. One option, which had occurred to him in the dark hours of the night when he couldn’t sleep for some reason, was to make Spike leave: set him up somewhere else. Then he wouldn’t have to think about Spike being… busy. Angel’s eyes flew open. That was worse! Then Spike would be free to be… busy… all day! All day, being… busy! No, keep him here and keep him really busy—day and night! Or he could ki—sack—the human. He folded his arms under his head and saw the scene play out very satisfactorily. ‘You’re what?’

‘I’m firing you.’

‘But why? I’ve only ever wanted to serve you.’

‘You’re a thief.’

‘I’m a what?’

He’s a what? Angel frowned and began again.

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m firing you.’

‘But why? I’ve only ever looked up to you and wanted to do your will.’

‘You stole something from me, and I want it ba….’ Whoa. One last go….

‘You’re what?’

‘You’re dead.’ The axe, slicing through the man’s—Ben, what a dumb fucking name—neck actually brought a small, evil surge of life to Angel’s penis. He lifted the sheet and peered down.  He sliced again and again and again—a constant falling of that pretty head, blood welling up, spouting…. No! Hurting the man first. Laying hands on flesh where flesh of his flesh had lain: touching what Spike had touched. Hurting what he loved and wanted. Oh, even better… making Spike watch. Forcing him to see the pain his sire could cause. Make Spike cry. Make Spike beg. Hurt Spike. Touch Spike. Lay hands on that flesh of his flesh. Blood, their blood, welling, spouting…. By the time Angel had Spike writhing in his own blood, he was coming, and in his mind the sperm was blood and the blood, sperm.

He lifted his hand and studied the opaque sludge.

It depressed him deeply.

Was all this jealousy because Spike had someone else to do this for him but he hadn’t? Is that what was gnawing away at him? Spike had found someone to love and he hadn’t.

He wiped his hand on the sheet, deliberate and slow, and only then did the real depression begin—now, in the quiet after a lonely orgasm. Where was soft touch on his body? Where was sensual, meaningless conversation? Where was laughter?

Even straining his ears, he could hear nothing.

He might as well still be buried.

He should have stayed that way.

He turned his head on the pillow, looked out at the lights of the city, and anger and jealousy began to burn.

Part I Chapter 3

The results of the drugs’ tests were in. Angel summoned his team to the conference room and watched passively as they filed in, his hands tented under his chin. They seemed cheerful, but he allowed that his spirits may have exaggerated theirs in contrast.

They took a stack of papers each and began to weed them into piles: guilty; innocent.

Spike reached out to take some, and as he did, his sleeve rode up.

Angel’s eyes flicked with the speed of a predator to the thin strip of white that was exposed. Hanging delicately on the paleness was an utterly incongruous gold chain. It was so delicate that it looked almost fluid. It was new. At the same time as Angel’s eyes fixed upon it, Spike seemed to see it, too. He pulled his arm back and put a finger to it, his face slightly puzzled. Then he smiled softly and ran a finger of his other hand around inside, watching the way it slid over his nail. Then his look became self-deprecating and with the faintest of wry snorts, he shrugged it higher out of sight and began to sort his paperwork.

Angel continued to watch Spike’s wrist though. It seemed to him that the gift, on which his advice had been sought, had finally been decided. The perfect gift for someone who could steal whatever he wanted was something he would never think to steal in the first place: something that he would never think to want until he had it and saw that it was perfect. It took someone else to see that. New eyes. Angel felt he was seeing things with new eyes, too—things he could have taken at any time, but hadn’t, for he had not appreciated how well they suited him.

Spike’s wrist looked so strong. When had it become so strong? He didn’t remember it being strong when he held it fragile and beating like a desperate bird in his hand.  But that was over a century ago, and he had taken that beat away.  Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of the fragile chain making the bones so prominent. It was just a wrist joining hand to arm. That was all. He didn’t need to think anything else about it. But everything Spike had done in his long life had been done with that wrist as witness. And when had he begun to think about Spike having a life separate to his? Spike came into his face for a few decades, occasional years, on and off over months, days here or there, hours of irritation. But when he wasn’t in his face, Angel gave Spike no more thought than he did a car, which he left in a garage after using it. So why begin to wonder now where Spike went, what he did, what he thought and said outside of this life that they shared together between glass and chrome and recycled air.  Had Spike’s life ever felt as empty as his did now? Perhaps it had. Perhaps that’s why he’d filled it. Busy. Angel couldn’t get that image out of his head. When had he been given the gift? In bed, in that quiet time after orgasm, which had seemed so empty to him last night? Or over a shared meal in an expensive restaurant? Conversation and being human—Spike had moved into a different world, a place he could not follow. It didn’t make it any easier to realise that the humans were chatting about a party. Spike’s party. Spike’s birthday party—the one they must have assumed he’d been invited to. Or perhaps they didn’t think he’d be interested, or sensitive to the fact that he hadn’t. Spike, he noticed, wasn’t joining in. He seemed deep in his own thoughts, and try as Angel might, he could not read what those thoughts were.

He wasn’t sure whether not being invited to this party pleased or annoyed him. He could see why he wouldn’t be asked— there were a number of possible explanations for that. What he couldn’t see so clearly was why he would, and as he hadn’t, he was annoyed that he would be unable to put any suppositions to the test.

* * *

When the meeting broke up, Angel waited until they had almost all drifted out before saying casually, ‘Spike…?’

Spike turned back with a quick, interested expression, as if he wanted something to distract him as desperately as Angel did. ‘New case? Something juicy, I ‘ope.’ He flung himself in his careless yet studied manner on the couch and lit a cigarette.

Angel perched on the edge of the desk and watched the occasional glint from the wrist.  ‘When’s the party?’

Spike actually flushed slightly and mumbled around the cigarette, ‘Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. They were kinda… thoughtless.’

‘So, you deliberately didn’t invite me?’

Spike looked surprised. ‘Course. Don’t want you there.’

‘Oh.’  It seemed like an impasse. He broke it. ‘Why not?’

‘Cus I don’t like you, and I don’t want you ruining it with some big scene.’

‘Scene. I’m known for those, am I?’

Spike had the grace to smile faintly. ‘Well, okay, I’ll give you that: no. But don’t mean you can’t start a whole new character flaw.’

‘What’s the real reason you didn’t ask me?’

‘Told you: don’t like you.’

‘Besides that.’

Spike stood up. ‘Because it’s my life.’

Angel wondered idly what the it was. ‘I’d like to come.’

Spike sighed. ‘Sure. Do what you want. But I warn you, if you make a….’

‘I’ll try to behave in my usual taciturn and broody way.’

‘And that bodes well for the party spirit.’

‘What’s the address?’

Spike gave him a pointed look. ‘You know the address.’

Angel did. He cast a glance up at the vantage point he’d used on the opposite apartment block and entered through the elegant lobby. The quality of the place surprised him. He was either paying his employees too much, or other sources of funding were supporting the lifestyle.

A few young people joined him in the elevator, gave him appraising looks and muted their high spirits. He closed his eyes and tried to wish away a few hundred years.

The group made his entrance less conspicuous, for which he was grateful. He headed straight for a corner and merged with a shadow, watching and thinking.

The rooms were as elegant as the foyer: spacious, well appointed and richly furnished. There was an incongruity in the place though: traditional, expensive, made-to-last furniture mixing with a much younger, tackier style. The apartment was lit by candles and soft, muted lamps. The illumination cast flickering shadows over the wall facing Angel—a wall entirely covered with pictures of his host. The young man from Accounts clearly had aspirations as a model. His surly, pouting, come-on, amused, detached, sad, wistful, ebullient expressions dominated the room. His body, a study of perfect skin and muscle tone, held the eye, until the observer had to look away from weariness at such perfection. Angel didn’t look away. After three hundred years and counting you altered definitions of perfection.

Still, he needed a drink and shifted his eyes from the pictures to the bar. Wesley was talking softly to Fred, and with a sense of relief that surprised and pleased Angel, he went to join his friends.

‘Angel!’ Angel couldn’t tell whether Wesley was surprised by his presence or not, and gave him the benefit of the doubt that his friend would not have openly discussed the party if he’d known of the deliberate exclusion.

Fred beamed at him. ‘Isn’t this amazing?’

Angel nodded. ‘Expensive.’

‘I think his father is something in the City.’ Angel nodded. He’d worked that out for himself. Wesley offered him some ice and said conversationally, ‘So, how old is Spike today?’

Angel gripped his glass a little tighter and ignored the man’s question. Fred, however, picked it up and added excitedly, ‘I tried to pry it out of him! He’s closer than a clam on steroids. But he said he’s skipping all the dead years—as he put it—and starting again from the last real one. Isn’t that sweet?’

Angel looked casually into his whisky. ‘Very.’

‘So? How old was he when you first met him, Angel? When he was alive.’

The liquid swirled in the glass, a tiny whirlpool of his own making. Whirlpools within whirlpools, sucking him down. ‘Twenty six.’

Fred giggled and sang softly, ‘Happy twenty-seventh birthday; happy birthday to Spike.’

‘Did you know about,’ what could he call it? He settled for, ‘this?’

Wesley took a handful of nuts and tossed one into his mouth. ‘About what?’

Angel closed his eyes. ‘This man.’

‘Ben? Everyone knows they’re friends.’

‘Friends?’

Wesley hesitated, a nut poised for the toss. ‘What? You think this… you think there’s more to it than that?’

Like a drowning man supposedly sees a flashing reconstruction of his life, Angel saw the last few days flicker in his mind: Buy a gift; you know him; busy; I love him; nothing that I’m thinking is your business. ‘Yeah, I do.’

Wesley lowered the nuts and replaced them in the bowl. ‘Oh.’ He glanced at Fred, but she was blushing into her drink. ‘It’s hardly likely, Angel. Spike? I mean….’ Not sure what he meant, Wesley trailed off. After a few moments of mutual silence, he said with more confidence, ‘Of course, with Spike it could just be… fun: something to relieve the boredom. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

‘Boredom?’

Sensing that Angel’s very casual question was anything but casual, Wesley backtracked swiftly. ‘Loneliness then. Being so entirely different from everyone else. Vampire, souled, no one else he can turn to or talk to about that—can’t be easy.’

Angel didn’t see the thump Fred gave Wesley’s arm behind his back, but he heard it and smiled bitterly. He was saved from commenting by the appearance of the host. He emerged from the hallway with his arm around another equally pretty young man and began to do the rounds of the room.

Angel pushed off from the bar. ‘I need some air.’  He worked his way through the throng of beautiful people dancing and went to some large glass doors that lead out onto a stone balcony. It was cool, and he breathed in the air as if he needed it, filling stiff, unused lungs. The sudden, familiar smell of cigarette smoke made something deep inside ache, as if it too were stretching with unfamiliar sensations.  He leant on the balustrade. ‘Good party.’

Spike, leaning on the wall to one side of the doors with his leg bent up, tossed his cigarette into a small pile of similar butt ends in one corner. ‘Not allowed to smoke in the house. How pathetic is that?’

A muscle in Angel’s neck twitched. ‘You live here, too?’

‘Figure of speech.’

‘Shouldn’t you be inside? Birthday boy?’

‘Nah. Don’t know anyone ‘cept your pathetic friends, and I can see ‘nough of them during the day.’ He hopped up on the wall next to Angel. ‘Told you you shouldn’t have come.’

‘No. You didn’t invite me.’

‘Same thing. I knew you’d hate it.’

‘No. You hate me.’

Spike grinned and nudged him. ‘You shouldn’t be such an easy target.’

Angel pulled his arm away. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘You would be, too.’ Spike dug out another cigarette and didn’t elaborate on this odd comment.

Wanting the conversation to continue, afraid they were going to be interrupted, Angel said almost too eagerly, ‘Nice place.’

Spike turned to him, blowing a small stream of smoke into the crisp October air. ‘You like it?’ It was clear by his tone that he didn’t.

Angel frowned and turned around so he was leaning on the wall, facing back into the softly illuminated room. ‘Some of those pieces are antiques.’

‘’Xactly. Who wants a pile of old crap cluttering up your space?’

The delicious familiarity of this old, old, debate between them made Angel relax a little. He took up his usual position and countered, ‘It’s history, Spike. History is all we have sometimes. It defines the present and gives hope for the future.

‘Bollocks.’ Spike, Angel was delighted to see, had not forgotten his usual stance, either. ‘That’s total bollocks, and you know it. ‘S much better to have new things. They don’t come with a pile of old baggage; you’re set free to live as you want, and no one can bloody tell you what your damn future is going to pan out like! ‘Sides, the place is… dark. I can’t bloody stand all that gloomy… confinement.’

‘So, what? What would you have? Great towers of God-awful glass and chrome?’

‘Absolutely! Sunlight all day! Nothing older than the time it took you to bloody place it there!’

Angel smiled and dipped his head about to bring Spike’s crypt in to support his argument, when an animated voice from inside said, ‘There you are!’

Suddenly, they were three. Angel couldn’t tell who was more disconcerted. The boy flushed, a pretty blush that sat high on his cheekbones and emphasised his bone structure. Angel wondered if he’d still manage to look pretty contorted in death, and concluded, morosely, that he probably would. Spike slid off the wall and folded his arms over his chest, silent.

‘Mr Angel.’

Angel narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s just Angel.’

The young man nodded and turned to Spike, the blush deepening. ‘Coming in to meet people?’

Spike nodded, a small smile hovering on his lips.

Angel was left in the darkness, trying to interpret that smile.

After a few moments, he went closer and leant in the doorway, watching the room.

Spike was not being trailed around the floor, as he had envisioned; he was leaning in a doorway, and people were being brought eagerly to him. If the thought ‘homage’ crossed Angel’s mind, he suppressed it angrily. It pissed Angel off to the extent that he wanted to shout, “Spike is my fuck-up mistake! Spike is this pathetic nemesis that haunts me! Spike is a moron!” He didn’t want to see calm, or old, or wise, or serene, or enigmatic, or any of the other Goddamned things Spike seemed to be tonight, in this place, surrounded by these fawning children. His childe had grown up, and somewhere, somehow, he had missed it. A second child grown without his help.

Or, perhaps, in spite of it.

As no one took any notice of him, Angel spent most of the party on the balcony, drinking. When he was joined by some smokers, he went back inside and, on a whim, decided to explore.

The hallway was wide and high ceilinged and had a number of other doors leading off it. Checking them all out, Angel discovered two bathrooms, a kitchen, a study and then one, large bedroom.

As soon as he stepped inside, Angel knew this place was the whole reason for him coming to the party. This is what he had wanted to see.

He regarded the rumpled sheets, the clothes strewn over the floor, the careless mess. A book lay open: reading interrupted.

Closing the door, he went closer and brushed his hand over still body-warm silk, smoothing out a crease or two, denying the activity that seemed to have disturbed them. Then he straightened and folded his arms tightly around his body. So prepared was he to find what he had come here to find that not finding it threw him entirely: there was not one trace of Spike anywhere in the room. The bed, smelling as it did of other’s secretions, did not smell of Spike’s. Angel would have known that release anywhere. He had licked it out of Drusilla, and in nighttime fantasies of her, Spike’s taste still resonated on his tongue.

He backed out and went blindly to the main room, angry now, pushing dancers away with some force.  Back out into the cool darkness beyond the glass doors, he calmed. Nothing was as he’d thought, and his feelings, stirred up by that mistake, swirled uneasily in his gut, sickening him.

A match struck; light flared. ‘So, what do you think, Mate?’

Part I Chapter 4

Angel’s entire body clenched in response to Spike’s soft question, and he turned. ‘Do you really want to know?’

Taken aback by the force of the response to his friendly enquiry, Spike said uncertainly, ‘I know you don’t like parties, so all these….’ He waved vaguely at the beautiful young people who filled the room.

Angel nodded his head. ‘Yeah. I get that that is what I’m supposed to be seeing—an innocent party.’

‘Huh?’

‘Shall I tell you what I think this really is?’

Spike eyes flashed slightly at the challenge evident in Angel’s voice, and he said in a deceptively casual tone, ‘Yeah, why don’t you do that.’

‘I think that you’re a sap. I think that you’re being taken in by something far cleverer and more evil than you are.’

They both seemed surprised at this totally unexpected comment, but Angel recovered first and realised that although he had not consciously thought it until the moment the words had left his mouth, unconsciously, he had thought it from the start, and nothing he’d seen subsequently had changed his mind.

Spike clearly didn’t know whether to laugh or get really angry. He settled for something in the middle. ‘Ben? Evil? Ancient, demonic evil?’

‘I didn’t say ancient or demonic. Know something I don’t?’

‘No, Angel. I don’t know anything anymore. I was asking you what you thought of my birthday party—which, I notice, you haven’t brought a pressie to—and you come out with this load of bloody shite!’

‘He fawns on you. He flatters you, and you can’t see him for what he is.’

Spike’s jaw dropped slightly, and he jerked his head back. ‘If someone fawns on me they have to be evil? And he doesn’t, by the way—fawn. Jesus. Look, maybe you’d better just leave.’

‘He’s trying to get to me through you.’ Once more, Angel was startled by his words, but once more, they seemed eminently sensible once he’d said them. He told himself that as soon as he’d felt the stalker watching him, he’d sensed the evil intent. Why else would all this have upset him so much?

Spike’s eyes seemed to have lost the very faint glimmer of amusement they’d worn in reaction to Angel’s assertions. He came up very close and said distinctly, ‘Your ego is beyond belief. Not everything in this world is about you.’

‘Everything in your world is.’ That, Angel wished he had not said.

Spike enjoyed it though. He began to laugh. Something came into his eyes, something that was painfully incongruous with his laughter, and he suddenly turned his head and shouted, ‘Ben?’ into the room.

Angel couldn’t leave without pushing past Spike or the young man coming smiling out onto the balcony. ‘Guess what Angel says about you?’

The man was not so blasé with the dark figure as Spike. He gave them both a nervous, pretty smile. ‘What?’

‘He says….’ Angel’s hand came down on Spike’s wrist so hard that a bone cracked.

‘Say nothing.’

Spike swallowed and pulled his arm away, bead of pain-induced sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Angel didn’t relent. He held Spike prisoner of his gaze. ‘Say nothing to anyone. Don’t cross me in this.’ Then he pushed past them both and left.

It was only as he entered the elevator that he realised he had a delicate bracelet broken and dripping between his fingers like golden blood.

* * *

Spike showed no sign of injury the following day—not physical anyway. Angel quickly got that he was not flavour of the month by the occasional glare that was sent his way, but as currying favour wasn’t his style, this didn’t bother him much. It bothered him slightly more when he discovered that Spike intended to join him on a case.

Just as he was about to pull out of the garage, the passenger door opened, and Spike slid in. Angel slammed on the brakes. ‘No way. Get out.’

Spike pointedly put down the lock.

‘Spike! Get out. There’s no reason why you….’

‘I want to talk to you. Away from this place.’

‘Seems like we did all our talking last night.’

‘Seems like you did a lot of talking, yeah.’

Angel had to concede this. His memory of the whole evening was at best embarrassing, at worst painful.

Another car came up behind them, waiting to leave the garage. It was easier to continue than not, so Angel shoved the car into drive, and they emerged into the sunshine.

‘What’s the case then?’

‘You’re not interested, so why ask?’

Spike sighed. ‘I’m here now; I’m making myself interested. More stalking?’

Angel gave him a sideward glance but rose no further to the provocation. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I’m not sitting here discussing your love life, Spike.’

‘My…?’ Spike twisted sideward in his seat and regarded Angel’s profile steadily. ‘Why did you say those things about Ben? Other than blinding jealousy, of course.’

‘Jealousy? You think I’m jealous? Of whom? Him? You?’

‘Well, okay then, why the evil incarnate speech?’

‘Because he is!’

‘No! He’s not!’

‘He wants to bring me down.’

‘What? Bloody hell. How? By shagging me?’

Angel turned, and their eyes locked. ‘So you are…?’

‘You think I am.’

Angel was saved a response because they hit the car in front. Neither wearing belts, they shot forward and collided with the dash, blood spurting from foreheads and noses.

Angel levered himself slowly back into the seat, holding his head. ‘Shit.’

Spike put a hand to the door. ‘Do you think they’re hurt?’

Angel leant over and banged Spike’s arm away. ‘Sunlight?’

Spike looked anxiously at the car in front. Angel twisted around to look out of the rear. ‘We’d better get out of here.’

‘You can’t hit ‘em and run off!’

‘Call Wesley.’

Reluctantly, Spike called in and reported the incident whilst Angel reversed and manoeuvred away from the scene.

The car was not running well, and he decided to postpone the case, swinging into the other side of the street and heading back to the office.

Spike turned in his seat, trying to look back at the stricken car. He swivelled back and said tensely, ‘Maybe not go this way? I think we’re being… reported.’

Angel swore and pulled off abruptly into an alley.

They made it for another mile and had both begun to relax slightly when there was a bang, a sort of metallic groan, and steam began to pour from the front of the car. Another few feet and power died, despite how hopefully Angel stomped on the pedal. ‘Fuck!’

Spike bit his lip.

He turned his head away.

Angel saw the movement and barked, ‘What?’

Spike shook his head, but a slight snicker escaped.

To his utmost surprise, Angel began to laugh, too. He hadn’t though he had any humour left.

Spike wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and tried to say between hiccups, ‘I’m sorry.’

Angel tipped his head back on the seat. ‘What for?’

‘I feel kinda responsible.’

‘Good, because I was kinda blaming you.’

That set them off again, and it felt so good to be laughing together instead of fighting that they did not have the heart to return to the argument.

Spike ran his hands over his thighs and sighed. ‘Do you think in another hundred years we’ll be sittin’ in a car somewhere—still together?’

Angel adjusted the mirror and said softly, ‘We probably won’t have cars in a hundred years.’

Spike nodded as if this were the answer he’d been expecting. He rolled his head on the seat rest and regarded Angel’s profile. ‘Let it drop, Angel, yeah? No harm will come of it.’

‘I believe that it will, and I can’t let that go. It endangers everything.’

‘Careful. You’ll make me feel all important.’

If it was a cue for Angel to say that he was important, it was not taken. Angel finished fiddling with the mirror and said distractedly, ‘We’d better take the sewers—leave the car.’

Spike’s hand shot out and fastened, vice-like, on Angel’s thigh. ‘Give me one good reason why I should listen to you. One good reason to stop doing something that affects no one but me.’

Angel looked down at the fingers then up at Spike. His gaze was dark and unreadable, but for a moment it appeared to weaken, a glimmer making the steady look seem much more vulnerable, but it was quickly gone. Very precisely, he said, ‘I can’t even give you a bad one.’  Without waiting further, he pushed open the door, heaved his coat over his head and ran for the shelter of the nearest shade.

Part I Chapter 5

Angel used the power he had as CEO of the most influential law firm in the demon world: he set Wesley to work investigating the human he now feared as much as he hated.

And the hunter became the hunted. Angel watched the man relentlessly. He followed him day and night, although this time he was a great deal more cautious and knew that this observation was not… observed.

Everything he saw about this young man convinced him that he was right, convinced him that he was saving some catastrophe by his constant vigil. What he learnt about the boy’s relationship with Spike by his… stalking… was less certain. There was intensity. There was closeness—they spent most of their off-duty time together—but he could not have rightly said it was… intimate.  But then he knew so little of this concept he did not trust himself to judge. His new obsession kept him busy, at least, for the inordinately long time that Wesley seemed to take to do his job. It didn’t even make a difference sweeping into the office every few hours and demanding a progress report: Wesley only raised an eyebrow and told him he was on the case.

The tenseness in his gut tightened and tightened. He found it hard to eat, impossible to sleep. All he could think about was the boy and what he might do—might be doing—to Spike. Or not to Spike…. Angel had to constantly remind himself that this boy represented evil far deeper and more dangerous than a mere threat to one small vampire. He was a threat to all of them—by definition, a threat to the whole concept of Right.

* * *

Three days after he’d set Wesley the task, he collared him late one night coming back from the canteen, coffee and doughnuts balanced precariously on a large book. Angel stared, astounded, at the snack. Wesley caught the look and put the book carefully down on his desk. ‘Sorry. Would you like one?’

Angel’s eyes widened. ‘You’re supposed to be working on this! You have time to….’ He waved imperiously at the food.

Wesley didn’t bristle, but he did sit deliberately and pull his coffee toward him, taking a very long time to enjoy the first sip. He debated pointing out that it was now eleven o’clock at night, that he had worked since six that morning, and that he was now existing almost totally on sugar for his sustenance, but saw Angel’s expression and didn’t bother. He only said with a lurch of deep affection in his gut, ‘You were right, by the way.’

Angel didn’t appear to hear, or understand, for he repeated, puzzled, ‘Right?’

‘Hmm. Ben Jervis. His father, Leyland, is one of the biggest players in this city. Just about as evil as they come. Sold out to the Devil some years ago and, as luck would have it, let Wolfram and Hart broker the best deal for him. We have the contract.’

Angel sank heavily into the chair opposite and said in a small, wondering voice, ‘He’s evil?’

Wesley nodded. ‘And not just by association with his father. It appears that he’s looking to make a similar deal—started working here to get access to our influence with the Senior Partners.’

‘He’s evil. That… kid?’

Wesley nodded once more and bit his doughnut.

Angel suddenly snapped his head up. ‘Why didn’t Lorne read this?’

Wesley raised his eyebrows and let Angel work it out for himself—and not just because he had a mouthful of sugar.

Angel lunged to his feet and slammed his fist on the desk. ‘Spike did the blood test!’

He’d got good value from nodding, so Wesley did it again, swallowed and added, ‘He was rather eager, if you remember.’

‘Shit! Shit!’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Do you think Spike is in on this? What would he have to gain?’

‘I don’t know, Angel. Powerful friends?’

Angel pouted and almost countered that Spike had powerful friends, but he wondered whether Spike felt they had been his… friends. ‘I can’t believe he’d do this.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps he hasn’t. Ben Jervis is intensely pretty. I’m not attracted to men, but I wouldn’t push him out of my bed.’

‘Huh?’ Angel suddenly heard what Wesley said and jerked his head back.

Wesley gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m only joking, Angel—I think. Whatever. He is extremely attractive, and Spike, I should think, is extremely lonely. Not a good combination.’

‘You think he’s been duped?’

‘I don’t know! You know him best. What do you think? Malice or mistake?’

Angel pouted. A few years ago he wouldn’t have had any difficultly answering that question. He had a few scars to prove it. But now? Malice? He found it hard to believe. He found it unpleasant to believe. But unpleasant had never stopped him before. He’d do what he had to do.

‘What are you going to do?’

Angel narrowed his eyes. ‘I have no idea.’

* * *

When he’d thought it through, there didn’t seem to be much doubt what he had to do. He had to confront the human and find the truth behind the black and white evidence. He spent the rest of the night reading Wesley’s report for himself. He scanned everything, then went back and read it in detail. The family were so deep in the mire of evil that he was amazed some of it hadn’t stuck visibly on the child. Perhaps that’s what they were all seeing: a clever mask that evil had thrown up to hide its true face. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen that before. He could still conjure Jasmine’s beauty in his mind and flip it with her true face, creating an almost painful ripple of confusion. Maybe this Ben had learnt to create just such a front. Angel particularly liked this idea because he had some vague notion of shooting Spike to enable him see the true evil behind the face of his lover. He didn’t think it was just the idea of shooting Spike that was attracting him…. He wanted to free him…. He did!

The first thing was to confront the man without Spike’s interference. He didn’t want to put his accusations to them both, anticipating Spike’s response—actually hearing the derision (and fury) in his mind.

Wesley was given the task of distracting Spike, and Angel waited outside the apartment block for the human.

When he saw the slim figure climb out of a ludicrously expensive car, Angel peeled off from the wall where he’d waited and slipped into the foyer just as the elevator doors were closing. He took the stairs and was waiting around the corner when he heard the key pushed into the lock.

By the time the man had bent to retrieve his mail, Angel had a hand in the door to prevent it closing. ‘Hi.’

Ben dropped the mail with a start that pleased Angel, but instead of going further into the apartment, as most people might do for protection, he stepped back, backing away from the dark vampire down the hallway. ‘What do you want? Where’s Spike?’

‘Why do you ask where Spike is?’

‘He said I shouldn’t talk to you.’

‘Did he? Why?’

Ben was backed about as far as he could go, until he suddenly spun around, ripped open a door and dashed into the stairwell.  Angel grinned and lazily walked to the door, pulling it open. He was halfway down to the street when he realised, with a laugh at his own distraction, that the man had gone up, not down. He jogged up, too, and exited onto a flat roof that gave him an impressive view of the roof opposite, (where he had spent a few too many nights recently). Ben was scrabbling in a box that was partially concealed behind an air vent. He suddenly straightened, clutching a large, expensive-looking crossbow.

‘That another of Spike’s ideas?’ This though disturbed Angel more than the actual weapon did.

Ben looked surprised. ‘No. I just—. My father said—.’ He saw that this wasn’t doing his cause any good and held the bow pointed at Angel’s chest. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

Angel ignored him and began to walk slowly forward. ‘Tell me why you picked on Spike.’

‘Huh?’

‘If you wanted access to the power of the firm, why him? He’s nothing.’

‘You fucking bastard! That’s what you always say about him! Why are you so mean to him? Why do you do that?’

‘Huh?’ Angel was momentarily stumped. ‘Just answer the damn question. What do you want at Wolfram and Hart?’

‘How did you find out? What have you done to Spike?’

‘I’m asking the damn questions here!’

Ben was still backing off.  His hold on the weapon did not waver; he just seemed to forget it was there and backed away as if he had no protection. Which he didn’t really: Angel knew he could reach out and pluck the bolt from the air, if need be. But he’d learnt not to show his hand too soon and still approached with the appearance of caution. ‘Tell me about your father.’

Ben’s eyes widened, and for the first time, Angel saw real fear. He was a little annoyed that this had come now and not when he’d appeared, but he suppressed this thought. ‘You don’t know what he’s like.’

‘No. I don’t. Not sure I want to.’

Ben had nowhere to go. His legs were now pressing firmly against the low parapet that ran around the roof. He peered over, and Angel quickly guessed that the balcony of the apartment was now directly below them. He knew the man would not, could not jump: they were thirty feet up, and all his senses told him that the boy was human, despite that unnaturally pretty face.

‘Tell me about him.’

Ben glanced behind again and threatened with the weapon. ‘Get back. Please!’

Angel held out his hands to pacify the situation, and if he heard something incongruous in that desperate please, he didn’t examine it—he couldn’t afford to: he needed just the right level of fear to get the answers to his questions.  ‘Okay. I’m standing just here. Now, tell me.’

‘I can’t—.’ One more glance then the man stumbled up onto the wall. ‘Get back.’

Angel sighed and took a step forward. It was only one step, and he’d only meant to assert his control of the situation. Ben, however, gripped the crossbow harder with a small hiss of fear and squeezed the trigger. He had clearly never fired the weapon before. The kickback made it rear up in his hands and hit his face. He cried out. The cry was matched by another behind Angel, more poignant and far more fearful, and then the human fell. He just toppled off backward, scrabbling frantically for something that was not there to save him.

It almost was.

A blur of black and blond tore past Angel and almost caught the falling human. Spike’s fingers almost touched the warmer ones, but the momentum of the fall just carried the boy backwards.

He screamed and disappeared from sight.

Without hesitation, Spike dove off the roof, as if even now he could somehow defy gravity and fall faster than Ben and catch him.

They fell together. Angel never knew if they watched each other in that final fall; he heard them hit the edge of the balcony below, a sickening thud, and then more falling. By the time he reached the street, only one was rising. The other one wasn’t, for he was lying with his pretty face smashed on the unforgiving ground.

Part I Chapter 6

Even as he jumped, Angel could only repeat in his mind, ‘He was evil; he was evil.’ It did nothing to salve his conscience, but it was better than nothing. He’d only wanted to question the boy. He’d only wanted…. What had he wanted? Angel didn’t care to have his motives in this debacle examined too minutely.

He landed with the litheness and grace of a cat, but lost some of this adroitness when he saw the scene that greeted him, and put his hand to the wall for a moment. He couldn’t tell how badly injured Spike was for he was covered in the red, sticky blood of the human. It was the first time he’d seen Spike with human blood that his childe hadn’t caused and wasn’t enjoying, but Spike clearly wasn’t enjoying this blood at all. His face was hidden, and he was rocking the broken figure. Before he could stop the thought, Angel realised that he’d been wrong: Ben did not look so pretty contorted in death.

He came up close and squatted down—just out of reach of a fist. ‘I’m sorry, Spike. This wasn’t supposed to go down like this. But I was right about him. He was evil. His father is one of the biggest—.’

‘I know that! You bastard! You fucking bastard! I knew that! What did you think this was? He came to me for help—he was trying to resist. He was trying to live his own life! I was helping him!’

Angel could not find words of his own, so he repeated some of Spike’s. ‘Helping him?’

Spike buried his face in the boy’s hair, which then squashed into the shattered skull, grey matter welling out and sticking to the pale features. ‘I needed something. I missed the girls—helping them. Being in the centre of things, being needed. I wanted to help.’

‘You weren’t…’ he could hardly bring himself to say the word, but he forced it out, ‘lovers?’

Spike’s eyes blazed with a strange, dark light. ‘Is that bloody relevant? What does it matter?  NO! We weren’t bloody lovers—but do you know what? I let you go on believing that cus it gave me a perverse kick—thinking about how it niggled at you, how you’d be up in that lonely bed, beating off, worrying about what we did, how we did it….’ There was only so much Angel would tolerate—despite how much latitude he felt he ought to give Spike just now. He stood up and came closer, slightly menacingly. He was completely floored when tears began to flow, large and luminous down Spike’s cheeks, washing the blood into faint steaks of pink. ‘So, I killed ‘im just as surely as you did. I played my games with you, and it got him killed. I promised I’d help ‘im. He trusted me!’ This last was too much, and Spike began to sob, burying this weakness into the human’s body.

Angel heard sirens and was snapped back to the moment. With a curse, he went into the shadows and dialed Special Ops. When he was satisfied, he returned to the figure on the pavement. ‘Spike.’ He put his hand on Spike’s shoulder but was not surprised when Spike wrenched away and sprung to his feet.  Spike stepped back from the body, now surrounded by a considerable amount of blood, shining blackly like spilt ink in the darkness. He bowed his head for a moment over the remains of his friend. ‘You poor sod. You came to the wrong person.’  Turning on his heel, he tipped his head up to the night as if seeking something in the darkness. Then he ran fingers through his blood-sticky hair and began to walk slowly away. Angel watched him go and wondered why the death of this human had made tears form in his eyes, too.

Angel wasn’t naïve enough to expect that his part in this fiasco would remain unknown in the demon community. He fully expected retribution, and he occupied his mind for the next few hours ensuring that his friends were apprised of the situation. He told Eve, obliquely, what had happened, leaving out Spike’s part, and told her to broker favour with the Senior Partners.

As soon as Eve left, Wesley appeared. Angel had never been so pleased to see him. He only nodded though and kept his need for absolution to himself.

‘Spike smelt a rat as soon as he arrived. Sorry, but bar staking him, I couldn’t think of a way to restrain him. What happened? You didn’t say much on the phone.’

Angel outlined the sad events of the evening, once more leaving out most of the details about Spike.

When he’d heard Angel out, Wesley immediately rose and came over to him. He didn’t attempt anything like a hug, but he put one hand on his arm, which was, in some ways, the equivalent between them anyway. ‘I am very sorry, Angel. But it was not your fault—he tried to shoot you, after all.’

Angel nodded, but they both knew he felt no absolution whatsoever—that he probably never would.

Life had to go on though. Angel was still concerned about fallout to the firm, and he outlined the additional security measures he wanted put in place. It was only when they’d completed these arrangements, long into the night, that whisky was produced. It was only then, after they had shared half a bottle, that Wesley asked the question Angel had been expecting all evening. ‘Where’s Spike now?’

Angel leant his head onto the back of the couch. ‘I don’t know. He left.’

‘He was…?’ Angel had been so reserved about Spike’s role in the affair that Wesley had very little idea what to think about the state of the blond vampire’s mind.

‘He was… upset.’

‘Ah. So they were more than friends.’

Angel closed his eyes wearily. His behaviour did not hold up to too much scrutiny on these matters, but to punish himself he refused to change the subject. ‘No. He said not. They were just friends.’

‘Oh. Well, that changes things then. He’ll recover quicker?’

Angel pouted. ‘You don’t know him. He holds things inside. Feels them deeply.’

Wesley turned his head to study Angel’s profile. These words alarmed and depressed him deeply. He’d never heard Angel say something complimentary or thoughtful about Spike before—he barely acknowledged him as a person most of the time. Angel could not afford to take on guilt for Spike, too—he was clearly guilty enough about the human. He put his hand on Angel’s thigh and patted it fondly.

Angel glanced down then swung his leg away. No absolution, no comfort: he didn’t deserve them.

‘Do you think we’d better go and look for him?’

‘Where?’

‘Well, we could try his apartment, I suppose.’

‘You know where he lives?’

‘Well, yes. Don’t you?’ He winced as he said it. Angel didn’t need his omissions concerning Spike pointed out, either.

Angel pushed to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’

* * *

Neither of them expected Spike to be there, nor to actually answer the door, but a few moments after Wesley’s knock, it swung open.

Spike had clearly just showered: his hair still wet, just a pair of damp sweatpants clinging to his legs.

Angel had so not expected to find him that he had nothing prepared to say—had no idea what he could say.

Given what he had probably just showered off his body, Spike seemed oddly calm and only stepped away from the door, picking up a towel to rub his hair.

Wesley looked at Angel, blew out his cheeks slightly and stepped in. ‘How are you?’

Spike didn’t reply. He opened the fridge and seemed to be deep in contemplation of its contents. Eventually, he pulled out a bloodbag, but before he tore into it, he hesitated. He held it up to the light with a slight frown then shuddered and let it drop to the counter. ‘What do you want?’

‘To see if you are all right, I suppose.’

‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ Wesley recoiled slightly at the uncharacteristically vicious comment and turned helplessly to Angel, saying softly, ‘Maybe you’d like to have some time alone with—.’

‘No!’ Angel lowered his tone and repeated, ‘No, you’re okay.’

Ignoring this small exchange, Spike lifted his head and caught Angel in a very direct stare. ‘Well?’

Angel pouted and rearranged something on the coffee table. ‘Same reason—I came to see if you were okay.’

‘Uh huh. Well, as you can see, I’m fine.’

Wesley nodded, pleased. ‘We’ve upped the security, Spike. Give me a call when you get in tomorrow, and I’ll give you all the new codes.’

Spike shrugged.

Angel moved the things he’d tidied back to their original position and asked casually, ‘So… you are coming in—tomorrow?’

Spike took a sudden step forward, and Angel jumped back. It surprised them both, and Spike laughed. ‘Maybe you could both go now. I’m kinda tired.’

* * *

Angel was oddly quiet on the way back—he let Wesley drive, which was uncharacteristic enough. The human kept glancing at him obliquely, until unable to stand the silence any longer, he said cheerfully, ‘He seemed to be holding up quite well… considering.’

Angel turned, and Wesley felt a shiver course down his spine at the strange intensity of the vampire’s look.

Not giving his opinion on Spike’s state of mind, Angel turned back to stare out of the side window.

* * *

The next day, Angel was occupied by scotching rumours about the death. By nine, everyone in the firm seemed to know that he’d thrown the broken, tortured body of the boy off the roof because he’d been jealous of his beauty. By ten, the fact that the body had been totally drained of blood had been added to the account. By lunchtime, Ben had died bound and gagged with whip marks scoring his flesh. Sometime in the afternoon, he’d been raped, and then by home time he’d been turned and made into Angel’s demonic childe.

Angel enjoyed Harmony’s frequent updates. They exactly suited his mood that day, and he wondered if things could get any worse.

Spike, he noted, had not made an appearance.

He wanted to go back to the dark little apartment and see him, but he could not make words emerge when he imagined the scene. Perhaps that’s exactly what Spike needed—his silence for once. He felt he’d said enough to Spike recently for more than one lifetime. But wallowing in silence, allowing Spike to speak, would be intolerable: Angel did not think he could bear to hear what Spike had to say about him just now.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Wesley appeared just as Angel was about to go up to his apartment. ‘Have you seen Spike?’

Angel shook his head.

Wesley made a small face. ‘That’s odd then. He did come in, because he’s signed for all his new codes.’

Angel frowned. ‘Where is he then?’

‘Shall I have security do a sweep?’

Angel hesitated. ‘No. I don’t want to… upset… him any more than I already—.’ He snapped his jaw shut. ‘Anything else?’

Wesley went through a mental checklist. ‘No, I don’t think so.’  Angel nodded and punched the code for his elevator.

He tapped his foot and cursed in annoyance.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Where the hell is it?’

Wesley came closer. ‘Oh, well, you’ll need the new code.’

Angel sighed. ‘Sure. Show me where to sign.’

Wesley swore uncharacteristically. ‘You signed for them this morning. All of them! Angel! You have access to everywhere in the building!’

Angel didn’t hesitate. He punched security and told them to change the codes once more.  When this was done, he turned to Wesley. ‘Damage limitation. Now!’

‘You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?’

‘Spike!’

‘Oh, dear. You are.’

‘What would he want access to? Think, Wes!’

‘I have no idea. He was fine last ni—.’

‘He wasn’t fucking fine! He was bleeding grief and guilt out from the inside. Shit! Shit!’ He punched the wall. ‘Do a sweep for him—vampire sensor.’

Wesley nodded and made the call. They waited anxiously for the reply.

When the phone rang, Angel snatched it up. ‘Yes?’

‘He’s nowhere in the building, Sir.’

‘But he was here?’

‘We last have a trace of him two hours ago.’

‘Two hours? Where?’

‘He used the code for the White Room.’

Angel slammed the phone down. ‘What the…?’

‘He can’t enter there!’

‘I know! But he has! Get Gunn in—and Eve. But keep them down here until I get back.’

‘Angel, this is—.’

‘I know! But this is Spike! This is Spike, Wes!’ He began to run.

Part I Chapter 7

The room was calm and still and white. He saw it stretching far away in all directions, and right in the middle, arms stretched out as if embracing a huge wind, Spike stood naked.

Angel opened his mouth to speak, but he had no idea what he was seeing so kept mute, only approaching cautiously.

Spike was talking quietly to himself. As he came closer, Angel heard Latin, but it was so long since he’d used the language, he couldn’t work out more than one word in ten.

The slim, naked vampire was standing in a ring of candles, each one of which had been placed strategically on the corners of a design.

Angel’s first thought was resurrection: Spike was trying to resurrect the human.

He wasn’t sure whether to just storm in and kick the circle apart, grab Spike, or extinguish the candles. He wished he’d brought Wesley.

Suddenly, his vision of Spike flickered, and he lifted his eyes to the non-existent roof. The whole place was starting to darken. His hair ruffled on a slight wind, which quickly grew into something so powerful he had to lean into it to stay on his feet. With the candles out, the only light seemed to be coming from Spike: he glowed with an eerie brightness.

Angel had had enough. Experience had taught him that sometimes you just had to blunder in and do what seemed right at the time.

He ran over to the figure and stepped into the circle. Spike acknowledged his presence by the flick of a glance but continued his chant. The words seemed more familiar to Angel now, but he was busy kicking the candles away, so didn’t try to translate them more.

The wind howled around them. The light from Spike changed to a deep blood red.

Angel shouted, ‘Spike! Stop it!’ but he was ignored.

He tried to take Spike’s arm, but the red flesh burnt him. He stepped back, licking his fingers, and tripped over something.

He whirled around, half-expecting to see Ben’s crushed body rising eerily alive in the red light, only to find a small vessel.

Suddenly, Angel got what was happening.

He screamed his denial and picked up the jar to smash it, but it was too late. Before he could hurl the object from him, Spike’s body gave a huge jerk, spasms wracked the thin frame, and then the light shot out of him and into the jar.

The lid snapped shut, and all went very still and very quiet.

Except for the laughing.

When Angel’s eyes recovered from the intensity of the light, he saw Spike standing in the calm, white room, dressing and chuckling.  He nodded at the jar. ‘You need to give that to me now.’ Angel glanced down in dismay at the vessel that now contained Spike’s soul and said helplessly, ‘Why? For fuck’s sake, why?’

Spike shrugged. ‘Why not? Didn’t do me any good. Give it to me.’

Angel held the vase behind his back and shook his head, too shocked to speak.

Spike nodded, wearily. ‘I’m thinking you can’t stop me leaving and hold onto that jar, Angel. What’s your choice?’

Catching Angel totally off-guard, Spike attacked, launching himself across the space between them.

Angel had never protected something so precious. He knew that if Spike got the jar, he would smash it, and something in this thought plumbed a level of violence in him that he’d not discovered for a very long time. But Spike matched him, move for move, viciousness for viciousness.

Angel had not seen how far Spike had come with his soul until he was faced once more with the soulless version of his childe.

He knew he could not win. Spike was too intent on destroying the thing that had caused him so much pain. Angel knew. This was all so tragically familiar. He could not let his burden go: it felt like hope—tiny, crying in a wilderness of pain, but hope, nevertheless.

Blood pouring into his eyes from a bite on his scalp, hands almost too slick with blood to hold the precious container, Angel was backed into the elevator. Contained, they fought like wild animals, any memory of Angel’s soul being equally forgotten. Angel could feel Spike’s desperation to destroy the last remaining thing that tied him to the memories of his pain. Angel could not afford to let him do that.

The elevator was moving, although neither of them noticed. They hardly noticed when the doors slid open.

Only then was there a pause in their vicious struggle when men in black uniforms piled into the small, blood-splattered enclosure. Angel shouted commands; men shouted back, and through it all, Angel held onto the jar.

Finally, everything went quiet. Angel pushed one of the men in black out of the way. ‘Where is he?’

His head snapped around to the stairwell door. ‘Fuck!’ He ran; his hands slipped on the door handle, leaving a red, sticky streak.

He felt a hand on his arm and whirled around to see Wesley, pale with beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘Angel. You have to… stop.’

Angel knew he was bleeding badly. It was pooling around his feet. But he couldn’t afford to stop now.

‘Get them all in, Wesley: Fred, Gunn, Lorne—no one leaves this building. He’ll go straight for them. I want this building locked up tight. No one gets in after them. Do you understand?’

‘What do you mean?’

Angel held out the jar, but it was too much. Showing it to Wesley made it true, and his frame wracked with one huge sob. Wesley turned him from the prurient view of the Special Ops Team and began to walk him down the hallway, murmuring calming words about inconsequential things—anything not to have to talk about Spike. He knew what that container held. He knew what it portended. Until that moment, he had never hated anyone. He hated Spike now for what he was doing to Angel. The feeling lasted until they reached Angel’s office. By then, overwhelming sadness and pity for the blond vampire had taken its place.

‘Make the calls, Wesley.’

Wesley nodded and did as he was asked.  Angel sank into the couch, hugging the jar, his eyes blank. When the calls were done, Wesley jogged down to his office and fetched some bandages, tape and towels. He dropped to his knees in front of the silent vampire. ‘Angel.’

Angel jerked, looked wildly at him and then nodded.

‘You need to put that down; I can’t—. Okay. Hold it then… but could you just move it to one side….’

‘Are they coming in?’

‘Yes. They’ll be here soon. Do you really think he’ll stick around in L.A. though? I’d have thought he would—.’

Angel ripped out of Wesley’s gentle hands and staggered to the phone.  He began to dial a number then stopped and turned to the man with anguish in his eyes. ‘How can I tell her he’s alive but lost his soul all in one call?’

‘Buffy? Angel, she knows. She knows he’s back. She’s known for a while.’

Angel replaced the handset. ‘You must be mistaken. She’d come—if she knew. He died for her, Wesley. He died for her. She’d come—if she knew.’

Wesley felt like a shit, but he put his hand on Angel’s arm and said gently, ‘Spike called her a few weeks back. Do you remember that week he was rather… down?’ He saw that Angel did not and said more brightly, ‘When he kept coming in with black eyes?’ At Angel’s slow nod, Wesley added, ‘Well, I think Buffy’s response to his phone call could have been at the root of those… fights.’

Angel reluctantly made the call but, Wesley noted, kept it very short, business-like and impersonal.

A sense of eerie calm descended.

Wesley started to move toward Angel with the tape and scissors, but Angel waved him off.

‘What are you going to do now?’

Angel looked down at the jar. ‘I’m going to find him and put it back.’

‘I was rather afraid you’d say something like that.’

‘It is possible.’

‘Oh, I know in theory it is. I’ve never seen it done though. The soul is released; an incantation offered, and if it’s done at precisely the same time, then the soul will shoot back into its host. I’ve always been led to believe that you required an Orb of Thesulah, but perhaps the White Room operated as an even more powerful conduit. I just wish I could see it done one day.’

Angel cast him a sidelong glance and did not point out that he already had, only he was not being allowed to remember it.

‘Find the incantation for me, Wes.’

‘With the resources we have available to us, that won’t be hard.’

Angel heard something in the human’s voice. ‘What?’

‘Well…. I’ll find it first, and we’ll see then.’  Wesley left, hurrying to his office.  He found what he needed fairly easily, but as he suspected, it was long, in Latin and… long. He frowned and took it back to Angel. ‘I shall come with you and do the—.’

‘No.’

‘You can’t learn all this….’ Angel snatched the book from him and placed it on the desk. He lowered carefully into his chair, placed the jar on the desk next to the book and began to read.

At the sight of the lowered, dark head, Wesley felt his own soul almost break from pity. ‘Let me at least attempt a backup.’

Angel hardly heard him. He was trying to stop his eyes blurring over the words he so desperately wanted to learn.

Part I Chapter 8

‘Where will you look for him?’

‘I’ll find him.’

‘I’ve made a list of places he… mentioned—places he liked.’

Angel nodded and took the offered list. He shifted the vase to his other arm, not wanting to release the thing he held tightly in one fist. He held up the object. ‘Thank you.’

Wesley looked away for a moment. ‘You’re so weak. He’ll—.’

‘He was badly injured, too. And hey….’ Angel nudged him. ‘He’s not had you patching him up!’

It was too much for Wesley. He bit his lip and looked stern.  ‘At least feed before you go—and rest for a couple of hours. Two hours can’t make any difference.’

‘I don’t have time. Every moment I delay, he will be feeding. And I don’t want him to have that guilt when I get him back.’

Hearing, but ignoring the slightly odd choice of words, Wesley took Angel’s arm and said firmly, ‘If you catch up with him and he defeats you, what good will that do any of us? You are the only thing standing between us and William the Bloody. Please, Angel, feed and rest before you go.’

Angel sighed but relented. He wanted a shower and change of clothes anyway.

He rode up in the elevator, reading Wesley’s list—places Spike liked. He saw with a sense of deep despondency that he did not recognise a single one of the places. What would his list consist of? He had not voluntarily gone to a bar, a club, the theatre—anywhere—since…. Since when? Since Connor. Since Cordelia. Since he had someone to go with. Since he wasn’t alone.

By the time he stepped out of the elevator, his eyes were misted with something that almost felt like self pity, and he rubbed them with the heel of his clenched fist.

It was the main reason he didn’t see the gun—although he wouldn’t have been able to avoid the darts even if he had seen it.  He felt them thud into his chest. He looked up with a sense of lurching sickness, and helplessly relinquished the jar to Spike as the blond vampire calmly took it from his falling body. 

* * *

He came to naked and face down on the bed, someone stroking his hair.

With a jolt of memory, he hissed and tried to rise, but found his wrists and ankles fastened, stretched out to the corners of the bed.

‘That’s better. Almost started talking to meself then!’ Spike tucked a strand of Angel’s hair behind one ear and stood lazily.

‘Someone will come up for me if I don’t go down soon.’

‘Nope, they won’t. Two hours, Angel. I’ve got, oh, maybe an hour and forty minutes left.’ He saw Angel’s slightly puzzled look and smiled. ‘I haunted this place. I know every duct, every unused lift shaft. I know all the dirty little secrets this place has to offer. And I hear and see things…. Where do you think I found the gun?’ He sat back down and began to play with Angel’s hair once more. ‘In Wesley’s desk. Why would your so-called best friend have a tranquilliser gun, Angel? I wonder what he sees in his nightmares…. And these?’ He rattled Angel’s wrist chain. ‘I saw them in that box in your closet while I was hanging out up here. Thought I’d found your porn stash, but what d’ya know? You don’t have one. You had these instead though. Enhanced, too. He doesn’t trust you, and you don’t trust yourself. It’s as if this little scene we’re going to play out was pre-ordained.’

‘What? You torturing me? You staking me? Jesus, Spike, haven’t we already played this scene too many times already? You strut your fearsome persona on a stage entirely of your own making, and then you inevitably fail.’

Spike laughed. ‘Yeah. It’s happened that way a few times, I do have to agree with you there. But, see, there’s a big difference now. I got my soul back by myself, because I wanted it, and that made me a better man than you, Angel. Now I’ve gotten rid of it by myself, and that makes me a better demon—better than I was as William the Bloody or Spike, and do you know what? Better than Angelus. I’m pure demon, Angel. When you took my soul, when Darla took yours, when the Master took hers, we all clung to the memory, the need, the habit of having one, and somewhere, in those demonic bodies of ours, were tendrils of soul. But I pushed mine out consciously. It’s in there now.’ He let Angel’s eyes travel over to the jar on the chest of drawers.

‘You’re full of shit, Spike; last time you employed a minion. You didn’t even dare to lay your hands on me.’

Spike nodded and stood up. ‘I know. But this time, my hands will just be the start.’ He began to unbutton his shirt.

Angel felt an involuntary tightening in his gut. ‘Spike, think how much you’ve liked being souled—how hard you fought for it. You can have all that back again. You’re a good man now. Don’t throw it all away.’

Spike paused, his shirt open to his pale, smooth chest. ‘I’m a good man?’

‘Yes! Jesus, you know you are! Everyone says so.’

‘But do you say so?’

‘Yes! For fuck’s sake! I sometimes hardly recognise you as the demon I once knew.’

Spike nodded thoughtfully. ‘Pity you couldn’t have told me that a bit earlier.’ He began to unbutton his jeans.

Angel watched the deft fingers begin on the buttons and exploded with fury, testing his muscles against the restraints. ‘You are so fucking self-absorbed! It’s always about you! What about me? I can’t say things easily. You know that. What? Do I have to change and become a whole new person just because you need a pat on the head?’

Spike sat back on the bed, his jeans undone, a few wisps of hair just teasing out of the gap. ‘But, Angel, you didn’t just not tell me, you deliberately went out of your way to belittle, humiliate and put me down—every chance you got.’ He looked pleased at Angel’s expression. ‘One word—one kind word was all it would have taken.’  He stood up and held the waistband of his jeans. Suddenly, he glanced at Angel’s naked backside and laughed ruefully. ‘I’ve never done this before.’

Angel said exceptionally calmly, ‘You’re not doing it now. I know you. This is your revenge on me—and I get that. But this is as far as you’ll go. Ingrained habits, Spike. You can’t do this to me.’ He had meant for the stress to be on can’t, but knew it had ended up on me instead.

Spike smiled through lowered lids, and for the first time, Angel saw the demon Spike had now become. It peeked out of the blue eyes that had seemed so familiar only a moment ago. ‘On the contrary, Angel. I can.’ He suddenly crawled onto the bed and straddled Angel’s hips, lying down over the broad back and whispering, ‘I’m going to take you. You’re gonna be my woman tonight. I’m gonna open you up and look at you first, then I’m gonna use you till I’m through. I’m gonna put my spunk up your arse—deep in it so it’ll be up there for days. My spunk, Angel—inside you. And if I can, I’ll make it hurt so much and be so humiliating that every time you even think about sex you’ll wilt from the memory of me. I’ll make you cry if I can. I’ll make you beg for it to stop. I’ll debase you, and I’ll make you feel less of a man. I’ll bring you down.’

At this, Angel felt the tension and fear drain from his body. He heard the bluff behind the intense hatred. He relaxed his muscles into the soft mattress. Spike was all talk. Soul or not, he would not do this to—‘Christ! No! Oh! Jesus! Spike! No!’ Spike chuckled and rammed home as hard as he could.

No lubrication, first time, a ring of muscle that had not opened for any other reason for over three hundred years—Angel nearly died on the pain. The humiliation was even worse. He felt unconsciousness hovering and welcomed it with an extended, silent scream.

Spike pulled out and climbed off.

Angel jerked back to awareness of everything.

Spike turned and said mockingly reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, pet. I’m coming back. I’m just getting rid of these things.’ He shed his jeans and turned around.

Angel then saw what had been inside him.

Spike grinned. ‘Cock…. How’d it feel? Wouldn’t know meself—never been a cunt for anyone like you have now. Buffy enjoyed it though. An’ you’re kinda like her—hot and wanting it.  Must be all that repression….’ He climbed back on. ‘So, tell me, Angel, did you picture me and Ben doing this?’ He rammed in once more, and the tension in Angel’s body this time, knowing what was coming, turned pain to agony. ‘When he was crying in my arms, begging me to help him resist and stay strong, did you imagine us fucking like this? Who did you picture on top? Tops and bottoms—what a laugh. Buffy liked to top me. Rode me like a frigging horse—told me you wouldn’t let ‘er.’ He giggled but then had to get back into his rhythm. ‘Said you weren’t confident enough to be taken. So, how d’ya like it now? Being taken by a man? And such a pretty arse, too. Why you been hiding it? I’m thinking if you ever get bored with this CEO business you could make a few bob on the side selling this.’ He climbed off again and stretched. ‘I need a fag. Hey! I’ve got one!’ He snickered and slapped Angel’s backside cheerfully then sat alongside him once more companionably. ‘Ain’t life grand? Just you and me again.’ He poked Angel in the eye. ‘You’re not much of a talker suddenly. You got tired of your own voice finally? Tellin’ us lesser beings where to get off. If you did less talkin’ and more listening, you might not be here now. Bloody hell, I wish I had a camera. Do you have a camera? Love to take some pictures of you spread open and bleeding like that—put ‘em up on the web maybe.’ He put a finger to the torn hole and shoved it in. ‘Hey! You’re supposed to be enjoying this! Spoil sport.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, well, one of us is.’

He wandered around for a while, smoking and drinking Angel’s alcohol, looking at his things as if really interested. After three cigarettes, he came back to the bed, and it was then clear what he’d been waiting for. ‘You ready for another go? Healed a bit? Let’s see….’ He climbed on once more. ‘Oh, yeah, tight as before. Good boy! You wanna be my boy, Angel? My fuck-boy?’ He slapped him. ‘You listening to me down there? Come on—do something! Don’t just lie there!’

He rode Angel for a while, smacking him and commenting on the way he performed, or didn’t, until he seemed to get bored of it. Once more, he pulled out and slid off. ‘You know what? I’m tired of looking at your back—pretty as it is. I’m gonna turn you over.’ He saw Angel’s muscles tense and chuckled. ‘You ain’t gonna escape—sorry to disappoint you.’ He put a second manacle around the right hand post of the bed and cautiously released Angel’s left ankle. Angel immediately lashed out, but Spike dodged nimbly. ‘There ya go! You’re more fun already!’ He put the kicking leg into the new restraint and quickly swapped the right leg over as well. Angel lay twisted painfully, his arms still outstretched. ‘Now I’m gonna do the same up top, Mate. Don’t be dumb, yeah?’

When he released the first wrist, he was seized in a death-like grip and jerked down. Angel head-butted him so hard he reeled, a two inch split appearing in his scalp, just into his hairline.

He stepped back, holding his forehead. ‘Ow. That was uncalled for.’

Swiftly, he reattached the loose arm to the other side then finished the final arm.  For some reason, Angel did not attempt to grab him again, but kept that fist tightly clenched, as if in pain. Spike stood back to admire his handiwork.  ‘Huh.’ He tipped his head to one side, regarding the stretched, flat figure. ‘How’m I gonna get in that nice hole now?’ He climbed back on the bed and straddled Angel’s waist, lighting a cigarette and occasionally putting the burning tip to Angel’s nipples. Blood poured out of the wound, his face a mask of dark crimson. ‘I’m gonna have to release one leg.’ He stubbed his cigarette out on Angel’s belly and slithered back. ‘Now, you’re not to kick at me, cus I’m a little cross about me head right about now.’ Stretched back, he clicked one of the ankle bracelets open.

Angel immediately kicked and struggled as much as he was able, arching off the bed with a wince of pain and trying to wrap his leg around Spike.

Spike only laughed. He dodged and caught and play-wrestled the leg, pretending to get hurt, until he got bored and, grabbing the strong thigh with both hands, began to push it up. Angel struggled like a man fighting for his life, but Spike lay on the bent leg, holding it down with his weight. ‘Play nice now, baby. Christ, look how nicely you open up! Like a fucking whore.’

Their faces now only inches apart, the pushing in took on a whole new significance. Angel closed his eyes. Spike prized them open again but then grimaced and let them drop. ‘Don’t bother me none. In the darkness of your own mind, this’ll only be more humiliating. If you faced me, you’d face some of that away.’

Angel immediately opened his eyes, which only seemed to amuse Spike more. ‘That’s good, too. You get to watch now—either way, I win. Wanna watch me get off now, Angel?.’

He began to work hard, holding the leg up high, beads of sweat and blood dripping from his forehead. The muscles in his arms swelled, blue veins prominent. He grunted, panting, his eyes screwed shut, concentrating.

Angel had never witnessed another man’s orgasm before. Too sick to really take in what was happening by now, he felt it first—a jerking to a halt, a tight bow of tension from the body on him, spasms from the hard thing inside him. Then a flood of squirting liquid shot high into him. Before the horror and humiliation could sink in, Spike pulled out, held his spurting cock like an offering and shot the rest of his load over Angel’s face.

When he finished, he hung limp and spent over the defeated form. Slowly, he raised one hand and systematically ground his release around Angel’s face: into his eyes and over his lips, laughing in mock fear at the risible attempt to bite him.

He crawled up Angel’s body and lay on the strong chest on folded arms, staring at him. Finally, he bent his head and licked slowly up the smooth skin. Lifting his face, he mouthed, ‘Bitch,’ then grinned and climbed off.

‘Well, now. What to do about this….’

Angel’s eyes followed Spike’s to the jar.

For one second, he thought about not speaking the ritual incantation. For one second, he thought about letting Spike destroy the soul. For one second, he saw himself let Spike stay a soulless demon. For one second, he saw himself free to kill him with equanimity. In that one second, Angel acknowledged that now he wanted nothing more than to kill the man who had just done this thing to him. One second took a long time to pass, but it did pass. He gritted his teeth and began to rehearse the litany in his head in preparation.

Spike suddenly slid his gaze slyly around. He came back over theatrically slowly. ‘Angel’s got a pla-n; Angel’s got a pla-n. I know you concocted something with the watcher. I know you. Come on, tell me. What is it? You’re waiting for me to smash it! What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna try to replace it. That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve gone and learnt yourself some Latin at last! Way to go, Angel! Took you three hundred years, you dumb lug.’ He saw Angel’s expression and leant in closer. ‘You not only forgot I was a good man, you forgot I was a smart man.’

Quickly, he jabbed his hands out and laid them hard on Angel’s forehead, preventing him moving. He carefully lifted one leg and straddled Angel’s chest.

Angel felt panic rise in his throat. It surprised him that it came now—fighting for Spike’s soul—and not before, facing his own humiliation.  Spike silently slipped into his demon face and flicked his head slightly, like a predator ripping meat.  Very slowly, he lowered his mouth wide over Angel’s. Angel didn’t think.  He tried to bite back. It was exactly what Spike wanted.

The razor-sharp fangs sliced into Angel’s tongue; blood filled his mouth.

With a moan of fear, Angel realised that Spike was trying to bite his tongue off to silence him.

Suddenly, the bite stopped. Spike paused with their mouths together. Slowly, hesitantly, a tongue slipped in and danced around the bleeding cuts. Spike moaned and shifted, his hands now cupping Angel’s cheeks. He began to suck and delve into the bloodied mouth. Very slowly, he pulled his mouth away until his lips lay soft on Angel’s. ‘I loved you.’  He lifted his eyes to see how this had been received. ‘When I had my soul—working with you these last months—I really loved you. I’d have made a go of it with you if you’d wanted it. What a waste this all is. So much love gone to waste. Did it fly out with my soul?’ He turned his head as if in slow motion and whispered at the jar, ‘Do you hold my love for Angel?’ He shuddered and rested his forehead on the broader one for a moment. ‘I see devils dancing round me now, and there’s no love. Flames lick at me, and there’s no love. I am alone in the dark, and it’s so… sublime. I will revel in my evil, Angel. But… ohhh, I remember loving you. Was it only yesterday? Seems longer; seems I watched you in another lifetime.’ He grinned shyly. ‘I let that slip, didn’t I? Watching you, always watching you—couldn’t get enough of you sometimes. Wanted to burst in and save you, have you call my name like you were pleased to see me, like you wanted me, like you were glad you’d taken me and given me your eternity. But I might as well ‘ave stayed a ghost for all the notice you ever took of me.’

He ran a finger down Angel’s cheek, then reached onto the floor and retrieved his discarded T-shirt. ‘Think on this, Angel.’ Despite Angel’s attempt to thrash his head from side-to-side, Spike began to systematically stuff the material into the bloodied mouth. Angel swallowed his own blood, and felt hope flood from him. ‘Think on this: You lost your chance for the one companion who would have walked with you every step of your way. Who knew you better than you know yourself—loved you better than you love yourself, that’s for sure. No excess, no desire of yours would have pushed me away.’ He was finished and sat up. ‘I want your loneliness to burn.’

‘Now, I’ve done ‘nough talking. I’ve gotta go. Another few minutes and I reckon old Wes’ll be up here to see what’s happening. And, just so you know, I’m not going after your pathetic friends. I want your hatred of me pure: undiluted by thoughts of revenge for them. What you will feel for the rest of your sorry life will be unadulterated hatred for the man who made you his bitch for the night. That soul’s never gonna let you forget. You’re gonna suffer, Angel. Suffer!’

At this, which was more of a command than an observation, he climbed off for the last time and pulled on his jeans.  Making a show of wondering where his T-shirt was, he rummaged and pulled one out of Angel’s closet. ‘Don’t mind, do you? I’ll wash it and send it back, don’t worry.’ Then he picked up the jar. He stared at it in wonder for a moment then shrugged and hurled it at the wall.

It smashed.

A bright light sprung from it and filled the room.

Angel heard a flicker of thought in his head let him suffer, too and squeezed his fist on the small recording device he’d held safe in his hand throughout his ordeal.

The light heard the quiet incantation, recorded in dulcet English tones.

Spike heard it too and screamed in denial, trying to wrench the device from Angel’s hand.

Angel was implacable. He’d been unable to prevent his own violation, but he could prevent this.

The light formed into a dart and struck deep at Spike, entering his eyes and mouth, drowning him in pure goodness and mercy and forgiveness… and pain and regret.  It pushed aside the devils that danced in his fevered imagination, dampened the flames that licked his pale flesh, but it seemed to burn him more than they did: he began to scream—one long note, ‘Noooo!’ and did not stop even when the light diminished, for then he was looking at what lay on the bed. He crashed back against the wall, cowering from thoughts he could not prevent, and still the voice continued, anchoring this powerful soul into the small, shuddering body.

Angel couldn’t speak for the gag.

He told himself that if he could speak, he would say something to make all this right.

But he didn’t try to work it loose: he wasn’t that sure he had anything to say that either of them wanted to hear.

Spike began to cry.

A stream of tears washed down his bloodied cheeks, but they both knew there weren’t enough tears in the world to make this better.

They heard the elevator descend: summoned from the office. Spike turned his head, but other than that small gesture, he seemed utterly lost.

The elevator began to ascend.

Very slowly, as if in a trance, Spike came to the side of the bed.  He bent down. Angel flinched away.

Spike made a small choked sound of distress and denial and only pulled the sheet up, hurriedly covering the evidence of Angel’s shame from his rescuer.

He did not look at Angel until the very last moment, when he raised his soulful eyes. They held some silent communion for a moment then he walked to the elevator and leant on the wall to one side, a hand over his face.

The doors slid open. Wesley stepped out. He ran toward the bed. Spike stepped into the elevator and was gone.

 Part II Chapter 1

‘It’ll be Christmas soon. Doesn’t seem possible somehow. Do we celebrate Christmas in the edifice of evil?’ Speaking more to himself than his companion, Wesley sighed and pushed off the glass where he’d been leaning, watching the rain.

Angel was behind his desk, his hands tented under his chin, deep in thought.

It seemed to Wesley that Angel had been deep in thought for weeks. He sometimes wondered what it was Angel thought about.

‘Well, I’ll be off then. I need to catch the box-office before the queues get too bad.’

Angel lifted his eyes. ‘Going out?’

‘Well, actually, tomorrow. But I have a spare ticket to return. Fred said…. Well, she didn’t want to come, anyway.’

Angel’s dark eyes held Wesley’s, unwavering. ‘What are you seeing?’

‘A Christmas Carol. It’s supposed to be a rather good interpretation.’

‘Could you stand some company?’

‘Do you know someone who would like the ticket? I’m sure….’

‘I’d like to come.’

Wesley’s mouth opened in surprise. Very hesitantly, he said, ‘That would be very nice.’ A frown flickered over his forehead. ‘It’s been a while.’ Since you went out, since you had a life, since you walked and talked like a man…

Angel nodded as if he heard some of these added thoughts. ‘I know. Too long.’

Wesley actually felt nervous. It was so long since he and Angel had talked about anything but work that he couldn’t remember what it was they had spent long hours into the night in the Hyperion talking about.

Angel picked him up, and Wesley was struck with how different his friend looked out of his workday suit. He seemed relaxed—still quiet, but softer and surprisingly easy to be with.

The traffic was bad, and they crawled along, looking at the lights, which had gone up for the season. Wesley sighed. ‘I used to enjoy this time of year.’

Angel nodded. ‘So did I—probably for different reasons.’

Wesley looked interested. ‘Irish Christmas?’

Angel smiled. ‘I meant Angelus. It brings more people out onto the streets at night.’

‘Oh.’

‘January sales were good for that, too.’

‘Oh.’

‘February could be hell though.’

Wesley felt distinctly unnerved until he heard a faint snort and turned to find himself under observation. Suddenly, he laughed and shook his head ruefully. Angel smiled and turned back to watch the road.

‘Tell me about Fred.’

Angel teasing him had been shocking enough. This floored Wesley completely, and he looked sharply out of the side window. ‘There’s very little to tell.’

‘You love her.’

It was startling to hear that word come from Angel’s lips. Wesley turned back to study the vampire’s profile to see if there was something fundamental he had missed somewhere along the way—like this not actually being Angel. Angel only turned and said softly, ‘Talk to me, Wes. I feel you don’t talk to me like you used to.’ After a moment, when his face clouded over at some private memory, he added, ‘Or maybe I stopped listening. Tell me about Fred. From the beginning.’

So Wesley found himself telling Angel about Fred: about her nose and how it wrinkled, and how her laugh made him feel that the world was all right, and how the sun followed her around a room, wanting to illuminate only her.

He did not think he made a very good narrator when it came to the story of Fred; his tale seemed like one of her equations scrawled on the walls at the Hyperion: confusing and intensely personal.  Angel did not appear to hear any flaws in the telling. He nodded once or twice and asked apposite questions that kept Wesley talking, and by the time they’d reached the theatre, Wesley felt laid bare, all his secrets lying at Angel’s feet. Angel turned in his seat. ‘You need to tell her. You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t say something while you have the chance.’

Wesley frowned. ‘Have the chance? Is she… going away?’

Angel’s eyes flickered with some deep emotion for a moment. ‘Losing people is easy in our kind of work.’

Wesley felt the time was right to ask a question he’d been wanting to ask for six weeks—that he’d been wanting to ask since he’d found Angel bound and gagged on the bed. ‘Have you heard from...?’

‘We’ll be late. Come on.’ It was an uncharacteristically gentle interjection. Angel smiled. ‘I hate missing the trailers.’

Wesley dipped his head and gave Angel his privacy. Joining in the spirit of the moment though, he said pompously, ‘There are no trailers: this is the theatre, Angel—the English version, where real people actually have to act.’

Angel nodded, pleased with his friend and climbed out, waiting so they could walk in together.

* * *

After that first night, the trips out together became a regular event that they both looked forward to. They slipped back into old habits and ways of being with each other that they’d forgotten: Angel was quiet and attentive; Wesley talked about the many subjects that interested them both.

Driving to something Angel had planned for a change, Wesley driving for once, Angel suddenly craned his neck around and said, ‘This is it. Pull over.’

‘Here?’

Angel jumped out of the car and waited until Wesley got out before saying, ‘What do you think?’

Wesley didn’t know what to think. It was a new apartment block—an extremely expensive one, but an apartment block, all the same.

Angel pulled a leaflet out of his pocket and handed it to him. ‘One is for sale. I thought I’d take a look.’

‘You’re going to buy an apartment? Why? You have one?’ As soon as he said it, he knew why. He only wondered why Angel hadn’t left that hideous place before this. Totally enthused by the idea now, he scanned the paper. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go see.’

Grinning, fired up by an enthusiasm neither had felt for a long time, they pressed the entry bell and were ushered in by a uniformed doorman.

* * *

‘It’s rather large.’ Just how rich is he?

‘I like space.’ Didn’t used to.

‘But you’ll rattle around in it.’ You’ll be lonely.

‘I’ll spread out.’ I’m planning to fill the space one day.

‘It’s very modern.’ Not really your taste.

‘Yeah.’ I know.

‘Not that you couldn’t get some nice antiques.’

‘I might.’ Or not.

‘Can you afford it?’

‘Sure. I guess.’

‘Oh, well. I’ll have to start thinking about house-warming presents.’

‘I’ll drop some hints to Harmony.’ You can’t buy me what I want.

* * *

By Christmas, Angel had bought it.

The space was immense. The apartments had been built e