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On Me - Chapter 1
Angel POV / Spike POV
Why the hell is he still staring at me?
Tosser!
Since he got here an hour ago, all he’s done is lean against that sodding counter
and stare at me. He’s such a poof. Bet it’s not cus he fancies me though. Never
know, perhaps he fancies the bruises and cuts. Ya know? The rough look. Yeah!
He looks like the sorta ponce that’d fancy a bit of rough these days. I mean,
cashmere for fucks sake! What sorta soddin’ demon wears cashmere? So, maybe
he would like a little roll with the rough. Cus that’s me these days: rough
as a rhino’s bollocks. Ya just don’t heal on pig’s blood. Ain’t got the same
juicy human sweetness. And ya get kinda rough living in a sodding crypt.
So, stop lookin’ at me, yer nancy-boy. I don’t want your fuckin’ pity. I never
wanted you to see me like this.
I can fool Cordelia... sometimes... I can fool Wesley...
all the time.. .and, sometimes, I can even fool myself. But not now I’ve seen
him. I can’t fool myself now. I know why I really came here to Sunnydale tonight.
It wasn’t because of Cordy’s vision, although that’s what I told her. It wasn’t
because Wesley couldn’t identify the demon she saw, although that’s what I told
him. And it’s not because I wanted to see Buffy again, because that’s what I
told myself. It was for him. I wanted to see him. Needed to see him. His memory
haunts me day and night. When I turn around, he is there, grinning at me. When
lie awake at night, I swear I can feel him lying there, enticing me. When I
fight, he is there, fighting with me. Like he always was. Always Will. And now
I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s still magnificent. Should I be proud of creating
a monster? Well, I am. I created that beautiful, wild childe. He’s mine. All
mine.
They’re all here at the shop; the Watcher, the Slayer, the annoying girl who
comes with the Witch, and fat boy. All here doing their usual ‘looking-at-boring-books’
thing. God, they should get a life. I don’t do ‘boring book bit’; I just sit
here waiting for someone to insult me, so I can earn my soddin’ food. No wonder
the King of Brood is still staring at me. Bet he wishes he’d just left me in
that stinking alley one hundred and twenty six years ago. Hardly a childe to
be proud of now, am I Angelus? And shit! I WISH HE WOULD STOP STARING AT ME!
Course, I don’t let him know, I know he’s staring at me. Give the poof too much
satisfaction, that would. I’m just sitting here pretending not to give a fuck,
and trying to drink myself down to the bottom of this bottle, before the Watcher
notices I stole it from his stash under the till. And why the bleedin’ hell
is he still looking at me?
Fax. I could have just faxed Cordy’s sketch to Giles.
But I needed to come. I needed to see him: to see how he’s been coping, to see
how he’s been living. And it seems to me he’s coping just fine. As I look at
him there, sprawled in his cocky way on the stairs, I see only an incredible
survivor. Doesn’t matter what you do to Will, he survives. Abandon him, break
his back, chip him - doesn’t matter. He survives. Even if it means coming to
his mortal enemies for help. And I can’t stop... don’t want to stop... looking
at him. It’s all I can have of him now. That and the memories.
I notice he wasn’t too keen on looking at me when he first arrived. Oh no…‘
where is Spike?’ was not his first thought then. All over slutty then. All "kiss-kiss,
hug-hug, angst-angst. Aren’t we the doomed lovers" bit then. Nancy hair-gelled
git! But even then I saw his eyes roving around the shop looking for something.
And, OK, since he saw me sitting here on the steps, he hasn’t stopped staring
at me, but it’s really pissing me off now, and I feel even more worthless than
when I turned up tonight looking for my handout. So, here I sit, picking at
my chipped varnish, drinking the watchers JD, and thinking about the sun and
how good that warmth would feel on my cold skin. Until I couldn’t feel anymore
that is. But why not? I’m tired of feeling.
Anything.
Everything.
Just tired. And would he the fuck stop looking at me!
I just can’t take my eyes off him! My beautiful Will.
See how the others look at him, consult him, banter with him. Even the boy looks
with respect to him now. But, of course, he’s not my Will at all really. He
is this new vampire, Spike, who I’ve never really had time to meet and get to
know. Fucking him mercilessly in the factory, when he was in that wheelchair
was not a proper introduction. I didn’t speak to him, just dragged him up, threw
him across any convenient surface, and stuck it to him. Ultimate domination
and humiliation. And then our manacles-and-hot-pokers-session-with-Mozart. Not
exactly renewing old friendships during that, were we?
Pleeease someone. Why is he still staring at me? I really wish he would stop.
It’s like being a rabbit caught in headlights. I feel paralysed by that bloody
intense stare. I can only imagine how much he wants to come over here and stake
me. That’s what should have happened when I got this fucking chip. Should have
been staked. So come on, Angelus. Come over and finish it for me. I know it’s
what you want. It’s what I want.
God! I so want to go over to him and wrap my arms around
him, and see if I can catch any essence of Will in there. In the body that’s
beneath the leather duster, the scruffy jeans, and bizarre hair. Is my boy still
in there?
Why won’t he look at me? He’s been studiously avoiding my gaze since I got here.
Do I disgust him so much?
Does he want my soul gone again, so Angelus can return for him? Doesn’t he realise
what one hundred years of imprisonment have done to the demon who inhabits this
body? Doesn’t he realise that if I let go, the demon that almost fucked him
to death in that factory will be loose again? Not the old Angelus he loved and
lived with, but that tortured creature that would have killed him and all who
stood in his way. He can’t want that!
God, these pillocks sit here oblivious to the nightmare unfolding around them.
Don’t they remember how I was trapped with him in that bloody chair? Don’t they
remember I double crossed him to help the Slayer and sent him to hell? You would
think they’d remember that I might not be too comfortable with the prat being
here. But no one asks me. I’m almost a piece of the soddin’ furniture to them.
They talk endlessly to me of their little lives: school work, college, loves,
fears, hates, blah, blah, blah. But what about me? Which one of them bloody
cares that I am sitting here in the same room with my love of one hundred and
twenty six years? Who cares that I’m seeing him for the first time since he
buggered off and left me in Romania? Seeing him for the first time when one,
or both of us, hasn’t been torturing the shit out of the other. When we are
both still and calm. Jesus, don’t they realise how fucking-with-my-head-painful
this is?
I think, perhaps, the Watcher does. He is not as fixated on those bloody books
as he’s pretending to be. I can see him casting anxious looks at the poof and
me. Oh yes, he suspects. He suspects what it’s like for me to meet my lover,
my friend, my fucking all for fucking years, and find out he despises me, despises
what I have become.
So, now even the bleeding Watcher is probably sorry for me. I’ve come about
as low as I can come. Hey! No, maybe fat boy will be nice to me, too. Then I
will walk out to the sun. That really would be, rock-fucking bottom!
Sod it! Just take another drink. Oh, bloody hell, the bottle’s empty. And holy
mother of all shits, the other bottles are over behind the counter! Over behind
the big, fat, poofter who is STILL staring at me. I’ll have to walk over to
him to get them.
Sod it! Not going.
Fuck it.
Need a drink.
Don’t want to move from this step.
Step nice! Step good!
Beginning to sound like fat boy. Shit now that IS bad.
Fuck.
Going to get that drink.
He’s getting up. God look at him! Look at how much
weight he’s lost. He’s SO thin. Don’t they feed him enough – do they feed him
at all? Christ! I never thought to ask Giles – who feeds my boy now he can’t
take care of himself? He always was thin, but now he is just bone and sinew.
I feel heavy, luxurious and slow compared to him. How he must despise the easy
life I have in LA; how he must despise what I’ve tried to become. A real man,
living a real man’s life. Why did I wear these stupid clothes today? God, how
that must rub it in. He’s still wearing the same black jeans I last saw him
in at the factory. The jeans I used to make him cum in when I fucked his face,
never allowing him to get himself out for any pleasure. He’s still wearing his
beloved duster and docs I threatened to burn if he didn’t blow me just right.
Jesus does he even own any other clothes?
Where does he actually live?
How does he live without any means to support himself? He has no way to feed,
let alone buy stuff. And I never even thought to ask.
But this is not the past. I am trying to leave the past behind me. I have to
leave it behind me or I will go insane. I am Angel; he is Spike, and this is
now. This is a new beginning.
And, oh God! That new beginning is coming towards me now.
Can’t anyone else hear that my long-dead heart has started beating?
Why is he coming over to me? Does he want to start repairing bridges, too? Is
he going to try and apologise for the past - ask forgiveness even? Oh! Has he
been missing me too?
'Move over tosser, I need a drink.'
There! That was my best shot after one hundred and twenty six years of knowing
Angelus, fucking Angelus, loving Angelus, hating Angel, torturing Angel. Still
loving Angel. ‘Move over tosser I need a drink’. Great Spike! You’re pathetic!
Definitely not one of your better come-ons. Yeah, well, I’m not at my best,
matey, cus I’ve been chipped, and I’m pissed about it and, basically, I’m just
fucked-up. So, serves you right for coming here. Serves you right for seeing
me like this. Serves you right for despising me. Serves you right for not loving
me anymore. I pour a drink, but I can’t help my hand shaking, and the bottle
clinks against the glass. Shouldn’t have had that whole first bottle so quickly
maybe.
Yes, fool yourself, Angel. Fool yourself that Spike still
wants you. Fool yourself that things can go back to what they were. This is
the new world boy, and you’d better get used to it. There is NO Angelus; there
is NO Will. There is just us. Brood-boy and the chip. But why is his hand shaking?
And why will he still not look at me? 'Will! Look at me. Please.'
I can’t believe he just said that! How dare he call me Will – here in this place,
in this time. I’m not Will any more. Not his little fuck toy, not his demon
lover, not his adoring childe. I’m Spike, the fucking Big Bad who demons fear
to cross. OK, humans use me as a punch bag. But I still can squeeze shit from
demons. And he dares call me, Will. Dares drag up that time when we were all
in all to each other. 'Fuck off, tosser!' I hiss at him. I knock back one, two
shots – a third for good measure. Half the bottle down in one go.
'Take it easy, Spike; you may be needed later.'
Oops, perhaps not the best thing to say. The double meaning
in that line, obvious even to me. I only meant that once the demon in the picture
is identified, he may be needed to help kill it. Even I can see the potential
for another interpretation there. And I know now he doesn’t want anything like
that to ever happen between these new creatures, Spike and Angel.
Needed later. The bastard. Does he realise the pain that gives me? The thought
that anyone might need me again. That HE might need me again. He needed me once
alright. Nothing was done without me there to do it with him. No hunting, no
feeding, no playing, no sleeping, no loving, unless I was there with him. Oh
yes, I was needed then. I down another shot, just to make the point, and turn
to face him. For the first time tonight I look directly at him.
He’s looking at me now for the first time tonight, and
I die a little in those eyes. I am falling. And it’s like falling into a long-forgotten,
summer sky. I’m dizzy - with what, lust? Oh yes, there is always lust for this
beautiful creature. Love? I don’t know yet. All I know, is that I want to take
him in my arms and hold him, and whisper I’m sorry; sorry for leaving, sorry
for trying to trick him, sorry for every thing psycho-Angelus did, sorry for
trying to leave him behind again, sorry for the Gem, sorry for everything I’ve
ever done to fuck up his life and his unlife.
But I don’t; I just stare back. And I feel he is expecting me to say something.
The faintest of frown lines creases his brow; his head tips slightly to one
side; he is clearly waiting for some response from me, but where do you start
to apologise for several lifetimes of hurt?
For the briefest of moments there, I thought I saw something good in the prick’s
eyes. Something that would mean we could move on from this hating of each other,
but when he doesn’t speak, I feel a fury rising in me that kinda just takes
over and, before I can stop them, bitter words come out of my mouth, 'Marcus
should have killed you, Angel. I wish he had.'
A bit of me crows in triumph at the look on his face, but oh, such a small part:
much smaller than I expected. And the rest? The rest of this sorry, pathetic,
undead hypocrite? Oh, the rest wishes I could take those works back, that I
could fall into his arms where I’ve been the safest I’ve ever been and never
leave them again. But for the first time tonight he takes his eyes off me and
turns to the others. And I feel as if I’ve been left alone in the dark.
Always alone.
Fuck it. I DO NOT care. I don’t. And another shot... bottle... or two, and I
won’t care about anything more tonight.
I feel as though I’ve been punched. I know Spike hated
me, but that he could have wanted that creature, Marcus, to torture me to death!
That is a level of hatred I never imagined. I know now that there is no hope
for us, ever. Not even friendship could survive such a history as ours. And
I wanted more than friendship. I need more than friendship. But now I need to
be away from this place. I need to go home to LA. I need to return to my dark
places, where I have time, space, and quiet. I need to be away from this place
of endless sunshine and bright, shiny children’s expectations of me. So, I shall
return alone to the place where I am used to being alone. Always alone.
I walk away from Spike to the table where everyone is working. Giles is looking
up at me.
‘No luck, I’m afraid. There is absolutely no record of this demon in any of
my books. I’m not sure the best way to proceed now, Angel.’
If I walk over to Angel, would he be able to sense my thoughts? Are we that
estranged from each other that he won’t know what I am thinking? Would he know
that I feel pretty damn miserable now and that I want to...
Shit! I am the Big Bad and I do NOT apologise. EVER!
But I walk over to the table anyway. The watcher is handing the picture back
to Angel, and I catch a glimpse. 'That’s a Taran Demon,' I say nonchalantly.
All eyes turn to stare at me.
'What?' I say, defensively.
'Spike, this is serious; there is no mention of this demon in over one thousand
years of recorded history, but you just happen to know what it is. I find that
highly unlikely and, frankly, rather suspicious.'
Giles wipes his glasses in that deliberate manner, which if I were a kid and
not a one hundred and twenty six year old, very evil Vampire, would actually
make me quite nervous.
'Not know, Pet, killed,' I say with a smirk.
'Errr what?'
'Killed, mate. Dru and I killed one in Brazil last year.'
'Last year?'
'Fuck, am I speaking English here? Earth to Watcher! Yes, I ran into one of
those,' I point vaguely to the sketch. 'Dru killed it.'
'Well, why isn’t this demon species mentioned in any of my books then?'
'Well, the one we killed had just come through some sort of swirly green thingy,
so maybe it was the first an’ only.'
'I suppose by swirly green thing, you mean portal?'
'Yeah, whatever.' I really don’t give a fuck about any of this anyway. I just
want to finish my drink and pass out somewhere, out of the sun with no thoughts
of Angel or fucking Angelus, no memory of this awful night at all. But the Watcher
is still yabbering on.
'Right ho then. We must take your word for it. This is absolutely fascinating.
Tell me, how did you kill it? Wait, what did it want? No! Where was this portal?'
'Look, luv, I saw it come out of a gree ... portal. It saw me and….' I trail
off suddenly, remembering exactly what the demon wanted and how we killed it.
But that is NOT something I want to go into with them and, as I have no intention
of ever seeing, or smelling, one of those demons again, there’s no point in
telling that to the watcher. 'And I don’t really remember much else, sorry.'
He’s hiding something. I know him. He’s shifting from
foot to foot; his eyebrow has gone up, and he’s put on his I-am-so-innocent-and-you-are-so-mean-for-accusing-me-of-anything-look.
Yeah! I stopped believing that look two days after I turned him. He was going
to say something about this demon, then he changed his mind. I wonder why. What
is he hiding?
'Oh, right then. Well, Angel, you have a name, at least, and perhaps Wesley
may be able to find something more about it before you go and kill it. Sorry
I couldn’t have been more help. I really must try and get some latest editions
for my books; one can’t get behind the times, you know.'
Oh, holy shit! The Watcher’s words send chills down my already, very cold back.
Surely he can’t mean that Angel is going to face this thing alone? A very vivid
memory of that night in Brazil flashes across my brain. There is no doubt in
my mind that Angel will be killed if he goes after this thing alone. Well, killed
after some considerable time and unpleasantness anyway.
And as much as I hate the prick, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Not
even the fat kid. Have to do something about this. Don’t want to face a Taran
Demon again though.
Can’t let Angel go alone.
FUCK it! Why do I have to be such a sodding wuss to care if that fat prick gets
killed?
But I do. 'Err, wait a min there, mate. I thought this demon was going to be
left alone, as we don’t know much about it.'
'Spike, the demon is threatening people; I have to go and kill it. It’s what
I do. You know that'.
'Well, fuck you then, pillock! But you don’t know what you’re facing with this
one, mate. This thing would’a killed me if Dru hadn’t have been there.'
'Well, that settles it then. Spike, you will go with Angel and sort this thing
out, and then come back here and make a full report. Goodness, I may be the
first person to do primary research on a new demon species. I really must….'
'No!' Shit, did that come out in a high-pitched squeak?
I try again. 'No, I am not going anywhere with that tosser, and I am not fighting
a Taran demon again. No way. Not ever. And you can’t make me!'
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1 | 2 | 3 |
4 | 5 | 6 |
7 | 8 | 9 |
10 | 11 | |