Parallels - Rich Text Format here

Chapter 1

An air of anticipatory nervousness hung over everyone.

Most people attributed Angel’s new zero-tolerance policy on evil to the embarrassing events of the Halloween party. By the following day, every detail of what he had done to Eve (including the number of times he had done it and the different positions he had done it in) was common knowledge… even if all of it was contradictory and some of it physically impossible—even for Angel.

But it wasn’t only the CEO who seemed to be suffering the after-affects of Lorne’s psyche. Fred and Wes trod their delicate path around each other even more cautiously, with even more hesitant speeches and halted comments. Spike seemed oddly affected, too, and he only had the embarrassment of being positive. Even his newfound corporeal status didn’t seem to cheer him much.

He sulked around the hallways. He got in people’s faces. He annoyed.

Despite his own troubles, Wes had an inkling of what was wrong and had this spectacularly confirmed one day when Spike nearly killed someone for gossiping about Angel and Eve. It seemed to Wesley that there were some things Spike particularly regretted being so positive about.

Nearly killing someone wasn’t an option, however, in the new and improved Wolfram and Hart.

Zero tolerance—it had to include the nearly killing of gossips.

Spike was summoned to Angel’s office.

As he had nothing better to do and a hangover, he obeyed, albeit with the air of someone not really bothered about tolerance at any level, including zero.

Angel was writing in his practiced, precise hand and didn’t look up when Spike came in. He didn’t really need to say anything, for a sword lay prominently along the desk between them—the most visible sign of all the things that lay between them.

Spike sneered at this attempt to intimidate him and flung himself carelessly into the chair in front of the desk. He hung one leg over the arm and lit a cigarette. He knew that Angel knew that he knew Angel wasn’t actually going to behead him. He couldn’t explain how he knew this; he just did. Nevertheless, he reckoned he was going to get shouted out, and with his newly corporeal head thumping and his newly corporeal stomach queasy, this almost seemed a worse prospect to the dusting.

Being ignored was a pathetic tactic, unworthy of Angel, so Spike retaliated by leaning forward and picking up the fearsome weapon.

‘Put it down.’

‘Make me.’

Angel looked up wearily. ‘He’ll be in hospital for three weeks, Spike. You broke his back. There’s a possibility he’ll never walk again.’

‘Like you care. He wasn’t human—or good!’

‘That’s beside the point. You attacked him without provocation.’

As Spike could hardly admit what had provoked him, he kept silent and ran the tip of his finger across the blade, testing its vaunting claim to be….

Okay, it was sharp.

He sucked his finger sulkily. ‘Have you finished?’ To make the point that he was, he flung the sword down and got up to leave.

Before he could make it halfway across the space, Angel flicked the switch to darken the glass. Spike pouted and looked back cautiously. Angel was on his feet with the sword in one hand.

Spike laughed. ‘You tryin’ to frighten the children, Pet?’

‘I don’t know. Am I?’

‘I’m not your soddin’ child.’ To make the point that he wasn’t intimidated in the least, Spike turned around and confronted Angel. ‘You’re not gonna kill me, Angel. You don’t have the balls.’

‘Wasn’t gonna use my balls on you.’

As no one had bothered to tell him what Spike’s fight had been about, and as he probably wouldn’t have gotten it even then, Angel had no way of knowing that this comment was the equivalent of a red rag to the bull of Spike’s ire.

The smaller vampire suddenly attacked, and taken totally unawares, Angel stumbled back against the wall.

Spike had the sword, and he pressed it to Angel’s throat gleefully, but in a move that stunned even Spike by its power and swiftness, Angel reversed their positions—the sword now at Spike’s throat. Angel was so close Spike could almost feel the vibrations in Angel’s throat when he hissed venomously, ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just press this home, Spike.’

Before Spike could reply, someone shouted, ‘Cut! Okay, that’s a wrap. Good job guys. Let’s call it a night,’ and instead of the biting comment he’d planned, Spike merely said, ‘Angel….’ The tone of that one word sent a quiver of something deep into Angel’s heart: Spike sounded as a child in the grip of a fearsome nightmare. He’d never heard Spike use such a tone, and to match the intensity of the voice, the pale hand crept out and fastened onto his shirt: tentative, seeking comfort, shaking.

Totally thrown, realising that Spike could see what he clearly couldn’t—the odd voice in particular—Angel turned his head.

Something liquefied within his body, and if he’d been human, he would have embarrassed himself through fear.

The office was gone—or the other half of it was—as well as the ceiling. They were surrounded by people; bright lights stung his eyes. He had never needed the comfort of Spike’s hand on his chest more, and he gripped it hard enough to break mortal bones. He felt his legs weaken, but they had stayed strong in hell, so he refused to let them give way now.

Spike was staring up at a gantry of lights and equipment over their heads, mesmerised. Angel made the mistake of glancing to the window only to discover that L.A. had become blue—just huge blue panels, where his city should be.

Spike slid closer, their bodies now pressed tightly together.

Angel couldn’t have sworn that he’d been about to say something apposite and wise, but he was silenced anyway by the approach of a young man in glasses, holding a clipboard. ‘Hi, Mr Boreanaz. Your wife called.’ He handed Angel a piece of paper and added, ‘She said could you please turn your cell on occasionally.’

Angel summoned strength of character that had given him three hundred years and counting, and nodded. The young man added, ‘You want me to take that back to props?’

Angel followed the man’s gaze to his sword. It was… plastic… painted with shiny metallic paint that glinted dully in the bright arc of lights from the gantries above their heads. Angel nodded mutely again and handed it over.

They watched the man walk away, weaving his way between cables and… cameras… which all appeared to be pointed at them…large, aggressive weapons of the hell into which they appeared to have fallen.

Angel suddenly shook himself and hissed for Spike’s ears alone, ‘Slow and cautious, follow me.’

Seemingly relieved at doing something at last, and apparently over his initial shock, Spike murmured, ‘Beheading of favourite childe off the agenda then?’

Angel turned swiftly but saw and heard genuine fear behind the bravado. He responded in kind, saying dryly, ‘Postponed, not off.’

Spike dipped his head in gratitude for the understanding and the sharing of his fear. ‘Until we’ve… put the world to rights?’

Angel smiled and gave the hand on his chest a final squeeze. ‘Yeah, when we’ve put the world to rights—as we always do. Ready?’

Spike nodded grimly, and together, not quite holding hands but wanting to, they eased their way past the strange objects that had invaded and stolen their world.

They got to the door with a sense of relief until Angel opened it and stepped through to another nightmare that should only have been his lobby. Once more, there was no ceiling, only a dark space filled with equipment hanging from steel runners, but even more alarming, the hallways went nowhere and ended in large spaces that could have been some kind of warehouse.

Angel murmured, ‘Just keep walking.’

‘Where the bloody hell to?’

Angel’s eyes darted furtively around. ‘Elevators. We need a car.’

Spike put his hand on the small of Angel’s back. ‘Okay. Take it slow though; don’t get noticed.’

He needn’t have worried. No one seemed to take any notice of them. A few people nodded pleasantly, but most of the oddly scruffy men and women moving around and apparently rearranging Angel’s firm ignored them completely. With a sense of huge relief, the vampires made it to the elevator. Angel thumped the down button—and the doors collapsed. They just toppled over and fell with a loud crash… onto his bed… which seemed to be behind them, although still in his bedroom. Unable to compute any of this, they backed off, now being noticed by everyone. A man called over. ‘Everything okay, Dave?’

Neither vampire responded; they were both heading swiftly toward one of the dark spaces they could see at the end of the hallway that should have led to the lab.

Now it ended in a large, echoing space that was filled with bits and pieces of fake demons, walls, furniture, and some clothes, hanging on rails.

Suddenly, in a small voice, Spike said, ‘Oh, thank the fuck: there’s Wesley.’

Angel looked back down the hallway and saw Wesley talking to someone. He appeared utterly unfazed by whatever was happening, but Angel knew that with Wesley, appearances could often be deceptive. They began to run back down the hallway toward him. Suddenly, breaking off mid-stride, Angel shoved Spike hard into what he’d assumed would be an office, but which turned out to be only back into the large dark space once more. Spike began to swear, but Angel dragged him to the fake door and whispered, pointing, ‘Look!’

Spike stuck his head around then ducked back. ‘Why the sodding hell is Wesley snogging Willow?’

‘Willow! Spike, it’s Willow! This is all Willow’s doing. She’s done something to the firm!’

‘Willow?’

They looked again then jumped at the same time when a voice behind them said, ‘Wardrobe is looking for you both!’

Angel had no response to this: somewhere in his mind seeing a large piece of furniture on legs coming for him. He stared dumbly at the man, who added puzzled, ‘Mr Boreanaz?’

The man put a hand out and began to slide Spike’s duster from his shoulders.

‘Hey! Lay off the coat, Mate!’

The man backed off. ‘Okay….’ Suddenly, he nodded, amused. ‘I’m being set up for the holiday outtakes!’

Suddenly, Spike said boldly and very distinctly, ‘We are leaving here now.’ The masterful effect of his statement was reduced somewhat when he had to add, ‘Where is the way out?’

The man suddenly muttered, in a voice humans would not have heard, ‘Jerk-off actors,’ and stomped off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Spike shouted, ‘The way out?’ hopefully, but the man didn’t even turn his head.

Angel suddenly gripped his arm, pointing. ‘Red sign. Says Exit. Let’s go.’

They began to run across the vast space toward the sign and skidded to a halt by a door on rollers, big enough to bring a large truck through. Angel dragged it open, and they stepped out into a street. It appeared to be an alley in Sunnydale, but their brains were on total overload now, so they ignored this and began to walk with studied nonchalance in the early evening dark. 

A car purred softly up alongside them, and man in uniform jumped out smartly. ‘Sorry, Mr B, no one told me you were ready to leave.’ He eyed Angel’s clothes and added dubiously, ‘Are you ready?’

Angel nodded. ‘Yes. We are. Get in, Spike.’

The man looked between them and suddenly shook his head amused. ‘You been doing a little… celebrating… again, man?’

Angel gritted his teeth. ‘We need to get out of here. If you don’t wanna drive, fuck off somewhere and give me the keys.’

‘Hey! No need to be snippy.’ He climbed in and waited for the two vampires to climb in the back. Without turning around, he said slyly, ‘So, when did you two start talking?’

Angel frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well… no offence… but you two ain’t said one word to each other since the season began.’

‘Can this panel be closed?’

The man didn’t seem offended. ‘Sure thing. Soundproof too. You going to pick up some babes again, Sir? Because, I just got done cleaning the leather from the last… spills.’

‘Just close it.’

It slid close, and both vampires appeared to collapse emotionally and physically into the seats.

Spike was the first to recover, if only by finding enough strength of mind to light a cigarette. This seemed to animate Angel enough to say, ‘What the fuck has the witch done?’

‘Why, more to the point.’

‘And Wesley…. In it together?’

‘Don’t seem likely. I mean, he doesn’t know her, does he?’

‘Some. When he was in Sunnydale.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Huh?’

‘Where are we going? In this car?’

‘Oh.’ Angel tapped on the panel, and it slid down. ‘Where are we going?’

The man turned for a moment. ‘Home?’

‘Oh, okay. Home is good.’

Spike nudged him and whispered. ‘Wife?’

Angel indicated for the panel to go up, and when they were secure, lifted his eyebrows questioningly. Spike dug into Angel’s pocket and pulled out the note he’d been passed. ‘That kid with spots said call from your wife.’

Angel looked over his shoulder as Spike read the note, and at the same time said, ‘Mexico.’  Spike smiled. ‘Okay, she’s doing a pilot in Mexico. She loves you—which seems oddly unlikely after that. Bloody pilots and those uniforms!— and someone called Jaden is well.’

‘Great. I’m pleased.’

‘So, home it is?’

‘I wonder what she looks like. I mean… being my wife, and all.’

‘Angel! Focus, maybe! This is a spell. Just like that damn thing Lorne cast on us.’ Angel missed the bitter tone, but Spike’s reaction to him screwing Eve was the least of his worries now.

They rode in silence for a while, both processing the fact that the despite the catastrophic changes to their small slice of it, the rest of L.A. seemed much the same. Other than the fact they were heading to a part of town that their clients didn’t frequent, Willow’s spell had clearly not extended to the rest of the world.

Spike was the first to voice what they were both thinking. ‘You know what all that was, don’t you?’

‘A nightmare?’

‘A sound set.’

Angel pursed his lips as if afraid that if he admitted this it would make it true.

‘It was movie—or show on the telly. On a set. Wolfram and Hart was a set. Oh, buggery… Angel…?’

‘What?’

‘If that was a set, what does that make us?’

‘It makes us nothing.’ Angel seemed to suddenly hear an unintentional subtext to this and added quickly, ‘It doesn’t change anything about us. It was a spell. We are what we always were… are.’

‘But….’

‘No. Stop it. It’s no use speculating about what this is or isn’t. It’s no more real than me and that sk… than Eve.’

He caught a mumble and asked pointedly, ‘You got something to say?’

Spike put on his martyred innocence face. ‘Nothing everyone else isn’t sayin’.’

Angel nodded thoughtfully then retorted devastatingly, ‘Yeah, well as none of them are apparently real…. Ya know? I - don’t - care.’

It silenced them both, and to ensure that Spike stayed silent, Angel tapped for the screen to be removed once more.

Spike could see from Angel’s expression that he longed to question the driver, and he smiled inwardly, looking forward to this conversation. The effort to think up questions that would give him the answers he sought, without compromising his utter ignorance, seemed to dismay Angel, however, and the dark vampire only sank back into the luxurious car and watched the suburbs roll away.

He cheered up visibly when they pulled up in front of the house. A grin crept around Angel’s lips as he eyed its splendour, and he hardly seemed to hear the driver, until Spike nudged him with a significant rise of his eyebrows. ‘No, we don’t want picking up in the morning, do we?’

Angel switched on and, dragging his eyes from the beautiful house, replied curtly, ‘Leave me your number—I’ll call when I want you.’

The man frowned and fished around on the front seat until he found a page of closely typed paper, scribbled over with numerous notes. He scanned it. ‘Okay. You’re not on until Thursday, Mr B. Got pick-ups for the party scenes.’ He looked up at Spike. ‘Can I drop you somewhere, Mr Marsters?’

Spike felt a cool finger just touch the back of his hand lightly, an unspoken plea, so replied, ‘No.’

‘You’re staying here?’ The tone said: wife away; paparazzi; you can’t stand each other; and what do I care—I’m only being paid to drive. The man appeared to take his own advice, climbed back in the car and drove off.

‘He didn’t give his number.’

Angel grimaced. ‘I’ll call a cab.’

‘To where?’

‘Huh?’

‘Where were we? Not Wolfram and Hart, I’m thinking.’

Angel didn’t seem to care about these minor details; he was busy breaking into the house.

Spike watched him for a while then coughed, ‘Keys?’

Angel looked foolish then patted his pockets. For a moment they both stilled. Spike glanced thoughtfully at Angel. ‘We’re in the wrong clothes—apparently: ours where we were, but not ours here.’ This simple observation seemed to sum up their whole dilemma: being for real people they weren’t supposed to be.

Angel shrugged and finished breaking into the house.

Chapter 2

They wandered around until they found a living room.

Spike looked around, turning in place theatrically. He grinned and snickered. ‘Okay. You’re definitely married.’

Angel grimaced at the overt feminisation of the décor then picked up a picture frame. He swore softly and handed it to Spike.

Spike’s jaw opened slightly. ‘Bloody hell!’

It was Angel, but clearly not Angel, as in the picture the smiling figure was bathed in sunlight and wearing a pale pink shirt. Angel pursed his lips and moved on, not sure whether he was most bothered by the smile, the sun or the pink. He picked up another. Spike, peering over his shoulder, chuckled. ‘Your passion for small blondes hasn’t gone then, has—?’ He stopped abruptly and found something fascinating on the bookcase.

Angel didn’t hear the confusion or notice Spike’s diversionary tactics and moved on through the house. 

When Spike caught up, Angel was in the hallway, flicking through a telephone directory. ‘No Wolfram and Hart.’

‘Oh, and you’re surprised at that?’

‘I’m not listed either.’

‘But you’re not anyway….’

Angel nodded, blushing slightly and continued to flick. ‘No Wesley; no Fred. They’re in, I know.’

‘But we saw him; we know he’s real—or here—or whatever….’

Angel glanced up then jogged up the stairs.

They wandered through the top of the house and stopped in what was clearly the master bedroom. Angel examined the closet. ‘Now I know I’m in hell.’ He pulled out a couple of bright shirts disgustedly then crammed the whole lot back in and sat disconsolately on the bed. ‘Let’s go over what we know.’

Spike sat down alongside him and lit a cigarette.

‘We’re still real and ourselves, yeah?’

Spike nodded.

‘So, we’ve not changed; everything around us has.’

‘I’m not sure that’s very sound logic, Mate.’

‘Oh, happy day! The brain-dead suddenly spark. Jeez, now I know this isn’t real.’

‘Don’t be a twat. Only, just because we’re the same, don’t mean that this ain’t real, too. I mean, we could be the same only in a different place that’s just as real as where we are—were. I think.’

‘What? Somewhere there’s a place where we are just something they’ve made up? We’re just characters played by dumb actors like that moron in the photograph?’

He’d finally voiced their fears, and they both sensed the shift in the atmosphere. Angel said more softly, ‘Are you saying that we’re just TV characters come to life? That this is the real world?’

‘No…. I don’t think so….’ Spike didn’t sound too confident, but he added more robustly, ‘We were born before TV, so how could it be?’

‘And that’s relevant how?’

‘Well, how could we be characters if we lived before…? Unless, they just filmed…. Oh. Well, I’ll just shut up then.’

They were both very quiet for a long while, sitting side by side on the bed. Angel was studying his nails without seeing them, his brain frantically churning possibilities. Something had occurred to him, but he didn’t want to be the one to voice the unpalatable again. He didn’t have to. Spike pursed his lips and said in a flat tone, ‘If we only exist because someone is making us up, what’s gonna happen to us now they’re gone?’ He turned and stared squarely at Angel’s profile. ‘Where have the fucking actors gone?’

That was a question the actors would have liked answering.

It had been an important scene. They didn’t know where the writers were taking the characters, but they both sensed a shift in the relationship approaching. David hoped it meant the end of James on the show. James just wanted some physicality. Portraying a ghost had been torture, and he was sure it was a punishment for being foisted on a show that didn’t need or want him.

So, they’d thrown themselves into the scene, as always. If there was the ever-present distance between them, they tried to work around it and bring it to the characters. James suspected it made them seem wooden, but he couldn’t let himself go with David. There was always that simmering resentment emanating from the big man.

Pinned to the wall, the prop sword at his throat, James gave a last glare at David and waited for Vern to shout, “Cut!”

Most of his view blocked by Boreanaz’s bulk, he only saw the changes obliquely out of the corner of one eye as if watching the shadow of a cloud flit across a field. He assumed it was a problem with the set, stayed in character, and waited. David was the first to break contact. Apparently tired of being that close to James in such an intense clinch, he turned. ‘What the—?’

James saw the room fully for the first time and something cold clamped around his belly. He shivered. David, staring around as if drugged and insensible, put a hand on the warm arm—a voluntary touch for the first time in almost six months of working intimately together. When he spoke, David’s voice was unnaturally hoarse. ‘What’s...?’

James said deceptively calmly, surprising himself with his conclusion, ‘It’s become real.’

David laughed unnaturally high. ‘It’s a joke. This is for outtakes.’

‘It’s a damn good joke then. No cameras… no people…. Real L.A outside the window…. And can I just say that that sword better not come any closer to my throat!’

David’s eyes widened at the lethality of the weapon in his hand and let it drop to his side. ‘We’ve been drugged.’

James snorted. ‘You’d know better than me about that.’

David cast a look at him and said slightly bitchily, ‘And that from the only one of us—wait, of the entire cast!—who was alive in the sixties.’

James didn’t rise to this familiar dig at his age; after all, the entire world as he knew it had just winked out. He said neutrally, ‘I’d like to see the drug that can create shared hallucinations. Come on….’

‘Wait!’ David grabbed his arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to find someone. Ask what’s going on. You got a better idea?’

David didn’t, so as much as he disliked acquiescing to anything James suggested, he followed dumbly behind as they left the office. James stopped so abruptly on the threshold that David bumped into him.

They stared once more. The sound set was gone. The hallways led past real offices. People in suits moved through the lobby, seemingly intent on some real purpose and utterly regardless of them. So used to people only moving on cue when they appeared, this threw them entirely.

Suddenly, James said with relief, ‘Mercedes. She’s here, too. Come on.’

David frowned, uncomprehending, then looked to the desk where the blonde figure was talking to a man in a suit.

He jogged to catch James up, keeping an eye on the man until he moved away. 

James glanced at David as if for support, then leant on the partition and said in a hushed hiss, ‘What the hell has happened?’

‘I know! Isn’t it cool! Wesley’s checking for demonic influences because it’s been so quiet all day!’

James suddenly reached out and put the back of his hand to her face. He snatched it off as if she burnt him and gave David a worried glance, mouthing, ‘Stone cold.’

She looked puzzled, too, and said, ‘Jeez, you’re hot, Spikey! Are you sick?’

‘That’s the understatement of the year.’

‘Oh! Cool accent! Say something else! And why are you talking like normal people?’

James swallowed and said in Spike’s voice, feeling foolish, ‘No reason, Pet.’

She pouted at the return to his usual voice and handed David some slips of paper. ‘Your eight o’clock cancelled—well, actually, died, but he’s not coming, anyway—you’re still on for your manicure at nine, and then dinner with the Plethos of Darm.’

She suddenly tipped her head to one side and said to someone behind them, ‘Hey! Wes! Come hear Spike’s American accent. It’s so cool!’

Wesley smiled and diverted from his path to Angel’s office. ‘I have some data on Lorne’s manifestation that I thought you’d both….’ He stopped abruptly and regarded them closely. After a moment, he said carefully, ‘Perhaps you’d both like to come to my office and discuss this.’

James stepped forward and said calmly, ‘You know we’re—.’ He looked helplessly at David, quite unable to complete this, as he had no idea what they were. He turned his gaze back to the man he could not think of as Wesley in his head and finished, ‘You know what’s happened.’

Wesley dipped his head. ‘As I said, my office?’

They trailed after him, and when they’d entered, Wesley shut the door behind them. ‘Tell me what happened. You’re both human. My God. Shanshu? It must be. But so sudden? How do you feel? I mean—.’

‘You’re not… Alexis…. How did you know we weren’t…? I can’t do this; this is madness.’ David folded his arms protectively.

‘I’ve spent the last six years studying every twitch of your face, Angel; I think I’d notice a flush and the beginning of stubble.’

David automatically ran his hand over his face.

‘So, tell me, how… no, when? How long have you…?’

‘I’m not Angel! I mean, God, this is so fucking dumb! There is no Angel! Shit, there is no YOU!’

James stepped closer and put a hand on his arm. ‘Calm down.’

David whirled around. ‘Fuck off, James! You’re the last person I wanted to share my Goddamned show with; so I sure as fuck didn’t want to be sucked into hell with you as well!’

James dipped his head, laughing bitterly. ‘Now we get to the heart of the matter.’

Wesley stepped between them. ‘I’m not entirely sure what’s happening here. Angel…?’

‘I’ve just told you! I’m not Angel! For God’s sake, is everyone crazy!? Angel is a dumb character in a TV show!’

James flicked him a quick look, which David caught with a scowl. ‘What? Have I upset Mr. think-I-really-am-Spike?’

‘Gentlemen, can we focus here, please! All right, Angel, you say you are not Angel….’ Wesley turned to James. ‘But you’re still Spike?’

James winced. ‘Well, actually, no. I’m not.’ He suddenly realised he was still speaking like Spike and said in his own voice, ‘But I’m thinking you won’t believe who I am.’

Wesley narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, went to his desk and punched his phone. ‘Hold all my calls.’ He waved at the chairs and took one himself. ‘Try me.’

Chapter 3

‘So, what’s the plan then, Mate?’

Angel woke with a start and realised, with a slight sense of embarrassment, that he’d dozed off on the bed. His bed. In a way….

Spike was pacing, and he repeated his question. Angel sat up, surreptitiously checking his hair. ‘Plan?’

‘Well, yeah. How we gonna get back?’

Angel lay down again. ‘I need to think. Where are you going?’

Spike frowned then said in a slow I-am-now-talking-to-the-mentally-impaired voice, ‘To find another bed?’

‘I don’t think we should split up.’

‘Oh! An’ I’m bloody sure we shouldn’t get together!’

‘Don’t be dumb, Spike. We slept together for twenty years.’

‘With two little fillies between us, Mate! Nice big family hug time!’

‘Stick a pillow between us—if you feel threatened!’

‘I don’t feel threatened! Okay, yeah, I do.’ He flung down on the far side of the bed and pointedly dragged a pillow between them, glaring. ‘Lace! Soddin’ lace-edged pillows. You are such a bloody ponce! Oh! And not tonight, yeah! No poncing on this half of the bed, right?’

‘This isn’t my freaking bed, Spike! This is his—that guy in the photograph with the dumb-ass shirt. Do I look like a lace person?’

‘Just saying, is all.’

‘Well don’t! In my head—all night—your voice yacking away!’

‘Oh, right, and your broody silence just about deafens me!’

He was deafened for a long time until the tension notched up enough for him to blurt out, ‘And don’t think I don’t know what’s caused all this, cus I do!’

‘Oh, swell, the congenital idiot offers his opinion again.’

‘And do you know the most likely cause of congenital idiocy… Sire?’

‘What’s your damn theory?’

‘It’s you.’

‘Me? Oh, this’ll be good.’

‘It is good. It’s you and all this disconnected twaddle.’

This was followed by an unexpected minute or two of silence, which seemed very telling, given the sniping that had preceded it.  Eventually, Angel said neutrally, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, seems to me, and forgive me if this is too complex for the sire of a congenital idiot, but if I was feelin’ disassociated, I might start to think I weren’t real, like. Maybe, I’d start to think I was just playing a part, and maybe, just maybe, I’d make up this whole fantasy where I was a rich and famous Hollywood actor with a fabulous lifestyle playing the part of a doom and gloom vampire, cus actually being a doom and gloom vampire for real was just too painful!’

Angel pursed his lips in the dark.

He really had nothing much to say to that so turned onto his side and said gruffly, ‘Go to sleep.’

Suddenly, he turned back and snapped, ‘So, what the hell are you doing here?’

Spike pouted. ‘Yeah, well, there is that.’ He shrugged. ‘Seemed like a good theory when I thought of it.’

Angel rubbed his face tiredly and said grudgingly, ‘It is a good theory, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here.’

‘’Parently to come up with the good theories.’

‘Spike….’

‘Well, I guess it’s you—again. Your energy, your floaty soul-aura-psyche thing. It’s kinda big and bulky. Hey, like you—again. So, I’m thinking that being as we were all cosy and tight with the bloody sword-on-my-throat moment back there, I got swept up for the ride!’

Angel frowned deeply, pondering this, but said doubtfully, ‘But I was enjoying that—least disconnected I’ve felt for….’

‘Oh! Cheers. Love you, too.’

‘So, why would it happen then?’

‘I don’t know, Angel!’

‘Maybe….’ Angel rolled his head on the pillow and fixed Spike with his penetrating gaze. ‘Maybe it’s not me at all. Maybe this is all you.’

‘You are so deluded. For a start, I like being what I….’

‘You’ve been acting weird since Halloween.’

‘No, I have not.’

‘Yeah, you have. You’ve been… moping.’

‘It is physically impossible for me to mope.’

‘Hanging around. Glaring.’

‘Maybe going for the shutting up and sleeping option now?’

‘What happened at that party? Can’t be Gunn—didn’t see him pissing on you. Can’t be Fred…. Wesley! Was it Wesley? Did he try something—when he was drunk?’

‘Bugger off, Angel! I don’t have the humungous ego required to create a total balls-up like this!’

‘Shit. Eve! You’re mad that I slept with Eve. You… like Eve!’ He hesitated. ‘Okay, that’s not possible.  But you’ve been ghosty for a long time… maybe anything warm in a skirt…. Tell me this isn’t all about Eve.’

‘Isn’t that a movie?’

‘Spike….’

‘Don’t be dumber than you already are. I didn’t cause this. Tell me you haven’t been slipping away, Angel. Go on… tell me you love being the CEO of the evil empire. Tell me your heart is still in it. Tell me you that you don’t feel you’ve sold out.’

‘We haven’t sold out. We’re changing things from the….’

‘Jesus. You’re already working from a script! Maybe, you’re already the actor in a theatrical staging of your life. Maybe, you’re already a very short step to being Mr David Boringarse.’

‘It was Borin…. Boring…. Go to sleep, Mr Masturbates.’

‘Yeah, now, there’s a name to conjure with: Marsters. Wonder what comes ‘fore it. Alexander…? Alexander Marsters.’

‘Nigel.’

‘And that from Boringarse.’

‘I should have pushed that damn sword home!’

Angel swallowed and immediately regretted the image his words flowered in the increasingly warm space between them.  Stirred by the verbal dual, they were both more than ready for combat of another kind, and the absence of the women suddenly became tangible.

Spike shifted to relieve tightness, and a disembodied voice alongside him said distinctly, ‘Do not do anything disgusting.’

‘Only one wanker in this bed, Mate.’

Angel pointedly retrieved another pillow and reinforced the barrier.

After five minutes, Spike swung his legs off the bed and said gruffly, ‘I’ve been in these clothes since yesterday. I’m going for a shower.’

Angel didn’t jump in to repeat his stricture that they should remain together, so with a grunt, Spike shed his duster and went into the connecting bathroom.

Angel listened to the hum of the bathroom light and the faint sounds from the shower, considering his next move. It seemed incredibly tacky to relieve himself in someone else’s bed, albeit that that someone seemed a little too close to home to actually be termed someone… else.  Besides, there was the suspicion that had been nagging at him all day that he had not only caused this, he’d proved his own fears that he was disconnected—not even real. And if he wasn’t real, then he couldn’t have a stiffness that ached for touch. If he wasn’t real, then nothing mattered, and his erection could go to hell.

He knew exactly what Spike was doing in the shower, and that helped keep his hand still at his side. He was better than Spike—always had been, always would be. He overcame by the force of his will—not gave into the slightest whim that came his way. The moron wins back his soul or wanks off in a bathroom—they were pretty much the same thing as far as Angel was concerned: the result of a weak mind in a childishly out of control body.

So, he lay on the bed and suffered every pulse of blood surging into his prick, stiffening his resolve as flesh stiffened and rose rubbing the fabric of his pants.  He would resist; resistance was all he had left.

Spike leant on the wall, letting the water stream over his body, resisting too. He knew damn well what Angel thought he was doing and got a huge amount of pleasure from, yet again, proving the tosser wrong. (Although probably not as much pleasure as he’d get from relieving the painfully swollen and throbbing purplish thing bouncing off his belly.) He pictured Angel lying on the bed relieving his, and the image did nothing to improve his spirits.

He still wasn’t sure why the thought of Angel with Eve had pissed him off so much. It was something to do with Angel being his sire, but his feelings weren’t at all clear. Angel had demeaned himself, and that demeaned them all, but he’d once caught Angelus in a compromising position with a Border Collie, so why Eve demeaned him more than that, he wasn’t sure.

Get a room….

Be more positive….

Why hadn’t he been told to get a room? Not with Angel—of course! Although… ironically… that’s exactly what they’d done now….’

‘Leave some damn water, Spike!’

Spike jumped and turned his back to the indistinct figure in the steam. ‘Do you bloody mind?’

‘Jesus. Just get out, will you?’

‘Pass me a soddin’ towel then!’

Carefully wrapped, he slid past a similarly clad Angel and went back to the room. Angel’s inactivity in his absence was palpable by the neutral smell of the bed. Spike was puzzled by this, and he moved the small barrier and spread himself over the space that Angel had occupied. It smelt of him—his cologne, which spoke of his desperate desire to be a man; and his hair, which always smelt faintly of coconut. Spike smelt the body of an intimate who now wore the scents of a stranger.

He cursed inwardly for allowing his mind to perpetually turn and churn on these old, old sentiments.

Perhaps Angel was right. Perhaps he had caused all this. Perhaps he was still a ghost, lost somewhere in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart, bending reality to his will.

Angel came out of the bathroom, and his surly manner and constant sniping cheered Spike up considerably. Even he wasn’t screwed up enough to bend reality to this shit, and he rolled back to his side of the bed, folding the towel tightly in place, preparing to sleep.

It was only as Angel slid in next to him, similarly arranging his towel, that Spike realised it was the first time in over one hundred years that he’d smelt Angel smelling just of… Angel. It was the smell of skin: Angel’s smooth skin, which smelt to Spike like a home he’d lost before he’d had the courage to reach out and bind it to him.

Chapter 4

Wesley listened to the whole recitation with a fixed, calm, neutral expression, which did not waver even when the man calling himself David told him about a man called Alexis. Stories—he’d heard a lot of them in his time, and they had ceased to frighten him by the time he was five.

The other one, the quiet, thoughtful one, did not speak at all, but his eyes spoke volumes. Wesley was curious to read what was written on those pages. He switched his mind back to the one speaking: the one who looked so like Angel, but spoke like a stranger, albeit a beautiful one… like Angel.

‘…so, this is not real. You are not real, and we need to find out what the fuck has happened and go home.’

Wesley murmured behind a false cough, ‘Shall I click my heels?’

‘Huh?’

‘Sorry. That wasn’t very helpful.’

‘I’m not gonna argue with a Goddamned character!’

‘Well, I have to say that I dispute your interpretation of our relative situations.’

‘Huh?’

‘Well, even if, as you say, I’m merely a character created in another dimension by someone acting me, I still have a separate existence outside that character’s time on screen. Unless television is very much more interesting in your dimension than it is in mine, I have a life here; I do things here that are entirely distinct from that.’

‘Huh?’

For the first time, James took a part in the conversation. He leaned forward and said abruptly, is if slightly annoyed by David’s lack of comprehension, ‘Maybe he jerks off.’

Wesley blushed. ‘Actually, I was thinking about something much more mundane, but I am English and our minds rarely get above the lavatory—apparently.’

‘Not English where we come from.’

Wesley tipped his head to one side, puzzled, and James clarified, ‘Alexis is American.’

‘As you are—surprisingly.’

James shrugged.

‘Anyway, you see my point, I hope. Presumably this conversation isn’t being shown on your… show… yet we are, undeniably, having it.’

‘Huh?’

James suddenly turned on his companion and hissed, ‘Will you fucking switch on! Shit, you are so dumb!’

David narrowed his eyes. ‘Why don’t you quote some Shakespeare, James? We all know how smart you are!’

‘Err… could we focus maybe?’

James pouted, a look so familiar and so in character that it sent a small shiver of confusion down Wesley’s spine. He murmured, ‘Maybe we created you.’

James’s eyes flashed with quick interest, and he laughed. ‘Spike is the real one?’

Wesley grinned, pleased at his quickness. ‘He is very you.’

‘Well, great! James has another freaking fan club. Hey, Wesley, why don’t you start up a new website for him! He’s only got two hundred thousand of them!’

Wesley turned his cool eyes on David and said slowly, ‘Angel does you rather well, too.’

David’s eye twitched slightly, and he suddenly leant back with a deep sigh. ‘Sorry. I’m being an ass. This fucking knee is….’

James glanced at him. ‘You okay?’ If he was attempting to mask his genuine concern, he was doing a bad job.

David nodded. ‘Do painkillers exist in this damn place?’

Wesley chuckled. ‘I think Angel might have some upstairs. But then you know what he’s got up there better than I, possibly.’

David got up stiffly, clearly in pain. ‘All I know is props and scripts and someone telling me when to speak and where to stand. I know shit.’ He limped to the door and exited, apparently not so fazed now at being in place that only a few moments ago had seemed like the end of his world.

Wesley watched him leave with an amused smile. James leant back, crossing his legs. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Chicken and egg. What an interesting example this is of that little paradox. Your relationship with him—David—seems to mirror Spike’s with Angel, but then Spike and Angel existed long before you did. Or did they? If you created them…?’

‘You seem to be taking all this pretty calmly.’

‘Oh, believe me, mentally I’m running around in circles and tearing my hair—with the occasional girlie scream. But I’ve never been one for much outward show of emotion. But then… you’d know that, wouldn’t you? As you know everything about me.’

‘Excepting the jerking off.’

‘Ah, yes.’ They grinned at each other, mutually pleased with the discovery that despite definitions of reality being threatened, life went on if you wanted it to.

‘I think Spike would like you. I wish you could meet him.’

James laughed again and slipped into the voice. ‘I don’t need to, you wanker. I live with him everyday.’

David was sitting disconsolately on the bed.

James sighed and sat down next to him. ‘What?’

‘Do you think we’re dead?’

‘Do I think we’ve become vampires, you mean?’

David looked up quickly. ‘No. I mean… maybe something happened on set. It’s possible. A cable. A piece of set falling and hitting us. Maybe, when you die, you sort of go on… doing what you died doing. So we go on forever doing… this. Being them.’

To David’s surprise, James seemed to be giving this some serious consideration. Eventually, however, he shook his head. ‘It would be interesting to know what would happen if one of us died now though. Where would we go… being so entirely lost?’

David visibly shivered. ‘Then I’d be alone.’

‘Huh?’

‘If you died here—I’d be alone.’

James gave him an amused, puzzled look. ‘I wasn’t volunteering, but it’s nice to know I’d be missed.’

David shrugged dismissively but kept his eyes averted. ‘We need to get out of this together—I’d never hear the freaking end of it if I came back without you.’

James heard something more genuine behind the addition than the flippancy of the words implied, but he didn’t push it. He glanced at David’s drawn face. ‘How’s the knee now?’

David lay back slowly. ‘The same.’

‘Did you find anything?’

At the shake of the head, James went into the bathroom, slightly amused. ‘First time he’s been in here.’

‘What?’

‘Spike—or me, come to that. Hardly done a scene up here at all, and never in the bathroom. It’s nice. Very… real.’

‘Funny.’

‘Here.’ He handed David a bottle of Tylenol. ‘I wonder if he’ll miss them.’

David sat up and glanced piteously at the kitchen, and with a small, fond smile, that he quickly hid, James fetched him some water.

As he took the pills, David asked, ‘If who’ll miss what?’

‘Angel—the pills.’

As he said it, only meant in jest, they both stilled. David coughed. ‘Where are they?’

James licked his lips. ‘Now, that’s an interesting thought: maybe they’re… back there….’

‘They’d be spotted straightaway!’

‘You so sure about that?’

‘Wesley did us—immediately.’

‘But we just wandered out like dumb fucks and tried to talk to a vampire.’

‘And you think they’d…?’

‘Well, I’m thinking they’ve had a lot more practice dealing with alternate realities.’

David leant back against the headboard. ‘I didn’t think of that. So, they’re living our lives? Fuck, if that psycho touches Jamie or….’

‘They’re in Mexico?’

‘Oh, yeah. But only until the holidays.’

‘But we’ll be home in a few days!’

For the first time, David heard uncertainty, even fear, in James’s voice. For the first time, therefore, he realised just how carefully the man habitually masked these emotions. A slight shift in his perception of this rival occurred. He put a hand on the strong arm and smiled softly, a genuine smile, saying amused, ‘At least we’re the ones who have Wesley….’

Chapter 5

‘We need Wesley.’

Spike grunted in reply. He was so close to sleep he didn’t want to wake up enough to actually form words.

‘He’s behind this, somehow. With or without Willow—although I’m kinda thinking with.’

‘Maybe think tomorrow?’

Angel turned once more in the bed. ‘We’re gonna have to stay here all day tomorrow. Plenty of time for sleep.’

‘Good, well let me have some of it now.’

Angel sat up. ‘I’m going to look for some more pictures—maybe some diaries or something. We need to be able to pass ourselves off as them….’

Spike flung out an arm and restrained him. ‘Lie down and go to sleep. I’ll help with the research-y tomorrow.’

He left his hand on the clean skin a moment too long, until Angel shook him off with a grunt. Angel lay down, however, as he had been told.

Spike had just reached the edge of a good dream when a soft voice crept in with him. ‘If I caused this, I can stop it.’

He dragged voice enough to murmur, ‘Not if you’re dead first. Go to soddin’ sleep.’

‘Since when does the childe dictate to the sire, Spike?’ The quiet affection in Angel’s voice chased Spike into his dreams, tumbling around and confusing him.

Sometime in the night, like dry sponges absorbing moisture, their starved bodies reached out and found the comfort they hungered for. When Angel woke, his limbs were tangled, sheened with shared sweat, and limpid with fecund warmth.

His body mocked him: although dead in so many ways—a shrivelled heart, redundant organs—one place swelled and ached with the hot beat of life. Solid, twitching and moving under its own internal pressures, his cock lay stiff along Spike’s backbone. If he moved, it rubbed upon the bony protrusions, shifting loose skin over a bone-hard core. Like dirty clothes scrubbed on a washboard, something fundamental was uncovered in this rubbing.

As if someone edited the movie of his life, he saw his past play out as it actually had, rather than the revisions he applied in retrospect. Sure, as Spike said, the girls had been between them. But they hadn’t… always. Sometimes, there had been just… them. Spike knew this as well as he did. They both played the revisionist game on their relationship, just as they glossed over the violence and horror of their past. Angel reckoned everyone did this though. He saw it daily: Charles and Fred, for example. Where was the evidence of their passion now? And perhaps there was nothing for them to gloss over after all. A churn and maw of blood, passions that soared out of control to demonic peaks of intensity— who could remember what was chewed up or spat out in that whirlwind of desire? He remembered hard bodies and sweat; family blood calling to him; hair twisting like silk around his memory. But whose body had pleasured him, whose body had made him cry out—that he could not remember. Or would not.

One thing he did know: it wasn’t this body beside him now. This body he abhorred as intensely as the demon that possessed it. This body he could not afford to lie limpid and sexed against, rubbing and pleasuring himself on the prominent spine.  For this body belonged to a stranger. It belonged to Spike—Spike of the great goodness and desire to do right; Spike with the uncanny knack of seeing all his sire’s inconsistencies and faults; Spike who had become his conscience, prompting him to better things. Spike. Whatever confusions lay in Angel’s mind about pleasures of the past, they did not involve this Spike.

Why wasn’t he rolling away and separating them then? He should. He should have woken and grunted in annoyance and pushed Spike hard to the other side of the bed. He shouldn’t have lain in their increasingly hot, damp nest, entangled and thinking of the past.

One movement, beyond the subtle rubbing, and Spike would wake. He could feel him now, pliant yet achingly alive in his arms: breathing, shifting, eyes flicking behind their closed lids. He did not need Spike to actually wake to hear the derision this closeness would engender. What the bloody hell? You soddin’ ponce! Are you…? You’re bleeding rubbin’ your fricking dick on me! You total twat!

Angel smiled, more amused at being able to conjure Spike in his head than he had been for a long time. The affection of familiarity struck him once more. It wasn’t easy to feel affection for someone you hated passionately—but he reckoned he carried it off with aplomb. Beyond everything, he was suddenly glad that Spike was with him. Hatred was a solid enough emotion for survival. It was better than many others. They were together; they hated each other, and that was good.

He had to stop. If he didn’t, he’d release. Years of abstinence cued up to be relieved. He pictured a huge fountain of bodily fluids releasing against the hard, curled body. It would drum against the tight skin like rain on the Shannon. Its essence would swell in the hot room, permeating their relationship, changing it.

Not only could he not stop, he began to picture other pleasures. In his mind, he kissed soft lips that murmured his name: hero worship and burgeoning love combined. Not Spike’s lips, of course. Not Spike’s hero worship. Another blonde’s in another time….

What would it be like, though, to silence derision with such a kiss? Once more, Angel smiled with the fond image of Spike’s utter outrage if instead of using his tongue in their combat of words, he inserted it in the hot mouth. What would someone as strong and independent as Spike feel like under his power?

Once conjured, the thought could not be un-thought. He wanted to lever over the curled body and hump his sex against the smooth skin. He wanted Spike to wake and resist. He wanted to hold him down and make him take it. He wanted this childe to squirm and wriggle beneath him.

Jerking, spasms wracking his body, Angel gasped and dragged the discarded towel to the tip of his cock, emptying for a long time into its warm folds. More than sperm spurted into the wet towelling, but he didn’t stop to analyse this additional, emotional release. Old enmities died hard. Memories were best left as that.

Spike would wake, and they would be as they were.

In a world where everything else could be destroyed on the flip of God’s card, that, at least, remained constant.

Chapter 6

They would have stayed upstairs longer. It seemed safe and hermetically sealed from the fears that lay beneath, but after half an hour, the elevator pinged, and Wesley stepped out cautiously. ‘Ah, you are both here.’

David nodded and returned to watching the city lights from the window.

Wesley went to James and sat opposite him on the couch. ‘There’s a problem.’

James dipped his head slightly in amusement. ‘Over and above the fact we’ve been sucked into this world and you’ve lost your originals?’

‘It’s not quite as simple as you just being here or Spike and Angel being gone.’  David turned and regarded the pair, then joined them, sitting in the remaining chair.

Wesley licked his lips. ‘You are here, do you see?’

They clearly didn’t.

‘This isn’t a show. Angel has a role that is vital.’ He caught a look from James and added seamlessly, ‘Spike is needed, too, of course.’

David eased his leg straight and said with a wince, ‘I’m not sure we’re with you.’

James cast David a small look. It was the first time he’d heard him voluntarily refer to them as we. Smiling, he returned his concentration to the Englishman to hear Wesley sigh and add stiffly, ‘I do not understand what has happened here yet, so I have to assume that certain events that happened in this reality, happened in yours as well. Although to us they were real.’

‘Such as?’

‘A party. Did you have a party recently?’

‘Halloween. Sure.’

Wesley seemed relieved. ‘And Archduke Sebassis was invited?’

James snorted. ‘No. A Leyland Crooke was employed, but you’re close enough, I guess.’

‘Ah, well, yes. Only, in this dimension, the Archduke has now returned the favour: we are all invited to a party he is… throwing. It’s a huge honour—apparently.’

David frowned and said before thinking it through too much, ‘That’s not in the scripts.’

Wesley tipped his head a little to one side. ‘You see advance scripts for this show of yours?’

James glanced at David and shook his head, but the small gesture either wasn’t seen or went unheeded, for David said nonchalantly, ‘Sure we do. We know what’s gonna happen for, like, two or three episodes ahead.’

‘Anything you would care to share with me?’

James said softly, ‘Dave….’

David turned as if to remonstrate, but James’s expression made him hesitate. He ducked his head and said, ‘Okay,’ to some unspoken warning.  

Once more, at David heeding his warning, James felt more acceptance than he had for many months. David turned back to Wesley. ‘So, what’s the problem? Party?’

‘We can’t not go. All of us. You, more specifically. Or, rather, Angel. Well, no, actually, you. Both of you. It would be a huge dishonour—all out demon war—if Angel did not attend.’

David nodded. ‘So, you need to work out what has happened and get him back! And quickly.’

Wesley glanced at James. ‘Well, that’s one solution, I suppose….’

James, holding his gaze, said distinctly, ‘No. No way.’

David looked between them. ‘What?’

‘We’re not doing it. For one thing, we’re human. You spotted us before we even spoke. How long do you think it would take him?’

David leant forward. ‘What are you talking about?’

Wesley ignored the interruption. ‘I’ve thought about that. There is way—if you’re agreeable, of course.’

James’s head was still shaking from his earlier denial. ‘No. Whatever it is, it’s still no. I don’t think you understand how fundamentally this would not work. He is not Angel. He’s nothing like Angel.’

David finally got what Wesley was suggesting at the very same time as he got James’s objections. He wasn’t sure which to be angered by first and went for the most obvious. ‘You’re suggesting we go and pretend to be them! You’re fucking joking.’

Wesley looked disappointed. ‘Actually, I wasn’t. I’m afraid I can’t see the great differences you both seem to think are there.’

James glanced uneasily at the coat he was wearing. ‘We were sucked out mid-damn scene, wearing these freaking costumes. But, believe me, there’s no way anyone would take him for Angel.’

‘Hey!’ David finally decided to be angry with James, too, and got to his feet.

James gave him an annoyed glance and murmured, ‘What? You want to be taken for a psychotic vampire with no sense of humour and a crap sex life? It was meant to be a compliment, you moron.’

David’s jaw clenched, and he blushed slightly. ‘I can act!’

James got up. ‘You didn’t want to go a minute ago!’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t want anyone telling me I can’t go even if I don’t want to go!’

Wesley leant back in his seat, his head turning from one to the other. ‘And… still not seeing the difference.’

They both sat down abruptly. James cast David an evil glance. ‘Whatever. We can’t go because we can’t pass ourselves off as… dead.’

‘As I said, I believe there is a way. There are ancient markings that can be used to obscure their bearer—the person becomes invisible to mystical seekers, as well as, I believe, to more modern surveillance devices.’

David frowned and glanced at James. ‘That’s what they’ve got Chris wearing. He showed them to me a couple of days ago.’

James winced. ‘I’m not sure we should talk about this. I keep thinking about time-lines—but I feel too dumb to say it.’

David grinned. ‘Geek.’ His teasing smile belied his words, and James responded in kind by mock-slapping him.

Wesley leant forward and said casually, but curiously, ‘You’ve already seen someone wearing these runes? I mean, it’s been written into the… script… that someone is wearing concealing runes?’

David glanced at James for confirmation then shook his head. ‘Look, we only get a vague picture of what’s coming up. They change their minds all the time. So, how would they work for us?’

Allowing himself to be distracted, Wesley let David’s slip drop. ‘I believe I can adapt these markings to obscure your… humanity. To all intents and purposes, you would be utterly neutralised. And that’s a rather unfortunate term—sorry.’

James stood up. ‘You’re missing the point. We’re still not going to the party. It’s ludicrous.’

Wesley stood up and faced him, a slight flush of anger on his face. ‘I don’t know whether you are the real ones, or we are. I’m not sure I care all that much. What I do know is that you have some responsibility for what happens in this world either way. And this is a world. It’s my world, and despite all its faults, it’s the only one I’ve got. So, I would take it as a personal favour if you would at least think about this.’ Clearly too angry to remain, he turned and went toward the elevator. As an afterthought, though, he turned and said over his shoulder, ‘I suggest you don’t try to leave the building. I’m not threatening you—not at all, please believe me. But you are safe here, at least.’

The elevator doors slid shut and they were alone.

David began to pace with an angry look, not actually directed at James, but clearly meant for him nevertheless. James went into the kitchen area to avoid yet another confrontation, but David followed him in. ‘What’s with the I’m not good enough to do Angel at a party?’

‘Don’t start with me, Dave. If you’ve got a problem with me being on the show, you need to deal with it. And I’m suggesting that this isn’t the time or the place!’

‘It’s my show, James. I’m the only one who left Buffy and had a show of my own. I didn’t need you to prop me up!’

‘I’m not doing this with you now! I’m not doing any of this! And I’m particularly not doing that stupid fucking party!’

David came closer, watching his eyes curiously.  ‘What’s wrong?’

James looked slightly taken aback that David had seen beneath the shell of his very simple comment. He backed off, opening the refrigerator. ‘I wonder if he’s got anything to eat.’

‘What? Why don’t you want to do this thing? Besides me not being good enough to carry it off….’

James’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he turned. ‘I don’t do… parties. You know that. Or maybe you don’t—it’s not like we’ve exchanged two words since I came on the set. Parties are your thing, Dave. You’re the big Hollywood guy. You and Chris, tearing them all new ones; hell-raisers of the new-Millennium. I go home and read Shakespeare, remember? The Geek?’

He ripped the tab off a beer and took a long swallow, his eyes averted.

David’s brow lowered, and he had never looked more like his character. He reached for a beer as well and said in a low voice, ‘Have you just said there’s something about me you’re envious of? You?’

James laughed incredulously. ‘Oh, add to that the beautiful wife, the baby, the lifestyle, the incredible looks, the talent and the damn show in your name! Duh!’

David took a step back, his expression veiled. He gave a small nod, more to himself than to James and went thoughtfully back into the living room. In a much gentler tone than he’d used before, he said, ‘So, what do we tell Wesley?’

As if regretting his very telling outburst, James said with false cheerfulness, ‘Do you seriously think we can pull it off? What if we have to drink blood?’

David laughed. ‘We take our own fake stuff and say we’re being cautious.’

‘Oh, and that’d be polite!’

‘I’m not sure we have to do polite. I’m more concerned about the needing to piss. And speaking of which….’ He made a wry face. ‘Shit. The bastard doesn’t have one.’

‘He has a sink.’

‘That is… a good idea. Wait here.’

‘Oh, that goes without saying!’

Before David left the room, he cast a look back over his shoulder. ‘I’ll stick by your side. Don’t worry. Like you said—I can kinda do parties for the two of us. We’re in this together, James.’

James watched him go with more confusion over that small kindness than he had over this whole revolution to his world.

Chapter 7

Dreams and reality merged for Spike as he woke. The domestic, comforting sound of a shower merged with the feeling of intense warmth from the bed until he dreamed he was beneath a warm ocean. He could not tell which way was up, as not needing air, both realms seemed equally seductive. He surfaced for a brief time, from dream and water, and rolled into an even hotter indentation that was then a salt-heavy lagoon. He played in the waves with a mirror image of himself—another souled vampire who shared his blood, his memories and then his bed, as he woke to find Angel sitting on the edge, watching him.

Wet from the shower, wrapped in a towel, it appeared to Spike for a moment that Angel had shared the dream with him: warm, salty water glistening on his skin.

Angel’s expression was uncharacteristically relaxed and open. ‘You were dreaming. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘Did I talk?’

‘Huh? No. Not really.’

Spike spread his limbs luxuriously in the warmth of the crumpled bed. ‘I’m thinking I ought to feel more….’

‘Anxious?’

‘Panicked, Mate. Pure panic. But I don’t. Ya know? I feel really… rested. Weird, huh?’

‘Spike…? What are you doing?’

Spike pouted and looked down at his offending finger—the one that had been stroking small circles on Angel’s naked thigh. ‘I’m… not sure.’ He made another small circle to see if that helped clarify matters.

‘Quit it!’

‘Make me.’

Angel grabbed his hand and twisted it away. Spike laughed and rolled with the twist, and before they knew it, they were wrestling on the bed. Laughing too much to really put up much resistance, Spike was defeated fairly easily. Angel lay over him, pinning his wrists. ‘What the fuck are you doing, moron? This is the last thing we need! Aren’t things freaky enough?’

‘I had a weird dream, ‘s all.’

‘Spike! I don’t like you when you’re awake; I sure as hell don’t want to think about your dreams.’

Spike flicked up an eyebrow and licked his lips provocatively. ‘I don’t know: I reckon you dream much the same as me….’

Angel climbed off, holding his towel like an old woman clutching a shawl in the cold. ‘This is not what I am now.’

‘And what’s that… that you’re not…?’ He made a bad job of suppressing a grin.

Angel gritted his teeth. ‘This. With you.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Spike suddenly rolled off the bed to his feet, ignoring that he was naked. ‘We fall into a whole new dimension. We find we’re characters in a damn TV show, and you’re not even prepared to remember one tiny little-bitty part of our….’

‘We’re not characters!’ Angel suddenly whirled around, eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe this place has affected us.’

Spike stopped in the middle of fastening his jeans. He tipped his head to one side and said curiously, ‘Us?’ Very slowly, he turned his head and regarded Angel’s side of the bed. ‘Uh huh. That puts a whole new spin on my dreams.’

‘I meant….’

‘I think I know what you meant, Angel. We both dipped a toe in the old well of memory, hey?’  He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tucked it in. ‘You know what?’

It was clearly the very last thing Angel wanted to do, but he said gruffly, ‘What?’

Spike laid a finger on the broad, bare chest. ‘Your whole disconnected problem might be solved by one good shag. You ever thought about that?’

Thinking he’d sent a painful knee metaphorically into Angel’s nuts, Spike turned away, grinning, only to be pulled up short by Angel saying softly, ‘Yeah. I kinda have. I’ve been thinking about it quite recently in fact.’ He slid past Spike and cast over his shoulder as he headed into the hallway, ‘So, how weird is that?’