Angel (noirangel) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2014-05-10 01:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !log, ~2014 may, ~25 points, ~~angel (noirangel), ~~spike (bleachboy) |
Who: Angel and Spike
Where: WAMM Investigations -- Training Room
When: Extremely late night/early morning Friday/Saturday
What: Angel and Spike spar and things get heated. They argue about Buffy, souls, and everything in between (namely, each other).
Warnings: Angel & Spike shenanigans entailing violence, unspoken emotions, a lot of blame, and allusions to their ~history. Vampire things. Mentions of blood. Language.
Status: log; complete
Angel had no idea where things stood between him and Spike now. It had been around a month of almost unnervingly civil conversations with the blond vampire, and they had been well on their way, in Angel’s opinion, to making that feel almost normal. He wasn’t sure if it was simply because he knew Spike so well -- twenty years soulless counted, to him, at least when it came to vampires -- or if it was because ensouled, Spike had consistently surprised him. It was probably a mixture of both, but whatever it was, Angel had found himself trusting the younger vampire. Kind of a lot. He was familiar -- he was family, and as much as he’d been running away from that very notion for a hundred years, he never could deny that meant something. He still felt a wave of shame whenever he saw him -- probably always would, given how sick it made him whenever he thought about what he did to William the Bloody to mold him how he wanted -- but alongside it, he knew they were bonded. He felt it. Spike was his line, his blood, his...responsibility, and now they were both ensouled. Which made those definitions a little harder to hold onto. Because even as Angelus, he hadn’t followed all of the rules of vampires. He’d scorned the Master’s traditions and picked what he liked to apply to his and Darla’s lifestyle, which they then passed on to Dru and Spike. Even blood ties didn’t hadn’t really mattered to him -- he’d dropped Penn as soon as he could. It was that…bond the four of them had shared. And it made sense when they were joined in the thrill of the chase, the hunt, and the kill, but now? Well, now he and Spike were stuck in a bizarre dimension both ensouled and possibly (probably) in love with the same girl. Now, they’d had the very real representation of…something manifest in the form of their child. Now things were complicated, and Spike wasn’t helping the issue. Angel didn’t like how the blond vampire avoided talking about whatever it was that he and Buffy shared in his time. If Spike was so certain he didn’t want this Buffy (and Angel still took issue with that distinction), then what was the problem? The information he’d gleaned from Xander and Willow wasn’t helping either. Spike had been involved in Buffy’s life while still soulless, and Angel couldn’t pretend to be okay with that. So it was time to indulge in his baser senses but, unfortunately at this hour, Spike was the only partner he had. He stood in the center of the training room, poised with a light rapier in hand as he moved smoothly through his paces, his mind focused and centered through his usual Tai Chi. Stripped down to his undershirt for comfort, he was at almost ease waiting for Spike to arrive. Though he wanted this exercise for the purely physical part of it, he wasn’t certain if he’d be able to keep himself from confronting the younger vampire in the process. Time would tell if he could maintain his self-control. *** Getting invited over to WAMM Investigations by Angel to spar didn't leave Spike feeling exactly all that trustworthy. He still hadn't forgotten that Angel hadn't been subtle at all in his attempts to glean some sort of information about what "things" had been like in Sunnydale. And because Spike was more than sure that Angel did virtually every bloody thing with Buffy-colored glasses, he was asking about Buffy, and Spike's relationship with her. And, frankly, Spike didn't happen to think that any of it was Angel's business. Because his relationship with Buffy was complicated. He was most definitely in love with her, and he'd been that way since before he'd ever gotten the soul. But he hadn't deserved her then, and even if he had gotten the soul under the expectation that he would finally deserve her, now that he actually had this conscience with him at all times, the very notion that he could ever be good enough for her was laughable. Angel trying to pawn Buffy off on him didn't help that in the slightest. Besides, Buffy -- the one he'd left in Sunnydale, most definitely did not love him. She never had, and she never would. The very idea that she could was one that Spike found impossible. This didn't mean he wouldn't follow her wherever she went, until the end of the world or he was dust. Whichever of the options happened to come first. But what really made all this business with wanting to know more about his relationship with Buffy more awkward was the fact that he and Angel, for as much as Spike prefered the idea of denying it for eternity, had history. The sort of history that -- anatomy aside -- didn't exactly make a kid like Will exactly impossible. And they were family. Sort of. Spike hadn't been very accepting of that idea for over a century. Or he'd thought he had until he'd arrived in Sunnydale. Only the first time, because it didn't take much long after Angelus was back to decide that if family meant nothing to anyone else, what exactly was the point in him holding onto it (and it made cracking a crowbar across the back of his skull all the more easier and satisfying). He considered, briefly as he knocked on the door(?), the idea of just not showing up and going right back to his place, watch some late night TV until sunrise, but then he rolled his eyes at himself for even thinking about running from Angel. Angel could ask whatever the bloody hell he wanted. Didn't mean Spike had to give him anything. *** They hadn't really had a chance to talk since Will had disappeared along with the girls and, of course, Darren. Angel knew there were certain things that he just...couldn't talk about, and so far it seemed like Spike felt the same. For him, the fewer things that would complicate his attempt at proving to Buffy his total honesty the better. Thankfully, no one had yet prompted him too much on the subject of the possibility of Will. Everyone chalked it up to magic, and thank wayward spells for that. Laid out carefully on the floor on the far side of the room was an assortment of different swords, including a few broadswords, smallswords, rapiers, and sabres, all sharpened and kept in good care. Angel didn't actually own any dulled training equipment, so anyone who picked one of these up had to have experience. Not that he was really opening his weapons stock to the public, anyway. He trusted Wes, Buffy, and, yes, Spike, to be able to handle them. "Come in," Angel said without breaking his flow of movement, though his surprise at Spike's knock made his focus waver slightly. He allowed himself to finish the set before turning his full attention to the blond vampire. He hadn't expected common courtesy from him, which was only to show how easily Spike could surprise him. Still. Or now. He wasn't sure which. "Pick what you want," he said to him, indicating the laid out weaponry. His tone and expression were decidedly neutral, but he watched Spike as intently as always. "How -- how have you been?" The question, though perfectly normal in conversations Angel held with literally anyone else, felt strange already. He meant since the kids' disappearances and he was pretty sure he meant it sincerely. It just didn't feel exactly right. *** Spike had regretted the knock the moment he'd done it. What he should have done was let himself in, but the logical part was that he might have ended up dodging something sharp if Angel hadn't realized it was him. While he waited for Angel to finish, he leaned back against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the older vampire. Spike wasn't really the practice sort. He didn't do any sort of training because even now that he wasn't evil, he did believe that being a vampire meant he was always ready with his weapons -- fists and fangs. Besides, Spike had always been good at just picking up the first thing he came across and making it work for him. Which was one reason in a whole list of them in how he and Angel differed. He didn't care what the other vampire thought because he might have his soul, but he was nothing like Angel. When Angel was finished and offered for him to pick something Spike turned to look over his options and Spike didn't get to see whatever look Angel was giving him. Picking up a broadsword and hefting it in his hand, he looked back over his shoulder to give Angel a look. See, that? Was part of the problem. That whole concern thing. If Angel kept it up long enough, Spike might just be fooled into coming to the misguided conclusion that Angel gave a damn about him. "Just peachy." He replied after a moment, testing the sword and then rejecting it for another. This one, a smallsword, he held onto as he turned to Angel. *** Angel was aware that his question was out of place, but he didn't think it called for that look from Spike. Then again, he was so used to getting that look from Spike he should probably stop feeling so...put off by it by now. Definitely not hurt. He just didn't understand why the younger vampire seemed to want to poke holes into every attempt he made at being more than civil with him. Angel was well aware of the rough history between them, but he thought it best now that they were both here and not evil, to move forward. And as mixed as his feelings were on Spike at the moment, and yeah, the demon in him was really looking forward to letting himself tear into a fight, reasoning be damned, Angel still cared. So when Spike's response was so noncommittal as that, he tried prompting him again. "Yeah?" He asked jerking his head to the cleared area of the training space again so they could start. "Quiet without all the kids running around town. Did you -- did you get that door fixed?" He was never very good at small talk to begin with. *** Spike, for his part, could not understand why Angel kept trying to make them iuy to be friends. That just wasn't in the cards, not here and not in their world either. Setting aside the smallsword briefly so that he could remove his duster, leaving the coat in a safe place -- no sense in getting a hole in it if he could avoid it. He picked up the sword again, twirling it a bit as he moved to the empty space where they'd be sparring. And, oh good, Angel wanted to try the whole small talk thing. Like that was something they did. "Blissfully quiet. And I did, yeah. Couldn't just leave it the way it was, could I?" *** “I never know, with you,” he said, raising his rapier as Spike came into the space. “Could have kept it for a...reminder, or something. I don’t know.” Angel could feel himself getting agitated by their conversation, so he took in an unnecessary, but calming breath to steady himself. Probably best to do that before aiming something sharp at Spike. He didn’t bother asking if the younger vampire was ready -- some things didn’t have to change, after all, and the point of this was to be able to have a partner he didn’t need to be careful around, wasn’t it? Even with Buffy -- the older one, back in their world, -- he’d never liked letting his demon face show when they were sparring each other or even fighting the same opponent. Here, if he slipped, it didn’t matter as much. And they could keep talking, too. So within a beat, Angel darted forward for a strike aimed toward Spike’s left side to begin. *** Spike had been waiting to see if Angel was going to attack first, or hold out for Spike to do so. When Angel moved in, Spike stepped to the right, blocking Angel from getting the hit in. It was definitely a good thing, he'd taken the duster off. There was no limits to how pissed he'd be if he ended up slicing the coat. "Don't see how leaving a hole in my door would be a good reminder," Spike replied as he moved in for his own attack. "Besides, with Buffy's insistence that there be pictures to immortalize the event, I've got all the reminders I need." What Spike wasn't saying was that even now, over a week later, he was still confused by the very idea that there was a potential future where it was him and Angel, with apparently no Buffy to be found. And that was the sort of thing that Spike was just realizing in hindsight he should have asked. Along with whether the boy lived in Madison Valley or not. But he'd been so caught up in not trying to think of the details, and now that the kids were gone, all that was left was him and Angel and even more uneven grounds than they'd been on previously. *** To be perfectly honest, up until that point, despite the definite air of awkwardness that had settled between them, Angel had been certain he'd be able to go through this spar, this encounter, without slipping up and letting Spike know exactly how mixed up his head was. Of course, Angel always believed in his own ability to maintain rationality. He had to, with the redemptive road he was on. He had to believe in his own ability to stay in control of himself. So when the mere mention of Buffy's name on Spike's lips managed to bring forth his inner demon, he was as surprised as Spike might have been. What he was saying was so innocuous too. Angel had balked at the idea if photos documenting the fact of his children, but had relented when Buffy insisted. He was always a little helpless when it came to her wants. But the mention of her name spurred him on and he twisted and struck several times in succession, hoping to gain the upper hand but still trying, somewhat, to hold himself back. "So," he said between strikes, "Darren was pretty well behaved, comparatively." *** Spike not being all that supportive of the idea of pictures hadn't been an act. He just wasn't a fan of them. And besides, the chances were completely in his favor that not a single one of those children would ever actually exist in Spike's life. Not beyond the five-day stint they'd had in this town. Spike's reaction to Angel's true face -- likely just because he had deemed to mention Buffy by name -- was a credulous eyebrow raise even as he made moves to block Angel's attacks. It was a bit funny to him how Spike was supposed to be he maverick, the one who didn't really do that whole self control thing, and yet here was Angel. "Yeah, apparently he gets that from my human days. Or Joyce," Spike answered, the fondness he'd held for the woman still evident in his tone. Even if he hadn't been so sure of where he'd stood with the woman right before her death -- chaining Buffy up would do that sort of thing, he'd still respected the hell out of the woman. And that was never going to change. If Angel wanted to talk about things like his not-so-potentially future kid with Buffy, then fine. "Or maybe he just likes to defy all expectations like his mum." Spike punctuated the statement with an attack of own. *** Well, he wasn't going to try and suppress it now. He gave into the added strength he could take from letting the demon out. Spike could handle it, and in his way was more familiar with that side of him than anyone else. At least anyone else with a soul. Or in this dimension. Angel didn't know how to respond to the possibility of Darren having inherited his father's humanity. The idea still cut through him with shame -- it was immensely difficult for Angel to think about the human William had been before Dru had chosen to sire him and bring him into their home. So he didn't, and instead answered him with a continued emphasis on the blows he was giving. He growled faintly at Spike's return attack and simultaneous mention of Buffy as 'mum.' He was dimly aware of the somewhat hypocritical nature of such feelings, but felt justified regardless. "So," he said through gritted teeth as he swung. "I've been hearing some things, Spike. About you and Buffy and the future." *** There was a certain amount of therapy for Spike in having a weapon in hand, blocking and making attempts at strike. Especially as the deeper this conversation went, the more Spike really kind of wanted to run Angel through with the sword in his hand. So far, he'd managed to keep to his human face, but that probably wasn't going to last for much longer as he raised his sword to block Angel again. "Oh, goodie, I can't wait to hear about this bit." Spike rolled his eyes. "Go on, then. Tell me all about the things you've been hearing about me and Buffy and the future. Sounds like I finally get to know why you wanted me to come here." Spike was definitely sure now that he was going to have to stab Angel at least once before this was over. *** "I don't make a habit out of asking the humans what you're up to," Angel replied swinging around and pushing relentlessly forward, edging Spike toward the wall with his movements. He didn't want to hurt the younger vampire. Well, he kind of wanted to, but that wasn't the point. The point was to get answers and he could probably keep himself controlled long enough to do that. Even though he'd already failed at avoiding the topic. "But a little birdie spilled something you neglected to mention," he pulled his own swing and instead reversed his momentum to backhand Spike as he ducked under the other vampire's blade. "Which is that you and Buffy were starting to get closer," he pushed forward again, "before the soul." Angel pulled his next blow with some effort, holding his stance a few feet back. "You told me you got the soul for her. You never said you'd already --" He didn't say the words out loud, and he wasn't sure if he actually could. His suspicions were clear, though, and the term he might have used would have been defiled. "Why won't you say anything about it, Spike? It's not like I can change anything." *** Someone's feeling mighty full of themselves, aren't they? "You know," Spike started as he put a bit of distance between the two of them, shaking off any of the blows Angel might have actually landed, "I think you'll find that there's a very easy and -- dare I say it? -- downright logical answer to that. It being that it's none of your business. I don't need to tell you a bloody thing about what may or may not have happened between myself or Buffy. Doesn't matter whether you can or can't change it, or if you'd even try. You're a complete non-factor there, Angel. Much as I'm sure it pains you to hear as much. "And I'd tell you that if you wanted to know so badly you could just go ask Buffy," and then he paused with a bit of a laugh, "but seeing as we've got Bitty Buffy in town, who's just not the right age to be any help at all, you're shit out of luck, aren't you?" Spike really didn't know what made him angrier; the idea that Angel thought he had any right whatsoever to know anything about his relationship with Buffy, or the fact that he thought that Spike's refusal to divulge that bit of information had all that much to do with Angel himself. Not beyond the fact that it was Angel. And he was infinitely on Spike's list of people he was never explaining his relationship with Buffy to. *** Angel didn't really care that Spike seemed to think he was a non-factor. He could accept, objectively, that yeah, Buffy in Spike's time had moved on. Apparently so had he. But it mattered to him that whatever was -- would go on between them was wrong. If Spike had been without his soul when whatever had occurred... So when Spike laughed and taunted, Angel growled, dropping the pretense as he rushed him, a dangerous look in his yellow eyes. "Don't call her that," he told him, bringing the rapier in close and forcing Spike's sword to meet it so he could very nearly pin him against the wall with the force. "Stop talking about her like she doesn't matter here, Spike. Buffy here, Buffy back in our world -- in her time, mine, or yours -- deserves better than a soulless demon. In any way." *** The attack from Angel wasn't completely unsurprisingly, and all Angel's rage did was tell Spike that he was definitely on the right track with his line of thinking. Spike loved Buffy, really. With all his heart, and his soul, and even a bit with his demon since he'd been in love with the woman before a soul had ever actually factored into the equation. He thought he was amazing, and the only one that could get them out of the mess they were in the middle of back home -- but that didn't make her prefect. She was still human in the end. "Call her what? Bitty Buffy? I'm sorry, am I ruining your fantasy that you're trying to recreate something with someone who doesn't actually remember exactly how it went wrong the first time? So sorry about that. And apparently your opinion on what she deserves doesn't mean squat, because it didn't keep me from putting it to her every other night -- sometimes multiple times in the same night -- long before I ever got all sparkly and soulful." Shoving back, Spike pushed Angel away and advanced even as he continued to speak. "Does that bother you? Does it make you think less of Buffy that she might ever stoop so low as to bringing the house down -- literally -- with an evil, soulless thing? That there could have been something, even if it was completely dysfunctional, between us? And even if it all went completely to hell and it turned out that I wasn't actually what she needed, I still tried. While soulless. Which, really, has got to be the rub, doesn't it? I loved her long before I had a soul. Years before." How Spike felt about it didn't matter, really, because now it was more of a matter of pride. And Spike would be damned if the bloke who went on a killing spree about two months ago got to give his two cents on whether he deserved Buffy while soulless. "And you know what else, Angel? Even if I'd shown up in this town completely and utterly soulless, I'd still be a sight better than you. I haven't tried to kill her or anyone she cares about in recent memory, after all." *** Angel had been expecting -- counting on it, really -- Spike to come at him with his full force then. He'd provoked him for a reason. What he hadn't been expecting was the wealth of answers he decided to divulge. The first bit hit him hard, as that was exactly what he feared -- that everything he was starting with Buffy here wasn't -- couldn't -- be real because she couldn't understand how much he'd managed to hurt her in their own world, and that all he was doing was pretending like it had never happened. "You don't know what you're talking about." But it was the next revelation that set him aflame with rage, even as he backed up defensively. To hear Spike discuss sex with Buffy like it was a dirty, perverted thing that his soulless self had indulged in was sickening. That Buffy would welcome that -- had been broken enough by being torn from Heaven to seek out such horrifically meaningless pleasure was too much to hear. He hated Spike at that moment. He hated himself for not having done something, and he pushed forward again, engaging him in the fight. The third thing just confirmed: Spike had loved her. Before the soul, after the soul, whatever. Which made him better, in so many stupid ways. Angel had never known love until his soul had met Buffy. He'd known desire -- and passion, certainly. But love? And then the fourth gave the final blow, but Angel pulled back, dropping the sword to his side, holding it loosely as Spike advanced, staring back at him as his features shifted back into their human form. "You don't need to tell me how much I don't deserve her," he replied, much more steadily than he'd expected. His rage was temporarily cooled by his total agreement there. "Why do you think I pointed her your way?" Which said a lot. Yes, that his head hadn't been thinking very clearly when he'd done that, but also the unspoken truth between them, which was that Angel believed Spike, ensouled deserved her, if anyone could 'deserve' her. He sure as hell didn't. It was a non-issue now, because Angel knew what a mistake that had been. But things with Buffy were still shaky and so much of that had to do with Spike. It wasn't her fault -- it was entirely Angel's. Because he hated this feeling, knowing Spike was better and knowing that Buffy, this Buffy, still chooses him over the blond vampire. He hated feeling at odds with Spike, because he -- well, he felt strongly connected to him, even more so now because of their souls despite the fact they were, very literally, at each other's throats at the moment. He hated, frankly, feeling torn between these two people, of all people. Fuck. *** Angel could try if he wanted to pretend that Spike couldn't actually see right through him. It didn't matter, really, if that had been Angel's original plan or if it had been something he'd sort of just fallen into. And if everyone else wanted to pretend like that wasn't what was actually pretty much happening here, well bully for them because Spike wasn't going to play that game and keep his mouth shut just because it might make everyone uncomfortable. And if they thought that he would, they didn't know him at all. Hand in hand with that, for him, was the fact that Buffy thought they were friends. Because they weren't. Not really. The Buffy he'd left back home, he'd thought, maybe -- if not at their present, they had a chance in the future to genuinely friendly. Even if they were a complicated mess, too. But it was delusional to pretend that Buffy lacking all these experiences -- both the good and bad ones -- didn't mean something in the end, because it did. People made decisions all the time based on their past, of which this girl virtually had none. "That's the problem then, isn't it? I know exactly what I'm talking about. And it's not like I haven't got my own things it'd be better if Buffy never knew, either." Now the funny part about Angel being renewed with rage at Spike's open admittance that there had been a point where Buffy had slept with him, willingly and regularly, was that Spike had thought that maybe he'd been making subtle references to that fact long before today. Apparently, he'd been too subtle. Even still, he'd held his against Angel, until he'd finally pulled back after Spike's low blow. And it was a low blow. Because Spike knew how he'd felt to find out what he'd done while under the influence of the First. And it still permeated his thoughts most of the time, maybe even more so than a century and some of victims, because he'd had his soul when it happened. And it was just another thing that Buffy had forgiven him for that he hadn't deserved. "Because you're an idiot who thinks he's always right. We've already been over this," Spike stated in a tone that made it obvious just how true he thought that statement was as he lowered his own sword. *** Angel eyed him warily. That wasn't the first time Spike had alluded to something between him and Buffy he regretted -- and really obviously wouldn't talk about. He'd already admitted to sex -- and as much as Angel might like to deny it, he did know what that would entail with Spike -- so it was something else. Whatever it was, it had led him to seek the demon trials. There was no way it could be good. He needed to calm down, because honestly he couldn't let Spike get to him. Not about her. He couldn't do that to her again. The truth was that he loved her. The truth was that he'd never stopped. And the truth was that she loved him too, and the crueler thing would have been to lie and say it was over -- because it wasn't. When Spike lowered his sword, Angel couldn't help but glare at him, eyes flashing again, indicating the now-suppressed anger he still felt. "Seriously, Spike. What the hell is wrong with you?" He shoved him back, briefly considering dropping the sword entirely and just going for his throat. It may only be his own fastidious nature that prevented him from doing so. "You get pissy with me and call me out on doing what's best for Buffy, now you're sure I shouldn't get away with trying to fix that, fix hurting her. What's your problem?" *** Spike really didn't have any plans whatsoever to tell Angel about what he'd done. More than talking about his soul, more than admitting to the messy non-relationship that had been the year after she'd been brought back, this was just one thing that he could never tell anyone. Not unless Buffy decided to. And a Buffy that knew about it wasn't here, which left his options on that front pretty damn clear. Regardless, Spike had still been in an all right mood. Not a good one, because there was just something about Angel that made a good mood like physically impossible, but an okay one, considering what was being said. And then Angel shoved him and Spike glared right back at him. "You are my problem! You have always been my problem, you Neanderthal!" Spike shoved Angel in return. "You are, without a doubt, the bane of my entire bloody existence!" *** Angel, on the other hand, hadn't been in a particularly good mood. He hadn't been in a bad mood, necessarily, when the night had started. But as was pretty common with him, he was always holding himself back, attaining calm and neutrality through sheer force of will rather than simply feeling it. He'd been worried. About a missing friend, about Buffy and how she was dealing -- and how they were, about the unsolved mystery of his lost soul... And all of it came with the constant mixed feelings he had -- about everything, but in particular about the blond vampire. And honestly, he'd started this evening with hopes of keeping himself under control when it came to him. But when Spike pushed back, Angel just didn't feel the need for pretense. He growled and tossed the sword to the side, letting it clatter to the floor while he advanced, moving to knock the sword out of Spike's hand too. "Oh, that's great. How am I the source of your problems? What the hell have I done to you?" He managed to stay in his human face, though the look in his eyes had settled into half-amused incredulity he hadn't worn in over a century. "I've been trying to help, I've been trying to figure you out, and all you've done is whine and bitch and give me attitude for my trouble." *** Spike didn't tend to think about his feelings when it came to Angel. Mostly because it happened to be a tangled up mess of hatred and… other things, and Spike could never figure out what it was exactly that he actually felt about the other vampire. It was just so much easier to rely on hate when he thought about their history. Because the idea of focusing on anything else was unacceptable. Spike only glared harder when Angel knocked the sword out of his hand, the one that had been free clenching. It was a miracle it stayed that way at Spike's side considering that all Spike could think about right then was slamming it into Angel's face. Multiple times. "Funny, that. You accusing me of bitching when you had the equivalent to a teenaged girl tantrum for about a week last month." Spike retorted, not even having to think that much on it before it was out of his mouth. "And I'm sorry, did you want me to get on my knees and thank you? Give your ego a little boost? Well, I don't need, or want your help. I damn well don't want you trying to figure me out. We are not friends, we have never been friends, and guess what, Angel? We are never going to be friends. This whole thing you've got where we're supposed to understand each other now because there are souls involved and we're fighting for the same side is a load of garbage. And I've got better things to do with my time than play this back and forth game with you -- like watching daytime soaps. I'd almost rather go back to Sunnydale and die. At least there I can be a little more sure of just what the hell I'm getting myself into." *** "You've got to be kidding me," Angel shook his head in disbelief, even as he continued to advance. "Sorry we're not all like you. Take a trip to Africa and ask for a gift, never mind the shock and suffering some of us have to face. You've no idea--" He didn't finish that, instead looking at him dangerously, a flash of -- something else in his eyes at that declaration. "Never needed the ego boost boy," he told him in tones that spoke of direct experience with...that image. "And friendship? Has never been in the cards for us." For demons -- for them, specifically, because it was never about friendship. A label like that for -- whatever -- was ridiculous. Angel, to be honest, didn't know what he wanted and was letting himself react to Spike freely now. "You have no idea what that soul inside you means, Spike. Don't pretend to know what I think -- you haven't begun to... and yeah, I'm trying to help you. Because guess what? I know Darla never told you and Dru. But mine was forced on me a hundred years ago and no one in the world understood. I had no idea what I was and yeah. Some part of me went crazy. Most of me wanted to die." He eyed Spike, it dawning on him at that point the last bit of what the younger vampire was saying. God, this was confusing. "So -- no,” he said, pulling his next blow. “You don't go back to Sunnydale and hope for death, didn't I already tell you that doesn't get to happen?" *** "A gift, is it? Maybe I just hallucinated all that time I spent talking to no one and the First Evil. That was fun. Great way to spend the bloody summer. I'm thinking I might try it again this summer, too." Yeah, Spike hadn't spent a century trying to get the hang of what it meant to have a soul, and while he wasn't driving himself insane with guilt, he wasn't exactly settled either. Sometimes, he wasn't actually sure it was there. Until it was. Spike's eyes instantly narrowed at that. He'd made the first subtle reference, but he hadn't expected Angel to actually respond to it in any way, even if it was just the two of them. It seemed like the only thing they could legitimately agree on now was that they weren't supposed to ever talk about that. Like it had never happened. Because it hadn't. And now was not a good time to think about Will, even passingly. "No, of course not. Needing an ego boost would require you to be a little less full of yourself. Also? Not a boy -- yours or anyone else's." He didn't address the fact that there was never going to be friendship for them immediately; he didn't need to. Even if Angel should be well aware of the fact that he'd fooled Spike with the idea of it at first. Before Spike learned to most important lesson he'd ever needed to know -- nothing, absolutely nothing, he wanted was ever his. "Having my soul means I'm my own personal Jiminy Cricket. So I'm aware enough, even if it's apparently not in the way you'd like." After a moment, Spike paused and gave Angel a faux considering look, before following it up with equally false surprise. "Did you want to be my mentor? Hold my hand through all the stages of Sudden Soulfulness. The guilt, the crazy, the potential to take up eating rats as an unfulfilling meal?" Answering Angel seriously meant actually having a legit conversation. Spike still kind of wanted to hit him, so that was definitely out of the question. He rolled his eyes. "Please. We already know it doesn't stick. Besides, now I kind of want to see how it ends." *** "Yeah, The First is a real picnic. Lot of fun. Give my regards." He'd been told by Willow the First had seen to Spike sometime after he'd got his soul. But Angel didn't think that Spike was aware that once again, Angel had got there first. Not that he was proud of the fact. Not that it made him happy that Spike had suffered that. Normally Angel would have ignored that remark of denial, passing it off as more of Spike's general insolence. Right now he was just enough of a touch on the irrational side to spit back, "You think that's true? Then you don't get to blame me for anything." He was angry. He was pissed at Spike for the breezy way it seemed like nothing real ever mattered. When he didn't have a soul, that was understandable. But now he acted like this was just phase two and nothing really changed except he didn't eat human anymore. Which was wrong, however much the whelp denied it. "It's not that simple. It's never that simple, which should have been your first lesson when you gained a conscience." Angel bristled only slightly at the comment about eating rats and he continued, "By all means, keep on like you're doing. And then when you slip up," his tone lowered as he stepped right into Spike's personal space, no blows or strikes, just his intent gaze. "In ten, fifty, a hundred years, when you slip up and everything that chip trained you to do is forgotten, when you forget about your past and the hundreds you've slaughtered, when you get up close to a dying human, and can smell their blood, hot and fresh and delivered the way you're meant to take it -- when you decide it's okay, they're dying anyway, won't be missed -- fine. You'll hate yourself and so will the world." The look he gave Spike was utterly serious, and he added, almost inaudibly, but with his usual conviction, "And I'll still forgive you. Because I know." *** The way it was said gave off the distinct impression of been there done that, and Spike had to tramp down the irrational feeling that he couldn't even have the evil trying to use him for horrible purposes not be coming after him second, since Angel had already met the First. Which just made it worse to think about now. The First had been his source of torment for months, but seeing as he'd been a bit insane, it hadn't even occurred to him. And then it'd used him to kill and turn at least a dozen people, maybe more (and the guilt, the real guilt, he felt about that never went away and there were no platitudes about how the First made him do it that could ever take that away). And, because all of that wasn't enough, Spike got bled out to let some Turok Han through the Hellmouth. And he'd still had that trigger, that song his mother used to sing, up until right before he'd ended up here. "Doesn't that make things interesting, then? Because I think that I do." They were talking about it, but at the same time, they weren't. And Spike was alright with that because he didn't know what would happen if they did. What either of them would do, where it would go. Talking about it, but not talking about it might just work. "I think I do because it still doesn't take away from what happened. None of it's about to be forgotten." Watching Angel, he tensed when he stepped close into Spike's personal space, ready if need be. If he had to be. Just because the swords were no longer in their hands, it didn't mean they couldn't still do damage. So of course, Angel had to go and defy his expectations in possibly the worst way possible. "Why?" He asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked right back at Angel. "Why do you even care, beyond obviously thinking the soul makes me redeemable now? Are you sure I'm not some case for you? What do you want from me, Angel? And, who knows, maybe I've already had time to do something I can properly hate myself for. It might not be a dying person I've decided I can just have a little taste of, but it's real enough to me." He wasn't referring to that specific situation; he'd barely remembered all the people he'd killed under the First's influence, and now he didn't know how he could have missed that he'd evidently been on human blood for weeks. Somehow it had bypassed the chip, which Spike hadn't realized he'd been expecting to have as a failsafe. But the failsafe was gone because Buffy trusted him. She believed in him, even though he didn't and never deserved to have that from her. *** "You try to revoke that claim, and still use me to blame?" Angel's tone was incredulous, and part of him wasn't even really realizing that they were actually talking about it, albeit in caged, coached terms. "That's not how this works, Spike. You've come a long way in a hundred years. So have I. Doesn't change blood. And you'd remember that if you'd ever listened to me." The souls didn't change how the demons in them were bonded. It just forced them to adhere to human terms, which just didn't work. And right now Angel didn't want to keep thinking about this, because it fucking hurt that Spike kept denying connection, never mind that part of it. He'd lived for 150 years with bonds, and ripped himself away from it. He hadn't wanted to. He just knew he couldn't stay. So when Spike started to ask, started to voice just what was going on his head, Angel could only shake his head. "You can ask me why I care, and you think you know your own soul? Spike, it has nothing to do with redemption. You're not a case — never could be. It has to do with you, you idiot. I don't want anything from you except — God, I need you to get it. I'm not who I was then. Who I was then — all he wanted was to hurt you. Mold you. Train you. You think that's still me? It's not. I care, Spike. I never could, before. I'm sorry for that." *** "God, it always comes back to how I don't listen to you, doesn't it?" Because what else was Spike supposed to say. Was he supposed to talk about what they'd done in the past now? About the way things used to be? Revert back to the days where Spike played that game of seeing just how much he could piss Angelus off within a short amount of time? "Are you really expecting me to believe that any of that still matters to you, or has mattered to you since you got all cursed?" It crept up on him, really. That sudden feeling he'd had when Angel said he'd cared and Spike didn't know what to do with it. It felt a lot like being back in that cemetery and having Angel tell him that Spike had him. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Their relationship had been a lot of things over the past century, but never once had it involved caring. Not in a real, tangible way where they could verbally admit as much, and Spike had had more than enough time to kill the idea that they were a family as much as he could. Except for the small part that refused to die. That same part that had been happy at first when he'd thought Angelus was back. "When the hell did that happen?" Spike asked, unable to wrap his mind around the idea of accepting it as it was. He could admit that the probability of it on his side came down to the fact that Spike didn't take much to get emotionally attached and he really was just pathetic enough to have done so a century ago. Angel, though? He just, he couldn't. They didn't do that. They had been evil and they did evil things -- and in some cases that had meant to each other. If he accepted that Angel cared, than that changed a whole lot of things that Spike was not thinking about. Like the non-conversation they were having about their past -- whatever. God, the fact that they even had a past whatever. It was only that he was currently lacking the ability to process… this that kept him from saying any more than that. *** Angel let out an exasperated sound. He still had a lot of that energy simmering beneath the surface, sparked and kindled by the conversation -- by Spike. It was taking everything he had not tear him apart right now, and he wasn't even sure if that was just out frustration or out of -- whatever. He didn't know how to answer him without admitting so much. Did it still matter? Of course it did. Angel had always lived by definitions and that had been the hardest part about leaving them. He had been alone and hadn't known what he was anymore, without them. Without being a vampire. He'd believed he was that sick, twisted thing, something that shouldn't, couldn't exist. Even now -- even recently, wasn't that why after learning about the Shanshu prophecy he'd desperately clung to the idea that he could become human? So he could have something, be something? He realized he hadn't said anything. And he also realized that he and Spike had been essentially hissing in each other's faces for the last few minutes. He pulled back. When did that happen, Spike? "1898." When he'd first been cursed. When he'd had the capacity to understand the horrible reality of what he'd done to so many -- including Spike. Including William. And he still, and would always, hate himself for it. Of course he cared. *** For a minute, Spike didn't think he was going to get an answer. And, really, he would've been okay with that. This conversation had already gone well beyond his limits and he should've gotten away with it minutes ago. Just left or something. Gone somewhere he could punch a hole in a wall or a dozen because Spike didn't currently feel any less unsettled about this than he'd already been. If anything he felt more unsettled. "1898," Spike echoed, not having to think about it to know exactly when that was. When that had to be. And considering Spike's own memory of how it had felt in that instant that he'd had his, he didn't need to ask what about that made that specific date so clear in Angel's mind. He gave a short laugh, but there wasn't actually any humor in it. "Of course." He, for once, didn't know what else to say. All roads seemed to lead down to topics better left untouched for the sake of his own sanity and Spike wasn't really interested in finding out what what happened if they actually addressed things in their past -- beyond the superficial stuff, like that there was a past that had existed and they'd done the evil things they'd done. The sort of things he would have fun declaring for an audience if he'd been all soulless, just because Spike didn't want to talk about it. Those things. As if to help with the much needed distance, Spike finally took a step back of his own. *** There was an uncomfortable kind of silence then. The kind that was thick with unspoken words and the kind that could only exist between two people who had as much history as them. Angel dimly recalled living through another such silence after first confronting Darla as a human. It was heavy. It was oppressive. It was uncomfortable because things weren't usually so ill-defined. He had nothing left to say. If he were a braver man, he might have pushed the issue, dove deeper. But he was so tired, and he kept fighting this. He didn't know if it was possible to break through to Spike. He wanted to, desperately, but he kept getting pushed back -- often literally -- and there was only so much he could take at a time. He'd said his piece; Spike knew now what Angel hadn't ever voiced. That he'd always cared, ever since he could. He could do with that information what he wanted. He would probably ignore it, and Angel didn't know how many more times he'd be able to say it. He needed Spike to get it. When Spike took a step back, a settled look crept into Angel's expression. This was where they were. They didn't need to say anymore, because the next thing out of either of their mouths was going to provoke one of two things, and the first would be another fight -- one where maybe they didn't hold back and ended up actually causing physical harm. The second -- well, he was pretty sure that wouldn't, shouldn't, couldn't happen. *** Spike had never been much of a fan of silence. It was… boring. At least, he'd used to think so. But since getting his soul and having spent a lot of time hearing voices and what not, Spike was good with silence. But not this kind of silence. The kind of silence that made Spike feel like for everything the both of them had just said, nothing had been said at all. There were things he could say, things could ask right now. It'd fill the silence and maybe he'd get some answers to the questions running through his mind. But considering what Angel was now saying, he didn't know where asking those questions would lead. And there were certain places he and Angel needed to never go -- again. So Spike said nothing at all. Instead, he gave Angel a long look as he took a second step back from Angel as he needed to put some distance between them. He needed to figure out just what the hell that meant now. He didn't say anything even as he grabbed his duster from where he'd left it. This was the sort of moment where it just… it wasn't needed. And Spike was pretty sure that Angel would understand exactly where he was coming from as he pulled the leather coat on. And he didn't wait for Angel to say anything else before he was moving to leave the training room and building as fast as he could without actually running. He had a lot of thinking to do. |