Angel (noirangel) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2014-05-26 20:00:00 |
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The WAMM sponsored cookout was a very good idea for business. Angel had no arguments against that at all and the fact that he actually got to avoid the crowds while WAMM made good relations with the refugees only made him more in favor of the arrangements. He could, essentially, hibernate while the business did some work outside. It was almost kind of perfect. So he’d spent most of the day haunting the building, reading a little, sketching a little, and taking the time to relax. He liked to do this during the day -- the sunlight beaming through the few uncovered windows providing a nice contrast to the dimly lit rooms he inhabited inside. He honestly didn’t expect any business, and he’d been right so far. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the cookout or otherwise occupied. That suited him. He had time alone to spend as he pleased. To think. Then again, even he acknowledged too much time to think wasn’t always a good thing. As the daylight started to fade, Angel’s thoughts lingered back to the bottle of whiskey on his desk. The one that had miraculously appeared a week ago with no note and no explanation. Nothing but the faintest -- and seriously, the faintest -- trace of a scent so familiar he didn’t remotely question it. He just didn’t understand why Spike would have given him a new bottle. Was he trying to repay him for the one he’d finished? The thought seemed ludicrous. Plus, why do that when he could just shove a drink in his face at a bar or...wherever. And Spike didn’t do things like that. Not for him, anyway. It didn’t make sense. His gaze flickered toward the window and he realized the sun was nearly fully set. Maybe he should just ask Spike what he wanted. Surely the bottle was meant as leverage for something he needed -- Angel knew the other vampire wasn’t exactly working, so maybe he wanted to be assured he’d get to use WAMM’s facilities whenever he felt like it. All right. In a decidedly deliberate -- and somewhat dramatic -- gesture, Angel lifted himself from his chair and grabbed his coat, turning out the lights and heading out, intending to avoid whatever remained of the crowd. He sped through the barely lit streets to the residential end of town, seeking Spike’s apartment. He’d never been in, but of course he’d tracked it long ago. He went straight for the doorknob. Which he realized was locked. With a slightly irritated huff, he knocked swiftly on the door. He knew Spike had to be home. *** Memorial Day didn't mean a thing to Spike, so it stood to reason that regardless of his inability to withstand the sun, he still wouldn't have attended a picnic. Instead, he spent most of the day in his place after he woke up at noon in his apartment, thinking. Which wasn't brooding in the least bit. Spike didn't brood. And most of what he thought about involved just why he had gone ahead and decided to buy that bottle for Angel. The fun part -- or not so fun depending on how Spike decided to look at it -- was that he honestly had no idea what possessed him to go through with the idea. Buying it was understandable; he'd been in there for himself and buying the other bottle had been an impulse decision. But then, he guessed going over to the WAMM building had been one too. And it hadn't even gone off without a hitch. Though he guessed at least Veronica hadn't gone running her mouth about seeing him? Just the thought made Spike think he might have jinxed himself. Well, more. As if to give him an answer to that there was a knock on the door. Spike eyed it suspiciously, sure who it was even as he tried to write the idea off. Then he pushed himself out of his chair and went to open it... and of course it was Angel. Spike silently raised an eyebrow at him and then stood, opening the door wider and leaving Angel to let himself in and close the door behind himself as he reclaimed his seat. "Welcome to my humble abode." Because Angel had never been here before. Spike didn't know if that had been a conscious decision on either of their parts. *** The look on Angel's face was inscrutable as Spike opened the door. He moved inside without hesitation and closed the door gently behind him, all the while stealing glances around the apartment. It definitely felt like Spike lived here. It bore his distinctive...whatever that Angel would recognize with his eyes gauged out of their sockets. Yeah, okay. Occasionally his head was in a weird place. "I don't know if humble is a word I'd use to describe anything about you," he replied, his tone absentminded in the way it often was when he felt comfortable enough not to really think about what he was saying. Which generally only happened with Spike, so there it was. He stepped further in, perfectly at ease despite the fact that he realized he didn't exactly have an acceptable excuse for being here. He'd...come up with something. The whiskey, obviously. Or, really, he didn't think he needed an excuse to visit the younger vampire. Social cues weren't exactly the norm between them. And the way they'd left things last, well. Angel was never really sure what was on the table to discuss these days. "You up to much today?" *** It took Spike a lot longer than he liked at all to realize that he had been watching Angel take in his living space. The moment he realized what he was doing, he looked away, managing only a smirk at his comment. He could deny it, sure, if he wanted to. Start up a bit of an argument over the simple idea of being humble, but Spike wasn't really in the mood. Frustrating as Angel was, it was a lot harder to hold onto his previous notions of how things just were between them (all antagonism and nothing else) since their last in person conversation. Instead he reached for his leather duster, thrown over the back of the chair as it was, searching its pockets for a pack of cigarettes. The good thing about not have living, breathing company -- no need to worry about what was getting into their lungs. With the opener Angel was going with for this conversation, Spike came to the conclusion that Angel was obviously here to talk about the bottle. And he'd apparently been looking for too much when he'd wanted Angel to just accept it and move on. Another part of him, was sure that maybe Angel would have dropped by just because. Considering… things. None of those thoughts showed on Spike's face as he shrugged, unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "Not as of yet, seeing as the night's only just begun." He paused, using the crappy lighter he'd bought from a store in town to light it. "But considering the choices I've got for entertainment, I just can't see it being a fun night on the town." Since they were doing small talk and all, Spike could play. "How was the picnic? Lots of good, clean fun for all the boys and girls?" Though he doubted Angel had gone anywhere the event, he asked anyway. *** Angel's gaze followed Spike's movements as he pulled out the inevitable cigarette. He didn't begrudge him the habit -- when it wasn't so much a health hazard, it didn't really matter. And he probably smoked more often himself than any of his humans realized. He avoided it mainly due to the fact he spent most of his time around them, but he had no real problem with the act. That Spike continued to indulge bothered him less than it should have. He pulled his attention back to the conversation. "You really should try daylight sometime," he mused lightly. "Might meet more people then and find your entertainment. What hours are you keeping these days, anyway?" If he was aware of the irony of the Scourge of Europe insisting his progeny become more social, Angel resolutely didn't acknowledge it. It seemed like small talk was a thing they were trying again though. He wondered again if that meant Spike had taken his words to heart, but only shrugged at his question. A part of him did hope that one of these days, Spike might actually approach him of his own accord. They could...do normal things, couldn't they? The subject of the (possibly) gifted whiskey was on the tip of his tongue, but he gave his reply instead. "I agreed it was a good idea then backed off. Veronica's much better at that kind of thing anyway and her boyfriend is helping the team. I guess I'll find out how it went tomorrow." Or if he bothered to search the network for posts about it, but hell if he'd waste his time. Either people went and had a good time or not. There wasn't anything he could do about it now. *** "Are you, of all people, trying to tell me to make friends?" Spike asked then, giving Angel as sardonic an eyebrow raise as he could possibly muster. "Souled or not, I'm generally not in the habit of playing all that well with others. Besides, with the lot in this town being the whiny, Dear Diary all over the network sort, I think I'd rather keep to myself, if that's alright with you." Spike guessed the interesting part about that was that even though half of what he'd said was sarcasm, there was a distinct amount of malice missing. God, was he going to be declaring how much he cared soon, too? What the hell. "Anyway, I'm up by noon most days. I've got a nice little schedule with my favorite thing in this entire flat --" and at that moment he gestured towards his television with the hand holding his cigarette -- " until sundown, and I'm at peace with getting to go around town when most of it is sleeping peacefully in their beds." There was, maybe, a bright side in the fact that this actually wasn't completely awkward. It didn't mean that Spike thought this conversation would end on a good note, but the end result of this was to be seen. Spike didn't know why he asked about the picnic though, because he didn't really care. He'd run into Veronica on his way to leave Angel the whiskey, and he kind of liked her. As a person. Not that he was ever going to admit to that out loud. "Imagine it would have been a bit fatal trying to be any more a part of it than that." And still with the small talk. Spike rolled his eyes at himself. *** The corners of Angel's mouth quirked into a partial smile at that remark. "Yeah. I don't think some of these people have ever heard of privacy. They could have benefited from not growing up in this century." He'd noticed the tendency to share too much so publicly and, though sometimes it made his job easier, still definitely disapproved of such general openness. He chose to focus on that rather than the fact he was kind of commiserating with Spike over something so casual. "Come patrol with me sometime." The words were out of his lips before he had a chance to think better of the idea. Angel knew he had to stick by it. "I usually start around 2am, at the eastern edge of town." That said, he shifted a little -- less awkwardly than he expected, but wasn't this still just a little weird? Wasn't it? He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, nodding slightly to acknowledge Spike's comment. Sunlight wasn't his ally even if Spike now... He chose not to reply, though, as he could only think to ask if Spike was concerned about possible fatality. But he didn't really want to start an argument right now. "Why'd you leave the bottle in my office?" Whoops. *** Spike was proud of himself. The urge to go around being a dick on every public network post he saw was one he fought every day, all day. Of course, it wasn't going to last, because there was only so much to do in this town and not enough (or any) evil for him to kill to get rid of all this pent up… something. Spike couldn't think of a word to describe the feeling; it was just sort of there. "It's all gadgets. Though, actually, I do like a good gadget." Mainly the gaming systems. He'd never had one before, but he was sort of enjoying having one now immensely. Spike gave Angel a look at that, expecting him to tack onto it that it was just a suggestion. Something to sort of take the words back with. But then he didn't and Spike frowned a little. Was he supposed to agree to the idea? And then what? He and Angel could walk around town in the middle of the night and do more small talk? It wasn't like any bloody thing happened in this town -- not the sort of thing Spike cared much about. Even as he was having the thoughts that highlighted just how bad of an idea it was, the words were coming out of his mouth. "I'll think about it." Honestly, that was the best answer Angel could hope for from him right now. He hadn't offered for Angel to sit for a few reasons. The first being that the very idea of even asking just sounded wrong even only in his head. The second was that Spike had sort of expected Angel to sit if he wanted to, where he -- He guessed he should have expected that. But even then, Spike only gave the barest hint of recognition, taking a pull on his cigarette and blowing out the smoke before he answered. "No idea what you're talking about." *** Angel glanced at the gaming console by Spike's television set and again only shrugged. "You play?" He'd never tried any of those things. His use of technology extended primarily to the smart phones, and he'd gotten pretty good at it. The more complicated electronics were intriguing, but he preferred to save his money. He honestly hadn't expected Spike to even acknowledge his request, let alone answer it in what sounded like the positive. What passed for it, anyway. Huh. Maybe things were okay with them. And they could keep being civil and normal and the younger vampire wouldn't interfere with his relationship with Buffy. Right. Buffy. Angel hadn't been particularly open about the fact that he and Buffy had made amends. He hadn't been actively hiding the fact, but as they'd been discussing earlier -- some things were simply private. He was hardly going to announce an engagement to the public, after all. Still. He'd spoken about it with Wes and he thought he probably owed Spike an explanation too, given he'd been...inconvenienced by his actions. But that could wait for the moment. "Come on, Spike," Angel made a skeptical face. "You know I don't buy that. What do you want?" *** "Can't just be soaps all day. Got to keep things new and exciting." Spike's answer was half serious, referring to his days spent watching TV as if it was a relationship. Spike mainly stuck to staying updated with technology just to not stick out like a sore thumb, but this town was ten years ahead of where he'd been and he was impressed by some of the things that existed. And his phone had games, too, on top of the gaming console. He'd spent a good enough amount of money on it, which was just as well. Otherwise it was going to all go to liquor eventually. And Spike was glad that the offer to patrol together was a closed topic with just his answer. Maybe Angel realized just how much Spike really should have given him a derisive answer about them spending that much time around each other. At that, Spike put out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and gave Angel a dark look. "What do I want? This might come as a bit of a shock to you, Angel. But I don't want anything. In fact, I'd rather pretend as if the whole exchange never even happened." *** "Anything like Angry Birds?" Okay, so he'd played that once or twice. But he hadn't been the one to download it to his phone. He was pretty sure that had been Veronica. Or maybe Buffy. It definitely had not been his idea. "Or the uh, shooting and fighting games?" Those seemed kind of interesting, even if it was also a little silly given the reality they usually lived. They were having a benign conversation that didn't actually seem to be about anything else or even really avoiding anything else. That was weird. Good weird, Angel supposed, but definitely weird. Definitely good. Hell. It wasn't going to last very long though, if he kept Spike defensive. "Was it a gift, then?" He prompted, the look in his eyes expressing genuine curiosity. "Like -- a 'thank you?'" Spike should have known by now that Angel wasn't just going to let it go. *** "Shooting, fighting, the more violent ones. Angry Birds is the sort of game someone plays while in the waiting room." This was a little bit surreal. The part where he and Angel were talking about games like that was in any way normal for the two of them. Mainly because neither of them were currently angry. Currently, because Spike fully expected this conversation to descend into madness by the end. Like every other conversation they had. Spike rolled his eyes with a sigh. Angel could be annoyingly stubborn. Like right now, Especially right now. Spike didn't want to talk about the psychological reason behind his decision, or why he'd done it. What had been his purpose in it. Mainly because Spike still didn't know his damn self. "I just… bought it. No super special secret reason behind it, if that's what you're looking for." Spike answered, trying his best to act like it was exactly that -- nothing special. Because it wasn't. *** "Oh." Angel considered it. "I guess violence on the screen feels a little more interesting if you're somehow causing it." Movies were different, but he could see, even if it was just tapping on buttons and things, that that might be fun. He wondered sometimes -- okay, frequently and recently -- what he wanted their normal to be. This kind of conversation seemed close to it, at least. But it was missing...something. Angel really didn't know what. It was civil and polite and not antagonizing and it wasn't even really hinting in that direction. It was definitely missing something. An eyebrow raised at Spike's answer then. "I don't need a super special secret reason. I just want to know what this..." He trailed off, glancing down briefly before looking up at Spike again. "You didn't need to do that, leave it for me." Angel thought maybe he should just thank him and move on. But, well. *** Having an active role in games with all right, though Spike still did enjoy movies and tv shows a lot. They were just mindless fun, in the end. Something to make a bit of noise -- and Spike guessed maybe he did miss Buffy's house a bit. Neverending noise. Now that he didn't have it, it had been a bit comforting, always knowing someone was around. Even if that someone happened to be an obnoxious teenage girl who could one day be the Slayer. "A little bit. Could be better though." Like having something to fight in real life. And not Angel, or Buffy or anyone else. Something he could hurt and not worry about -- not that he worried about Angel. Spike never worried about Angel. For what? And, see, that was the thing. Their new state that confused the hell out of Spike and he didn't actually know what they were anymore. They weren't friends, but then they weren't enemies either. They were just this big nameless blob of… all these things. And Spike really wasn't that much of a fan of it. Spike made something of a face then at Angel. Because, really, they were falling so far down the rabbit hole the longer they were here. "I'm aware that I didn't have to. But it's already done, isn't it? And, seriously, it's just a bottle of alcohol. Drink it, don't drink it. Let it collect dust on your desk. Use it as a bloody paperweight, I don't care." *** Angel delicately let the subject drop. As curious as he was about Spike's daily habits, he figured he knew them now. He wondered briefly whether he was running out of money yet -- not needing to buy food saved a lot. He hoped, probably in vain, that Spike might either find a job or come to him if he needed anything. He was accustomed to providing for himself and others. That was the role he'd played over a century ago, after all. Even if it had been...rougher and far less about providing care and much more about instilling lessons. "Thanks." Angel honestly didn't know what else to say about it. Spike had basically gotten him a gift -- at the very least it was reciprocation. That was...dichotomous to how they behaved with each other. Even -- or especially lately, because Spike had been so...infuriating about all of Angel's attempts at being nice. This was...just unexpected. He needed to change the subject. "So, uh. Thought you should know that me and Buffy...we're good, now. Things are...okay with us." On second thought maybe that wasn’t exactly the right idea. *** The thanks wasn't expected. Even though maybe it should have been. Since Angel kept trying to be nice to him, and seemed to expect Spike to try it back. He told himself it was just a bottle, and he told Angel that, too. But it didn't feel like just a bottle. It felt like some other thing that Spike decidedly wasn't going to think about now, or ever. Because he got the feeling that nothing good would ever come of him doing that. So instead, Spike gave Angel a brief nod and then looked away, itching for something to do and considering lighting up another cigarette, just to have that, right around the time Angel decided to give that unasked for update on how things were with him and Buffy. Which was just brilliant for them. Really. And Spike was glad right then that he hadn't been looking at Angel because he could feel something that felt like some mix of annoyance and jealousy and Spike didn't know what he had to be jealous of. Except that he did know, didn't he? But he didn't know why he had to be surprised. Since that just seemed to be par for course of his entire existence. Spike usually told himself that the choice was easy since this Buffy hadn't even known who he was when he first showed up, and because he didn't want a Buffy at sixteen, but at the heart of it, it was still Buffy. He'd been telling Angel differently, telling himself differently, since he got here, he knew. As if making it… less would be better. Except it wasn't. And beyond the feeling that was some kind of irrational jealousy, there was still… something. It was intangible and just out of his reach and gave him the same feeling as thinking about that "gift", so Spike shoved it down. When he did look at Angel, his expression was blank except for a raised eyebrow. "Because I was sitting on pins and needles, waiting to hear how that was going to go, right?" *** "You were the one complaining about me sending her to you, as I recall." Angel's tone was a little irritated, even if he didn't really have reason to be. He'd offered the information because, well, he wasn't sure. But Spike seemed keen on there not being involved with his own troubles there. And there weren't any, so he should be satisfied. That was how he justified it in his mind, anyway. "I just thought you'd want to know. You don't need to worry about me, you know, doing-the-best-for-Buffy thing you kept whining about." And really, he wasn't trying to bait Spike. Honestly. Angel had just sort of buried himself a little in the fact he'd chosen to share this information, so he thought he'd defend himself. Spike's tone suggested he had no care at all about it, and given what Angel now knew, well. He doubted that. But the younger vampire had assured him there wasn't interest anymore, so he was inclined to think she could possibly be an okay topic for them. Maybe his...happiness he’d managed to let himself reach with her was an okay topic. Things were so bizarre between them, Angel wasn’t sure how Spike felt about her now except that he was mad that Angel had done the things he’d done. He knew they were friendly. He didn’t know much else. *** He couldn't do this. The very idea of getting into another conversation turned argument with Angel over the topic of Buffy was not a good one. It was a bad one. A horrible one. And fuck Angel for thinking that it would be a okay topic, because it wasn't. It never would be. Because while Spike might not be trying to have something with the Buffy here, that didn't change the fact that Spike was still in love with Buffy. It didn't magically disappear just because the Buffy here wasn't the one he'd known, and if anything he was starting to get the feeling that absence really did make the heart go stronger. It was no surprise, though, that despite his mental resolve to not have this conversation, his mouth was moving anyway. "Rightfully complained because you were bring an idiot. And I wouldn't have anything to 'whine' about if you didn't run every time things get a little bit difficult, trying to find a way out." Maybe Angel hadn't been trying to bait Spike, but that didn't matter to him at all right now. *** Angel really had no idea how terrible a choice this had been to bring Buffy up now. Spike had done nothing but insist he didn't care about 'this' Buffy, so he was trying to take him at his word. That meant including Spike in this sort of...thing, right? He'd talked about it with Wes, so the other logical being was Spike. Because he was trying to figure out what they were now -- discussing video games and not attempting to kill each other was a start, but it wasn't...definition. "I don't run," he protested sharply. "I made a choice; Buffy could have dealt. She did before, I think you remember." That may have been the wrong thing to say, but Angel was suddenly annoyed. Yeah, he knew he'd messed up, but that wasn't Spike's problem. And anyway, he shouldn't have had a problem with it in the first place, given if he hadn't left Buffy back in their world, Spike would never have...gotten involved with her. *** At first, Spike wondered if maybe he was coming to the wrong conclusion in what Angel said. And then he realized that no, he'd had it exactly right. "Oh, well, if that's all." Spike replied with an eye roll because he should have seen that coming. Then he pushed himself to his feet, glaring at Angel, though he didn't make a move to come any closer to him. "Yeah, she dealt. And it didn't exactly go well." The funny part was that Spike wasn't even totally talking about himself, or Buffy. But even Captain Cardboard and his completely predictable whitebread wholesomeness -- but then again, he'd apparently found the love of his life in running to South America, so maybe it had turned out right for him in the end. That tosser. "I've got an idea for you -- I don't want to know anything about what's going on with you and Buffy. Keep me the hell out of it. Completely." *** Angel lifted himself off the wall as Spike rose, though he didn't make a move to close the distance between them either, instead glaring right back. He knew it hadn’t gone well. He knew the extent of her relationship with the soldier-boy Riley and now he knew about Spike. He knew almost a little too much (while also not knowing nearly enough). "Hence why we're trying not to go down that route this time." Which was sort of cold. He realized that once he'd said it, but then he couldn't really be blamed for a little callousness when Spike never admitted to anything, anyway. He almost spluttered at Spike's request then, too. What was that all about, anyway? "Why?" He prompted, just about keeping a hold on the suspicious tone threatening to reach him. He had to keep control of himself -- he had no idea where this sudden burst of near-rage had come from. "You don't wanna hear it? Fine. I don't need to tell you. But you and Buffy have...history. I thought maybe you'd care a little how she's doing." *** It was a miracle, really, that Spike had managed to keep a straight face, though that didn't do much against keeping his glare from darkening, the anger he was trying to reign in visible. At his side, his fist clenched, and it took more self control than Spike actually possessed to not leap over his furniture at Angel for that comment. God, he wanted to hit him. Repeatedly. It'd be therapeutic. Spike knew more than anyone else, sans Buffy, just how bad things had gotten. Sometimes, when he tried to understand how she could forgive him for what he'd done, he considered that maybe that was the reason why. He could've asked her, maybe, but it felt a lot like looking a gift horse in the mouth, and Spike hadn't wanted to ruin it. It was a bit selfish of him. What Spike also knew was that he'd been so caught up in thinking that he finally had her, that he'd been wearing her down, to realize he hadn't been any good for her and the last thing he needed was Angel claiming to be fixing that. Fixing his mistakes because obviously Angel was better than him. At least that seemed to be the common theme of his life for over one hundred years. He felt a lot like he was about to descend into some pathetic rage fit. "You know, if I could make up a list of things I couldn't possibly care about less, updates on the status of Buffy's love life would be at the top." Of course under different circumstances, that would be a lie. Under different circumstances it was a lie. Spike cared. Spike cared too much. Which was his entire sodding problem, wasn't it? And Angel was such a damn Neanderthal, he didn't seem to get that obvious fact. "So like I said -- unless the town is in danger or Buffy is, don't mention her to me." *** Angel had a lot of experience with reading dangerous situations. Whether it had been in the 150 years he toured Europe, avoiding mobs and making a name for himself; during his century-long exile while he avoided all kinds of conflict; or in his more recent years devoted to helping the helpless and fighting evil. He knew when a fight was coming. And on top of that, he knew Spike. And while their relationship was anything but understandable these days, nothing could erase decades-borne habits or tendencies or, hell, even something so ephemeral as vibes. And right now, Angel kind of felt like he was teetering on the edge of a pit filled with angry lion cubs. Which was enough to convince him that it really wasn't a good idea to push Spike right now. Angel didn't know how he'd managed to set him off so quickly, but as much as he wanted to have a reason to fight -- and God, was he really so pathetically bored that he was now trying to pick fights without even realizing it? -- he knew it was a bad idea. A very bad idea that he might actually get in trouble for now. Hell, he really needed something more than a spar. And soon. "Okay." He managed to grit out as he reeled in his own composure. "Sorry." And because he couldn't really help himself, he added in muttered, barely audible tones, "Be nice to know why you suddenly don't care." *** Spike didn't actually know what it was that had made Angel decide to back off where before all their conversations had just steamrolled right into dangerous territory without a second thought to the consequences. Either way, it didn't make it easy for Spike himself to stand down when he was still considering just how quickly he could close in the distance between them right then. Spike also didn't know if he trusted that Angel was actually backing down. As in the way where he never breached the topic of Buffy with him again. He just didn't trust the idea, he didn't trust anything Angel said when it came to Buffy save for the fact that he was in love with her. Or Spike might've believed that Angel was trying to end the conversation if not for the words said, barely audible -- but audible enough for Spike's hearing. Rolling his eyes skyward, Spike said, "Why? Why does it even matter if I do or not? Thought that'd work out perfectly for you, me not trying to get involved in your… relationship." *** "I'm not saying I want you involved," Angel shook his head, exasperated, taking the opportunity to move around the furniture and step up to Spike. "I just don't get how you can suddenly decide not to give a damn about her." He should back down, but that dangerous situation he was reading felt a little more desirable than he would have admitted. Plus, he wanted to know what Spike's deal was with her, now that they were talking about her. If he wanted so badly to avoid discussion, then Angel suspected there was something to be discussed. *** Spike's eyes narrowed at the accusation. That's what it was, wasn't it? It was pretty much an accusation that he didn't care about her. And that was the thing. Spike would care about Buffy until he was dust. Spike was already pretty sure that caring about her was part of how he ended up dust in the future anyway. And he didn't get why it wasn't obvious to Angel that he didn't want to hear about her being happy with some other bloke -- even if, especially if, that bloke was Angel. Didn't he get that it was more than just about Buffy? That in this case it was them, and their history, and that just like Angelus with Dru, he didn't have half a chance when it was Angel with Buffy. "I give plenty of a damn about her, you tit." Spike didn't explain any further than that. He didn't plan to, didn't want to. And if Angel didn't get how Spike could care about a person and still manage to not want to hear about how happy she was with someone else -- yeah, it mattered if she was happy. Yes, it should be the most important thing to Spike when it came to Buffy, in that whole idea that tended to happen in fiction where it didn't matter if the person was with you or not as long as things were good for them. Well, that just wasn't Spike. Ever. "Not like I'm planning to never talk to her again. I just don't want to know about the two of you. What is so difficult about that to grasp?" *** Angel remembered everything Angelus did; that's how the whole soul/no soul thing worked. He wasn't a different person, he was just given a conscience. When it came to Spike, he vividly remembered all of the lessons he'd given the fledgling vampire. So many of them had revolved around Dru and proving to Spike just how little he was worth to her, as long as Angelus was around. Despite knowing all that, though, Angel had a hard time marrying that history with what he was today. His motivations were completely and utterly different and so if Spike were drawing the same conclusions, Angel wasn't really capable of understanding that. To him, his relationship with Buffy was so far off-base from his with Dru, there simply wasn't comparison. So he had no idea what was causing Spike to react the way he was, except the obvious. Which was...jealousy. But Angel wasn't really sure about that one either. "Fine, Spike." He said. "I get it. I just thought you'd want to know. I don't know why. I needed you to -- I wanted you to hear it from me and not as gossip. I don't broadcast my personal life, that's all." And, what? Was this what he wanted their encounters to be like? Sharing personal things? Was it friendship he was seeking from the younger vampire? The thought seemed absurd. All Angel really knew was that Spike was the only other creature in any dimension now with whom he shared like-experiences. He wanted whatever their relationship was now to be...to make sense, God. *** Spike didn't know that he actually believed that Angel got it. It didn't feel like he got it at all. It felt a lot more like he was just trying to placate Spike because he didn't want to argue -- And at that thought, Spike did his level best to not make a face. So much of this, of their conversations lately were just hitting him over the head with that 'I care' anvil, and Spike missed when they could be freely antagonistic without having to worry about the end result. None of this was stable, none of it made sense. "Fine, great. You're both happy and committed. I'm glad for you. If I had some confetti, I'd throw it up in the air." Spike managed to say all of it with a straight face. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Preferably something that won't make me want to hit you in the face a few times?" *** Angel had been trying very hard to figure out how this whole thing was supposed to work. He didn't want to fight with Spike. Not, well. Not really. The urge to hit him never really waned, but it was less tinged with hatred and much more full of that need to expel some energy. And understanding that Spike was good for that. At Spike's words though, Angel had to struggle to bite back a retort. Yeah, okay, he wasn't expecting confetti or anything like that, but he could have done without the sarcasm. Come on, Spike. But it was the question that gave Angel real pause. A hurt look flashed over his expression and he quickly looked down, avoiding Spike's gaze. God, why did he have to be so...infuriating? Did he want a fight? "No, I just...wanted to come here and...thank you," his tone was resolutely steady. "For the bottle. I'll just...head out then." Angel glanced back at Spike, the urge to fight him -- maybe even bite him -- simmered beneath his control, before he turned away and started for the door. *** The funny thing, right at that moment, wasn't the fact that he'd obviously failed some expectation Angel had had for this meeting. Whether that was in what they'd actually talked about, or in his responses to those things. And that brief look that if Spike didn't know better he'd have said was hurt. But Spike did know better. So he knew that that was exactly what that was -- and what the hell. Because knowing that was making Spike himself feel odd about all their fighting. Angel obviously wanted to be friends, or at least something that was like being friends. He wanted them to get along, to be able to have civil conversations that didn't descend into yelling or violence. And Spike didn't think he could provide that. No matter how much they changed things between them, Spike was unable to forget the foundations it was all built on. And that for as much things seemed to change, they definitely stayed the same. He could have said something, maybe. To keep Angel from leaving. He'd almost wanted to -- not that he knew what. He just knew it was on the tip of his tongue and he swallowed it down because he just… he couldn't. Nothing that could have come out of his mouth would have been good. *** He was losing Spike. That's basically what it boiled down to, and if this had been months ago, before this place, before the younger vampire's soul, he would have almost been okay with that. He would have been relieved, because hell if seeing Spike didn't always flood him with guilt and shame, no matter how well he swallowed that down. Without the soul in Spike, Angel could feel that shame but hold it down with rage at the evil the blond had still represented. But for as much as they now had in common, Angel couldn't help but feel like they were being pulled further apart. By circumstances, by this town, by the thing they were avoiding discussing...his relationship, that was, with Buffy. Spike had always been unlike him -- that had always been a major reason he'd been able to stick around with him and Darla and Dru. He was better than a carbon copy. Angelus had admired that. Or at the very least, hadn't been bored by him. Now...Spike was here. And not fighting him, but not...anything with him, really. The proffered bottle had been the extent of any remote indication that Spike spared a thought for him at all. It was Angel who was always reaching out, always trying to find him or talk to him. And their recent conversation about Spike's accepting a god's gift to embrace the sun (and what was it with Apollo targeting the ones he...targeting Buffy and Spike, lately, too?) had Angel realizing how very little say he had in Spike's life these days. God, he wanted something. He didn't know what. Half of him hoped that Spike would utter some snide remark, because then he'd feel justified in spinning around and smacking the younger vampire down. He wanted a hunt? A fight? Hell, Angel could give that to him. Screw a spar and make a run like the old days. It's not like they died very easily. They were both more than experienced enough to give each other a real fight without permanent damage. But Spike did nothing to stop him, so Angel had no excuse not to leave. He opened the door without turning back and disappeared back out into the darkening night -- where vampires were supposed to be. *** It was like there was something inside of him trying to claw its way out, to the surface as he watched Angel disappear out the door of his apartment. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what any of it meant. For all Spike's hate of things being predictable and falling into specific lines, he didn't realize how much he'd needed things to stop turning into this complicated mess of… he didn't even know what. How much he had relied on them being the way they always were. He didn't know what the hell was going on with him and Angel. Or why Angel always wanted to know about what was going on. Why he cared. Because they weren't supposed to. All those decades, all of the fighting and the things Angelus had done -- and not even the things that involved Dru. Hating him had been easy, it had been comfortable. It had been something that worked, because as far as he could tell, that was exactly how Angel felt right back. And there had been no way to mistake that. And then they get stuck in this craphole of a town for a few months and Spike wasn't even sure he knew which way was up anymore. Which was obviously all Angel's fault. All Angel's fault he had this… incomplete something that not even the hunt with Apollo had really gotten rid of. Not really. Spike also didn't like the fact that he was the one who'd been left this time. He had all this pent up energy he still didn't know what to do with and since he hadn't hit Angel once while he'd been here, it seemed logical to take out that simmering anger on the nearest thing to him -- like his recently bought (thanks to Will) coffee table. It started with a kick that splintered the wood but Spike didn't actually stop until the coffee table was unrecognizable. He stared at the mess, taking uneven and completely unnecessary breaths. Fuck. |