Just William: Part Two

DISTRIBUTION: Please ask. I won't bite unless you ask very nicely
SPOILERS: Season 1 Angel, Season 4 BtVS
RATING: NC 17 CONTENT WARNING: m/m slash
RELATIONSHIPS: Angel/Spike and implied Buffy/Riley
FEEDBACK: Yes please even if it's hatemail. Just so I actually GET some mail.
SUMMARY: Buffy's tied the knot with Iowa Boy, and her former beau doesn't quite know how to feel. Spike to the rescue!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, not even my mind. I think Joss has that too.
DEDICATION: To Tess De Bont. I will adore you forever, my little Darla.

----------------------------- PART TWO ----------------------------

The sound of a light being flicked on sounded like a gunshot and the illumination that resulted was needles being stabbed into his eyes when Angel finally stirred at midnight the next night, aware of Spike sitting beside him on the bed, and of pains over most of his body centred on his stomach and head. He screwed his eyes up against the light and swallowed hard, his throat felt like sandpaper. He moaned quietly, and pulled the covers up over his shoulders, which felt freezing cold. "'ow's the 'ead?" asked Spike, deliberatly speaking softly, well acquainted with hangovers himself.
"Spinning" Angel croaked in reply, covers pulled over his head, "Next time the room comes round, catch it for me"
Spike laughed quietly and realised, slightly embarrassed, that he was stroking Angel's side through the covers. He stopped, cleared his throat, and left the room, returning quickly with a glass of Resolve;
" 'ere drink this. Shower's next door, 'spect you want ter freshen up" his voice was not as brisk as he'd intended it to be, he couldn't keep the tenderness out of it. He watched Angel drain the glass, noticed how much his hands were shaking, and hesitated, barely believing what he was about to say;
"If you like, I'll shave you - if you think you ain't up to it yeself. I know it's 'ard what with not 'avin' a reflection an' all"
"Spike. Why did you do this?" The question was too unexpected for Spike to think of a witty reply, in fact too sudden for him to reply at all for a little while. When he eventually gathered his thoughts, he said;
"'ow couldn't I, eh? You're me Sire - technically me Dad - an' the blokes back 'ome at the lovely 'Ellside Retreat said you were messed up good and proper. Couldn't see ya muck yeself about like that"
"You hate me Spike. So do all your guys, so do most other vampires I ever met. In fact, I think Buffy was the last friend I had left"
"You miss 'er like 'ell don't you?" "As badly as you missed Dru at least. Nothing wrong with having a few drinks to help the pain" Spike just shrugged a little;
"'ave to excuse you what with bein' a Mick but I wouldn't call two bottles a'whiskey a few meself. Would more call it enough to knock an 'orse out. 'An I don't 'ate you, if I did I wouldn't 'ave saved you from drinkin' yeself to yer grave last night"
"Is that possible? I mean, for us?"
"Probably. Way you were 'eaded I'd say" Angel drew the covers up again, still shivering despite the warmth of the room, wondering what the hell happened to him the previous night. He'd been hurt plenty, there'd been many many nights over his three years as an Investigator when he'd woken up with the bruised bones, gory wounds, concussion, bullets lodged in his flesh, sickness from poisons and sometimes just plain stress illnesses that his calling brought him, but in all his 247 years he'd never felt so bad; which was impressive considering that Spike was right, he used to drink for his County. For some reason it was a great comfort that Spike was there. Cordelia, though she was very sweet and often went to fetch him the strange and exotic remedies any vampire who was regularly knocked about would need, but she never really comforted him this way. She sat with him, sometimes she'd stroke his hair back the way Buffy once would have, but somehow just the weight of Spike's hand pressing very gently on his side (any harder would have been painful - his mid-section still felt very delicate) was an anchor in reality. Without it he could probably go very easily into one of his intense broodathons and need to be slapped to bring him back to the world.
"I called Cordelia. She weren't there but I left a message. By the by Angelus, the answerphone message is bloody lame"
Angel smiled slightly. The message was indeed bloody lame, Cordelia had just switched on the recorder, spouted her Helping The Hopeless schpiel, and left it at that. Consequently, it made half their clients snigger before leaving their message. At least it put them at their ease though, which was good, since most of them met him and were immediatly so intimidated they clammed up. He'd tried for God knows how long to be less intimidating - Cordelia told him it was working and that as vampires go he was sort of cuddly - but it was no use; he didn't feel comfortable mixing up the black-on-black look, and he was naturally morose, even more so since Buffy's wedding.
"I 'eard that you and 'er were - you know..." Spike said, conversational but blatantly nervous, aware that he was prying maybe a little too much, and still wary of his Sire.
"We are. It's so ironic it's not even funny. The day after Buffy...married... Willow called me up, she's found a way to fix my curse for good. Still got a soul, still crushed under the guilt, but nothing to fear from moments of true happiness anymore"
"So you tested it out with 'er?"
Angel nodded, only aware now of how shallow it must sound, "She....thought it was great... wanted to, you know, keep... so we're kind of an item" Yes it sounded shallow but it was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He was more effective, actually found himself with a lot more stamina, and even though he was now terminally bereaved over losing Buffy for good, he really cared about Cordelia and knew that she cared at least as much about him. And moreover, she was fantastic in bed.
Spike lit a cigarette and offered his Sire one, watching the very definate indecision, knowing full well that when he'd been recursed Angel had given up smoking, but then again he'd also given up drinking, and that seemed to have been forgotten. Giving in, Angel took one, lit up, and lay back slightly, one arm behind his head, eyes mostly closed; "You're a lucky sod. She must be -
"- she is" Angel interrupted him, "She's all that. She's not Buffy and nothing could replace her, but she's the best cure for missing her I've found so far - apart from scotch"
"I can think of a better cure, mate".