*****

~*~
Charlie you're not my Charlie anymore you're screwing it up.
~*~

He used to have dark curls. Long, luscious tendrils of hair that slid through my fingers like strands of the finest silk. His eyes were clearer, bluer. They gazed on me with reverence, took in what I had to say, understood why I did the things I did.

They don't understand anymore. They mock. They accuse. They bait. They despise. They revile. They don't really belong to the William I knew. They belong to this new man, the one with blond hair and hard blue eyes and burning resentment for me. It's all different, and it's all wrong.

Where did he go? What happened to my William?

******

I'd heard, but I didn't believe it. It's the sort of thing that, unless seen, remains a lie -- because ordinarily, anything like this couldn't *possibly* be true.

But it is true.

My boy... *Spike*... is helpless. He's had something implanted into his brain and is helpless.

I spend the night following him. He leaves for a bar at sundown. I keep to the shadows, watching the way his steps drag. The way his shoulders slump. The way he flinches away from humans. The way he is beaten bloody by a gang of demons, which he normally would have been able to take out in two minutes.

I want to help. These... instincts just kick in, and I growl, aching to dare those that would touch what's mine to take *me* on.

But I don't. I just watch him. I just watch the way he meets their attack with grim defiance. The way he does not make a sound as they pound his face into the pavement.

The way he picks himself up and limps away in the direction of Giles' place.

The way they don't care.

*They*. *Don't*. *Care*.

That idiot Harris makes snide remarks. As does Buffy. I can't hear them, but the look on her face says it all. Rupert doesn't seem overly concerned. Willow seems *slightly* interested, but I gather not enough to warrant helping him. Why don't they care?

Why do *I*?

He tortured me only a few months ago. It seems now he's getting what he deserves. Cosmic karma or something. But I put him through worse than that, to gain nothing. He at least had a purpose. I used to just enjoy listening to him scream.

Spike stays there for a while, deflecting what seems like questions, and leaves. I follow him again. He trudges back to this crypt he calls home. Dank, leaky and cold. Things he hates. He walks in and he sits down and wipes at these tears that streak the dried blood and mud on his face.

I realise he is not the same person he was. This... being he has become is as foreign to himself as it is to me. He hates, and I have to say, I don't like it either.

And it is there that I stop watching and following and go back to the mansion to spend the day, for I cannot see him anymore through the haze of my own tears.

~*~
You're killing your soul with an audience looking on.
~*~

I used to be the Big Bad. Used to know what I wanted and go out and get it. Now I can't even defend myself.

I once was a man of the world. A child of the night. The favoured of Angelus: Scourge of Europe.

Now I'm just a child in the world; scorned by his sire.

Why did this happen to me?

****

This can't be happening. I felt it last night and shrugged it off as lunacy.

He's here.

It came on slowly at first, the feeling of being watched. I thought it was just the eyes of the world showing their distaste. The feeling of people staring, of people knowing, of people despising, that had been with me since the chip buggered my head up.

But it wasn't.

The prancing poof, he who refuses to just lie down and die, followed me last night. All the way from my home to the bar. He watched me get beaten up by the demons.

And he did nothing.

A thought flashes through my mind -- maybe Angelus is back -- but I cast it aside. Angelus would openly taunt me, he would have been joined in the demons' fun. No. Soulboy is still with us. Still watching from the shadows as his own kind are killed.

****

He watched me last night as I cried, as the tears ran over my bloodied hands and face. I could feel his eyes all over me.

Why has he come here? Is it to taunt me in his own maudlin way? To rub my face in the fact that, even with a soul, he can do more damage than me?

That he's better than me?

Well, he's not. With every day that passes he's cutting himself off. Each little sliver of humanity in him is slowly being taken away one by one. Soon he'll be just an empty shell. And I won't care.

Why?

Because, despite the chip, I'm still a demon and I don't give a fuck.

*****
Part 2:

~*~
If I hadn't left early last night I would have made a speech to you.
~*~

I close my eyes and sink back onto the couch, but his face haunts me. In my mind's eye I trace over each one of his features, even though I want to forget everything I just saw.

Those eyes that used to hold mine with an intensity akin to electricity.... dull.

Skin that rivalled the moon for flawless luminescence... ashen.

Features once cut classically by high-sculpted cheekbones... gaunt.

He looks more dead now than when I turned him. And that is a frightening concept.

There are so many things I want it's making my head spin. I want to leave this house, this street, this place, replete with its bad memories, and never look back. I want to find whoever's done this to him and make them pay. I want to stake him for being a killer and a nuisance and now downright pathetic. I want to stake myself for letting someone hurt him. I want to beat him for changing the rules and making a new playing field.

But most of all, I want to comfort him. And this thought, in itself, is enough to turn the spinning into a dull ache at the base of my skull.

This is so typical. Just when I know I have leave to hate him without feeling guilty for making him a killer, he becomes harmless. A wretched excuse for a demon by anyone's standards. Vulnerable and defenseless and unable to provide for himself as instinct dictates. He is the ultimate predator who has become prey. A declawed lion in front of a firing squad manned by gazelles.

I pinch the bridge of my nose at the idiotic analogy.

Helpless.

Without a chance, without a prayer, without a hope.

Hope.

Hopeless.

Help the hopeless.

Isn't this my job? Isn't this my atonement? My raison d'etr�? To help those that can no longer help themselves?

Can I help him? Is it right? He is a soulless killer, and yet... I recall, lifetimes ago, moments of emotion so pure that you could not possibly believe this man was a demon...

Do I have the luxury of choosing who I do and do not help? Would my friends even understand? Probably not. It would be filed away under 'vampire only stuff' in their brain along with the all liquid diet and prominent canines. How can I ever hope to make mortals understand the bond that ties sire to childe... father to son?

Would he even accept my assistance? And if he refused, in good conscience, could I let him go?

Why do these Powers continue to give me these decisions?

I lay my arm across my face and attempt to clear my mind enough to rest for a few hours at least. It is strained, but eventually I begin to fall asleep. The questions recede with the coming of slumber. That is, all but one:

Why do I still care?

~*~
How you're not the only one you're going to hurt.
~*~

I'm standing at a window to the mansion. Angel is sitting on his couch, slumped back, eyes closed.

Sadness flickers across his face in the warm firelight. What could possibly make him sad now? He's seen me get beaten up by demons...seen the way I live now...seen me cry.

He should be gloating. He should be sitting on that couch, one hand slipped into the top of his pants with a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

But no. He's looking sad. The great big soulful oaf is probably thinking about his precious Buffy.

I'm not even good enough to gloat over any more.

I'm not the poor little puppy frozen solid by an unexpected snow. I'm not the canary that fell off its perch and is now decaying in the bottom of the cage. I am not to be pitied! I'm the sodding mouse with its tail caught in a trap. And those initiative boys aren't gonna keep me there. I'm gonna get out of this...just as soon as I figure out where they are.

It's so bloody typical. Just when I think things are going to start going my way, Slutty comes along and right royally fucks it up.

I find Angelus. A hundred years after I lose him, granted, but I find him nonetheless. And what is he doing? He's going by the poncy name 'Angel' and at her beck and call with one whiff of her panties.

'Angel' sods off and Angelus comes back. Why? Because he got to shoot his load into her. Gave him 'one moment of perfect happiness', she did.

She made him crazy. She sent him to Hell. She killed my Sire.

It's all her fault, and nobody can see it but me.

***

He's still sitting there. By the fireplace, hand over his woe-is-me face.

I want it all to go back to the way it was before. I want Angelus back. I want Dru. I want our little family to go on killing and maiming like in the good old days.

It's not going to happen. I know this. But a man can dream, can't he?

But I'm not a man.

Neither is Angel, come to think about it.

A thought briefly flits through my head, like a leaf on the breeze. I catch hold of the wayward leaf and ponder it.

If I weren't so stubborn, and Angel offered to help me out, would I take it?

The answer is a resounding 'yes'.

I can't stand this feeling of being alone. And although I'd whinge and moan a lot before I took his help, I couldn't *not* take it.

I've wanted him back in my life for years...decades even. And when I got him back, he was tainted with *her*. She ruined it all, and she still has the nerve to bitch because she can't have him. I can't believe the audacity of that chit sometimes. She fucking boils my blood.

But now I'm as harmless as harmless can be.

I sigh and look back at the great poofwad.

Would I settle for 'Angel' considering that Angelus is as nutty as a fruitcake?

Well...

I would have to, wouldn't I.

*****
Part 3:

~*~
If you don't believe me I don't believe in you.
~*~

Through jasmine scented air in the courtyard, Spike walked towards the stairs. He'd already spent too much time watching his Sire. He had to get out and clear his head. Too much honesty with himself was sending him crazy. He didn't know what to make of Angel's return, and quite frankly, thinking about it made his head hurt.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he began his ascent into the darkened world. The blond vampire sighed heavily, his feet scraping roughly against the floor. It seemed every step became harder to take. But he couldn't stay around here... the chances of the nancyboy finding him were great... and yet where else did he have to go? His choices were few and far between -- at least, the ones that didn't involve him being beaten or mocked.

Besides... didn't he really want Angel to prance out on his white horse and make everything better?

Horse or not, Angel wasn't going to come to his rescue. The prancing poof hated him. He'd shown that many times before. Angel was just going to rub his face in how pathetic he'd become and then leave him sitting back in that crypt. The Englishman took one last look at the courtyard and turned resolutely towards the stairs.

His feet didn't budge. Spike willed them to move, to take him far, far away from the mansion and the vampire inside it. But his undead body refused to cooperate. The blond, forgetting stealth opened his mouth to curse. A slightly despairing sob was torn from his throat.

The dark-haired vampire stood at the top of the stairs, watching the object of his troubled thoughts. Angel saw the large cracks in Spike's 'Big Bad' fa�ade, and he didn't like it. His childe was one of those indestructible personalities that never broke, never changed, and never, never, *never* sobbed.

Angel stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs, staring down at the blond man half way up the steps. A decision lurked at the edge of his mind, he had to do something, but what? He watched the dejected Spike as another sob was torn from his throat. The decision was made.

"Spike."

Angel's soft voice halted Spike's steps, and scrambled any thoughts his brain was sending to his feet to move. Without looking up, he knew his sire stood above him at the top of the stairs. A little voice inside his head that sounded surprisingly like the Slayer laughed at him.

Standing just a few feet away was the one man who Spike absolutely didn't want to see in his weakened state, but was the only one that could help. Spike's fists clenched and unclenched reflexively. The blond vampire took a deep, unnecessary breath and raised his head.

"Come to watch me cry some more, have you?"

The dark-haired man looked slightly taken aback at Spike's venom and obvious knowledge of his activities.

"I-"

"You *what*, Angelus?"

Angel closed his mouth abruptly, aware that he didn't actually know what to say. Spike's eyes blazed at his opportunity to vent.

"What brings the Great and Perfect Angel from on High back to this dump? The Watcher ring up, laughing his arse off, to tell you about me? Did you come to have a good old guffaw? Or was it pity? Better yet, are you *ashamed*?"

Angel stood his ground, dark eyes boring into wild blue ones.

"Spike, it's not what you think," he said, trying to remain calm in the face of his angry childe.

"Not what I think? *Not* what I think? Well then, Mr I'm-So-Sodding-Soulful, what is it then? Eh?"

Angel took a step down the stairs toward Spike, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Spike, I'm not here to fight."

"Then why *are* you here? Because, in case you hadn't noticed, THAT'S ALL WE EVER BLOODY DO!"

The simple truth of that statement got under the dark-haired vampire's skin, and he wanted to argue. "That's not true."

The blond laughed hysterically. "Oh, isn't it? So you've forgotten the incident with the crowbar? And the two-by-four? And the hot pokers? Let's not forget the pliers..."

"Spike, shut up." Brown eyes flashed gold with anger.

Spike stopped dead, unsure for a moment as to how far to push his sire.

"I am trying to *help* you," Angel ground out.

"Shyeah, right. And I'm the bloody queen," Spike scoffed, snapping out of his hesitation.

Angel swallowed his irritation and continued in as calm a fashion as he could muster.

"Why else would I be here, then?"

"You're perverted, who knows what kinds of pleasure you get out of this."

"You probably won't believe me, but-"

Spike clicked his fingers and pointed. "I get it! You're here out of the goodness of your undead heart and buggering soul, right?" The blond sneered. "What am I, a fucking charity case now?"

Angel glared down at the gesticulating blond. "No. You're an insolent, self-serving brat who doesn't know when to shut up and accept that he's being helped."

Spike snorted. "Helping? And letting me get beat up by a bunch of fucking loser demons that I wouldn't have bothered to gut six months ago, that's part of your grand plan to help me?"

"I needed to see if you could handle it yourself."

"Well I can't!" the blond yelled, unshed tears rimming his eyes. "Are you bloody well satisfied? I. Can't. I can't bite. I can't feed. I can't defend myself. You know I actually had to back down from a fight with a drunken sod in an alley the other night because no matter how shitfaced he was, he could hit me all he wanted, and I wouldn't be able to lift a *finger*?

"Selfish brat, eh? What does that make you? An arrogant, pompous arsewipe with a fucking god complex and an ego the size of my dick. I don't *want* your help, Angel. I don't even *need* it. I'll take care of myself. I *have* survived without you. Look up the history books for the last century."

Angel blinked owlishly. The tears that had begun running down Spike's face as he angrily yelled brought the older man to a dead halt, in mind and body. The dark-haired vampire's jaw set. He didn't know who had done this to his boy -- *his* boy -- but he sure as hell wasn't going to let them get away with it.

"Spi-"

"You can't fix this with words, you arsehole," the enraged blond cut him off. "They've fucked me over and you are *not* going to come in here like some sodding knight on his stallion to save me. It just doesn't work that way, so just fuck off and leave me the hell alone!" Spike shouted, pushing past Angel and storming out of the mansion.

The scent of jasmine hung heavy in the night, a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves on the vines in the courtyard, and one dark-haired vampire stood on the stairs, heavy hearted.

*****
Part 4:

~*~
Makes it all feel better does it?
~*~

I sit under a large oak tree at the end of the driveway to the mansion. Tears run down my face, and the lit cigarette in my hand shakes like a leaf in the wind.

Why does he have to be here?

I hate it that he's trying to be the saviour, *my* saviour. I don't want his sodding help. Not if it's only because he's trying to make up for the past. I don't want to be the one to help him feel better about everything.

He shouldn't feel better about it.

He shouldn't feel *bad* about it.

***

Tears run continuously down my face as I sit here, my cigarette burning dangerously close to the butt. It squishes between my fingers from the wetness of my tears.

I'm hating myself for showing my weakness to my Sire. I can't stop crying...because I know what he said is true. And it sickens me to say that I believe him.

When he told me he was trying to help me, my heart constricted. It felt as if it was being torn in two directions and the centre of it was coming up my throat.

I was so ridiculously happy because he wanted to help me that I wanted to cry.

But then I realised he was only doing it because of his bloody soul. Why would he want to help me? I've tried to kill his little bitch. I've tried to kill her friends, her watcher and half the population of this godforsaken town, make that *all* of this godforsaken town, enough times to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records.

I've tried to kill *him* god knows how many times. I've tortured him, physically and mentally. I've tried to kill what's left of the memory of my sire.

Tried to wipe out what's left of the love I had for him.

***

I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, the moistness glistens in the moonlight.

Why is he so damn dense? Can't anyone see that everything I've done is because I love that fucking arsehole too much?

I want to destroy him because I can't have him. I want his ashes on the dashboard of my car. I don't want him to be in this world if he won't be mine.

The tears start again. My chest heaves as the sobs wrack my body. Soon I'm a hiccupping mess curled up in the foetal position beside the road.

This pain is unbearable. *This* is what love is. Love is pain. Knowing you can't have someone but still wanting them with all your being.

This *love* is what Angel has for Buffy.

This *love* is what he'll never have for me.

~*~
Makes it feel like heaven, does it?
~*~

I stand back against the wall at the top of the stairs, rhythmically bashing my head against it. With each thud I mentally chant my mantra: stupid, stupid, stupid...

I shouldn't have let him leave.

He needs my help and *I let him leave*.

Visions of him standing half-way up the stairs, distraught and vulnerable flash in my mind, and I realise that I've never seen him cry before.

I've beat him and fucked him, heard him howl in pain and pleasure. I've caused mental anguish and tortures on him that most demons are too nice to visit upon those of their own kind, and for that I've heard him roar in anger and defiance. I've been on the brunt of his retaliation. I've seen him sniffle and mope over his lost Dru.

I've never seen him cry before tonight.

It scares me.

He seems so small and alone right now. My admission of wanting to help him kind of just... slipped out. But as I suspected, he is not thrilled with that prospect in the least. I don't know why I just didn't keep my mouth shut. Now he knows I want to help, he'll do his best to avoid me.

Not that he was oh-so-cosy with me anytime before.

Well, anytime *this* century.

That's what it really comes down to. A hundred years ago, if this had happened, he would have turned to me-- to *Angelus*-- straight away. 'Soulboy' doesn't even rate on the scale.

He doesn't need Angel, the ensouled freak.

He doesn't need the post-broken curse Angelus, sucker of all things into Hell.

He needs his sire.

He needs *Angelus*.

That is someone that, in his eyes, I can never be again.

What scares me the most, more than seeing him vulnerable, more than feeling his despair, more than witnessing his tears, is that I would trade my humanity in a second to be this demon he needs again.

I stand back against the wall at the top of the stairs, rhythmically bashing my head against it. With each thud I mentally chant my mantra stupid, stupid, stupid...

I shouldn't have let him leave.

*****
Part 5:

~*~
You loved it and you spent accordingly
You can't afford it now
You'll try and you'll fail
~*~

I'm sitting in my crypt. It's day. There's nothing here that can hurt me, no demons can come after me in the light of day. There's nothing that can hurt me except the big flaming ball of light in the sky. I'm relatively safe.

I have dirt on my face, tear tracks criss-cross it at irregular intervals. It's times like these I wish I had a shower. Instead, all I have are the bones of someone's Great Aunt Fanny staring at me mockingly from the inside of a great big fuck-off stone coffin.

I shut the coffin and sit on it.

"Serves you right you dead, decayed chit."

If I can't pick a fight with the living or undead, all I have left is the dead.

I sigh and lean back, banging my head roughly into the hard stone. My unlife can't get any worse.

Oh wait. It has.

I'm trying to repress here, why won't it work? He just won't let anything be. I try to push it down, into the dark recesses of my mind, but it just won't stay.

Everything keeps flooding back.

Angelus turning me.

Angelus loving me.

Angelus leaving me.

Never once did Angelus try to *help* me.

He beat me. He scarred me. He gave me death. He brutally fucked me. Never *once* not in the whole goddamn time we were together did he *ever* try to help me.

It's not the way it goes.

He dominates. I submit.

He loathes. I love.

I want him to be with me. I want my sire back. I want the man who taught me to be what I am....what I *was*.

Now neither of us are what we were. As much as it pains me to say it, we're both effectively neutered.

I can't kill, he *won't* kill. What a pair we would make, glaring menacingly at the grannies down at the Walmart, flipping off big ugly guys and then running like buggery to not get the living shit beaten out of us.

I sigh again and beat my head harder against the stone. It won't be much of an existence, but given the circumstances it will have to do.

I'm not gonna make it easy for him though. I'm gonna let him know that I'm doing this against my will and the like. He'll wish he were back in Hell.

Every inch of my lifeless body knows I want him back, in any way, shape or form. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let my 'Big Bad' status drop and turn into a simpering pussy.

I'm gonna make him help me the hard way.

But first, I'm going to sleep.

~*~
And love it like a little dog
And feed it on the scraps you find
And kiss it while you're still asleep
~*~

Sleep doesn't come.

I beg, I plead, I want it so badly. I would put up with my tormenting Spike-dreams if I could just rest...

But no. I am relegated to pacing back and forth in front of a cold fireplace in the middle of the day.

I'm worried. I hate that I'm worried. I also hate that I hate that I'm worried.

I have a headache.

The pacing is not alleviating the pain in my skull, so I sit down rather heavily on the couch and cradle my head in my hands. I desperately try to cling to the logic of the situation.

Will- *Spike*... Spike, the vampire I created so long ago, is in trouble. William, my bright, eager-to-please fledgling needs my help. And I'll be damned if I can find a reason not to give it to him anymore. One look into that sallow face and those dead eyes, and I knew I had to.

Even after all he's done... after all I've done... after *everything*... that connection between us is still active. Just being in the same town is enough to spark it. Being in the same *room* was like jamming my finger into a power socket.

It's an oddly comforting notion that something dead for a hundred years, and fuelled by bitter two-way hatred for another two, can still flare to life as brightly when he needs me. He says he doesn't, but I know that's not true.

I also know he probably still hates me as much, possibly more now. Spike was never one to show weakness. He's pedalling some major weakness a the moment, and I would wager the only thing worse than letting Buffy see it, is letting me see it.

I try not to think about it, but... it hurts that he hates me. At one time we were closer than parents and children, or siblings, or friends... we were... lovers? Yes, but that couldn't accurately describe all facets of our relationship. We were... in tune with each other, in sync to the nth degree. During the hunt, there wasn't a vampire duo anywhere on the planet that could accomplish what we could together.

The animal, the monster in my nature, has never felt more complete, before or since. And though I cringe at the memory of what damage we inflicted, I smile at the memory of his companionship...and it is a wistful smile, for I know it will never be again.

I lie back on the couch and turn on my side, facing the backrest, and before I know it, I am falling into a restless sleep. But being the stubborn fool I am, I want to get my thoughts sorted out before Morpheus muddles with them.

Spike needs my help. I am his sire, and no matter what, it is my responsibility to see to the wellbeing of my childer. This may have been a purely self-serving idea before ensoulment, but now it has become a mission of mercy. But I'd better not let *him* hear me say that.

My eyes flutter closed and I can feel consciousness ebbing. I resolve to find him as soon as I wake up.

He needs me, and I'll help him even if I have to kill him trying.

*****
Part 6:

Angel sighed dejectedly and began travelling to the seventh bar of the evening in search of Spike. He briefly wondered why there were so many bars in such a small town, but figured that it was the same reason Sunnydale had so many churches -- extra evil of the Hellmouth makes the residents drink harder as well as pray harder.

The dark-haired vampire pushed open the door to a particularly seedy establishment and coughed at the stale air, too thick even for *him*. Stepping inside, he simultaneously slipped into the shadows and carried out a devastatingly accurate examination of each and every rough-and-tumble, leather clad patron. Not identifying the rough-and-tumble leather clad patron he was *after*, Angel sighed briefly once again, before leaving. He didn't even hazard the question of Spike's whereabouts to the barman, he was so eager to leave.

His senses had been steadily pulling him in an easterly direction since dusk had fallen. Shoulders hunched into the oncoming wind, he walked quickly down the street towards the outskirts of town. After ten minutes he came to the next bar, as seedy as the rest with the added bonus of vomit coating some of the street near the door. Angel shuddered in disgust and looked up at the sign out front.

The Blood and Garter.

It creaked ominously as it swung in the wind. Walking in, he surveyed the small crowd. Angel let out a small sigh of relief when he saw the shock of peroxide blond hair in the corner. If he had to find Spike anywhere, it had to be the bar with the most disgusting name. He shook his head and slowly walked to the corner, watching the blonde's movements for any signs of hostility. Snippets of Spike's quiet conversation with his beer reached Angel's ears as he moved closer.

"...Shtoopid bugger...poncey hair...fishfork fucker..."

The dark-haired vampire shook his head. This wasn't the first time he'd been the cause or the subject of some of Spike's drunken ramblings, and he'd bet his soul it wouldn't be the last.

Angel chewed at his bottom lip, uncharacteristically unsure of whether to alert Spike to his presence. The blond was three sheets to the wind and too out of it to realise his sire was behind him.

Angel weighed up the odds in his mind. If he acted like the Angel Spike knew, he'd most likely end up as a pile of dust. If he acted like the Angelus Spike knew before the soul, he'd most likely end up as a pile of dust. The more he thought about it, the more he wished the odds weren't so annoying.

After a few minutes, he knew he had to do something....anything. Glancing heavenwards, more out of habit than anything else, the older man threw himself into the deep end. He sat down beside Spike and ordered a beer from the barman.

"Hello, Spike. Didn't expect to find you here," Angel said in a conversational tone of voice. Spike raised his head from his beer and looked at his sire curiously.

"Shyeah. You probably 'spected to find me in one of the other five dozen bars you've looked in," Spike slurred.

"Actually, only seven." Angel's beer was set in front of him, and he stared at the condensation trickling down the side. There was a long moment of silence between them, before he finally broke it. "What made you think I'd come looking for you?"

Spike looked at him as if he was brain damaged. "Yer here, aintcha?"

"That's not my question."

The blond gesticulated wildly. "'Cuz it's what you *do*! Soddin' git, prancin' about making the world a better place... why *wouldn't* I expect you to come after me to clean up your mess..."

Angel stared at the blond, clearly stunned. "You think I think you're one of my messes?" Angel asked quietly.

Spike looked at Angel out of the corner of his eye. "Well, I am, aren't I?" he said softly, playing with his glass in an attempt to not look so uncomfortable about the subject matter.

"That's not true."

"Oh, spare me, Angelus."

"It's not!" Angel protested.

"So you never took me to society parties more than three times a year because... I was an achievement? You sent me away whenever Darla came to visit because... you were proud?"

Angel stared at the drunk blond, mouth hanging open slightly. Closing it, he composed himself and raised a hand to brush the air beside Spike's cheek.

"That's not it at all," he said softly. "I did it because�because� I was selfish. I didn't want anyone else to see what beauty I had and try and take it away from me."

Spike looked at Angel a little stupefied. "You- you what?"

"I'm just sorry I could never tell you before now..."

Spike barked out a laugh. "Yer shittin' me, right? You're trying to tell me that, in allthe years of you screaming that my sorry arse wasn't good enough to take out in public, it was because of that?!"

Angel looked pensive. "In so many words..."

The blond scowled and downed Angel's beer. "Well thanks for leaving it up to now to tell me, Angelus. I appreciate your stunning timing. One hundred fucking years too late."

Angel reached out and placed a hand on Spike's. "I was hoping that it wasn't too late," he said softly, as he brushed his thumb back and forth over the back of the blonde's hand.

Spike looked down at Angel's hand on his own. He raised his eyes to Angel's apprehensively. "It's not�that easy," he said slowly, obviously trying to keep the Big Bad fa�ade up.

Angel noted that Spike had not tried to move his hand. He brushed his other hand over the younger vampire's cheek softly. "I didn't expect it to be."

Spike unconsciously leaned closer into his Sire's hand. "You're just�saying that," the blonde said, straining to get the words out.

"Oi! No queers!"

Angel and Spike jumped at the big, burly barman's barked accusation.

Instincts getting the better of him, Spike immediately retaliated, forgetting he was unable to defend himself. "If that were true, what are you doing here?"

"Spike," Angel hissed. "I really don't think we should be picking a fight with this very large man." His blond childe turned on him in drunken anger.

"God, Angelus, you really have been takin' it up the arse for a while, haven't you? Don't have the balls to stand up against this deadshit?"

Angel closed his eyes and mentally sighed.

The big barman narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists as he stalked towards the pair.

Seconds later they hit the ground outside with a massive thump.

"I said, 'no queers,'" he barked before slamming the door.

Spike was on his feet in a matter of minutes and drunkenly slurring obscenities at the closed doors. "Oi! Ya pansy�f'you wanna make summat of it�I'll go ya�.ya big beefy bastard�"

Angel shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spike�.why don't you just settle down?" he asked as he rose his big hulking form and brushed himself off.

"A'cause I dun wanna settle down. I can take 'im on. I can even take you on, ya big prancing toff," Spike said, swinging his arms at Angel's head.

Angel grabbed Spike's shoulders as he over balanced. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there," the brunette said gently, slowing Spike's jerky movements with his large hands.

"Oi, let go'a me, ponce. I'll do you, just you watch..." The blond's words trailed off, and slumped forward into Angel's chest, passing out from too much alcohol.

Shaking his head, Angel hoisted the unconscious mass onto his shoulder before heading off in the direction of the mansion.

*****
Part 7:

~*~
So where's the problem you can ask if you keep your head up.
But the road is long and you're falling asleep at the wheel.
~*~

I can see his roots.

I'm watching him sleep the drunk's blissful slumber on my bed in the mansion. I lie next to him, a few inches away. His body is curled up slightly foetally, but I can still see his face. For the moment, it is peaceful, his brow unlined, his sleep untroubled.

I can't help but stare at his bleached tresses. This is probably the closest I've ever been to them. There's about a quarter of an inch of regrowth, in that grey colour that those who bleach their hair succumb to, and then... just at the scalp... it's beginning to come through. Darkish sable coloured hair, soft as mink.

My hand extends almost of its own volition, fingertips so close to him. They hover at his temple, aching to push back a short tendril of hair that's curled there. I'd almost forgotten how naturally wavy it is.

He stirs and I yank my hand back automatically, and I'm immediately angry at myself. Why the hell am I so jumpy? I should be able to touch him without being afraid of him waking, and what he would think.

But I can't. So far to go...

And I still can't believe I actually told him the truth, in a seedy bar of all places. It's not like he didn't deserve to know, but I envisaged me coming clean in... a slightly more clean establishment.

I sigh heavily, and dark lashes flutter against his cheek. They cast a slight spidery shadow on pale skin, and I remember all over again why I always wanted to keep him to myself.

My beautiful boy...

And he is that, he is *mine*. I can deny it as much as he, but it doesn't make it any less true. Some bonds just can't be severed, and I thank whoever will listen that this is indeed one of them.

My hand reaches out to him again and with great effort pushes through our carefully constructed invisible barriers. I stroke that rogue curl back and revel in the softness of his hair. I comb my fingers gently through his cropped locks. It's soothing and it feels right. Wi- Spike sighs softly and shuffles closer to me. I cannot prevent the smile that curls my lips appearing on my face.

I fall asleep, hand rubbing the short hairs at the back of his neck.

~*~
There's a girl going crazy about you and I'm not far behind
Can you care about your friends anymore?
~*~

There's something on my neck.

There's bloody well something on the back of my neck, and it's stroking me. It might be a spider.

Wait. I'm in a bed. I'm beside a wall. A very lumpy wall. There are little blokes in my head, dancing in clogs and yodeling.

Bits and pieces of last night return to haunt me. Sitting in a dingy bar. Drinking in a dingy bar. Getting kicked out of a dingy bar.

Wait. Rewind.

Talking to Angel in a dingy bar.

Oh fuck. What did I say?

I can't remember a fucking word. None of it's coming back to me. I don't even know how I got here. Wherever here is...

Where the fuck am I?

I roll over to look at the wall. The wall's looking remarkably like a sleeping Angel.

A FUCKING SLEEPING ANGEL?!?!

I jerk backwards suddenly. Oh shit, he's gonna wake up.

No.

No he's bloody not.

I raise on one elbow and look down at his sleeping face. He looks younger in sleep. Doesn't look a day over a hundred.

Fuck, I feel old.

There's no hint of the monster he is...was...whatever. And there's no trace of the sad pathetic wanker he's become. His face is just a mask when he's unconscious. It helps put things in perspective.

When he's like this, he's no one. Like me.

There may still be lingering memories stuck within the foundations of every building he's been in. How could there not be? A part of him will remain wherever he's been. He's larger than life, or death. Hell, there's enough of him to go around.

Only when he sleeps can I see his true self. He's not the soulful oaf, or the psychotic father figure. He's just him. And he's a lot fucking quieter that's for sure.

I sigh and go to run my finger down his jaw. I want to touch him so badly, want him to make it all better. But I can't. He can't be the man I need, and we both bloody well know that. My hand hovers inches from his face, itching to touch. Slowly, I let it drop to the bed.

I look at my hand lying near his still body. He's so fucking big. How'd he get to be so huge?

I don't remember him being this big. Sure, he was bigger than me, that was pretty much a given. Most of the ugly fuckers on this planet are bigger than me. But, there's a difference between him and all the other ugly fucks in the world. He feels so... so... safe. I know it's stupid, but I kind of liked it. He was always there... always there...until he wasn't.

A flash of memory flits through my mind. Angel telling me that he put me down all those times because he was selfish.

I knew that. I'm not as stupid as he looks. But I needed to be told. I couldn't just ask him outright, I needed him to admit it to me before anything more could happen, before he could continue in his bloody valiant quest to help me.

I sigh and stare at him. It's amazing what a bit of bloody depression will do for dead lungs. I'm sighing like a bloody breather. He's still asleep, thank the gods. Maybe I can get away with just one little touch. It's been too long since anyone touched me of their own accord.

I reach my hand out and brush my finger down his cheek. It's so soft. I close my eyes as I take in the texture. It's too bloody good.

I take my hand away and open my eyes again.

His eyes are open.

Fuck.

*****
Part 8:

~*~
You buy now and pay later.
~*~

Spike's hand jumped back from his sire's face automatically. He sat up in bed quickly with the intention of getting up.

"Spike, don't, you'll get dizzy-" Angel started to say, but his warning fell on deaf ears. The blond fell back down onto the bed and moaned, clutching his head. His hangover obviously didn't like the idea of beating a hasty retreat.

He opened one eye, ready to rile the dark haired vampire if any sign of pity graced his features, but was even more annoyed with what he did see. The infamous Angelus 'I told you so' face (patent pending).

"Sod off, you smug bastard," he growled, turning his back towards his sire.

Angel's forehead furrowed as he looked at the younger man's back. He tentatively reached out and touched Spike's shoulder.

"What the fuck do you want?" Spike asked irately as he batted Angel's hand away from his shoulder.

Angel looked down at the bed. "I just wanted to know you're alright."

"You wanted to what?" Spike asked incredulously.

"Are you alright?" Angel repeated, deliberately keeping is voice calm.

"Do I fuckin' look alright?"

"No, you look like shit, that's why I'm asking."

Spike's eyes widened at his sire's frankness, but was resolved not to be put off. He rolled over to his other side to see Angel sitting on the very edge of the bed, fists clenched in what he would call nervousness in anyone else.

But this was Angelus. Angelus didn't get nervous. Anal, broody, downright violent. But never nervous.

"Well then, Sir Poof-a-lot, if I look like shit, why did you even bother asking if I was alright?"

Angel observed the hostility and defensiveness radiating off his childe in waves. It was in direct contrast to the featherlight caress he had given only a moment ago. He sighed and bowed his head until his chin touched his chest. In his mind's eye, he pictured those azure eyes which were boring into him with open contempt and hatred. Except they were softer, brighter... filled with reverence, respect, and love...

"Oi, Peaches. Off to the Land of Nod, are we?" Secretly, Spike was fascinated by his sire's intense gaze. It was almost as if when Angel stopped looking at him, he was alone once more.

The dark-haired vampire returned his eyes to Spike, and the blond was instantly struck with what he perceived to be longing and sadness on his sire's features. It flitted over so briefly, though... and Angel's face was back to its usual carefully neutral self.

"You didn't answer my question," Spike prompted, much more softly than he intended.

"Am I in the Land of Nod?" Angel raised an eyebrow.

"No, the *other* one." The blond allowed irritation back into his voice. "Why do you bother?"

Angel studied Spike for a long time before answering.

"Because I care," he said barely audibly, dropping his eyes back to trace the design on the bedspread nervously. Angel didn't know how Spike would react and he was actually afraid to find out.

"No." He heard Spike whisper followed by a thump as the blond got out of bed. Angel looked up to see Spike searching through the pockets of his duster. "You don't care. You never cared."

Angel raised from the bed and turned. "Yes, I did. I always have."

Spike turned, cigarette in hand. "No, you didn't, *Angel*. You never cared because you were never there. You didn't have a part in my life. You've *never* had a part in my life. Tell me, how could you care if you were never there? Eh?" He waved his arms about, blue eyes brimming with the beginnings of tears. Angel crossed to Spike and put his hands on the blond's shoulders.

"Just because I wasn't there doesn't mean I didn't care. I cared every day that I couldn't be near you, Spike. It tore me apart that I couldn't look at you, couldn't touch you, couldn't be with you... because of... because of what I was," Angel said, forcibly turning Spike to look up at him.

Spike couldn't stand the compassionate gaze of his sire for long, though, and broke eye contact. "Yeah?" he sniffed defiantly. " Well fat lot of good all that caring and sharing and fuckin girly emotions does me when I don't know about it!"

Angel looked ashamed and dropped his hands from the blond's shoulders. "I... I didn't want... I wasn't the same."

"So? Did you honestly think we couldn't have worked through it? That we would've turn you away?"

"Darla did."

His sire's simple ignorance was more than the younger man could bare. No amount of help was worth this, and he exploded. "Well news-fucking-flash! I am not Darla, and you *know* Dru would love you no matter what." Spike's voice reverberated eerily around the room.

"I-"

Spike poked his sire hard in the chest. "No, there's no bloody excuse, Angel. You could have come to us. It would have been okay, but you had to have your own way. You had to go on your weepy moony I'm So Righteous Angelus tangent. Got selfish, Peaches. Thought you had to deal by yourself. You left, and in so doing, damned yourself... and us.

"You *know* Dru wasn't nearly half as loopy when you left... afterwards... that's when she started talking to the dolls. Called 'em her little angels, she did. Thought they whispered your words to her..." Spike's voice trailed off and he sat down on the edge of the bed, overcome with memories.

Angel was struck speechless for a moment. He hadn't imagined what damage he'd inflicted so long ago. Kneeling in front of Spike, he placed a hand on the younger vampire's knee.

"Then�" He paused and drew in a deep breath, "then�what did it do to you?"

Spike turned on the bed and shrugged Angel's hand off his knee. "Nothing. It did...nothing...to me." Spike said, shoulders tensing up as he spoke. Angel felt his throat constrict at this simple action.

"Spike...please-" he began.

Spike cut him off, voice cracking as he spoke. "Please what? Please give you the satisfaction to feel superior in the knowledge that it cut? I'm not going to do that, Angel. What I went through is none of your bloody business."

Angel's brown eyes fully expressed his grief at the situation. He stayed silent for a long moment, trying to catch Spike's eyes, which were studiously avoiding his.

"Why won't you let me in?" Angel whispered.

The blond's eyes widened and snapped to meet Angel's gaze. "You have no right to ask me that," he hissed, nostrils flaring.

"You have absolutely no right to expect to be let straight back in. I don't have a revolving bloody door, Angelus, you can't just waltz back in like nothing happened. It doesn't work like that and besides..." Spike paused and drew in a deep breath before continuing in a whisper. "I don't know if I want you back in."

Angel felt his non-beating heart drop into his feet. The dark-haired vampire swallowed. "I- understand..," his voice caught painfully, "I know I shouldn't have asked... you don't deserve to be put on the spot like this."

"You're damn right," his childe answered. Angel hung his head slightly.

"Yeah..." Angel rocked back on his heels, chin resting on chest. This really wasn't going all that well. But where was it written that anything he tried to do went smoothly? Nowhere, as far as he could glean.

Spike observed his sire from hooded eyes. What the bloody hell was he doing, or trying to do? Angel looked about as confused as the blond felt, but tried to hide. It couldn't go on, this situation was just becoming ridiculous, and every second he spent in the dark haired vampire's presence just tore him open more. The smaller man realised that saying he could accept the dark-haired vampire's help and actually doing it were two vastly different concepts.

"Angel, what are you trying to do? You can't just flounce into town and fix everything. You can't be arrogant enough to think I'm gonna let you, can you? It just doesn't work that way, and you know it."

"I know," came a soft reply. "But I hoped it might."

"You two hundred-something years old, Peaches. You should know better."

Angel looked up at Spike and a ghost of a smile actually played across his lips for a moment. "Since when does age have anything to do with listening to reason?"

"Since I said it does," Spike answered resolutely.

Angel's face grew serious once again. "Then why can't I help you?"

The blond steeled his jaw. This was it. The Last Temptation of Christ, or St Anthony, or some other such garbage story where someone's presented with a most attractive proposal that would almost surely lead to damnation, and they must refuse it.

Blue eyes stared straight at Angel's brown eyes, no hint of any emotion showing.

"Only you can answer that...," the younger vampire said before raising from the bed and picking up his coat.

Angel stared at the bedspread, his mind jumbled. He heard Spike's boots hitting the floor as the blond walked out of the room. The brunette turned when he heard Spike's voice.

"Answer that question and find me."

Then he was gone.

~Fin~