Spike did sleep but only after hours of thinking. This pissed him off to start with, the subject of his thoughts even more so. He wasn't sure who that had been, but it had not been the Angelus or the Angel he thought he knew. That was someone. different. That was someone. infinitively shaggable - leather jeans or no leather jeans - but, preferably, obviously, no leather jeans - and that thought just sent him off on another hour of fruitless brooding.

Angel treated himself to some Bach when he got to his office. He couldn't keep a grin off his face for most of the morning, and everyone trod warily around him. Angel happy - Angel wanting to chat and make pleasantries - was a scary thought. Crosses were pulled further forward in drawers, and stakes inconspicuously placed in easy-to-reach-even-when-being-chased-by-insane-vampire places. Angel ignored all this and continued to enjoy himself, thinking about Spike.

Spike wanted him.

Anyone wanting him was good, but that it was Spike was a shift in Angel's unlife so profound that he could not fully take in all the ramifications of this change. He'd doubted Lorne. He had heard the words come out of his friend's mouth but not believed them. Spike wanting him: it was unthinkable, unlikely, and illogical. He had pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he watched Spike naked on the bed, fruitlessly attempting to retie the bandages... but now he felt the truth of what Lorne had seen.

Spike wanted him.

Even thinking about this as he was on the phone to the building violations department made Angel's spine tingle and his penis twitch. Spike wanted him. Spike wanted to roll with his body once more, wanted to nuzzle and lick and enter and ...

Angel frowned and put the telephone down. Lorne had not said all that; he had just said... want. All the rest was Angel's own interpretation of what wanting should be now. Angel had no idea how Spike saw wanting - perhaps Spike had been right; perhaps want to him meant one of them debased and begging. Angel swore slightly under his breath. That was likely after all; that was Spike's experience of their relationship so far. Spike had never rolled - he'd been rolled. Spike had never nuzzled - he'd begged to be left alone or suffered in silence... and Spike had never entered - he'd been torn, stretched, penetrated, and taken. Angel held his head in his hands at the bleak memories of William... except for the snagging doubt, except for memories that slipped past his conscious brain before he had time to stop and examine them.

`What's wrong, Angel?'

Angel rearranged his features and looked up at Wesley. `Nothing. Why?'

`Mister Cheerful to Mr Manic Depressive in ... one hour. I'm getting worried.'

Angel tried to smile but saw that was the last thing Wesley needed to reassure him, so he sighed and leant back in his chair. Wesley looked relieved to be on familiar ground once more and perched on the edge of the desk.

`What am I going to do about Spike?'

`Is there anything you can do, Angel? Isn't this one of those `none of your business things' I was telling you about the other day?'

Angel pursed his lips. `But it is my business. Buffy is still very special to me. Spike is my responsibility. I brought him into this world and had a major part in making him what he is.'

`Buffy is just a memory, Angel. She is not the naive seventeen-year-old you left behind you in Sunnydale. As for Spike... well, even if I accept that YOU made him, and not Angelus - an entirely different entity - and I'm not saying that I do accept that, but for argument's sake, let's say that is the case... then, even then, there is a time when parents have to let their children make their own mistakes. You can't keep him your responsibility, Angel. He is a grown-up, adult, fully fledged vampire.'

`Angel?'

`Angel, are you listening to me?'

`Sorry, I got lost about half way through there.'

Wesley smiled. `What do you want to do, Angel? What would be your preferred solution?'

Angel held Wesley's gaze as an image of white entangled limbs and Spike laughing that sweet laugh he had never heard for real came into his mind - but he kept any of this out of his expression. `I don't know... ` He decided to test the waters. `Lorne said Spike wanted to pick up with his family again. With me... as his sire.'

Wesley looked thoughtfully at Angel. `You are not seriously suggesting that that might happen, are you, Angel?'

`Why not? This is a big hotel; it's not like I don't have room for family, and we always need extra bodies. ("Especially ones that make me cum in heaving, never ending waves of pleasure.") Spike's an excellent fighter. Ask Gunn.'

`Angel, Spike is Hannibal Lecter on a bad day. He's merely being corralled by a piece of technology we know nothing about. What if the battery runs down one day? Does it even run on batteries? I don't know... you don't know. Do you want to come home one day to find us all drained and tortured?'

Angel gave Wesley what he hoped was a withering look and said calmly. `I'm not so sure that would happen anyway, Wesley. I know Spike better than anyone, and he has changed. If he really wanted to kill a human, why not just get someone else to do it for him? It doesn't make any sense. Surely his chip wouldn't prevent him getting another Marcus or some other lowlife to torture and kill you if he wanted it?'

Wesley shuddered. `I'm not putting my life on the line to test that theory, Angel, and it's not fair that you should ask us to.'

`I'm not asking anything of you, Wesley; I just wanted your thoughts on Spike. That's all.'

Wesley laid his hand on Angel's arm as he started to rise angrily. `I'm sorry, Angel. Maybe you are right. Spike coming here to kill you seems a bit unlikely - he'd have done a better job if he really wanted to - so maybe you are right. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive. Do you seriously think he would want to live here and ... work?'

Angel laughed and sat back down. `Well, I'd be careful not to mention the `w' word if I did put the idea to him.'

`You are serious then? You think Spike might be staying and joining the Agency.'

When Wesley put it like that, Angel's dead heart sank a little more into lifelessness at the unreality of that option.

He sat at his desk for the rest of the day morosely listening to the chatter from the outer office. They had no idea what it was like for a vampire trying to be human: no idea what it was like for someone nearly three hundred years old to try and fit into the modern world. Angel's loneliness mocked him. He craved the company of others of his kind... not the feeding now or the hunting, but other needs that his family had satisfied for him. Even with all their hatred, all their killing lust for each other, he had taken up again with Spike and been able to talk to him as if a hundred years were ten, ten were a mere one. What could he tell Wesley of that?

At sunset, as promised, Angel made his way slowly up to Spike's room. He paused on the threshold and looked in. Spike was an indistinguishable heap in the bedclothes, only identifiable by the bandaged arm stuck theatrically out to one side. Angel sighed and left him to sleep.

Early the next morning, Spike came down to the kitchen rumpled, grumpy, and hungry. He stopped on the threshold and stared in amazement at Angel, who sat with a stake on the table in front of him. He looked up as Spike came in.

`I'm making it easy for you, Spike. There you go... stake me now, if that's what you still want to do. It's what you came for, and it's time we ended this once and for all. I'm giving you the power. Take it.'

Spike picked up the stake as if in a daze. He rubbed his hair and winced when he realised his arm still hurt. He looked at Angel, looked away puzzled... then laid the stake back down.

`Bit clinical innit, mate? I can't do it like this... it's like a blind fury that washes over me sometimes, and I can't think about anything else... but I'm not thinking `bout it now. Anything to eat?'

Angel pursed his lips. `You might want to pick that stake up again.'

Spike hesitated in his rummage through the fridge. `Why...?'

Angel kept his face averted. `Your bike's been stolen.'

`No!' Spike flung himself to the window and tried to see out without immolating himself. `The fuckers!'

`Did you lock it, Spike? This is LA.'

`Duh! Course I did. No.'

Angel was about to rub this in when he saw Spike's face. `Hey, come on, we'll get it back.... I've got my crack team on it.'

Spike looked up at him, and Angel felt his stomach flip over at the unconscious trusting-my-sire-in-a-time-of-crisis look that Spike gave him. Spike nodded despondently and made his way back to the fridge.

He watched Spike attempting to open a blood bag with one hand and took over for him, silently. Spike let him and leant against the counter, still looking tired. `So, how am I gonna get back... seeing you didn't wake me, and I've got no wheels.'

`I'll drive you, if you want.'

`You'll drive me. In your car.'

`Yes. If you want to go back today, I'll take you.'

`Okay then.'

Angel didn't reply immediately, but handed Spike the warmed blood.

`You could stay for a while, if you wanted to.'

Spike laughed. `Your seductions don't get any more subtle, do they Angel?'

Angel tipped his head back sharply, a little defensive. `I'm not... I meant... No, they don't. I told you I wasn't very good at it.'

`You want me to stay?'

`I want you to want to stay, Spike.'

Spike laughed. `Good one, Angel. You're still a manipulative bastard, ain't you? And what would you be doing to make me want to want to stay?'

Just one finger, toying with one button... one strong finger, swirling around one small insignificant button on his shirt... Spike looked down and then up at Angel's face. Angel was inches away, his head tipped on one side watching him intently... and still the finger found interest in the one small button.

Spike swallowed. `You're getting better, Angel. Been practicing?'

Two fingers had undone the button now, and cool flesh was pressed against Spike's chest. Again he looked down. They had moved closer together, mere inches separating their bodies. Spike fancied that if he tipped his hips fractionally forward, he would rub against Angel. He didn't need to. Fingers held the edge of the gap in his shirt and tugged.

Angel was as hard as he was.

Spike kept his face averted, his hands immobile. Did he want this? It was a long way from killing Angel - but confused memories assailed him again. Angel gradually pressed his entire body against Spike... nothing more. just lay his strong body on every part of Spike's, testing the fit and the feel after so long. Their near equal strength, size, and shape intrigued him and made him swell more. Spike felt the swelling, and a faint groan escaped him.

`Angel?'

They broke apart; Spike back to the blood, which he proceeded to drop onto the floor, Angel to the table until the sound of the crashing mug made him turn. Wesley came in just as the blood splattered over the floor and the edges of the cabinets. It was an unfortunate image, and its import was not lost on any of them.

`What do you want, Wesley?' Angel was impressed with himself that he could speak at all. He was aroused beyond his ability to control it; his hands were shaking slightly, and he felt the prick of sweat under his arms and in his groin. He had never, ever felt that from anything other than a hard hunt. Perhaps two hundred years counted as a hard hunt after all.

`There's been an incident at Caritas. I'm on my way there now. Angel?'

`What? You want me to come, too?'

`Err... I rather thought so, yes.'

`I'm kind of tied up here with something, Wesley. Can you deal with it?'

`I think Lorne rather wanted you. I'm sure Spike can wait.'

Spike had his back turned to Wesley throughout this exchange and did not turn even at this. Angel replied for him. `Give us a minute will you, Wesley? Wait for me in the car.'

Spike did not turn around when he heard Wesley leave. He was making small trails in the blood on the floor with his boot. Angel came and stood close behind him... then closer, so the front of his jeans were just brushing Spike's backside. Still, Spike did not turn, but he did still his foot and take his damaged arm in a tight hold, as if hugging it to him.

`Will you be here when I get back?'

Spike nodded and heard volumes in Angel's soft sigh.

Angel brought a hand up to Spike's hair. He desperately wanted to touch the soft blond strands but feared to in equal measure. He wasn't sure, later, in the car driving to the club with Wesley, whether he had made that final move or whether Spike had tipped his head back slightly - but whatever - the outcome was the same. Spike's soft hair brushed against the sensitive tips of Angel's fingers, and he allowed them to sink deeper into the silky strands.

`Only hate can grow from hate, Angel. This is not possible.'

`You know how to love, Spike. You've loved passionately all your unlife.'

`But I know how to hate more.'

`I know. I can still feel that crowbar of betrayal, Spike; every time Angelus comes into my dreams, it's hitting me again from behind.'

Spike laughed quietly. `Is that Angelus comes into your dreams, or just in your dreams?'

Angel increased the pressure of his fingers on the back of Spike's head and through his hair. `Both.'

`Oh. Am I ever there... cuming with Angelus ... in these dreams?'

Angel's thumbs worked the knots in Spike's tense neck, his fingers dipping down to the deep hollows of his collarbone. `No.' He laughed as Spike immediately tensed at this denial and then added with his mouth barely touching Spike's ear, `You are there when I dream as Angel.'

If the rest of the human staff at Angel Investigations were surprised to find Spike still there when they arrived for work, they didn't show it unduly. He seemed utterly unlike his reputation - almost stunned - and sat quietly in the kitchen staring thoughtfully at a stake for most of the morning.

Gunn went in a few times to fetch coffee and nodded at him amicably. `Yo. How's the tentacle?'

`What?'

`The arm? How's your arm?'

`Good.'

`You seen the boss today?'

`Who?'

`Angel.'

`Oh. Yes. He went out with the watcher... to the club.'

`Okay. You... staying then?'

`Dunno.' Gunn heard a simple expression. To Spike, it summed up the entire morass of his confusion and fear.

By lunchtime, when Angel had still not returned, Spike opened himself up to the blood link and almost immediately sensed Angel hovering, looking for him. He walked slowly and purposefully back to the room he had slept in and lay on the unmade bed.

This time it was. incredible. Angel's presence flooded Spike like warmth into his cold body. Tendrils of desire crept through his mind; his body began to tingle in response, and he unconsciously turned over onto his belly to feel something against his aching groin.

Angel spoke quite rationally to Wesley; he listened attentively to the police officers present and thought he carried it off successfully. If questioned, he would barely have been able to say where he was, let alone what had been discussed. He was with Spike.

Spike's essence filled him entirely. He had tentatively stretched out, seeking entry, and Spike had let him in. Now he sat at the bar trailing his finger through some spilt beer and his mind through Spike's mind, feeling him and trying to think what he thought.

Spike lay like a patient anaesthetised on a table, vulnerable, open, allowing himself to be examined and seen. They both grew aroused. Easy for Spike - a slight rocking into the mattress easing his need - but Angel became increasingly uncomfortable, increasingly distracted.

Having to work, he finally withdrew, and the emptiness for both of them was painful.

Angel had never returned to the hotel with such relish. The sun was setting, the evening was warm, and his body ached for Spike's body.

Spike was waiting for him... in the lobby... his coat on and looking thoughtful.

Wesley drifted into the office, and Angel turned to Spike. He opened his mouth to speak, but Spike got in first. `Will you drive me back?'

Angel frowned. `I thought...'

`Angel, please don't ask me any questions. Will you just do what you said you would and drive me home? It's only two hours, after all.'

Angel didn't miss the undertone in this last comment; he just didn't understand what it meant. He nodded, however, and turned back to the car. Spike followed.

They were totally silent in the car. Spike had his head resting on his hand, his elbow on the window ledge. Angel stared resolutely ahead, determined not to be the first one to break the silence.

Finally, he could bear it no longer and just as they reached the familiar Sunnydale landmarks, he said quietly, `And you are doing this, why?'

`Stop the car, Angel.'

This was not the reaction Angel had been expecting. `What?'

`Just stop the car.'

Spike jumped out as soon as they stopped and paced a little away, trying desperately to light a cigarette. He couldn't get his lighter to work, and the frustration of this made his hands shake slightly.

Angel leant on the door of the car and watched him, expecting him at any minute to flee into the dark night. He didn't. He came back, flinging his unlit cigarette away.

`What's going to be left, Angel?'

He stared into Angel's eyes as if trying to read the answer to this himself. Angel shook his head slightly, not understanding what was being asked of him.

Spike grimaced as if putting it into more words was difficult. `If I let the hate go - what's going to be left?' He thumped his chest where his heart lay dead. `Angel, old scars - sometimes I think they are the only things holding me together at all!'

He paced away slightly then spun on his heel and came right back up to Angel. `If I let you in, what's going to be left of me? I'm just hate, Angel: it's all I am.' He saw Angel didn't really understand, and tried again. `I'm dead in places where the love should be, Angel. I'm a reanimated corpse. I am hate. It's my ... purpose.'

Angel hung his head down slightly. He had no answers for his volatile childe. He was on new ground, too, and his reference points were as screwed up as Spike's.

He mumbled something that Spike didn't catch, but it stopped Spike's agitated pacing and made him stand closer to Angel, listening. Angel repeated it. `We could take it slower.'

Spike hadn't been expecting this. How could he? He thought he was speaking to his sire - this Angel, this man, he had no experience of.

`Slower?'

Angel looked up. `Yes. I probably need that, too. This is weird, Spike. I have no idea what I'm doing here, other than...' he reached his hand out, took it away, put it out again and caught hold of the edge of Spike's coat. `Other than I want you. And that's not much to start with, is it?'

Spike pursed his lips a little and looked down at Angel's hand on his coat. He let a slow smile spread over his face, and his whole body relaxed visibly. `It's a good start though.' He looked up at Angel, and his infectious smile made Angel laugh.

Angel dropped his hand and got back into the car. `You going to walk or arrive in style?'

Spike got back in, and they continued on in silence.

When they reached the edge of the town, Spike suddenly asked Angel to stop and drop him off there. Angel looked over at him, puzzled. `Afraid I won't like your place?'

Spike held his gaze steadily. `No, afraid Buffy'll be there.'

`Ah.'

`Yeah. Ah.' Spike paused and studied his thumb ring for a moment. `What does your `ah' mean then?'

Angel laughed. `I think it means that I don't want to see Buffy any more than you want me to see her.'

`Oh.'

`And that `oh' means?'

Spike laughed. `Fuck. I'm going back to the soulless; they're so much easier.'

Angel held his hands very still on the wheel. `Are you still going to see Buffy?'

Spike munched his lips around for a while, thinking this through. `If I do?'

Angel turned to look at him. `Maybe she would help you ... peel some old scars away?'

Spike looked directly at him. `What about her though?'

Angel smiled, genuinely pleased. `I told Wesley you'd changed. You have.'

Spike opened his mouth to contradict this, but no lie could come to him that sounded convincing enough. Instead, he just put his hand on the handle of the door and said pointedly. `I have to go now.'

Angel put a restraining hand on his arm for the briefest of moments. `Keep in touch?'

Spike nodded, his back to Angel, but he replied with a hesitant, `That... you know... blood and mind fuck thing...'

Angel laughed. `You mean the ancient and mystical bond between sire and childe?'

`Yeah, the mind fuck thing... well, you know... if you want to... I won't... I'd like it.'

With that, he got out and merged with the night almost more swiftly than Angel could perceive.

Angel came to him that night as soon as he returned to LA, and Spike had been waiting for him ever since he had reached his crypt.

Willing participants, their link was strong, and Angel could see through Spike's eyes and feel what he felt. In all the confusion, in all the fear, he felt something that gave him hope for their future, and he did not push for more. He played and toyed with Spike until he heard Spike laugh - that genuine laugh he still wanted to hear for real - and then he withdrew with a last stroke across Spike's heart.

Spike's crypt seemed even emptier when Angel left him.

*****
(Warning, this chapter has Spike/Buffy, if you find het fic offensive, please don't read on.)
*****
Part 4:

Spike felt as if he had been away for a lot longer than two days. He was so changed, he felt everyone else must be too and was surprised when he turned up at the shop to find the same conversation in progress as when he had left. Demons, killing, danger, slayer... all too familiar in the new unfamiliarity of his life.

He sat on the steps and lit a cigarette. Xander climbed past him to put some books away and kicked him lightly. `Hey! No smoking in here, deadboy: some of us have to...'

He stopped at Spike's gasp of pain. `I'm thinking I should ask you what's with the girlie pain noise! But hey! I don't care.'

Spike ignored him and moved to a chair. Buffy eyed him warily. Knowing he was being watched, he kept his face averted. `What's with the arm?'

`Hey, Slayer, comes with the job.'

`You upset some big ugly? Should I know about this?'

`Big, but not ugly, slayer, and it's being taken care of.'

`Oh.'

Buffy hadn't had a conversation with Spike for some weeks that did not involve an unsettling amount of sexual banter from him and a satisfying amount of deflection from her. She was rather at a loss. `Patrol tonight still on?'

Spike shrugged, unenthusiastically. `If you want.'

She arrived just after it got dark. Spike had his coat on and was ready to leave.

Buffy looked at him in amazement. `What are you doing?'

Spike didn't look at her. `Going to patrol, what do you think?'

`Patrol.'

'Yes. Bloody hell, slayer! That's what we said, innit?'

Buffy put her hands on her hips rather theatrically. She wanted Spike, and this was not the way it went. He forced her, and she complied because she was damaged and needed him. Her initiating the sex was not part of the relationship at all. Needs must though, when the devil was having an off day...

She brought an old friend on board and kicked Spike in the arm - sure pain would ease them over the uncomfortable situation. She hissed when Spike fell to his knees, screaming. When she managed to get the duster off, she looked at the neatly wrapped arm for a moment. `You really are hurt?'

Spike, with his forehead to the floor, was too incoherent for her to be sure of his confirmation of this, but nevertheless, she knelt beside him and put a light hand on the bandage. `Sorry.'

Spike nodded and sat up on his heels. She put a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him in towards her mouth. The physical contact overwhelmed Spike, and the falling forward to a welcome mouth - that he had been doing in his mind for two days - made him open himself to her kiss. The passion rose in Buffy. She ravished his mouth, swivelling around to straddle him. Spike pulled away and managed to gasp out the one word. `Bed.'

Buffy shook her head. `Here.'

Spike shook his. `Bed.'

Buffy raised her eyes in surprise, but allowed him to lead her down the ladder. Spike began to undress. Buffy eyed him in horror. `What are you doing?'

Spike paused. `I'm taking my clothes off.'

`No clothes. No clothes off! Clothes stay on.'

`Buffy! We're going to...'

`And no words! Spike! Don't talk about it! I come here. We do it. I come. You come. I go. So, no clothes... put clothes back on.'

Spike ignored her and took off his coat, his tee shirt, and began to unbutton his jeans. He turned his back and sat on the bed to peel them off. He heard Buffy reluctantly making similar movements behind him.

They lay side-by-side in the bed for a moment until Spike turned to her and propped himself up on his hand. He trailed one finger from his bandaged arm down her cheek and towards the top of the sheet she had clasped under her chin. She turned to look at him, but he could not catch her gaze.

`What is this, Spike? What in that twisted demon mind of yours do you actually think this is?'

Spike didn't reply, but he eased his hand down under the sheet and found one erect nipple. Buffy winced slightly, expecting the twist, expecting the pain. When he flicked it gently and teased over it with his nail, her eyes flew wide with fear. `This is not a relationship, Spike. I don't even like you, so stop that.'

Spike gritted his teeth and continued. He moved his hand lower and stroked over her smooth belly. Buffy groaned, and her hold on the sheet loosened... and that's when it happened.

She saw Spike's eyes fly wide open; she heard him gasp slightly; the hand on her belly tightened; his nails raked her slightly, and then he started to turn away. She put a hand to him. `What now?'

Spike shook his head and lay back down.

Angel was with him.

Spike didn't try to hide anything from Angel. He turned once more and looked at Buffy's face in the candlelight, and he let Angel see her.

He felt Angel's passion like a knife in his heart. Angel swelled in his brain; Angel's arousal suffused Spike... and he knew what Angel wanted. He turned back to Buffy. He pulled her to his mouth and placed his lips to hers, teasing entry where before there had only been force. His hand slipped down between her legs, and Angel showed him how he wanted to touch her, and he let Angel feel her moistness.

Angel arched to the feel of Buffy's need and turned, groaning in his bed. Spike groaned with him and rolled on top of Buffy.

Buffy was overwhelmed by Spike. He seemed so... soft, so... she hissed as his fingers slipped gently inside her, making her ready. She wanted him inside her; his touch made long-suppressed memories of another cool body rise in her mind, and her whole body flooded with the need to come.

Angel wanted to taste her mouth again, so Spike licked gently across her lips to gain access and then plunged his tongue into her far enough to take Angel with him. She moaned and writhed beneath him, and both vampires groaned to the feel of her body.

The need to enter her overwhelmed Angel. He had almost begun to come against the mattress and wanted to be in her sweet, perfect body when he did. Spike took himself in his hand and found her, lifting her thigh slightly to make the entry slow and pleasurable. She tried to push him away, for that was not allowed. It scared her too much, but she could not... for it was so like another entry when she had been just as scared, more innocent, but wanting it so much. So she let Spike make love to her, and as Angel came - screaming in frustration into his mattress, painful bolts of cum erupting uselessly from him - Spike came in her. His hips jerked against her: his fingers worked her clit and brought her to a matching orgasm, and she lay pain-free and gently satisfied beneath the cold body she did not want to open her eyes and recognise.

Spike lay on top of Buffy for a long time, enjoying the feel of her heart thumping against his chest. Two dead hearts enjoyed the feel of the living one, and feasted on the illusion of life it gave them. Angel floated in his mind, but they did not examine what they had done. They both knew that would come later... but Spike felt tears come to his eyes when Angel trailed a light thought over his heart, and he heard Angel's soft voice in his head, `One less scar, little one.'

Buffy was the first one to move. She slid out from under him. He wondered if she would stay and wondered what that would be like. If she spoke, that would also be good. She did neither: she dressed as usual and left. He lay in the position she left him in, face down, arms spread, aching for a more violent release than his soft lovemaking had allowed him. Angel ran his hands up Spike's spine and begged for entry. Spike moved against the mattress, rubbing into the damp, warm spot she had left. With Angel's weight in his mind, the rubbing was hard and almost satisfying.

Angel rode him, his fury erupting into the jerking on his erection. He knelt up in his dark bedroom, pulling on himself, cupping his balls, squeezing them, pressing himself into Spike; punishing himself for still wanting Buffy, for wanting Spike and not Buffy; punishing Spike for having Buffy, not him, for having Buffy when he wanted her; and punishing Buffy for that supine reception of what he wanted to have - the confusion in his mind so great that, as in hell, it was not clear what the punishment was for, it just was.

Spike felt the dark fury erupt into him and accepted it for what it was. He had no answers either, but as he pumped himself into the already damp sheet, he felt a calmness for a while that did not seek answers, and that was better than the perpetual cold.

When Spike blew out the candles, a true darkness descended on the crypt so that neither of them could see. Spike had meant only to get some relief for himself from the power of Angel inside him, but it made Angel only more intense - unable to see, he could only feel more, and Angel's power caroused around in Spike for a while until he calmed enough to lay quietly in his mind. Spike knew Angel wanted to kill something, and that thought bound them together in a shared lust that they both repressed - albeit for very different reasons. It reassured Spike to feel that lust in his sire still, for it made this man in his head more like his sire, and however much he had hated Angelus, Angelus was unlife. Angelus was all. He sent Angelus a small, tentative, hesitant grin, "Hello".

Spike laughed out loud when Angel sent him back a very clear "Fuck off".

They lay companionably together for a while; Spike fumbled in the dark for his cigarettes and lit up, the faint glow the only illumination. It was incredibly quiet in the womb of the earth, and Spike could hear the faint hum of traffic from LA.

Gradually Angel slipped from him, and Spike laughed again, realising Angel had fallen asleep. He was glad; he'd been fearing the analysis, the examination of what they had done, and he really didn't feel strong enough for that.

Angel saved that for the next day. Spike sat on the steps of the shop, not looking at Buffy who was not looking at him, when the telephone went. Anya answered it and looked at Spike. `It's someone attractively called Gunn, for you.'

Spike looked up sharply. Buffy looked slightly surprised that he should be receiving a call at all, but there was no other suspicion on her face, not knowing who Gunn was. Spike came over behind the counter and took the handset.

`Yeah.'

`It's me.'

Spike flipped around so his back was to the shop, waited until the chatter resumed and he was sure he was not overheard, and replied quietly, `Oh.'

Angel laughed. `I'm going to assume that you are not disappointed it's me, not Gunn. I'd be upset otherwise.'

`Pillock.'

Angel sniggered quietly `Speak up, Spike, why don't you? I can only just hear you.'

`Tosser, as if I'm gonna do that. What do you want?'

`You.'

Spike held the handset to his chest for a moment, looking up at a cobweb on the shelf. He heard Angel's voice from the distance. `Spike?'

`Yeah, I'm here.'

Angel swung his feet up onto his desk and tipped his chair back a little. `So, who starts the questions then?'

`Oh, you... you start, cus I know what you're gonna say... what was all that about? ... did I want - can't say her name cus she's about five feet from me - ? Then I ask you if you really wanted her, and where does all that leave us...? Oh, and something cryptic about scars. That about it?'

`Oh, I was just going to ask you if it was raining there, too, but those are good questions as well.'

`I really hate you sometimes, Angel; did you know that?' Spike tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. Taking the call had surprised everyone; that he should be repressing laughter would freak them all out completely.

Angel shifted the handset to his other ear and craned his neck to hold it in place, filing his nails as he spoke. `I think you've made that clear once or twice over the last two hundred years, yes.'

`Are you filing your bloody nails?'

Angel stopped. `Why?'

`Cus it's poofy, and you need to stop doing the poofy stuff, Angel.'

`Oh, is that right? Does that include the stuff I was doing in my head with you last night then.'

`You fell asleep on me last night. I was the only one up and being poofy.'

`After you hadn't been that with Buffy.'

`Here we go then. What I... what we did with Buffy...'

`Spike...'

`What? Wanker...'

`Thank you.'

Spike had nothing to say to this, so just held the handset closely, studying his nails in a totally non-poofy way. He turned suddenly; the talk in the shop had ceased, for they were all studying books. He spoke neutrally, aware that every word would now be heard.

`I hear what you say. Can you call back later?'

`Listeners, hey?'

`Absolutely.'

`You should get your own office, Spike. It's great being the boss.'

`I'm not responsive to that idea. Maybe you could outline it to me in more detail later.'

`Spike.'

`Hmm.'

`I think that's the most suspicious thing anyone will have ever heard you say,' and with an irritating chuckle, Angel put the phone down.

Spike returned to the researchers and sat on the stairs.

`What's up, deadboy? Lottery winner's smile creeping me out now!'

Spike looked at Xander, his head tipped slightly to one side. He just laughed out loud and flicked up one eyebrow at the unintentional appropriateness of the boy's allusion.

Xander just shrugged and went back to his doughnut. Spike turned to Buffy. `What you doing tonight?'

`Doing? Nothing! Why would I be doing anything? Not doing. Nothing.'

`Buffy, patrolling. Do you want me to patrol?'

`Oh. No. I'm going to a party. At the Bronze. Normal life, Spike. That's as in life... the thing you live. And living as in...'

`Yeah, yeah, I get it... what you have to be alive for.' Spike looked at Buffy and her pleased-with-her-own-joke face and at the others who obviously thought this tiresome joke was funny too. He stood up with a stretch, and noted with amusement their slightly concerned looks. Spike not rising to the bait, Spike not storming out, had thrown them nicely. He looked them over in turn, slowly, and then said with a neutral tone. `You know... you are really lucky you never met a master vampire and had him murder you. Dying ain't something I wanted.' He snickered inwardly at their discomfort and made a leisurely way back to the crypt.

That evening, he dressed carefully and armed himself with some favourite jewellery. The bar was packed when he got there, the party in full swing. Uninvited, he just mingled and charmed people for a while until he spotted her with the others at the drinks' table. She looked... incredible. He faded into a dark corner to watch her for a while as she laughed and chatted with her friends. Then he fetched Angel.

Angel came to him with a flood of desire as if they were lovers already, and Spike almost reeled from the force of his entry. He sensed that Angel was not alone, felt almost as if he could sense being in the car with him - warm wind on his face - but Angel didn't leave; he stayed, a firm presence in his head. Then Spike went slowly towards her.

`Hey, Buffy.'

She turned, horrified, and was about to hiss at him when she stopped, open-mouthed. She'd never seen him in a white shirt before. She'd seen him in leather jeans, but not since she had got to know the body in those jeans as well as she knew it now.

`What are you doing here? What do you want, Spike? I'm not going to...'

`Do you want to dance?'

Stunned, she was easier to lead to the dance floor than to some dark corner to fuck.

He held her lightly until she relaxed fractionally, then put his arms loosely around her back, but enough to keep his groin pressed to her. She tipped her head back and looked at him, her hair cascading in a heart-stopping wave down her back. `What is this, Spike? You've been weird since you broke your arm.'

`Weird how?' He smiled down at her.

She immediately tensed. `I'm not going to tell you that. This is not us talking, Spike. Just shut up and dance.'

He laughed and pulled her to him and allowed Angel to just relax to the music without the talking that he didn't want either. It was strange, dancing with the wind in his face. Spike half expected Buffy's hair to blow around, but it didn't. He watched it anyway, for Angel loved the lights sparkling on it. It looked like ripe corn in the sunshine, and they could have wept at the thought they would never feel that sunshine on their skins again. Buffy brought it to them for that short time he held her. He pressed his face into her hair, felt her tense at the intimacy this implied, but did it anyway. She smelt of strawberries, and he smiled against her ear. `You smell incredible.'

So confused at her own reaction to this, Buffy did nothing. She continued to dance slowly to the intense rock rhythm thrown out by the speakers. She opened her eyes and glanced around for her friends and was amazed to see how many eyes were on the two of them. She tried to see them from the outside and could not help the small smile that crept across her face. She was dancing with the best-looking man in the place, and that just was a fact... no catch... no end-of-the-world angst. Spike was gorgeous tonight, and she felt gorgeous and... and... she pulled away slightly and looked up at him, frowning. `I don't feel... I feel...'

`Horny?' Spike's amused comment was so familiar, she felt instantly stronger, and she laughed and punched him lightly in the belly.

`No. Alive. I was going to say alive.'

He pulled her back into his embrace. `Oh Slayer, you are the most vital thing in this place. Can't you feel it?' He'd tipped his head down to speak; she'd looked up... Angel begged him, so he did. He bent to kiss her. He gave her her due. She did not pull instantly away. She did not glance around for inquisitive eyes. She let him kiss her, a sweet kiss of two people dancing and enjoying their bodies and the music... but then she pulled away and disentangled herself from him.

`Who are you?'

Spike reeled back slightly. `Huh, thanks... I can kiss ya know.'

`No. That was not you.'

Spike blinked slowly. `I've been alive... dead... alive... I don't know... a long time, pet. You've only known me a very short time. I was different once. before.'

Buffy nodded but then said distinctly. `I don't want to know you, Spike. What ... this is ... is not love. This is not us. There is no us, and there will never be an us. Do you understand that?'

Spike pursed his lips then laughed lightly, feeling Angel strong in his head. `You're right, Slayer. For all the wrong reasons, you're right. This isn't us. That wasn't us.' He spun on his heel and made to leave. She placed a warm hand on the sleeve of his shirt. He turned.

`Are we going to ...?'

Spike looked around then back at her with a soft look. `Nah. Not here. Ain't any fun anymore.'

He grabbed his coat from a bar stool and left.

Spike felt a sense of ridiculousness as he stomped back to the crypt: it was all very well being so fucking mature, but it was doing his head in, and he wasn't getting any action. He was about to put this to Angel, forcibly, and in some choice words, when Angel suddenly withdrew. The parting was almost as painful as when Spike's chip fired off, so he stopped his return to the cemetery and made his way back to the bar. He waited around for someone to leave a tip on a table, nicked it, and dialled the agency number.

Cordelia answered. `Angel Investigations: we help...'

`Stow it; where's the poof?'

`Wesley?'

Spike laughed, despite his fury. `No, the other one. Where's Angel?'

`Why, Doofus?'

`Drumming my fingers here, thinking about stakes in the abdomen.'

`Angel's at the garage.'

`Oh. And that is because...'

`He crashed the car... Spike... Spike... are you...'

`Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Is he hurt... say yes and make my day.'

`Impersonation of Clint? Lame, Spike. I could have done better.'

`Yeah, well, you'll make any man's day, so I've heard.'

The phone slamming down made Spike chuckle. He chuckled to himself all the way back to the crypt, imagining Angel at the point of impact.

It wasn't quite so funny when Angel ripped into him later that night, but Spike calmed him with the feel of Buffy in his arms and the smell of strawberries.

Angel was in pain, and they both enjoyed that for a while, but Spike was amused by how upset Angel seemed over his car. He could sense the waves of fury washing off his sire and made maximum use of them, taunting Angel and making small crash noises in his head. Eventually, Angel withdrew, and Spike felt only fulfilment, a huge amount of the emptiness of his life fading quietly.

He made full use of this feeling the following night and invaded Buffy's house, bringing pizza and beer. He wasn't welcome but persisted and installed himself on the couch until the females accepted his presence. Unexpectedly, the rest of the gang turned up, and Spike had to watch as his pizza for Buffy was shared between Xander and. well, Xander ate it all, all the girls dieting and the vampire not eating at all - not eating after watching Harris eat anyway.

The humans began their usual chat. Spike watched Buffy. Buffy knew she was being watched and became over-animated in consequence. She radiated her strength and beauty into the room, overshadowing everyone. Every joke was made by her, every laugh louder because she found it funny. Spike smiled at her power and continued to watch. Angel joined him about half way through the evening, and Spike felt his exhaustion and wondered what he had been working on. Angel watched Buffy for a while, but there was none of the animation or lust Spike had sensed in him earlier. He decided to help Angel out, and when he saw Buffy head for the kitchen, he followed her. She was uncorking another bottle of wine, and he stood behind her, pressing her into the counter, feeling her nothingness of clothing under his leather jeans. Angel groaned slightly, and Spike rubbed some more, but Angel did not respond to this, and a slight sense of coolness seeped into Spike's head. He nuzzled into Buffy's hair - cherries and almonds this time - and it was intoxicating. He began to swell, and she felt this, attempting to push him away.

Suddenly, as if his chip had fired off, Spike reeled away, holding his head. He swore slightly. 'What the fuck did you do that for?'

'I didn't do anything, remember, Spike? According to you I'm not whole, so sucks to you; that pain's nothing to do with me.'

Spike almost replied, " I wasn't talking to you", but narrowly avoided confusing the issue more. He held his head with a mutinous expression and pressed Buffy face-to-face against the counter. Not letting her gaze drop, he ran his hands up her skirt and under her almost non-existent slip of lace. He groaned; she groaned; Angel. didn't. Spike found himself on his knees this time, the pain unbearable. 'Fucking stop that!'

'Spike. I'm not.'

'Can I use your phone?'

'What?'

'The telephone, Slayer, the thing over there on the wall; can I use it?'

'What for?' Buffy did a double take. 'I mean, yes, if you want, why? Spike, what is going on?'

Spike grabbed the phone and glared at her. 'Do you mind.?'

'Jees!' she left in a huff.

He dialled the number, allowed enough rings for Angel to get downstairs from the bedroom he assumed he was in then, when it was picked up, screamed quietly, 'Wanker! What the fuck are you doing? That hurt.'

There was a silence for a few moments then Angel's quiet, familiar voice said, 'I don't want you to touch her.'

Spike heard that for the showstopper it was. He held the handset away from him for a while, looking at it and listening to the increasingly anxious 'Spike? Spike?' from the other end.

Eventually he put it back to his ear. 'You suck, Angel,' and he slammed it down.

*****