London, Nineteenth Century

The vampires unholy union remained in this precarious balance for almost a hundred years. Unquestionably, Angelus was Lord and Master, but William had all hed ever known of contentment. He never wanted for anything more. Nothing beyond a little dominion, anyway. Which he was not ready or willing to trade his Sire for. Not just yet.

Although it remained an unspoken topic, Angelus never made another male Childe while he and William were together. Whether or not he had made any before also remained a mystery; one Will was not willing to risk the tanning of his ass to hear about in any detail. There were numerous male and female conquests; some pets, some simply for one evenings sport. But noone competed for Angelus attention. Noone slept between them all night long. And so noone heard the nightly ritual.

Willaim had become a fine Predator in his own right, and was making a name for himself in the English countryside and well beyond. Willaim the Bloody they called him, and Angelus would purr with pride. They were gorgeous hunters, eternal rulers of the night, timeless and immutable. It never once occured to William that things could change.

Angelus had told William about his latest preoccupation, a black haired wench he referred to as Dru. This one was taking up a good deal more time than any had in the past. Angelus had concocted a detailed plan to drive her slowly and delibrately out of her mind. It was having near the same effect on Will. After almost a month of what was for the most part solitary hunting, William found himself wishing repeatedly that his Sire would just eat the chit and have it done.

Until one winter morning.. He had fallen asleep alone for the tenth time in as many days. The huge four poster bed he usually shared with Angelus dwarfed his small form, and he had wrapped up in every blanket they had to keep from feeling so...so...he onestly could no longer identify the feeling. It seemed too connected with his human self, a being he hadnt thought of in over in a century. A being that was hardly relevant to his current incarnation at all. That boy was long dead.

He turned over, and felt a smooth body wriggle a bit, beneath his own. ::Angelus::, he whispered, still tangled in the web of blankets and dream. ::Aye::, he heard followed immediately by a giggle. He came awake with a start. Angelus made alot of odd sounds when they shared this bed. But he *did not* giggle.

Blue eyes flew open, found themselves lost in a sea of green. Another giggle, long lashes fluttering on white cheeks. ::Ooooh...Angel..., I like him. Hes lovely.::

Angel?!? Noone ever called his Sire by that diminutive....William simply stared, stupid, his mouth agape. His naked Sire holding a woman was sight he was accustomed to. It was a sight he always found particularly arousing, actually. But, Angelus had never brought a woman home with him. Never brought anyone else to this bed. And....this woman...she wasnt...William sniffed her. She giggled again. ::Shes dead::, William stated.

::Very good, Childe. Not half as dumb as you look with your jaw hanging open like that. She was meant to be a surprise for you. So...surprised?:: The pale creature smiled at him and cuddled into Angelus side like a contented kitten as he spoke, ::Shes your birthday gift, boy. Have you forgotten? Its Christmas Eve tomorrow. Maybe death-day gift is more appropos..I can never figure which to call it....::

Willaim remained stunned and speechless until Angelus cuffed him upside his head, fairly gently. ::Will! Speak!::

::Who....?:: was all the brown haired boy could manage as he drowned again in those enormous eyes of hers. Angelus rolled his own eyes heavenwards. ::William,. this is Druscilla, Druscilla, this is William.:: Such a bizzare place and time for the nobleman social graces, Willaim thought idly.

Catching the thought, Angelus grinned. ::Yes, :: he drawled, ::moment of etiquitte over. Lets get down to the games, shall we?::

Still Willaim continued to stare. This was Druscilla. The woman who had all but stolen his Sire from him for the past month. William had been prepared to hate this chit. His Sires obsession with her had left him feeling...discarded. Hed had a notion Angelus was going to turn her, but now...she was here...in their *bed*! She wasnt going to be a toy, or a minion. She was going to be a Childe...the same as him.....?

And....and.... William...felt...warm.

That was it...how odd..he felt warm. He had no frame of reference for this feeling at all, not from his life or since his un-death. He looked at this dark goddess snuggling against Angelus chest...a place where until moments ago only he had lain for the last hundered or so years...and he ....wanted to protect her. How strange. It was obvious that Angelus had done his job well, that she was more than a bit insane. She was humming some sort of melody as his Sire absently stroked her collarbone...a nursery rhyme some far off part of Williams brain remembered. But, Cor, he had eaten younger and prettier than her! And with no regret, no remorse. But this one...he wanted....

::Do I have to show you how this is done too, boy?:: Angelus baited, moving his rough, slim fingers from Druscillas collarbone down her smooth, long neck, dippping between her breasts, before pausing there...and taking one full red nipple between forefinger and thumb. He squeezed, none too gently, and she arched back against him, hissing her pleasure between clenched teeth.

Willaim swallowed hard. Then he bent his head and captured that nipple in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and tongue as his Sire cupped her breast for him, and lightly rubbed his chin. She sighed, and the sound snaked down the front of Williams body, and rested between his legs. He raised his eyes to Angelus, tilted his head to the side, an unspoken plea. Angelus nodded, and lay the black haired nymph back further, against his chest, leaning them both upon the mounds of pillows. She was now completely exposed to Williams heated gaze, and she continued to hum that tune. He had long ago stopped trying to place it.

William let his tongue travel along the undersides of her round, tiny breasts, creating tighter and tighter circles until the wet, open mouth once again claimed the hardening, pink flesh of her nipples. He took first one then the other bud into his mouth, biting down gently at first, then harder as she whimpered and thrust against him. Her small hands tangled in Williams hair, and she rested her head back, as Angelus dropped a deep kiss on her open mouth. He swallowed her sighs of pleasure, her whimpers of slight pain, as William continued to nibble on the sensitive skin which swelled to greet his every caress. He swallowed the melody she had never stopped humming.

At last Williams tongue found her thighs, and she kneaded his lightly muscled shoulders with her arousing preternatural strength. He spared a glance up at her, wondering what she would look like when her true face emerged in passion. The sight of Angelus tongue filling her small red mouth drove him to distraction. He buried his face between her taut thighs, and began the same agonizingly slow, torturous circles he had patterened on her breasts. Angelus had taught him a few handy tricks, to be sure, but his life prior didnt hurt at all either. He nipped on the silken flesh covered by moist black curls, until his teeth found the nub at the center of her pleasure. He sunk his teeth in, piercing her skin, drawing the droplets of crimson blood into his hungry mouth. Druscilla keened her pleasure into the side of Angelus neck, and Williams curiosity was at last assuaged.

As he lifted his head from her downy softness, he watched the transformation begin. Her forehead and cheekbones became feline, her eyes narrowed, and the long, sooty lashes almost entirely dissapeared under the ridges prominent on her brow. The green irises melted away, and now golden eyes peered out at him. A soft, pink tongue tantalized, darted snakelike over glistening canines. William felt every drop of stolen blood in his body begin to boil.

Without further thought or preamble, he took her, stretching and tearing her tight entrance with one harsh downward stroke of his body. She screamed her delight, and met his thrust with equal measure, her hipbones colliding against his as she wrapped her slim legs around his waist. He could smell her blood, her arousal, and his own demon possessed him, storming angrily through the path of blood in his veins. A virgin..she had been a virgin...William was lost.

The coupling became increasingly savage and William watched as beads of sweat poured from his forehead onto her belly. Angelus placed his head between them, and licked the salty droplets, before sinking his fangs into the taut skin of Drus stomach. William heard the heady sounds of the feed through a vermillion haze of passion. Angelus lifted his head, spilt blood pooling in the corner of his mouth. He licked at his chin, a wild beast, and made a circular motion with his hand, indicating that Dru should turn over.

William held her hips so she would not release her grasp on his body as he helped her to her hands and knees. She was eye level with Angelus hard cock, and a small grin played over her mouth. Then her head was grasped by two pair of strong hands, and pushed relentlessly forward. Angelus filled her with a ragged groan. William gritted his teeth to keep from howling at the sight before him, and the feelings roaring through him.

Any restraint was soon forgotten as the pale, silky body between the men began to undulate in a slow, maddening rythym. William stared as her mouth wound around his....*their* Sires cock, and his own aching shaft dissapeared again and again into the molten depths of her. He dug his fingernails into her petal soft ass as he felt his release swiftly approaching. The dark haired vampires fists yanked at her inky curls, pulling her roughly towards him so her nose hit his flat belly with each thrust. His face contorted in pleasure, and William recognized that look.....

Angelus threw back his head and howled his unearthly delight, pulling away just enough so that his cool, sticky semen covered her chin and pouting lips. He rubbed his palm in the fluid, bid her to open her mouth, and she did, sucking on his fingers one at a time as she had earlier milked his cock.

Now it was only William inside this delightful, wriggling vampire body, William claiming her as his own....

::Mine::....Will heard the growled promise almost before it fell from his Sires mouth...the pattern his lips had to form to say the words were so achingly familiar. But this time it was cooed against a pink shoulder, and the echo of it fell upon rich, raven hair.

As Williams thrusts stirred her to rapture, she screamed a name aloud...::Angel!!::

William groaned, and his Sire smiled at him...perhaps mistaking the sound for one of enjoyment.......Or, perhaps not......

He closed his eyes as the empty orgasm rocked his body. The warmth he had been suffused with mere moments ago was gone, replaced by violent quicksilver leaping through his skin.

**hate**

After over two hundred years of existence, he never did figure out which grieved him more. Whether it was the fact that someone else called out *His* Sires name...or that it was Druscilla who called out that name..as he was making love to her.

It took him over a hundred years to admit he had been *making love* to her.

After that night, William took up a new hobby. He would torture his victims with a sharpened stick...always aiming near the heart. And every time that sharp piece of wood would slice the flesh, he would picture Angelus face, and that moment.

Thankfully, he did not have to live with the animosity long between them. Not fifty years later Angelus wandered to close to a gypsy campfire. Not long after that was the expansion of the railroad across the major continents.

It was a good fifty more years before Druscilla stopped sighing the name ::Angel:: in her sleep. William beat her mercilessly for it, but he couldnt begrudge her that, not really. After all, it had been the same length of time since he had acquired his new moniker, and a bleached head of hair to match. And sometimes, just sometimes, he still did the same thing.

*****
Part 7:

The spell was broken.

Angel ripped his fangs away from the tender neck beneath him, and tore his own flesh as he pulled away from Williams sharp teeth. Angels chest heaved with exertion, and his head spun dizzily. William had not yet moved a voluntary muscle, though his upper lip twitched as though his fangs were still embedded in Angels neck. How long had they lain here? It seemed like hours, but it must have been mere moments. Like the old mortal saying about your life flashing before your eyes prior to death. Angel had relived the time he shared with William, though he had no idea from whose conciousness the images had sprung. He saw, heard, tasted....felt...every thing which William had in the darkest and most dazzlingly radiant years of both their lives.

He brushed his hand over Williams eyes, bidding them to open. The cobalt stare which met him was glassy, shining with barely restrained emotion. Shocked, Angel took a breath. His voice betrayed his own passion, despite his valiant struggle to keep it in check.

::You miss him?!:: Incredulous, rueful....angry.

There was no answer. What could William possibly say to make Angel understand? That the time was so much simpler then; before souls, and Slayers and implants. That his feelings were so much simpler then as well. Hate. Lust. Rage. Love. *Belonging.* That when Angelus would turn his venomous anger on him, and beat him mercilessly, that it was almost better than the sex. Because in those moments, William became pure feeling. pure energy, and that escape was worth any price. That through it all...the years spent at Angelus feet, in his bed, at least he knew his place. What was it now, his purpose, his design? He made a jolly good show of not caring about such matters. But this unbidden trip through the centuries had brought it all to the fore. What was he? He knew. He was an impotent demon miserably in love with his own Sire, a souled vampire who happened to still carry a torch for a dead Slayer. How pathetic.

Angel grabbed Williams chin, forced him to meet his gaze. ::You miss him.::

William only nodded mutely, battling the immanent, shameful tears.

::Stand up:: Angel ordered hoarsely. For one petrifying moment, William feared Angel was going to throw him out. ::What..?:: was all he could manage.

::I SAID STAND UP, DAMN YOU:: The rage in the older vampires voice was no longer in his control. And it was obvious he didnt care.

William rose to his feet unsteadily. ::What... --?:: he began for the second time. But was silenced by a strong hand contacting palm first across his right cheek. He swallowed a whine of protest, and held his gaze steady as his Sire glowered down at him.

::Did I give you permission to speak, whelp?:: The voice was calm now. That old...ancient kind of calm that his Sire used when his actions became most uncontrolled. The combination always made William weak in his knees. Damn. It still worked.

::No, you didnt Sire. Im sorry.::

A snort from Angelus. ::Oh, youre sorry all right. Had the Lucky Charms Leprauchan with a soul all to yourself. But no, you want **this**. Stupid little boy, :: he hissed close to \Williams ear. The breath coming in hot gasps against his cheek, ::you are going to get everything you dared to hope for.. and maybe a little bonus too..::

Spike watched silently as the dark haired vampire tore apart a lamp cord, and wrapped it casually around his own wrist. He didnt move a muscle as the taller man pulled off his belt, ruffled through drawers to find several more leather belts, and came toward him, preparations in hand.

Spike didnt try to struggle as his arms were bound with the leather belts, forced over his head, and linked with electrical wire to the pipe on the ceiling. He stood, remarakbly composed, as his feet were kicked apart from under him, then tied that way to the lamp which had been knocked over, and placed on the floor between his legs.

He could have fought. He could have freed himself from the bonds without exerting terribly much effort. But he did not.

He actually had to fight to keep from breathing, because breathing would be a show of weakenss, a show of surrender, and the larger vampire fed on that as much as he fed on the blood. Spike watched the way his Sire moved, the muscles loose and limber. No more were the shoulders hunched with the weight of a thousand worlds. No more did the brows knit with the trademark small lines of gloom between them. He moved his arms about as he spoke, each gesture grand and narcissistic. This was a man...a creature..totally at ease within his own body.

He felt the laugh before he heard it, and it ran up his spine like so many old nightmares...daymares...dreams.

Spike dared not meet his Sires gaze. He knew which countenance he would see. The deeply ridged brow, the yellow eyes, the elongated canines. Angel had shown similar face in their escapades...their battles and their bliss...But this total package was reserved for someone else.

This was the way Angelus wore the body.

Spike kept his eyes carefully on the floor as the hulking form circled him, a carrion.

He was talking. Even the voice wasnt the same. It had a lilting quality to it...part Irish accent, part acerbic pscyhopath. It made Spikes insides quiver in dread. It also made his cock hard as a goddam brick.

::Trouble is, I have no idea which transgression to punish you for first. I mean there are sooooo many.:: As he spoke, he rubbed the tip of the doubled up leather belt he held against Spikes chest. Gentle. Featherlike. Menacing.

::We could start with the fact that you tried to have me KILLED:: He swung the belt with a quick flick of an agile wrist, and the noise snapped the sound barrier by Williams ear. For a second, he was deafened. But he did not flinch. ::Of course, youve done that so many FUCKING TIMES I wouldnt know where to begin kicking the shit out of you for it.:: Another snap of the leather, the other ear dimmed this time. Now it was like hearing under a sea of water.. a bathtub of bubbles...< you dont have to breathe, idiot childe >

::So lets start with the basics. You forgot your place. You forgot who you are, who I am, and what that means in the scheme of things. Ill tell you what it means, boy.::

The first **crack** of the whip against his back made Spike arch forward despte his resolve. He had forgotten how strong......

..::You forgot, didnt you?:: The sing song voice. So tranquil. **Crack** A second stripe marred the smooth lines of his bare back.

::You forgot how easy it was for me to make you cry.:: **Crack** This time the back of his thighs were the target. Angelus aim was always accurate. With one stroke a large angry welt covered both of the blonds trembling upper legs.

::You asked for this, boy. In actions, and in words. Never let it be said I dont give you what you want.:: **Crack** Spikes eyes had been closed in pain, and he hadnt noticed Angelus stood in front of him. Until the blow landed on his chest, leaving a streak of blood across both flat nipples with the expert swing.

::Open your eyes:: Such a soft voice. As Spike did, the leather flew again, this time across the front of his legs. Thank the gods for good aim. Still, he shook and tried in vain to shield himself. A smirk. ::Dont worry. Not gonna hurt any part I need later on.:: Angelus reached out and took hold of that part, and despite the pain pulsing at the site of each lash mark, the bound vampire arched forward into the caress. More laughter.

::You are sooooo predictable, Spike.:: **Crack** ....Again,...Again,... Again. Shoulders pulsed under the repeated force of impact. Blood flowed freely now down Spikes back, running down his legs and onto the wooden floor.

The blond vampire bit his lip to keep from crying out. The blood flowed too now down his chin, but....no defeat. A sigh by his ear. Again, William hadnt noticed that his tormentor had moved til it was too late The body moved quicker when Angelus was in full posession of it. With a more vampire like speed and grace. As if Angel was afraid that giving that much control to the supernatural forces that kept his corpse animated, would somehow give Angelus more control as well. Breath in his ear. A tongue caressing the folds of flesh there. ::I will make you scream, Will. You know I will. Just let it go now...::

Spike cringed hearing the words he had uttered in the elevator being spoken this way. A cruel tug to the blond hair, words uttered against sweat-covered cheeks this time. ::What did you expect, boy? You dissapoint me. Have you romanticized me that much over the years? Im Savior or Satan, is that right? Rarely do you hit the mark...::

Handful of platinum hair released with a jerk, throwing Spikes neck forward, then back once more. Dizzy with the wrenching motion, his brain bouncing against his skull.

Mouth against the rivulets of blood pouring from his wounded flesh. Cold, hard, insistent kisses. Spike moaned. Sharp fingernails dug into his thighs as a probing tongue found each wound, and sharp teeth reopened them. A hiss through clenched jaws. ::Why wont you scream for me, Will?:: Mouthful of blood. Snapping bites against his inner thigh..close..so close to....he wouldnt.

::Ah, Will, you know I love you..:: Sarcasm. The lash marks barely bee stings by comparison. ::You know what your problem is?:: Again hed moved too quickly for Spike to process. He was already across the room, rummaging through drawers searching for...something. Apparantly something he thought was important enough to delay his little game for...

He returned to his Childes side empty handed and looking annoyed...feral and annoyed. Always a painful combination for anyone unlucky enough to be tied up and witnessing it. ::Your problem is your skin.:: Angelus ran a long fingered hand down Spikes flank, smirking at the shudder it elicited. His caress lingered on one hip, before he raised back and smacked it, leaving an angry hand print over the hip bone.

::Dont get me wrong, its... beautiful skin.:: Another biting slap, to the opposite hip. ::Its so pale:: *Slap* ::So smooth:: *Slap*.

::So very very ..soft:: A single slap to the face....almost feeble by comparison to the others...Spikes eyes flew open. The intent was only to get his attention. A broad, ominous smile met him.

::You know, when it was night, and the three of us were asleep together, sometimes, I would wake up, and feel a small, soft body next to me. And in the darkness, I didnt know if it was you or Dru. Your skin is that soft, Will.:: Angelus caressed the side of Spikes face as he said these words, running his thumb over the bruises he had left there. ::Its that soft.::

The dark haired vampire dropped to his knees in front of the restrained one. Again, he took to lapping at the lacerations which were already reparing themselves. . ::The problem is...it just heals so damned quickly.:: Small nibbles on the inside of Spikes thighs. ::And you know, Im kind of a visual sadist.:: Flat surface of the tongue over Spikes balls, and he leaped as far as his bonds would allow him off of his feet.

::Its a shame really:: That relentless tongue moving in smooth, fluid motions over the tender skin between his testicles and his ass. Spike quivered under the ministrations, under the touches in stark contrast to the words being spoken. Uttered so serenely they could only be harbingers of inevitable suffering.

::Im going to have to mark you permanantly, you know. Again. Its the only way, I fear.:: Tip of the cool tongue flirting with the entrance to Spikes trembling body. Running in lazy circles around the pink flesh, never lingering long enough to satisfy the building need. One soitary thrust...and the blond arched back...with a gutteral cry torn from his throat.

Then it was gone. Spike groaned his frustration into the side of his arm, his head resting wearily on one shoulder.

When Angelus forcefully lifted his head once more, he was holding an old fashioned ink well. ::A nice tattoo. I cut you, I pour the ink in the wound. Should work. Itll hurt, sure. But itll work. What do you say, Will?:: The old rhetoric. Annoyance warred with trepedation. The former won out.

::What, Im supposed to agree with you again, now? Whats the bleedin line you wanna hear, Sire, eh? Hows it go? Oh yes, As you wish, My Lord and Master? ::

Angelus laughed, some genuine glee in the demonic sound this time. ::Goddamn, Will. Im impressed. You *have* grown up. But your consent is really inconsequential to me these days. The times, they are a-changin'.::

Spike stared at his Sire as he processed the answer. The truth of it hit him suddenly, a freight train in his chest. This wasnt the ancient Angelus that stood before him. The one who he certainly feared, but could at least....predict. This was the Angelus who had re-appeared after his ill fated tryst with the Slayer. The one who had tasted benevolance, and had been twisted to rage all the more by it. The one who brooked no weakness, especially not from his Childer. The one whod had only scorn and loathing for his broken bones..... The one who had appeared to him in the vision of his mutilation at the hands of the Initiative.

The one who the Judge had pronounced ::burned pure of all traces of humanity::

What was it Angelus had said to Spike, years ago, as they had begun to make preparations to suck the world into hell...about how the Slayer had made him....feel....

**She made me feel human again. Thats just not something you forgive.**

Spike was certain Angelus would not forgive him that either. He raised his chin and met the dark gaze. All right. He *had* asked for this. He couldnt deny that anymore than he could deny the fact that he had wanted it. He would accept his punishment like a ..vampire. Not a whimpering human.

He swallowed hard. ::Go ahead, then::.

Angelus stared at him with amazement for one brief second. Then, silently, he walked behind his Childe to choose the placement for the mark. He laid a gentle kiss on the small of Spikes back, and Spike understood that was where he would be cut, and branded again as his Sires. With the tip of his finger, Angelus traced the letter < A > on the smooth expanse of skin , before reaching down into the boots he was not wearing for the knife he no longer carried. < Not in more than a hundred years >

Spike heard the dull thud as Angels body collapsed onto the wood floor. He craned his neck in his bonds, and out of the corner of his eye, saw his Sire laying in a pool of his own blood. With a curse born of equal parts frustration and relief, he tore free of the restraints.He kicked the lamp out of the way, and bent over the prone form.

Angels eyes were closed, his hand cupped over his nostrils, from where the endless flow of blood appeared to be stemming. Spike snorted, ::For pitys sake, Angelus, this whole schtick works alot better if you bleed from your palms...:: He waited for the broody, smart ass retort. None was forthcoming.

::Angel!:: he shouted, gently shaking the strong shoulder. Still, no reply. ::Angel, dammnit!:: He moved the dark haired mans hands and was stunned at the amount and velocity of the blood flow. ::Fuck...:: he murmered. Then he scooped the large vampire into his arms, and gently carried him to the bed. As Spike lay the still bleeding, dark head of his Sire upon the pillows, his left hand opened. The green stone clattered noisily to the floor.

*****
Part 8:

When Angel came to, he was immediately aware of two things. The first was the unbelievable pain in his skull. It seemed to be centered at the back of his head, but its tendrils radiated, groping for the backs of his eyeballs, the muscles of his jaw, and the bridge of his nose, which felt as if it had been shattered.

He reached a tentative hand to his forehead, and the mere touch of his fingertips brought a fresh wave of excruciating pain. Still, he was relieved to discover that there was no blood, and no obvious wound. All his bones were in their rightful place. He groaned.

If this was what Spike had to endure every time he tried to feed it was no wonder he had gone from a rabid Bulldog to the equivalent of a vegetarian Chihuahua.

The second thing Angel was immediately mindful of was the light. It was radiant, fairly blinding in its intensity. No matter how long a Vampire lived in Darkness, they never forgot the feel of the Light. Angel had often wondered if that was part and parcel of the Nightwalkers curse. Most demons abhored the memory of the Light. Angelus had. He had vehemently despised the Sun, for its warmth and purity, for what it symbolized. Life.

Angel, on the other hand, treasured the memory like some sort of sentimental family heirloom. Of all the worldly things he was denied after his transformation to vampire, it was the simple comfort of morning that he missed the most. Sometimes, he would rent movies that contained scenes of sunrises. He would sit in front of his television, transfixed, and hit the Rewind button on his VCR over and over. He would stare for hours, hypnotized by the sight of the of the blue and gold fingers of dawn as they wrapped themselves around the Earths horizon. He knew he was a boring romantic that way. He didnt quite care.

In the past two-hundred-and-fifty-some years Angel had only personally experienced the sunshine twice. Once when he was given Immortality, and once when he was given Mortality. And although he had given both up willingly, albeit at great personal cost, he never forgot the sensation of standing, bathed in that yellow Light. He could still close his eyes, and conjure the feel of that soothing warmth on his face.

This light, this heat, was more intense even than that.

Angel struggled to stand, but was not surprised to discover his legs refused to support his weight. The level surface of the wall behind him offered no assistance. The wall. Now that was curious. Despite the powerful glow emenating from- wherever-, the smooth surface he leaned against was cool to his touch.

So too was his skin, it felt no warmer at all than usual. Odd. Despite popular misconception, he was not a cold blooded creature. Rather, much like a lizard, his body temperature could rise to accomodate the temperature of the air around him. Which was precisely why exposure to the Sun was so deadly to vampires. With their preternatural metabolism, they warmed too quickly to adjust to that kind of intense heat. After only seconds, they would literally fry from the inside, like a turtle stuck on its back on hot asphalt. Only faster. And, as Spike would say, ::not half as funny to watch.::

Spike! Memories came crashing back suddenly, like they always did after a heavy sleep. But slower this time, and with numerous gaps. He had been with Spike..in his apartment...in L.A....Now Spike was alone < danger > ...and he was here...Where was here? What exactly had he been doing before here? He couldnt recall. < William in danger >

The small hairs on the back of Angels neck stood at attention.

Ignoring the pain which now seemed to crawl through every vein soaked in stolen blood, he climbed to his feet. He turned his head to get a better look at his surroundings, moaning his discomfort as the waves washed over him with each small movement he attempted. He called on his heightened senses to try and determine if there was anyone- or anything- in this place with him.

But the mirage of light reflected off of everything equally, and all he could see ahead of him was more sparkling white. The only scent in the air was his own. He swallowed. He smelled a little like fear. He looked down and noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. For the first time, he also noticed his clothing. Loose fitting, comfortable garb, and also, all white. Slacks and a long sleeved shirt, bare feet. Nothing he would have conciously chosen for himself, in any incarnation. Something made him reach a shaky hand up to touch his hair. He found it was shoulder length now, and tied into a loose ponytail with a simple leather string. He frowned. He had not worn his hair that way since the early 1900s, when he cut it short, into the style of the time.

Of course, it had never grown back. Corpses dont grow hair. At least, the demon which animated his corpse didnt. His demon didnt bother to do anything, really, that wasnt pertinent to the bodys immediate survival. Which for the most part, had always been all right with Angel. He had never particularly missed the daily ritual of having to shave.

Angel swayed unsteadily on his feet and grabbed once more at the wall for support. He muttered a few uncharacteristic curses to himself, and was startled when his voice seemed to skitter along the flawless surface of this plce, then return to him in a perfect echo. As if he was standing at the entrance to a long hallway. Taking a deep swig of oxygen into his dead lungs, he started to walk.

*********************************************************

Spike became concerned when he realized the blood flow was not ceasing. The pressure he applied to his Sires nose did nothing to even slow the bright crimson onslaught, which by now had covered countless towels and two bedsheets. The knowledge that Angel was not going to bleed to death was less than comforting. Especially since the dark vampire had made no movements whatsoever since Spike had laid him on the bed about an hour or so ago.

But what worried the blond vampire more were the wounds on Angels body. They were Spikes own bite marks, from where he had fed off his Sire during their latest round of demonic lovemaking. By all accounts, the teeth marks and the surrounding brusies should have healed by now. And although the holes were now as small as pinpricks, they were still completely visible. The blue and yellow abrasions encircling them were also still apparant. That was simply not kosher. At all. It was if Angels supernatural healing processes had stopped right around the time this insane nosebleed had begun.

::Fuck::, Spike muttered to himself as he at last gave up his apparant futile attempts to stop the neverending flow of blood.

::Fuck::, he intoned again, as he realized what he was going to have to do.

::Fuck!:: Louder this time, as he picked up the phone and began to dial.

::This is Wesley::. Spike grimaced. The mans voice alone worked his nerves.

::Ya, whatever. Listen, we got trouble here. You and the chit need to get back to LA right off. Oh - and bring the witch.:: Spike hung up the phone without further explanation. He hoped it was enough to bring the mortals here. He really did not want to have to converse with that useless Watcher any longer than necessary. And at the moment, it made his skin itch not to be in the same room as his Sire.

He walked the ten paces back into the bedroom quickly, ignoring the phone which had already begun ringing incessently. Angel still had not moved, but it looked as though the bleeding had slowed. A little. Spike wanted to be comforted by that. But he couldnt help wonder if perhaps that was simply because there wasnt that much blood left inside of Angel anymore.

*******************************************************************

Angel wandered slowly down what was, as hed suspected, a long hallway. He felt some of the strength returning to his stiff limbs as he moved. He was also beginning to make out what appeared to be shadowy figures ahead. He inhaled. No scent. As he passed the images they shimmered, then took solid form.

Only when he stood directly in front of each could he discern their full shapes and details. And then, he had to turn his face away. They were statues of Christ. Thirteen in all. The Stations of the Cross. He recalled the religious significance from his mortal days as a Churchgoing, if hypocritical, young Catholic. When Sundays confessions gave him a shiny new soul with which to sin again on Monday.

He studied the sculptures out of the corner of his eye, they were truly amazing works of art. The detail was exquisite. Angel could make out every straining muscle on the replica of the human Jesus, as he struggled to carry his own cross. He could see the unshed tears in the eyes of Mary, as she looked on in abject horror and sorrow while her son was being crucified. These were not mere statues. The vampire would not have been at all surprised if they climbed down off their pedestals before him and took in a living breath. Again, Angel was overcome with the instinct to look away.

When he once more lifted his head, the statues were gone. Instead, further onward swirled a kalaidescope of color. Each hue danced with the impossible light radiating from behind it. The visual symphony then rained over an altar directly below. A stained glass window. He recognized it as identical to the one in his childhood Church in Ireland. Only magnified a hundred fold in size and splendor.

The fragments of glass and light coalesced to create religious symbols, sacred talismans he remembered from his boyhood, and as Angel watched, the light on the altar splintered, shone ever brighter, until he was nearly blinded with the sight of it. When the shine had mellowed somewhat, and he was again able to look directly at the velvet draped altar, he saw the space was now completely blanketed in the purest of white roses.

Buffy.

Angel swallowed a whimper, and fought the urge to fall to his knees.

*****************************************************************

::What!?:: the thick Cockney accent demanded into the receiver. The perpetual ringing was driving him out of his friggin mind. Despite his reluctance to chat it up with the mortals his Sire seemed to enjoy associating with, Spike had felt compelled to answer the phone. If for no other reason than because perhaps they had some sort of useful information.

::Spike, I want you to listen to me very carefully -:: began the proper British voice. Spike sneered at the condesending tone, and battled against slamming the receiver down again. Pointless exercise, he knew. The tosser would just call back. Again.

::Dont give me orders Watcher! Just tell me what I need to know.:: Silence met his tirade. ::Watcher! Talk to me you bloody -::

::Spike. Tell me whats going on there. Where is Angel?:: Shaken as the vampire was, it took him a moment to realize that the calm voice on the other end of the phone belonged now to the other Watcher.

Giles was also a bit grating, but Spike had a begrudging respect for this Watcher. Not that he would ever admit it, even under penalty of a sharp stick to the chest. Especially now, after the fiasco that had been the Slayers funeral, and his Sires conspicuous absence from it. Still, he was the one with the books, and hopefully, the answers. So, emotionally torturing the wanker would have to wait. Dammit. Spike never was much good at delayed gratification.

The vampire kept his tone deliberately clipped. ::Angel is unconcious. His nose has been bleeding for about the last two hours, non-stop. Im assuming it has something to do with the Catalyst Demon. Any ideas what?::

He heard Giles sharp intake of breath, and he did not like the sound of it. The bespectacled Englishman had always been more of the stiff upper lip sort. The only time he ever saw the man lose it was when he had accidentilly been changed into a demon himself. Talk about your happy moments.

::Exactly what preceded Angels loss of conciousness?:: Giles queried.

Spike grinned a bit. Perhaps hed be able to work in some emotional discomfort after all. ::Well, we were having us a bit of a shag, love.:: He so regretted not being able to see the expression on the humans usually stoic face.

::I - I see...Then, what happened?:: Giles recovered quickly. Sod it all.

Spike hesitated, uncertain if he should reveal his Sires return to previous demonic form to this man, and therefore undoubtably to the rest of the Scooby Crew. He certainly did not want to risk the merry band staking Angel in their overzealous foolishness. But he also couldnt risk withholding information which may be pertinent to his Sires recovery.

In the end, prudence won out. He gave Giles an abbreviated version of what had occured since the last time Angel had been in contact with Wesley via phone. When Spike was through speaking, Giles let out another breath, then was again silent.

::Will you quit with the breathing, Watcher, and just tell me what the devil is going on with my Sire?!:: Spike finally snapped.

Giles chose to ignore both the obvious impossibility of the vampires order, as well as Spikes undisguised worry , further revealed by his reference to Angel as his *Sire*. It was apparant from all of the above that there was more going on between the two vampires than mere... shagging. Giles was certain he did not want to dwell on this fact in any sort of detail.

::Spike, you and Angel are both in grave danger. We have found a good deal more information about the Demon you are facing. It is a catalyst for Essence.::

::A wha -?::

::An Essence Demon. It is imbued with the Essence of the Caster, who Angel seems to suspect is Druscilla?:: Giles did not pause for an answer, just continued in a troubled tone. ::It will then draw on the Essence of the intended Host, whom I assume is Angel. Anyone else who comes into physical contact with it will be similarly effected. It will act on your darkest and most hidden thoughts and feelings, bringing them all to the surface.::

::Swell,:: Spike intoned, although truthfully, he had guessed almost as much from the past days events.

::Spike, Im afraid theres more,:: Giles continued.

::Of course there is,:: the vampire deadpanned.

::An Essence Demon is a powerful entity when envoked by a human Spellcaster, and sent to a mortal Host. But, if it was truly envoked by a vampire, particularly a - a - disturbed one, and then sent to another demon, it becomes not only unpredictable, but its power is also magnified to a frightening degree.::

Spike frowned, ::why is that?::

::Because all demonic senses are heightened. Therefore, the results of the Essence catalyst will be magnified as well. These results could be enough to cause insanity, and also quite possibly-- :: Giles fell silent suddenly, as he remembered to whom he was speaking, the legendary temper associated with the being on the other side of this phone line.

::And also what, dammnit?!:: Spike demanded. He heard another intake of breath. What a bloody annoying human habit.

::Possibly death, Spike. Should the Essence Demon take complete control over the Host, the power it will eventually exert as it gains in strength may become enough to induce the kind of insanity resulting most often in self injury.::

Spikes brain had stopped functioning at the word *death*. ::In English this time, Watcher!:: he demanded.

::Angel could very well attempt to kill himself. The madness such demons can induce has been known to be that strong. there are accounts of --::

Spike cut him off. :: My Sire is *not* going to off himself. And you wanna know why? Cause you bloody idiots are gonna get off yours arses and get to L.A with the cure for this fucking demonic piece of rock. If you dont, Ill personally -- ::

It was Giles turn to interrupt what Spike needed no reminding had been the beginnings of a completely idle threat. As Giles had once reminded the blond demon long ago, thanks to the Initiative, he could now do no more than lick someone to death.

The Watcher felt an odd twinge of pity for the vampire. Spike was alone with an unconcious, and obviously quite ill Angel. He was, essentially, helpless. And, the tone in the normally swaggering creatures voice had been unmistakably filled with agonized worry.

Nonetheless, Giles chalked up his newfound concern for Spike as spillover from the incredible emptiness in is heart since the death of his beloved Slayer.

::Spike, your threats are unnecessary. I am currently talking to you from the car. We are on our way to Los Angeles. All of us. We shall see you in less than two hours.::

Spike hung up the phone. Stunned.

*****
Part 9:

Angel found himself on his knees, despite intrepid attempts to remain upright. Completely overwhelmed by his feelings of guilt and grief, he tried to shake off the images of Light and childhood hope. They pressed ever closer to his shivering frame, which was now huddled against the corner wall.

He fought them. He was not deserving.

::Im not here:: Angel repeated to himself. To noone. His voice shook. ::Im not here.::

::If I was alive, I wouldnt come here, and if Im dead, ::. he paused as the possibility occured to him suddenly. ::If Im dead I certainly dont belong here.::

Another voice hissed from somewhere behind him..somewhere *within* him. ::Where DO you belong, Angelus?::

Angel hung his head in shame. He knew. He knew.

**************************************************************

Spike again walked over to the bed which held the body of his still and bloodied Sire. It looked like a murder had been committed in this room. Blood was everywhere. It had soaked through the coverlets, into the mattress; it covered the walls, and the floor had a thin sheen of crimson, broken only by footprints in the muck.

On second thought, this could not have been a murder scene.. unless it was killing en masse. Humans dont contain this amount of blood. No human could shed a quarter this amount and survive. Spike only hoped the same was not true for his Sire.

Spike stared down at the dark vampire. The speed of the current had indeed subsided somewhat, but the river of red continued to flow from both of Angels nostrils at a steady rate. His lips and chin were completely tattooed scarlet, as was his naked chest and stomach. Both Angels hands were stained as well, from before he had passed out, when he had grabbed at his own face.

Spike was torn between shock and revulsion at the sight of Angel laying there, bleeding and helpless- and lust and pleasure at the sight of Angel laying there, bleeding and helpless. The only thing that prevented Spike from getting a raging hard on was the knowledge that Angel, according to Giles anyway, may never awaken.

Spike didnt beleive that. He wouldnt believe that. This was Angleus for chrissake. The man had returned from *Hell*.

*****************************************************

The vampire cowered against the stone wall . There were no guards posted here. He had long ago forgotten that anything else existed.

Since his condemnation nearly five hundred years ago, he had never actually attempted escape. Banished to Hell as a Master Vampire, with both body and soul intact, he was something of an enigma to the Powers. And although his arrival had originally been heralded with malicious glee, his tormentors soon found themselves more frustrated than overjoyed.

This one was did not bemoan his plight.. He refused to plead his case for mercy. He never once cried out for anyOne to save him from his fate. Instead, he accepted whatever brutality the Punishers unleashed upon his naked and soon broken form, with a detatched stoicism that bordered on the psychotic.

He was apathetic when they beat him into unconciousness. He never begged for healing blood when he was starved for days on end. Scourges, whips, nails, crossbows...all had a similar effect on his indifference. None.

It was certain his physical body was in agony. Noone, not even a powerful demon with the thirst for bloodshed he had demonstrated in his long and infamous unlife, could withstand the torment they heaped upon him without mercy. But when they would savagely rape him, when the tendrils of the Punishers would reach into his brain, to peel away the layers of humanity, and draw out the fear and suffering; after the initial recoling, the answer offered up was always the same.

::I deserve this. I deserve this. Go ahead.::

Complicated, frustrating puzzle this one. His demon was strong, his soul was stronger. One protected the body, the other the Essence. It was almost as if he had been designed to withstand any of the torments Hell had yet invented.

It was quite by accident really that the key was at last discovered.

Holy Water seemed to create a level of discomfort that would keep the vampire on edge enough to let down his guard somewhat. It made a lovely popping noise in his veins. So the Punishers used it often. But it was a random thought the vampire had while they were pouring the solution in his eyes that caught the attention of Hells minions. So amusing. < Where do they get Holy Water from in Hell?! >

They had taunted him with that. < We have all manner of religious implementshere...Crosses...Holy Water...who do you think condones our treatment of you? > To further their point, the army of small demons surrounding the now blinded vampire began to chant in Latin. The vampire recognized parts of the incantation. It was a rite of exorcism. They were mocking the religious lore.

That is when it happened. Angel felt a tug begin at his feet; the draw swept up and up, until his insides felt as if they were the last tissue in a box. The feeling finally centered at the top of his head, and then, with one terrible burning sensation in his scalp, was gone. He gasped for...breath. He felt the stink of the rancid air fill his lungs. Thats when the realization dawned on him, and his Accusers.

Angelus had left him.

For the first time in centuries, Angel was alone in his body. He was human. And he was in Hell.

*******************************************************

Spike sat next to Angels unmoving form on the blood soaked bed. He couldnt stand feeling idle and useless one second longer. If Giles was right about this blasted stone causing insanity, then he had to do something...anything...to help Angel. He couldnt rely on the group of mortals who were still at least an hour and a half away.

He climbed on top of Angels body, and only now realized they were both still completely nude. Torn once more between distaste and arousal, Spike ran both hands through the seemingly neverending flow of blood. He lifted a gory finger to his lips, and licked. Sires blood. The energy shot through him like a thunderbolt. Essence of Angel. Essence.

Essence!

Without further thought, he bent over his Sire, and sank his fangs deep into Angels neck.

************************************************************

Torturing the purely human body would have, by itself, been a source of endless pleasure for the Punishers. Indeed, for a hundred years, it was. But it took much longer between sessions for the body to heal now. And torturing an unconcious victim was nearly as much sport. So, a good deal of the time, the vampire was left alone in his cell.

Angel realized he had never *been* alone before. He had spent his mortal life purposefully surrounding himself with noise, flesh, souls. Perhaps so as not to have to look too deeply within himself, or perhaps for reasons not so profound. When he was Turned, he had spent every waking moment in the circle of other vampires. And when he was cursed with the return of his soul, and forced to hide from all living creatures, at least he had always had the company of his demon. Dubious to be certain. But a presence.

Torture, pain, despair...all were preferable to lonliness. To - stillness. If given a choice Angel would pick feeling horrible to feeling nothing at all. Except, he wasnt given that choice.

Eavesdropping upon his most secret fears, Hell had finally found the means to destroy this powerful soul. Angel was stripped, taken into a room without light or sound, suspended by majik chains which created no sensation, and simply - left.

He hung there for three hundred years. No one beat him. No one raped him. And the suffering was far worse than all of those. Eternal Suffering for the entertainment of noone.

He couldnt even pray for death.....not merely for the obvious reason. But simply because he doubted the existance of anyOne who would care to answer him. It was not so very long before he doubted his own existence.

Hell had at last won.

*********************************************************

Does anyone really believe that Angels and their like are in fact benevolent creatures? That the cherubim depicted on countless churches and pop culture icons actually represent the true nature of the Beings supposedly closest to God? If that is indeed the case, then why must they always apologize first when they swoop down on some poor unsuspecting mortal? Why must they always preface their visits with an announcement that they come in peace? Its because the tidings of comfort and joy are as rare as once in a million millenia, and the smoting and the slaying of the first born much more common an Angels task.

When the Angel appeared to the vampire, who in some sort of a cosmic joke shared his holy name, he did not bother to apologize first. There was not much left in this broken shell which would have actually understood his words.

Nonetheless, he had a sacred Duty to perform. He had to tell this one that now that the only living creature who had ever shed true tears for his redemption had at last left him behind, he was now free to go back home. With the dropping of the Cladaugh Ring, his torment in Hell was finally over, but his suffering on Earth was to begin anew.

Tidings of comfort and joy.

*****