Title: Carry On, Part Three � Hitting out Blind
Author: Inca
Always appreciated at [email protected]
Rating M
Angel/Spike
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, I just like to play with them
Spoilers: Up to 5.22 �Not Fade Away�
Summary: Angel�s finding out who he really is.
Authors notes: Robert Service delivered the title, which is also the title of his poem. I thought of it when I read the transcript for �Not Fade Away�.
It is a bit weird, cause I've got the story of the fight running and the story of what�s happening now. Try to keep up.
Italics indicate something that�s happened in the past.
Angel�s direct thoughts indicated by a tab space.
For more stories by me, come to http://www.geocities.com/slasherphiles/ , slashing 24/6
There isn�t much punch in your blow.
You are glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You are muddy and bloody, but never you mind.
Part Two � Hitting out Blind
***
Their attackers were starting to question their battle. Not one of Angel�s side had gone down. They�d been fighting for thirty minutes, but they were beginning to tire. Gunn�s punches were getting sloppy, while Spike has missed a demon attacking him from the side, bright red blossoms of blood darkening his pants where he had been cut. Illyria held them back the most, slaughtering five or ten demons every attack. She didn�t tire, or slow, her expression never changed, but she fought.
Angel looked ahead in the street, the numbers of the demons seemed to build up around them, then thin out drastically at the intersection, of the alley and main road, then build again. The noise was deafening. Demons growling, and swords clanging against one another. As there was a break in the onslaught he peered closer at the offensive. Something was wrong. Not all the demons were headed towards them, in fact most were turning left at the intersection.
�What the�?� he muttered.
�Been noticing that for a while.� Spike said, grunting as he shoved his sword into a demon, �They run down, then turn off. Maybe they think we�re over there?�
�Whatever it is, that�s why we�re still here. They�re dividing their forces.�
�Where�s the dragon?� Spike asked.
�Worry about it later.�
The numbers of demons were thinning, making it even easier for Angel Spike and Illyria to hold them back. Angel had moved Gunn to the back, he was exhausted, blood drying on his face. He only attacked a demon if it got through their line, which wasn�t very often.
Curiosity got the better of Angel, and he started trying to move the line down to the intersection. With every demon down, they gained ground. As they reached the side of the hotel, and came out of the alley, they finally saw what was distracting their attackers.
�What the bloody� fucking� bleeding� shagging �?� Spike stuttered out.
�There are others.� Illyria stated.
And she was right. The entire street was covered in demons, but two different kinds. The ones that were attacking them and �
�Angel! Come this way!� One of the new demons yelled at him. The four were protected as they ran along the battle, Illyria stopping to punch or kick every few metres.
The newcomers were demons. He had once helped a family of them. Doyle had died for them, destroying a light that would have cleansed L.A of them. He had protected them from the Scourge. Angel recognised the species. They all had the same protruding bones around their eyes, and grey flaky skin.
All fifty thousand of them.
***
Almost a week had passed since Angel had woken.
Spike had dedicated his time to a case. The nervous man Angel had met the day he woke, had come calling about his missing daughter. The 7 year old had disappeared from her bed, the window was broken. But the man, Mr Donohue, hadn�t heard a thing, and when he went to put his daughters clothes for the next day in her room, he�d found her missing and the room covered in candles and powder.
Spike had been working on the mans case non stop. For hours at a time he sat in the office, glasses perched on his nose as he poured through book after book, only breaking to chase up some lead or make a phone call.
Gunn had not returned. He�d phoned the house leaving a message about being in Rio, working on a case, and not to worry he�d be back soon. When Angel had asked, Spike merely muttered that Gunn was the best person to investigate through daytime, before turning back to his case.
Angel had spent the time re-acquainting himself with the world. He was finally settling into his life, although it still felt strange. He�d wake up in his simple cream room at about 6 in the evening, and pad quietly down to Gunn�s to retrieve sweat pants or jeans and a shirt. He�d roll the pants up a bit, then put on really thick socks and shoes.
He�d then look through one of the rooms, Spike had informed him that all his belongings were in this room, so he�d search through it looking for something to remind him. Spike had looked through the room looking for his clothes on day. �There were boxes of them, I don�t know where Gunn put em.� But not finding them had given him access to Gunn�s wardrobe.
After looking through the room that was filled with unfamiliar objects he�d watch TV for a while, or a DVD. He took note that he seemed to hate horror movies, liked comedies and loved the romance ones. Spike and Gunn didn�t have a lot of those.
He�d walk through the neighbourhood, always careful not to stray too far, and then he�d return.
He was getting used to his body. It seemed unfamiliar and alien to him at first but now he�d catch a glimpse of his hands with his short square nails and he�d recognise them as his own. He recognised his feet, which were kind of bony, and he knew that he had a few freckles spattered around his body, on his chest, his arms, his legs. He�d grown accustomed to his slight belly, and the way the soft strands of his hair sometimes fell into his eyes, and tickled the tops of his ears when he stepped out into the breeze.
But he was still frustrated at every turn.
He�d leaf through a book or pick up a coffee mug, and his mind would stutter, like it was trying to remember something, and then the thought would flicker away.
He was sitting at the kitchen table at the moment, sharing the space with a sword Spike had thrown there, flipping disinterestedly through yet another demonology book. One of his own. It read like it had been translated into another language, mixed around, then translated back again.
Its not the least bit familiar doesn�t even cause a brain stutter.
He sighed.
Scraping the chair back against the lino floor, he ambled downstairs.
***
Spike was sitting at the desk downstairs, books piled up in front of him. He looked up when Angel entered, his glasses reflecting the lamplight back in a yellow flash that obscured his eyes. It was dark outside, the digital clock on a shelf behind Spike read 1:30. As he watched Angel sit down in one of the chairs across from him, obviously settling in for a chat, he plucked the glasses off his face, tossing them onto the table.
He leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers across his stomach. Angel just sat, staring blankly at the desk as he absently traced the curve of his chair arm with one finger.
Spike tried to catch his attention, failed, leant forward and slammed his palm down on the table. The loud noise drew Angel�s attention.
�What do you want Angel?� he asked, impatience creeping into his voice. If the girl was indeed taken by the tribe of demons that he thought, he was on a deadline of three days. And he finally understood where the word �deadline� came from.
�Oh nothing. Are you busy?�
�Yes bloody oath I�m busy, but ask me what you want anyway.�
�Oh, well if you�re ��
�I am,� Spike grunted out, �You know I am, ask the question anyway.�
�Right.�
He didn�t speak.
�ANGEL!� Angel jumped in his seat at the shout, his eyes wide. �Ask the bloody question!�
�Tell me things, about me.� He blurted.
Spike calmed and tilted his head. �Like what?�
Angel shifted in his seat. �Any thing. What do I like to eat? To watch on TV? Do I even like TV? What�s my favourite book? What do I like to do? Did I have a girlfriend? A dog?�
Spike closed the book, and thought for a moment.
�You eat blood, failing that, chocolate, lots of chocolate, actually anything sweet. Probably cause our taste is a bit numb for food, sugar and chilli standing out the most. But no chilli, you hate chilli.� He started listing off. �You don�t watch a lot of TV, well you didn�t used to, in fact before I came to LA I�m pretty sure you didn�t even own a TV. But you like hockey. Ice Hockey, that�s your sport.�
Angel took this in, eyebrows raised. He flicked his hair out of his eyes.
�You love to read. You have a few favourite books, and authors. You always seem to have a copy of �Don Quixote� with you and �Faust�. You like anything by Swift, or Yeats, and I�m pretty sure you have a soft spot for Austin, if your book collection is anything to go by.� He chuckled. �Oh and Ovid, you love �Metamorphoses� and Dante, you taught me all about them.�
Spikes face had taken on a faraway expression, his mouth slightly curved in a wistful smile as he spoke, his voice much less rough than Angel was used to.
�You love the ballet. �Giselle�, you love that, even soulless, you used to drag me to it everytime it played. �Swan Lake� you like, �Petrushka� I think you like just for the costumes, and �Les Sylphides�, you saw the original production at St Petersburg. You travelled there, just for that, got all dressed up. Don�t know how you heard about it. You went to it every night and - � Spike suddenly stopped, snapping out of his reverie and saw Angel sitting forward mesmerised. He looked down at the desk and coughed, frowning.
�You had a girlfriend called Buffy, I don�t think you�ve had a dog for years.� He finished shortly.
�Did you and I used to go to the ballet a lot?� Angel asked ignoring the last statement.
�No.�
�But we liked �Les Sylphides�?�
�No you saw that. We didn�t go together.�
�How do you know I went every ��
�You must�ve told me, look, I�m kind of busy.� Spike said, cutting him off, as he stood up and walked past Angel.
Angel twisted in his seat. �Wait, what did you mean soulless?�
Spike was pulling his coat off a chair near the door.
�You used to be bad. Evil. Then you got cursed with a soul that makes you what you are now. Good. Got it?�
He tugged his coat on.
�So what are you?� He asked quickly, sensing Spike�s hurry to get away from him.
�Good.�
�Were you cursed too? Who cursed me?�
�No, I went looking for a soul,� he said opening the door to the office and heading to the door connected to the street. �Gypsies.�
�Why did you want a soul, were you evil too?� Angel asked, walking quickly next to Spike.
�Just did. Yes I was evil. We were both evil when we met.�
�Evil. Evil-evil?� Angel ran this thought through his head. �Did I ever kill anybody?� he asked warily.
Spike stopped. They were out on the street now, a few people wandering around on the dark sidewalk. He sighed as he looked at Angel�s fretful face.
�I didn�t did I?�
�Yes. You did. We both did. A lot.�
Angel looked sick. �But they were all bad?� He asked in a small voice.
�I�m not going to sugar coat it for you. You�ll find out eventually. Books, volumes, are written about you. You�re one of the most well known, feared vampires in all of history. And that�s because you liked it so much. You loved to kill. Its what you woke up for.�
Angel�s eyes widened, and he backed up against the brick wall of their office.
He�s lying. Practical Sensible whispered. Do you feel evil?
�No.� he answered.
�Well its true. But it wasn�t you. It was a demon without a soul in your body. That�s it.� He rolled his eyes, �I mean yes, the people we were make us what we become, but that doesn�t mean you�re evil now.�
�You�re lying.� Angel said.
�No, I�m not, why would I?�
�I don�t know.� Angel said, sounding hysterical.
It can�t be. No, I cant � I refuse � Why would Spike lie?�You know vampires are usually bad, you remembered that � cursed with a soul? The thoughts in Angel�s head circled like a hurricane.
He breathed through his nose, feeling the chill of the air freezing his nostrils, throat, all the way down into his chest. He focused on that, feeling the action calm him, unaware he had learnt this technique over 50years ago in a holy Bhuddist Temple and his subconscious was simply taking over. He looked across the street, his eyes grazing over a poster advertising some sort of potato chip, a child eating out of the bag happily. Angel averted his eyes.
�Did I ever kill � children?�
Spike didn�t answer, and Angel snapped his eyes shut.
�What did I just say?� Spike asked, coming to stand next to him. �Not you. Demon. In your body.�
�But without my body wouldn�t they all be alive? How many?�
Spike started to talk, but Angel cut him off with an angry, �How many?�
�Thousands. 150 years worth.� He stated. �Mutilation, torture, rape. All of it. We enjoyed it.� He said, placing emphasis on the �we�, trying to lessen the shock, to take responsibility.
�I feel sick.� Angel whimpered, his eyes watering. He slumped to the floor.
Spike stood standing, staring down at him. His face rested on his knees, his hair falling down in front. He�d never seen Angel like this. Without the image, without the perfected mask always in place. This was Angel with no barriers, and oh so very vulnerable. He�d never seen Angel look like a lost little boy. The demon in Spike screamed at the sight, rattling the cage and whispering blood, knowing it could take the one who�d kept him down so long, could rip inside him. Spike suppressed the intense lust as he carefully sat down next to the vampire.
�It�ll pass.�