PastTense
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Evil Fox. No copyright infringement is intended or implied.
Author's Note: Follows immediately after Future Imperfect. It's four years later, Buffy and Cordelia are dead, and Spike has moved in with Angel to work on his redemption. Everything in italics is a flashback.
Angel walked down the hall of the Hyperion Hotel, feeling completely untethered from reality. It had been six years since he'd left Sunnydale, five-and-a-half years since Doyle had died, fifteen months since Cordelia had been snatched from her bed, seven weeks since Buffy had been killed, and ten hours since his wayward childe, the only other living vampire in his bloodline, had walked through his front door.
Angel knew Spike had changed, had seen it on his rare visits to Sunnydale. Had seen the effects of the chip, how he had fallen hopelessly in love with the slayer without the capacity to understand or express that love. Oh, he had suffered, no doubt there. Tortured Buffy and himself trying to make her 'no' into a 'yes,' and at last settling for an uneasy partnership.
Angel had watched the most evil of what Kate called 'evil-evil things' become, if not an agent, at least an instrument of good. Had watched this master vampire, a vampire he himself had mentored, willingly give his obedience to Buffy and Giles in his struggle to remake himself into something he only barely remembered.
It might have been funny if it weren't so pathetic.
And now, here he was, asking his grand-sire not only for refuge but for help becoming a better creature, a 'good' creature, because it's what Buffy would have wanted.
Angel didn't understand what Spike was hoping to accomplish, not really. Well, he had picked up enough pop-psych bullshit in the century or so since Sigmund Freud had first published to form theories about Stockholm Syndrome, operant conditioning, and Spike's frustrated masochistic streak, but he didn't know what the younger vampire *wanted*.
Hell, he doubted Spike even had the faintest clue.
Angel rapped on the door to the room he had helped Spike choose just before dawn, one of the many 'guest rooms' scattered at random inside the hotel; rooms Angel or Wesley or Cordelia, or one of their various long-term clients had chosen and dragged furniture into. It was a strange, organic process. One of them would decide they needed a study, or an office, or a place to sleep, and a room would be opened and transformed.
Some were perfectly serviceable bedrooms, little changed from when the hotel was thriving. Wesley's guest bedroom was even more Spartan, no more than a bed and a lamp, while the adjoining study resembled an antique bookstore.
But Angel had taken Spike to the end of his own hallway, where the passage widened into a sort of cul-de-sac with three doorways facing in. This was Cordelia's 'home away from home,' or had been, he thought.
She had turned the three rooms into a pleasant, open apartment. Gotten Angel and Wesley and Gunn over the course of several months to rip out redundant features, tear out walls, build arches and doorways. She had decorated it simply, elegantly, with an eye to making guests feel at home. Angel hadn't entered the rooms since her death, but it seemed fitting to offer them to Spike. He needed to feel at home.
The echo of Angel's knock hung in the hallway, and he could hear Spike rise from the bed within, the sound of jeans being pulled on before Spike called, "come in."
The younger vampire's back was to the door as Angel entered, but Angel saw Spike's shoulder and upper arm and half his back was covered with knotted scar tissue, like the flesh had been stripped off with a grater then mashed back on in handfuls to heal. Spike pulled his shirt on over it and turned around, fastening the buttons slowly as his right hand compensated for its missing digits.
If his back told of one battle, his stomach told of another, one where he'd been laid open and stitched back together crookedly, like a zipper that had jumped its track.
And on his chest, right above his heart, was a round, puckered scar, like a flesh rosebud.
Spike looked up and saw Angel's horrified stare. "You like that one?" he asked, touching the rose scar.
"What happened to you?" The question was out before Angel could think clearly enough to leave it unspoken.
Spike gave a soft, ironic laugh. "Got staked," he said, then off Angel's shock he added, "don't worry. It wasn't wood, just plastic. Don't know where the little bugger would have..." He took in Angel's expression of disbelief and shook his head. "Never mind, Sire. It's a stupid story."
Sire.
William was aware of strange voices coming to him before he even opened his eyes.
"He's my new playmate. You told me to make him, Daddy."
An annoyed sigh, and before William could wonder how he heard the soft noise from so far away, a man's voice, with a broad Irish brogue. "But who is he, Dru?"
"He's the son you never had," a woman's voice said dreamily, and suddenly William remembered: The party, the poem, Cecily, the alleyway, the strange woman who...
"Does he have a name?" the man asked patiently, as though addressing a small child.
A pause, and then, "I suppose he must have. We all have names. Some more than one."
"Well, we'd best ask him then, hadn't we."
"I'm sorry to wake you," Angel said. "It's just... Wesley will be here. I need to explain about you."
Spike looked at Angel. "What do you mean, explain?"
"Wesley has..." Angel paused, uncertain. "His work here has been very hard on him. He's much more... cynical. He lives with fear."
"Don't we all," Spike murmured.
"I mean fear of me," Angel said. "Fear of the demon in me."
Spike pursed his lips in a thin, bitter smile. "Don't we all," he repeated.
"William, then." The man who had introduced himself as Angelus stood apart from William and Drusilla. The girl had not stopped plucking at William's hair and clothes since the two had entered the room, not during Angelus's questions nor his explanation that the young man had been reborn, was now a vampire, as they were.
"I expect you're hungry now," Angelus said, and William realized he was, more hungry than he'd ever been.
"Yes. Starving," he said.
Angelus turned to Drusilla. "Dru, dear," he said. "Did you hear? William is hungry."
The girl looked at Angelus, blinking stupidly.
"Are you going to take him out and teach him, then?" Still that patient voice, but now, underneath, an edge, like a knife blade drawn across a whetting stone.
Drusilla looked back and forth between the two men, clearly confused.
"You made him, Dru," Angelus said. "It's your responsibility to teach him."
Drusilla said nothing, and Angelus's patience reached the breaking strain. "Get out, then," he said coldly. "Go on with you, you stupid girl."
Dru made a hasty retreat, and Angelus turned to the newly raised vampire staring wide-eyed from the bed. "Get up, William," he said. "It appears I'm to teach you. Where did you say you lived?"
Angel glanced around the room. Spike had brought nothing with him but the clothes on his back. Now he had re-dressed, save for the ever-present black leather coat, which lay over a chair.
The younger vampire crossed to it and fished in the pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes, which he slipped in his shirt pocket, and his Zippo, which he shoved in his jeans.
"You need more clothes," Angel said, knowing how stupidly obvious the statement was, even as he said it.
"I suppose," Spike replied. "New t-shirt would do."
"We can go out tonight."
Spike hesitated. "I don't..."
"I'll take care of it," Angel said.
Later, Angelus watched as the fledgling, William, began to emerge into his new personality. The older vampire had witnessed this transformation before, once with Penn, once with Dru, and there seemed to be definite stages.
First, the confusion, the sensation of being overwhelmed by the new vampiric senses. It was difficult to sort out, still tangled, as it was, with the most recent emotions of the mortal the vampire had once been.
The first kill always calmed them down considerably. For William it had been a careless streetwalker not half a block from Angelus's door.
Then, the rage. The fierce need to use this new power to destroy every person who had ever given insult. In Dru's case this had been difficult, as literally every person she had ever known was already dead, but in Penn's case (and Angelus's, truth be told) dear old Mother and Father had been first on the menu.
William was no different. His Mother, an unpleasant, shrill harpy in Angelus's opinion, had been brutally torn apart before William headed off to the latest inane party to introduce Angelus to his friends.
Now the boy sat on the floor before the hearth, his eyes still almost black with blood-lust, pulling sticks of kindling out of the basket one at a time and snapping them between his hands.
"I... I killed her," he said at last, his voice slightly hysterical.
"Family blood is the sweetest," Angelus told him.
"I meant Cecily," William corrected. "I mean, I worshipped her, and she just..." The stick in his hands gave off a loud report as it snapped in two.
Angelus said nothing, only watched the young one carefully.
Slowly a smile crept across William's face. "Guess I'm not beneath the little bitch anymore," he said. "I should have killed her more slowly."
Angelus nodded approvingly. "You should savor this moment, William," he said. "You'll never know this intimacy with your victims again. It's potent."
"I will," William said.
Angelus nodded again and rose smoothly from his chair. "Come with me," he said. "We'll get you out of those bloody clothes."
Spike followed Angel down the hall and onto the hotel's main staircase. Unspoken between the two vampires was the inevitable reaction of Angel's human co-workers. Well, Wesley, really. Spike was aware of the other one, Gunn, and Angel had filled him in on Esperanza, the 'new girl,' hired part-time from the teen shelter to help with some of the office duties, but he'd never met them.
He had met Wesley, briefly, and that had not gone well. The ex-Watcher had, in fact, had 'words' with Giles and Buffy over their 'coddling' of a soulless killer. The phrases 'depraved negligence' and 'wanton irresponsibility' had been thrown like poisoned darts.
Spike was convinced that were it not for Angel essentially forbidding Wesley from pursuing the matter, he'd have met the business end of a well-aimed stake.
Sure enough, the Englishman was seated at the main desk when they entered the lobby. Gunn lounged on the couch nearby.
"So, it's true," Wesley said as the vampires entered.
"Wesley..." Angel began.
"Mr. Giles called this morning," Wesley went on. "Asked if Spike had arrived safely. I told him he must be mistaken, that you would never harbor a soulless monster. One that's tried to kill you more than once, may I remind you."
"You may not," Angel returned, only slightly taken aback by Wesley's anger. "That was a long time ago."
"Not long enough," Wesley snapped.
All three were close together now, Angel and Wesley only a foot apart as they argued.
"You're out of line," Angel said, his voice rising.
"I can't believe you, of all people, are falling for this chip nonsense," Wesley shouted. "He's without a soul. You know what that means."
Spike couldn't stand it any longer. "If you'd bothered to talk to Rupert for five seconds," he said, "you'd know I've been helping them over in the 'Dale. Those things almost finished me off..."
Wesley spun towards Spike, his fist raised. "I'm not interested in *anything* you have to say..."
Spike flinched away, his eyes squeezing shut.
It was the flinch that did it, Angel decided later, when he'd had time to replay the incident in his mind. He was over-protective of 'his people' under the best of circumstances, but seeing Spike, *Spike*, who'd never backed away from an argument in Angel's whole memory of him, react like that, had made something snap.
Angel sprang forward, taking hold of Wesley's shirt and shoving him against the counter. "I said back off," he snarled.
Spike grabbed Angel's shoulder and pulled him away. "Angelus, don't," he said, and Wesley's anger was renewed.
"*What* did you call him?"
Spike took a step back, dropping his eyes. "Nothing... nothing."
"Wesley," Angel warned, his voice dangerously low.
The ex-Watcher became immediately composed. "I'd like to discuss this," he said calmly. "Alone."
Angel shot a glance in Spike's direction.
"I need to grab a smoke, anyway," Spike said, heading for the door.
"I need some fresh air," Gunn said, following him.
Angel and Wesley watched them go.
"He's not going," Angel said as soon as the door closed.
"I understand that," Wesley said.
"Does that mean you're going?" Angel asked, his voice without inflection.
There was a long, strained silence.
"He's evil," Wesley said at last.
Angel nodded. "I believe he's proven himself," he countered.
Wesley steeled his courage, then went on. "I don't trust his motives," he said. "Why did he come here? Why you?"
Angel considered the question. "I suppose because I understand him," he said.
"And that's what concerns me the most."
Angel considered this statement, as well. "You've trusted me for five years," he said. "Can you trust me now?"
After another long silence Wesley nodded.
Spike thought if he had to spend five more minutes in this house with these two crazy women, he would run himself on a stake.
During the week since Angelus had gone, Darla and Drusilla had cycled through their insane melodrama no less than twelve times. Probably more; Spike had lost count.
Drusilla would ask where her Sire had gone. Darla would patiently explain, again, he was off to visit others of their order. Drusilla would sing a song or make some vague, cryptic comment that amounted to calling Darla a liar. Darla would fly into a mad rage, there would be screaming and tears. Then the two would fall to weeping together until Drusilla asked again.
There had been the massacre of the Gypsies to break up the monotony, of course, but that was a fast-fading memory, now. And Darla's heart hadn't been in it. Spike was sure a few had gotten away.
Below he could hear them screaming. It was making him insane. It was clear Darla was lying, and Dru had either guessed or 'seen' the truth, but neither would tell him. Something was very wrong. Angelus would never have just left.
He doted on Darla, for starters, and Drusilla, too. Leaving them here, in this backwater Eastern European shantytown, completely at loose ends, was unthinkable. If he had decided to go off on his own, he most certainly would have seen them back to someplace civilized, like London or Paris, or at least put them all safely on a boat.
But more importantly, to Spike, anyway, Angelus had made plans. He had told the younger vampire he would make Spike into a gentleman if it killed them both. To leave without even a word... it was more than just unlike him.
Something catastrophic must have happened, and Darla had to know.
Spike ran through all the possibilities he could think of, and not a one made sense.
Angelus, the vampire he considered his Sire, was gone.
"So Angel... made you?" Gunn asked when Spike had taken his first drag.
"No," Spike said. "He made Drusilla, who made me."
"But I thought he was your... Sire?"
Spike took a long draw before answering. "It's kind of like this," he said. "Say there was this kid, and his parents couldn't take care of him. So another guy came along and took him in, and raised him, like. No one would blame the kid for calling this new guy 'dad,' would they?"
"Damn straight," Gunn agreed.
"It's kinda like that," Spike said.
"Makes sense, then," Gunn said. "So why'd you call him Angelus?"
"Just habit, I guess," Spike said.
"Doesn't it bother him? You know, Wesley uses that name to refer to the evil version."
"I know," Spike said.
Angelus had returned to them.
It had been almost two years and halfway around the world, but when Spike walked into the parlour to find his Sire reading by the fireplace, it was as if he had never left.
Spike supposed he should have been pissed off when it turned out that his Sire had not been dismembered, tortured, or kidnapped (or even, in Spike's paranoid imagination, a combination of the three), but had simply skipped out after a lover's spat. However, his joy at discovering Angelus was not only alive but appeared to be willing to take up where he'd left off overrode any hard feelings.
Even better, the Slayer was in town.
Spike could hardly believe it. He was going to kill the Slayer with his Sire present. In his wildest dreams, he'd never imagined such good fortune.
That the greatest night of his life would be followed by Angelus leaving again hardly made a difference.
He'd see his Sire again, he was certain now, and when they met again he would not be an unlearned fledgling.
They would be equals.
"I don't know if it bothers him or not," Spike said.
"I guess he gives you more of a break," Gunn suggested, "seeing as how you're his kid, and everything."
"I suppose," Spike said.
Just then Angel joined them in the courtyard. "How's it going," he asked.
"That was fast," Gunn commented. "I thought you and English would be going back and forth long enough for me to pick up some dinner."
"Why don't you and Wesley go order something out," Angel suggested, the hint not lost on the young human.
"Yeah," he said, glancing towards Spike. "See you in a few."
"You're throwing me out," Spike said when Gunn had left.
"I wouldn't do that," Angel said.
"So the stiff is going."
"Almost," Angel said with a small grin. "I talked him out of it."
"Let me guess," Spike said. "Soulless killer, muzzled dog, should be staked, I'm not going to put up with this nonsense, blah, blah, blah."
"Something like that."
"Typical." Spike took a drag.
"You know what he was really afraid of?" Angel said.
"I'll be heartbroken if it's not me," Spike said with mock concern.
"He thinks you want me soulless again."
Spike gave a bark of bitter laughter.
Spike sat alone in his room at the factory, the red glow from his cigarette the only source of light. He'd go to sleep soon, as soon as he could work up the motivation to drag himself out of his wheelchair and into the bed.
Somewhere, he heard Drusilla laughing. It didn't matter what room she took *him* to, Spike could always hear her laughing. He squeezed the arm of his chair so hard he felt the metal start to give under his fingers.
Once again, something had gone horribly wrong. It was bad enough that Angelus... sorry, *Angel*, had been cursed with a soul, apparently had one since he'd disappeared in Romania, making everything that had happened between them on China a lie. Even worse that he was helping that bitch of a Slayer, was dating her, for Christ's sake.
But now, when the only thing Spike had ever dared to pray for had occurred, and the good little soul had evaporated into the ether, he was trapped in a new kind of living Hell.
Of one thing he was certain: whatever had returned to them, whatever dwelt among them now, was *not* his Sire. It might wear his skin and speak with his voice, but Angelus, for all his faults, would *never* have treated Spike this way. Angelus would never have kept him crippled, something to break apart, piece by piece.
Angelus would have killed him.
“I hope you told him if that happens, I’d hold you down while he stakes you,” Spike said.
“Not in so many words,” Angel said.
“I’ll be happy to elaborate,” Spike said. “I expect he’ll want to talk about it.”
“Probably,” Angel said, then after a moment, “about that, Spike, “I’m s…”
“Don’t you fucking say you’re sorry,” Spike snapped. “I’m not one of your little humans that you have to apologize to all the bloody time.”
“Spike…”
“Just stop,” Spike said, almost shouting. “I don’t know what happened during those hundred years, if the demon went crazy from being stuck in there, or… I don’t know what, but it wasn’t you. It *wasn’t* you.”
“I’m glad *you’re* so confident,” Angel said.
Spike gave the older vampire a hard glare. “I’m only going to say this once,” he began, glancing over Angel’s shoulder into the hotel to see there were no eavesdroppers. “You’re not my Sire. The vampire that took me out and taught me would never have let me come back here, crippled by this damned chip and wanting to be good. He’d have staked me for a weakling, and he would probably have been right.”
“Spike…” Angel tried to cut him off.
“No! Let me say this,” Spike insisted. “That other sadistic bastard, the one who called himself Angelus, he’d have tortured me until one of us killed the other. I hope I never see him again.” Spike inhaled sharply through his nose, then went on. “So. As unbelievable as it sounds, I actually find myself favouring this version, soul and all.”
Angel said nothing for a long while, then finally, “I’m glad you told me.”
“Well… don’t get used to it,” Spike replied.
"Daddy's back," Drusilla informed him one evening as they drank cuervo at a roadside cantina.
Spike actually jumped in the half-second before he realized Drusilla was speaking in the global sense and not in the right-behind-you sense. He had presumed their Sire had been killed back in old Sunnydale because, current evidence to the contrary, the world had not been sucked into Hell. But if so... how had he come back?
"You certain, pet?" That was brilliant.
Dru gave her strange little giggle. Of course she was certain.
"Poor, poor daddy," she said. "He can't ever escape." She reached across the table and drew a long fingertip over Spike's cheekbone. "Lucky for you."
Spike grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his face. "What do you mean?"
"Poor little Spike," she said. "All alone and helpless, and only Daddy to be your home."
Spike's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "I'd walk into the sunrise first."
The two vampires re-entered the hotel a bit later to find Gunn and Wesley finishing off a box of take-out tacos. Spike leaned up against the counter where Gunn was sitting.
"Mind if I have the last one?" he asked.
Gunn looked first at Wesley, then Angel suspicion clouding his features.
"Go ahead," he said, "but I thought vampires didn't eat."
"Who told you that?" Spike asked, biting into the crunchy shell.
Gunn glanced again at his co-workers. "These guys..."
"Oh," Spike said, "you mean *Angel* doesn't eat. Well no, of course he wouldn't. Takes too much time away from the pain and remorse."
Angel allowed himself a thin smile at that; after all this time he was starting to appreciate the jokes made at his expense.
Wesley, however, was unamused. "You'd do well to learn remorse yourself," he said.
The blond vampire turned, annoyance overcoming him at last. "Look," he said, "you don't have to like me. But I really an trying here. You want to talk, fine, I'll talk. But I'm not going to be your whipping boy..."
"Maybe if you didn't act like such an insolent brat..." Wesley said.
"Guys..." Angel stepped in. "We don't have to call each other..."
"If he can't show simple respect..." Wesley protested.
"I'm showing simple respect," Spike shouted. "If you could take your head out of your..."
"Spike!" Angel said sharply.
"Angel," Gunn said softly.
"Let's just everybody calm..." Angel said.
"Angel," Gunn repeated, and began to slip bonelessly from his perch on the counter. Angel sprang forward to catch him before he hit the floor.
Gunn began to shake in Angel's arms, his eyes rolling back.
"What's wrong?" Spike asked.
"Vision," Angel told him.
A few seconds later it was over. Gunn looked up, his face slick with sweat. "Big lizard-y looking guys," he said. "Basement of an empty office building on Santa Lucinda. Three of them."
"How are you feeling?" Angel asked. "You want to come?"
Gunn managed to get to his feet. "I'll be okay by the time we get there," he said.
Angel turned to the ex-Watcher. "Wes, you and Gunn get out to the car. We'll meet you there as soon as I get Spike a weapon."
Wesley opened his mouth immediately to protest.
"Now is not the time," Angel said patiently, and the two humans hurried out the door.
Angel chose a long-handled battle-axe and a short sword for Spike while the younger vampire retrieved his coat from his rooms. They met Wes and Gunn out front and sped to the address Gunn had seen.
It was an older building, pre-War, the front windows covered with "For Rent" signs. A pale green glow seeped through the brown paper covering the basement windows and, sniffing the air, Angel caught the scent of brimstone.
"They've opened a portal," he told his companions.
No one actually saw Spike leave the group. In fact, Wesley and Gunn didn't even notice his absence until he approached them again from the side of the building.
He stepped up to Angel and began speaking quickly. "Windows all the way round, but I think our best bet is the loading dock in back."
"Did you see them?" Angel asked.
"No," Spike admitted, "but I didn't really look."
The four climbed in the loading dock, then descended into a basement full of crates and rubbish. Wesley and Gunn lingered in the stairwell, unwilling to enter such a maze, where they could be easily separated and picked off.
Yet, Wesley watched as the two vampires exchanged wordless looks, and Spike disappeared into the shadows along the wall as Angel stepped into a passage between the stacks of crates.
Then, all Hell broke loose.
By the sounds coming out of the darkness, it seemed as if one of the things was dispatched quickly. This was followed by unearthly howling and the sound of edged weapons hacking apart flesh. A second howl joined the first, and then a roar that must have been Spike.
"Wesley!" Angel shouted, and the two humans raced towards the sound. As they thought, one of the things lay in several pieces on the floor. Angel was fighting another with his sword, moving in, slashing, and moving away, keeping the creature turning, unable to effectively attack.
Spike, on the other hand, was getting the worse of it. The third creature had a hold of him and was attempting to get a good bite in. Spike thrashed his short sword wildly, slicing the demon's face each time it got close.
Wesley and Gunn charged in, battle-axes raised. Gunn planted his blade in the creature's skull while Wesley cleaved its spine. Now dead, it fell forward, crushing Spike underneath it.
The two humans pulled their weapons free and attacked the final demon, dispatching it effectively.
In the calm following the battle, Angel looked over his team, assessing their injuries. Gunn and Wesley were fine, he himself had a slash on his leg that was already closing, and Spike was crawling out from under his opponent, appearing none the worse for wear.
The blond bounced up onto his feet, punching the air with excitement. "That was fucking great," he declared.
"Yeah, good job," Angel said. He turned to his childe, who was covered in the demon's blue-grey blood, and covered a smile.
"We got lucky," Wesley complained.
As they rode home much later, after disposing of the demon corpses, Gunn spoke with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
"You guys were unbelievable," he said. "I mean, Angel is always amazing, but the two of you together..." He shook his head. "It was like mental telepathy or something. Just that little nod, and..."
"That was nothing," Spike said. "Angelus and I used to do that all the time. You should have seen us in the Ukraine, in 1891. We were cornered in this ruined church, and they'd set it on fire. We were trying to get into the catacombs, away from the flames. And the captain marches in, waving his torch, and says...."
"Spike," Angel said.
"What," Spike said, slightly annoyed at the interruption.
"Remember your audience," Angel said.
There was a tense silence, and Spike slipped back into his earlier deferential demeanor. "Sorry," he murmured. "It's not much of a story, really."
They made the rest of the trip with no further discussion. When they arrived at the hotel Spike headed straight for the stairs. "You okay?" Angel asked him.
"Yeah," Spike said, "I'm just... gonna take a shower."
"Get a bathrobe out of my room and come back when you're done," Angel said. "We'll be grabbing some breakfast."
Spike quirked up one eyebrow. "Where are you ordering from this time of night?"
"Angel makes it," Gunn informed him.
Both of Spike's eyebrows shot up at that.
"You have a comment, boy?" Angel said, mock-threatening, and Spike chuckled as he turned back to the stairs.
"Not at all, 'Scourge of Europe.'"
Wesley finally spoke when Spike was out of earshot.
"Angel, I hope you'll forgive me for what I am about to say," he said, "but what you did tonight was reckless and dangerous."
Angel turned to him, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Charging in there as you did," Wesley explained. "No plan, at least none you saw fit to impart to us..."
"The two of us were better equipped to handle the situation..." Angel began.
"We don't work that way," Wesley said. "We're a team..."
"Come on, Wes," Gunn said. "Lighten up a little."
"No," Angel conceded, "he's right. It's just that Spike and I used to hunt together all the time. I just fell into it so naturally..."
"Yeah, you two were incredible," Gunn said. "A perfectly coordinated unit."
"Like riding a bicycle," Wesley said. "Isn't it, Angelus?"
Anger rose up in Angel's expression. "Is that what this is about?"
"Yeah," Gunn joined in. "That's kind of unfair, Wes."
"I'm sorry," Wesley said. But seeing you together... I am again reminded of things about you I prefer not to call to memory." He took a deep breath. "I won't be staying," he said. "I think I need to go home and sleep on this."
"I'm sorry, too, Wesley," Angel said. "But if I didn't think you were wrong about Spike, he wouldn't be here."
"I wish I had your confidence," Wesley said, and he turned and left.
Angel turned to Gunn. "Scrambled okay?"
- - - - - - - - - -
"Don't worry," Gunn said later as he ate in Angel's kitchen. "He'll come around."
Angel shrugged noncommittally as he sipped from his mug. "It's all so complicated," he said. "He doesn't know Spike like I do. He really is different."
"Maybe he just needs to see it for himself."
"That's just it," Angel said. "To me, it's obvious. And it's frustrating that Wes can't see it."
"Give him time," Gunn said. "He's got a lot of that weird, council of whatever, brainwashing shit to get over."
Angel nodded at that. "True," he said.
Just then the door to Angel's suite creaked open and Spike slipped in. He was wrapped in one of his Sire's too-large bathrobes and his uncombed hair stood up in tufts, showing an inch or so of unbleached darker blond at the roots. The impression of youth and vulnerability was so strong, Angel had to fight the urge to pat his head reassuringly. He settled for heating the younger vampire a mug of blood.
"Thanks," Spike murmured as he took it from Angel's hand.
There was a minute of awkward silence before Spike added, "I'm sorry, about, you know, causing you problems."
"It's okay," Angel said. "As I told Wesley, if I didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here."
Spike lowered his eyes. "Thanks," he repeated.
"So. We got two vampires, now," Gunn remarked. "If someone would have told me this back in the old days, I'd have laughed in his face."
"Old days?" Spike asked.
"Gunn used to be the top vampire hunter in L.A.," Angel explained.
"Still would be," Gunn said, "if I wasn't afraid of getting a vision on the job."
"Gunn tried to kill me the first time we met," Angel said.
"You got lucky," Gunn said.
"Lucky?" Angel shook his head. "You were used to fledglings."
"Yeah, right," Gunn said, laughing.
Spike was chuckling, now, too.
"What's so funny?" Gunn asked.
"I was just thinking how lucky you were to meet this version," Spike said. "Back when I was first made, Angelus would've..."
Angel was instantly sober. "Spike," he said quickly.
Spike shook his head, amused. "Well, never mind," he said.
"See, that's what you got to watch for, man," Gunn said. "English knows all about you; he doesn't want to hear about Angel."
Spike nodded gravely, and the three silently finished their meal. Gunn glanced at the clock over the stove.
"Damn," he said. "It's almost three. I gotta motor." He stood and patted Spike's arm. "Good meeting you, man. I'll see you both tomorrow."
"Thanks for everything," Angel said, and Gunn gave him a grin.
"Anytime," he said, and left.
"Too late to go shopping," Angel said. "Sorry about that. I think Esperanza's working tomorrow, I can send her out. She's not the champion shopper Cordy was, but..."
"That'd be great," Spike said.
"Okay," Angel said. "Look, I've, uh, got to get up tomorrow, so... do you need anything?"
"No," Spike said, getting to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"It'll work out, Spike," Angel said. "It just takes some time."
"God knows we've got plenty of that," Spike said, and he left Angel alone. The older vampire heard him enter his own rooms and the television there snap on.
"Yeah," Angel thought as he rinsed off the dishes. "We always have time."
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