| After: The Genesis Crash by Shiver |
| Rating: NC-17 Pairing: A/S Spoilers: Everything, including “Not Fade Away” (AtS: S5) Notes: The show is now over, but since I received so many positive comments on the series, I’m going to continue with it as long as the Muse cooperates and there is continued interest. Hell, I probably won’t even need the interest. My Muse is kind of a bitch that way. Thanks, and thanks for reading. - - - - - “Spike…” Angel’s voice was weak, little more than a whisper, but Spike jolted awake instantly, leaned across the bed. “I’m here,” he said. “What do you need?” “Did you…” Angel swallowed, trying to find his voice. “Did you call Giles?” “Yes. He remembered. He’ll have your cure here in no time, don’t you worry.” “Yes,” Angel agreed, then gave a small smile. “I’ll bet that conversation went well. What did you say?” - - - - - “Spike?” Giles’s voice sounded tinny and distant. “Good lord, we didn’t think you’d survived that last battle in Los Angeles.” Hoped we hadn’t, don’t you mean, it was on the tip of Spike’s tongue to say, but he knew Angel’s life depended on this man’s goodwill, and he bit the words back. “We’ve been lying low,” Spike said. “We’re in Paris.” “Paris! How long have you been there?” “Just a few days… er, listen, Rupert, there’s been some trouble. It’s Angel… he’s …” “Angel? What’s happened?” “He was attacked, and there was this poison. He said he’s been dosed before, and he needs Slayer’s blood to cure him. And I was thinking, seeing as you have a few hundred at your disposal, you might see your way clear to send a dozen or so our way.” There was a lengthy pause. “Spike, I don’t…” “You have to do this, Rupert,” Spike said sharply. “I’ll pay you back however you like. I swear it. I’ll never ask for another favor…” “Spike, I…” “Rupert, please,” Spike said. “I love him.” There was more silence, then a shocked, “you *love* him?!” “And he loves me,” Spike said quietly, “which is rather a first for me, so just imagine my desperation.” Silence. “No promises, Spike, but I’ll see what I can do.” “Please,” Spike begged, but the line was already dead. - - - - - “Just told him you were in trouble,” Spike said cheerily. “Said he’d have some girls here in a few hours.” “Good,” Angel said, his eyes starting to close. Spike reached across and took his hand. - - - - - “Buffy!” Angel’s voice was panicked, and Spike woke with a cry, running his hands over Angel’s body as though to drive off the demons that tormented him. Angel grabbed one of Spike’s hands with surprising strength, repeated, “Buffy,” with quiet gentleness. “She… I…” Spike began, but Angel shushed him. “Don’t,” he said. “I know you’ve heard, or guessed. It must be so obvious… You know I love you. We both do. Maybe that’s what brought us together. But you can’t make a life with a vampire. Not you, Buffy. And I love Spike, too. I know you see that.” Spike gave a small gasp. “Angel, I…” Angel blinked several times. “Spike…” Spike pulled his hand away, smoothed the blankets. “Yes, I’m here,” he said. “I… I thought Buffy was here.” He turned his head to look around the room. “Did she come?” “No,” Spike said. “You were dreaming.” - - - - - Spike didn’t sleep, just sat up by the bed and watched. He tried not to think of the times he’d done this with Dru, when the madness came on her hard, and definitely didn’t think about what would happen if Giles couldn’t, wouldn’t send anyone to help them. Buffy would come, Spike told himself. Faith would come. And between the two of them, there’d be more than enough blood to cure Angel. But that was assuming Giles told them, and with that old fox, there was no assuming anything of the kind. And now he was back to not thinking. “Darla, love, why are ye so distressed,” Angel said, a bit of the brogue creeping into his voice, and Spike recoiled back from the bed. “Now, darlin‘, don’t be like that. Ye know I missed ye.” Angel appeared to be listening to something, and Spike sat perfectly still, awaiting the next revelation. “The boy?” Angel said, then gave a nervous giggle. “No, we haven’t… no, he’s nothing more than a trifle, Darla. No need to even ask him, just leave him and Dru in peace.” Angel giggled again, then grew very serious. “Ye’re not going to beat him, love, I forbid it.” Spike frowned, trying to place this incident in his memory, but he could not recall a time when Darla attended to his punishment. Then Angel gave a small whimper of fear or pain. “Beat me, then,” he said. “But I won’t let ye punish the boy for my feelings about him.” Spike reached out, gave Angel a shake and spoke his name, and Angel seemed to wake. “Oh, William,” he said gently. “Ye haven’t seen Darla, now, have ye?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Ye’d do best to avoid her, boy. She’s in a powerful temper.” He giggled again. “But meet me in the kitchen when she goes to hunt, and we’ll have a bit of rough, eh?” Spike felt an ache in the pit of his stomach; Angel was slipping from him. “Promise me,” Angel whispered, and Spike whispered back, “I promise.” - - - - - When Angel woke again, his eyes were clear. “Spike,” he said, reaching for his hand. “How long was I asleep?” And this passing into lucidity terrified Spike most of all. “A… a few hours,” he said. “How are you feeling?” Angel closed and opened his eyes with almost comic slowness. “The parts I can feel hurt,” he said. “You should… you should rest,” Spike said. “No, I don’t want to be asleep. I don’t want to miss being with you.” Spike squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me one of your poems,” Angel said. “Have you written any new ones?” “I… a few,” Spike said. “They got left behind.” “A pity,” Angel said. “I’d have liked to hear them.” “They were horrible,” Spike confessed. “Maudlin, sentimental things…” “You always wrote from the heart,” Angel said. “The words weren’t important, but the feeling behind them…” “I wrote some about you,” Spike blurted, and Angel smiled weakly. “You know, once we’d…” “I know.” “I wrote one where I compared you to a cat,” Spike said, trying to mask his eagerness with a light tone. “The barely-controlled power in your body, how you waited patiently for your prey. How you…” Spike lowered his voice, embarrassed. “How I was afraid I was being toyed with.” “I’ve really screwed you up, haven’t I?” Angel said with a startling flash of self-insight. “Not just you,” Spike said. “Did a right good job on myself, if we’re being honest.” “What else did you write?” “Some, you know…” Spike lowered his voice again. “Well, I wrote this one. Um, there was this couplet I particularly liked… From earth you raised me, gave me form; To stand beside you, take your part; Our force the fury of the storm; To match the passion in my heart.” Angel gave a small, fond smile. “That’s sweet.” “No, it sucks,” Spike said. “I just… I look for the words…” The bedroom door opened and Gwen leaned in. “Your friends are here,” she said. “Oh, thank God,” Spike said, getting to his feet. “Rupert, I’m so…” And Xander Harris stepped into the room. Spike leaned across Angel’s body protectively. “What are you doing here?” “You know how it is, Spike,” Xander said. “Some things you just have to see to believe.” He looked Spike up and down with hostile amusement. “Guess you’re over Buffy, then?” Spike glanced to the knot of girls hovering in the doorway. “What do you want?” he said. “Begging? Fine, I’ll beg. I hated Angel ten times as much as I hated Buffy, so you can imagine how much I love him now. Whatever it takes to save him, I will do.” “I don’t need anything from you, Spike.” “Then help him, damn you,” Spike spat, “or have the decency to stake us both.” Xander smiled, but it didn’t touch his eye. He half-turned to the door, gestured for the girls to come inside. They seemed to know what to do already. One came to the bed, offered her wrist to Angel, who took it weakly, shifted into his vampire face, and bit down. The girl winced, but held firm while the rest of the room watched, silent. - - - - - “In a way, Spike, I’m actually happy for you,” Xander said as the last girl took her arm from Angel’s lips. “As long as the two of you are focused on each other, I don’t have to worry about you infecting anyone else with your twisted version of love.” “You mean like Buffy and her demonic sugar daddy?” Spike hissed. “Spike,” Angel warned, but Xander grinned again. “Dead demonic sugar daddy,” Xander corrected. “Oh yeah, we heard about the two of you in Italy. Nearly screwed up a very sensitive operation, but I’m happy to say Buffy was able to overcome your pathetic attempts to ‘protect’ her and take care of the Immortal herself. Jeez, she’s only been the Slayer how long?” “Get out,” Spike said. “Gladly,” Xander countered, gesturing for the girls to precede him. “Thank you,” Angel said, and Xander waved one hand dismissively and closed the door behind him. Spike was in the bed in an instant, moving his hands over Angel’s skin, reassuring himself. Angel caught his wrists, pulled him closer. “I’m fine, Spike,” he said, and pulled the younger vampire in for a kiss. “Better than fine. I mean, you do remember what Slayers’ blood feels like, don’t you?” Realization dawned on Spike, his gaze slid down to Angel’s lap and he slowly grinned. “Oh, yeah,” he said, and tipped his head back. “Fuck me,” he breathed. “Just hold me down and fuck me as hard as you can.” Angel pulled back, but Spike quickly took his hands. “Don’t let go,” he begged. “I need to feel you, really feel you.” “I don’t want to hurt you,” Angel said. Spike took a ragged breath. “I need you to.” Angel didn’t move for a long moment, only stared at Spike’s eyes, wide and dark, and listened to him panting softly. “Okay,” Angel said. He grabbed Spike’s wrists again, climbed out of bed dragging Spike behind him. Spike gave the tiniest amount of resistance, merely for show, and let Angel throw him face-down on the dresser. Angel grabbed the waistband at the back of Spike’s pants. “Careful,” Spike said quickly. “They aren’t mine.” “You’d better not struggle, then,” Angel growled, and Spike gave a dirty laugh before remembering the part he was to play, and growling back. But he stayed still as Angel stripped him. Angel put one forearm across Spike’s shoulders, gripped Spike’s wrist with his other hand, kicked his legs apart. Then he thrust into Spike’s body. Spike cried out, panted, then gasped, “harder. Please, Angel.” With a grunt, Angel obliged. - - - - - “I guess you’re feeling better,” Gwen said dryly as Angel came into the living room, tying the sash of his bathrobe. “Er, yes. Much. Sorry about that.” Gwen shrugged. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re cured,” she said. “So am I,” Spike said, entering from the bedroom re-dressed in Gwen’s clothes. He came to Angel and leaned up for a kiss, which Angel gave. “I couldn’t save your clothes, by the way,” Gwen said, then at Angel’s look of shock, added, “the stuff from your pockets is on the mantelpiece.” Angel stepped over and retrieved his wallet and two zip-loc bags, one with a handful of instant photos, the other with Spike’s shorn white hair. “The shops on the ground floor will send up a sales consultant with samples,” Gwen said. “You can put whatever you want on my account.” Angel glanced back at her. “Thank you,” he said. Spike stepped closer to Gwen, his back to Angel. “Actually,” he said, “I need to speak with you in the kitchen for a minute.” - - - - - They exited the kitchen, headed for the elevator. “We’ll be back in an hour,” Gwen said. “Where are you going?” “Just something we need to do, love,” Spike said gently. “We won’t be long.” “Dial for the concierge,” Gwen said. “Tell her what you need and she’ll send them right up.” And they stepped into the elevator, and were gone. Angel started to go after them, realized he was wearing only his bathrobe, and stopped. He crossed to the phone instead, called to the front. “How may I help you?” a voice answered. “I need to get some clothes,” Angel said. “Men’s.” “Certainly. I’ll transfer you to an associate in men’s fashions. Please hold.” - - - - - In fact, two salesmen came to Gwen’s suite, along with a wheeled rack hung with clothing samples. The older sized up Angel without even using a measuring tape, asked a few questions about Spike and looked at the polaroids, and assured Angel he would find the perfect fit. Angel, having dealt with the wizard-like skills of French tailors many times in his day, had no doubt of it. The younger assistant spread the wares across Gwen’s furniture, and the two men, recognizing a discerning eye, simply let Angel examine them and make his choices. He did, and requested a few more items not represented. After they left, with promises to have the outfits delivered the next day, Angel glanced at the clock. An hour and a half had passed since Spike and Gwen had left. Angel pushed down his nervousness, reasoning that Spike had probably gone out for another gift. For all his bluster, Spike really could be sentimental. Angel picked up the remote, and turned on the TV. “– some over three hundred years old,” the blonde news-reader said in French. “Most of the buildings were offices, and vacant for the weekend, but the blaze started here, on the Avenue of the Goat, at an exclusive private club. Authorities have not speculated on a cause of the fire, but a source at the scene tells us arson has not been ruled out.” Angel moved closer to the screen. It had been over a century since he had seen it last, and though its façade was now engulfed in flame that shot into the sky, it was unmistakably Palais d’Enfer. “Oh, Spike,” Angel breathed. “What have you done?” - - - - - Ten minutes later the elevator door slid open. Spike, standing next to Gwen within, looked first at Angel, then past him to the TV, filled with images of destruction. “I had to do it,” Spike said. “They tried to kill you.” “They’ll come after us, Spike,” Angel said. “And they’ll be thorough this time.” “No, they won’t,” Gwen said, heading for the wet bar. “They were all in the basement, a-counting out the money. I set off the theft alarm first, made sure they locked themselves in good and tight. Then I fused the electronic door locks into solid lumps, so they couldn’t get out without an arc welder and four solid hours of work.” “After that it was simple,” Spike said, pulling out a cigarette. “A few splashes of kerosene, the trusty Zippo…” He struck it now, took a long drag. “Went up like a box of Chinese fireworks.” Gwen carried a tumbler of whiskey to Angel, put it in his hand. “Needless to say,” she said, “the smoke detectors mysteriously failed to function.” Angel stared in disbelief. “Then the T’Votth…” “All gone, love,” Spike said. “Between the two of us, this plane won’t feel the step of another of their stinking breed again.” Gwen patted Angel’s hand that held the glass. “You better drink up,” she said. “You need to steady your nerves.” Angel sank onto the couch, drained the whiskey. He looked up at Spike, who had come no further into the room, only shifted back and forth, from the balls of his feet to the heels. “Do you forgive me?” Spike asked quietly, and Angel seemed to shake himself out of a daze. “Nothing to forgive,” he said. “I’d have done the same.” Spike took an eager step forward, hesitated until Angel spread his arms, and threw himself gratefully into Angel’s lap. “I love you so much,” he gasped. “When I thought of what they wanted to do to you… I felt I would go mad.” Angel leaned over Spike, held him and stroked his arms until he stilled. “We’re safe now,” Angel said, “and we’ll not be so careless the next time.” He kissed Spike’s temple. “And I love you, too. Never doubt that.” And Gwen retreated to her private rooms, closing the doors behind her. - - - - - The next day, all three slept in, rising at their leisure through mid-day, and lingering over tea and pastries and wine glasses of chilled blood. Angel noted that Gwen seemed much more at ease, that perhaps she was coming to accept the lot that fate had cast for her. He suggested she come with them on the next leg of their quest, Spike enthusiastically concurring, and she agreed, much to the vampires’ delight. Later, in the afternoon, the tailors returned. True to their word the trousers, shirts, and jackets fit perfectly, and they were a brushed, expensive black. “Now these,” Spike said, “are much more suitable.” “I agree,” Angel said, smoothing away an invisible speck of dust from his lapel. He turned to the older tailor. “Did you bring the other items?” “Yes, monsieur,” the older tailor said, snapping his fingers at his subordinate, who retrieved a gift box. At Angel’s direction, he offered it to Spike, who eyed it, and Angel, with amused suspicion, before tossing the top aside and tearing back the tissue paper. Inside was a red, white, and blue t-shirt that said “Paris” in gold with a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “Angel,” Spike laughed. “It’s perfect.” “And one more thing,” Angel said, taking a smaller box from the assistant and passing it to Spike, who opened it. Inside was a leather-bound copybook and a smooth gunmetal fountain pen. Spike fell hard onto Gwen’s sofa, one hand to his head. “Are you really that surprised,” Angel asked with a grin. “It is what you asked for, and, well, the other isn’t all that original…” “No,” Spike said. “I… I… ow. Ow!” And he pitched forward with a cry. - - - - - Spike came out of it cradled in Angel’s arms. Distantly, he heard Gwen dismissing the tailors, and closer Angel repeating his name. “What is it?” Gwen said, looking at him over Angel’s shoulder. Angel shook his head, uncertain, and Spike heard himself croak out brokenly, “Karsaac demons… Salzburg.” Angel’s expression turned murderously black. “Vision,” he hissed. “The Powers must have foreseen the attack, and transferred the visions when we kissed on the tower. Damn it!” He turned his attention back to Spike. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “This should never have come to you.” Spike pushed himself up, clamping his jaws down on the nausea that rose up in him. “Forget about it,” he said. “It’s nothing.” “No, Spike,” Angel said, getting up himself. “What was it? What did you see?” “Nothing,” Spike said. “Meaningless images.” The phone rang, and Gwen answered. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I understand. St. Petersburg…” And Spike’s knees buckled as another vision hit him. Angel just managed to catch him before he crashed to the floor. - - - - - This time, Spike opened his mouth and gave a wordless cry so he wouldn’t impart any details of the vision, then gritted his teeth until tears came to his eyes. Again he was in Angel’s lap, the older vampire gently petting his arms, his hair. “Rest easy,” Angel said. He looked up at Gwen. “That was Captain Crewe, I take it.” “Yes,” Gwen said faintly. “But we have about two weeks.” “Perfect,” Angel said. “I’ll need to speak with your concierge, and make arrangements.” He raised one hand and beckoned to her. “Come, sit here with us,” he said, his voice gentle, and she sank to her knees beside them. Spike tried to push himself up. “Angel, don’t be ridiculous.” “Lie still,” Angel said, holding him down easily. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a narrow jewelry box. “I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you,” he said, handing it to Gwen. She opened it and drew out a delicate bracelet of silver set with peridot and bits of diamond. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I didn’t know if it would be a farewell gift,” Angel said. “Instead… let it be a token of our thanks and our partnership in this crazy mission.” Gwen slipped the bracelet onto her wrist with a smile. “Agreed,” she said. “There’s one more thing,” Angel said, and Gwen looked up expectantly. “What we must do is going to be very dangerous,” Angel went on. “I’m afraid one of us might die.” Spike tried to rise again. “Angel, you’re getting maudlin, now…” “And if it comes to a choice between me and Spike,” Angel cut him off, “I want you to promise you’ll save Spike, not me.” “No!” Spike said. “Yes,” Angel shot back, in a tone that said the matter was clearly settled. With only the merest hesitation, Gwen said, “agreed.” “Now just one…” “That’s it, then,” Angel said. “Glad to be working with you.” “That is not ‘it,’” Spike insisted. “I… I… “ And he howled out with rage as a vision hit him again. He must have passed out, he realized as he came to stretched out on the couch. Angel was sitting at his feet, stroking his calf reassuringly and talking on the phone. Spike tried to listen in, but his head was too fuzzy to concentrate on the French. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Angel said, thumbing off Gwen’s phone. “But the visions,” Spike said weakly. “Let me take care of things,” Angel said, and Spike could hear a hint of Angelus in his voice. For some reason, that made him feel safer. He decided not to examine the emotion too closely. |