| After: Time Bomb by Shiver |
| Pairing: A/S Spoilers: Up to “The Girl in Question” (AtS: S5) Notes: This is going to be a multi-part leading up until the end of the series describing the slashy goings-on between Angel and Spike between the episodes, also with flashbacks. - - - - - Angel came into his bedroom, wanting Spike to be there, found him sprawled across the bed as he clicked methodically through the channels on the large-screen TV. “Did you know you get five-hundred and seventy channels?” Spike said, not taking his eyes from the screen. “I think you’re getting sattellite feeds from some of the Hell dimensions. Or that might be Telemundo. It’s hard to tell…” Angel walked slowly to the bed, stripping out of his clothes as he went. Barefoot and shirtless, he climbed in, took Spike into his arms, clicked off the television. “Hey,” Spike said reflexively, then realized the intensity of Angel’s embrace and went still, allowed Angel to explore Spike’s body with his hands, kiss his hair, his throat, his eyelids. Only when Angel stilled himself, his arms wrapped tight around Spike, did the younger vampire dare to speak. “What’s wrong?” he said. “You were dust,” Angel said. “She killed you and there was nothing left.” “Killed you, too, you said,” Spike said calmly. “Except she didn’t. We’re both still here.” “We’re playing a dangerous game, Spike. Just when I’ve found you, I could lose you that quickly.” Both absorbed that for a minute, then Spike pulled away. “What is it?” Angel said. “This place,” Spike told him. “We need to get you out of here for a few hours. Both of us. Out.” He crossed to the bureau and pulled out some of his usual clothes. “Get dressed,” he said. “Come on.” Dazedly, Angel went to his wardrobe, took out some of his work clothes, felt Spike’s hand on his arm. “Not those,” Spike said, rummaging into the back and pulling out a plain, white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans Angel had forgotten he owned. “Find your boots, too,” Spike said. “The ones you were wearing the first time I came to town.” It took Angel a moment to recall what Spike was talking about, and when he did the contrast between the Spike who came for the Gem of Amarra and the one who was here in his bedroom made his stomach give an unpleasant lurch. He focused on the details, instead. “I think they were burned in the fire,” he said. Spike made an annoyed sigh. “Just something besides Italian loafers, Angel.” They found their way to the elevator, pressed the call button. “Where are we going?” Angel asked as the bell for their floor chimed. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” And Spike pulled him through the opening doors and into a kiss that made Angel’s ears ring. They stopped on the ground level, and Spike took Angel’s hand and led him towards the back door. “Don’t we need a car?” Angel asked. “For where we’re going?” “I’ll get a car,” Spike said. “But it won’t be one of theirs, where they can find us.” They exited into the hot evening air, walked several blocks. Spike, good to his word, found a sporty but nondescript coupe, and had it open and hot-wired in less than a minute. “Where are we going?” Angel asked again as they hit the entrance ramp doing eighty. “Place I know,” Spike said. “Up the coast, on the ocean.” “Spike, we can’t just leave…” “Just for tonight, Angel,” Spike said, his voice odd and sharp. “Let’s pretend it’s a hundred years from now. Everyone we both know is long dead. From natural causes, at a very old age. In their sleep. We’ve saved the world enough that it finally takes, and nobody cares if we drive out for some dinner, okay? Can we do that?” Angel looked at Spike, saw the tension in his hands. “Yeah, okay. We can do that.” - - - - - They pulled into a palm-shaded parking lot on a cliff overlooking the sea. There were maybe a dozen other cars scattered about, some with surfboards strapped to the roofs. The place itself looked old, somewhere Frankie and Annette might have met their friends for a beach party. Two carved wooden tikis flanked the door, and flowered vines grew wild over the pink-and-aqua-patterned walls. A sign with a red macaw announced the name: Sandy’s. Below, a smaller sign announced the “house rules.” Angel was only able to take in #5 (“If she calls, you left ten minutes ago”) and #6 (“If HE calls, we never heard of you”) before they stepped inside. Inside was comfortably cluttered, the walls hung with old signs, surfboards, and kitschy bric-a-brac, the kind of atmosphere so many places tried to duplicate but which felt organic here, as though left by the tide of a thousand wayward travelers. In the middle of the room stood a large barbecue pit, and a few customers stood at it, grilling steaks. At the far end, a boy with a guitar, his hair washed golden by the sun, sang a song of love and longing. Spike led Angel to the glass-fronted case at the end of the bar, where meat, chicken, and fish fillets marinated in Pyrex trays. “Give us two black diamond steaks, mate. Fresh, no sauce, and keep your potatoes and bread and whatnot,” Spike told the server. “And send the barmaid round.” Spike accepted two slabs of beef on plates, raw and bloody, and led the way to a table in back. He waved the meat in the general direction of the grill as he went. “I think that’s done enough, don’t you?” he asked, and Angel grinned. “This place is… interesting,” Angel said when they were settled. “Ran across this place on my way to Mexico about five years back,” Spike said around a mouthful of meat. “Been back a few times since. Stays off the map intentionally, I think. Mostly locals. Surfers. Old hippies. You know.” “Hey, dudes, what’ll it be?” It was a slow night, and the bartender himself had come over. He wore a Hawaiian shirt in shades of orange and yellow, and a nametag that said, “Starcat.” “Bottle of Jack, and two glasses,” Spike said. “Please, no,” Angel said, then turned to Starcat with a look that asked for sympathy. “Listen,” he said. “I’m hoping my instincts are correct, and you’ve a liquor cabinet with bottles that aren’t on the regular menu. Something dark, subtle? Irish?” Starcat looked thoughtful. “Old enough to run for Senate?” Angel said hopefully. “Need I say money’s no object?” Starcat nodded. “Give me a few minutes.” Angel looked back at Spike to find the younger vampire regarding him with a doubtful expression. “What?” Angel said. “You’re going all sentimental,” Spike said. “That’s never been good.” Angel cut himself a sliver of beef and twirled it around his fork like a noodle. “We’re celebrating the centennial of our endgame,” he said. “It’s a hundred years from now and we’re going to toast absent friends and the memory of battles long past. And then we’ll drink to the hope of another century of you and me as friends and allies.” “And lovers?” Spike said quietly. “Is that what we are?” Angel said, just as quiet. Starcat came back, placed a squat, brown bottle and two glasses on the table. “You’ll need to buy the whole bottle, bro‘,” he said. “House rule.” Angel passed him three one-hundred-dollar bills. “Keep the change.” Spike examined the yellowing label. “Amazing,” he said. “Starcat the fourth has a bottle of hundred and forty-one year-old Nealgan’s.” “Bless his Kahuna heart,” Angel said, pouring them each a glass. They ate and drank wordlessly, and at the end of the room, the singer transitioned into the Beach Boys. “I may not always love you, But long as there are stars above you… You never need to doubt it. I'll make you so sure about it,” he sang. “God only knows what I'd be without you.” ”It’s a full moon this week,” Angel said after several minutes. “So?” “Nina will be coming,” Angel went on. “And we’ve sort of been… seeing each other.” “You gonna marry her?” Spike said casually. “What? No!” “Settle down? Buy a house in Santa Clarita? Adopt a few stray puppies?” “Of course not.” “Do you, in fact,” Spike said, “foresee the whole affair lasting longer than a few months?” “What’s that have to do…” “Be honest!” “Honestly? No.” “And in a hundred years?” Angel opened his mouth to reply, instead said nothing and poured more whiskey. “It’s like you said when we started,” Spike said. “We’re connected. Tonight, next month, next year, next fucking century, until we’re both dust for real. We’ll fight, we’ll go our separate ways, we’ll take other lovers. Hell, maybe we’ll share some. But we’ve drawn a line, Angel. We’ve accepted that we’re part of one another, and we can’t unaccept that. No matter what else happens, we both have a place now.” He downed his last mouthful of whiskey, reached for the bottle, emptied it into his glass. “I don’t know about you, but that’s a damn sight better offer than anyone else has given me.” Angel nodded, mulling Spike’s words. “So you’re okay with this?” Spike grinned. “Didn’t say that,” he said. “Seriously, Angel. A werewolf? Even Sixty-Second Review panned that movie.” “At least I didn’t sink to being Harmony’s little ‘blondie bear,’” Angel replied. “Yeah, that was a low-water mark,” Spike admitted, “but when she was riding me like the last chopper out of ’Nam…” “Please,” Angel interrupted. “I’m still eating.” Spike laughed, then pouted, and when Angel looked up, Spike pantomimed a kiss to the air. “Okay, now I’m done,” Angel said, getting to his feet. He and Spike both downed the last dregs of their whiskey, and Angel put his hand on the back of Spike’s neck to guide him out the door. They walked to the low stone wall that overlooked the beach, stood in the inky shadow of a stand of palms. Spike tapped out two cigarettes, lit them both, passed one to Angel, who took it wordlessly. The gibbous moon gave the illusion of midday to their vampire eyes, and they watched the waves roll in as they smoked. When they’d done, Spike sat up on the wall, pulled Angel to stand between his knees and hooked his heels behind Angel’s thighs. He held Angel’s face between his hands, just looking, for a moment, then drew him in for a kiss. Angel wrapped his arms around Spike’s slim body and held him tight, kissed him over and over, and for a few moments, their focus narrowed only to one another. - - - - - They left the car just where they’d found it, and walked slowly back towards Wolfram & Hart. “Time to come back to 2004,” Angel said, a little wistfully. Spike didn’t answer, only reached out, took Angel’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. They entered on the ground floor, walked through the lobby, opened the door to Angel’s office. Hamilton was standing by Angel’s desk, and he looked up expectantly as they came in. Spike tried to pull his hand away, but found Angel was holding it tight. It gave him confidence, and he stood straighter, challenging the liaison to make a remark. “We’d wondered where you’d gone,” Hamilton said. “We hadn’t considered…” “Now you know,” Angel said. Hamilton appeared to be recalculating things in his head. “I had a report for you…” “Save it until morning,” Angel said, leading Spike towards the elevator. The doors opened at their approach and they stepped in, Hamilton watching curiously as they went. As the doors began to close, Angel pressed Spike against the wall, went in for a kiss. Spike glanced back towards the office, anxious. “Aren’t you worried he’ll tell everyone?” Angel looked out at the new liaison, and his face was knowingly smug. “Who’d believe him,” he said, and the doors clamped shut. |