Why are You?

Why did Angel snore so loudly when he didn't need to breathe?

Spike rolled onto his side, checking the clock yet again. He was convinced that the minute hand remained still just to spite him, and wondered if it would benefit from a big hammer. He'd certainly feel better, but the noise would wake the vampire beside him, and Angel slept peacefully all too rarely. Besides, Spike did actually want some time alone to think.

To brood.

Ick.

He turned on his back and glared at the ceiling, trying to remember how he'd got himself into this mess. He'd sworn to Angel that he'd never feed on humans again. And he couldn't take it back.

When he was first chipped, the demon had growled, fearing that it would be trapped within its prison, without access to the violence it desired. When he'd discovered that other demons were fair targets, Spike had revelled in fighting them, expunging all the anger onto the tunnel walkers. One had sought revenge by raping Angel and it had almost destroyed them both. For the first time, Spike felt guilty and had curbed his violent excesses. He had killed Cribb, but it taken far more to restore the balance between the vampires.

They'd survived the loss of Drusilla, the re-emergence of Angelus, Faith's poison and everything the Powers that Fuck about had thrown at them. And he knew that with Angel, it wasn't going to end. The vampire felt enough guilt for the whole of the British Isles. With an option on Ireland as well. There was no way that Angel was going to retire, that the two of them would find some nice new patch where everyone deserved to be drained, and stay there for all eternity.

No, the path Angel walked was a righteous one unfortunately, and you didn't get time outs for good behaviour. He was hardly likely to stand back and say, 'No, you go ahead Spike, you drain that person and I'll save this one so it all balances up.' For once, it really was in black and white: Stay with Angel and don't kill, or become his enemy. And Spike had chosen to stay.

A loud snore disrupted his reverie and Spike looked at his lover.

Even in sleep he could tell the difference between Angel and Angelus. There was the faintest hint of a smile on Angel's lips, one that spoke of contentment and security. The only time Angelus had worn a smile was when he'd won some great power struggle, and even then it was more of a smirk. The dark vampire was a light sleeper, ready to defend against those who would see him dust. Admittedly that didn't change whether he was good or evil, but at least when Angel's hand snuck around you, you knew that it wasn't going to twist in some painful grip.

Trust, the most important ingredient of what they had. Trust, the thing that might get one of them killed. And since chipped up vampires were fairly expendable, Spike wasn't laying odds on surviving indefinitely.

Oh fuck, he thought, I can't take this.

He got out of bed and stomped to the kitchen, kicking out at the table and stubbing his toe. As he growled, Spike wondered if everything was going to get on his nerves tonight. When he opened the fridge and found it full of blood, but out of beer, he decided it was, and sat down for some major league sulking.

His hand knocked against Doyle's coffee mug and he had to resist smashing the thing to bits.

I'm too human. I'm too much like them now. So much for being William the Bloody. I'm not even William the slightly scary. Even the runt's not frightened any more. Bloody kid, wandering up from Slayer central and expecting to join in. And what did I do? I grumbled, but I said okay...all for a good bit of ass.

He paused, the curvature of said ass shaping itself in his head.

Okay, so there is a good reason behind that. I dare anyone who's seen it to walk away. And, let's face it, I'd have to be a right bastard to leave now. A right mindless, evil son of a whore...and I don't think I am anymore.

He banged his head on the table, hoping sense would dawn.

I'm just a sodding lapdog. Well looked after, well shagged, but I'm a lapdog. And the sad thing is, I'd rather be his pet than anyone else's master.

Pathetic.

Dru was right, I'm not demon enough for anyone.

But I'm human enough for him.

He caught the edge of a tapping sound on his left and held up his mug. Angel took it and sipped its bloody content. Spike watched the vampire sit down, a familiar frown across his brow. Forcing himself to forget all about the scariness of brooding, Spike tried to assume a 'couldn't give a shit' pose, and leaned back in his chair.

It didn't seem to convince Angel.

'You're up.'

'That's fucking brilliant, mate. You could win prizes for that kind of observation.'

Angel's expression didn't change and he stretched a hand out, covering Spike's own.

'If there's something wrong...'

'I can come and tell you? Dear old agony Uncle Angel. Very sweet.'

Angel rubbed his childe's fingers, and Spike growled as the vampire indulged him.

'I don't want to play guessing games all night. You're either going to tell me, or you're not.'

'I'm not.'

'Okay...so, you're coming to bed?'

Spike blinked, wondering where the non-angsting form of his lover had sprung from. Maybe they'd cloned him?

'Spike?'

'Hmm?'

'Bed? Cause I'm tired, although...'

He grinned and Spike shivered in spite of himself. It had to be the ass. No way it was just the vampire's personality that made him horny. No way that Angel had that kind of control over him.

He shook his head, whilst Angel shrugged and stood up.

'I'll be in bed then.'

'You said that.'

'I'm just saying it again...just in case, you change your mind...about anything.'

The reassurance was within his grasp - Angel's love, his desire and companionship all there within that sentence. You'd be a fool to ignore it, he told himself. You'd be throwing a perfectly good (ass) chance away, because you're sulking.

With a low growl, Spike got to his feet and walked round the table, grabbing a handful of the vampire's best asset. Angel grinned and kissed him before walking back into the bedroom. With a last thought to the choice he'd made, Spike set out to follow him.

And fell to the floor, unconscious.  

*  

Wolfram and Hart had made a living out of dealing with the devil. They'd founded an entire firm from taking on cases other lawyers wouldn't believe in. A client who was neither a demon, nor in some way supernatural, was something they rarely came across. They had one somewhere, a rarity.

And they'd had him framed.

Literally.

When Angel had taken away one of their best clients, they had taken the time to research the vampire, their original findings providing a view of a cold, collected killer. That he now possessed a soul was a minor concern. Let him do all the good he feels the need to do, as long as he doesn't interfere with us, had been the general feeling. And when he had interfered, they'd done more research, trying to find his flaws, trying to find the key to bringing him round of their point of view.

Nothing had worked.

Angel had flaws, but not ones that could be exploited through temptation and the promise of a better life. No, the damned vampire believed in redemption, something in exchange for the good he tried to do, and Wolfram and Hart could not provide that.

So they'd gone back to studying him, trying to find that one thing he could be manipulated through. And eventually, they'd found it.

Strangely enough, it brought them back on home ground.

Dealing with selfish demons was the thing they did best.  

*  

Spike opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light in the room. Everything felt wrong - as though he'd been drugged, and he didn't fit right in his skin. Okay, first think of the danger. He couldn't smell sunlight, but his nose wasn't kicking in, and he didn't like to take that many chances. Not against something that would definitely kill him. He risked a quick look round and, finding the lack of windows, tried to relax.

He wasn't dead...yet.

'Spike,' said an unfamiliar voice, 'It's good to finally meet you.'

He looked up, wondering why he hadn't realised there were others in the room. He saw a man and a woman, suited and ready to kick legal ass. They didn't look scared of him although, (and he grudgingly admitted it to himself) he was tied to a chair and had been unconscious till just recently - hardly a threat. He wasn't holding any cards in this deal, and as much as that irked him, there were other considerations. Things he had to know.

'Where's Angel?'

The man let out a chuckle, and Spike was hit with deja vu. Where had he felt this...ugh, the Initiative. They'd looked at him like this, although he couldn't recall a reassuring laugh being employed. He racked his brain for some clue as to who they were and what they wanted with him, but although the answer danced on the edge of his memory, he couldn't quite reach it.

Time for a simple approach.

'Who the fuck are you?'

The man held his hand out.

'I'm Lindsey and this is Lilah.'

'What are you, twins? Pinky and Perky in a poxy suit?'

Lindsey nodded and sat down on a perfectly appointed chair, apparently very comfortable and in control. Just let me have my teeth, you bastard, let me unleash the demon and we'll see how bloody comfortable you are.

Oblivious to Spike's thoughts, Lindsay continued in that same unworried tone.

'We know all about you, Spike. May I call you Spike...thank you. Well Spike, we know about the reconditioning you went through and with your very impressive history, we can see how frustrating this must be for you.'

Too right, your neck could use a biting, mate.

'And we really want to help.'

Spike snorted.

'Help me? Why would you fuckers help me?'

The woman, (Lilah, he remembered) perched on the edge of the desk. Nice bit of skirt, he thought absently, good legs and all that. Bet she's bloody S and M woman, mistress of pain and domination. And him too. Can't see either of these two losing control.

'Our firm, Wolfram and Hart, has an interest in your partner.'

'My partner?'

Oh fuck - the law firm. What do they want with Angel?

'Angel has on occasion...interfered with certain situations,' said Lindsey. 'He's become something of a liability for us.'

'Killed some of your clients has he? Nice one, Angel.'

'He's killed, and he's influenced certain cases. Obviously Wolfram and Hart cannot allow this kind of obstruction to continue.'

Spike shrugged.

'No skin off my back, mate. What've you got me for, blackmail?'

Lindsay shook his head and Lilah picked up the conversation, the transition almost too smooth.

'The Slayer was briefly our employee, and since she failed, Wolfram and Hart would like to recoup her expenses.'

'You poisoned me.'

'She was sent to neutralise the threat.'

She paused, before offering him a bright smile. On her, it didn't look so bright and Spike recognised the predatorial hunger. He couldn't afford to underestimate either of them.

'We're telling you certain things in confidence here. You won't mention them beyond this room.'

'And why's that?'

'You won't,' said Lindsay, 'it wouldn't be in your best interests. And we know how you protect them.'

Spike wondered how much it would hurt to just rip the man's head off. You know, just a little pain and then thankful silence...until he did her as well.

'So why am I here?'

'Quite simply, you're the key, Spike. You're important to Angel and we need your help.'

'How? Me asking him to stop annoying the nice lawyers?'

His ears grated at the tinkling laugh, (Couldn't he sue against unwanted noise, or something?) She was almost worse than Lindsey.

'Actually, that's more or less what we had in mind.'

'You're kidding me.'

'No. We want you and Angel to leave LA, leave the state if possible. Disposing of the Slayer before you leave, of course.'

Spike ran his tongue around his lip, a bizarre image of him and Angel grinning and skipping off into the sunset, doing what they were told.

'And why the fuck do you think I would do that? For kicks? Because you asked nicely?'

The lawyers exchanged a glance and then gestured to the mirror.

'How do you think you got here, Spike? Do you think we kidnapped you? Took you from under Angel's nose?'

Spike just glared at him.

'We've gone to a lot of trouble to make this happen, Spike. And we wouldn't do that if we weren't certain of the outcome.'

'Think I'm going to roll over like a good little dog, right, Pet?'

He could feel the drugs beginning to wear off, but his senses weren't coming back entirely. Something was different, very different.

'How would you like to lose the chip, Spike?'

'What?'

Lindsey grinned at him.

'The chip. How would like to be free again?'

'You've removed it?'

Lilah shook her head and untied the ropes on Spike's chair.

'No, the chip is still in your body.'

She guided him in front of the mirror.

'But then, you're not, are you?'

For the first time in a century, Spike gasped in surprise.  

*  

'Will?'

Angel rocked the limp form of his lover in his arms. It had taken him a few minutes to realise Spike wasn't following him, and when he'd returned to the kitchen, he was ready to deliver a lecture on brooding, and the dangers inherent. When he'd found the outstretched body on the floor he'd thought Spike was messing about, waiting to pounce on him, ready to fuck him into the next century.

But Spike hadn't moved in over five minutes, and Angel was worried.

'Come on, Will, wake up. Quit messing about.'

Nothing.

'Wake up.'

Nothing.

Angel growled and shook the vampire.

'Would you just open you eyes! I'm not playing this game anymore!'

Brilliant blue eyes flashed open and Angel pulled the naked vampire close to him, ignoring the tension in his lover's arms, relieved that Spike was all right. He buried his face in the crook of Spike's neck, waiting for the cocky remark about Angel's noncy worrying to echo in his ear.

He was surprised to find the vampire shivering instead.

'Spike?'

Angel pulled back, searching his lover's face for an answer, but Spike said nothing, eyes furtively looking around him. He ignored Angel completely, and the older vampire had to grab his chin to meet his gaze.

'What's going on? What's wrong, Spike?'

Spike slowly looked up at him and Angel couldn't recognise the expression at all. He'd never seen Spike terrified before.

'I...' began the blond vampire, trailing off as he looked at Angel.

'It's okay,' said Angel, wondering why this comforting felt so strange, 'I'm here.'

'I...can't feel my heartbeat.'

Angel squinted at the vampire, aware that his troubled expression was now mirrored.

'Who are you?'

He watched as Spike pulled away from him and tried to get to his feet, touching everything in sight as though it might disappear at any moment. He seemed to remember Angel was there and turned to look at him, taking in the vampire's very naked frame.

'Holy Gods! Where do you think you're going to put THAT sonofabitch?'

Angel blinked and grabbed the rug, pulling it round him. This was bad. In fact, this was very bad.

'Hello Megan.'

'Yeah,' said the girl wearing Spike's dead body. 'Mind telling me what's going on?'

She paused as though something had occurred to her.

'And why the hell are you naked?'

Worse than very bad.

Family.  

*  

Spike looked at the reflection in the mirror, amazed that he had one, amazed that it wasn't actually his. He thought he'd seen most of what the world had to offer, picking and choosing what suited him. He didn't feel all that different, if he was honest. He could still smell and hear with more than human perception, even if it did feel a bit cramped in this body.

Aside from the obvious, his granddaughter hadn't retained many of his physical characteristics, sharp cheekbones aside. His eye level was a few inches shorter than normal and there were a few extra bits and pieces to deal with. When he got his own body back, he was going to introduce the girl to the Wondabra, for a start. But on the whole, it wasn't such a bad body to be in, at least whilst he figured out what to do.

He could see the suits watching him in the background, grinning as Spike examined his new home. With a growl, the vampire turned, aware as he did it that the demon was still a part of him.

'How did you do it?'

Lindsey shrugged.

'Let's just say it wasn't easy. It isn't permanent yet, but if you'll hear us out, we can make it so.'

Spike snorted.

'Who are you, bloody Piccard?'

'Now, Spike,' said Lilah, 'We've transferred your demon to a living body. Don't you want to think of all the things you can do now?'

'Could start by kicking the shit out of you two.'

Lindsey pulled a scroll out of his inside pocket, still maintaining a nonchalant air.

'You could, but you're not THAT strong. You can still die, you know.'

'I don't know,' said Spike with a slightly sadistic grin, 'Why don't you start talking before I decide to try it out, Pet.'

'In a living human body, you're no longer susceptible to sunlight. Religious implements no longer have an affect. You've retained your strength, perception and stamina.'

'Stakes bounce off me now?'

'Actually, no,' said Lilah. 'You can still be killed by mortal methods and since humans tend to die when they're staked...'

Spike ran his tongue over his teeth.

'Blood?'

Lindsay shook his head.

'You don't need it. You can live on human food.'

'I'm mortal?'

'Immortal, we think,' said Lilah, 'you see, there's no precedent for this.'

'Lawyers making vampires more powerful? Thought you did that all the time, Love.'

Lindsey laughed and tapped the scroll on his hand.

'Spike, you're a very unusual vampire, anyway.'

'I know that. What do you Pratts mean, though?'

Raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, Lilah gestured to the window.

'Most vampires take their family as a first meal. You didn't.'

'So?'

'So you're one of the few vampires with living descendants. One at least.'

Spike regarded his reflection, recognising the pissed off expression, pleased that it was still visible. And Lilah didn't seem so confident now. He could smell...the faintest traces of fear.

'The spell we used required "blood of my blood", so you see, this really is a rare event.'

'So you put my demon in her body, and sent hers...where?'

Lindsay shrugged.

'You're technically a possessed human, with the bonus that the original soul is missing. We think that her soul now occupies your old body. And without the demon, we believe...'

Spike noticed the uncertainty in Lindsay's voice and he grinned.

'You don't fucking know what's happened, do you, mate?'

'We're not one hundred percent certain, no,' said Lilah. 'But it seems likely that without the magic, all Angel's holding right now is a corpse.'

At the name of his lover, Spike winced, knowing how worried the vampire would be. And if his corpse was beginning to rot away, or turn to dust...

'And what if I say no, turn me back?'

'I don't think you want to do that, Spike. Right now, we don't think there's anything for you to go back to.'

Spike nodded and looked back in the mirror, fascinated by seeing himself again, even if he wasn't strictly...himself.

'And why am I a bloody woman? Couldn't you have found some bloke to swap me with?'

'You're lucky you have any descendants at all, Spike, 'said Lindsey, confidently putting the scroll back in his pocket. 'We had to work with what we had.'

He looked Spike up and down briefly before re-assuming his smug grin.

'Besides, I thought, given your relationship with Angel, gender was optional.'

Spike gave a hmph and kept staring at the mirror, meeting the lawyer's gaze easily, refusing to look away. The moment Lindsey blinked, Spike struck backwards with his fist, catching his chin and knocking him to the floor. He nodded and turned to Lilah.

'I think I may want to renegotiate my terms, Pet. Or shall we try for a double knockout?'  

*  

Angel sat on the edge of the sofa, phone in one hand, book of possession open in the other.

He watched as Megan walked impatiently up and down the room, the stride easily Spike's own, the attitude almost as clearly not. He'd been sharing a room with her for twenty minutes now and she was driving him crazy. How is it possible for them both to share a blunt, arrogant temperament and (currently) the same body, when one of them drove him mad with lust, and the other...didn't?

'Well I don't know, Angel,' said Wesley, his voice still weary from a lack of sleep. 'I've never heard of vampire soul swapping.'

There was a pause, and Angel could practically hear the Watcher following the thought through on the other end of the line.

'He doesn't have a soul to swap, does he?'

'No,' said Angel hurriedly, 'look Wesley, I know it's late, but this really is important.'

'I know that. I'm just trying to think.'

Megan glared at him and Angel shook his head - they didn't have an answer yet.

'Angel?'

The vampire turned his attention back to the phone.

'Yeah? What?'

'Perhaps it's some kind of possession? I mean, you said Miss McGill was being held by Wolfram and Hart...'

'Bastards!'

Angel glared back at Megan, wondering when she picked up such good hearing.

'...And they have access to goodness knows how many spells.'

'Yeah, I know.'

'So maybe if we can do some form of exorcism? Work a twist into it so that we can restore Megan back to her body and Spike back to his?'

Angel nodded.

'Can you do that?'

There was another pause, and Angel heard Doyle struggling into his clothes in the background. They were sharing a bed now? When would he learn to listen to Spike about romance?

'Ask him when he can do it?'

He looked at Megan as she sat down next to him on the sofa. There was an odd intensity about her. Maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe she and Spike were more alike than he gave them credit for. But he got the impression that neither would stop until they'd got what they wanted.

He was really glad he wasn't it.

Megan, why are you in Spike's body?

What kind of dumb question is that? Like I would know!

...

You should get some clothes on.

Yeah, I mean, I can guess what you two boys were up to, and Hell, I'm so glad this didn't happen ten minutes earlier. Uck!

You've got a problem with Spike and me?

No...Look, Angel, you're cute and all. But you're still way too dead for me, okay?

 

Oh yeah, it was okay, in fact, it was very okay. He couldn't take on another member of that family. He didn't even want to think about it.

'Stop brooding and ask him!'

And he really wanted Spike back, now.

'Wesley,' he urged, 'The spell?'

'Hmm? Well I'm not sure. There are some books I'd need to see, first.'

'Fine,' said Angel, relaxing as Megan got up and started pacing again. 'Come round and look at them. You've still got the key, right?'

'Doyle's got it,' said Wesley. 'Why? Where are you going?'

'I'm going to find Spike.'

He tried not to wince as he heard Megan open the fridge door and exclaim loudly how much she was going to kill Spike's undead ass when she got her body back. Drinking blood was far far too icky.

'And I may just commit murder if I stay here.'

'Ah,' said Wesley, 'I take it she's not taking this very calmly?'

Angel shrugged.

'She's like Spike...with P.M.T.'

He could almost hear the ex-watcher wince.

'Fine, you go find Spike, but be careful, Angel. They've gone to a lot of trouble to do this and I can't see them letting him go easily.'

'Yeah I know. I'll be careful.'

'Good. Oh, and Angel?'

'Yeah?'

He closed his eyes as he heard Wesley smile.

'Bring him home.'  

*  

The doors were open.

Spike could see the brightness in the foyer, fatal to vampires, apparently harmless to him. It didn't actually make him feel any better, and he grudgingly stepped forward, waiting for the intense heat to kick in. He could remember the pain, the feeling that your bones were on fire, the knowledge that within seconds you were going to be vampire en flambé.

He could remember all of that, but he couldn't feel it.

The sun reached his hand, and aside from its reflective warmth, nothing changed. He stood there a moment, basking in the daylight, his problematic present unimportant. He'd searched for the Gem of Amara so long, not only for its protective powers, but to feel this again - innocent warmth on his cold frame. Humanity sucked in so many different ways, and he had long been of the opinion that vampires had it better, but this was the one thing they had that Spike wanted.

And he had to give it back.  

*

Wesley scrambled into the lift, a heap of books in his arms, his tired brain refusing to wake up properly. Why couldn't fits of the supernatural happen during daylight hours? Why did they always have to happen when he was in the middle of something, be it either sleep or that other, rather intriguing activity he was getting to know. Doyle closed the gate behind them, looking as though he hadn't slept in days. He shot Wesley a grin and the ex-watcher thought he could sense tension - the normally relaxed Irishman was worried, and they both knew why.

He knew how much telling Cordelia about them had worried Doyle. He'd watched him putting it off, worried not only that she wouldn't accept it, but that he would hurt her, something he wasn't entirely prepared to do. But Doyle had made the choice, coming into Wesley's arms with a nervous but eager desire. They'd taken things day by day, each choice a step further down the road to what they both ultimately wanted - companionship and desire. Love hadn't been spoken of, not because it didn't exist between them, but because it still felt too new, a barely realised vision that might break.

Waking up each morning with another body in his bed was a pleasure that Wesley hadn't realised he wanted. He could stretch out, his feet dangling off the end of Doyle's annoyingly short mattress, and within minutes he could feel the Irishman against him, face pressed into his chest, arms wrapped tightly round his waist. He was half-amused, half-envious of Doyle's effortlessness adaptation to sharing his bed. It wasn't something he'd done many times, the last occasion spent with Megan; her starfish spread making it difficult to snuggle up to. And although there were other, more obvious things, Doyle's closeness was one of the traits he treasured most.

And in the proximity of his ex-lover, it was something he had to make the half-demon realise.

'Lost in thought there, Wes?'

Wesley pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded.

'I'm not sure I can reverse this. I'm not exactly sure what's happened. If we could get hold of the original spell, I might have a better chance.'

Doyle smiled and slipped his hand to Wesley's neck, thumb stroking along his jaw line.

'You'll do all right. You always do.'

Wesley sighed.

'I wish you were right. Angel's gone goodness knows where to find him, and Megan...'

Doyle flinched and pulled back a little, and again Wesley felt the tension rise.

'I'm going to tell her,' he said quietly.

'I know.'

The Irishman looked up at him and scratched the back of his neck.

'I know. I just...'

Wesley stroked Doyle's arm with his free hand.

'It's you I want. No one else.'

Colour rose in his lover's cheeks and Wesley wondered if he was pushing it too far. God only knew how they got anywhere when any hint of romance reduced one of them to an embarrassed state. It was usually him though, and it was generally because he was convinced he'd done something stupid, or completely inappropriate. Doyle kept telling him that they were both playing it by ear, but Wesley had built his life on rules, and this territory was both irrational and out of his control.

And he loved it, even if it did make him feel ridiculous for asking questions.

'Wes, man. You're red again.'

'I am?'

The Irishman grinned and opened the elevator doors.

'Yeah. Beetroot.'

Wesley shifted the books into both hands and tried to calm down.

'I was just...er...'

Doyle pulled the books off him and put them on the floor, sliding his arms up and wrapping them round Wesley's neck.

'It's okay. I kinda like that I get you flustered.'

Unable to resist, Wesley bent his head, touching Doyle's lips briefly with his own.

'You do more than that.'

He paused and tried to stifle a chuckle.

'What?'

'Nothing. I just thought I'd better stop before I say something that embarrasses us both.'

'Like what?'

'Bloody Hell! Could you two get any closer?'

They turned to see "Spike" standing in the corner of the room; vodka bottle in one hand, leather bound tome in the other. Without pulling away from Doyle, Wesley huffed and nodded to the anomaly.

'Megan...it's been a while.'

'Yeah,' she said, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. 'And wow, I mean, things really seem to have changed.'

She waved the vodka bottle at the Irishman.

'Hey Doyle.'

'Megan.'

She gestured to the book she was reading.

'I don't suppose you've come up with anything really good since Angel phoned. Cause as far as I can tell, I'm technically fucked here, and being dead isn't all its cracked up to be.'

Wesley wondered if he'd wandered into some edition of the Twilight Zone. Here was a girl he'd actually cared about; someone he'd even contemplated a future with. Here she was, wearing a vampire's body, drinking vodka and reading one of Angel's texts, whilst he was smooching Doyle in the elevator. And she didn't seem even slightly distracted.

'So...what? You're going to stand there all day with loverboy, or are you actually going to come and help?'

Doyle bent to pick the books up.

'Are you sure this isn't Spike?'

'Positive,' said Wesley. 'Spike prefers whiskey.'  

*  

The tunnels seemed to have gained an extra slime coating since he'd last been down here.

Angel moved forward purposefully. Since he'd moved here, he'd gained a reasonable knowledge of where the tunnels led, remembering the exact positioning of certain buildings. The Wolfram and Hart offices were one of the more difficult places to access, as they were acutely aware of the nature of their enemies. It wasn't quite a fortress - there were ways in - but you knew as soon as you'd entered the building that your presence was a red blip on a monitor somewhere.

He hadn't really come with a big plan of attack. He'd been in such a hurry to leave the apartment that he hadn't brought the kind of weapons that might be useful. The only thing he really had was SID, the axe, and a couple of stakes. Great idea Angel, bring the things that can kill you as well. Spike would laugh his ass off if he knew you were bringing those things along. The stakes might have been a bad idea, although with Wolfram and Hart you never knew - there was at least a chance that they might play vampires against one another - but SID was a really bad idea.

Spike's axe, the one thing he'd chosen from Angel's arsenal. Big enough to cleave a human in two, heavy enough to cause damage to demons, clumsy enough to stick in the door. And that was the point, wasn't it, SID wasn't named after the obvious, no matter how many times Spike had claimed. After one particularly hot session in the bathroom, Angel had found the axe and caved the letters in its handle, telling the pissed off vampire that he'd named it 'Sticks In Doors', watching as Spike growled in annoyance. But they'd shagged their way through that problem, biting and cleaving to one another as the days wore on.

It was never going to be perfect, never going to be something without fault. But Angel had his taste of Heaven and he wouldn't give it up for anyone, least of all a set of lawyers whose very existence set his fangs on edge.

He'd charged off originally with two thoughts - get away from Megan; get Spike back. Walking in this dank place had driven him to think things out; anything to take his mind away from the squalor. Why had they done this? Why would seemingly rational, (if amoral) humans take Spike's demon and put it in his descendant? And, more importantly, what price were they asking to turn him back?

God, he thought as he reached the next junction, why couldn't they just phone and tell me? That would be the human, the normal thing to do, wouldn't it? Hi, we've kidnapped your lover and we want X before we give him back. Have a nice night.

He shook his head and moved on, unconsciously keeping his hands away from the walls. They didn't seem as slime streaked here, but Angel wasn't really paying too much attention - he was still trying to figure out what they wanted.

He'd gathered that Wolfram and Hart had been Faith's employers. Tired of offering Angel a compromise, they'd decided to take more affirmative action. They had tried to keep it amicable, in a twisted, inherently violent sort of way. And they'd frequently kept within the loopholes of the law, carving their own space in the management of the supernatural. Mainly he'd ignored them, taking a stand only when they were immediately in his way. Since Spike had arrived, that had taken a back seat - he was still a warrior in the good fight, but it wasn't his first priority. Brooding and penance were all well and good, but if you didn't have something to look forward to, nothing was learned.

He stumbled slightly, his vision hampered by the greenish glow of the tunnels. This wasn't something natural, it had a tang of magic, and Angel looked around for an entrance. No one else would go to this much trouble to keep their building protected from demons. At least, in this city - there weren't that many people who even believed in such things.

Locating the metal frame beneath his fingers, Angel pulled at the door, finding it too easy to open. He wasn't sure if it was more or less worrying that he could enter easily. That they weren't concerned he'd entered bothered him. That anything else could enter was higher up the list. What was he going to have to fight through before he found Spike?

Vampires?

Demons?

Or much worse - the lawyers themselves.  

*  

Spike sat on the corner of the bench, opening up the map they'd given him and snorting at the red circles they'd sketched on it. Find the Slayer - kill her and you can keep the body. Not that he was buying any of it, really. He didn't trust humans when they were actually trying to be nice, ones with distinctly ulterior motives, not at all.

Besides which, he wasn't all that sure he wanted to keep the body.

And that bothered him.

A year ago, maybe even less, if someone had offered him this deal - his demon within a living body, adept at violence and without vampiric fallibility - he would have taken it. At least, he thought he would have taken it. The chance for power like this was so rare; he'd have to be a fool to turn it down.

And yet that was exactly what he was considering - taking the mantle and giving it back.

Urgh.

God, it had to be from hanging around with Angel so much. Anyone who was that keen on giving up the things he loved the most had to rub off on the people around him. Spike was self-centred, violent and passionate. Most of that hadn't changed, but when it came to Angel, he kept being hit by love and some mellow kind of concern. Huh, if this was the way he acted, he might as well be human.

A tall man came into view, looking him over, noticing the map, obviously weighing up whether he was worth approaching. Spike glared at him and with a cursory smile, the would-be flirt walked away, searching for someone less surly. The ex-vampire shrugged and turned his attention back to the map, trying to work out where Faith was staying. Wolfram and Hart insisted she be destroyed before they'd make his new circumstances permanent, and he was to do so without Angel's assistance. He guessed they were worried that the vampire would change his mind and they'd have to report yet another failure to their bosses.

Not telling Angel...For once that had actually made sense to him. He wanted to know whether he was making the right decision before seeing his lover. It wasn't entirely because of his new shape; after all, the shagging could still work, although from a new (and not necessarily better) angle. Given some persuasion, he was sure Angel would come around to the idea - he just wasn't sure he wanted him to. Humanity's a reasonable place to hide out - it's just not my happy home.

Seeking out Faith was a different matter.

They'd known, he and Angel, that at some point they would have to deal with the Slayer. He'd saved her life, or rather; he hadn't killed her for reasons which had nothing to do with her welfare. Spike had been given an opportunity, a chance to prove to Angel what was more important, and he'd taken it. She'd lived, and she'd escaped, once more on the loose and probably looking for revenge on the vampires who'd nearly killed her. Wesley wouldn't escape that lightly either, given that he'd shot the girl.

Actually, full credit to the ex-watcher - there was hope for him yet. It was all about loyalty, and so far, none of them, not even the runt had passed the bowl. They'd taken their lumps, protected each other, protected him...and nothing was stronger than family.

Except maybe, the grossness of owning their body for a while.

He huffed to himself and looked at the pattern of Faith's attacks, the red circles seeming to spiral around an area. That kind of activity he could understand - she was closing in round her lair - keeping everything close to home until she was fully recovered. Okay fine, he knew where she was, all he had to do was go to her. He'd never get another chance like this, and if he gave up this power, he was damned if he didn't do something useful with it first.

Something nice and bloody.  

*  

'I can't find anything!'

Wesley raised an eyebrow as Cordelia clicked her way through yet another blank page in 'Spells and Trans-possessions'. That such a website existed was surprising, although Wesley suspected there were plenty of stranger URLs that existed. Cordelia was growing increasingly angry that she couldn't just type in a question and find an instant answer.

'God, why don't they just give me the answer?'

'Maybe they don't have it,' suggested Doyle, 'you ever thought that these people are hacks, Princess.'

'No. You ever thought that these people might know more than you?'

'Frequently.'

'Well in that case...oh...okay.'

She turned her back on him and tapped on the edge of promising screen browsers. Something had to come up trumps.

Xander sat down next to Doyle, easing himself lightly into the seat, trying not to jar anything. Since he'd returned from hospital, Cordelia had taken him in again, refusing to let the man who, 'Saved my life!' sleep on Angel's sofa. Wesley didn't think the boy had actually gone that far, and he suspected there was a certain amount of martyrdom about the whole thing. But Xander wasn't doing any harm and Wesley suspected it could do Cordelia some good to act as carer. Even if it seemed strange that he and Xander had almost been rivals once.

Doyle looked up and winked at him, passing him a mug of coffee and an indecent thought. Well at least I know what I want, thought Wesley, Xander doesn't have that yet, he only knows what he doesn't want. He smiled, sipping the coffee and wondering how Cordelia had managed to improve it. It must be a miracle. Maybe she's been taking courses or something. Hmm, maybe we should look this up after she's done - spontaneous coffee improvements. Perhaps it was something in the water.

'Wes? Found anything yet?'

He turned to the familiar frame in the doorway, holding the very familiar personality. He just wasn't all that keen on seeing the two together.

He sensed Doyle tense and wondered how to demonstrate that she wasn't a threat. With an uncomfortable stretch, he put his arm round the half-demon's shoulders, wondering if he was just making himself look protective and stupid. But he saw the warmth in Doyle's smile, and realised he'd gladly turn clown if the Irishman would look that way again.

'Wes?'

'Hmm, oh, sorry, Megan. No, we haven't really managed to find anything.'

'Crap.'

She slouched into the chair next to him, holding out a book.

'This one mentions something about a scroll.'

'That's helpful,' said Xander, receiving a glare from everyone. 'What? I'm just saying it's helpful.'

Cordelia passed him her mug.

'Go on styleboy. Go make coffee.'

'What happened to the "you just sit down, I'll do everything" policy?'

'It just expired,' said Cordelia with a helpful nudge in the way of the coffee machine. 'Go on, make yourself useful.'

Xander struggled to his feet.

'Oh yeah, I've made advances haven't I? From bait in Sunnydale to tea-boy in LA. I'm such a high flyer.'

'Coffee, Xander. Unless the English are staging afternoon drinkies?'

Wesley shook his head and Megan waved the vodka.

'Okay, I'll go make the coffee...again.'

He walked off in the direction of the machine whilst Doyle turned to Wesley.

'I knew it wasn't because of magic.'

'Yes,' said Wesley, 'Who'd have thought Xander's talents lay in the refreshment area.'

Megan looked at them both and frowned, before shrugging and opening the book.

'Look, here. It's supposed be part of a prophesy from the Aberjian texts. It mentions the dead living again.'

Wesley followed the passage, a shiver settling round his back.

'Five are without breath. Yet they live. Five are without time. Yet they live. Five are without soul. Yet they live. Five are without sun...'

'Let me guess,' said Doyle, 'They live, right?'

Wesley nodded.

'Yes...it goes on from there, references to vampires as part of a ritual to restore something.'

'To put Spike in my body?'

Wesley shook his head.

'It's very specific - five, I mean. I don't think this is the same spell.'

Megan growled and leaned back, before sitting up again.

'I growled, didn't I?'

They nodded.

'This is really not good.'

'Can't catch you out,' said Cordelia brightly, 'I mean, you're really not having a good day, what with being in a dead body, Angel out there after Spike, probably using your old body to do some unspeakable vampire sex thing. Oh and on top of that, your ex-boyfriend's gay now.'

She paused, catching Doyle and Wesley's stunned expressions.

'I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?'

'You've never let tact bother you before,' said Xander, coming back in with the coffee.

'No...and you've never been bothered by style, ever.'

'Harsh,' he said sitting down and grinning at her. 'I might think you didn't like me.'

'You might think...interesting.'

Ignoring the bickering, Doyle turned to Wesley and gestured to the bathroom.

'Why don't you two have a moment.'

Wesley nodded and watched as he left, unable to help gazing at the tight ass. When the door closed, he turned back to Megan, following as she went into the back office. Shutting out the obvious attention of Cordelia and Xander, Wesley wondered how to put this.

'I did mean to tell you.'

She offered him a lazy grin.

'You mean if I didn't pick up on the snogging in the elevator. You know, if I couldn't spot that, you were going to point it out?'

'More subtly that that, I hope.'

'Full on sex?'

'Not quite, no.'

She shrugged.

'Look, you're a free man, Wes. It's not like I expected you to stay celibate or anything.'

He smiled awkwardly, half relieved that she was taking it so well, slightly disappointed that she didn't seem in the least bit jealous.

'I cared about you a great deal.'

'I know,' she said, 'and I cared about you. It was nice.'

'I sense a but coming.'

She laughed.

'Nah, not a but. Besides, the only butt you watch these days belongs to the Irish guy.'

He flushed and she stepped forward to hug him. It would have been a lovely end, but for one thing. One rather prominent thing.

'Oh fuck! Sorry, Wes.'

'It's okay. I mean, I understand, you can't control it.'

'Yeah, I'm understanding that. You just seemed so cute and I got a bit carried away.'

'Not to worry...it's quite a compliment, really.'

She chuckled - Spike's chuckle.

'No need to return it, though.'

'Hmm? Oh...ah...'

He pulled away and sat uncomfortably on the desk, wondering why men were cursed with so little control over what excited them. It wasn't as though he wanted Megan anymore. And it certainly wasn't because she was wearing the vampire's body...was it?

He'd thought long and hard about what had drawn him to Doyle - twinkly eyes, seductive accent, generous soul, the way he kissed...All of that was true, and all of it important. Doyle was the one person he felt completely comfortable with, the one he needed when he woke in the dark, the body he longed for. He was the one, but he hadn't been the only man Wesley had been attracted to. He'd denied it, tried to be the man his father expected, but he could only repress something so long.

He didn't want Doyle to be female; he wanted the man, with everything that came with that. He just wasn't interested in women, and he didn't really think he ever had been.

'Okay,' said Megan, 'This is too long a silence. Can I take it your in some kind of self revelation thing?'

Wesley nodded slowly.

'I thought it was just him.'

'That you were just attracted to him?'

He nodded.

'And it's guys in general that do it for you?'

He took his glasses off and wiped his eyes.

'Not every man, no.'

'Ditto on that.'

She sat next to him on the table and patted him on the shoulder.

'Okay, I might be way off the mark here, but I'm kind of getting the feeling that you only wanted me because I was like him.'

'That's not...'

'True? You sure about that, Wes?'

Wesley put his glasses back on and stood up.

'If you're asking me if I have ever been attracted to Spike...well that's ridiculous.'

'So ridiculous that you got a hard on when I hugged you in his body?'

He paused, unsure if he really wanted to admit this, unsure if he wanted to admit it to himself. But he trusted her, and she hadn't lied to him, yet. Besides, he didn't have anything to lose.

'I think I may have been attracted to...him, but he's not who I want.'

'No?'

'I love Doyle.'

She smiled.

'Yeah, I know. And I'm happy for you.'

He nodded.

'Thank you. It means a lot to me.'

'Good.'

He picked up yet another tome, hoping it would hold the answer.

'I'm sure you'll find the right man, someday.'

She snorted and opened the office door.

'I'll settle for not having the body of one.'  

*  

Angel slipped up to the offices on the top floor, waiting for someone to notice him in a violent, stake to the heart kind of way. He'd left SID in the basement, realising that walking around with a big axe was one of the biggest ways of announcing his arrival. That was if they didn't already know and were just waiting for him to slip up, in order to do the, 'So, Mr Bond' speech he was sure they were capable of.

Mr Bond speech?

Spike was so much a part of him that he even thought his damn thoughts!

A couple of suits walked past him and up the hall, and he stepped backwards into the shadow. Before Spike, this was where he'd belonged - half-lights teasing a soul which shouldn't exist. And part of the time he wanted to stay there, hiding from the world, working out his problems and helping those who need help. But people needed more than he could offer - sometimes they needed more than just their asses saving. Sometimes they needed someone to talk to, and Angel wasn't all that good at that.

Okay, Angel was crap at that, but he could do the ass saving and pass the rest on to someone else.

God, and he was babbling now.

He had to get Spike back.

'Hmm, it seems that photographs don't do you justice.'

He whirled, ready to attack whomever was behind him. He wasn't prepared to find the sleek lawyer in front of him, diamonds clearly on show and practised smile at the ready.

'Hi, I'm Lilah Morgan and you're obviously a little out of place.'

She held her hand out, and Angel straightened up, wondering just where she fit in the scheme of things, and what she knew of Spike. He ignored her hand and looked around - all the office doors were closed, leaving them alone. She seemed to have been expecting him and her confidence, in the face of what he'd done the last time he was here, was a little disconcerting.

And she seemed to know.

'Where's Spike?'

She smiled and gestured towards her office.

'William is...unavailable at present. Perhaps you want to come and discuss...'

She broke off as he pushed her up against the wall, letting out a little moan which didn't escape Angel's hearing. Nothing seemed to intimidate her - she was self-assured, in control and enjoying the Hell out of this. Which wasn't his intention at all.

'Where's Spike?'

She grinned at him, delicately tasting her lips, smelling his closeness.

'This isn't exactly civilised.'

'I'm not a civilised guy. Now tell me where he is.'

She sighed, then strained against his grip, attempting to break free.

'He's doing a little...job for us. After that, he's all yours...in whatever shape.'

Angel stamped down on the urge to flatten her, to bite her. Actually, she wasn't even worth that - he should just break her neck and have done with it. But his soul, his coveted soul wouldn't let him; no matter how much he wanted to.

That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy what he could do.

'Lilah, wasn't it?'

She nodded.

'Okay, Lilah, I'm not much for words, I'm more of an action person. And if you don't tell me now what I need to know, I'm gonna break your neck and find someone else.'

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and curled her lips.

'And thought we couldn't get you in any way. The little vampire means a lot to you.'

He met her grin and raised his hand to her neck. With a sigh, she raised her hands.

'Oh, okay, since you asked me nicely.'

'Where?'

'He's gone looking for the Slayer - to dispose of her.'

Angel pulled back a little.

'Faith. You sent him after Faith.'

'Perceptive, aren't you?'

He slammed her back against the wall and she cried out, not entirely in pain.

'She can kill him.'

'Can and will are rather ambiguous words. He's a demon in a human body.'

'So am I.'

And again, that grin.

'Well of course, but he's in a living body. You might say he's her equal at the moment.'

Angel almost closed his eyes, imagining the battle. But he couldn't think of that right now - he still had to get out of here, had to get to Spike before he took on the Slayer. Had to stop him before one of them died. Before he had reason to doubt again.

He glared at Lilah.

'How do I change them back?'

'Not good enough for you as a girl? But Angel, I thought you didn't have a preference. I guess I was wrong'

'Guess you were. Now how do I change them back?'

She shrugged as well as she could, struggling slightly under Angel's grip.

'I wouldn't worry about that.'

He squeezed her jaw and she yelped.

'How do I do it?'

'You're so stubborn...I kind of like that in you. And this aggressive streak...'

He moved to hurt her again and she held up her hand.

'It's going to wear off in a couple of hours anyway. You don't need to do anything.'

Angel's eyes narrowed as he followed the statement through.

'Does Spike know that?'

'He knows it's going to wear off - he doesn't know when.'

The vampire snarled and flung her away from him, picking up her papers and shredding them.

'Oh that was mature.'

Angel stalked down the corridors, making his way back to the basement and the tunnels.

'I've seen more years than you could ever dream. I've done mature.'

'So what are you doing now?'

He turned the corner, ignoring her question. Spike was out there somewhere, maybe near the crime scenes they'd pinned down as being Faith. He had to focus, find his lover amongst the hazy city before something happened to him. He had to stop all this from happening, or be there to pick up the pieces. He had to take it all back.

Angel ignored the question, but he knew the answer.

This wasn't about maturity, this was something else.

This was passion.  

*  

Doyle watched Wesley walk unsteadily back into the room, unconsciously trying to remember how much vodka it took to get the Englishman drunk. They'd only been out of the room half an hour, and he cursed himself for even having a jealous streak. I mean, he thought, it isn't even as if he's ever done anything to make me worry. Just cause he's spending a bit of time in a room with a woman he once slept with...once cared for.

Now how did that jealousy thing go again?

Wesley looked up at him and he smiled gently, biting down on any worries. Megan followed the Englishman out, staggering with a more exaggerated gait. She'd been drinking steadily from the time she'd...changed, and wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. He knew the trick - had done it so many times himself that he wasn't gonna call judgement. Still, he couldn't help wondering if it was gonna slow them down.

'You two had your little splitting up speech?'

Cordelia handed Wesley a piece of paper cheerfully, raising an eyebrow at the dishevelled person behind him.

'Guess what I found?'

'Buried treasure?' asked Xander. 'Dr Pepper's secret recipe? A store that deals in Ho wear?'

She glared at him and Doyle smiled. Cordelia needed someone to bounce off, and Xander did it better than anyone. Better than he had. Course he'd been interested in getting in her pants back then, and Xander...well, Xander had once been her boyfriend. Maybe he did still harbour feelings for the girl. Whatever it was, Cordelia came to work bright and perky, ready to deal the dirt on whomever needed it.

She was a bitch, but she was their bitch, and things like that counted...especially against problem clients.

'No,' said Cordelia, 'although from your experiences as a burger boy, I'm sure you'll know all their nearest secrets.'

Xander held his hands up and moved over to the keyboard.

'What did you find?' asked Wesley.

Doyle caught the tiredness in his lover's voice. This had taken it out of him, and he was fairly sure it wasn't just that they'd been up for the last thirty-eight hours with only an hour's rest. It was more than that. Megan had meant a lot to him and their parting hadn't been mutual. He'd spoken about it briefly, and the resignation in his voice had touched Doyle. Here was a man who expected to be dumped upon. The idea that he was worthy rarely occurred to him - he was so busy waiting for the axe to fall.

It won't be like that with me. Between you and me, we defy logic, or reasoning. I can't explain everything, or why I'm with you. I don't know why I look at the way you make my bed...*our* bed so fastidiously in the mornings...the way you always squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom...and I've no idea what makes me smile when you arrange bacon in lines on the grill. I can't explain it, I just know it feels right.

And that's good enough for me.

'Well, genius. All your books haven't come up with squat, right?'

'Sadly, yes.'

'So I thought I'd try and hack into Wolfram and Hart - see if they'd kept anything on file.'

'You? Hack?'

Cordelia whirled round on Xander and saw him tapping away at the computer.

'And why wouldn't I be able to hack?'

Xander shrugged and leaned back in the chair.

'No reason.'

'Good.'

'Cause you wouldn't be the same bright girl who thought DEL stood for deliver.'

As the others broke up into varying states of drunken giggles, Cordelia cast her haughtiest glare on her one time boyfriend.

'Some people can be replaced in this office. Last in, first out.'

'Oh yeah,' said Xander, 'Cause with the coffee skills I've learnt here I'm scared I won't see out my training.'

'The only training you'll be doing is over at Fort Dix.'

The giggles grew louder.

'Ooh, now I'm worried - army training. And all this from the mighty geek, Cordelia.'

She slapped the paper down on the desk.

'I. Am. Not. A. Geek.'

Xander wasn't fazed.

'No? So how come you're hacking now?'

She leaned back.

'Okay, so I had a little help. Willow...'

'I knew it!'

'Willow,' she said pointedly, 'offered to help me get into the system. Seems they keep electronic updates on everything.'

'Including giving me Spike's body?'

'You got it. I've printed out what I could, but they kind of detected me in the system and closed off my connection before I could get anything juicy.'

'But you got the details about the transference?'

She passed Wesley the sheet.

'There's no spell or anything. The only things I could see were the two different times. See, there at 2 am and look, there at 7pm.'

Wesley scanned over the paper, taking in all the information. At least he got something from his time as a Watcher, thought Doyle. Poor sod didn't get much else. He watched Megan lurch forward and lean on Wesley's shoulder, trying to focus on Cordelia's information.

'Hey, does that mean I'll get my body back in... Twenty minutes?'

Wesley checked his watch.

'Seventeen, if this is right.'

He smiled at Cordelia.

'Well done.'

She grinned.

'Thank you.'

'Oh sure, be all self-congratulating, just cause you guys are important and stuff. Just because me and Doyle can't contribute anything.'

'He has visions,' reminded Cordelia.

Xander looked at Doyle and the half-demon shrugged.

'Not that I've had any at the moment.'

Wesley winced.

'Don't tempt fate like that.'

'I don't think fate needs an invitation for that, man.'

Xander shook his hands and sunk down to desk level.

'Okay, so I don't have a purpose...I'm okay with that.'

Cordelia grinned and ruffled his hair.

'You do have a purpose, mope boy.'

'I do?'

'Yeah. You remind me that however low my life has sunk, there's always another level below mine.'  

*  

Spike pushed open the door, stepping back against the wall as he waited for her to throw something out. He listened, trying with his human ears to sense her, his demon trying hard to manipulate this body for its purposes. It had been growing used to its new frame, stretching out and experimenting with what it was capable of. So far, it had been fairly impressed, although the lack of height was an annoyance - short vampires couldn't reach necks so easily.

After a minute or so of silence, he turned, holding the piping he'd snaffled against his chest. He'd never actually fought this Slayer, but from what Angel had said, and what Cordelia had blabbed about, Spike knew that she was at least as formidable as Betty. Probably more so, because this one fought as though winning were the most important thing - surviving the battle was secondary.

She fought like Angel.

He growled to himself and walked inside, noting the sparse decoration, wishing he still had his acute sense of smell. Still, someone was definitely living here and, he noted, living off popcorn. He walked round the whole flat, his body tingling as though someone were watching, unable to pinpoint where. He could have done this over again, following vague hunches each time, until he found the Slayer. Trouble was, this was a game he grew bored of quickly, and the risky route seemed more fun.

'Faith, get your ass out here.'

The fire escape creaked and Spike turned, watching as the Slayer slinked inside. She stood at the far end of the room, belly on show, apparently pleased with her concealing skills.

'So let me see, you know who I am,' she started, strolling leisurely towards him, 'And I know who I am, but we don't know jack about you.'

She stopped within three feet of him.

'Care to let me in on the secret?'

Spike looked her over, remembering the last time he'd been this close to her - the feel of the poison consuming him; of Angel promising anything if he'd just get well; of Buffy in tears when she'd discovered her true love was no longer so true. He could remember all that, but what stuck out was the fear she inspired - a cold chill in his cold body, icing out everything else. But he was human now, and the feeling was stronger. Feeling all too mortal, he pulled his newly acquired smokes out of his pocket and started to light one up.

'We've met before, Love.'

She leaned back on her heels and glared sullenly at him.

'So? I don't remember the occasion, which means either I kicked your ass blindfold, or I didn't even notice you.'

'I've changed since then.'

She chuckled.

'What? You cut your hair or something?'

Spike shook out the match and tossed it on the floor.

'Something like that, Pet.'

She waited for him to explain, but Spike puffed away, wondering how he'd built her up into such a terror. She was a girl, like they all were, but this one was closer to a child in outlook, desperate and alone. Betty had it easy compared with this one, and if she kept taunting the way she did, the Watcher's bloody council would be searching for the next Chosen one.

'Okay, I'm getting real sick of guessing games, so just haul your ass out of here, or I'll break it into little pieces and feed them to your dog.'

Spike grinned.

'I don't have a dog.'

Faith shifted slightly into fighting stance and Spike shook his head.

'Tempestuous little thing, aren't you?'

She raised an eyebrow and kicked at him, surprised when he leaned back, knocking her feet out of the way. Human he might be, but the demon was stronger, and he trusted every reaction it made. As she swirled round on the floor and back to her feet, he dropped the cigarette and swung at her, connecting with a deafening slap to the side of her head.

'Ow!'

'That hurt, Love? Try this one.'

He kicked out, dropping and rolling past her before she could recover from the blow. Faith was quick and strong, but she didn't know what she was fighting, and it gave him the advantage. As she punched, he ducked, moving just out of her reach, landing blows on her strong frame each time she turned.

'What are you?'

'Beating the crap out of you?'

She swung again, trying to reach for his ankles, trying to knock him down and gain the initiative, but Spike was too quick and he stepped out of the way, landing on her with an elbow to her neck. As she choked and struggled to get back to her feet, Spike looked around for something to hit her with, before remembering the piping. He grasped the end, swung it round, and landed it powerfully in her belly.

'This is...fun.'

She grunted and he swung again, enjoying the violence more than actually getting his revenge. She'd hurt him, she'd hurt Angel, but the power, the sheer power in being both human and vampire was exhilarating. He was going to give it back, he was going to turn them down, but hey, maybe Weasly could figure out what the spell was, or maybe they could get ahold of the scroll Lindsey had used and play about with this every once in a while. Maybe Megan would be up for the dead thing sometimes. And Angel would...

She managed to hit him hard as the distracting thought crossed his mind. Angel would hate it. He loved him, he belonged to Spike, but he wasn't going to be happy about Faith getting killed, whatever she'd done. He was all soully like that. He wasn't going to be too keen on shagging the wrong body either.

As she brought her hand down, he rolled and got back to his feet.

Best enjoy it while I can then!  

*  

Megan sat down on the sofa, after announcing to the world that she'd drunk far too much and she didn't know where that stupid grand...whatever of hers would have taken her body. Wesley brought her a glass of water and forced the girl to drink it, hoping she'd sober up enough to cope with the change. When Doyle had followed him into the bathroom, expressing a concern over the tap water, Wesley had turned quickly and kissed him hard. After his initial surprise, Doyle had kissed Wesley back, pressing against his body, hips squeezing up against Wesley's own.

His hands slipped to Doyle's waistband, and the Englishman knew that it would be so easy to forget everything and lose himself inside the warmth Doyle could provide. They'd explored each other, albeit timidly, passion wiping away almost all of their fears, sweeping aside every reason why they shouldn't be like this. He knew that Doyle was finding it easier than him, but still, it was a big thing, ha ha, seemed to be a *very* big thing, and it would be so easy to...

'Hey, you guys better not be doing anything in there, I've only just cleaned those basins.'

Wesley grinned and pulled back, resting his head against Doyle's.

'Xander,' he murmured, 'One of these days...'

'Yeah, one of these days.'

Wesley felt, rather than heard the meaning in the Irishman's words. Soon...it couldn't be soon enough for either of them. He wanted, Doyle wanted...but to take that step...He didn't know if it was bravery or cowardice that had kept them from making love fully, but he was determined to find out.

'Soon,' he whispered.

Doyle winked at him and walked out. Wesley watched him go before turning back to the tap and rinsing out a flannel under the hot tap. He walked through to where everyone sat, waiting for Spike to return to his body. Cordelia was intrigued, watching for any sign that the vampire was here again.

'What time is it now?'

'Thirty seconds since you last asked,' said Xander. 'Is anyone else getting bored with the waiting thing?'

'Thanks Xander,' said Megan, her eyes closed. 'You know I'll be sure to remember this when I've got my own body back.'

'Sorry, I was just...it's like Christmas, you know?'

'And vampires turned up in your stocking? No wonder you always slept on the lawn.'

Xander looked round, briefly embarrassed.

'You know, if there was a "worst possible thing to say ever" award, you'd be the reigning champion.'

'No thanks,' said Cordelia, looking at Doyle's watch. 'I'll leave the foot in mouth prizes to you and your lesser being friends.'

'Two minutes to go,' said Doyle to Wesley, passing him a cup of coffee. 'Then we'll see if we get our boy back.'

'A girl could really feel unwanted here.'

Xander leaned over and passed Megan the wet flannel.

'It's not that we don't want you. Hey, you're a girl, and I'm generally...there, with the girl thing. But I'd like to see girl-you, not Spike-you.'

'Oh.'

Wesley sat down, trying not to let his worries show. If anything went wrong, they could lose them both, and he didn't know how to stop it happening. This was beyond him, something over which he had no control, and it bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Doyle squeezed his hand gently and he smiled, pleased that he wasn't alone, that some things were constant.

'Hey, Wes.'

He turned to Megan.

'Yes?'

She grinned at him and leaned back.

'I was going to give them to you earlier, a sort of, "hey I'm here, let's party", kind of present. But I really don't think it's appropriate for us.'

'What?'

She shrugged and gestured to Doyle.

'Remind me, left pocket, they're all yours.'

'Okay,' said Wesley, slightly confused, 'I'll remind you.'

'Cheers.'

With a look at the clock, she shoved her hands behind her head.

'Well guys, it's been a blast. Later.'

And she closed her eyes.  

*  

Angel dodged the rays of sunlight that snuck through cracks in the corridor. It had been a long time since he'd tried to sense where one of his childer were and it had given him a headache. It hadn't helped that he was looking for one who wasn't actually in his own body, but with concentration, and good hearing, he'd come down here, following the crashing and smashing noises above.

As he approached the door, wary of the fading light, he could hear them fighting - low breathy voices grunting as blows were exchanged, one a Slayer, the other an almost infallible vampire. Did he really want to break this up? Hadn't Faith proved beyond measure that she wasn't worth the attempt, that nothing could bring her back to the good fight?

Didn't Spike deserve his shot at the woman who'd tried to kill him?

He closed his eyes a moment, listening again, hearing Faith scream as something smashed, the air growing heavy with the scent of blood. They'd been fighting a while, and although they both were more than human, he knew one of them would start to weaken, and fall. He didn't want that one to be Spike.

Angel hurried into the room, ready to step in and separate them both if he could. But the room was wrecked, everything from floor to roof smashed or broken in some way, everything tinged with blood and sweat. Faith was kicking at her opponent, trying to deflect every blow that came back at her. As Megan's body fought back, Angel tried to pick out the style, trying to see the vampire beneath its fleshy exterior.

He could see traces of Spike in the fighting, could see moves that only the vampire would use. That Megan had never acted like this, that she was more in Wesley's vein than their own never occurred to him. Angel wasn't looking for traces of her - he was trying to find the man he loved. They were both bruised and cut, and although he'd bet that Faith was wearing more injuries, he wasn't sure. He watched them fight, transfixed before the almost balletic grace of their movements.

He was so caught up, that when Spike turned, noticing him for the first time, his first thought was that the vampire was still there, still existed for him. And he smiled, ready to open his arms, show him how relieved and thankful he was that Spike was okay. And he could tell him that it wasn't going to be like this for long, that the Lawyers were all assholes and they'd deal with them later.

That he loved him.

Spike paused, as though he was stunned that Angel was there. Before he could get his balance back, before he could get back in the game, Faith was behind him, seizing his neck in one hand, his head in the other. And in less time than it took Angel to scream 'No', she twisted, watching dreamily as the body slipped from her grasp. As it fell to the ground, Angel charged forward, slamming the Slayer against the window, pulling back as she fell through. And before the last of her screams had ended, he had turned, reaching for the still form on the floor.

The sun had set.

The battle lost.

All else is silence.  

*  

It was a little like swimming under water.

Within reach of home, Spike struggled to break the surface, the fight still in his mind. He'd been winning, even though she'd managed to get a few good blows in. Slayers adapt quickly, and this one was no exception. Within minutes of battle, she'd paid attention to his style and managed to get the elbow in. He'd been caught between being impressed and annoyed, coming down on the side that kept him alive.

Depending if being 'alive' was important to him.

There was a moment when he'd sworn he saw Angel, but before he could rationalise it, everything was gone and Spike was falling, disappearing in a slipstream back to his own body. He could sense the other, could feel Megan in a heartbeat; moving past him back to her human existence. For one insane moment he felt the urge to touch her, to feel a connection between his past and present. There was blood between them, and nothing was stronger than that. Angel knew it; Weasly and Doyle knew it. For God's sake, even Xander knew about the bond between what was and what will be. Love and blood, life and passion, all inter-linked and present in whatever passed for his existence.

He stretched his hand out, unsure of the distance, (unsure if he had fingers here, wherever here was) and touched the tips of her fingers. She turned and looked at him, the lazy smile wiped from its usual place. As he tried to ask why, the pressure on his skin lessened and she faded from view, a greasy static shuddering in the last moments before he woke.

With a deep breath, the last he took before he opened his eyes, Spike was back.

And home felt very cold.  

*  

Tears were hard for vampires.

It wasn't because they couldn't cry, or were restricted to blood tears, although everything held a trace of that. The blood smell was everywhere, always. In life, in death...now.

He'd seen people die before, many at his own hands. But since he'd begun his resouled existence, the few people he'd cared for were always in mortal danger. He'd thought, or rather he'd hoped, that he and Spike would last out the ages, alone against the terrors that walked the Earth. But they would be together - a force that could drive out Armageddon.

Something unique.

The lifeless form in his arms was now damp, the blood no longer flowing through any of its systems. In the endless moments after Faith had broken its neck, Angel had considered turning Megan's body, trying to find the demon within. But something had stopped him, the blood chilling and congealing within the now ineffectual veins. There had never been a situation like this, and he couldn't be sure what he would get back.

He'd buried his head against her neck and let the few tears fall, unable to cry his sorrow aloud.

Spike was dead, and it was his fault.

Angel knew that if he returned to the office, the others would be lay blame elsewhere. Wolfram and Hart were responsible - they had cast the spell, had lied to Spike, had duped him into fighting the Slayer. They were smeared with Spike's blood. But they hadn't been there to watch him die, and Angel could hear the crack of bone, echoing round his head every second. They hadn't seen Spike turn, recognising his lover - distracted and vulnerable.

They hadn't been there, they didn't know.

When the faint hints of perfume infiltrated Angel's senses, he got to his feet and picked up the body, ready to head back to the sewers. But he faltered on the first step, realisation sinking in as to what awaited him at home.

Their home.

Spike's body was still intact...it just didn't host Spike. How could he cope, seeing Megan walking round in his lover's body? And as he leant against the doorframe, he knew he couldn't.

Angel was strong in so many ways. He'd grown accustomed to tortures that would defeat most of his piers. He'd overcome prophesy, accepted what he was, and created something new - something that would compensate for his former years. All that meant nothing without the one thing he'd accepted as his reward. The wayward childe who reminded him that 'black might bloody be black, but there are shades, Angel. And you don't have to stick with just the one. You can change.'

Become more human, the Oracles had told him. Listen to Spike - he's more human than he knows. And they'd spoken truly, something Angel had always known - William the Bloody could just as easily have been mortal for his outlook. He'd shown the older vampire that the world outside was just as bloody interesting, and didn't require Morrissey to get through it.

Live a little.

Fuck it, live a lot.

Oh but it hurt to think that now.

Angel growled, and it echoed round the tunnel walls, chilling even the vampire himself.

Without Spike, there was no reason to fight the nature of evil - if even a vampire could change, there was a chance for all of them. Without that hope, without Spike's aggressive optimism, Angel didn't want to try.

Which left him with one option.

Angel set off in the direction of the post office.  

*  

'Spike?'

The vampire sat up and looked quickly from left to right. He flexed his muscles, the demon quickly settling back into its usual home and growling at the chip lodged in its head. Everything was normal again and, aside from seriously wanting a good session, (one with Angel and one with beer - actually, couldn't he combine those two activities? It had been way too long since he'd seen the older vampire pissed) Spike felt as sound as he ever did.

He rubbed his eyes briefly and ran his tongue over his lips, glad to be rid of the girly gloss.

God, but it felt good to be a vampire again.

One hand shot down toward his groin and he felt the firm outline against his pants, grinning in slight relief.

Felt bloody good to be a man again, too.

'Spike?'

With a grunt, Spike turned to look at Wesley, sensing the very real concern from the man. Slightly touched by the compassion, Spike shot him his best dirty grin, enjoying the children-will-play look he got in return.

'All right, Weasly, I'm back.'

'Thank God for that,' said Cordelia, 'I was actually beginning to miss you and you have no idea how worrying that is.'

Xander shrugged and patted her shoulder.

'You think that was bad - I was starting to think he was a decent guy.'

He stopped suddenly and shot a furtive look at the vampire.

'Forget all that up to where I said, "you think".'

He paused and looked Cordelia up and down.

'No... forget I said that, too.'

As the girl scowled, Doyle leaned over and passed Spike a half bottle of whiskey.

'You might want a drink - that grand whatever of yours has been packing away the vodka like nobody's business. Thought you might want to finish the job.'

Spike unscrewed the lid and knocked it back, coating his throat with the fierce liquid. He looked at the bottle, impressed with the brand.

'You've been spending a bit.'

He grinned.

'Missed me, did you, Pet?'

Doyle rolled his eyes and sat back on the sofa.

'Oh sure, I mean, a whole twelve hours without you trying to find out if I've taken Wesley to bed and I was desperate to get you back.'

Wesley coughed and picked up a map whilst Spike chuckled.

'Well you haven't - I'd smell it a mile away.'

'Maybe we've had a shower since.'

'Nah,' said Spike, taking a deep draught, 'I'd have noticed.'

'Why?'

The vampire grinned and stretched.

'Cause you stink, mate. And if you're not washing with eau de smelly arse, you haven't been near water in a couple of days.'

Xander held his arms out.

'See, I knew vampires might have a use. He could be BO detector guy, or something.'

He smiled at Cordelia.

'We could make flyers, you know, add it to Angel's services?'

Spike shook his head and gestured to Wesley's map.

'What's this then? You waited till I got back to look for buried treasure?'

The watcher glared at him and Spike noted the bags under the Englishman's eyes. However annoyed he might act, one thing was clear - Wesley had put the time in on Spike's problem. Or maybe, he'd tried to act on Angel's problem. Hmm, that was something worth watching out for - since the ex-watcher had skipped tracks, there was nothing to stop him thinking about the tall brooding one. Actually, there'd never been anything stopping him doing that, but now...Spike shook his head and ignored the looks the others gave him. It was being out of his body that had done it - he was starting to think like a bloody girl.

Ick.

All that hyper insecurity and gossip...although he always liked the gossip.

But Wesley was all bent over this map and pointing out little bits that looked indistinguishable from other little boxes on the paper. Spike leant on his shoulder and tried to figure out what he was looking at. Wesley tapped in one corner.

'Angel went looking for you. I believe he was trying to find out what Wolfram and Hart had to do with all this. Could you tell me where you ended up?'

The ferocity of Faith's punch came back to him and Spike flinched. They were fighting, he was winning and then...Angel. God, if only he could be sure he'd seen him. Not knowing was bugging the Hell out of the vampire.

'You okay there, man?'

Spike looked up at Doyle, who was proffering the bottle again.

'Fine, Irish. Just a bit umpty about swapping bodies.'

'Oooh,' said Xander, suddenly excited, 'you felt bumps and curves from a first person thing, and that's kind of...wow.'

He stared off into the middle distance for a moment before he turned back.

'Shame about you being gay and all.'

Spike ignored him and prodded the map.

'Faith - asshole Slayer.'

'What?'

Spike pointed again.

'I went to her, and she was down...there, somewhere.'

'You fought Faith?'

Spike glared at Xander.

'Beating her ass. What's it to you?'

Xander held his hands up.

'Nothing. Just...weren't you lying there dying in an undead way when Angel saved you from her last time? You remember? When I was all shot up and dying?'

'You were never dying,' pointed out Cordelia, reasonably, 'the paramedics said you were really lucky that it hadn't really damaged you.'

'Could have been dying,' insisted Xander, 'it's not my fault she didn't shoot to kill.'

He sagged and sat back.

'It was your ass I was trying to save, remember?'

She smiled and ruffled his hair.

'Yeah, but its my ass - and that's always worth saving.'

With a quick appreciative look at said appendage, Xander grinned and gestured to Spike.

'Point is, undead guy, you were flat on your back whilst Angel did all the work.'

Spike turned to Doyle.

'How much would it cost me for you to beat the crap out of him?'

The half-demon laughed and walked off into the kitchen, whilst Cordelia nodded to the vampire.

'How much money are we talking?'

Wesley folded up the map to the location Spike had pointed out.

'You transferred back whilst you were fighting Faith?'

Spike shrugged.

'Yeah, so?'

Wesley coughed and Spike frowned a second.

'She's gonna get her ass kicked, isn't she?'

Wesley's worried look was back and he moved toward the phone.

'If she's lucky.'

'You trying to get Angel on his mobile?' asked Cordelia. 'He doesn't know how to turn it on.'

'Damn,' said Wesley, 'well we're going to have to go there and hope Angel got to her in time.'

'In time for what?'

He pulled on his coat and passed Spike's to him.

'In time to stop Megan winding up dead.'

'Oh,' said Spike, 'I always forget that you like them mortal.'

He grinned toward the kitchen.

'Even if they're not human.'  

*  

'Why would we interfere in this?'

Angel, one leather coat less, stood before the Oracles with an old expression on his face, one he'd perfected back when hiding his emotions was paramount. The body lay at his feet, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was waiting for something, anything to happen.

It bothered him a little.

'Because if you don't bring him back, there's going to be one less warrior in your fight.'

The Oracles looked at one another and then back to Angel.

'You dare make threats? To us?'

Angel swallowed and tried hard to keep his calm. Think about anything but why you're actually here.

'It's not a threat. If you don't bring him back, I'm...'

God, what am I going to do?

'...I'm going to walk into the sunlight.'

The male raised an eyebrow.

'You would commit suicide? You would forgo your prophecy?'

She leaned over and stroked Angel's cheek.

'It's a lesser sin. Without his mate, he is nothing.'

Nodding in amusement, he regarded Angel clinically.

'You should check your facts, vampire, before calling us. We are not here to obey your whims.'

'This is not a whim,' snarled Angel.

'No? But you ask us to do something which is not necessary.'

Angel hung his head a moment, before meeting their gaze.

'It matters to me.'

'Matter or not,' said the female, 'William the Bloody yet lives...in his manner. The corpse you guard so possessively does not belong to him.'

'I know,' said Angel, 'There was...a spell...'

'Which was reversed, as we have told you.'

'What?'

Angel moved to pull the turning Oracles round to see him, blinded by light within the chamber. The male gestured and he was flung backwards, Megan's corpse landing on his legs as he left the walls. Spike was alive...living...dammit, he still existed and he'd hurt for nothing.

Shifting the body from his legs, Angel paused a second.

No, not for nothing. There had been loss, and he was the only one to know, yet. The price of Spike's salvation had been his grand child's life. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to grieve. Megan was dead, but somewhere out there, hopefully at home, Spike thrived in his vampire form. Creature of death with the lust of life.

And he was his.

Gathering the body in his arms, Angel ran towards his apartment.

He'd waited too long.

He wouldn't linger any more.  

*  

'Is she dead?'

Spike turned and glared at Xander.

'I don't know yet.'

Xander frowned and gestured toward the twisted wreckage of the Slayer on the ground. They'd arrived in her apartment less than ten minutes earlier and, finding it both empty and completely trashed, they'd looked around outside. Wesley had looked through the broken window and seen the body which had apparently passed through it. When he'd seen it was Faith, his heart sank briefly, remnants of his Watcher's oath brushing across his memory. Doyle had winked at him and moved forward, offering to take Spike and Xander down to check it out. Cordelia had opted out of the up close ick factor, and picked up several articles in the apartment, commenting on how cheap and tacky they were.

Her prattle was slowly driving Wesley to consider sending her through Faith's method of departure.

Looking out of the window, he saw them slowly approach the girl, wary of her strength, each worrying that this might all be a trap. He wondered if any of them felt his sorrow in failing her. He had thought he'd known everything, and had learned the hard way that he was wrong. The lesson had cost them both far too much, but whilst he was rebuilding his beliefs with Doyle, she had sunk lower into the abyss.

If he could change the past...

Doyle looked up and smiled at him, and Wesley wondered if telepathy was a part of his Brachen heritage. He always seemed to know when the Englishman needed him, even if he couldn't offer much more than a well placed grin. Or maybe it was just that he was perceptive...or maybe, it was because they were simply *that* close. He nodded and walked back into the room, leaving others with the task of identifying the Slayer's body.

On the ground, Xander couldn't understand why Spike was unable to tell whether the Slayer was alive or not.

'Come on, you were King of the smellies back in the office. What changed between then and now?'

Spike growled and stepped up to Faith's body.

'Bloody give you smellies, mate. I can smell the blood, and believe me, there's enough here,' he grinned, his vampire features washing out his face. 'Doesn't mean I can here a pulse from fifty feet away.'

'It wasn't fifty feet,' said Doyle, cheerfully, 'thirty at most.'

Xander nodded and walked closer.

'It's okay Spike, you're getting on. Can't expect you to have that killer sense of smell forever.'

The vampire pointedly ignored him and slipped his hand to Faith's neck.

'She's alive.'

Xander paused a minute.

'You know, I'm not sure what to say. Is it a yay, Angel didn't kill anybody, or a Boo, Faith, psycho Slayer is still alive?'

Spike prodded her ribs and felt the cracks, smelling the bleeding within the Slayer's body.

'I'm not saying she's going to live long, not with all these nasty injuri...hey, look, I did that one!'

Xander looked at the gash in Faith's stomach and then back up at Spike.

'You're proud of your work aren't you?'

Spike grinned and sat back.

'If you've got a talent...'

Doyle pulled out a hitherto unseen mobile and started dialling.

'And jut who are you phoning?'

Doyle shrugged.

'Look Spike, she may be bad girl, but I'm not leaving her dying in the street.'

'Fine.'

'Fine?'

'Yeah, we can drag her in the building whilst she croaks.'

Xander shook his head and wagged his finger at the vampire.

'Compassion isn't high on your list of must haves, is it?'

Spike shook his head.

'Good sex, senseless violence and Dangermouse. Anything else is a plus.'

Doyle turned away as he got through to the emergency services. He could feel Wesley above him, tensing in the apartment as he rued his past mistakes. He wanted to tell the Englishman that it no longer mattered, that they could only change what they did from now on in, but Doyle was all too aware that Wesley knew that already - he was just struggling to put it into action.

Would it have been better for all of them if Faith had died?

It would certainly have been simpler. In all this ruin, he knew they all felt the need to find Angel and Megan. Whilst they were missing, anything might have happened, and in the light of Wolfram and Hart's harsh tactics, nothing would be settled until all their family was in one place.

As he closed the phone off before the operator could ask who he was, Doyle felt a deep urge to go home, sink into his bed and wrap himself round Wesley - keeping everything safe for the night. Soon, the ex-watcher had promised, and for Doyle, it couldn't be soon enough. He wanted to make love to Wesley, wanted to find solace with his arms.

But until then, he'd settle for finding the others, alive and safe.

'Come on, let's leave here, see if Angel's home.'

Spike grinned and started to walk away. Xander looked after him, amazed that the vampire was moving so quickly.

'He either really wants to see him, or a stickler for obeying you.'

Doyle shrugged and started to follow Spike.

'Why d'you think I didn't mention that Angel's probably naked in bed, waiting for him?'

Xander bit his lip.

'I don't really want to see that, do I?'

'Probably not.'

'Good, cause I'd hate to think that I was reacting irrationally.'

Doyle grinned and walked on.

'Cause you never do that.'

'Right.'  

*  

Angel turned off the lights, then turned them back on, and finally looked for the dimmer switch. Annoyed that he hadn't actually installed one, he turned to the kitchen and wondered if the hot chocolate fudge cake would be best served with cream or ice cream. Or merely just a spoon.

He grinned and thought about eating it.

Okay, forget the spoon.

He'd stripped the sheets from his bed and wrapped Megan's body, sacrificing his wardrobe for an impromptu coffin. Packing her in there, he'd felt a twinge of regret that he'd never known her well enough to get over her annoying tendencies, but nothing could suppress the knowledge that Spike was still alive. And if Megan had to die to achieve that, then so be it.

He frowned at his mercenary attitude and wondered what had happened to his brooding skills. Somewhere along the line they'd dimmed a little, and he wasn't all that keen to have them back. Now all he had to do was wait for Spike to come through the door, and he'd promise him anything he wanted. He paused, looking toward the bed once more and softly smiled to himself.

Anything he wanted.

Love was weird, irrational and harsh, but it was the truest thing he had, the one thing he could believe in. Now all he had to do...

'He'll be here, right, Pet?'

There was a scuffle on the stairs and Angel looked around for somewhere to sit, to look cool and calm and generally sexy as hell. But for once in his long and eventful life, he was too excited to stay still, so he hovered by the living area, waiting for the man he loved to come back.

'Sure, Spike. Angel'll just be waiting here for you, standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a big grin.'

As Cordelia's voice trailed off, they all took in the smiling, but (sadly) fully dressed vampire qualifying her description.

'Okay, so he's dressed. That's kind of a bummer from my point of view.'

'Not alone there, Pet.'

The tall vampire smiled softly and murmured, 'it could be arranged'.

With a grin, Spike stepped forward and gestured casually towards his lover.

'Thought I was dead, Love?'

Angel inclined his head and tried to give off a didn't-give-it-much-thought air, knowing he was failing miserably and not quite giving a damn.

'Had a look round, tried to see if I could save your sorry ass, and by the time I'd caught up with you...you were back being you.'

His smile deepened.

'And I like you being you.'

Spike snorted and stepped a little closer.

'Don't give me that. I'm betting that within minutes of you thinking I was dead, you had out all that bloody Auden poetry and were reciting He was my North, my South, my bloody everything, bloody everywhere, and getting all weepy and emotional.'

Angel drew himself up to his full height and raised an eyebrow.

'Would I do that?'

He moved towards the younger vampire and raised his hand, hovering millimetres away from Spike's own.

The four on the stairs hadn't moved since Spike had spoken, and Xander leaned forward to prod Doyle. As the half-demon turned, the boy gestured towards the vampires.

'Just checking, but...isn't this a big smooch moment?'

Doyle blinked.

'Me and you?'

'Huh? No! No... I meant...oh, okay, yeah, so it was a smooch...oh God, now, yeah, I really didn't want to...'

He started moving backwards up the stairs and away from the passionate embrace. Cordelia groaned and followed him up, complaining that she never got to see the good stuff. Doyle remained, moving towards an increasingly nervous Wesley.

'You okay?'

He nodded, then coughed.

'Angel?'

The vampire paused a moment, holding Spike as close as he could, tasting the lips which had been so close, and so forbidding recently. He wanted to forget everything else and feel Spike's naked body against his own, pushing where he pulled, tasting...feeling that all else was unimportant and it would like this forever. But it had come at a cost, and payment was now due.

'Angel?'

Angel pulled back, the smile slipping from his face, and looked down. He could feel their gaze upon him and he knew what had to be said, but this moment...didn't they deserve this moment?

'Love? Weasly's asking about the girl.'

Angel stared at his feet.

'Love?'

'She's dead.'

'What?'

As Angel met Wesley's expression, he felt more grief in that one second than he had all day. Everyone matters to someone. And by that someone, they will always be missed. He felt Spike's arms tightening round him and, whilst he was grateful for the comfort, felt guilty that this death didn't mean more to him.

'What happened?'

The dark vampire blinked, unsure whether to tell him everything, wary of the coldness in Wesley's voice.

'She returned to her body just before Faith....killed her.'

'How did she die?' insisted the Englishman.

Spike murmured against his neck.

'I did see you, didn't I?'

As Angel nodded, Wesley stepped forward with more aggression that they'd ever witnessed in him.

'You were there?'

Angel nodded.

'And you didn't save her? You didn't...?'

'I couldn't. Faith was too quick. It happened in a second...I thought...I thought it was Spike...'

'You thought it was Spike?'

Wesley snorted.

'And I just bet you were so sorry when you found out it wasn't.'

Doyle lay his hand gently on Wesley's shoulder, but the Englishman shook it off.

'Wesley I'm sorry, but there was nothing I could do.'

'No? We save people every day, but you couldn't manage this one?'

As Wesley turned angrily away to Doyle, Spike sighed and pulled him back round.

'Listen, Pet, you know and I know that broody here doesn't let anyone die if he can help it.'

'Let go of me, Spike.'

The vampire shook his head and gestured to the upturned wardrobe he'd spotted, lying in the doorway. Wesley followed his direction, eyes lighting on Megan's impromptu coffin.

'Faith's a Slayer, mate. You don't get any stronger, or brutal than that. And you should bloody know.'

'Angel didn't...'

'Angel didn't keep her ugly mug alive, right. But if Faith snapped her neck, who the fuck d'you think sent her flailing out of the window?'

Wesley swallowed hard and met the older vampire's solemn stare.

'You let her die, and I don't know if I can forgive you for that.'

He turned; preparing to leave when something seemed to occur to him, and Angel watched as the Englishman opened the casket and stripped the sheets from her body.

'Wes? What are you doing, man?'

Through a sudden sob, Wesley reached into Megan's pocket and pulled out three family packs of condoms.

'She's definitely one of mine,' said Spike, surreptitiously supporting Angel's weight, as he slumped, ready to accept all the guilt Wesley wanted to pour on him.

'No,' said Wesley, 'Not any more. She's not one of yours...she was mortal.'

He glared at the vampires a moment before hefting the body into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. Doyle watched him go and with a second's hesitation, offering silent apology to Angel, he followed him up.

And the vampires were alone again.

Spike turned to him and lay a cool hand along his cheek.

'He'll come around, Pet.'

Angel closed his eyes and leant forward, forehead touching Spike's own.

'It doesn't matter. He was right. When I thought it was you...'

Spike kissed him gently, lips barely grazing his skin.

'I know, I think we did that earlier. Auden and stuff.'

He managed a small smile.

'It didn't even come close.'

They stood there for a moment, before Spike took his hand and led him to the kitchen, opening the fridge to find a beer, (hopefully even two) but he pulled out the chocolate cake instead.

'You really were glad I was home, weren't you?'

Angel shrugged.

'You're a hard habit to lose.'

'You want to try?'

Angel smiled sadly and got to his feet.

'Somehow, I'm just not in the mood anymore. Can we just go to bed?'

Spike pulled out a couple of bottles and closed the fridge, wrapping his arms around Angel's waist.

'Come on then, Pet. I'll tuck you in.'

'Was hoping you'd stay with me.'

Spike grinned and squeezed him tight.

'You always were a dirty fucker, Angel.'

'Ah shit! Of all the places I get to reappear, it has to be here?'

The vampires whirled to see a faint glimmer against the bedroom door. They couldn't see features, or a true shape, but the outline was unmistakable.

'Megan?'

She leaned forward, as though it was hard for to see.

'Spike? Well, yay, I guess.'

The vampire looked up at Angel, who had gone quite rigid in shock. He'd never come across a ghost that could talk, before.

'So,' said Spike, 'You're a ghost.'

The ghost rippled as though she were laughing.

'Technically I'm an absent spirit, but, yeah. And guess what, boys?'

'What?'

They could sense, rather than see the grin, but it was there all right.

'You two just got yourselves an all inclusive, haunted apartment.'  

*  

Doyle dropped off his coat on the sofa and headed for the hidden whiskey bottle behind the cupboard. He unscrewed the cap and slugged a load back, ready to listen to whatever it was that Wesley had to say.

The Englishman had reacted badly, make that maybe too badly, to the news of Megan's death. He guessed that Angel's lack of brooding hadn't helped - if there was one thing Angel and Wesley had in common, it was their natural ability to blame themselves for everything. Wesley had assumed responsibility for every nasty act that Faith had performed, presumably including Megan's murder. How had it been, to have his hero acting as though it didn't really matter?

I mean, it had to be that, didn't it? It couldn't be because he was in love with her or anything...could it?

He watched as Wesley slumped on the sofa, eyes almost shut from lack of sleep, reddened where he'd let a few bitter tears fall. When they'd got out of the hospital, Doyle held his arms out, waiting for the emotional outburst he was sure would come. But Wesley had said nothing, just casually walked away from the doors, signalling for a taxi. The Irishman wasn't even sure if he knew Doyle was still there. And then, when the cab stopped, Wesley turned and faced him, pain all to clear in his sorrowful expression.

They'd said nothing in the cab, short of telling the driver their address, watching whilst the man took their measure. Doyle could almost feel the judgements being made. He could guess at the thoughts the cabby had. "Not my business," maybe, or - "It takes all sorts". Or maybe, he was just thinking, "Couple of fags coming from there...one of them's got something, or maybe got a friend who's died. Shame."

As they got out and paid, the driver grinned pleasantly at him and bid him a good night, and Doyle was sorry for making judgements. God only knew there had been too many of them tonight. What he needed was...shit...he needed a drink.

He stared into the bottle now, wondering why he'd felt the need to stash it. Wesley had never complained about his drinking habits, and by the looks of him now, he wasn't about to start complaining. The man looked death-like himself.

As he turned to get another glass, dull tones echoed from the sofa.

'So let us melt, and make no noise, no tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move. T'were profanation of our joys to tell the layetie our love.'

Doyle frowned, wondering what it had come from, not quite understanding Wesley's sentiments. When people he'd known had died, he'd offered up a good old Irish wake - lots of drinking and celebrating life. The English, he knew, did it differently. They tended to go all solemn and quote depressing lyrics and things. Morrissey was quite a Godsend for the astute mourner.

Best to go with what you know.

He passed Wesley a glass of whiskey and knelt before him on the floor, waiting for something, anything that would help work out what to do. Watching Wesley knock it back, he figured at least he'd see what a depressed drunk looked like from a different perspective.

'Wes? You wanna talk about it?'

'About what?'

Doyle scrunched uncomfortably and reached for the bottle again.

'I don't know, man. About her being dead...or something?'

Wesley snorted and reached for another shot of whiskey. Doyle's hand covered his and stopped him.

'Come on, Wes. You're shutting me out and I thought I had dibs on being depressed guy round here.'

If he was waiting for a smile, Doyle was always going to be disappointed, as Wesley shook his hand away and pulled the bottle closer. With a shrug, the Irishman sat back; leaning against coffee table and feeling a little fed up.

'So come on Wes, talk to me.'

He held up his hand.

'If you say "about what" again I'm gonna have to hit you, so come on, give.'

Wesley glared at him a moment before answering, but Doyle wasn't about to let a little bad eyeballing get him down. Not when there were so many other wonderful options that could do it.

'What do you want to know? That she's dead? That no one seems to care but me? That I...'

He broke off, covering his face with one hand, as if daring the tears to come and further unman him. Doyle leaned forward and gently pulled the whiskey away, watching as Wesley's shoulders shook with the pressure of not-crying. Once his control had been broken, he found it hard to rail his emotions back in and today wasn't helping that at all.

'You're not responsible, if that's what you were going to say.'

Wesley looked up.

'I can't be anything else.'

'Bullshit.'

'It's not bullshit. It's true. I was her watcher and if I'd done a better job there wouldn't have been...she would have...Megan wouldn't be dead.'

Doyle licked his lips and nodded. He'd known it would be something like that. He'd known...he'd felt the pain, known the resistance and tried to be ready for this. But it hurt, as truth always did.

'So if you'd been a better Watcher, Faith wouldn't have felt bad and wouldn't have gone around kicking the ever-loving shit out of people?'

Wesley pinched his nose.

'I failed my post. I failed her, and everyone else she's hurt since.'

'So you'd rather that you'd tried to stop her going bad and missed out on everything that happened because of that?'

Doyle watched the Englishman flinch, wondering if this was the right way of bringing him round. He pushed on.

'You'd rather you were back in Sunnydale instead of messing about with the likes of us.'

'Francis...'

'No seriously, Wes, I wanna know. You'd rather be the big man in Sunnydale than be here with me?'

There, he'd said it and boy was it a huge...oh man, not a relief, a thing, a great big thing that Wes could say yes or no to. Damn everything he'd ever believed if the answer was no.

'That's not fair,' said the ex-watcher.

Doyle's heart sank.

'So it is a no, then.'

'I didn't say that.'

Doyle stood up and tried to remember where the second bottle was.'

'Well it wasn't a fuckin' yes either.'

'Francis...you know I didn't mean that. You're using my words against me.'

'Oh yeah?'

Doyle pulled open a cupboard and hauled out an almost empty bottle of Bells.

'Doyle, stop that.'

'Drinking? Ah, but you can't stop me drinking anymore than I can stop you blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault.'

'It is my fault!'

'It's not. It's that Faith girl you're so eager to defend. She's responsible, she did it all and you're not exactly man enough to stop a Slayer.'

As soon as the words were out he regretted it. But Wesley was already closing his eyes, taking it in and reacting in the worst way he could imagine.

'Wes, stop, don't...man, don't leave, okay. I'm sorry.'

Wesley picked his coat up and moved toward the door whilst Doyle tried to get in his way.

'I'll stay at a hotel tonight. I'll be back for my things in the morning.'

'Wes don't, c'mon, you know I was just pissed.'

'You're not drunk, you're sober, and I think you've made your feelings quite clear.'

He tried the door and Doyle grabbed his hand.

'Dammit, pissed off, man, not drunk, and I've not said anything.'

Wesley rattled the handle and, realising it was on the latch, looked around for the key.

'I'm not man enough for you, fine, but don't try and make excuses. I know how you feel...'

Doyle threw the bottle to the floor and grabbed Wesley's collar, pulling the stupid, dim-witted, pompous...arrogant...annoying...loyal...affectionate man closer.

'Oh you know, do you? You've got it all figured out?'

'Doyle, let go, this is childish.'

'Oh this is childish? Okay, try this. I'm so dumb that I'm standing here with you face to face ready to move mountains if you'll just get it through that thick head of yours that I love you.'

He paused and watched Wesley's eyebrows rise, his mouth drop open and his hand fall from the door. Doyle huffed and tried a grin.

'You know, that didn't sound so cheesy when I tried it in front of the mirror.'

Wesley shook his head.

'You never sound...cheesy.'

'I don't?'

The Englishman offered him a grin.

'Well sometimes, when you're trying to wheedle something out of Cordelia.'

'Extra paper-clips.'

'Yes.'

Doyle realised he was still gripping Wesley's collar and let go, relaxing his hand round the man's neck.

'So...I'm kind of looking for a reaction here...something more than a cheap gag?'

'Hmmm? Oh, I love you too. But I thought you knew that.'

Doyle shook his head and wondered if the grin was as dopey as it felt.

'Nah, I mean, I kind of knew you liked me...'

'What with me sharing your bed and all.'

'Yeah.'

Wesley wrapped his arms round Doyle's back and pulled him closer, resting his forehead against the Irishman's own. Doyle could actually feel him relax, some unidentified tension gone, replaced with security, the knowledge of being loved, of being wanted. The loss of Megan McGill hadn't been a threat to them, but to Wesley's own beliefs. How can you account for a death that is inadvertently something you caused?

Doyle knew the answers were never going to be simple, and that to some degree; Wesley was always going to feel that responsibility. In some way, it was part of what attracted him to the Englishman anyway - he'd learnt not to run away from his mistakes, something Doyle still wasn't so good at. He hoped that maybe Wesley would help him do it.

Right now, however, he had different things on his mind.

Snuggling against the Englishman's neck, Doyle could feel the steady thump thump against his chest. He was still tired, almost exhausted from the day's events and the lack of sleep from the night before. But he wanted this, wanted to close out this horrible day with something better.

Besides, his cock was throbbing and now seemed as good a time as any.

'Wes?'

'Hmm?'

'You wanna go to bed?'

With a slight stretch, Wesley nodded.

'Oh God yes, I feel like I could sleep for a week.'

'Oh.'

The Englishman leaned back and caught Doyle's sheepish expression.

'Is something wrong?'

Doyle offered him a grin and gestured towards the bedroom.

'I was thinking a whole lot more literal than sleeping.'

He was an advert for a Warner Bros cartoon, Doyle decided. He'd never met anyone who did the 'eyes popping out their head' thing so well. Or so often.

'Look Wes, if you don't want to, it's okay. I guess I can use some sleep as well.'

'Not bloody likely.'

With a ferocious grin, Wesley launched himself on top of the Irishman, knocking him backwards to the floor. As his head hit with a bang, Doyle groaned, ready to berate his lover, but warm lips were upon his, hands caressing his face and neck, sliding down towards his shirt, ready to tear it open. There was passion in the Englishman yet, guarded by a fear that he might be too much, that his desire could be too strong for some.

But right now, none of that mattered, and Doyle ran his tongue up to meet Wesley's, welcoming the body that pressed against his own. When Wesley knelt up, running his hand down Doyle's day old shirt, shredding the buttons and exposing a thick matt of dark hair, he didn't care, loving this almost predatory version of the man he loved. And when long fingers stretched to feel the springy warmth of his hair, Doyle almost purred, revelling in the attention to detail.

He reached up, trying to find a way through Wesley's clothes, frustrated by the neatness of the man's attire. He was more than a little surprised when Wesley sat back and hauled his own shirt off, nearly strangling himself before he remembered to remove his tie.

'Nice work if you can get it.'

Wesley chuckled and reached for Doyle's belt.

'I keep thinking I should say something like, "come and get it", but it feels so cheap.'

'Nothing wrong with cheap.'

'Oh, thank you.'

Doyle chuckled and brushed Wesley's face with the back of his hand.

'You're not the one lying on his back, unable to do what he really wants.'

Wesley paused and leaned down, gently nipping at Doyle's mouth, feeling the plump skin tense under his lips.

'And what is it that you want, exactly?'

Doyle grinned and squirmed a little, rocking the Englishman off.

'Comfier place than this, for one.'

Wesley flushed red and looked around.

'Ah, yes, I suppose, yes. You're right. Um...shall we...?'

The Irishman chuckled and stood up, reaching for his own belt and unthreading it. He unzipped his pants and kicked them off, losing his shoes at the same time. Realising that the 'socks-only' look was kind of weird, he pulled them off too, leaving a rather breathless Wesley with a solid body to look at. Solid in every way.

'Why don't we just...'

'...Go to bed?' murmured Wesley. 'Yes, that does sound a most excellent suggestion.'

With a grin, Doyle pushed open the bedroom door, and waited whilst Wesley stripped and hurried past him, landing dead centre on the bed. It was still mussed up from the night before, but for once, Doyle guessed that making sure they had perfect sheets wasn't the highest priority on the Englishman's agenda.

And by the firm column slapping against his belly, Doyle was fairly certain that Wesley wouldn't mind messing the bed up even further.

As he let go of the door, Wesley grimaced and leapt up.

'Wes?'

Wesley paused before he opened the door; as if he realised what Doyle might be thinking. He kissed the Irishman quickly and ran out, returning minutes later with a small box, sealed with an airtight lid.

'What's this?' asked Doyle as Wesley sat back on the bed, one leg pressed against his own.

'It's...um...I thought I'd better...er...'

Doyle frowned at him and reached for the box. He pulled off the lid and started picking up its contents, grin widening as he looked at each one. He looked up into Wesley's rather red face, and pulled out a small tub.

'You actually bought a selection?'

Wesley's cheeks actually got redder.

'Well I sort of...asked Spike, and then he said that Vaseline was...and I just thought...'

Doyle chuckled and flipped the lid off the tub.

'You actually thought about this, haven't you?'

Wesley nodded and then stroked along Doyle's cheek.

'I've thought of little else, recently.'

'Well that's good to know. I was beginning to think I was the only one aching to have a goodun.'

'A what?'

Doyle kissed him, teasing his lower lip with his teeth.

'Going all the way, man.'

'Oh.'

As he leaned into the kiss, Doyle could feel Wesley tensing, and before he said anything, the Irishman knew what was coming next.

'Umm, Francis?'

Doyle sighed and leaned back, keeping up a steady caress down the man's side.

'No, I don't know how Angel and Spike decide who goes on top. Maybe they toss for it.'

With a muffled snigger, Wesley sneaked his hand around Doyle's cock, massaging its length with his fingers.

'I don't have a problem with that.'

He moved closer and started nibbling his way around Doyle's neck, grinning every time the half-demon twitched, the pulse in his neck matching that in Wesley's untrained fingers. They'd been so close, had almost been here on so many occasions, but this time felt different. This time they both knew what they were going to do, both wanted it, even if they weren't entirely certain how it was going to pan out.

As his cock pulsed harder, Doyle groaned deeply and leaned forward, knocking Wesley pleasantly back onto the bed. Almost as if he heard the Irishman's unspoken request, Wesley lifted his knees, letting Doyle press closer to him, thick length pressing up against his own. Long fingers sneaked down to his balls and Doyle shifted upwards, suddenly eager to do this now, ready to complete this circle, wanting to make love to the only man he'd ever felt this way about.

He reached out, banging his hand on the bedside table and searching frantically for the box. Wesley picked up the tub and, breathing heavily, pushed it into Doyle's fingers. They broke away from the kiss for a moment, one questioning if this was okay, the other offering a nervous reassurance. The Irishman grinned and felt the shudder all the way down to his cock.

'Francis?'

'Hmm?'

Wesley shifted to watch him as Doyle dipped his fingers in the slick substance.

'Shouldn't we, I mean, shouldn't we read the instructions?'

Doyle grinned and kissed him hard before waving his greasy fingers at him.

'Wes, this is Vaseline. You can use it on a baby's ass and other dry places. I don't think it's got a "how to" for sex.'

Wesley nodded, and if it hadn't been for the stiff length in front of him, Doyle might have thought the Englishman was sitting a really tough exam. He lay down on top of him, fingers sliding behind Wesley's balls and stroking at the hitherto untouched ass.

'Tell you what, we'll just give this a go and you can sort me out if I'm going wrong.'

Wesley chuckled and wrapped his hands round the small of Doyle's back.

'Grade you, you mean?'

'Something like that.'

'Well I guess I can...oooh!'

Doyle nuzzled his mouth and waited for Wesley to start breathing again.

'That okay?'

The Englishman opened his eyes and tried to focus.

'It's different.'

'Different bad, or different good?'

With a moan, Wesley slid backwards down Doyle's finger.

'Good,' he managed.

Doyle was fairly surprised at just how tightly his finger was caught. With an experimental thrust, he started moving in and out of the warmth, pleased as the low moaning grew louder. When Wesley grasped at his hand, he pushed another finger inside, the 'pshig' noise somehow not funny, somehow adding to the need. Wesley was moving with him now; pushing back as Doyle twitched his fingers, his cock throbbing and hard, almost ready to burst.

'Francis, now, please...now.'

Without a word, Doyle slid his fingers out, looking at the reddened, slick hole that didn't seem capable of stretching wide enough to accommodate him. But Wesley shifter on the bed, raising hips, pushing against the air, needing Doyle as much as the Irishman wanted him. With the remnants of the slick on his fingers, Doyle rubbed his cock, groaning as the flesh twitched again and again. His eyes fixed on Wesley's face; he pushed forward, the head pressing against the slippery opening for a moment before sliding inside.

'Whoah!'

Doyle paused as Wesley's eyes flashed open, the Englishman sweating and writhing beneath him.

'Should I stop? Wes, are you all right?'

Struggling to stay clear of mind, Wesley nodded and stretched his hands up to Doyle's waist.

'Tight, just a little...surprised. Go on, more.'

Doyle smiled at how close Wesley was to losing control and pushed forward, his cock sliding slowly forward, gripped tightly by the firm muscles. He pulled back a little, reassured that he wasn't hurting the man, and with a quick thrust, felt how quickly Wesley was accommodating to his size. As his cock sunk in deeper, Wesley groaned, and Doyle guessed he'd just pressed against the magic spot. The hardening length against his belly confirmed that whatever he was doing, Wesley liked it.

Slowly, he began to build up a rhythm, making sure he pressed forward hard enough to make Wesley quiver. It felt so different than anything he'd done before, the warmth and squeezing enough to make him lose control at any moment. Somehow the low moaning was more erotic than any breathing he'd heard with his previous partners. He was growing stronger, feeling as though he could beat anything the world threw against him, if only they'd let him be here, do this, do anything with Wesley.

They'd been rivals, friends and now, lovers, discovering how to do all sorts of acts they'd only heard of. Well, in some cases, Angel and Spike had provided very graphic details on how to, but God, this felt so good. He leaned forward and struggled to capture Wesley's panting mouth, slipped his tongue inside, feeling the strange and yet compelling feeling of possession, pushing forward with every breath, feeling insane, feeling different, and oh God, so damn good! He soared above anything he'd done before, balls twitching and tightening, ready to let go, wondering if he could do anything that would compare to this, suddenly not thinking at all. And with a deep and tuneless groan, Doyle spilled deep inside his lover, thrusting hard until he was empty, coming back to Earth with the widest grin he'd ever worn.

Wesley moaned against his mouth, pressing up into Doyle's belly as the stimulation grew too much. He yelped as hot sticky liquid coated the Irishman's chest, matting the hair and making them both as gooey as Hell. None of which seemed to matter to either of them, and they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, wondering why they'd waited so long, glad that they'd got there at last.

As Doyle pressed his mouth to Wesley's ear, he wondered what he should say. Thank you for letting me fuck you seemed ungrateful, and yet...

'Nothing's ever felt as good as that, Wes.'

'Yes,' murmured the tired Englishman, 'I'd agree with you there.'

There was silence, and then...

'Should we go shower?'

'Bath,' said Wesley agreeably, 'Which you can run, whilst I just...'

He closed his eyes and Doyle grinned.

Sometimes, you just had to let the good times roll. And other times, you gave them a recovery break.

He got up and went to run the bath, eyes scanning the room for something different to use.

He wondered if bath oil would sting.  

*  

'So let me get this straight, you're a fucking ghost and you're haunting dead people?'

Megan looked down, as though she were examining her corporeal form. She seemed to tail off somewhere around the ankles, and it seemed to worry her.

Not that having a horny and annoyed Spike shouting at you wouldn't do that already.

Angel switched the microwave on and waited for the ping. Waited in short, for the blood that would sate Spike's aggression for the moment...with any luck. Frankly, he was just too worn out for this shit, and if he had to put up with a ghost in the apartment, Angel just wanted to go to bed and relax. If she was haunting now, she'd be haunting later when he woke up. But apparently, Spike wasn't prepared to settle with that.

'Oi, ghost girl, quit ignoring me and get your dead arse out of my bloody apartment.'

Angel winced at the snarl in Spike's tone. He knew why Spike was annoyed - getting that vampire from horny to calmed down always took sex, and lots of it. And Angel had never liked having sex when his relatives had been in the house even when he was human. Doing the naughty when a descendent was in the room was one of the quickest ways to keep him flaccid. And that wouldn't do at all.

Megan glared at him and crossed her arms, reflecting Spike's pissed off stance.

'You really don't go in for the family thing, do you?'

Spike snorted and picked up the axe lying on the coffee table before he realised it couldn't exactly threaten someone who was already dead. With a scowl, he leaned over and grabbed a jar from a cupboard, holding it out to her.

'Can you get in here?'

Megan raised an eyebrow at him.

'Do I look like a genie?'

'Do I look like I care?'

Ping!

Angel reached into the microwave and pulled out the mugs, passing one to Spike, ignoring the arrogant look he was given. This was family, and it had taken Angel years to learn that you didn't get involved.

Spike slurped down the blood, vamping out and not caring whilst Megan looked longingly at the liquid.

'Dammit, I'm not going to be able to drink anymore either!'

With a grin, the younger vampire sat down and delicately sipped down the remnants of his meal.

'Thought ghosts were supposed to give up their worldly cares, Pet.'

Megan huffed and attempted to sit on the kitchen table. She sank through it a couple of times before assessing where its level was, and hovered a couple of centimetres above its grainy surface.

She sighed again and Angel wondered if he was going to have competition in the brooding stakes. Not that anyone came close, really, but the last thing either of them needed was a suicidally depressed spirit.

Actually, that didn't even bear the weird logic of thinking about.

'I'm not exactly a ghost. I never strictly died.'

'Well your body's dead.'

Megan glared at him and Angel recognised the promise of an oncoming war.

'Thanks to whom? I didn't get myself killed, so it must have been you,' she said to Spike.

The vampire leaned back in his chair and shifted back to human.

'Can't blame me if you're clumsy enough to get kidnapped by lawyers. You must have been pretty stupid to let that happen.'

She glared at him.

'I'm only human, I can't escape from the stupid hunters they sent. I don't have supernatural powers like some relatives I could mention.'

Spike grinned and looked over to Angel. The torture benefits of having a ghost in the house had just begun to dawn on the blond one, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Especially if they acted like this the whole time. It was hard enough coping with one individual who descended to child-like arrogance when they argued. To have two was more than Angel thought he could stand. He'd had enough trouble trying to navigate the strange and vicious terrain of Spike's arguments with Wesley, and feeling like Daddy didn't get him going.

Of course, Angel knew that Wesley was held in high affection these days, and that part of Spike's bickering was to cover that fact up. He'd mentioned it to the vampire on sev