To Shansu, In loving Memory

'.....the bed is open; the toothbrush hangs on the wall, put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.'

Wesley looked up toward Angel and closed the book.

'The last twist of the knife.'

Spike puffed out the last of his cigarette and leaned over to Doyle.

'Does he get all this suicide poetry crap along with his Watcher's guide?'

'I don't know. He said it was fitting.'

Spike grinned at the obvious affection the Irishman had for Wesley. He could become such a softy when anyone threatened to hurt the sentimental man's feelings - something Spike had been quick to exploit for his own amusement. On arrival this evening, he'd walked straight over to them both, sniffed dramatically, then slapped them both on the back and asked if they were up for a foursome. Whilst Wesley tried to get the red flush under control, Doyle had passed Spike a tumbler full of whiskey and ushered him toward the kitchen.

As distraction strategies went, it wasn't all that subtle, but the motives behind it led to a well seasoned torture method for Spike. He revelled in the discomfort of the pair, especially when it seemed that they were all too comfortable alone together. In Cordelia's company, they edged apart, careful not to hurt her feelings by being overly affectionate. Even if the affection could well have been a mannish slap across the shoulders.

He'd seen them in private, noted the hesitation on both parts over what was and what wasn't appropriate. In some ways it was worse for Doyle - Wesley had a lifetime of trying to conform to back up his hesitation, but Doyle was half a demon, and didn't really have any comparisons to make. He'd never known his father, and the brief time he'd had with his fellow Brachen hadn't been long enough to establish sexual habits. He was starting from scratch, making it up as he went along, and from what Spike could see, it ranged somewhere between desperate desire and frustrated masculinity.

He could understand it, almost. For Spike, denying yourself came somewhere below impaling yourself on the nearest stake. It just didn't work for him - if you want something get it. Otherwise Angel broodiness awaits, and he was fairly certain that going down that path would send him stake-bound. But, he had to admit that he had denied himself - human blood was no longer soup-de-jour for a different reason than the chip in his head.

As Doyle grinned amiably at Wesley and reached for the good whiskey, Spike noticed that his lover was refusing to meet the ex-watcher's eye. For a moment, he couldn't understand why, then realisation dawned with an unceremonious plop into his head. The stupid great bloody vampire was still feeling guilty about letting Faith break the girl's neck. And Wesley was actually letting him, keeping the one thing Angel desired, (besides hot sex and for some reason lately, Judge Judy) forgiveness, away from him.

Well it was bloody well going to stop, now.

He felt the hand on his wrist and whirled, forgetting for a moment that Cordelia was there. She raised a well plucked eyebrow and gestured toward the miniature kitchen. Intrigued, and aware that he hadn't figured out a way to stop Angel's penance gig, Spike sauntered casually after her, leaning against the only cupboard door that wasn't broken. Xander looked up at him, fist full of chips, chewing away, but slightly surprised to see him.

He gestured to Cordelia.

'What did you bring him for? Like psycho Bob here can actually help.'

Spike slugged back the tumbler and reached for his cigarettes.

'You know, I've suddenly remembered why I never wanted to bite you.'

Xander blinked.

'Huh?'

'All that cholesterol. Gets in my bloody gut and gives me belly ache.'

He waved the end of his cigarette to Cordelia.

'Good tip, pet, never eat anything that's unhealthier than you.'

'I'll try and keep that in mind, in my totally non-gross eating habits.'

Xander looked affronted.

'Hey, I'm healthy.'

'Sure you are. And I've started drinking holy water as light refreshment.'

'I'm healthy,' said Xander, before something occurred to him, 'healthier than someone who's dead, anyway.'

'Saw blokes drop dead by the time they were thirty, eating the way you do,' grinned Spike. 'one minute it's all bread and butter pudding, the next...'

He blew a raspberry and gave the big thumbs down sign.

Cordelia slapped her hand across Xander's mouth before he could make any more protest and nodded to Spike.

'You idiots want to do some male bonding, fine. But I'm not staying to watch.'

There was a muffled 'wouldn't bond with him...ever' from behind her hand and Spike chuckled.

'Oh I don't know, we could give that whole bonding Xander thing a go...as long as we keep that mouth taped shut.'

He winked.

'Or I could find something to fill it.'

'Okay, before you completely gross me out...no, wait, you've done that from the day you walked into Angel's apartment.'

Spike tapped out the ash on the work-surface.

'Get on with it.'

She sniffed and took her hand away from Xander's mouth, wiping it on one of Wesley's immaculately folded towels.

'You haven't been in the office this week.'

'And that's a problem for you?'

He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

'Always knew you had taste buried somewhere deep.'

'Will you just quit it! I'm talking about some major damage in the office!'

Demons? Lawyers? Or worse - Cordelia had started making the coffee again?

'What damage?'

Xander gestured to the other room.

'Tension between Angel and Wesley like you wouldn't believe.'

Not so sure about that, mate.

'And no-one knows why,' continued Cordelia, 'it's just making Wesley grumpy and Angel...grumpier. It's so bad I actually cleaned the bathroom with Xander just to get away from them both.'

She stepped closer to him.

'Can you imagine that? I have never and I really mean , never cleaned a public bathroom in my life.'

Xander nodded sagely.

'It's all true. Which is why all the taps are stained and there's a charge for industrial strength rubber gloves on the petty cash board.'

Cordelia glared at him.

'Shutting up, now.'

She nodded and turned back to Spike.

'You've got to do something. I can't do that again. I smell of bleach...and something else I don't even know the name of. You have to sort them out.'

Spike reached into his pocket and drew out another pack of cigarettes.

'You're actually asking me for help?'

Xander shrugged.

'Much as I really wish I wasn't saying this, yeah, that's exactly what we're saying.'

Spike closed his eyes a second to revel in the moment. It wasn't exactly the feeling of being useful - that smacked too much of obedient servant - but the idea of someone needing him always gave him a grin, intensified to about one hundred if it was Angel. But this - humans needing his help because they couldn't make kid A talk to kid B...ah, there was nothing quite like it.

He opened his eyes again.

'So what's in it for me?'

'What?'

Spike nodded to Xander.

'If I sort out your little problem, what's in it for me?'

'Excuse me? He's your boyfriend...partner...whatever. You should be paying us for bringing it to your attention.'

Xander winced and nudged her.

'Oh like that's the way to get merciless killer boy on our side.'

She shrugged him off.

'Whatever. What I do know is that both Wesley and Angel are world class brooders. They're never going to sort this out themselves and I can't stay in the office whilst they talk so damned polite at each other.'

Spike inhaled and smiled amiably at them both. Kids, the both of them - Sunnydale trained, so more observant than most, but still kids all the same. Between the pair of them they only had thirty six years, and that wasn't nearly enough time to learn about all the nuances in any kind of relationship. Hell, he'd had a lifetime or two, and although he was far better at working the problem out than any other bugger he knew, there were some things that even stumped him.

Not that he was admitting that or anything, just that as a life (and death) observer of human traits, some stuff still surprised him. He'd never expected this, for example - Wesley abandoning the one man he admired, because of a girl. And even then, that wasn't the whole problem.

One the one hand, you had a man whose father had bullied and tormented him until he followed the right path. On the other hand you had a man whose father...okay, so just a little too similar there. How about one of the men had managed to change, and the other saw him as such a great example of what could be achieved with belief. And then the idol fell, allowing something almost unspeakable to happen, unable really to prevent it. But instead of being heavy with remorse, Angel had been overcome with relief that his own lover was still alive.

And Spike still wasn't sure if it was because Angel hadn't cared that she was dead, or that he had rated Wesley's needs below his own. If you put someone on a pedestal, they will fall, everyone knew that. Wasn't a part of it a sharing of guilt - Angel for not saving her, and Wesley for failing Faith...for causing this whole mess.

He shook his head, smoke billowing over his clothes. If it had been him, he would have shrugged it off. It happened, life can sometimes be complete crap and if you brooded about it...back to stakes again. Best thing he could do now, aside from make the two obstinate gits sort it out, was to milk these kids for as much as he could get.

He had a reputation to think of after all. It wouldn't do for William the Bloody to be handing out the goodies free of charge.

'Right. If I sort this out for you, what are you going to do for me?'

Cordelia and Xander exchanged glances.

'I'll...buy your magazines for a whole month,' offered Cordelia.

'I'm not doing the sex thing.'

'Two months,' said Spike, 'and I want you to get everything on my shopping list.'

'And there's to be no kind of tying up of Xander, or...'

'Shopping list? Are we talking stuff for you and Angel, or are you finally going to try on clothes from this century?'

'...definitely not watching or calling me puppydog. And I'm...'

'And no insulting the togs, pet. You have to be nice to me.'

'Nice? To you?'

She paused and seemed to think about it.

'Three months worth of shopping and magazines and I still get to keep my fashion sense.'

'...no accidentally walking in on me when I'm showering...'

Spike puffed out the last of his cigarette and grinned.

'Right, love. Done.'

Xander seemed to be counting something off on his fingers.

'...and no trying to get me to call you Daddy.'

'Okay,' said Cordelia. 'Now go fix. I'm tired of living with Angel squared.'

Spike nodded and threw his lighter at Xander. The heavy metal box bounced of the boy's forehead and he looked up, a stunned rabbit-in-the-headlights expression fixed on his face.

'What? What was that?'

He looked at the bemused expression on Spike's face and gulped before turning to Cordelia.

'You've sold me to him to get everything back to normal, haven't you?'

She rolled her eyes.

'Dream on, paranoid boy. You've seen Angel, right? Why on Earth would he want you?'

Spike chuckled and walked to the door as Xander desperately tried to think of a good comeback. There was something woefully pitiful about his face, contorting into different shapes as his brain searched for anything that would keep score with Cordelia. Apparently nothing was leaping up, and the grin on Cordelia's face was growing bigger by the second. Spike looked back just before he closed the door behind him, winking at the hapless Xander. Some days...you just had to throw the chattel a bone.

'Oh I don't know, love...I'd take his ass over yours any day.'

With the blissful indignation on Cordelia's face, he shut the door and looked over to the couch, where Angel and Wesley were busy not speaking to each other whilst Doyle struggled to keep some noise in the air. And although he was Irish, the poor sod looked as though he was talked out. Blarney Stone given up, eh, thought Spike as he braced himself to make the irritating bastards talk to each other.

As Angel looked up at him, angst mode set to extra high, Spike snorted and reached for the whiskey.

'Bloody wakes depress the hell out of me.'

They turned to him and he grinned before downing his drink.

'Right then, Irish. Let's see your lot teach me how to have fun.'

*

Angel was not having fun.

There was something about wakes that had always depressed him, and it had rarely been that he cared about the deceased. The people he'd known had always insisted on celebrating the life, leaving the grieving widows, (for they almost all had been) feeling guilty for their tears. And with that, Angel could identify. Death was subjective - it affected the living rather than the dead.

And it had left this life in a state of disarray.

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

It had been a fortnight since Wesley had uttered that single condemning sentence. And in all ways that it could be, he had broken a trust between them. The Englishman had broken coda and the habits of a lifetime to join them, even if he hadn't anywhere else to go. But there were always choices, and of all of them, Wesley was perhaps the one who cared most.

And Angel had let him down.

'She's not one of yours.........she was mortal.'

He'd never thrown that in Angel's face before. Aside from his initial shock at finding Angel happy and content within Spike's arms, Wesley had said surprisingly little about working for a vampire. It was almost as though he hadn't wanted to risk the ease with which he fit into their little family. His tentative, rather clumsy attempts to make Angel employ him had amused Spike and endeared him to the older vampire. That he was good at the research was something they could definitely use.

He was one of them, definitely an 'US', one of the boys...one of the good guys. He mattered in a way that the people Angel saved on a day to day basis didn't. If something happened to them, Angel would be disappointed, annoyed, and determined to avenge their deaths. If something had happened to Wesley, or any of the others, he'd be struck by blood-rage.

'The last twist of the knife.'

But whilst Wesley was unharmed physically, he had been hurt , and Angel couldn't see how to fix the damage. Part of him didn't even want to try. Not because he wasn't sorry - he didn't want this rift - but because the guilt was something he was used to, something he could deal with and move on. And if it had just been the two of them, that was exactly what would have happened.

But...

'Right, so when are you two pillocks going to stop all this farting about and admit that you're both arseholes, so that we can get on with the drinking and having a laugh?'

'It's a wake, Spike,' said Wesley flatly. 'It's not supposed to a gigglefest.'

'Well actually,' began Doyle, before biting his lip and reaching for the whiskey, 'Right, giggles not the order of the day.'

Spike grinned and gestured to Angel.

'Come on then, love.'

Angel looked at him, wishing, not for the first time, that his relationship with Spike extended only to when the two of them were alone together. In almost the same breath, he wished that every minute of every day was just the two of them, sleeping, feeding, fighting...deep hot sex whenever they wanted it.

Mind, that last happened anyway.

'There isn't a problem I'm aware of.'

Spike rolled his eyes and turned to Wesley.

'And you? Suddenly developed this freaked out sense of diplomacy as well?'

Wesley stared solemnly into his glass, turning it this way and that in his hands.

'I have nothing to say.'

Spike smirked and reached for his cigarettes, annoyed that he'd left the lighter in the kitchen.

'Right, there's no fucking deal then is there?'

He nodded to Doyle.

'Come on then, mate. Let's you and me go drink ourselves into oblivion whilst the denial brothers spend the next hour lying to themselves.'

Angel watched as Doyle held up a hand to protest, then lowered it and reached for the whiskey. He squeezed Wesley's shoulder and followed Spike out into the kitchen.

Which left him alone with Wesley.

Damn.

He risked a glance at the Englishman, only to find that Wesley was also staring uncomfortably into space, unable to pretend that nothing was wrong, unable to think of any way to remedy it.

Get ready for a long wait, Spike.

'I suppose they'll drink themselves stupid if we take too long.'

Angel picked up the anger beneath Wesley's cool tones.

'Probably,' he said casually. 'Don't know who'll last.'

Wesley shrugged.

'Both probably. Doyle was bred on whiskey and Spike...'

'...has been doing this for centuries.'

'Mhmm.'

The room dissolved into silence once more and Angel reached for the brandy.

Eternity was definitely relative.

*

'Pissed again.'

Spike chuckled and sat down heavily on the solitary kitchen chair. He'd ousted Cordelia twenty minutes previously, and she perched on the work surface, daring him to try and move her again. She was sipping her drink slowly, and he grinned at her attempts to stay sober. Give him an hour, and he'd have her drunk, amiable and ready to divulge her dirtiest secrets.

This day had to have some up-side after all.

Doyle passed over the whiskey bottle, almost knocking Xander over.

'Here, drink this ya English dog. It'll put hairs on yer chest.'

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow, but accepted the drink.

'Getting cocky mate, I'd watch that. You never know when a dog's gonna bite.'

'Ugh, enough with the bad man talk,' said Xander, 'it's too much like high school.'

'Hmm, you mean the place where you're still a loser and the guys don't include you?'

Cordelia smiled pleasantly.

'Yeah, I'd say it was pretty much like high school.'

Xander gestured vaguely with his right hand, and splashed whisky all over the floor.

'Yeah? Well if this was still high school, where are your little Cordettes, Huh? Where's Cordelia's band of supporters? Where,' and he grinned at her, 'where's Harmony?'

Spike spluttered his whisky out, much to the surprise of everyone else. Doyle patted him uncomfortably on the back until the choking ceased, and they waited for the explanation, each sure that this must be a part of a dream. Spike regarded them in silence for a moment, trying to figure out how in hell he was going to recover from this, when Xander suddenly pointed a finger at him, waggling it excitedly.

'It's him, he's got the Cordettes under his power!'

'Shut up Xander,' said Spike uncomfortably, trying to think of a quick explanation whilst the alcohol happily cut off all smart ass wit resources.

'What are you talking about?'

'Him! He was with Harmony back in Sunnydale.'

Cordelia looked from Xander to Spike, registering the vampire's rare lack of know-all smugness.

'You were with Harmony?'

She chuckled.

Talk about your undead meeting your brain dead.'

Doyle shook his head and reached for another bottle.

'Who is this Harmony anyway?'

'A friend of Cordy's' explained Xander, 'which should tell you everything. Pretty, rich, unable to string a complete...thingy...collection of words together...'

'Not to mention that she actually tried to oust me from popular pride of place,' said Cordelia, indignantly. 'I mean, she's a bimbo.'

Xander grinned and gestured to Doyle for the bottle.

'And Monsieur Love here was boffing the girl back when she became,' he curled his fingers, 'grr.'

Cordelia frowned in concentration.

'PMS finally got the better of her, huh?'

'Princess, I think he's trying to say she's a vampire now.'

Doyle looked at Spike, a pitying expression across his face.

'And she was your girl, that right, Spike?'

Spike stared at his whisky, his voice low and even.

'She was there, she was handy...and she was bloody willing.'

Cordelia nodded.

'Hmm, nice to see your specifications are mannishly low.'

With a grin, she gestured to the door.

'Does Angel know about your ache for flake?'

With something like a growl, Spike reached for the girl, pulling her millimetres away from his face.

'You do that girly, and I'll...'

'Share your halitosis with me?'

Spike let go and lit a cigarette.

'So what if I was using the girl...she was a cheap lay, something to play with. You were friends with her.'

He leaned forward and grinned.

'You actually chose to be with her everyday for more than eleven years.'

Her expression didn't change, but Spike could hear her pulse beat faster.

'You listened to her crap, day in, day out for more than half your life and all to get an extra notch in your Prom crown.'

Cordelia huffed and snatched Xander's drink away, knocking it back in one draft.

'See, pet, I may have dipped my wick...but at least I never pretended to like the stupid bint. Takes a really shallow person to do that.'

As Cordelia blanched, Xander put his arm round her. She shrugged it off angrily and turned back to Spike.

'Don't try and throw your mistakes back on me, punk boy. I used Harmony just as much as you did, only I'm not trying to edge out of it.'

'I don't see you being all that honest lately, pet.'

'Leave it out, Spike,' said Doyle, 'we're supposed to be in here cause we don't have problems communicating, remember?'

Spike grinned and passed the bottle to Cordelia.

'Yeah, I remember.'

She took it tentatively and tipped it to her mouth, her eyes fixed on the vampire's.

'Go ahead, love. You can swallow, it's not like I spiked it.'

She rolled her eyes at his grin and drank deeply.

'A bit less salty than the last thing you had in your mouth...isn't that right, Xander?'

As the boy coughed harshly, Spike winked at Doyle.

'Bloody teenage hormones, eh, mate?'

*

'It's not like I meant for her to die.'

Wesley shook his head.

'I know that Angel. Believe me, I've searched my soul, and I'm as responsible for her death as you are.'

He stared into a middle space.

'Failing Faith, my duties as watcher...there are so many "what if's" about this mess, I can't hope to follow them all.'

He sighed and turned to Angel.

'But blame is always apportioned, and whilst most of it is mine, I can't help feeling that if it had been Spike, you would have reacted differently...tried harder to bring her back.'

Angel swallowed slowly, unable to refute anything.

'I went to the Oracles...'

'For Spike?'

He nodded.

'I carried her body from Faith's to them. I even...I even thought about turning her...him.'

'The embrace?'

'Only for a second. I couldn't...if she was here, wearing his body...'

He trailed off, the misery still tangible, still so easily within reach. He'd been prepared to give up everything, so cleanly aware that without Spike, nothing had mattered - his redemption was such a shadow compared to that loss. He'd tried to explain that to the younger vampire, but Spike, ever perceptive, had silenced his fears without mentioning them, a blood drenched kiss that promised the night would never be lonely.

He wanted to tell Wesley, to explain...to justify himself, but words had never come easy, and now they seemed more distant that ever - hanging at the back of his mind just out of reach. And if it had been anyone else, they would have made the judgements for him, rendering his speech unnecessary. Xander...Doyle...Cordelia, they would have made the decision, would have assumed his guilt and moved on, leaving Angel to breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief, and the world would spin once more.

But Wesley seemed to need things spelt out for him, as though words were the only thing he could cling to. A life buried in books had assured him that language was constant, the meaning surviving an age to provide him with answers. And now, when his faith in Angel had been shaken, he needed to hear the reasons, not simply be left to assume them.

'I know you cared for her.'

'And you didn't,' said Wesley bluntly. 'She didn't have, now what did she say? Oh yes, she didn't have Spike's arse.'

Angel blinked at the accurate explanation.

He didn't know his feelings had been that widely felt, even less that they had been discussed so freely. He pressed on.

'And you're right, when I knew Spike was safe, he was the only thing...'

He swallowed again.

'.....the only thing I could think about.'

'I know,' said Wesley. 'I know and I should have understood, but...'

He sighed and drank from his small glass.

'We fit, here. All of us. And we've gone the distance when someone was hurt, or in trouble. Particularly for you and Spike.'

'I know, and I do...appreciate it.'

'Do you? Sometimes I wonder.'

He shrugged.

'Sometimes I think you can't see beyond him.'

'Sometimes I can't.'

Wesley chuckled.

'Well at least I got that right.'

Angel shook his head and tried to phrase things properly.

'But I am sorry. If I had to do it again...'

'You'd act exactly the same,' smiled Wesley sadly. 'Some things were meant to be.'

'Yeah.'

Silence descended again and Angel worried that this was going to be interminable. He was almost surprised when Wesley clinked a glass against his own.

'To Megan, may she rest in peace.'

'Amen,' added Angel, determined that Wesley would never discover how bitter her death had left her. Let him keep his memories, for they are all that really matter.

They drank and then sat there, slightly embarrassed, wondering what to say next.

'Angel?'

'Yeah?'

'About the scroll you recovered...'

The vampire shifted uncomfortably, suddenly worried at Wesley's sombre expression.

'What about it?'

'I've managed to translate some of it, particularly that which pertains to the vampire with a soul.'

Angel raised his eyebrows.

'I'm mentioned?'

'Unless there's another vampire in your predicament, I'd say yes. It talks of your great quest for redemption, and mentions recent events...and what I assume is the near future.'

'And?'

'You two finished moping yet?'

They turned to see the collection of alcohol riddled companions, virtually falling out of the tiny kitchen. Angel noticed the flush of red to Spike's otherwise pale face and longed to make their excuses. What he really needed was to go home and succumb to Spike's delicious ministrations. Anything but to stay here and listen to the rest of Wesley's speech. No-one gave good news with that serious a face.

'Yeah,' he smiled, 'We're done.'

'Thank God for that! Does this mean I can officially swear off cleaning?'

'Please say yes,' said Xander, slightly crushed beneath Cordelia's unsteady body. 'I can't take any more "tips".'

Doyle ignored them both and nodded to Wesley.

'Did you tell him?'

Wesley shook his head

'Tell him what?' asked Spike.

The ex-watcher sighed and turned back to Angel.

'The scroll repeated the term "shansu" several times.'

He opened his hands wide.

'At first, I thought it meant you were going to die, but after I cross-referenced my translation with...a ledger I have in proto-bantu...'

He hesitated and Angel saw Spike losing patience.

'Get on with it, Weasly!'

Wesley huffed and took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes in a familiar nervous gesture.

'They consider life and death the same thing, part of a cycle, only a thing that's not alive never dies. It's saying that you get to live until you die...It's saying...'

He looked at Angel, but the vampire had already locked eyes with Spike, his mouth slightly open in unhappy contemplation.

'Angel, it's saying you become human. It's your reward.'

And Angel couldn't do anything but stare at his lover, unable to break away for a second, unable to speak. The redness had vanished from Spike's face, the easy grin hidden for the moment, because a time limit had finally been called.

And tomorrow was no longer like any other day.

Tomorrow might make him human.

The vampires' prey.

'the last twist of the knife'

*

The door buckled.

Angel pushed hard against the solid frame, trying to gain purchase, fingers stretching blindly, trying to open the damn thing without having to break this kiss. He could feel Spike kicking backwards furiously, boots bashing a new pattern on the steel panels. With one hand grasping, pulling at the suddenly unnecessary duster Spike was wearing, he reached into his pocket, his own jacket being torn from his shoulders.

'Wait...wait...the key...'

Spike ignored him and yanked his arms free of the leather, his mouth touching every inch of Angel's face, lips teasing, taunting him until he couldn't bear it, the need to get inside the apartment lost in a more immediate want.

He fought to try and regain some control, but his clothes were being stripped away, vampiric strength suddenly a whole lot more interesting. As his silk shirt tore, he winced briefly. Make that interesting and expensive.

It didn't matter too much, not when Spike was pulling at his belt, struggling with the buckle as Angel ripped the duster off, fingers sliding underneath an ever-present T-shirt. He could hear the younger vampire cursing between kisses, and his hips bounded forward, yanked as Spike struggled to tear the buckle free. He couldn't resist chuckling as the blond dropped to his knees and finally unfastened the clasp.

'Don't bloody laugh, that thing's impossible.'

'Yeah, right, Will, it's a buckle.'

Spike quickly unzipped his lover's jeans and slid them over his hips, grinning as Angel gasped. Coolness washed over his skin, Spike's fingers surprisingly warm in the icy atmosphere. He could sense the wet tongue brush along his hip bone before it touched, nerves tingling as he leaned forward. He grabbed the door frame once more, fingers clawing into the plaster as Spike took him into his mouth. Growling, Angel gave in to desire, thrusting harder, fingers pulling against the matted blond hair, demanding more.

But before his knees buckled, Spike pulled away to his impatient moan. The younger vampire stood up and met Angel's frustrated stare.

'Problem, pet?'

Angel swallowed and grabbed for him, the T-shirt tearing beneath his fingers, dropping to the floor on an errant breeze. Without pause, Spike kissed him again, his tongue delving in and out of his hungry mouth, alcohol still tainting the taste. Angel tried to kick his boots off, standing on the heel and trying to ease them off. But his foot caught and they fell to the floor, Spike straddling him as his head hit the concrete.

'Ow.'

The younger vampire laughed and swivelled round, bearing a smooth spine to Angel's gaze. He felt Spike easing his jeans off, the cold floor rough against his ass. A boot bounced away, sliding under the car as Angel tried to make any kind of mental note to retrieve it later. But it was far too hard to think about anything when Spike was planting hungry kisses along his bared legs. His fingers were pulling at the waistband of the blond's jeans before he realised he was doing it, and as soon as he did, Angel tore at the stiff fabric, the cotton snapping beneath his hands.

'Oi, my threads!'

'I'll buy you more,' managed Angel before Spike turned again, shimmying blissfully above him as his clothes came away.

With the pressure of his lover's hips grinding against him, the rough floor was really beginning to become irritating. Angel struggled to get up, taking Spike with him, their naked flesh tingling in the coolness of the garage. They stumbled backwards towards the car, banging into the door as the chassis wobbled. He could hear Spike chuckling at their instability, and then...

Everything becoming as primitive as it had been the first time. Mine, all mine and I shall never let you go.

Fingers travelling the length of his torso.

Mine forever.

Hands grasping at his ass, pulling forward.

Mine until eternity.

His cock suddenly enclosed in warmth, Spike gasping and growling in pleasure.

Mine...until I'm human.

A tear swept down briefly down his cheek and Angel grunted against the car, trying to lose himself again, to succumb to the obvious bonus of what he was doing. But reality was so insistent, the loss so close, that with each thrust, he wondered how long they had.

'...love...'

How long until the Powers that definitely Fuck About separated them for good?

'...love...'

How many more minutes would they have like this? Just the two of them, nothing between them but...

'...love you...'

Angel leant back, sweat beading on his forehead, stunned at Spike's words. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times the vampire had pledged his heart. He expected to find Spike leaning his head against him, eyes closed, lost in some pleasure of his own, but blue met brown and the pain was still there.

Everything I've thought...you've known. Every fear I've had, you've anticipated. And nothing, nothing ever prepared me for this.

Not this.

The one thing I never dared to dream about, the event Buffy prayed for, wanted so badly I could hear her pulse quicken just at the thought...Everything that I knew I would never be worthy of...they're giving it to me.

And taking me away from you as reward.

Spike stared at him hard, unblinking and resolute. His ass pressed against Angel's hips, rocking furiously, arms clinging to the dark vampire's shoulders. His pace was relentless, but instead of slowing and confessing all, Angel matched him beat for beat, using his body mercilessly until the explosion threatened, and even then...

He growled into the night as he felt his balls swell, a slow pulse throbbing up through his cock, then the flood, and he lost his mind whilst pleasure flooded his body.

And for a single moment, he didn't worry, didn't fear the coming dawn, because all that existed in the world was touch. I would gladly lose my other senses as long as we could still touch...for this is what I will miss the most.

Shuddering, he moved against Spike, lifting his head to meet the unsatisfied gaze of his lover. Angel smiled softly and shifted backwards, forcing Spike to find his feet. It didn't take him more than a couple of seconds to rock forwards, finding Angel slippery and welcoming. He grasped the large thighs and started pushing hard, causing the dark vampire to blow hard at the tightness, at the barest slickness of his ass.

And it was so damn cold here now, so dark and silent. There wasn't even the illusion of breath as Angel bit his lip and wrapped his arms round Spike's taut frame. He felt the vampire shuddering, reaching his own climax, and he was glad. But as Spike rocked forward on his arms, their connection melting away, Angel wished he could weep for the closeness that could disappear at any moment.

You and me against the world now.

You and me forever, until the skies fade and Armageddon comes for real.

Beyond death.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

He met Spike's gaze as the English vampire forced Angel to raise his head.

'It's not going to happen, mate.'

Angel shook his head.

'What?'

And that clear irresistible blue, still his, still full of conviction, even after this.

'Mine, remember, pet? Mine until every last bone disappears into dust.'

Angel opened his mouth to speak, but everything sounded hollow in his head. That was the one grievance he'd always had with Spike - he didn't lie to you, in his way, and he made it impossible to lie to him. And before anything that made sense sprang to his mouth, Spike had covered it with a kiss, nipping at his lip, drawing blood and swallowing it.

'Blood of the same bloody blood, love. Mine until I say not. Yours until you drop that big brooding arse into the fires of Hell.'

He licked his lips and grinned poignantly at his sire.

'You think being food's gonna change that?'

Angel laughed in spite of himself. Why on Earth would they make this his reward now? Learn humanity, become one of them, and then we'll strip you of the one thing you needed to make it this far? And Spike, saying he'd love him till death of any kind came, seeming almost defeated when presented with this prophesy, something Angel had believed he'd never see.

How could the Powers that Be act so blindly. They had the power to change everything...to make wishes reality, and death revert. They didn't learn, they didn't grow and they would never see that his reward would be his downfall.

That which does not live cannot grow, that which does not change, cannot live.

But his soul lived, even if his mortal body was dead.

And Spike's demon lived, tempered to the Englishman's desires.

They had changed, they had thrived in disability.

And the reward for such change was an ending to all things they owned.

'With my dying breath,' he murmured, but Spike pressed his hand against Angel's mouth.

'With your first living one, in...what is it, pet? Two hundred years?'

And the pain was gone from Spike's eyes, not quite lost for good, but buried deep enough to remind Angel that all they had ever, was the moment.

The lop sided grin was back.

'Two and a half...and Hell.'

Spike sniffed and moved away, searching through his tattered duster for his fags.

'Yeah, that Hell gig. Heard time just flies by there.'

Angel rolled his eyes and picked up the remnants of his pants, successfully finding the door-key.

'Yeah, real heavy on the fun side of life...as long as you don't actually have a life.'

He fumbled in the door, trying to get the now slightly bent key to open the lock. Spike's fingers trailed over his shoulder and he turned back, aware that he'd was tensing in sudden expectation.

'Dead...alive...it's you and me, pet.'

Angel clicked open the lock and pushed the door back.

'I didn't expect this.'

Spike smiled pleasantly and ruffled Angel's hair up into its usual artfully created spikey do.

'No-one expects stuff, love. That's why it's not all prophesy and bad news.'

Elegant fingers strayed back down Angel's face, finding the sensitive nerve in his neck again. Angel felt a slow deep breathing echo in his chest and he reached for the Englishman.

'You think we should make...decisions...for when...'

Spike grinned and pushed past him, cigarette smoke billowing down into the empty garage.

'Later.'

Angel frowned and followed him in.

'Later? What's wrong with now?'

But by then Spike's arms were round him and he was falling back against the sofa.

Later would do for such talks.

Much, much later.

Say in an eternity or so.

*

'So what's his problem?'

Cordelia mooched into her coffee, unable to understand why Spike and Angel had left so abruptly, especially when they'd just been given such amazing news.

'Cordy, I'm guessing that subtlety is just one of the many talents you missed out on when you didn't go to finishing school.'

Xander spread his hands wide on the table.

'Undead person. Living person. They don't.....gel.'

Cordy rolled her eyes.

'Excuse me? Where were you when the great Buffy/Angel star-crossed thing was going on?'

Xander nodded.

'Oh I was there, and I remember how it ended.'

'End of the world, big scary stone statue swallowing Angel into Hell?'

The boy wondered just how much attention Cordelia actually paid to problems that were NOT MINE. He'd decided a long while ago, pretty much as soon as he'd understood what problems were, that the pretty girl with the limited edition Barbie purse edited problems into MINE and NOT MINE. She probably thought of them in capital letters as well. And he bet that anything dropped in the second pile pretty much floated down the river to rest with everything else that didn't have to concern her.

Time hadn't done anything to make NOT MINE any more important, but MINE had expanded enough to include her friends, what few she had...even if it still came down to - how will this affect me?

'Cordy, not the Hell thing...after that.'

She looked genuinely puzzled.

'You mean the "we can never see each other again because it's too hard", though what he was doing with her still stuns me - the woman couldn't co-ordinate a pencil case.'

Ignoring the jibe, Xander pushed forward, hoping that something would sink in. She wasn't stupid...just obsessed with the most important person in her life.

'Yeah, the not seeing each other thing.'

'So?'

I actually have feelings for this woman?

'So when Angel gets a heartbeat, he's going to want to do human things...like go for a walk in the day...eat pizza.'

'Spike eats pizza, now...and he puts brown sauce on it...can you say eww?'

Xander tried hard not to lose his temper. Was she just playing him, making him explain what she already knew or had her ego turned completely inside itself?'

'Yeah, okay, so the pizza thing isn't exactly a problem, but Angel...he's going to get old...'

She blinked at him and he thought of the anti-wrinkle, anti-ageing, anti-changing-from-the-way-I-look-now creams that stood on the shelf above the basin. Growing old had to be one of the few things that kept her awake at night. Maybe that's what she'd been dreaming about when he'd ambled in blearily from the sofa, finding her shivering and wide eyed. After checking for the obvious - monsters, burglars, hideous pimple on the end of her nose - he'd patted her reassuringly and moved to the door.

At the point when she should have spoken up and said, 'don't leave me alone tonight,' he'd heard her start snoring. Wondering what had happened to good romance in real life, Xander slumped on the sofa and fell asleep. But the following morning, instead of demanding he get his 'lazy ass up' and stopped 'making my apartment look untidy', breakfast had sat on the table, complete with do-nuts and full fat coke.

There was always hope.

'He's going to get old? Oh right...I get you, now. Spike's not going to like the wrinkly version.'

Her face grimaced in horror.

'Oh God!'

'What?'

'Angel with liver spots...'

She got up and walked out of the room, obviously heading for Doyle's tiny bathroom to check her perfect complexion, to make sure that none of the horrors of age had descended yet.

Xander blinked, unsure how he'd failed so completely to make his point, and slammed his head onto the table.

'Ow.'

'Shouldn't do that if I were you, Xander.'

He lifted his head as Doyle sat down at the tiny table, perching atop of the only other stool that wasn't fixed with gaffa tape. He had a mug of something that steamed, and Xander found himself wondering how often he'd seen that. In the office, drinking other things had been excusable, but at home...he'd only been here a couple of times and Doyle usually carried a bottle in one pocket and a tub of headache tablets in the other.

It's too close to home, too close to family.

It's just too close.

'Doyle.'

The Irishman grinned, but his eyes weren't focussed on him - Xander turned to see Wesley walk past, books up to his chin, the ancient scrolls held on with his little finger. He was checking and rechecking the scrolls, but they knew somehow that he'd translated the true meaning. Angel would do his duty, and as a reward, the Powers that Be would make his heart beat again.

And Spike, if he even bothered to stick around, would have to watch as Angel grew old and wither away. Would have to go on without him. And there was such a bleak certainty about it that made Xander want to scream.

I hated him, I hated him because Buffy couldn't see beyond his brooding looks and puppy-dog expressions. I hated him because he was one of them, because he was such a knife edge and no-one would see it but me. I hated him because he had everything I wanted, and he couldn't act on it.

He had the opportunity, but not the skill.

And I had...

There was a hollow scream from the bathroom and Xander figured she'd noticed the tiny zit that threatened her temple.

Doyle looked at him, puzzled at his lack of concern and Xander shrugged.

'Woman stuff...don't go there.'

The half-demon nodded and sipped his coffee.

'Don't think we'll be hearing from them two for a while.'

'Define while. Are we talking a whole weekend of last minute...er...stuff that they have to do. Or am I looking for a new job already?'

With a worryingly understanding grin, Doyle slurped his coffee.

'Wouldn't worry about your job just yet...Wes thinks that "soon" in PTB terms is more on a "years" scale.'

'Oh.'

Xander gestured toward the door.

'You think they know that?'

'Shouldn't think it'd matter.'

'Why?'

Doyle finished his coffee and looked past Xander to where Wesley was reading through yet another text, before turning back to the boy.

'They think in the those terms anyway. And from what Spike said, they'd got an idea of a little rest home for old vamps, just this side of eternity.'

Xander shrugged.

'So what now? You think Spike'll turn him when he gets his humanness?'

'If he wants Angelus, yeah. Otherwise I'm thinking that'll be it.'

'It?'

'The end. I can't see Spike hanging around to watch Angel die.'

Xander tapped the table absently.

'What about the...er...love thing.'

Doyle blinked and he hastily tried to explain.

'The whole, Angel loves Spike forever thing?'

The half-demon strayed toward Wesley again and spoke quietly.

'He left Buffy, didn't he?'

Xander stared at the crack in the table as he tried to take it in. He'd always known that there was no such thing as everlasting love, or even, moderately lasting affection. But here was a place where the strange could become normal and the afflicted could become the heroes. Here was a place where dreams, as flimsy as they were, could come to pass.

And he'd wanted in on that.

There would never be a time that he'd call Angel his friend, never be a moment in which the old hate wouldn't come to the fore and assert itself. But this version of the fanged wonder was so much less threatening, that even Xander had to admit to rare moments of liking him.

Okay, so the man has to turn gay and hook up with one of the baddies before I even think - now he's an okay kind of guy.

He shuddered.

My values are seriously twisted.

The door buzzer rang out and Doyle got up, reaching in his pants for his wallet.

'Pizza?' asked Xander.

Doyle nodded and walked over to the door as Cordelia came out of the bathroom, damage apparently averted and ready once more to face the world.

'No anchovies, no onion and make sure the base is lightly risen...I can't take it crispy.'

She stared at Xander, who'd been silently appraising her frequently exasperated, immaculate face.

'What?'

'Nothing,' he drawled, 'Just wondering why we broke up.'

'Because you were schtupping your supposed best friend.'

Xander blinked, brought back to reality with frightening ease.

'We were not schtupping. I have never schtupped.'

She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him.

'Never?'

How, just tell me how I manage to get myself into these conversations every time?

'Oh...oh...I have schtupped, in fact, there was that time when...and I...uh...Faith.'

She actually chuckled. And there was no help from Wesley, as he'd actually taken time away from the books to help Doyle with the food.

'Faith? User of little men and the Mayor's groupie?'

Her grin widened.

'Oh yeah, Xander, I'd publish that one everywhere.'

Xander swallowed hard.

'And Anya...I...was having a pretty cool boyfriend, girlfriend thing going there.'

She choked.

'The demon girl!'

That's it.

Xander got to his feet and shook a finger at her.

'Okay, enough. Anya is...was my girlfriend and you're the one who ended up pregnant with a demon spawn thing.'

'Like that compares?'

He drew close enough to hear her breathing quicken and tried to stare her out.

'I'd say so, yeah.'

'Would you now?'

They stayed like that, neither blinking, neither moving and aware that there were lines being drawn here. Aware that this felt too familiar to just walk away from.

They were still staring when Wesley's panicked tones echoed from the hall.

'Oh God! Phone for an ambulance!'

They looked to see him carrying Doyle in, pain wracked and probably vision prone.

Cordelia tilted her head.

'They didn't have the right dip, did they?'

Wesley laid Doyle's body on the sofa and scrambled for the basin, grabbing a cloth as Xander picked up the phone. The half-demon was fitting, spikes sinking in and out of his face.

'So do I phone 911, or what?'

Wesley damped down the cloth and hesitated, trying hard not to panic.

'What? Er...no...no. Oh...hmm.'

Cordelia took the phone off the nervous Xander and began to key in a number.

'Look, I'll take care of it. Dr Sussman seems to keep a regular line of non-human patients.'

As she spoke to the suspicious receptionist, Xander hesitated, wondering what he could do. He hated these moments, hated feeling useless, but...

'Xander, go, find Spike, find Angel. Tell them what's happened,' said Wesley firmly. The raw note of terror was still there, but buried deeper, waiting for the right moment to show up. 'Tell them there's a mark...the back of his hand...tell them...'

'Okay, I'm going.'

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, hesitating at the pile of papers Wesley had dropped in his effort to bring Doyle in to safety.

'Wes?'

'What? You should be gone!'

Xander shook his head.

'The scrolls. What did you do with them?'

And the ex-watcher looked at the empty space where they should be. Doyle squirmed again and Wesley struggled to hold him down, to do something, anything to relieve the pain. His eyes met Xander's and the boy nodded.

'Go, find the vamps, mark, scrolls, I got it.'

Cordelia was just finishing up on the phone and he almost felt sorry for the receptionist.

Almost, but her family wasn't falling apart.

Was it?

*

Whatever you do, don't think.

Spike rolled over, his thighs aching, his back daring him to try and do anything more athletic than lie down. Angel was snoring lightly next to him, cover draped somewhere over his belly, an easy smile on his lips.

And if he hadn't been trying so hard not to think, Spike would have allowed himself a smug grin - shagged the bugger till he couldn't take it anymore.

Only he isn't going to take it anymore, is he?

With a growl, the younger vampire attempted to sit up, a groaning pain in his belly reminding him how long they'd gone without a drink. They'd even skipped pizza at Doyle's, desperate to get back here, to count down the hours until Angel became human.

He snorted at his own sense of hopelessness.

William the Bloody brought low by the idea of losing his lover. Like there shouldn't be a hundred different asses available in a hundred different cities. There were, and as long as he didn't reveal his little 'problem', he could think of six or eight off hand who'd be prepared to bend over.

Trouble was, Spike had never really gone for the easy lay...except very occasionally when his ego needed a boost. It never brought him the same satisfaction as when he was sleeping with his equal, and no one had ever brought him to the same heights as Angel. There wasn't a single moment outside his sire's arms when believed in heaven.

And he was going to have to give it up.

Even if he stayed, lived as Angel's vampire lover whilst the all-new, all-guilt-free version of his sire learnt how to live as a human, they had a finite time together. And he would have to watch as Angel grew old, lines wrinkling his face. He would watch as his legs started to fail him, brown eyes fading with age as one by one, his senses failed him.

He would have to watch him die.

And all of that was a best case scenario.

Spike pulled the sheet from his body and got up, determined not to think about it anymore. Nothing he could say or do could...

Well, there was that.

He could always turn the man, reversing that oh-so-interesting sire/childe relationship.

He chuckled at the idea.

It was a pleasant daydream, but one that would definitely end in his undead ass getting kicked from here to...well, as far as Angelus could kick it. Five minutes of gratitude, that's all he'd get, and then the newly emerged vampire would set upon world domination once more.

Which didn't leave a lot of time for sex.

Pulling a crumpled cigarette from the remains of his coat, Spike sat by the table, waiting for the familiar ding of the microwave. Surely there had to be another option aside from the slightly crazy idea of bringing Angelus back. There had to be another way, an choice that didn't make him watch his lover die.

There had to be a way, but he couldn't think of it.

He sniffed and turned his mind to the possibility of having a human lover.

There were advantages, naturally - a nice warm body to hold, blood pulsing in that intoxicating rhythm that drew him in, bringing the demon to the fore, screaming to be fed. There was a certain pleasure in feeding from a mortal lover and Spike grinned at the prospect, before reality hit home with a vengeance.

There wasn't going to be any feeding, or any vague threats. The chip had seen to that, rendering him impotent before Angel, subject to his will once more. Not that Angel would push it, of that he was certain. Fairly certain anyway.

But there had to come a day when Angel would want to experience everything humanity had to offer.

Wouldn't he need to know what a life without shadows felt like?

Daylight, food, a social life...

Spike snorted.

Wouldn't the bugger want a family?

The microwave signalled his drink was ready and Spike picked both mugs up, heading over to the bed where Angel was stirring. The dark vampire blinked, then smiled easily at Spike's weight on the mattress.

'Been up long?'

Spike shook his head.

'A bit. Been hungry - we walked out before pizza.'

Angel chuckled and tried to sit up, obviously trying to take things easy. He took the mug from Spike and sipped at it, watching as the blond vampire attempted a grin.

'Still thinking about...'

'No. Not thinking about it at all, love.'

Angel brushed his hand across the exposed thigh, touching nerves that never seemed satisfied.

'I have.'

Spike looked up, not entirely surprised.

'Thought you might. Come on then, what's your big solution?'

'I don't have a big solution. I've just been thinking.'

Spike nodded.

'A novelty, I'll grant you. So what've you come up with?'

Angel paused and tapped the side of his mug.

'I want Wesley to look over the manuscript again...'

'...like he hasn't looked over and over it already. Grasping at straws, mate.'

'...And if he couldn't find any mistake in the translation, then maybe...'

Spike waited for Angel to come up with something he hadn't thought of. He'd rather grasp at straws than face the possibility of losing Angel for good. Perhaps there was a loophole - Powers that Be seemed fond of them. There should be something...

Angel sagged.

'I don't know. I can't think of anything.'

Spike slurped back a good amount of blood and regarded Angel carefully.

'That's it? That's you out?'

He frowned.

'Bugger me, I thought you'd have something better than "I don't know".'

Angel shrugged.

'I don't know, Will...'

'Huh!'

'...What do you want me to say? That I don't want this? That this reward is a punishment to me?'

He breathed out heavily.

'That I already have what I want and I'm damned cause they're taking that away from me?'

Spike looked at the intent gaze and risked a grin.

'Well it would help.'

Angel huffed and leaned back against the pillows.

'I want you.'

The blond grinned and rested his hand on the flat of Angel's belly.

'I know, pet, I know.'

Angel shook his head.

'I don't just mean the sex...I mean, yeah, the sex, but, I...'

He shrugged.

'I can't imagine waking up without smelling you.'

'I'll bottle the odour.'

'And feeling you next to me? How are you going to manage that?'

'Shop dummy?'

Angel laughed in spite of the deep routed pain in his chest.

'Well it would be quieter.'

Spike grinned.

'Yeah, but it's hardly going to stop you brooding.'

He regarded Angel's sorrowful expression and rolled his eyes. One of them had to stay upbeat. One of them had to see the plus side, or it would be depression and sackcloth all over the apartment. Spike slid his hand up to reach Angel's brow, trying to smooth out the frown-lines. They were fading, gentle marks round his eyes taking their place. He'd not aged since Darla took his lifeblood, but time hadn't left him entirely unblemished.

In a little over half a year, Spike had seen Angel grow less worried by what he was. He laughed, he smiled, he suggested wicked things at inappropriate moments. He had noticed Angel allowing himself to get involved with people, and as much as it irked Spike that their constant companions were human, he'd also grown used to having them around. More than that, he'd come to regard them as part of his clan. The big MINE he liked to plaster over everything.

Throwback to a time when MINE had consisted of little more than his bootlaces? Maybe, but William the Bloody rampaged once more, and if his victims were demons, so be it. He was happy, he liked where he was, and amazingly, who he was with. And he was certain above everything else, that this is where he was supposed to be - a place where Angel belonged to him, and he belonged to Angel. Somewhere when all vampire lore had left the building and they were creating a whole new definition to the term vampire.

Bloody Anne Rice.

Only thing she'd missed out on was the sex...well that and the notion that vampires could regret. You needed a soul to regret, and since he had none, Spike saw no point dwelling in the past. But Angel was stuck there, endlessly wishing he had been a better man, that he hadn't been such a bastard of a vampire. And if they made him human, he'd live that life wishing for something else.

Brown met blue and Spike nodded.

He'd wish that they still had this.

'I wouldn't leave you, pet.'

'I know...'

'But?'

Angel covered Spike's hand.

'But I don't want to leave you.'

And death was everywhere, threatening them in such an immediate way that there was nowhere to hide. Angel's reward was his humanity, and the loss of a life in shadows.

It wouldn't make either of them happy.

'Right,' said Spike, reaching over for another cig. 'We're going to see them wankers and talk a bit of sense into them.'

'Wankers?'

'Powers that Fuck About.'

Angel shook his head.

'They're not interested in what we want...or don't want. We're lesser beings.'

Spike raised his eyebrows as he lit up the cig.

'Lesser fucking beings? We're vampires, love. Gods, remember?'

The dark vampire nodded, and Spike pressed on.

'Anyway, if you say you won't do it anymore if they don't change their minds, they'll have to do something, won't they?'

'Do it?'

'The good bloody fight. Healing the sick...arsing about in pretty clothes. You ix nay it and they'll have to pay attention.'

'Or kill us where we stand.'

Spike puffed out a cloud of smoke and grinned.

'Rather die on my feet than pander to their bloody whims.'

He waved the tip at his lover.

'You tell them it's all off if they give you a heartbeat, and watch them scribble in the small print.'

Angel hesitated before shaking his head.

'They won't listen, Will. They're even more selfish than you.'

He qualified his answer as Spike glared at him.

'More selfish, less interesting ass.'

The blond chuckled and rolled on his side, baring the tattooed skin to Angel's eyes.

'My best bloody feature.'

Angel nodded.

'Not denying that for an instant.'

He sighed.

'But the Powers that Be...they're not going to be swayed by a good ass.'

He paused, as though remembering something.

'Well probably not, anyway.'

Spike rolled back over and faced him, lips brushing briefly against Angel's own.

'Worth a try, eh, love?'

Angel kissed him, tasting the ash and alcohol, tasting the drying sweat from their recent exertions. They'd allowed him Spike, allowed him to work at something that could last eternity, only to tell him that this was just the pre-show. That learning humanity from his childe was only a step toward his redemption. It didn't make sense to him. What he wanted was forgiveness, but what he needed was Spike.

Anything else was simply punishment.

Spike pushed against him and felt Angel respond, although his mind was clearly elsewhere. This was what it was going to be like, until the reward kicked in - snatched moments, desperately trying not to think about how long it would last. And Spike didn't know if he could take the morbidity. They took chances everyday, and either one could be killed at any time - that was a risk they both accepted, believing that luck and skill were both on their side. But to have *this* in front of them, glaring with certainty - that was unbearable.

He was about to press seeing the Oracles, when Xander came running down the stairs, breathless, cheeks red with exertion. Spike watched with amusement as the boy recognised both their nakedness and proximity, turning away so that he was addressing the kitchen.

'Doyle...' he panted.

'No - Spike, pet. You should recognise the difference.'

He could see Xander squirming in effort not to let the vampire get to him.

'...is ill.'

Angel got to his feet and reached in the drawer for some clothes.

'What's the matter with him?'

'Don't know - looked like he was having a vision...or a fit or something.'

He risked turning around, saw Angel bending over to put his pants on and closed his eyes.

'Don't you two ever do anything else?'

'Yeah,' grinned Spike as he reached for his tattered jeans. 'Sometimes we beat up the pathetic, just for fun.'

'Oh yeah...well if you could actually lay a finger on me I'd be scared, but let's face it, Defanged boy, you can't even lick me to death.'

Angel stood, facing the boy, shadowed in the darkness of the apartment.

'The only one his tongue touches is me.'

Spike chuckled and pulled his jeans on, the colour draining from Xander's face.

'Love it when you get possessive, pet.'

The side of Angel's mouth tilted in a half-smile.

'I thought you might.'

'Okay, enough! We have a problem here.'

The vampires turned back to Xander, registering his discomfort, both wondering how to increase it.

'Doyle,' reminded the boy.

'Had a vision,' said Angel. 'About what?'

He reached for his shirt, saw the gaping holes in it and yanked open the closet in search of another.

'About nothing, I don't know.'

'Full of knowledge, aren't you, mate?'

Xander scowled at Spike.

'Okay then, Mr...Brain, you get a description out of someone who's still rolling about the floor.'

'He's still in the vision?'

'Duh!'

Angel flipped down the collar of his shirt and hastily found the last of his clothes.

'Why didn't you phone?'

Xander held up his hands to ward off the accusation.

'Excuse me? Try and contact who? The vamps who take the phone off the hook when they're...busy.'

Angel winced as Spike chuckled.

'Oh yeah, we were busy all right. Busy as two bunnies in a place with extra carrots.'

'Will you just stop with the sex metaphors, you're making me need therapy.'

Spike snorted.

'Love, if just talking about sex puts you in the shrink chair, how are you going to get Mighty Mouth into Bed?'

'Mighty Mouse?'

'He means Cordelia,' murmured Angel as he moved over to the weapons cabinet.

Xander flushed red and waved a finger at Spike.

'What is it with everyone and my sex life?'

'We're wondering when you're going to get one?'

They turned to Angel, stunned at his outburst. After a second, he noticed and looked furtively at both of them.

'I said that aloud?'

'Too bloody right, pet. Nicely put.'

Xander shook his head and walked to the door.

'I don't get it, even gay vamps get more than me. What am I doing wrong?'

'The hair,' suggested Angel as he pulled out a favoured bastard sword.

'I wasn't asking for advice from the dead.'

Spike pulled on his boots and looked at Angel. That look of worry was back, and he guessed that part of this anxiousness to help Doyle came from the relief it brought - a chance to not think about more personal problems. He had to do something, had to stop this bloody circle before it got going in earnest.

'Right then,' said Spike, reaching for SID, 'since Xander hasn't come for a good bit of advice, shall we?'

Angel nodded and followed him down to the car, Xander traipsing behind.

'They'll be at Dr Sussman's now, but I don't know...'

'...I know where it is,' interrupted Angel.

Xander climbed in the back, something troubling him.

'So everyone knows stuff except me?'

'Pretty much, yeah.'

There was a pause as the engine revved up and then...

'So how do you get to be knowledge guy, then?'

'Live a lot longer,' said Angel quietly.

'Have more sex,' grinned Spike.

Xander slumped back against the seat.

'Typical. In a world where Spike gets to be Brain, I'm eternally Pinky.'

He thought for a moment.

'You two know anything about dimension hopping?'

*

Wesley watched as Dr Sussman reached for a syringe.

He and Cordelia had rushed Doyle to the doctor's surgery, pushing past creatures from nightmares. He'd heard faint mentions of 'seer' behind him, and Doyle had convulsed on the examining table. It had taken all three of them to hold him down, his face flicking between its human and more obviously demon state. As the tranquilliser took effect, Doyle calmed slightly, but his eyes still flickered and Wesley knew they postponed, rather than cured him.

'That's all I can do for the moment,' said Dr Sussman, 'until we know what's doing this, all I can do is keep him sedated.'

She looked up at Cordelia and Wesley.

'I take it this isn't something that happens a lot?'

'He's not usually grooky like this for long,' agreed Cordelia.

Wesley glared at her and the girl rolled her eyes at him.

'Don't worry about it. I told you, Dr Sussman deals with all kinds of weirdos.'

Wesley's eyes widened and Cordelia threw her hands up and walked to the door.

'Doyle, did you say?'

Turning back from the girl, Wesley focussed back on Dr Sussman.

'Yes, yes, Doyle...Francis.'

Doyle flinched again and Wesley stroked his hand along his forehead, feeling as the blunt spikes slid back into his head. He wasn't panicking, he wasn't. And Spike and Angel would be here soon, and they'd all figure out what to do, and Doyle would stop...

The half-demon shrieked and Wesley had never felt quite so helpless.

Dr Sussman was already trying to scan through for a background on Doyle.

'Brachen demon, am I right?'

Wesley nodded.

'Half...he's human...his mother...'

'Hmm, a half-demon. Perhaps there's some kind of cell conflict...or perhaps there's something he's prone to. Your companion mentioned that this type of problem has happened before?'

'He's a seer,' murmured Wesley, 'he has migraine-like moments.'

'Like this?'

'Yes, but they're usually over in less than a minute.'

'I see.'

She shone a light against his eyes, but the pupils didn't react. Whatever he was looking at, it wasn't something anyone else could see.

'Well,' she said, rubbing her lips, 'If he is having a vision, I don't know how to bring him out of it.'

'There's nothing you can do?'

She shook her head.

'I'll keep him sedated as best I can, but unless he comes out of it by himself...'

She trailed off, as Wesley's heart sank.

Doyle was strong - stronger than most humans, but the pain was in must be unbearable. And according to Dr Sussman, it could kill him. And that wouldn't do, that was not going to happen, and if Spike and Angel couldn't help him, then he'd...he'd...

With a long strangled sigh, Wesley tried to fight down the panic.

He turned back to the doctor.

'Nothing is going to happen to him. You are going to take care of him. And I'm going to find out what's going on, and fix it.'

She raised her eyebrows at him.

'Well you'd better move fast, because I don't know how long his body can take this.'

But Wesley had already bent down, laid a kiss on Doyle's head and gripped his hand.

'I'll make this right, I promise,' he whispered, hoping that the Irishman could hear him.

Fingers tightened round his own, but he couldn't be sure that it meant anything. Doyle was so deeply inside himself that it seemed nothing could touch him. Wesley issued a silent prayer to give him strength, straightened and tried to bring his hand away. As he unclasped Doyle's fingers, he noticed the black mark.

He'd seen that somewhere before, he was sure of it.

'Mr Price?'

He shook himself and looked at Dr Sussman again.

'I...'

The door opened as Angel and Spike spilled into the room, the receptionist crying out in disapproval behind them. Angel came straight over to the bed, looking over Doyle's still convulsing body with a mixture of fear and anger.

'What happened?'

Wesley shook his head.

'I don't know. There's a mark...he went to the door...and I found him like this.'

'He looks crap,' said Spike helpfully, 'someone hexed him?'

'Possibly, agreed Wesley.

He glared at them both.

'We have to find out now, before he gets any worse.'

As the receptionist hurried in and tried to get them all out, Wesley squeezed Doyle's hand briefly, before setting his mind to the task. He found the others in the waiting room, Cordelia passing round coffee that she might as well have made herself. Wesley took a brief sip, unable to digest anything properly - his stomach was clenched tight, panic a bare moment away.

He grabbed a scrap of paper and started drawing the mark.

'This is on the back of his hand. It wasn't there before.'

Angel took the paper and examined it carefully.

'I've never seen this, but I'm guessing that it's some kind of mark.'

'Yeah, nice one Sherlock,' said Spike, looking over his shoulder. 'You take all day to figure that one out?'

'I meant,' said Angel, strained patience testing his voice, 'that this is a specific curse. Maybe you can look it up.'

Wesley shook his head.

'I don't have time, I need something quickly.'

'I can try the net?'

He looked at Cordelia and gave her a faint smile.

'That might be worth looking at, but I'm going to go straight to the source.'

Xander held his hands up.

'Doyle's brain's frying and you're talking about drinking?'

Cordelia glared at him.

'He said source, percepto boy, not sauce.'

Xander shook his head.

'Still not seeing the difference.'

'Duh! He means the source, which is obviously...'

'I'm going to the Oracles.'

'Exactly! Huh?'

Wesley took a deep breath.

'I know it's strictly warriors only, but I'm need to find the answer.'

Angel considered.

'They're not exactly heavy on giving, you might end up worse off than you were before.'

'I've got to try something!'

'Well maybe you can find out who took the scrolls, as well,' said Xander, reaching for his Pepsi.

They turned to look at him.

'What?'

Angel groaned

'Wolfram and Hart - Lindsay's back with them, and definitely out for revenge.'

'Revenge on who?'

Spike slugged back his coffee and winced at the taste.

'Let's just say, me, the poof...all of us.'

'I'm in a revenge situation?'

Xander slapped the can back on the table.

'Well I say let's go show those lawyer types just who they're messing with.'

'Dweeb boy from Sunnydale?'

Ignoring Cordelia, Angel pressed on.

'Wesley, you go the Oracles, find out what you can. We'll go to Wolfram and Hart, Cordelia, see what you can come up with on the net. Xander...'

He paused, trying to think of something for the boy to do.

'...try and stay out of trouble.'

'Hey!'

Spike nodded to Wesley.

'I'll go with Weasly.'

Angel swallowed.

'To the Oracles?'

'May as well kill two birds with one stone.'

There was an audible pause, and Wesley waited for Angel to tell Spike no, to state that some things shouldn't be tampered with, but the vampire slowly nodded. He'd been expecting one of them to go to the Oracles, to ask why Angel's reward was so badly envisaged, but at no point had he imagined accompanying them. Desperate times, desperate thoughts, and Doyle's time was running out. Wesley spoke quietly.

'Doyle first. One thing at a time.'

Angel assented, then winced.

'Okay then...Xander, you're with me.'

'Thank you,' said the boy vehemently.

A puzzled look covered his face.

'When did I reach the stage that going with dead boy was the bonus round?'

'A rare moment of taste,' suggested Cordelia.

As they exited the building, going in their different directions, Wesley heard Doyle scream and turned back. Spike's hand retrained him, and he turned to look into those annoyingly perceptive eyes.

'We'll get him back, mate.'

Wesley felt that well of panic churning in his belly.

'I'm not losing him.'

'We're not losing anyone,' said Spike grimly. 'Or I'll rip the balls off these Oracles.'

He walked into the night, Wesley following closely behind.

'I thought one of them was a woman?'

'You disagreeing with me?'

Wesley thought about it for a second, then shook his head.

'No. Ball ripping, right.'

*

In some ways, it seemed strange to him that man had torn down their castles, only to rebuild them. The Wolfram and Hart offices might look like any other building in LA, but they were a fortress all the same. He'd seen castles back in Ireland, seen many strewn over Europe, but here in the New country, they made their keeps out of mirror and cement.

'Okay, so...'

He turned, remembering Xander was with him. The boy looked puzzled and a little bit scared. Of what, he wasn't sure - Xander had never entered the offices before, and he had no idea of the things they could do to a person.

Of course, he could just be going with the 'they have guns, they can shoot me' scenario. He saw Xander touch the skin at his waist, and wondered how well that wound had healed. Angel hated getting shot, mainly because he was sure people did it to annoy him. They couldn't kill him, but they left him with a good few hours of Spike's teasing, pretending that the bullets were too deep to get out quickly.

And now he was relying on Spike to talk to the Oracles.

God, but that seemed like a bad idea.

Spike, persuasive as he was, was not a warrior of virtue and that as far as Angel knew, was the only key to the Oracles. At best, Spike's motives could be pronounced selfish, even if his selfishness extended to those around him. He wasn't trying to get Angel's curse changed for the greater good, but so that they could spend the rest of eternity playing, laughing, fucking...unchanged, and thoroughly content.

And what's so wrong with that, he smiled vaguely to himself. It's my reward, it's...he sighed hard. It's unnecessary. What I want can't be delivered in a package, or a promise of a new life. I'm not doing this for some great prize - I'm not a contestant looking behind door number one.

What I want is to set things right. I can't bring anyone back, but I can stop others being taken. And the balance is so far from swinging in my favour, I don't want to think about it. I don't want to hear that after having saved X amount of people, I get a beating heart...I don't want to be alone.

And without him, the world might as well be empty.

'Angel?'

He turned back to see Xander focussing ahead of them.

'What?'

The boy cocked his head to one side and nodded at the mirrored glass.

'Someone's sending out a welcome committee. And I can't remember calling ahead.'

Angel looked around, but the doors stayed closed. He couldn't see anything.

'I don't...where?'

Xander's gaze didn't waver.

'Side of the building...big guns, guys with one brain cell less than the national requirement.'

He shrugged.

'Maybe less.'

The vampire shifted slightly, finding the group.

'I don't think they're here for us.'

'No, but aren't we here for them?'

Angel squinted, noticing Lindsay, wheeled out by the elegant Lilah, long legs stretching out, still very aware of her attractions. They were edging towards a limo, evidently in a hurry.

When he turned back to tell Xander to get back in the car, the boy had already slid into the front seat, his focus still on Wolfram and Hart. Silently, the vampire climbed in beside him and started up the engine. Unused to Xander's hush, he felt the need to fill the space.

'So, we follow them, take the scroll back.'

'If they've got it.'

'Yeah...'

There was another person climbing into the car ahead, heavily hooded and almost too tall to be human. Instinctively, Angel knew he was looking at the thief, the cause of Doyle's unending visions.

'Am I getting perceptive or something? Cause I'm ready to swear that that's our Robin.'

Angel pulled away, following the limo at a distance.

'Our what?'

Xander raised an eyebrow.

'You don't know your Hollywood heroes and you live in LA?'

Angel frowned.

'Enlighten me.'

'Oh come on! He robbed the rich to feed the...poor old lawyer types. But he was a thief, you're going to have to give me that.'

Angel winced.

'Robin Hood?'

Xander gave him a 'yeah-so' look and Angel left it alone. Let him believe Hollywood had made the legend up - they'd certainly bent it to their own will. If his instincts were right, they weren't going to have the time to argue about it.

Wolfram and Hart didn't go out for moonlight picnics.

*

'So this is it, right?'

Wesley nodded and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.

'And you do all that hocus pocus shit and we go in?'

Wesley nodded, staring at the words as if wondering which inflection to put on each vowel. The vampire had felt the raw edge of panic in the man, lingering just below the surface, Wesley's will power and fear for Doyle keeping it in check.

Spike strolled over to the doorway and ran his hands up the sides. Smooth rock, unbent by time and far too clean to be found underground. It was the only thing that had differentiated this passage from the others. He looked back at Wesley, seeing the tremble in his hands.

'Wes?'

The ex-watcher looked up, surprised and nodded quickly.

'I have it, I know...I'm just wondering...er...'

Spike walked over and took the paper from him, called out the words and tossed the few salts into the font. As the doorway burned and revealed it's entrance, Spike walked toward it before Wesley had a chance to protest.

And suddenly, the world shifted, and they were both somewhere which had a time and place of its own. Bright whites and hard floors, unreal in their actuality.

Spike blinked, and registered the figures approaching. Rejects from Space 1999...with attitude.

The male raised an eyebrow at him, and he felt Wesley near him, breathing hard.

'You are not welcome here.'

The male raised his hand to cast Spike out, when Wesley stepped in front of him, head bowed.

'Please, we have to talk to you.'

'Have to?'

The Oracle stepped closer.

''You are born with free will, are you not?'

Wesley nodded.

'Then you do not "have to" do anything. Be gone. Your matter is unimportant.'

Spike growled.

'Wankers, the lot of you.'

Wesley winced and kept his voice to a whisper.

'Oh very good, that's going to bend them to our cause in an instant.'

The vampire shrugged and stepped forward.

'If you two know so bloody much, how come the connection to your Oh-So-Great warrior is lying in some quack's office, dying?'

The Oracles exchanged a glance.

'Where is our offering, vampire?'

Spike frowned and felt Wesley stand next to him, palm open. There was a small pocket watch in his hand.

'Angel said you liked time.'

'Nice,' said Spike, sneering, 'you must be a whiz at Christmas shopping.'

'Will you just shut up!'

'Oh I would, but I can't deny you the pleasure of my voice.'

'Enough!'

They turned back to the Oracles, Wesley immediately compliant.

'I do apologise, I was...'

'We know why you are here, mortal.'

Wesley looked quite stunned.

'You do? Then how...?'

The female waved her hand as if dismissing the matter.

'You and your ilk have returned time after time with such trivial matters. If the Brachen dies, we shall send you another. If he lives, then you have no business here.'

She looked at him curiously.

'Such short lives. And yet you waste them wishing for things to be other than they are.'

As Wesley paled, Spike laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

'Go with me on this, pet.'

'What?'

The vampire winked, then turned his attention to the Oracles.

'You know everything, right?'

'More than you, demon.'

Spike nodded.

'Thought as much. So you know why I'm here too?'

Looking vaguely bored, the male stroked his hand across his forehead.

'Pleading for your immortal lover to remain that way - entirely selfish and unworthy of consideration.'

'Hmm,' said Spike, nodding at the floor, 'so you're going to rid him of that pesky vampire thing and turn him into meat again?'

'It is his reward.'

'Oh is it? And that he'd rather be fucking his way through eternity with me, that's by the bloody by, then?'

'It is written...'

'Well it can be buggering well rubbed out then, can't it?'

'What the vampire wants and what he deserves are not the same thing.'

Spike rubbed his chin, recognising the line, deciding how far across it he was going to jump.

'What he deserves? As if either of you two fuckers could work that out.'

He looked at Wesley briefly, waiting for the disapproval, but there was none. Whatever else he might be, the man was loyal...almost to a fault. And there hadn't been a time when the Englishman had let him down.

He only hoped it would hold for a little longer.

'You're beginning to bore me, demon.'

'Don't sweat it love, I'm just getting started.'

The Oracles exchanged another glance, before turning back to the vampire and gesturing imperially.

'Show us.'

Spike felt his chest heave - he was breathing, he was bloody breathing just when he needed to concentrate. Another habit he'd picked up from his sire...only he wasn't excited, he was trembling this side of bloody furious, and no two bit characters from a dated series were going to dictate his future.

Only they were and he had to bring everything back under control before he blew it entirely. He had Wesley's faith, he had his own pride...and he had an inkling of an idea how to do this.

He swallowed.

*

Fingers brushed against his stomach, reaching upwards to touch his chin.

*Did I ever tell you*

And his face seemed to hover so close, dark eyes searching for something, needing to find what was once lost. Pressure against his leg, bucking up towards it, aching for the nearness, for everything it brought.

*That you are the most annoying creature I've ever met?*

And his face burned under the finger-tips, molding to every breath that didn't come, feeling every detail filed away for later consideration. Toes stretching, bumping against calves, sliding aside, allowing heavy thighs to fall between his own.

*Yes. You tell me every time.*

His hips...bones rubbing against the ones above him, aching for a closeness he could barely describe, but was vivid in every shade, from the feeling of skin on skin, to the smell of sweat, heated in movement.

*Did I say that I dreamt about you in Hell?*

And there was pressure at his neck now, fangs grazing the skin, the tiniest amount of blood under the flat tongue which lapped at him. Pain, sharp pain and the feeling of being bitten...so close to the first memory, so close to that one moment in which he knew it was all real, it wasn't a fairytale and the dark revealed her monsters.

*You did. You said it was annoying.*

And those hands again, touching his chest, finding the pinched nipples that hardened in the cold, lingering over the tips, barely there, tickling, teasing, and inescapable.

*Annoying...you are annoying.*

Knees bending, bulky form pressing down on him now, more urgent, blood slipping from his throat, draining him. Fangs coming away, licking at the last drops before that supple mouth presses against his lips.

*You just don't get my humour, pet.*

Insistent hands drawing down his skin, slick with sweat, slipping over his hips, down the curve of his ass, reaching, touching, edging nearer as the hard length presses into his belly. Finding it, fingers pressing forward, and the gasp, an echo, not knowing who was first, or able to distinguish between them.

*I get it, I understand. I just don't know how...*

And that length is gone from his belly, pressing downwards, his legs further apart, sliding upwards, the discomfort unimportant, and he is so close now, so near.

*Don't know how to do what?*

The fingers come away, balancing on his hip, and the pressure is back under his legs, easing forward. His chest is crushed under the weight, but it doesn't matter, he'd rather feel this than nothing. And there is so much more than the emptiness of a century.

*I don't know how to let the past...go.*

And there is more pushing now, a feeling of warmth, barely felt pain and then...connection, and the fangs are back at his throat, seeking out the already healing wound. Bound in the blood, in the dark, and if there is any night to walk, they go together. Because this is all there is, this is the price of immortality and no human could ever reach these heights, or understand the pleasure of its depths.

*Here and now, it's all that counts, pet. Tomorrow you could be human.*

There is a surge and his hips are pressed upward, thighs banging against his own. His fangs find the bared neck, arching to reach round, to feel blood, sire's blood flow back into his body. The pounding grows stronger, and if his blood still flowed, he could hear it - all in a heartbeat. But they have none, and the only sound that breaks the silence is flesh on flesh...

*I might as well be dead, then. All I'd have are memories.*

...and whilst the drinking is silent, it echoes in his head, surging him to thoughts he wishes not to have, burning through his system with the cold knowledge that this could be the last time. This connection is only possible between vampires, between this sire and this childe...and it is ending, slipping away, and may never come again.

*Not up for being human, then? Not happy with this big reward?*

But before it all goes, he has brushed the edge of sanity and the pleasure that flushes through his body comes in shocks, battering his form until he almost begs for it to end. Almost, but never fully bidding it to leave, because this is here and it is with him, and in all his long life, nothing has ever driven him so hard, or given him worth.

*I thought you were my reward.*

The face falls from his neck, he can feel the warmth inside him, the screwed up expression against his skin. And as this last fades from his consciousness, 'I love you' rests just behind his lips, never spilling forth. Because to lose this now will end him. Something will go on beyond this lover's tryst, but without the promise of more to come, William the Bloody rests, unquiet without a grave.

*Forgive me father, for I have sinned.*

In the arms of an Angel, everything is possible, and redemption waits outside the door.

*

Xander stumbled along after Angel, wondering why he'd been so geared up to follow the vampire into the jaws of death...or Hell...or anything that Wolfram and Hart managed to come up with.

Back in Sunnydale people tried to kill him on a nightly basis, but he hadn't minded that so much. It was indiscriminate killing - he could have been anyone and whilst he was more than happy to deliver a death blow, (or at least, squirm out of the way whilst Buffy did the honours) it wasn't personal. They didn't give a damn about him.

Here in LA, the lawyers were happy to send come-hither assassins after Angel and whoever else got in their way. Which had left him with a handy new scar on his waist. That and an irrational fear of Cordelia in care-for-you mode.

And what about that boys and girls? What about the hints of forgiveness he'd felt from his one-time girlfriend? She'd mellowed slightly, Wesley had told him, and Xander had grinned, nodded and ducked under fire from paper projectiles. Oh yeah, she'd mellowed - at certain times of the month he'd even seen Spike creep round the office, and that was something he'd sworn he'd never see. She was a bitch, always had been and whilst time and misfortune had only tempered her personality minutely, Xander knew that somewhere lurked a decent, likeable human being.

It lurked pretty damn deep, though.

'Xander,' murmured Angel, 'over there.'

He looked over to a small temple-like building, the limo parked nearby. An eerie chanting came from inside, and Xander wracked his brain, wondering where in hell he'd heard the words before.

Angel was already on the move, edging towards its interior, keeping low to the ground. There was something in that stealth thing the vampire had going on, thought Xander, as his feet threatened to find every tree route in a mile wide radius. I could use some of whatever he's using.

At the unguarded entrance, the chanting had become very loud, it's repetition dull and intense. He slapped Angel's arm as the memory came back to him.

'It's the scroll...the thing, the one that Wesley had earlier.'

Angel frowned.

'The Aberjhan texts?'

The ones that make you human - Xander read the thought in the vampire's expression. There was a mixture of fear and sadness in his face, but when wasn't there? Angel could have turned misery into an Olympic sport, and the few times he'd seen him smile had been in Spike's lusty presence. Unwilling to think down those lines, Xander pressed on.

'Yeah - the dead living again, the five thing - whatever they're doing, they're reading from the same Janet and John.'

Angel's face darkened further.

'Then we'll have to tell them the library's closed.'

Xander winced.

'The pun thing...'

'What?'

The vampire was uncertain and, if he looked hard, nervous. Xander shook his head.

'Nothing, it's just...'

'What?'

Turning round the corner to enter the building, Xander shrugged.

'I guess it must be a human thing.'

Angel glared at him and walked past.

'Right. A human thing - like not telling Cordelia how you feel about her.'

'Oh right, like I'm taking that from laconic guy. I didn't take a hundred years to work out who I'm in love with.'

Angel paused.

'I had...issues.'

'Yeah? Well I have issues too.'

'Like what?'

Xander stopped, listening as the chanting turned to Latin.

'Like knowing the woman of my dreams also features in my nightmares.'

Angel withdrew his sword from beneath his duster.

'That's normal.'

'It is?'

They hovered outside the interior chamber, voices dropped to a whisper.

'Yeah,' said Angel, 'you've heard Spike when he's annoyed?'

Xander shuddered.

'All too often, my friend.'

Angel raised the sword and stood against the wall.

'Imagine having that in your head for a century.'

Xander shuddered again.

Some things were worse than Cordelia's PMS...but not by much.

He gestured to the room ahead.

'Okay, you win. Now lets go deal with my other nightmare.'

Angel raised his eyebrows.

'Lawyers?'

'No. Knowing Wesley was right.'

*

'Wake up, wake up, you bloody vampire!'

Spike blinked, aware that he was being cradled, and that the person doing the cradling was entirely uncomfortable with it. He sniffed and grinned widely.

'Nice cologne, Wes.'

The ex-watcher sagged in relief and gestured to the font.

'You have to do it again - they threw us out before I could find out anything.'

The vampire shifted slightly - despite his thin appearance, Wesley had surprisingly comfortable thighs, and using them as a pillow wasn't at all unpleasant. Lucky old Doyle.

He could sense the panic rising again and waved a hand, dismissing it.

'No problem, pet.'

'It bloody is a problem! Francis is lying there, possibly dying, and...and...'

He huffed and edged Spike off his lap.

'Right, I'll do it myself.'

He held his hand out.

'Give me the axe. I'll damn well carve my way through them if they won't listen.'

Spike raised an eyebrow and pulled himself to a sitting position.

'Nice as it is to think of you ripping the knackers off them, you don't actually need to.'

He patted his pockets, pulling out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. They could at least have left him with a few intact. He had agreed to what they offered.

Wesley stared at him.

'You know, don't you.'

'Know what?'

Wesley gestured to the door.

'You know how to cure Doyle. They told you whilst you were in that trance.'

Spike blinked.

'A trance?'

'Flickering eyes, you dribbling...falling on me. Not a performance I particularly want to see again.'

The vampire winked.

'Oh come on pet, you think I don't smell you wanting me?'

Wesley pushed his glasses up.

'I really don't care what you smell. All I'm concerned with now is how to cure the man I care a great deal about.'

'That's not what your body says.'

Wesley stormed toward him and grabbed the vampire by the collar of his duster.

'Doyle could be dying right now. I don't want to play games. Now. Tell. Me. What. They. Said.'

Spike held his hands up.

'We need the scrolls.'

'The Aberjhan texts?'

'Yeah.'

Wesley nodded and set Spike down, trying to ignore the amused look the vampire was giving him. He picked up the small scythe he'd brought and put it carefully back inside his jacket. When he turned back to Spike, a crumpled cigarette was lit, and the vampire was attempting casual.

To almost anyone else, it would have worked, but Wesley had spent a lifetime judging emotional weather, (mostly to avoid its onslaught) and he recognised fear when he saw it. He'd rarely seen it on this face before.

'What happened in there, Spike?'

Spike sniffed and inhaled a lungful.

'Stuff,' he said simply.

'Oh very helpful. Any reason why they chose to talk to an element of evil rather than someone who actually tries to fight the good fight?'

'They didn't want to die of boredom?'

Wesley glared at him.

'Your wit is not appreciated.'

The vampire shrugged and threw a look of mock sadness at the Englishman.

'It never is, pet. That's why I'm still stuck here for the next...ooh, I don't know, say eternity, with the Big poof.'

'With...they listened to you?'

Spike nodded, but his hand still shook.

'They listened, yeah. Didn't give a shit, but they listened.'

'And Angel won't become human?'

The vampire paused before shaking his head.

'Then how...what did you say to them to make them change their minds?'

Spike took a big drag of his cigarette and let it out in a sigh. He brought the axe out of his duster and pointed to the passageway.

'Come on, loverboy. Let's go get the cure for the mick.'

He strode out of the passage and back into the sewers, barely pausing to usher out the still questioning Wesley. The time for questions was later, much bloody later, when he'd have the space to understand what he'd done.

He'd shown them everything, he'd shown them why making Angel human was so pointless as reward. He'd let them into areas he kept secret even from his sire, showing everything he had, everything he was to creatures who considered him less than unimportant. He'd heard them discuss him and his selfishness, heard them laugh at the idea of such a creature coming with a request.

They'd exposed his pride, his fear, his humiliation, and found it all wanting. Every uncertainty he owned was exposed and ridiculed. For a vampire is hated by the pure and impure alike, halfway between the living and the dead, unable to find a place to stay. And there would come a time when Angel would be released, when his penance was finally over and he could face the night without faces preying on his mind. He deserved peace, he deserved solace, and Spike had made them see a way to give it to him.

And the cost, the buggering cost was just about worth it.

Because the Oracles weren't interested in what they could do for him, but in how far Spike was willing to go to declare his need. Limits had been called, desire was paramount, and William the Bloody had been asked what he would do for such a prize.

And the answer was in his head and in his heart before he could say anything. So they had nodded and thrown him out, an agreement in effect, because instinct had answered for him.

*What would you give up, to be given what you want?*

*Everything*

He had to learn to read the small print.

*

Xander held the weapon as though it might suddenly catch fire and burn his hands off.

In some ways, he felt kind of liberated by Angel's sudden show of trust. It wasn't everyday someone passed a bastard sword into his hands and growled 'stop them'. Whilst he appreciated the trust, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. And he wasn't sure if he was talking about the sword or the responsibility...

Possibly both.

Lindsay sniggered, although from his beaten in face, the sound was something between a hiss and a rattle. Xander hefted the sword into both hands and nodded at him.

'Oh yeah, you're laughing now, but wait until you see me use this thing.'

'Use it? You can barely lift it.'

Xander frowned as Angel crashed against the wall behind them, fighting with the cowled intruder. Trust Angel to go for the obvious bad guy - he couldn't have stayed here and dealt with lawyer boy. Oh no, he had to go off and do the heroic thing, like Xander didn't have the guts to fight...well, as far as he could tell, a mad monk with a huge inside leg and a bad response to vampires. But Xander was all up to fighting that, anything but stay guard over...

'So, boy, you got the guts to wield that thing?'

Xander raised an eyebrow at Lindsay, very aware that being mocked was not high on his to do list for the day. He'd half hoped that being away from Spike would have prevented this kind of treatment, but hey, no such luck.

'Just shut up,' he managed, 'shut up or I'll...'

'You'll what? Fall over and threaten my feet?'

And look there, Angel's hogging getting strangled now. Just showing off the not needing to breathe thing. I could do that, Xander thought...if I was dead and strong as...a vampire. I could do that whole...yeah, struggling back and managing to get up and fight cowl guy again.

'And five are dead...'

'Yet they live.'

'Will you stop that?' said Xander desperately, 'or I'm going to have to...'

'Et illi quinque sacrificum est et illi que est mortuus vivet.'

Oh God, not the Latin stuff again.

With a growl, Angel smacked against the tethered vampires in the centre of the room. Cowl guy was on him almost instantly, but it didn't seem to bother dead boy. He was fighting with an aggression Xander recognised - it usually meant one of his family was in danger and, Xander accepted, Doyle had come into that category. Which meant they all had more at stake than a random soul.

Okay then, what are *you* made of?

'Dum vita et mors non duas res sed unas sunt...'

'Stop that!'

Lindsay ignored him and looked at the scroll in his hand.

'In tenebris lux est, in luge tenebrae sunt...'

Xander looked up to Angel, wanting to beg help, ask anything, ask what he should do. But the vampire was definitely occupied and there was no-one else to talk to. It always comes down to fear, he reminded himself, and I'm damned afraid, cause whatever they've got that needs five vampires tied to it ain't gonna be good. He looked up at Lindsay, saw the satisfaction in those pale eyes.

'Serge!'

And it was all so clear.

'Serge!'

Xander grinned.

'Se...'

I don't have to lift this - I just have it bring it down.

The sword crashed forward, severing the lawyer's hand from the scroll, tearing the papers to the floor. As Lindsay howled, the freakish wind that had begun ceased immediately, and Xander had the feeling of catastrophe narrowly avoided. Blood spattered the scrolls and the boy snatched them up before he could think about anything else.

Like having cut a man's hand off, that sort of thing.

Shut up, Xander!

He glanced over to Angel, watching as the vampire swung the great scythe up into cowl guy's exposed belly. There was a sickening hiss and then nothing. Silence echoed in the temple, broken by Lindsay's pain-wracked howls.

Definitely a cue.

Xander scrambled to his feet and headed to the door, Angel's footsteps heavy behind him. He held the scroll tight to his chest, his arms aching from the effort of slamming the sword home. The vampire took the blade off him and concealed it under his coat once more, out pacing Xander easily, but for once, Mr Harris didn't care.

'You got the scroll.'

It was almost a question, and Xander tried not to be offended by the surprise in Angel's tone.

'I got the scroll, yeah. How about that - Xander Harris saves the day?'

Angel turned briefly, a frown covering his face once more.

'The day isn't over, yet.'

Xander threw his hands in the air.

'What do you want, Angel? An authorised miracle?'

Angel rounded the door and looked for the car.

'Doyle's not safe yet.'

'But he will be,' countered Xander, 'we got the whosit to cure him, right?'

'I think so.'

'Then let's get with the yay! We done good, dead boy.'

Angel stopped and scowled.

'I'm your boss - you could at least break with the insults.'

Xander grinned and opened the door.

'After everything Spike says on your behalf, you're lucky I'm just going with dead boy.'

*

'Take a left'

Wesley tried hard not to think about the fact that the easy London tones by his ear came from a vampire. It really didn't do his self preservation tactics any good to know that he'd taken off his helmet in order that Spike could give him directions. He found himself repeating 'Spike can't hurt me' as he steered the bike through LA, edging towards Angel's unknown whereabouts. But he could feel the chiselled face by his neck, could almost sense the fangs against his skin.

What would it be like, he wondered, to be bitten?

The question had occured to him before, but from more of a 'aagh a vampire - he'll bite and kill me!'. But Wesley had been privy to moments few mortals had ever seen. Ever seen and lived to tell the tale, that was. He'd seen Spike and Angel in the heat of passion, biting and drinking as the beasts they were. And alongside the natural cry of pain, there was something else, something more exotic in their shared growls.

Sharing blood, sharing a soul...sharing a bond that no human could possibly achieve. He understood all that, understood that vampires were a creature apart from all demons - caught between the living and the dead, unable to be either. And Spike and Angel were more different still, hampered by curses and technology, a breed apart from their own kind. Whatever deal Spike had struck with the Oracles, Wesley knew it was born out of a need to stay with the only other creature like him.

Selfish, yes, as all Spike's decisions were, but there was love here, something warm eminating from the coldness of their bodies. A sense of belonging...one that hurt him now, leaving Wesley floundering until they got Doyle back. He wasn't sure if he felt better that the Oracles seemed to dismiss the problem, or worse - their reaction being very much apathetic. They could afford to be, living outside time, but it didn't help Wesley very much now.

At least not when Spike would insist on holding onto him so tightly.

'Oi, pet, you're missing the turning.'

Wesley blinked and leaned into the curve, wondering what was different about the resonant voice. Vampires are seductive creatures by nature, whether it's for food or for a fuck, and whilst that was increased tenfold whenever Spike happened to open his mouth, there was something missing here. He wanted to stop the bike and insist on knowing what had passed between Spike and the Oracles, but knees gripped him almost as firmly as the hands on his waist, and it was all he could do to keep his balance.

And the teeth at his neck, breath failing to flutter on his skin, words echoing in his ear without Doyle's customary warmth. Yes, there was danger here, but passion was a great equalizer, and some part of him still longed to know what it was like to be loved by such a creature. He was ashamed for even thinking it and he knew where his heart belonged...but still, there was a gnawing in his gut, working his instincts - perhaps a byproduct of trying to understand Spike's motives for anything.

And it worked him over and over, mantra kicking in again, insisting on the truth.

There isn't the time.

'Over there.'

Kicking the bike to a standstill, Wesley looked toward the lonely structure, wondering why he'd never noticed it before. He didn't notice much, he admitted, but such buildings were his bread and water - observing nuances was part of a watcher's stock in trade and Wesley had never seen this before.

But you're not a watcher anymore, are you?

'They're over there,' sniffed Spike, reaching in his coat, then drawing his hand out quickly. 'Best get your arse in gear and see what's been doing.'

'Right,' said Wesley,' arse, gear, got it.'

He turned to walk toward Angel's unseen frame before whirling back on Spike.

'Aren't you coming?'

It seemed to amuse him.

Spike threw his head back and laughed, but there was no humour there, and that gnawing feeling was growing. And all he could think was wolf.

The vampire seemed to gather himself together.

'Nah, mate, I'm not coming...not now.'

Spike's hand rested on the handlebars and Wesley covered it, forcing the vampire to look up at him.

'You're leaving.'

Dark eyebrows rose.

'Yeah, Wes - I'm buggering off since danger's been averted and my arse doesn't need to go on the line.'

Wesley shook his head.

'Thats not what I mean and you bloody know it.'

Spike glared at him and then beyond to where the others approached, before knocking Wesley's hand away.

'I don't have time for this.'

'Oh really? You're actually going away and not giving me any explanation. I'd say you could damn well make time for that!'

Spike revved the engine, as if trying to remember how the thing worked, before looking up. And Wesley had never been more scared.

Sad beyond measure, lost beyond hope.

And yet there was something.

'Tell him..'

'Yes?'

And there was that grin again, the downfall of angels, the redemption of one.

'Tell him the silly fucker was right.'

'About what?'

He couldn't see, but Wesley would swear the others had broken into a run.

'I am his fucking reward.'

And the roar of the engine rang in his ears, drowning out everything else, and only when the siren cry of the vampire came closer, did Wesley turn. And the look on Angel's face outweighed everything, knowing that this was the price of owning a soul.

Sometimes, it was all you had left.

*

'Where the fuck am I?'

Spike paused on the corner, waiting to get his bearings. Yeah, that's all he was doing, he certainly wasn't delaying the whole business to give Angel time to catch up. It wouldn't be going along with the big knobs plan, that - giving his sire the chance to stop him before...

Fuck it.

...before he walked away.

The vampire half chuckled to himself at the absurdity.

To get them to drop this pointless reward system they'd sorted for Angel, the Oracles had asked him what Spike would be willing to give up. The 'everything' had slipped from his mind before instinct had kicked in. Or maybe that was instinct - that of the beloved, rather than the canny vampire who'd outlived most of his siblings.

William the Bloody was a pansy to his emotions.

Spike huffed and reached into his pocket to find his fags.

Oh this was bloody priceless - he was out of them as well as being out of a good shag for the next few years.

He looked around to see if there was a handy shop, or, preferably failing that, some mug who wasn't stoned enough to think his vampire face was a mask. But the street was surprisingly empty, nothing but cars - closed off places to his limited fear capacity.

I can't live without you.

I can't live period.

He snarled and forced himself back to the issue in hand.

Fags - I need to get some and then I'll just hike it out of here and find somewhere new. Some place where they're still scared enough of vampires to make good with...what? Blood bags and 200 filterless imports. And somewhere he could hole up and wait...

I hate bloody waiting.

The wind picked up and whipped at him, banging Wesley's now battered bike against his legs. Been a long time since you've been on one of these and fuck it...if I've shagged the gears, it'll just have to...huh...well, break down. Not like I was planning on giving it back to Weasly. He'll have to get a piggy back fom the Mick - when he recovered anyway.

And how long would it be until Angel scored with his reward? How many years was Spike going to behave like a bloody tamed cat - no balls anymore and no fucking...

I can't do it.

I can't be such a wimp.

I wouldn't be a vampire if I just toadied for a couple of years.

He chuckled, and although the wind took the sound away, he could hear it in his head, and the almost sibilant echo of Angel's rarely heard laugh alongside it.

It hurt - this wasn't supposed to hurt.

He was a creature of the bloody night for God's sake - something that prowled before the daylight came, taking advantage of bedtime fears and the unsuspecting virgin. Not that he'd come across many of those over the years. Bedtime fears had a way of corrupting the innocent before Spike had even come close.

Although, he'd never really been into that Dracula shit - it was more Angelus' territory - the pure were usually that way for a reason. And the reason usually turned out to be six or seven great hulking brothers, each one equipped with a good sized stake and string upon string of garlic. And it wasn't as if garlic actually affected vampires, but he hated the stuff anyway - take that arseholing time he and Angelus had spent in Italy...

All the fucking roads led back to Angelus. They always had, but now they also led to Angel, and for more than just a closet trip out to torture him.

Not unless he begged anyway.

He looked around, refusing to admit that he'd looked behind him, refusing to admit his heart wanted to skip a beat. Refusing to admit that he'd even thought about getting the old pump working again, even if it was just to bump as Angel came into view.

But the vampire didn't appear.

He wasn't coming to stop him - and as rewards go, he hoped his sire worked bloody quickly.

He kicked the bike back into action and moved into the night.

*

'What the hell do you mean, he's gone?'

Wesley pushed his glasses up his nose and tried to outstare Angel. It wasn't happening in this lifetime, and the ex-watcher figured he was doing well enough just standing here under the onslaught of the once scourge of Europe.

'He's gone,' Wesley said softly. 'He took my bike and left.'

'Okay,' said Xander, 'when you say gone, you mean...'

'I mean he's bloody gone,' snapped Wesley. 'He stole my bike and hiked out of here.'

Angel stared at him for a minute before turning toward the car. As he strode toward it, the mortals struggled to keep up.

'Angel... he said he'd made a deal with the Oracles.'

The vampire didn't turn, simply quickened his pace.

'He's coming back.'

Xander exchanged a quick look with Wesley before hurrying after Angel.

'Angel man, I'm getting that this isn't just a trip into town for a bite to eat...'

'He's coming back,' repeated Angel and reached the car.

Wesley slammed his hand down on the windscreen.

'Dammit Angel - he's gone! And I need the scrolls to get Doyle better.'

The vampire said nothing, just glared at Wesley until he removed his hand. That feeling repeated within the Englishman's belly - there isn't the time. There will never be enough time.

'I need the scrolls,' he said more calmly.

'Got 'em,' mumbled Xander, passing them over.

He nodded in thanks and opened the car door.

'Right, if you drop Xander and myself off at Dr. Sussman's, I can cure Doyle and then we'll try and figure out where Spike...'

He yelped as Angel slammed the door, stopping him climbing in. The vampire pushed him back and pressed his wallet into Wesley's hands.

'Get. A. Cab.'

The vampire yanked open the door and climbed in, his face grim, unquestionably set in his task. But Doyle...Doyle was at risk and nothing was worth losing him. Nothing came before curing him... not even the retrieval of the only other man he trusted.

Because love always has to come first.

In the end, it's all you really own.

He banged on the window.

'Angel, you bloody well take us to Doyle. if he dies...I'll...'

Angel turned.

'Kill me?'

He shook his head, eyes seeming to glow in the darkness.

'If I don't get him back, I'll hand you the stake.'

A cab rounded the corner almost on cue, and Angel gestured to Wesley.

'I'd get in that if I were you.'

Wesley could feel himself breathing harshly, every breath filling his lungs with a weird calm, and he felt the storm coming. It seeped into his bones, chiling every inch of skin, but it came all the same, and even if he didn't say it, Angel could feel it too.

He nodded.

'All right, I'll go.'

Xander gestured the cab over, pinning it down with his biggest ass kissing grin, whilst Wesley pulled away from the car. He breathed out, and felt some of that tension slip from him. Doyle was waiting, and he wouldn't fail him.

And still...

'You'll cure him, Wes.'

The Englishan nodded again and moved away.

He remained silent as Xander gave the instructions to the cab driver, lips closed as they approached the surgery. And though most of his mind registered the scrolls the boy pushed into his hand, most of him trying to find the passage the Oracles had told him about, the storm was passing, not away from all of them, but from the humans, moving back to the vampires who started it.

All they had to do was wait out the damage, and hope they could rebuild.

*

'Fucking thing!'

Spike kicked the punctured tyre and glared at the glass which had done it. Skidding into a wall was not his idea of a good time, not even on his worst days. Especially not when it resulted in pants with the arse torn out of them.

If that's not a fucking irony, I don't know what is.

He growled, the wind carrying the noise away before it reached his ears. And that bloody thing's been picking up too - reminds me of that time when Dru ran naked through Prague, breeze nipping every bit of her, hair streaking behind her tail. And when I found her, when I pulled her away from that crowd, she'd said it called to her, told her about the storm that was coming. And she'd wanted to be a part of it, feel it whirling around her body, biting cold against her skin.

Poor, bitch. Poor deluded bitch.

It's all for him, it's always been for him. He drove her mad with cruelty and he must have driven me mad with l...lust. Or love...with him it comes to the same thing. I'm still stealing away in the night, going to find somewhere until they decide he's suffered enough and that his punishment is over. And then I get to come out, arms wide open, ready to fuck him into eternity.

That's such a sodding wipe out.

He huffed into the air, half wishing he could see his breath, feeling the breeze pushing against his skin, threatening to grow stronger, to force him against the wall. I'm hallucinating, he decided, I'm actually thinking about Angel's arty farty poetry.

Bugger - I'll be quoting Keats next, and then there'll be no hope.

It's just one step away from the nuthouse for me.

With a final kick to Wesley's bike, Spike pulled his duster closer and walked away.

*

'Unbind, unbind, unbind.'

The fitting slowly ceased at Wesley's words, but it was a good minute before dark eyes flashed open, still red round the edges; tired, but no longer suffering an unending vision. They flitted past Xander's cheerfully aghast expression, Cordelia's surprisingly gentle concern to Wesley. And the Englishman had never seemed so drained.

'How are you feeling?' asked Wesley quietly, passing his hand through Doyle's tangled hair.

Doyle winced.

'Like some bugger's been drilling my head with a chainsaw.'

'Descriptive,' muttered Xander before Cordelia's elbow quieted him.

The Irishman tried to right himself, but is arms felt weak and he slumped back down. Actually - he checked - everything felt weak, and aside from needing a stiff whiskey, he thought he could stay in this recumbent position all week.

'I think I'm fucked.'

Wesley smiled painfully and picked up Doyle's hand, turning it over until he made sure the sigil was gone. Then he pressed the clean palm against his mouth, breathing in the smell, and Doyle guessed he was reassuring himself that the Irishman was back. That and checking that the recent nightmare was over.

'Ye missed me?'

Wesley nodded and Cordelia rolled her eyes, before grabbing hold of Xander and dragging him back toward the door.

'Hey, I wasn't done here, yet.'

'Sure you weren't, sensitive guy, you just wanted to wait to see a reunion smooch.'

'I...er...no...okay, I'm gone, I'm gone.'

The door whispered shut as Doyle strained to see them leave. Wesley still held his hand, but those aggressive lines stretched out across his forehead, and Doyle guessed they weren't all the way out of the water yet.

'So...'

'So,' agreed Wesley.

Doyle frowned faintly at him.

'Battled any demons lately?'

Wesley struggled to hide a grin.

'Some.'

'Beat them?'

'Inner demons...maybe. Tried to revive one.'

Doyle raised an eyebrow at him.

'An inner demon?'

Wesley nodded.

'Something like that. I saw the Oracles.'

Doyle risked looking down toward Wesley's feet.

'Well, yer not a frog now, are ye, so I'm guessing it went well.'

And that grin was definitely more evident now.

'Compassionate sorts, aren't they?'

Doyle tried a shrug.

'They're the powers that be, Wes. I don't think they're all up for Hallmark moments.'

'No,' murmured Wesley, 'I don't think they're good in any way that I know.'

'It's a big battle, Wes. They're just warriors, same as Angel and Spike.'

Was it his imagination, or did Wesley's face darken?

'Then I say we opt out of the battle for the moment.'

The Irishman frowned.

'Opt out?'

Wesley turned away from him.

'Perhaps, we should go away for a while, give you some rest.'

'I don't think they're going to hold off with the visions, just because I got a triple whammy.'

Wesley bent forward, resting his cool cheek against Doyle's warm one.

'More than triple...and I don't want to go through that again.'

Doyle shifted his seemingly heavy arm up and draped it round Wesley's neck.

'Come on there, Wes - we've been through worse.'

'No, we haven't.'

Doyle considered.

'No, all right, ye got me there, but that's no reason to turn tail and go a running, now is it?'

Wesley breathed heavily against Doyle's cheek.

'And if I said I just wanted you to myself for a while?'

The Irishman smiled, nuzzling against the heavy fall of hair, wishing he had strength to do more than just hold him. But security, affection was here, and he deserved a shot at taking it.

'Aye then, we'll hole up against the world for a while. I'll even order take-out.'

Wesley chuckled.

'You always order take-out.'

'Then it's home comforts as well. Come on Wes, we'll hole up, like you say. And when one of them migraines comes to split me head open again, we'll phone Angel...'

Wesley froze against his shoulder.

'What?'

Wesley sat back.

'It's Angel.'

'What about him?'

Wesley looked at him a moment before leaning back down, entwining his fingers with Doyle's and resting on the hard bed.

'Nothing,' he said softly. 'I'm just seeing shadows.'

*

Angel pulled the car to a halt along the pavement, before he'd actually registered what he'd seen. He screeched against the curb, probably costing him a few months on each tyre, before yanking the door open and pouncing on the discarded bike.

Crashed and burned, although there were no ashes nearby. This was definitely of Spike's doing - there was one vampire who couldn't ride a bicycle without stabilisers. And since the engine was still warm, he couldn't be too far away. But which way, thought Angel, looking up. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction, and he couldn't smell anything. Not one tiny whisper of tobacco and whiskey. Nothing, not even the deep smell of the undead...tainted with sex and desire. No odour in the air.

Except...

He wasn't smelling it, he could feel it - his childe, his lover, close, and hurting. That bond was stronger than either of them allowed for, and he'd battle Hell, and Heaven if it came down to it, before he'd give this up.

Angel closed his eyes and stood up, trying to feel where the English vampire lay, willing him to stop and turn back. They were so close now, and yet it felt as though everything was now conspiring to keep a distance between the vampires.

Not in my town, he thought, not him, and not ever.

He walked on.

*

'You are such a...gimboid!'

Xander blinked and looked at Cordelia, wondering where the term came from. He might have been imagining things, but the way she said it...it was almost a term of endearment. Maybe he should press is luck.

'So Cordy, you manage to whisk anything up on the net?'

She nodded.

'They're having a great sale over at Chartroise, and there's a pair of pumps...'

'About Wolfram and Hart?'

She looked at him, stunned.

'I didn't look.'

Xander blinked, then turned away, recognising the standard waiting room colour, wondering how they managed to get it the same everywhere. He and Angel had been in danger, Doyle was in danger, dammit, even Wesley and Spike had been in danger, and Cordelia hadn't even been bothered to look up what Wolfram and Hart might be doing with the scrolls.

Okay, so she probably couldn't have found out about anything.

'I wasn't going to find out any of their top secret stuff, so...'

See, you're right again, Xander.

'...so I didn't see the need to waste my time.'

He turned back to her, hands raised in incomprehension.

'Cordelia - you didn't even look.'

She raised her eyebrows at him.

'Doyle's okay now, isn't he?'

'Well yeah, but...'

'And we have the scrolls back before the lawyers could do any big nasty calling, don't we?'

'Yeah.'

She shrugged.

'So why are we having this conversation?'

She didn't get it, she just didn't get any of it.

'Cordy - do you ever think of anyone else but yourself?'

Okay, she's going with the annoyed 'you are scum' face. Not good.

'And who else would think of me, if I didn't?'

He dropped his hands and tried to turn his mind around the way she thought. How could he love a woman like this? How could he want to spend time...did he just mention love? Hold that, did he just mention love and Cordelia in the same sentence, whilst she was in the room?

'I didn't say that aloud, did I?'

'Say *what*? Xander, you're getting weirder.'

Yeah, maybe I am.

'Cordy...'

'What?'

She looked at him blankly, as if waiting for his next insane act, and when it came, she neither pulled away, nor wrapped her arms round his neck. But her lips pressd against his eagerly enough, and he could feel her heart beat faster. And that same heat rushed through his sk