Disclaimer: I don't own BTVS or Angel, although I would pay good money for them, if I had it to spend. I don't own Angel, Spike, or Connor, but if I did I would throw them onto a giant trampoline and make them jump for all their worth. Joss Whedon is the genius behind the shows and he is just kind enough to let me play with them for a while, seeing as how I promise to give them back after I'm done. (Although, I didn't promise that they would be intact.)

This story is directly related to my story "Admittance". You won't be lost if you read one without reading the other, but it helps to see what is going on in the boy's heads, a little.

I'm gonna' catch you up, just in case. The apocalypse is diverted, once again. Spike shows up on Angel's doorstep with a soul and Angel was shocked. Spike wanted acceptance and they both came to the realization that Angel was more than willing to give it. (After lots and lots of brooding, on both guys parts.) Now, it is weeks later and Angel Investigations has gotten back into a sort of rhythm, only difference is Spike is part of the family. On with the show!

::The Dalliance of the Eagles::

Spike stomped in through the Hotel's front door and slammed it behind him. He was covered in gunk and wore a scowl that could crack glass. "I'm going to kill you Angel and after I kill you, I'm going to spread your ashes over my bed and roll around in them!"

Angel walked out of his office, nonchalantly, and looked up at his childe over the book he was reading. He scrunched up his nose in disgust and grunted. "Spike, did you roll around in the sewer?" Angel dropped the book to his side and shook his head. "If you were bored, you could have come in my office and we could have talked or something."

Spike shrugged his duster off of his shoulders, into a heap on the floor and sloshed over to where Angel stood. "I. Hate. You." He turned on his heals, made his way toward the stairs, and up to his room.

It took Angel a moment to process what Spike had just said but when he had, he hurried after him. "Spike?" Angel stopped in front of the door and thought about knocking. The last thing he wanted was to be told to 'shove off', so he just walked in. "Spike?" Angel looked around the room and grimaced. Spike had shed his boots and apparently every piece of filthy clothing he had been wearing, on his way to the bathroom. The room was a wreck and it smelled like a barn. Angel walked over to the bathroom door and heard the shower running. He sighed and leaned against the door, talking through the wood. "What happened?"

"I got attacked by a giant slug, thank you!" Spike yelled from the other side of the door. The sound of water hissed to a stop and Angel could hear Spike padding across the floor, most likely in search of a towel.

"The towels are under the sink. I had Connor put them in there, earlier." Angel heard the squeak of a cabinet and smiled when he heard Spike muttering. "What's that? A thank you? Oh, don't worry about it." The door was jerked open, causing Angel to stumble forward and almost bulldoze Spike.

Spike was, all but, snarling as he pushed past his Sire. He gripped his towel at his waist and made his way over to the bed, just to fall on his face. After burying his head into his pillow, he groaned. "Ahm ah bleedun?"

"Bleeding?" Angel walked over to his childe and sighed. Scratches decorated his back, but none seemed to be bleeding, at the moment. "I'm going to ask once more. What happened?"

Spike groaned into his pillow again and turned his face away from the older vampire. "I'm going to pretend you're not here and maybe you'll go away."

"Now, you're just being childish. You know what? If you don't spill it, I'm going to have a seat on the edge of your bed here and then I'm going to force-feed your mind some poetry. So, who first? Blake? Shakespeare? How about Whitman? Come on, Spike, who do you feel like?"

Spike turned his head toward Angel, when he felt the bed sink. "I feel like the man who is about to cut out your tongue, if you start reciting poetry." Spike let out an unneeded sigh and looked up at Angel, almost pleadingly. "Sire, do you think you could hold off on the twenty questions until the poison wears off. I'm feeling woozy."

"Poison?!" Angel almost shrieked. "What were you fighting with? You said a giant slug. Were you being serious? I can go look it up..."

"Sorry, for cutting you off, but you were starting to sound like a mother hen. Stop worrying. I'll be fine after I rest a little and eat something." Spike pushed at Angel's hip, in hopes that he would take the hint and leave, so he could get dressed. "Angel, do you mind? I could use some privacy. I wanna' put on some pants and then go downstairs to get some blood out of the fridge."

Angel looked Spike over again and sniffed.

"You start that again and I'll hurt you." Spike muttered, as his eyes drifted shut.

"I wasn't sniffing like that. I was making a mental assumption and..." Spike's breathing was becoming deeper and more even, so Angel stood up and headed toward the door. "You get some rest, Spike. I'll go get you some blood." Angel walked out the door, sparing one last glance at his, now slumbering, childe. "Or we can put a rain-check on that."

Angel shut the door quietly and walked down the hall. He couldn't help but wonder what Spike had gotten himself into this time. He had been at the Hotel for little less than six weeks and he had already been the victim of a drive by shooting, a mugging, and now a giant slug, which seemed to be venomous. His childe always seemed to be a magnet for trouble. He had drawn Angelus, had he not? Well, no need to go there.

Angel made his way down the stairs and toward the kitchen. Connor sat in there on the counter, eating from a carton of ice cream and reading the Sunday comics. "Whatcha' readin'?" Angel asked as he headed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of blood. He made his way over to the mugs, hanging over the sink and took one, emptying the contents of the bag inside.

"Beatle Baily. He is actually pretty funny in that 'I'm an idiot' type of way. You know, kind of like Spike." Connor looked up from his newspaper and smiled in that charming way, he seemed to have mastered.

Angel grinned at the microwave, as he set the time, and hoped his son didn't see. "Now, Connor, he doesn't talk about you like that." Angel tried to sound chiding, but it only came out amused.

"Really?" Connor leaned back into the cabinets and sighed. "He talks about you like that, all the time."

Angel turned to face his son, just in time to catch his grin. "You're joking, right?"

"Of course, I am." Connor put down his empty ice cream carton and arched an eyebrow at his dad. "I wouldn't seriously tell you what Spike and I talk about, when we're alone."

Angel looked skeptical for a moment and then continued with his questioning. "You and Spike talk, when you are alone?"

"What did you think we did? Drink blood and talk about our wonderful bonding moments with you?" Connor picked his comics back up and flipped the page.

"Actually, if I didn't know any better, I would say he's been giving you lessons in sarcasm." Angel turned toward the microwave and waited the last few seconds, for the mechanical beep to sound off. When it did he opened the door and pulled out the mug, bringing to his lips. He heard a sniff behind him and realized his mistake. He had tried to not drink around his son, as much as possible, because he knew of the feelings ingrained into him as a child. Angel tipped his mug and consumed the thick, rich liquid all in one draught. It was about time the boy got used to the way things were, around here.

"You're not a vampire." Angel turned at the comment and caught the look of startled amusement on his son's face. "You're a pig. You got some..." Connor pointed to the right corner of his mouth and smirked.

Well that was new. Maybe Spike was getting Connor used to the blood thing. Angel wiped his mouth, with the arm of his shirt and looked down at the new stain it caused. He shrugged and began to roll his sleeves up over his forearms. "I need new shirts, anyway."

"You ruined a shirt, so you could get a new shirt. What are you, a woman?" Angel and Connor both looked toward the doorway and found Spike leaning against the frame. He had taken time to put on pants, but apparently he felt no need to wear a shirt. "I swear, sometimes I worry about you, Angel." Spike made his way over to the fridge and pulled out another bag of blood. He didn't bother to warm it up or put it in a mug. He just sunk his teeth in and sucked it dry. After pulling back, he cringed and tossed the bag at the garbage can, missing by about a foot. "I'll get that in a minute."

Angel shook his head and went to pick up the bag. He knew that Spike's minutes and his minutes, seemed to run different courses. He turned back toward his childe and sighed. "So, are you going to tell me about this giant slug or are you going to start on what you're doing up so soon?"

Connor seemed to take interest in the conversation, when he heard the word slug. "You were hurt." He stated it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Angel hated when Connor did that. "Yes, he was hurt, but he won't say by what or how."

"If you would stop asking questions, Angelus, and just start listening, I would satisfy your curiosity." Spike leaned up against a counter and hissed. The scratches on his back were starting to sting, as well as, burn. "First of all, I think you should know this is all your fault, Angel. You drive me to drink."

Spike cleared his throat and started with his story. "Anyway, I went out for a drink and I got tackled by some bloke, in an alley. He wanted my wallet and he wanted..." Spike looked over at Connor and sighed. "...to hurt me. Anyway, he had this claw thing and he had it scraped up and down my back, before I could get in enough punches to take him down. He also tagged my thigh, but I'm sure it will be okay. I've been through worse and that was with you." Spike flicked his wrist in Angel's direction. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure the claw or dagger or whatever it was, was coated in poison or something, cause these scratches hurt like the devil."

Spike rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. "And then there was the slug. I was coming back toward the Hotel, when I heard a clanging sound, coming from a sewer lid. I walked over there, curiosity peaked, and all. I decided to check it out. Well, after dropping myself down there and following splashing noises I came upon a dead end. I turned around and started back the way I had come, just to be smashed by a giant jellied monster. He was heavy and slimy and I swear he smelled like a zoo. He seemed to be trying to suck something out of me and I realized what it was. He had smelled the blood on my back and he was leaching it out of me. Well, between the stinging pain the claws had inflicted and the giant jellied sucker monster on my back, it caused a couple of tears to squeeze out. The monster noticed and fled for cover. It was just gone. Tears have salt." Spike shrugged. "I figure it was a slug, cause they are hurt by salt. Plus, it was real slimy."

Angel stood there looking at Spike, his jaw hanging open. "A giant jellied sucker slug and a mugger with a poison dipped weapon?"

Spike nodded. He agreed that it was crazy and he wanted Angel to know that the audacity of the situation had not escaped him. "Angel, you seem to be having a harder time accepting this than I do and it happened to me."

"That's because I won't accept this, Spike!" Angel clenched his fist and slammed it down on the nearest counter, causing both Connor and Spike to jump. "Every time I turn around you are being attacked."

Spike's eyes had grown wide at the sudden burst of emotion from his Sire. "What's worse is I get attacked every time *I* turn around. Look, Angel, it's not like you can help that I'm a magnet for the baddies." This comment did nothing to quell Angel's anger.

Connor took in the situation, with interest. His father didn't usually let his emotions get the better of him, unless someone or something was hurting himself or one of the others at Angel Investigations.

"No, that I can't help, but there is another way to keep you safe." Angel rose an eyebrow at his childe and grinned, in what could be considered an evil fashion.

Spike was obviously worried by this proclamation. "And just what do you mean by that, Angelus? You gonna give me a body guard or are you just going to tie me up someplace, so's I can't go anywhere." Angel nodded and a squeal got caught in Spike's throat. "You can't do that." He croaked. "I can't be followed around and I damned sure can't just hang around here all the time!" Spike was pacing now. He stopped to point an accusing finger into Angel's face. "I use the term 'hang around' loosely, Angelus. Don't you start getting ideas, or I promise to all that is dark and lovely, I will dust you before you can 'shan' your 'shu', you got me."

Angel looked slightly amused at Spike's display of independence, but he didn't say anything.

Connor decided to give his opinion, to the distress of both Angel and Spike. "Angel, isn't Spike almost as old as you?"

Angel nodded. "Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Both Connor and Spike asked in unison.

"Doesn't matter." Angel stated firmly. "Spike is still my childe and as long as..."

"Angel!" Spike interrupted his Sire with a growl. "You finish with, 'As long as he lives under my roof' and all that crap, and I will give Connor a reason to get out that new Dirt Devil, Fred insisted on buying, even though nobody uses it."

Connor's eyes grew wide. "I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone put so many thoughts into one sentence."

"You'd be surprised what all Spike can do when he's been pushed to do it."

The lilt in Angel's voice had a hint of something to it that Spike didn't appreciate and he wanted to make sure Angel knew about it. "Connor, how about you leave me and daddy dearest alone, while you go get the vacuum."

Angel took a step toward Spike and waved Connor away. "Go watch TV or something."

Connor nodded quietly and headed out of the kitchen. He wasn't sure what was going on between Spike and his dad right now, but he knew it wasn't good. It was hard to pin whether it was a vampire thing or a guy thing. Either way, it seemed that there was going to be a fight for dominance and Connor didn't want to be sucked into the middle of it.

Spike clenched his fists at his sides and growled in the back of his throat. "Angel, if you don't explain yourself..."

Angel shook his head firmly and narrowed his gaze, causing Spike to falter. "William, don't finish that thought. You only end up making threats that we both know you can't carry out. So. Just. Don't."

Angel's resolve was so solid that it made Spike feel weaker, almost humbled. Plus, Angel had called him William. When was the last time angel called him William? He shifted his gaze down to his feet and shrugged. "So you know that I can't bring myself to kill you. So?"

"I think that it is important that you know that I wouldn't kill you either and if it is in my power, and it is, I am going to make sure nothing else kills you. I feel responsible for you. Spike if you roll your eyes at me again, I will punch you hard enough that you'll be spitting out blood. Always remember, I don't make threats that I don't plan on keeping."

Spike sparred Angel a smirk. "Some things never change."

Angel nodded and walked back over to the counter, so he could lean. "Well, you better be glad that some things do change. If you had come home in this condition a hundred years ago..."

"I would have been tethered to a bed and had hot pokers put into me." Spike said it with a grimace, which made Angel laugh. "You are twisted, Angel. I can't believe you still get a kick out of that."

"No, it's the look you had on your face. When you referred to the... You had a look on your face like you were referring to a particularly bad ballet or something. Not torture." Angel waved his hand in the air, as if he hoped that would move his thought process along to his childe.

Spike nodded with a grin. "Ballet. Torture. What's the difference?"

Angel laughed openly and shook his head. "You were never one for the finer things, were you Wills?"

"Not if it had to do with me dressing up in ribbons and bows, just to be paradedaround by you or Darla. 'A decadent time' my arse. Guys don't wear ribbons and bows. End. Of. Story." When he and Angel talked like this, he almost felt almost human. Almost normal.

Angel shook his head in denial. "It was the times. I can't believe you are still worrying over those frocks you wore back then." Angel headed out of the kitchen and into the lobby.

"Those frocks you made me wear!" Spike exclaimed, as he followed Angel into the next room.

Angel let out an exasperated sigh and dropped on the couch. "It's what everybody wore, Spike. What else would you have worn? Would you have walked around naked? Decadent times or not, I'm not sure that would have gone over so well. The only one who would have had a true appreciation would have been Dru and that's because she was crazy!"

Spike followed his Sire's lead and took a seat. "Let's not even go there, Angelus! Dru would have had an appreciation, cause she had an eye for true beauty." Spike was getting into the argument, but it seemed that Angel didn't want to continue, if the look on his face said anything. "You know that I'm just joshing with you, right Angel?"

Angel leaned his head back into the couch and chuckled. "No, you aren't. You truly believe you are a work of art and even though it's kind of annoying, that's not why I got quiet." Angel glanced over at Spike and grinned.

"Just cause we are on good terms, right now, doesn't mean I agree with you on those things you said about a bodyguard." Spike figured he should get it off his chest before Angel got any more foolish ideas.

"I didn't say anything about a bodyguard. You did. And, just so you know, you don't have to agree with me for me to be right." Angel closed his eyes and sighed. He could practically feel the anger coming off of Spike, in waves.

Spike pushed himself up out of his seat and stomped toward the stairs. "You're a real sod sometimes, Angelus."

Angel smiled to himself and shook his head. "I never said I wasn't."

TBC

Okay, reviews will make the writing go faster or stop all together. You decide. Writing, for me, is 50% muse and 50% encouragement. I have my muse; all I need is that extra little push. Thanks guys! *throws kisses*

-Oh, and if you're wondering the name of this fic came from a poem by the, almost obscenely talented, writer and poet Walt Whitman-