That Thing Called Forgiveness
Never really liked you, ya know
The words stung in ways that Angel couldn't have anticipated. Especially when he found himself busily remembering baby soft brown hair; brown hair that curled along his head, brown hair that had once been tied at the nape of his neck in a black velvet ribbon as was the style of day. Now it was a strange shade of white blonde. It still curled along his head, no longer tied at the nape of his neck as he wore it shorter these days, and Angel had no idea if it was still as soft as a baby's breath.
Spike didn't keep himself at a distance exactly, although he didn't go out of his way to encourage confidences either.
They reminisced sometimes; it helped to deal with the guilt and burden of a soul. The only other person in the world who could understand what it meant to be a demon with a soul was Spike and Angel found that he blatantly used it to engage Spike in conversation and keep him around when the others had left for the evening no matter how much pain he caused by doing so.
Angelus and Spike had travelled the world together leaving a bloody trail of death and destruction behind them and Angel knew it hurt Spike to bring it up, but still Angel shamelessly used the past to keep Spike in the present.
They had always argued and they argued still, but things had begun to simmer down between them lately and Angel had thought they might take that tentative step forward into becoming real friends. Somehow, in spite of their history he and Spike weren't friends; that had come as somewhat of a shock to him. How could he and Spike not be friends when they had slaughtered the innocent together, hunted together, drank together, killed and tortured together? Didn't that kind of history guarantee him a bond with Spike? After all, there was no-one else, not even Drusilla, who had shared that kind of closeness with Spike.
You were my sire. You were my Yoda
Spike had said those words. He had said those words to him and yet it was as though they had never been spoken at all. They were no closer now than they had been when Spike had first arrived in Sunnydale and they had found themselves on opposite sides, good verses evil, vampire verses Slayer.
Angel longed for the old days, the days when it was him and Spike and him and Spike alone. He knew Spike in a way no-one else could ever know him. He had watched him evolve over time as he grew more comfortable in his new skin; he had seen the man, sweet William the bloody awful poet transform into William the Bloody who tortured his victims, the ones who had taunted the man, with railroad spikes from whence he got his new name; Spike. And Spike had never looked back.
I liked your poems
You like Barry Manilow
Angel sighed heavily and glowered at the view outside his bedroom window. It was night in L.A and the city was bathed in lights, it was truly a beautiful sight but Angel didn't see it, he was too busy brooding about Spike. Even when he held out the hand of friendship and gave him a compliment Spike somehow managed to twist it around and have a dig at him.
Spike could be vicious and cruel and snide and scathing, everything that Angel loathed in others but loved in Spike. There wasn't much he didn't love about Spike.
Spike was a pain in the ass and Angel wouldn't deny it, but he loved that about him too. He never knew just what Spike would say or do next; he was as changing and unpredictable as the weather and after decades of misery and remorse, of living off rats in alley ways Angel found that a deeply attractive quality. He had always found that to be a deeply attractive quality in Spike.
Truth be told he had always found everything about Spike deeply attractive and Angelus had hated it. Angelus was strong, he had built his reputation as the most feared and notorious vampire in years, and the last thing he wanted was a weakness. Spike was a weakness and Angelus had therefore lashed out against him at times furious that Spike could make him feel. Angelus didn't want to feel anything but another's pain and misery and he certainly didn't want to feel anything for Spike; so he indulged in him like a binge drinker and then he hurt him as deeply as he could just to prove to himself that he was still a demon, still evil, still a monster.
Angelus was long gone, but he was still there between him and Spike. Spike viewed everything he did with suspicion and Angel didn't know how to change that. He wanted to change it and thought that working with Spike, seeing him every day would be a start, he could show Spike that he could be trusted now not to hurt him if only Spike would give him a chance to be his friend. Angel wanted more than that but he was willing to start at the bottom and work his way up, after all, he had the time to devote to such a grueling task; and grueling it would be to earn Spike's trust and love.
They were getting along, Angel knew that they were. Spike was still a pain in the ass, he still had a snarky comment about everything, but they were getting along.
Until she came.
They had all been in Angel's office, Wes, Gunn, Fred, Lorne, Spike and himself when the door had opened and she had come through it to ruin everything before it even got started. Spike had been as surprised to see her as Angel had, Andrew had let slip and she had come to L.A. straight away to see for herself. To see Spike.
It was burnt into his memory, a slow motion Baywatch type of moment the way she had ran across the room closing the gap between her and Spike, launched herself into his arms, the weight of her small body knocking him into the back of the sofa, and kissed him.
If Angel had been astounded he wasn't too sure what Spike had felt; but it hadn't stopped him wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close and kissing her back. Angel scowled darkly.
She had started crying quietly, still kissing him, still holding on to him and Spike had soothed her with soft words and gentle hands. Angel had hated it, being forced to stand there and see his hopes and dreams crumble down around him.
As much as he hated the situation he found himself in he couldn't hate her. He owed her too much for that. So he had offered her rooms at the office, if she was staying with him then she wasn't staying with Spike.
He had momentarily forgotten that didn't mean that Spike wouldn't be staying with her.
Not only did Spike stay with her but William did too.
It was heart-breaking; he had harbored a longing to bring William back, to show Spike that William wasn't anything to be ashamed of and coax him into becoming that poet again.
He hadn't lied to Spike, he had always liked Spike's poems, and now he was forced to hear Spike creating new poems; the type that consisted of soft moans, breathy whispers and cries of ecstasy. Angel was discovering what it must have felt like to be Spike when Drusilla would look to Angelus instead of him and it hurt, a sharp pain that just went deeper and deeper inside him twisting and aching until it was almost unbearable.
The previous night it had all become too much for him and he had gone for a walk to clear his head, he would have done better not to go at all for on his way back he had passed by her rooms and had accidently become a witness to the poetry making.
The door had been slightly ajar, it had been shut tight when he had left and frankly Angel had preferred it that way; although he couldn't stop himself from looking. Angel really wished that he hadn't looked for what he saw was more torturous than anything he had inflicted on Spike out of fear of the discovery that Angelus could feel.
She was naked lying on her back her hair spilling over the pillows, arms and legs wrapped tightly around Spike's equally naked body as he moved slowly and deliberately inside her. She was moaning, gasping, whimpering her appreciation and Spike was responding to her with words. They were words that were soft and loving and appreciative; words that described her warmth and beauty, words that told of the feel and taste of her, words that were beautiful and heartfelt and utterly poetic.
And yet Angel still couldn't hate her. She hadn't come to take Spike away from him, she didn't know that her very presence was like nails on a chalk board to him. She hadn't come to L.A. to hurt him and shatter his heart to pieces. She had no more idea of how he felt than Spike did.
Besides, he owed a debt to her that he could never truly repay. Twice she had come to his rescue and brought him back from the abyss of darkness and for that he would always be grateful and would never judge her for what she had done. He too had done terrible things, hurt people he cared about, he could identify and would always forgive. But there was one thing he could never forgive her for even though it wasn't her fault; Angel felt he would never forgive Willow for having Spike and William that bloody awful poet.