Gifts.
"If the stars came down in a million showers
And I made a wish that truly flowers and blooms
Over you
Would you take a new life and give something from it
Instead of a lie and a broken promise
I'm here
If you care
Do you care?"
"Stars come down" by Four Star Mary
Spike stood in the midst of the inferno, and watched the light unfold.
The spell had been easy to work, at least. A matter of seconds, truth be told. It was the rest of it that had been so bloody difficult.
He didn't know how long he'd here. Somehow he'd managed to keep the watch firmly on his right wrist, and it had counted down the seconds and minutes and hours and days and years, it felt like, with perfect precision. A long damn time, he knew that much. When the little demon with the terrifying dress sense and the New York accent had approached him and bribed him into coming down here, he'd thought it would be easy. He'd known that there were plenty of demons in Hell, demons that were older and more dangerous than vampires, but he'd fought plenty of nasties that were worse than vampires and come out the better. Of course, he's also underestimated the sheer bloody size of hell, and how so many demons in such a small space had thrown off his usual tingling sense of Sire that he'd always been able to follow, when he wanted to. Just most of the time he hadn't wanted to.
And now that he was actually trying it had taken him months to track down the friggin' poof. If he wasn't getting paid for this, and quite nicely, too.... Hell, who was he trying to fool? Himself? Way past that point, mate.
If he wasn't getting paid for this, he'd be doing it anyway. Despite the insults, and the pain, and the way Angelus had deliberately and cruelly dragged his Dru away from him, bit by bit, he'd still be doing it. Because when everything was boiled down, when it was all reduced to the barest essence, it all came down to one thing.
Blood.
And Angel was in his blood, had been in his blood since the fateful day he'd stormed into a deserted stable and had been followed by a dark goddess with a mad glint in her eye. And Drusilla may have turned him, but he knew, though he'd never admit it, that Angel was truly his Sire.
So here he stood, in front of the spell that had just finished unfolding into a gateway into the real world, staring down at the naked, huddled form of Angel. This was it, huh? The end. Last time he'd see his Angelus in centuries, if his luck held out any.
He grabbed the back of Angel's neck and hauled him up so that he could look him in the eye. Angel's unfocused gaze told him well enough that Angel had no idea who it was, exactly, that had ahold of him, but that was alright. He'd be happier knowing that Angel wouldn't remember this bit of soppiness anyway.
"Be happy, you git," Spike said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the grimy skin of Angel's forehead. "Don't get yourself killed," he added, and shoved Angel through the portal.
"Don't say I never gave you anything, wanker," he muttered, and jumped through after him.