Thanks so much for the feedback, everyone! I just wanted to make it clear that Spike still has his chip, when I wrote this he hadn't had it removed yet. Doesn't make any difference to the story, really, just that it's mentioned and I wanted to clarify. Thanks again!
~*~
Part Two
~*~
Angel came down to the lobby that evening after the sun had dipped below the horizon. Cordelia sat at her desk and Wesley stood by the reception desk. Angel took a moment to appreciate Wesley's return.
"Hey," he said.
"Morning," said Wesley dryly.
"Hey, Mister Sleeps-Through-The-Best-Part-Of-The-Day," said Cordelia.
Angel laughed.
"Where are Fred and Gunn?" he asked.
"Out," replied Wesley, a little tersely.
"And Connor?"
"Haven't seen him since this morning," said Cordelia. "Said he was going out for a while."
"Oh. Okay," said Angel. "So, what have we got?"
"You think we'd sit around letting you sleep all day if there was a case and or an apocalypse?" said Cordelia. "Though I'm really honing my solitaire skills."
"And I honed the axe blades," added Wesley.
"Thanks," said Angel. "Good to keep them, you know, sharp."
Wesley nodded.
"If you don't think you need me here this evening, I might head away now."
"Oh, sure, hey, if there's nothing happening," said Angel.
"Okay," replied Wesley. He took his coat from the coat stand. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Or perhaps the late afternoon." He gave Angel a small smile as he left.
Cordelia stood and walked over to the reception desk. She leaned her elbows on it and watched the door close behind Wesley.
"Still in awkward conversation land, huh?" she said.
Angel shrugged.
"Still working on it," he said. "So Connor didn't say where he was going?"
"Nope. Just out. Why, you worried?"
"No," said Angel worriedly. "It's just, we were up late last night talking. I'm surprised he didn't sleep more, that's all."
"You know Connor. Some days, twenty three hours' sleep. Other days, three. I'm sure he's fine."
Angel did not have the time to reply. Connor was at the garden door, pushing it open, and pulling someone behind him.
"Of course I'm fine," he said. "I think Spike's a little tired though."
"Not tired, cranky. There's a difference." Spike stormed through the door. He pulled up short when he saw Angel. "Well," he said, smiling brashly. "So it's true, then."
Angel took a hesitant step towards Connor and Spike.
"Spike. What's true?" he asked cautiously.
"He's your son."
"Oh. Yeah. That's true."
"Interesting," said Spike, swaggering towards Angel. "I know a Slayer who'd find it interesting, anyway, that you have a son."
"Excuse me?" hissed Cordelia. "Shouldn't we be getting stakes?"
"No, wait." Angel held out his hand to stop her. "Spike can't harm humans."
"Maybe, but he could still hurt you!"
Angel shook his head distractedly.
"Cordelia, please," he said. "Wait a moment."
Angel watched Spike as he coolly looked around the lobby.
"What happened the old gaff?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Blew up," replied Angel.
"Oh," said Spike. "This place is nice."
"Thanks."
"Just bloody like you to find some fantastic huge place to ponce about in." Spike scuffed the floor with a worn boot. He was uncomfortable under Angel's gaze. And he knew what he would see.
"What's different about you?" asked Angel softly. "There's something different. Not the chip."
Spike laughed under his breath.
"Yeah," he said. "Something different alright." He closed the distance between Angel and himself and looked straight into his eyes. "Can't you see it?"
Angel looked into those stormy blue eyes, eyes that had played over him in his dreams.
"No," he said, his own eyes widening in shock. "Not possible."
"Oh, believe it, Peaches. Because don't we just love irony."
"You have a soul."
"That I do."
"Oh my God."
"Whose God?"
"William, shut up."
"Don't bloody call me that."
"Were you cursed?"
"No, did it myself."
"Why didn't you come to me?" Angel took hold of his shoulders. "Why didn't you come?"
Spike squirmed in his hands and broke free.
"Because it wasn't for you. This soul wasn't for you."
Angel nodded in realisation.
"Buffy. It was for Buffy."
Spike stilled, watching Angel. He nodded slightly and half turned away, his shoulders hunched and defensive. He scuffed the ground some more.
"Why didn't you tell me?" continued Angel, more gently now.
Spike laughed acerbically.
"I don't think I'm the only one keeping secrets, pet," he said, fishing in the pocket of his duster. He drew out a battered pack of cigarettes and lit one up. "But don't worry. The boy filled me in on our fun trip from Sunnydale."
"Yeah, and how did you get to Sunnydale?" said Angel sternly, rounding on Connor.
Connor stood boldly, his hands in his pockets.
"I borrowed your car."
"You what?"
"And when I got there, I looked up the phone book and found the only Summers house in Sunnydale. And when I got to her house, Spike was there, alone. Wasn't difficult." He spoke with his chin jutted forward in a way that infuriated his father.
"Why did you look for him in the first place, Connor? He could have been dangerous! He could have killed you!"
Connor laughed derisively.
"Yeah, with a soul and a chip? I think I was safe."
"You didn't know that." Angel tried to calm his anger.
"What I did know was that you told me a story last night all about him, and I wanted to see if it was all true. But he wouldn't tell me. He wouldn't believe I was your son."
"I could smell you all over him," cut in Spike. "That's why I came. It was the son bit I had a problem with. See, I thought I was your only son, Sire darling. But Connor here tells me that he's a miracle boy, the son of two vampires. The other vampire in this little equation being, much to my surprise, Darla, who was dead. After all of that he told me about Holtz and Quor-toth and dimensional rifts. Even about him and Cordy here."
Spike leered at Cordelia, who grimaced and sighed.
"You told him everything?" said Angel to Connor.
Connor shrugged.
"Why not? He's family. Said so yourself."
"Did he now?" said Spike, amused. He took a drag of his cigarette and flicked ash on the ground with a thumbnail. "How nice. I feel all loved."
"You know, you'd think a soul would change a guy's smoking habits," said Cordelia, needled.
"It's a soul. It doesn't mean I'll suddenly get cancer."
"Yeah, well there are actual people here, buddy," she said, waving smoke away with her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I do apologise. I just got manhandled into a Plymouth by a kid and driven to LA to a sire who has forgotten all about us at home in Sunnydale so much that it completely slipped his mind to tell us about his miracle boy! His son!" Spike spat with bitter anger. "What else has he got in store, eh? What else has he forgotten?"
"Not you," said Connor softly.
Spike spun.
"What?" he said.
"Not you. That's why I wanted to talk to you."
Spike looked from the boy to Angel and back again. Angel studied the floor. Cordelia looked puzzled.
"Care to clarify? Or do you enjoy the cryptic?"
"I told you. We talked all last night about you. About how he turned you. I wanted to know your side of it."
Spike looked back to Angel.
"You really told him all that?"
Angel nodded.
"Yeah," he said.
Spike took a few steps towards him.
"Are you sure it's suitable for kids?"
"Hey, not a kid," said Connor.
"I left those parts out," said Angel, smiling softly now.
Spike could not help but smile too when he saw the twinkle in his sire's eye. Then he remembered himself and shrugged defiantly.
"Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. What's it to you, anyway, kid?"
"Two sides to every story. What's yours?"
"Why don't you believe your old man? Put in a few flowery bits, did he?" Spike took another ragged drag. "Shouldn't wonder," he muttered.
"I don't remember any flowers," said Angel.
"No. There rarely were, with you." Spike stood close. Angel moved closer. They stood inches apart.
"Talk to my son," he said, quietly. "Son."
Spike smiled.
"Don't pull that crap with me."
"Spike," Angel whispered. "Please."
Spike threw his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out slowly with his heel.
"Alright," he said. "Why not set him straight on the bollocks you probably fed him? But I warn you. I'm not his Dad, I leave nothing out."
Angel ran a hand over his eyes.
"Your story," he said. "Your choice. But he may not want to hear it."
"Then I'm sure he'll beat my mouth shut. Like father…"
Angel stepped back and turned away.
"Cordy?"
Cordelia looked up from the desk.
"Yeah?"
"You want to catch that Bogart double bill? We'll leave Connor and Spike here."
Cordelia smiled too widely.
"Sure," she said brightly. "Who wouldn't want to catch that?"
Angel took her hand in his as he walked towards the steps. He gave Connor a last glance as he passed, and tried to smile. Connor's eyes softened as he watched them walk up the stairs together.
Then they were gone.
Spike walked further into the cavernous lobby.
"So," he said, looking around behind the desk and peering into Angel's office. "No stories without alcohol, pet. And an ashtray, if you would be so kind."
"Whiskey or beer?"
"He's got whiskey?"
"Yeah."
Spike smiled.
"Probably good stuff, too. I'll have some of that, thanks very much."
He shrugged off his duster and laid it over the back of the red couch. He sat down with a sigh, his eyes still roving all over the Hyperion's opulence. Glass clinked from Angel's office and Connor returned with the remainder of last night's Jameson and a new bottle. He brought himself a beer from the fridge and an ashtray, which he placed on the low table in front of Spike.
He took a seat and met Spike's eyes. Angel had told the truth about one thing at least. Those eyes were extraordinarily blue.
Spike poured a full glass of whiskey and knocked back a mouthful. He sighed as the liquid burned his belly, lying his head on the back of the couch with his eyes closed. Connor watched him, waiting, noting how different Spike was from his father. There was a different kind of grace to him, not exactly the grace of age, but a tautness developed over many years hunting and running.
It was hard to imagine him as an awkward, Victorian, middle class poet.
He took out another cigarette and lit it up with his eyes still closed.
"I expect I know what he told you," he said suddenly, smoke forming the shapes of the words as he exhaled in the low light. "I know how he likes to see me." One eye squinted open as he smiled devilishly. "Naked, mostly."
Connor scowled uncomfortably and drank a mouthful of beer.
"But maybe you don't want to know about that. Not yet, anyway. Where did he start? The street that night?"
Connor nodded. Spike sat up and flicked ash into the ashtray.
"I had been at a party." He laughed. "I don't know how much you know about parties back then, but let me tell you, they weren't big on fun. Boring sodding conversation, that's what you got in those days at parties. Card games you couldn't even gamble in, and some bint on a tinny piano. Not even decent alcohol. And the women? Not an ankle showing." He smiled, shaking his head. "But the woman I loved was there. So I went."
"Cecily," said Connor.
"Yeah," said Spike quietly. "It's funny, how things happen. That night, I told her I loved her. And she didn't care. I think that was the worst part. She just didn't care." Spike sighed. "So I left. Stormed out of there, all passion and pain. And that's when I bumped into Angelus. Literally. Bloody ponce took up half the street with his manly shoulders." He smiled despite his tone. "Knocked my precious poetry all over the cobbles. I told him to watch where he was going and stormed on. Had no idea where I was storming to, and when I got there, I had no idea he'd been following me."
Connor nodded.
"He can do that," he said.
"Yeah. Anyway, I don't know why I went into that stable. Somewhere sort of warm to sit until the pain and anguish burned less fiercely." He laughed at himself. "I thought I knew what pain and anguish were. I had no idea. Angelus taught me that."
"He can do that, too."
"Oh, don't think you know anything about what he used to be, kid," said Spike. "Your father was the Scourge of Europe, so called for good reason. And I was his whipping boy. And you know what the thing is?"
Connor shook his head.
"The things is, I was proud of that fact. That bastard made me proud of it." Spike smoked the last of his cigarette and stubbed it out. He knocked back another large mouthful of whiskey. "Anyway, we'll get to that later. We were in the stable. He followed me in, and of course I was mortified that someone should see me cry. I wiped my face in my sleeve. I didn't have time to get my handkerchief. I thought maybe he owned the stable and was there to kick me out, or maybe he was a robber. I stood up. But instead of attacking me, he asked me why I was crying. I was astounded. I told him it was none of his business." He laughed. "I was so upset I didn't even notice how intimidating he was until he stood up close to me. He took the pages from my hand and began to read. I knew that he would not understand, that a man like him was not capable of finer feeling. And of course he was Irish, which in those days, in London, simply meant uncouth and savage, and that was all I could see."
Connor raised an eyebrow.
"Believe me, there was more to him than that. For an evil thing, he could be quite cultured. High society loved him. Well, until he left them splattered all over the dining room walls." Spike grinned. "Darla loved that about him. We all loved that about him."
"How can you smile when you say that?"
"I know, it seems… grotesque. But apart from the death and the blood, those were good days. And you know, it wasn't us that died, which can make the whole death thing easier, I think. Well, we only died the once." He grinned again.
Connor frowned, but bit back the comment forming on his lips.
"Go on about the stable," he simply said.
Spike poured another glass of whiskey.
"Well," he said. "As I had suspected, Angelus didn't think much of my work. Called it drivel. Told me Shelley's shopping list had more poetry. I said nothing, of course, knowing that such a man as he would not listen. He raved on, tearing the poems up sheet by sheet. I watched the paper fall to the ground, and he stood all over it. The ink ran underneath his boots. And I thought to myself, they're gone. My words." Spike shook his head, taking a drink. "And suddenly I realised I didn't care. I didn't care. And that shocked me. I began to watch this strange, dark man more closely. It wasn't just anyone who could make me forget my poetry, you know."
Spike stretched out, setting his boots heavily upon the table. He kept the whiskey glass in his hand and held it on his belly. Connor watched it move up and down as the vampire breathed. He knew what that meant.
"Angelus looked like the devil himself," continued Spike. "Dark and dangerous. Like Heathcliff, I thought to myself. His eyes burned with a black flame, now and then flaring amber. I didn't understand it then, but I knew he was something different. Something… effulgent." He laughed. Connor frowned again. He was going to ask Wesley what that meant.
"He told me he could make me a true poet, an artist, with death itself as my art. An offer pretty tempting to a Romantic like me, I'm sure you can imagine. But really, at that point, I had lost interest in rhyming. It dawned on me that I wanted, simply, to be with him. Not in any sexual way, of course. That thought never crossed my mind, not until after. But I wanted to spend time with him, this hulk of a man in impeccable tailoring, standing in a stable. And I thought, my mother would be shocked." A smile played about Spike's lips. "But then suddenly he went to leave. Told me I was worthless, that I'd never amount to anything anyway. I watched his back as he left, thinking, I don't care. Let him go. But he turned around just as he reached the door and came back." Spike's eyes sparkled. "He couldn't leave me."
Connor smiled.
"I asked him, 'Who do you think you are, coming into a stable and judging a fellow like this?' and he laughed. He stood close to me, very close. He promised me the world. He said all I had to do was trust him." Spike's voice faded away as he watched the scene in his head.
Connor waited, watching his eyes play between hate and something else.
"That's when his face changed. I remember. I was utterly calm." Spike's voice was little more than a whisper now. "I tilted my head to the side, but I kept my eyes on him. He seemed to hesitate for a second, which made me instantly furious. Then he bit. And I have never felt anything like it." Spike gave a small laugh at the inadequacy of the words. He fumbled for another cigarette.
"What did it feel like?" asked Connor softly.
Spike flicked open his lighter.
"Being drained by your father?" He lit the cigarette and inhaled. "Heavenly. He did it so slowly and gently. I knew he was killing me and I could feel his big hands on my back, holding me close to him. And let me tell you, he liked killing me. I could feel him hard against my belly."
Connor flinched. Spike laughed.
"You want the details, kid, you get the details." He took a languorous drag of his cigarette. "Yeah, he had a raging hard-on for me. But I couldn't feel my legs anymore so he brought me to the floor and took the last of my blood. I could barely think or feel. I knew that I was a breath away from death. I knew that if I could only think, that thought would be exciting. I waited an age, and nothing happened. Then at last, I felt something splash on my mouth, so I licked it from my lips. It was terrible, the taste. It burned my mouth white hot, and it was viscous and vile on my tongue. But I had to have it. I felt more splash down and I licked that too. Soon I felt it tingle in my body, like electricity in every nerve, and I could move a bit again. So I grabbed his arm and sucked. I could not get enough. I lay back against him, between his legs, and sucked his wrist more. I kicked the ground, pushing back into him and he held my belly with his other hand, holding me tighter against him still. His dick was rock hard against my back. It occurred to me that I was doing that to him. Even then the irony was not lost on me, that the most powerful moment of my life was my death."
"How did you know what was happening?" asked Connor.
"I didn't know exactly, or at least not consciously. But it seemed right. Seemed natural." Spike laughed. "Though it is anything but. There was less blood coming from his wrist now, and I still wanted more, but he pulled away. His body jerked behind me and he roared. The last thing I heard him say was my name. I remember wondering vaguely how he knew my name, because I hadn't told him. And then it all faded to black. I died in his arms."
Connor shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Spike, noticing. "Have I told you too much? Some questions answered that you didn't even know you wanted to ask, eh?" He took another drink. "I know what this is about, kid."
"No, you don't," replied Connor levelly.
Spike shrugged and sat up. He poured another glass of whiskey.
"Doesn't matter," he said. "I'll tell it the same, anyway."
There was silence as he sat back again and sipped the whiskey. He drank more slowly now. The heat in his belly calmed him.
"Go on," said Connor.
"Keep your pants on. I'm just thinking."
Connor sighed sullenly. Spike smirked.
"When I woke up, it was still black. It took me a few moments to remember everything. Then I realised I was in a coffin. Panicked for a minute, because I couldn't breathe. Then, of course, I realised that I didn't have to. I realised that what I did have to do was get the hell out of there. So I began to smash the lid. Took a while, too. There wasn't a lot of space to get a proper swing at it. I kicked at it too, as best I could. Finally it gave way. The loose earth poured in on top of me and I felt like I was going to suffocate again. It got in my mouth and nose. I hated it. But I had to get out. I cut my fingers on the splintered wood. I started pushing up, just trying to get out of there." Spike took a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not easy, crawling out of your own grave. When I finally pulled myself up and out, he was there waiting for me, smiling at me with that leer of his. Do you know it?" He looked at Connor.
Connor shook his head.
"No," said Spike. "I suppose you wouldn't. He doesn't smile like that anymore. Anyway, he probably wouldn't smile like that at you."
The boy frowned again.
"Smile like what?" he asked.
"Like he wants to fuck you seven ways from Tuesday," said Spike calmly.
"Oh," said Connor. "No. He's never looked at me like that."
"I should hope not," said Spike. "Him being the role model of us souled vampires. That would lead us all astray."
"You don't act like him. Like you have a soul."
Spike pondered with the aid of his cigarette.
"I don't think," he said, after some time, "that having a soul means you have to lose your sense of humour. And I've never been big on guilt. See, he was outright evil. No question about it. He put in the legwork. Me? I just did my thing. I was never as bad as him. Never. Sort of puts things in perspective."
Connor looked sceptical, but said nothing.
"So," he said instead. "He stood over your grave."
"That's right," replied Spike. "Stood and watched me spitting dirt. Probably just didn't want to spoil his clothes, bloody poofter." He chuckled quietly. "I was starving. He said he knew the feeling. He told me we couldn't hunt on the Westside because I was in a morning suit. I didn't care. I never had his palette, certainly not fresh out of the grave." Spike raised an eyebrow. "So he took me hunting nearby. I could have eaten anyone, but of course he had his standards. He seemed pleased when I picked out a young man. Had on pince-nez. Looked a right ponce, just like me." He laughed at himself. He spoke conspiratorially now, looking straight at Connor from his reclined position. His legs rested haphazardly on the table. "Of course, it was my first kill. Was never going to be my neatest. I think I ripped the poor fellow's throat out."
Connor simply listened. With a shock, he found he was no longer repulsed by the deaths recounted.
Spike leaned over and flicked ash into the ashtray.
"Oh, what a night. Next he dragged me on and on. I was wired. High on blood and death and him. He kept his arms around me, holding me with those big, manly hands. He whispered in my ear, putting his arm around my waist. He made me tingle, did your magnificent father. He brought me along narrow streets, making up stories for people we passed, telling me what they were, telling me to choose." Spike's eyes were now far away. "I finally picked a pretty enough girl, dark hair, decent clothes. I didn't care, but he seemed to think there was a significance in who I killed, especially that night. I took her by the throat. I was about to do the same thing again, leave her minus most of her neck. But he stopped me. She thought he was saving her. She held on to him as if he would take her away from me."
Connor shifted in his seat.
"I know, ironic, isn't it?" laughed Spike caustically. "He held her still and told me how to bite her properly, how to sink my fangs in right to the jugular without being messy. I did it and drank, I was still so hungry. I took her blood so fast she screamed in pain. Angelus laughed. He loved the sound of her screaming."
"Did you just leave her there?"
"'Course. No one gave much of a toss, really, look how fast I was buried. And Jack the Ripper hadn't made dead women's bodies interesting yet. We just left her lying there and ran off. He took my hand in his and ran. He threw me against a wall and crushed me, kissing me so ferociously. Kept calling me his boy. Said he'd take me right there and then if it wasn't my first night with him. Wanted to make it special, he said." Spike laughed and looked at Connor. He laughed again when he saw the boy's face.
Connor looked horrified.
"Oh, I think I told you too much!" said Spike. The grin on his face belied any possibility of apology. "Well, get used to it. You knew you'd hear this my way. He's the only man ever touched me, and damned if I'm going to edit the story for your delicate boyish ears." Spike emptied his whiskey glass defiantly and poured another. "I'm damned anyway," he muttered.
"You really have to tell me everything? I think I prefer hearing about the killing." Connor took a healthy swig of beer.
"Hey, I got stories featuring both, often with the same person! Shall I tell you those instead?"
"Please don't." Connor got up and stretched. "I'm getting more beer. You want anything?"
"You got blood? I'm a bit hungry."
"Sure," said Connor. "I'll get you some."
Spike watched him as he walked. He was more like Darla, slight, with a gentle bone structure. But there was something of Angel there too, something predatory.
He brought back blood and beer and placed them on the table before sitting down again. Spike sat up to drink.
"Hey, it's warm," he said.
"Ninety eight point six," replied Connor, opening his beer bottle.
"Thanks," said Spike. He drank most of it back at a go and wiped his hand over his mouth. "Needed that, all this talk of blood makes a vamp hungry."
"You're welcome," said Connor, drinking his beer slowly. He sat back again and looked at Spike expectantly.
"Hold on a sec, kid. Gotta have me smoke now, don't I." Again Spike went through his cigarette lighting ritual and took a deep drag. "Well, where were we?" he said innocently.
Connor rolled his eyes.
"My father wanted to take you," he said.
"No, I mean specifically?" Spike smiled. "That was always a given, pet." He lay back on the couch, his head resting on one arm and boots over the other. "He dragged me home, his hands all over my body. I think that's where we were."
"Yeah," said Connor.
"Well. He flung open the front door to this great big house they were renting. Fucking gorgeous, it was. Him and Darla, they liked style. Dru would've been happy in a damp old crypt, but those two. Had to have the grandeur." Spike waved a hand around at the lobby. "He threw me right in against the wall, slamming the door behind him, and pushed up against me, kissing me again. His dick was hard, and so was mine. I was full of blood. It was glorious, him and me, all that heat. He must have fed earlier." Spike reached out for his whiskey glass and drained it at a go. The blood and alcohol gave colour to his skin. Or maybe it was the memory. "Then he reached around me and opened the door to the drawing room. We fell in, barely staying standing. Then he stopped kissing me, and he laughed. I looked around, and laughed too. Darla stood there looking furious. The only other time I've seen her that furious was when Angelus left us in eighteen ninety eight."
"Why was she so angry?" asked Connor.
"Seeing her darling boy with someone else was bad enough for Darla. She could barely stand Drusilla because Angelus turned her. And then seeing me stumble in wrapped in his arms, drunk on him? She would have staked me on the spot if she could've. But I didn't let her near me. She screamed at Angelus that he was as insane as Dru. She said she'd leave, find herself another stallion. Oh, you should have seen him when she said that. Without letting go of me, he walked over to her at the fireplace and rubbed the back of his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her, but he squeezed my hand. She hated that he made her melt, but he did. Then Dru started saying something about the moon." Spike took another drink. "I thought she was barmy. Of course I was perfectly right. But Angelus didn't want to hang around. As soon as Darla finished her tirade, he dragged me upstairs and buggered me senseless."
Connor tried to suppress a flinch, but failed.
"In one night he taught me the meaning of so many words, buggery being one of them. And debauchery. Lewdness. Depravity, I would go so far as to say."
"You loved every minute of it," said Connor, with accusatory eyes.
Spike turned to him and smiled widely.
"Oh, yes," he said with enthusiasm. "I did. His body and mine, together, sweat gleaming in the gaslight. He kissed me so deep when he fucked me, I could hardly bear his dick being so far inside me." Spike's eyes glowed, but his smile softened as he relented. "And maybe that's all I'll tell you," he said gently.
Connor stared at him, registering nothing until he sighed and smiled with a touch of embarrassment.
"That would be good," he said, leaning forward and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
"So," said Spike. "You happy now? Our stories match up?"
Connor sighed, tired.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Well enough."
"Good. And now it's my turn to ask you something." Spike swung his legs to the ground as he sat up facing Connor. "Why did you want to know? What was so important?"
Connor shrugged.
"I guess…" He looked away, thinking. "I guess, because you're his son, too. You should have heard how he spoke about you last night. I wanted to know if you spoke the same way about him."
"And do I?"
Connor smiled knowingly.
"Oh yeah," he said. "You do."
Spike looked at him.
"Really," he said flatly, stubbing out his cigarette.
"Yeah," replied Connor. "Really."
Spike did not reply.
"Well," said Connor, after a silence. "I gotta go to bed."
"Yeah, dawn's coming soon. I feel like bed myself." Spike rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger.
"Come on, I'll find you a bedroom," said Connor.
"No need," came a voice from the stairs above. "I'll do it."
"Dad," said Connor. "Okay. I'll just… go to bed then. G'night."
"Night," said Spike, watching Angel come down the stairs.
"Night, son," said Angel as Connor passed him.
TBC
~*~
Part Two
~*~
Angel came down to the lobby that evening after the sun had dipped below the horizon. Cordelia sat at her desk and Wesley stood by the reception desk. Angel took a moment to appreciate Wesley's return.
"Hey," he said.
"Morning," said Wesley dryly.
"Hey, Mister Sleeps-Through-The-Best-Part-Of-The-Day," said Cordelia.
Angel laughed.
"Where are Fred and Gunn?" he asked.
"Out," replied Wesley, a little tersely.
"And Connor?"
"Haven't seen him since this morning," said Cordelia. "Said he was going out for a while."
"Oh. Okay," said Angel. "So, what have we got?"
"You think we'd sit around letting you sleep all day if there was a case and or an apocalypse?" said Cordelia. "Though I'm really honing my solitaire skills."
"And I honed the axe blades," added Wesley.
"Thanks," said Angel. "Good to keep them, you know, sharp."
Wesley nodded.
"If you don't think you need me here this evening, I might head away now."
"Oh, sure, hey, if there's nothing happening," said Angel.
"Okay," replied Wesley. He took his coat from the coat stand. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Or perhaps the late afternoon." He gave Angel a small smile as he left.
Cordelia stood and walked over to the reception desk. She leaned her elbows on it and watched the door close behind Wesley.
"Still in awkward conversation land, huh?" she said.
Angel shrugged.
"Still working on it," he said. "So Connor didn't say where he was going?"
"Nope. Just out. Why, you worried?"
"No," said Angel worriedly. "It's just, we were up late last night talking. I'm surprised he didn't sleep more, that's all."
"You know Connor. Some days, twenty three hours' sleep. Other days, three. I'm sure he's fine."
Angel did not have the time to reply. Connor was at the garden door, pushing it open, and pulling someone behind him.
"Of course I'm fine," he said. "I think Spike's a little tired though."
"Not tired, cranky. There's a difference." Spike stormed through the door. He pulled up short when he saw Angel. "Well," he said, smiling brashly. "So it's true, then."
Angel took a hesitant step towards Connor and Spike.
"Spike. What's true?" he asked cautiously.
"He's your son."
"Oh. Yeah. That's true."
"Interesting," said Spike, swaggering towards Angel. "I know a Slayer who'd find it interesting, anyway, that you have a son."
"Excuse me?" hissed Cordelia. "Shouldn't we be getting stakes?"
"No, wait." Angel held out his hand to stop her. "Spike can't harm humans."
"Maybe, but he could still hurt you!"
Angel shook his head distractedly.
"Cordelia, please," he said. "Wait a moment."
Angel watched Spike as he coolly looked around the lobby.
"What happened the old gaff?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Blew up," replied Angel.
"Oh," said Spike. "This place is nice."
"Thanks."
"Just bloody like you to find some fantastic huge place to ponce about in." Spike scuffed the floor with a worn boot. He was uncomfortable under Angel's gaze. And he knew what he would see.
"What's different about you?" asked Angel softly. "There's something different. Not the chip."
Spike laughed under his breath.
"Yeah," he said. "Something different alright." He closed the distance between Angel and himself and looked straight into his eyes. "Can't you see it?"
Angel looked into those stormy blue eyes, eyes that had played over him in his dreams.
"No," he said, his own eyes widening in shock. "Not possible."
"Oh, believe it, Peaches. Because don't we just love irony."
"You have a soul."
"That I do."
"Oh my God."
"Whose God?"
"William, shut up."
"Don't bloody call me that."
"Were you cursed?"
"No, did it myself."
"Why didn't you come to me?" Angel took hold of his shoulders. "Why didn't you come?"
Spike squirmed in his hands and broke free.
"Because it wasn't for you. This soul wasn't for you."
Angel nodded in realisation.
"Buffy. It was for Buffy."
Spike stilled, watching Angel. He nodded slightly and half turned away, his shoulders hunched and defensive. He scuffed the ground some more.
"Why didn't you tell me?" continued Angel, more gently now.
Spike laughed acerbically.
"I don't think I'm the only one keeping secrets, pet," he said, fishing in the pocket of his duster. He drew out a battered pack of cigarettes and lit one up. "But don't worry. The boy filled me in on our fun trip from Sunnydale."
"Yeah, and how did you get to Sunnydale?" said Angel sternly, rounding on Connor.
Connor stood boldly, his hands in his pockets.
"I borrowed your car."
"You what?"
"And when I got there, I looked up the phone book and found the only Summers house in Sunnydale. And when I got to her house, Spike was there, alone. Wasn't difficult." He spoke with his chin jutted forward in a way that infuriated his father.
"Why did you look for him in the first place, Connor? He could have been dangerous! He could have killed you!"
Connor laughed derisively.
"Yeah, with a soul and a chip? I think I was safe."
"You didn't know that." Angel tried to calm his anger.
"What I did know was that you told me a story last night all about him, and I wanted to see if it was all true. But he wouldn't tell me. He wouldn't believe I was your son."
"I could smell you all over him," cut in Spike. "That's why I came. It was the son bit I had a problem with. See, I thought I was your only son, Sire darling. But Connor here tells me that he's a miracle boy, the son of two vampires. The other vampire in this little equation being, much to my surprise, Darla, who was dead. After all of that he told me about Holtz and Quor-toth and dimensional rifts. Even about him and Cordy here."
Spike leered at Cordelia, who grimaced and sighed.
"You told him everything?" said Angel to Connor.
Connor shrugged.
"Why not? He's family. Said so yourself."
"Did he now?" said Spike, amused. He took a drag of his cigarette and flicked ash on the ground with a thumbnail. "How nice. I feel all loved."
"You know, you'd think a soul would change a guy's smoking habits," said Cordelia, needled.
"It's a soul. It doesn't mean I'll suddenly get cancer."
"Yeah, well there are actual people here, buddy," she said, waving smoke away with her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I do apologise. I just got manhandled into a Plymouth by a kid and driven to LA to a sire who has forgotten all about us at home in Sunnydale so much that it completely slipped his mind to tell us about his miracle boy! His son!" Spike spat with bitter anger. "What else has he got in store, eh? What else has he forgotten?"
"Not you," said Connor softly.
Spike spun.
"What?" he said.
"Not you. That's why I wanted to talk to you."
Spike looked from the boy to Angel and back again. Angel studied the floor. Cordelia looked puzzled.
"Care to clarify? Or do you enjoy the cryptic?"
"I told you. We talked all last night about you. About how he turned you. I wanted to know your side of it."
Spike looked back to Angel.
"You really told him all that?"
Angel nodded.
"Yeah," he said.
Spike took a few steps towards him.
"Are you sure it's suitable for kids?"
"Hey, not a kid," said Connor.
"I left those parts out," said Angel, smiling softly now.
Spike could not help but smile too when he saw the twinkle in his sire's eye. Then he remembered himself and shrugged defiantly.
"Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. What's it to you, anyway, kid?"
"Two sides to every story. What's yours?"
"Why don't you believe your old man? Put in a few flowery bits, did he?" Spike took another ragged drag. "Shouldn't wonder," he muttered.
"I don't remember any flowers," said Angel.
"No. There rarely were, with you." Spike stood close. Angel moved closer. They stood inches apart.
"Talk to my son," he said, quietly. "Son."
Spike smiled.
"Don't pull that crap with me."
"Spike," Angel whispered. "Please."
Spike threw his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out slowly with his heel.
"Alright," he said. "Why not set him straight on the bollocks you probably fed him? But I warn you. I'm not his Dad, I leave nothing out."
Angel ran a hand over his eyes.
"Your story," he said. "Your choice. But he may not want to hear it."
"Then I'm sure he'll beat my mouth shut. Like father…"
Angel stepped back and turned away.
"Cordy?"
Cordelia looked up from the desk.
"Yeah?"
"You want to catch that Bogart double bill? We'll leave Connor and Spike here."
Cordelia smiled too widely.
"Sure," she said brightly. "Who wouldn't want to catch that?"
Angel took her hand in his as he walked towards the steps. He gave Connor a last glance as he passed, and tried to smile. Connor's eyes softened as he watched them walk up the stairs together.
Then they were gone.
Spike walked further into the cavernous lobby.
"So," he said, looking around behind the desk and peering into Angel's office. "No stories without alcohol, pet. And an ashtray, if you would be so kind."
"Whiskey or beer?"
"He's got whiskey?"
"Yeah."
Spike smiled.
"Probably good stuff, too. I'll have some of that, thanks very much."
He shrugged off his duster and laid it over the back of the red couch. He sat down with a sigh, his eyes still roving all over the Hyperion's opulence. Glass clinked from Angel's office and Connor returned with the remainder of last night's Jameson and a new bottle. He brought himself a beer from the fridge and an ashtray, which he placed on the low table in front of Spike.
He took a seat and met Spike's eyes. Angel had told the truth about one thing at least. Those eyes were extraordinarily blue.
Spike poured a full glass of whiskey and knocked back a mouthful. He sighed as the liquid burned his belly, lying his head on the back of the couch with his eyes closed. Connor watched him, waiting, noting how different Spike was from his father. There was a different kind of grace to him, not exactly the grace of age, but a tautness developed over many years hunting and running.
It was hard to imagine him as an awkward, Victorian, middle class poet.
He took out another cigarette and lit it up with his eyes still closed.
"I expect I know what he told you," he said suddenly, smoke forming the shapes of the words as he exhaled in the low light. "I know how he likes to see me." One eye squinted open as he smiled devilishly. "Naked, mostly."
Connor scowled uncomfortably and drank a mouthful of beer.
"But maybe you don't want to know about that. Not yet, anyway. Where did he start? The street that night?"
Connor nodded. Spike sat up and flicked ash into the ashtray.
"I had been at a party." He laughed. "I don't know how much you know about parties back then, but let me tell you, they weren't big on fun. Boring sodding conversation, that's what you got in those days at parties. Card games you couldn't even gamble in, and some bint on a tinny piano. Not even decent alcohol. And the women? Not an ankle showing." He smiled, shaking his head. "But the woman I loved was there. So I went."
"Cecily," said Connor.
"Yeah," said Spike quietly. "It's funny, how things happen. That night, I told her I loved her. And she didn't care. I think that was the worst part. She just didn't care." Spike sighed. "So I left. Stormed out of there, all passion and pain. And that's when I bumped into Angelus. Literally. Bloody ponce took up half the street with his manly shoulders." He smiled despite his tone. "Knocked my precious poetry all over the cobbles. I told him to watch where he was going and stormed on. Had no idea where I was storming to, and when I got there, I had no idea he'd been following me."
Connor nodded.
"He can do that," he said.
"Yeah. Anyway, I don't know why I went into that stable. Somewhere sort of warm to sit until the pain and anguish burned less fiercely." He laughed at himself. "I thought I knew what pain and anguish were. I had no idea. Angelus taught me that."
"He can do that, too."
"Oh, don't think you know anything about what he used to be, kid," said Spike. "Your father was the Scourge of Europe, so called for good reason. And I was his whipping boy. And you know what the thing is?"
Connor shook his head.
"The things is, I was proud of that fact. That bastard made me proud of it." Spike smoked the last of his cigarette and stubbed it out. He knocked back another large mouthful of whiskey. "Anyway, we'll get to that later. We were in the stable. He followed me in, and of course I was mortified that someone should see me cry. I wiped my face in my sleeve. I didn't have time to get my handkerchief. I thought maybe he owned the stable and was there to kick me out, or maybe he was a robber. I stood up. But instead of attacking me, he asked me why I was crying. I was astounded. I told him it was none of his business." He laughed. "I was so upset I didn't even notice how intimidating he was until he stood up close to me. He took the pages from my hand and began to read. I knew that he would not understand, that a man like him was not capable of finer feeling. And of course he was Irish, which in those days, in London, simply meant uncouth and savage, and that was all I could see."
Connor raised an eyebrow.
"Believe me, there was more to him than that. For an evil thing, he could be quite cultured. High society loved him. Well, until he left them splattered all over the dining room walls." Spike grinned. "Darla loved that about him. We all loved that about him."
"How can you smile when you say that?"
"I know, it seems… grotesque. But apart from the death and the blood, those were good days. And you know, it wasn't us that died, which can make the whole death thing easier, I think. Well, we only died the once." He grinned again.
Connor frowned, but bit back the comment forming on his lips.
"Go on about the stable," he simply said.
Spike poured another glass of whiskey.
"Well," he said. "As I had suspected, Angelus didn't think much of my work. Called it drivel. Told me Shelley's shopping list had more poetry. I said nothing, of course, knowing that such a man as he would not listen. He raved on, tearing the poems up sheet by sheet. I watched the paper fall to the ground, and he stood all over it. The ink ran underneath his boots. And I thought to myself, they're gone. My words." Spike shook his head, taking a drink. "And suddenly I realised I didn't care. I didn't care. And that shocked me. I began to watch this strange, dark man more closely. It wasn't just anyone who could make me forget my poetry, you know."
Spike stretched out, setting his boots heavily upon the table. He kept the whiskey glass in his hand and held it on his belly. Connor watched it move up and down as the vampire breathed. He knew what that meant.
"Angelus looked like the devil himself," continued Spike. "Dark and dangerous. Like Heathcliff, I thought to myself. His eyes burned with a black flame, now and then flaring amber. I didn't understand it then, but I knew he was something different. Something… effulgent." He laughed. Connor frowned again. He was going to ask Wesley what that meant.
"He told me he could make me a true poet, an artist, with death itself as my art. An offer pretty tempting to a Romantic like me, I'm sure you can imagine. But really, at that point, I had lost interest in rhyming. It dawned on me that I wanted, simply, to be with him. Not in any sexual way, of course. That thought never crossed my mind, not until after. But I wanted to spend time with him, this hulk of a man in impeccable tailoring, standing in a stable. And I thought, my mother would be shocked." A smile played about Spike's lips. "But then suddenly he went to leave. Told me I was worthless, that I'd never amount to anything anyway. I watched his back as he left, thinking, I don't care. Let him go. But he turned around just as he reached the door and came back." Spike's eyes sparkled. "He couldn't leave me."
Connor smiled.
"I asked him, 'Who do you think you are, coming into a stable and judging a fellow like this?' and he laughed. He stood close to me, very close. He promised me the world. He said all I had to do was trust him." Spike's voice faded away as he watched the scene in his head.
Connor waited, watching his eyes play between hate and something else.
"That's when his face changed. I remember. I was utterly calm." Spike's voice was little more than a whisper now. "I tilted my head to the side, but I kept my eyes on him. He seemed to hesitate for a second, which made me instantly furious. Then he bit. And I have never felt anything like it." Spike gave a small laugh at the inadequacy of the words. He fumbled for another cigarette.
"What did it feel like?" asked Connor softly.
Spike flicked open his lighter.
"Being drained by your father?" He lit the cigarette and inhaled. "Heavenly. He did it so slowly and gently. I knew he was killing me and I could feel his big hands on my back, holding me close to him. And let me tell you, he liked killing me. I could feel him hard against my belly."
Connor flinched. Spike laughed.
"You want the details, kid, you get the details." He took a languorous drag of his cigarette. "Yeah, he had a raging hard-on for me. But I couldn't feel my legs anymore so he brought me to the floor and took the last of my blood. I could barely think or feel. I knew that I was a breath away from death. I knew that if I could only think, that thought would be exciting. I waited an age, and nothing happened. Then at last, I felt something splash on my mouth, so I licked it from my lips. It was terrible, the taste. It burned my mouth white hot, and it was viscous and vile on my tongue. But I had to have it. I felt more splash down and I licked that too. Soon I felt it tingle in my body, like electricity in every nerve, and I could move a bit again. So I grabbed his arm and sucked. I could not get enough. I lay back against him, between his legs, and sucked his wrist more. I kicked the ground, pushing back into him and he held my belly with his other hand, holding me tighter against him still. His dick was rock hard against my back. It occurred to me that I was doing that to him. Even then the irony was not lost on me, that the most powerful moment of my life was my death."
"How did you know what was happening?" asked Connor.
"I didn't know exactly, or at least not consciously. But it seemed right. Seemed natural." Spike laughed. "Though it is anything but. There was less blood coming from his wrist now, and I still wanted more, but he pulled away. His body jerked behind me and he roared. The last thing I heard him say was my name. I remember wondering vaguely how he knew my name, because I hadn't told him. And then it all faded to black. I died in his arms."
Connor shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Spike, noticing. "Have I told you too much? Some questions answered that you didn't even know you wanted to ask, eh?" He took another drink. "I know what this is about, kid."
"No, you don't," replied Connor levelly.
Spike shrugged and sat up. He poured another glass of whiskey.
"Doesn't matter," he said. "I'll tell it the same, anyway."
There was silence as he sat back again and sipped the whiskey. He drank more slowly now. The heat in his belly calmed him.
"Go on," said Connor.
"Keep your pants on. I'm just thinking."
Connor sighed sullenly. Spike smirked.
"When I woke up, it was still black. It took me a few moments to remember everything. Then I realised I was in a coffin. Panicked for a minute, because I couldn't breathe. Then, of course, I realised that I didn't have to. I realised that what I did have to do was get the hell out of there. So I began to smash the lid. Took a while, too. There wasn't a lot of space to get a proper swing at it. I kicked at it too, as best I could. Finally it gave way. The loose earth poured in on top of me and I felt like I was going to suffocate again. It got in my mouth and nose. I hated it. But I had to get out. I cut my fingers on the splintered wood. I started pushing up, just trying to get out of there." Spike took a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not easy, crawling out of your own grave. When I finally pulled myself up and out, he was there waiting for me, smiling at me with that leer of his. Do you know it?" He looked at Connor.
Connor shook his head.
"No," said Spike. "I suppose you wouldn't. He doesn't smile like that anymore. Anyway, he probably wouldn't smile like that at you."
The boy frowned again.
"Smile like what?" he asked.
"Like he wants to fuck you seven ways from Tuesday," said Spike calmly.
"Oh," said Connor. "No. He's never looked at me like that."
"I should hope not," said Spike. "Him being the role model of us souled vampires. That would lead us all astray."
"You don't act like him. Like you have a soul."
Spike pondered with the aid of his cigarette.
"I don't think," he said, after some time, "that having a soul means you have to lose your sense of humour. And I've never been big on guilt. See, he was outright evil. No question about it. He put in the legwork. Me? I just did my thing. I was never as bad as him. Never. Sort of puts things in perspective."
Connor looked sceptical, but said nothing.
"So," he said instead. "He stood over your grave."
"That's right," replied Spike. "Stood and watched me spitting dirt. Probably just didn't want to spoil his clothes, bloody poofter." He chuckled quietly. "I was starving. He said he knew the feeling. He told me we couldn't hunt on the Westside because I was in a morning suit. I didn't care. I never had his palette, certainly not fresh out of the grave." Spike raised an eyebrow. "So he took me hunting nearby. I could have eaten anyone, but of course he had his standards. He seemed pleased when I picked out a young man. Had on pince-nez. Looked a right ponce, just like me." He laughed at himself. He spoke conspiratorially now, looking straight at Connor from his reclined position. His legs rested haphazardly on the table. "Of course, it was my first kill. Was never going to be my neatest. I think I ripped the poor fellow's throat out."
Connor simply listened. With a shock, he found he was no longer repulsed by the deaths recounted.
Spike leaned over and flicked ash into the ashtray.
"Oh, what a night. Next he dragged me on and on. I was wired. High on blood and death and him. He kept his arms around me, holding me with those big, manly hands. He whispered in my ear, putting his arm around my waist. He made me tingle, did your magnificent father. He brought me along narrow streets, making up stories for people we passed, telling me what they were, telling me to choose." Spike's eyes were now far away. "I finally picked a pretty enough girl, dark hair, decent clothes. I didn't care, but he seemed to think there was a significance in who I killed, especially that night. I took her by the throat. I was about to do the same thing again, leave her minus most of her neck. But he stopped me. She thought he was saving her. She held on to him as if he would take her away from me."
Connor shifted in his seat.
"I know, ironic, isn't it?" laughed Spike caustically. "He held her still and told me how to bite her properly, how to sink my fangs in right to the jugular without being messy. I did it and drank, I was still so hungry. I took her blood so fast she screamed in pain. Angelus laughed. He loved the sound of her screaming."
"Did you just leave her there?"
"'Course. No one gave much of a toss, really, look how fast I was buried. And Jack the Ripper hadn't made dead women's bodies interesting yet. We just left her lying there and ran off. He took my hand in his and ran. He threw me against a wall and crushed me, kissing me so ferociously. Kept calling me his boy. Said he'd take me right there and then if it wasn't my first night with him. Wanted to make it special, he said." Spike laughed and looked at Connor. He laughed again when he saw the boy's face.
Connor looked horrified.
"Oh, I think I told you too much!" said Spike. The grin on his face belied any possibility of apology. "Well, get used to it. You knew you'd hear this my way. He's the only man ever touched me, and damned if I'm going to edit the story for your delicate boyish ears." Spike emptied his whiskey glass defiantly and poured another. "I'm damned anyway," he muttered.
"You really have to tell me everything? I think I prefer hearing about the killing." Connor took a healthy swig of beer.
"Hey, I got stories featuring both, often with the same person! Shall I tell you those instead?"
"Please don't." Connor got up and stretched. "I'm getting more beer. You want anything?"
"You got blood? I'm a bit hungry."
"Sure," said Connor. "I'll get you some."
Spike watched him as he walked. He was more like Darla, slight, with a gentle bone structure. But there was something of Angel there too, something predatory.
He brought back blood and beer and placed them on the table before sitting down again. Spike sat up to drink.
"Hey, it's warm," he said.
"Ninety eight point six," replied Connor, opening his beer bottle.
"Thanks," said Spike. He drank most of it back at a go and wiped his hand over his mouth. "Needed that, all this talk of blood makes a vamp hungry."
"You're welcome," said Connor, drinking his beer slowly. He sat back again and looked at Spike expectantly.
"Hold on a sec, kid. Gotta have me smoke now, don't I." Again Spike went through his cigarette lighting ritual and took a deep drag. "Well, where were we?" he said innocently.
Connor rolled his eyes.
"My father wanted to take you," he said.
"No, I mean specifically?" Spike smiled. "That was always a given, pet." He lay back on the couch, his head resting on one arm and boots over the other. "He dragged me home, his hands all over my body. I think that's where we were."
"Yeah," said Connor.
"Well. He flung open the front door to this great big house they were renting. Fucking gorgeous, it was. Him and Darla, they liked style. Dru would've been happy in a damp old crypt, but those two. Had to have the grandeur." Spike waved a hand around at the lobby. "He threw me right in against the wall, slamming the door behind him, and pushed up against me, kissing me again. His dick was hard, and so was mine. I was full of blood. It was glorious, him and me, all that heat. He must have fed earlier." Spike reached out for his whiskey glass and drained it at a go. The blood and alcohol gave colour to his skin. Or maybe it was the memory. "Then he reached around me and opened the door to the drawing room. We fell in, barely staying standing. Then he stopped kissing me, and he laughed. I looked around, and laughed too. Darla stood there looking furious. The only other time I've seen her that furious was when Angelus left us in eighteen ninety eight."
"Why was she so angry?" asked Connor.
"Seeing her darling boy with someone else was bad enough for Darla. She could barely stand Drusilla because Angelus turned her. And then seeing me stumble in wrapped in his arms, drunk on him? She would have staked me on the spot if she could've. But I didn't let her near me. She screamed at Angelus that he was as insane as Dru. She said she'd leave, find herself another stallion. Oh, you should have seen him when she said that. Without letting go of me, he walked over to her at the fireplace and rubbed the back of his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her, but he squeezed my hand. She hated that he made her melt, but he did. Then Dru started saying something about the moon." Spike took another drink. "I thought she was barmy. Of course I was perfectly right. But Angelus didn't want to hang around. As soon as Darla finished her tirade, he dragged me upstairs and buggered me senseless."
Connor tried to suppress a flinch, but failed.
"In one night he taught me the meaning of so many words, buggery being one of them. And debauchery. Lewdness. Depravity, I would go so far as to say."
"You loved every minute of it," said Connor, with accusatory eyes.
Spike turned to him and smiled widely.
"Oh, yes," he said with enthusiasm. "I did. His body and mine, together, sweat gleaming in the gaslight. He kissed me so deep when he fucked me, I could hardly bear his dick being so far inside me." Spike's eyes glowed, but his smile softened as he relented. "And maybe that's all I'll tell you," he said gently.
Connor stared at him, registering nothing until he sighed and smiled with a touch of embarrassment.
"That would be good," he said, leaning forward and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
"So," said Spike. "You happy now? Our stories match up?"
Connor sighed, tired.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Well enough."
"Good. And now it's my turn to ask you something." Spike swung his legs to the ground as he sat up facing Connor. "Why did you want to know? What was so important?"
Connor shrugged.
"I guess…" He looked away, thinking. "I guess, because you're his son, too. You should have heard how he spoke about you last night. I wanted to know if you spoke the same way about him."
"And do I?"
Connor smiled knowingly.
"Oh yeah," he said. "You do."
Spike looked at him.
"Really," he said flatly, stubbing out his cigarette.
"Yeah," replied Connor. "Really."
Spike did not reply.
"Well," said Connor, after a silence. "I gotta go to bed."
"Yeah, dawn's coming soon. I feel like bed myself." Spike rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger.
"Come on, I'll find you a bedroom," said Connor.
"No need," came a voice from the stairs above. "I'll do it."
"Dad," said Connor. "Okay. I'll just… go to bed then. G'night."
"Night," said Spike, watching Angel come down the stairs.
"Night, son," said Angel as Connor passed him.
TBC
