Spike rolled the bottle in his hands, head leaned back lazily against the chair's back.  "Why can't things just be like this, the way they used to be?" His voice was light, but with a very real hint of wistfulness in it.

"They aren't the way they used to be," Angel replied darkly, shattering Spike's light mood.  "For one thing, there aren't any dead bodies around, and for another, I haven't hit you yet."

Spike raised his head, looking at his sire in surprise.  "That all you remember?  You're missing the good stuff.  Guess you don't remember hunting as so much fun now, being it resulted in those deaths you're so guilty over, but those were good times, mate.  And there were good times that didn't have to do with killing.  You really don't miss it sometimes?"

"Sure," he answered bitterly.  "There were the nightly murders and brutalizations, the having of your girl whenever I felt like it, and oh, yeah, more beating you to a pulp.  How could I not miss that?"  He drank some more from the bottle he held. 

Spike looked less than pleased, as well, at that version of the pack's actions, and he was quiet for a minute.  "That really all you remember?" he finally asked in a low tone.

Angel stopped, staring at his hands, knowing what it was Spike wanted him to remember.  Not just the fact of killing, or even the violence in it, but the nights before killing or even in lieu of killing spent out on the town, dancing with the girls in high parties or balls, or in some rundown country dance hall.  Darla always liked the upper class parties, and Dru liked the pretty dresses there, but Spike had always liked slumming it.  Mostly Angel thought that was just so he could be difficult and piss he and Darla off.  Or nights out in bars, mostly just he and Spike.  Sometimes just roaming the streets, having whatever fun they felt, pulling stupid stunts like racing the dawn back home, or taking on ridiculous numbers of demons or humans, just to show they could do anything.  Days and nights spent in whatever five star hotel or abandoned mine shaft they found themselves in, with nothing to do but sleep, sex, drink, and talk.  It was the latter two that he and Spike had shared the most, and cumulatively, there had probably been months of it.  And then there was the hunting, the killing.  The faces that haunted him every night, but at the same time, the remembrance of the sheer pleasure of laying the trap, seducing prey, or violent deaths, long gruesome ones, blood everywhere, more for fun than hunger, the sweet way it filled him, as butcher's blood never did.  And there was working as some horrible team, like a pack of wolves: merciless, bloodthirsty, and savage.  And always, always, as a pack.  God, he missed it more than he could bear sometimes.  Having a soul didn't make that thirst for blood and violence go away; it just made him feel bad about doing it.  So he didn't.  But miss when he could, and didn't care?  He hated himself for the answer he wanted to give.  No, that wasn't all he remembered at all. 

"Yes," he lied, desperately backpedaling, piling grave dirt on all the memories being resurrected.  "There was pain, and I was the cause of it."  A half lie, to bury the truth Spike demanded, the truth that what they were doing now, sitting companionably, was exactly like old times, and he did miss it, constantly.  What else was there? he wanted to conclude, but didn't, terrified of the answer Spike would provide.  He kept his head down, turning the bottle in his hands, and missed the look of betrayal that swept onto the younger vampire's face.

Hurt betrayal that quickly flared into anger.  "There was more than that," he spoke angrily, causing Angel to look up in apprehension, fearful of hearing the memories he didn't want to hear.  "There were relationships.  There were nights we didn't kill, that we sat around just like this, talking and getting as drunk as we could, just for the hell of it.  There were stupid, pointless things that we did, that we did together, and you were right there with me the whole time.  I know you better than anyone in the entire world, Angel, and don't you dare tell me you don't miss those days when we ran together."

"I don't," he interrupted, struggling to keep his voice steady and convince himself at the same time.  "I'm not the same person, and I don't miss it."  Lies, a voice whispered to him.  All lies. 

Spike stared at him in dismay, and when he spoke again, his voice shook.  "Then what the hell was that bullshit you said the other night about missing me?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed, eyes blazing in anxious anger.

Angel trembled, struggling to remain calm.  There were two sides of him, the demon underneath, that wanted the violence, the hard living, the vampire existence that had been absent for so long.  And then there was the soul, that condemned him, over and over, first for killing the people he had, second for enjoying it as he had, third for enjoying the memory as he still did, and all the things he associated with it, and fourth for wanting to go back.  And him, the strange part that seemed to follow in soul or in demon?  He wanted the old ways, without the people dying part.  Those days were home, and he wanted every part of it so badly, but at the same time to get as far away from that viciousness as possible, and never look upon it again.

"Spike," he finally begged.  "I didn't mean that I don't miss you, but it's complicated."

"Oh, really?  Because you sounded pretty damn sure a minute ago.  Nothing good from back then, all of it bad and if you could make it so it never happened, you probably be so happy you'd lose your bloody soul again!"  His eyes were bright again, and Angel flinched.  That wasn't what he meant.  He didn't know what he wanted.

"Spike, I told you," he tried again.  "You were the only good part of back then.  And not just you, but everything we did together.  If I had done it alone, it would have been death, and evil, and I could hate it and say good riddance.  But you made it good, and I want to hate it, and I can't.  I hate that I killed all of those people, and I hate even more that I enjoyed it so much, and I hate that I can't hate it, because I did it with you, and I loved that."  He paused, struggling for words.  "It all haunts me every night, and I've resigned myself to hating it, because I can't separate the two parts.  And now you want me to remember it as good.  I can't, Spike.  I've tried, but I can't separate the two."

Spike glared at him, unwilling to take that as an apology.  "You stupid, gelled ponce!" he yelled in frustration and anger.  "Nothing is black and white, and nothing can be separated!  Not you, not then, and not me!"  He gestured for emphasis.  "You remember it as both, or you block it from your memory, because it wasn't all good times for me either, but it sure as hell didn't suck."

Angel stared at him, trying to comprehend the very wise thing he thought Spike has just said.  It was just… "Every time I try, I feel like I'm lessening all their deaths," he confessed.

"They're dead," Spike pointed out icily.  "I'm still here."

Angel flinched again.  He knew.  He told Spike as much.  "But all it means is that I can make it up to you, and I can't to them.  Not ever.  And it'd just be worse if I forgot them."

Spike snorted, still hurt.  "Yeah, well making it up to me?  Not doing such a bloody brilliant job there."

Angel ran his hands through his hair helplessly.  "What do you want me to do?"

"You could start by not acting like the twenty years we spent together were the worst time of your life!" Spike cried, throat tight. 

Angel sighed shakily, left without a reply.  As his nightmares insisted, they had been.  And he couldn't tell Spike anything else without a "but," and he didn't want to hear that.

Spike waited, eyes fixed expectantly on Angel's bowed head.  And waited.  And finally turned, swallowing hard and taking his liquor bottle with him and storming down the ladder to the lower level.    

A/N: Yes, I started out all happy and left all angsty.  It was fun.  Has Angel gone too incredibly far OOC? Because at times I really felt like it, but I wanted him to say what he did, and I wasn't sure how else to write so that he could.  This wait wasn't so bad as the last one, was it? See, and with summer coming up, the next one might be out this fast, too! Just not right away, because I have exams next week.  Thanks so much to Jen, because you're my real life supporto gal, and to JSlayerUK, my Internet turned almost real life supporto gal (talking in real time makes you real, you know).  And to Lil Loki Puck, because you're just so cool! You guys are the best; you make me feel like what I'm doing is actually good and that it's worth continuing.  I'd continue for myself anyway, but knowing you guys (and I mean all my reviewers) are reading and enjoying makes me absolutely giddy.  I love you guys!