Warning: There will be a little bit of jumping around in this chapter, because I want to see if I can drive you guys crazy enough to review your butts off.

Ahem... I don't own Angel or BTVS, but if you hear that they are for sale on EBAY, tell me and I'll make a bid. I don't own Angel, Spike... or any other character in this fic. (forgive me, but the list can get quite long) but with a little help and a few really good lawyers I think I could find a way to make them mine. I'm stubborn and I'm a scrapper, thank you. Oh, Joss is a genius, I am a loony bird, and you still read my story! I love you for it! Anyway, without further ado...

On with the show.

::The Dalliance of the Eagles- Where Angels Fear to Tread::

The ride home had been torture. Lorne was obviously in league with the devil, a.k.a. Spike, and Angel was close to losing it. He could handle Spike. He had spent years learning how to handle Spike, but when Spike recruited someone to help him, he went for the best. Angel slumped down into his bed and sighed. He wasn't sure whether it was a sigh of relief or a sigh of exhaustion. The worst things was, he knew that there was almost absolutely no chance of him getting sleep tonight

Angel didn't bother to take off his shoes, as he settled his face into his pillow and snuggled into the comforter. "Stupid, stupid boy." Angel almost said it affectionately. Spike was certainly dedicated to whatever stupid plans he had. Angel could only think that the episode at the store had been plan number one. He would hate to see what plan two was, and then again he couldn't wait.

Spike's stupid plans and asinine ideas were what kept him young, as of late. As he watched Connor age day by day, he felt older, but Spike never changed. Well, he did, but not age-wise. Angel felt himself drifting off and he allowed sleep to overtake him. He had a restful sleep, for a while, and then the voice started to creep into his mind.

"Angelus..." Just a breath. "Sire?" A whisper of a memory. "I can't sleep."

Angel knew he should probably ignore his dreams. Maybe they would leave him alone. He couldn't, though. They were too real and he knew that he would be swept away. "What is it, William?" He murmured into his pillow.

"Sire?" Angel glanced over and found a pair of startling blue eyes, staring back at him.

Angel turned back over, with a groan. "Go ta' sleep, William. You and your brother should not haunt me dreams, boyo. They don't end, at all, good." Angel found that in his dreams, the demons that haunted him responded better to Angelus. He would give them a voice, but nothing more.

"Brother?" William asked, in a whisper. "Why would he be here?"

"Go ta' bed." Angel tried to be stern. "Leave me be, acushla." He tried again, when he felt the bed dip. "I need quite." He whispered harshly.

He heard William sigh and he smelled the sadness there. "Sire? I'm restless because you are. Could you sing to me? A lullaby, like the one you sang to Dru when she was feeling down?"

Angel sighed. Humor your demons and you get hurt, but how could he say no? "Troo ra loo ra loo ra." Angel groaned. His voice wasn't any better in his dreams. The plight of the tone deaf. "I'm no good at comfort, my boy."

"It's all right, Sire." Angel heard the smile in William's voice. "You try. That's all that I ask." Angel could feel William's hand smooth over the back of his hair and come down to pet his neck. "Sleep, Sire. Dream the dreams where angels tread."

Angel sighed, audibly. William. *His* William. He gave his mind a mental shake. It was all fantasy. His imagination. Why would it be real? A soul hadn't made William. Twenty-three years of living in London, taking care of an invalid mother, and writing poetry, was what made William. Poetry... Where Angel's tread? Wasn't the term, where angels fear to tread?

"Yes. I believe you're right about that, Angelus." So the nightmare began.

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Lorne was sitting in a chair, sipping some Bourbon. What had he agreed to? He was going to get himself in the middle of a feud and he wasn't sure how to get out. Angel was going to figure things out and he was going to get his head taken off... not that it was really that big of a deal, but still it wasn't exactly a delightful situation. Lorne slumped down in his seat and sighed. How had he gotten pulled into this?

Oh, yeah. Spike. Spike was very persuasive. He had to give him that much. And stubborn. Yes, the guy was definitely stubborn. And screwed. Yup, he was a dead man... Umm... pile of dust. Lorne found the pictures in his head upsetting, but the worst part of it was the emotions that were accompanying them. He didn't exactly know what these pictures meant and that was also very disturbing. Apparently Angel's dreams were clips and phrases from the past, present, and future meshed together. Only Angel could truly interpret them and he had become denial guy, lately.

"So?" Spike walked into the room and dived onto Lorne's bed, face first. He rumpled up the comforter, until it surrounded him like a nest and then opted to turn over, so he could see Lorne's face. "What? I'll fix it before I go. Not like you aren't going to sleep in a minute, anyway. So, what about it?"

Lorne shrugged and went back to sipping his drink. Spike was a child. An immature, one-hundred-and-thirty some odd year old child. A happy, smart, funny, witty, child who was going to die. Lorne wanted to yell at him, but he knew that wouldn't help the situation. "Spike, you want a drink? I have Scotch."

Spike shook his head slowly. Something was wrong. Lorne was stalling for some reason. It must be bad, he thought, with a sigh. "Just tell me."

"He doesn't think that he can save you. He thinks that you are going to be dust and he is going to be at fault." Lorne downed the rest of his drink and winced.

Spike nodded. "And? He always thinks I'm going to be dust and he's going to be at fault. He's got that whole guilt thing going on. He thinks Connor and kitten are going to die before either one of 'em reach next week, Cordelia and Fred are going to be raped and murdered, Wes and Gunn will die fighting, and you are gonna' have your heart ripped outta' your arse. No, this is something different. Is it focused on me, directly?"

"Yes and no." Lorne leaned forward in his chair.

"Don't be cryptic. I gotta' know what this is. If not for my safety, for curiosities sake. " Spike laid back on the bed. "Am I gonna' be kidnapped? Tortured? Staked?" Spike sat back up. "Not another slayer, right? I'm through with them."

Lorne smiled. "No. No slayers. I'm not getting a feminine vibe off of this one."

"You wouldn't." Spike stated, dryly.

"No. It's male, whatever it is. Look, Spike, if I were you I would pretend like I knew nothing and wait for Angel to tell you what's going on. The images in my head are sketchy, at best."

Spike shook his head. "Angel gave me his answer. He doesn't want me to know what's going on and if he gets his way I won't. He's stubborn. "

"Almost as stubborn as you?" Lorne asked, with a grin.

"Almost." Spike agreed. "So tell me what you know."

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"Skittles!" Connor walked the halls of the Hyperion searching for his kitten. The little rascal had succeeded in tearing a pretty nice hole in Spike's coat and Connor wanted to make sure he found Skittles before Spike did.

He wasn't scared for his cat's physical health, by any means, but Spike had trapped Skittles under a whicker chair, a garbage can, and a clothes hamper, all in the last two days. The cat could lose its mind, if Spike wasn't careful. Connor figured Skittles being trapped like that, was like him being trapped in his room. Grounded? Was that what it was called? Kids on TV were grounded all the time. He killed demons. Normal teenage life, as far as he was concerned, but, of course, he didn't know any normal teenagers.

"Skittles!" Connor smiled, when he thought back to his dad trying to play with the little puffball.

"Arrogant cat." Angel stated, wryness evident in his voice. He had called it and called it and it still just batted at the curtains. Cats didn't answer, when called. One downfall in their personalities and suddenly they were arrogant.

"He's not arrogant." Connor defended Skittles, as he picked him up and cradled it against his chest. "He just knows who he wants to acknowledge and who he doesn't."

"In other words, he's arrogant." Angel smiled and settled back into his seat.

Connor thought a moment and laughed. "If that's arrogant, then yes he is. But I don't care, because he's mine and I love him."

"Yeah." Angel nodded, leaning his head back against the chair. "I know the feeling."

"I'm not arrogant." Connor was frowning and the kitten felt the tinge of apprehension there. It swatted at his hair and grabbed a lock, in its paws. Connor tickled its feet, causing the kitten to lash out, but to no avail. It was trapped.

"No, you're not." Angel agreed with his son. Connor was untrusting and possibly a little shy (Around humans), but certainly not arrogant. Well, not from a father's view point. "I wasn't talking about you."

"Oh, you meant Spike." Connor laughed, when the kitten hissed at him. "You little monster. How am I ever supposed to train you, when you are just so cute." Connor pulled a face and shot a glance at his dad. "Please, don't tell me you think Spike is cute."

"I won't." Angel grinned at his son's show of 'being grossed out', as Cordelia would put it. Some things were inherent. Kids would be kids, or something like that.

"I don't think Spike would like to hear you say that." Skittles wanted to get down. It twisted and turned and finally it just stretched its front paws out, until it resembled a little furry Superman. Connor ignored it. "He would probably be offended if he thought anyone, especially you, thought anything he did was cute. Can I tell him you said it?"

"But I didn't." Angel smirked at the pout Connor put on. For some reason he felt like his son was wearing it for the cat.

"We can't have any fun, can we?" Connor said, while snuggling the furry face of his pet.

Connor gave himself a mental shake. He was pretty sure he had changed his mind about the disciplining of Skittles, by this point. When he found him, he was going to whip his hide. "Skittles!" Connor heard a strangled meow coming from a door to his left. "Skittles?" He opened the door, letting the hall light flood the bedroom. "Here kitty."

The meow that answered was quiet, almost muted. Connor flipped on the light switch and glanced around the room. A small trail of blood led from the doorway beneath the bed. Connor prepared himself for the worst, as he stalked to the bed and bent down. "Skittles?" He lifted the dust ruffle and sighed. Skittles held a rat, almost as big as himself, clenched in his teeth. Connor reached under the bed and pulled the vicious hunter out by the scruff of the neck. "Don't scare me like tha... Oh!"

Connor pulled the rat out of Skittles' mouth and examined it. It was headless. "That would explain the blood, but what explains the head missing." He turned the rat over and found a neatly carved cross on its underbelly. "This just gets weirder." Connor looked at the kitten. "I should take this to Angel."

Connor clenched the rat in his fist and held Skittles up to his face. "Are you okay?" Connor knew it was impossible, but he could have sworn that the kitten nodded. He sniffed his pet, inspecting it for poisoning or rabies. "Still smell like kitten." He said with a smile. "At least, I don't have to kill anyone." Connor tucked Skittles inside of his shirt and walked out into the hallway. Who would be crazy enough to do something like this, he wondered, as he walked toward his dad's bedroom.

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Wesley had fallen asleep over his books, again. For some reason he had been put into some type of studying frenzy, in the last few days. He couldn't eat without finally returning back to his books, sandwich in hand. He couldn't sleep without dreaming of the creatures in the text. He couldn't talk without discussing incantations and the mating habits of Granarl demons. He felt like he was studying to become a Watcher, all over again... Without the shadow of his parents looming over him, of course. That wasn't all, though.

Wesley felt like he was looking for something specific. Something wanted him to find it in these books. If he could only find out what it was. Maybe, he could get some rest.

"What in the bloody hell!" Wesley heard the scream from upstairs, jarring him from sleep.

"Spike?" He wondered out loud. He closed his book and headed up the stairs, to see what was the matter. He listened for Spike and heard his irritated cat's whine, coming from Lorne's room, on the first floor. He opened the door and found Spike standing over Lorne, who was drowning himself in a drink.

"But the gaffer told me he was gone." Spike's fists clenched at his sides. "He didn't just say he was gone. He said that there was abso-bloody-lutely no way to bring him back." Spike started to pace up and down the room, shoulders tensed. He didn't even seem to notice Wesley hovering in the doorway, which was quite odd, seeing as how he had all of those lovely preternatural senses.

Wesley stepped into the room and stroked his unshaven chin. He didn't really want to address Spike when he was in such a bad mood. "Lorne?"

"Yeah, I see you hoverin' sweet pea. Come on in. I may need all the help I can get here. Spike's talking a lot, and I mean a lot, of slang here and I'm not sure what it means. Have you heard the term 'mouth and trousers' before?"

"It means someone is full of hot air." Wesley interpreted.

"Oh, well that makes things a little less shady." Lorne said with a smirk. "Okay, what does wonky and whinging pom mean to you?"

"Wonky means unreliable and a... whinging pom. Dear, God. A sort of... Literally speaking it's a bitching Englishman." Wesley narrowed his gaze. "What is going on?"

Spike looked up at his friend and smiled, grimly. "Angel thinks we're all going to die."

Wesley shook his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"That Angel is a git. He thinks that a stupid dream is gonna' kill us all. I mean, yeah his dreams have meaning and symbolism, but just cause he sees me and me brother playing like we are going to slaughter each other, doesn't mean that's going to happen. It could be a dream from the past. Like we haven't gone at each other before!"

"But Spike... You and Connor have always seem to have gotten along."

Spike laughed, harshly, at the confusion in Wesley's voice. "You silly ponce." He muttered it warmly. Not that brother. We're talking about Penn."

TBC

(Now, I figure I should point out that maybe this is just a little too clean cut. Maybe Spike just jumped to the wrong conclusion over Lorne's clipped visions. Or maybe I just wanna' throw Penn in here, even if he is (shall I say it?) dust in the wind. Okay, now if you don't like Penn... I do. Doesn't mean I'm gonna put him in the story and it doesn't mean that if I do put him in, that I won't kill him if I hafta'. So, yeah, I like him. A LOT! Okay, now, please review. And forgive the ramblings. I'm very tired, but I felt like I need to get this chapter out.)

-The sub-title is 'Where Angels fear to tread', which is a story by EM Forester. The story has nothing to do with this story, but the name felt right. I won't recommend this book, because everybody feels differently about it and I would have to know you personally before I threw it at you. If you like EM Forester, you'll probably like it, though.-

--Another thing I thought you might wanna' know- acushla (which Angel muttered in his sleep) is an Irish endearment, which means 'O pulse of my heart' or darling.--