44

Angel really felt out of his depth. An upset female, whether human, vamp, or demon was difficult enough to cope with. But one of the actual Powers..,

Rose managed a lopsided smile. "You never answered my question, Angel. About whether or not you think Spike deserves eternal torment. Don't think about it, or reason it out. Just say what's on your heart."

"No." Angel's reply was barely audible. "He saved Buffy. That alone should be enough to keep him out of hell."

"I'm glad you think so." Rose walked over to the wall where a nail stuck out defiantly, holding up nothing, and hung her picture. "Mind you, I'm not sure how much weight your opinion will carry with my peers. At this point I'm not sure if my opinion will affect their decision." Rose still hadn't turned around, but stood looking at the portrait.

"Did you ever think that going from an emotionless Power to a woman in love might actually work in Spike's favor?" Angel suggested. "I don't think you could have fallen in love with someone evil."

"But what if it doesn't?" Rose suddenly seemed to find her feet very interesting. "How could I bear going back and making judgments and decisions knowing that he was forever damned?"

Angel could smell the salt from her tears. He really wasn't much good at this, but he did understand about being alone. He went to stand behind her, put his hands on shaking shoulders, and turned her towards him. She allowed him to pull her into his arms, and cried against him, but her arms still hung at her sides. It occurred to Angel that she had been human for so short a time that she had never been hugged before. In fact, except for a few handshakes, he doubted that she'd ever been touched at all. That in itself was enough to make his heart ache for her. He held her closer and stroked her hair, murmuring soothingly in Gaelic. The bout of weeping was brief, but intense. When it was over, Rose pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. She ran her fingers through her hair, disarranging it. "Do I look awful?"

Angel forced a smile. "Was that a touch of vanity?" he teased gently, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Rose. Never be sorry for caring. It's painful a lot of the time, but the only other option is existing rather than really living. If you don't take a chance on caring for someone, risk the pain, then you're less alive than I am. Or than Spike is."

Rose shook her head. "I wasn't sorry for caring, Liam. But it occurred to me that the reason I was crying wasn't so much worry for William as for how I would feel. I feel so incredibly guilty for being so self-centered."

"You're getting more human by the hour," Angel observed. "And that, I have no doubt, comes mostly from your association with Spike. The next time you talk to your friends, you might mention that." Suddenly, he remembered something. He reached in his pocket. "You left this in the car last night. I figured that you'd want it back."

Rose took the object from his hand and found that it was the perfume that Spike had gifted her with. She opened it just to inhale the lovely fragrance. "I wish I could take this with me when I go," she remarked. "Senses can be awfully distracting, but there are compensations."

"Are you going to be all right now?" Angel asked. "I don't want to outstay my welcome. And if Spike showed up and saw me here, he might misunderstand."

"I don't know," she observed. "I think the two of you understand each other very well."

&&&&&&&

Spike was knocking about Wolfram and Hart, feeling utterly at a loss. He may have told Rose he was going to come over, but thanks to his little chat with Angel, he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of such an action. The place wasn't completely empty, but being the weekend, the bustle of activity was down to a mere trickle. None of the really familiar faces, though. If he hadn't been so miserable, he'd be totally bored. He didn't even feel up to practicing at affecting physical objects with his presence, although he had been making quite a bit of progress in that direction. What he really wanted, more than anything, was to be with Rose. But he couldn't. He couldn't be more than a friend to her. He kept telling himself that. Getting that close to her in the first place had been so incredibly selfish. It wasn't fair to romance her when he had literally nothing to offer her. The few little gifts he had been able to give her had really come from Angel. And he hated owing Angel. And the debts that he owed Angel, both to the good and the bad, went way back.

He went wandering aimlessly along a hallway. He hadn't even realized that he had started singing, let alone the particular tune his subconscious had chosen. "I can't give you anything but love, baby."

Lorne stuck his head out of a nearby doorway. "Spike, you are giving off such strong vibes I hardly need to hear you sing to pick up on them."

"I was singing?" Spike queried, surprised, if there was one thing he didn't feel like now, it was singing. He thought about it for a moment, and realized that he had. "Guess I was. Didn't mean to disturb you. I didn't even know you were here. Place is about as lively as a crypt, but without the inherent charm."

Lorne chuckled. "You're a riot, Spikster. And you don't need me to interpret anything for you, do you? All you need to do is listen to what you were singing. And listen to your heart." Lorne disappeared back inside.

"Don't have a heart anymore, silly damn demon," Spike muttered. Then, he sighed and asked himself. "If I don't have a heart, then how can it be breaking?"

&&&&&&

After Angel left, Rose stood staring at the picture for the longest time. Especially the one in the center of the page. She had known, even when she had danced around the subject with her colleagues, that she was already falling in love with him. But for some reason, despite his less than subtle attentions, it had never occurred to her that the feelings involved were mutual. Until she looked at that picture. Saw Spike looking at her with a tender glow in his eyes. She wrapped the feeling around her and hugged it to her. She couldn't believe how incredibly special it made her feel. Even though she knew it would make the inevitable parting all the more difficult, whichever way the decision went. But how could she face the endless eons if she failed him? She stood and stared until she had committed each and every nuance, each shading of the picture to memory. If she couldn't take the perfume with her when she left, at least she could treasure the memory of these scenes captured from the most memorable night of her existence. When she finally turned away from it, she put on some of the perfume. Might as well use it while she could, and the scent itself evoked memories in plenty. But would any of those memories sway the opinions of the rest of the Powers?

&&&&&&&

Spike kicked around for a while longer, and wound up in Angel's apartment just as himself was getting back from somewhere or other.

"Spike," Angel said evenly. He had had some small, futile hope that maybe the matter of Spike and Rose had been resolved. At least as far as he was concerned. He should have known better. Especially when Spike was involved. Despite their long-standing rivalry, and also, ironically, because of it, Spike talked to him, because he was the only one who understood so many things about him because he'd gone through them too.

Spike wandered around the living room restlessly. "Haven't hung that drawing? I was kind of hoping that you'd put it somewhere I could look at it."

"I don't have it anymore." That, at least was the truth. Just not all of it.

"You didn't destroy it?" Spike looked horrified.

"No," Angel said slowly. "I didn't destroy it. I gave it to a friend." Angel hoped he could consider Rose his friend. He didn't want to make enemies among the Powers That Be. He already had the feeling that he had some there as it was.

"What friend?" Spike was worrying over the thing like a dog with a bone. "That was some very personal stuff. I wish you hadn't gone and given it..," He stopped as enlightenment lit up his features. "You gave it to Rose, didn't you?" He laughed. "Who'd have thought a gloomy bastard like you would have a sentimental streak?"

Angel shrugged. Spike's moods were so mercurial that it was hard to follow them at times. "I could hardly hang it here," he pointed out. "Anyone visiting could see it, and, as you say, it is personal. You don't have anywhere to keep it. So that left Rose."

"But don't that pretty much screw up the whole intention of that little heart to heart you insisted on?" Spike asked. "All she'll have to do is look at that picture to see how I feel about her."

"It was too late, anyway," Angel admitted. "You must have missed the little one in the corner. The one where Rose was looking at you the same way you looked at her. Not to mention which, she'd already pretty much put all the pieces together by herself." He sat down with a thump. "Spike, I can't believe that I'm saying this, but maybe you'd better go see her. I think the two of you need to talk things out."

Spike flung himself across a chair. "Dunno about that," he muttered. "What could I possibly do or say that wouldn't do more damage than good?"

"You're really asking the wrong person," Angel said wearily. "But knowing that she feels the same way, what do you think is going to hurt her worse. Seeing you, or not?"

The specter shook his head. "I know how I feel about it, but I don't know how she'll feel about it."

"That's why you need to talk to her."

&&&&&&

Rose was on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. She had to admit that one, it didn't really need cleaned that badly, and two, that the linoleum tiles were so old and worn that no amount of scrubbing was going to make them look good. But she couldn't just sit doing nothing. She needed to work off some of the energy that nerves and frustration had built up in her. She put her back into the work as if it really could make a difference. It would be nice to think that something she could do in this frail, human body could make a difference.

"Knock, knock." Spike's voice came from her living room.

"I'm in the kitchen, Spike," she called out, without getting up. She felt her heart begin to pound so loudly that she thought sure that Spike could hear it too. She felt giddy.., happy.., alive. Just because he was here. Because he hadn't shut her out. Love and reason may not go together, she reflected, but she was starting to realize that each had its place.

"You're going to ruin your hands, luv," Spike observed. "You ought to be wearing gloves."

She sat up on her heels. "Who's going to be looking at my hands? You worry about the oddest things sometimes."

"Nothing odd about it," he insisted. "I worry about you." He looked around. The atmosphere wasn't particularly conducive to a serious conversation. "Why don't you leave your scrub bucket for a few minutes and come talk to me in the other room?"

Rose got to her feet, finding that she felt stiff and creaky after all that time kneeling. She hobbled into the living room and fell onto the sofa. She rubbed the palms of her hands ineffectually across her aching knees.

Spike was thinking that she looked absolutely beautiful, even doing such a dirty, menial chore. He saw the prominently displayed picture, and stopped to give it another glance. He looked for the picture in the corner that Angel had mentioned. "Well bugger me," he said to himself.

"Spike?" Rose looked up and saw him looking at Angel's drawing. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"Yeah." Spike sat next to her, turned sideways so that he could face her. "I wish I could touch you, pet," he murmured. Bloody hell, where had that come from? It wasn't anything like what he had intended to say. For the first time since his arrival, he really got a good look at her face. "You been crying, sweetheart?"

The color began to rise on her face. "It shows?" She didn't try to deny it. She had come to hate having to deceive him about anything. And the deception had begun before they even met.

"I hope you weren't crying over me, babe," Spike said softly. "Can't honestly say I'm worth it."

"You underestimate yourself," Rose answered. "You have no conception what your worth is to the people around you. Especially me," she admitted. Her eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears.

Spike groaned. "I can't be anything to you. I can't do anything for you. I should never have started anything with you." He saw the tell-tale glistening. "Please don't cry, Rose. I can't stand to see you unhappy."

"Spike, your body may be dead, but you're the most alive person I've met," she murmured. "What I know about being alive, really alive, I've learned from you. Don't say you can't do anything for me, because you do. You make me feel like I'm something special."

"You are special, pet," he argued. "I can't ever remember wanting to do so much for another person. The other times I fancied myself in love, seems all I could think about was how I felt. Even me doing something to make a lady happy almost always came round to me. But I just want you to be happy.., because.., because I want you to be happy. See you smile, hear you laugh. Gives me the warm fuzzies, it does."

Rose smiled despite the incipient tears, which she impatiently swiped at with her wrist. "And who do you think makes me smile? And laugh? And cry? Spike, you run me through the entire gamut of emotions and back again. Having to give that up would make me feel.., dead.., inside. I've never been in love before. I didn't know that it could be so painful. But a good friend told me that caring involves taking risks, and that if you don't take risks, you're not really alive, just existing. If a little pain is the price I have to pay to be really alive, then I'll accept it freely. Because when it isn't hurting, it feels so glorious it's overwhelming."

"It would seem we have a problem then, luv," Spike observed. "Because I feel the same way you do. I love you, Rose. And maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part, but I just keep feeling that it was meant to be."

"I guess we do have a problem," she agreed. "I love you too, Spike. And it just doesn't seem fair or right that love should ever be a problem."

"Haven't you heard, sweetheart?" Spike remarked. "Life ain't fair." He sighed. "Death ain't any better."