Victimized | Chapter Three
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Angel the Series Fanfiction
Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William
Warning: Slash. Blood play
Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season Five: Damage
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe the rights of Joss Whedon, WB and their associates.
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Angel sighed and let Spike storm angrily out of the room. He went back to his seat that had just been vacated by the younger vampire, and sat down. He rested his hands on the flat lacquered surface of his desk. After a moment, Angel finally let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding and leant back against his office chair.
His eyes found their attention drawn to his top drawer. Then, as if possessed, he reached out and tugged at the handle. Under all the drawing paper, pencils and charcoal lying around the drawer was a leather-bound book. William had bound it for him more than a century ago, when he was still human, after he knew of his friend's interest in sketching.
"Will," Angelus walked into the study where the young man was. William looked up from what he was doing at the desk, pushed his glasses up, and offered the Irish man a shy smile.
They were in Angelus' mansion in London. Angelus had invited his young poet 'friend' for a visit. The Englishman had turned several shades of red when Drusilla had cooed over him affectionately. The vampire had nearly laughed aloud when he saw how William bowed to Darla and Drusilla shakily, and then took his glasses off his face and wiped at the lenses with his coat.
It was as if he could never get enough for William's shyness.
"I'm not so sure I like that grin, 'Gelus," William shook his head and went back to whatever he was doing before he was interrupted.
"What are you doing?" Angelus walked up and pulled a seat opposite of the other man. The desk was cluttered with glue，strings and many of his drawing papers.
"I noticed that you like to sketch," William explained as he gathered the papers into a pile and meticulously applied the white paste onto one side of the pile. After he was done, he slowly and carefully wound the string across the glued side tightly. "So I'm making you a sketch book."
The young librarian applied another layer of glue over the now string-covered side and then pressed it firmly against the spine of the leather book cover he had prepared earlier. Finally satisfied with his work, he smiled and handed it over to Angelus.
"Merry Christmas, Liam Angelus Connaleigh."
Angel ran his fingers over the leather nostalgically. William, despite his poor family background, had made his gift out of the best leather. His efforts had paid off, the book lasted. Angel was still using it even up till today. It was not as if he had seldom sketched. However， Angel had made sure this handmade book only held his sketches of William J Bradford, William the Bloody, and Spike.
"Come in," he pushed the book aside when he heard the knock. Lorne walked into with a grave expression on his face.
"What's wrong?" Angel asked immediately, dreading what his friend had to tell him.
"It's Spike. I read him. He…" Lorne sat down heavily on the couch in the office, massaging the bridge of his nose, as if to prevent the coming of a major headache. "He has no future."
"WHAT?" Angel's hands tightened around the edge of his desk. Cracks began to form on the wooden surface. He took a deep breath, tried to calm down and asked again. "What do you mean Spike has no future?"
Lorne laid his head back on the cushioned seat and closed his eyes. "I see no future for him."
"Does... does that mean he's going to die?" Angel thought he sounded calmer than he really was.
"No, it's not that," Lorne frowned, thinking about how he was going to explain this to the vampire. "For those who are about to die, I usually will see their death. But that's not the same for Spike. I didn't see him get dusted or anything. All I saw was him lying alone in a room filled with bright white light. That's all. No past, no future."
"What does that mean?"
The demon shook his head. He did not know either. He only knew that this was not good.
"Where's Blondie anyway?" Lorne looked around. Angel shrugged and kept his eyes on the black leather book on his desk.
What was he going to do now?"
***
London, 1882
"Drusilla," Angelus called out. "Come now, IMMEDIATELY!"
There was a gasp from the room upstairs and soon the dark haired girl ran into the room, glee in her fathomless eyes.
"It's time, isn't it, my Angel?" She asked excitedly. "It's time to make William mine." She kneeled down beside William's prone body, placing her hands gently on the handsome face.
Angelus frowned at his insane childe. It was not as if she made no sense. Once in a while, she would make a crazy but plausible suggestion. Like now.
It would solve all their problems. If it was Drusilla instead of him who had sired William instead, perhaps he would not have been so fixated on Angelus, loved him so completely and dangerously.
Drusilla nuzzled her face into the crook of Will's neck, purring slightly. Then, she lifted her head and smiled sweetly at her sire, "May I?"
What choice did he have? Angelus thought. He nodded.
Drusilla's smile grew wider. Quietly she whispered into William's perfect little seashell ear. Angelus got up and walked to the darkest corner of the room, where he knew he could see everything that happened in the room, but where Will's young vampire eyes would not be able to see him.
"Forget it all," she whispered, using her mesmerizing skills on the unconscious vampire. A frown furrowed William's brow as he tried to fight against the mental invasion. But in his current weakened state, it was almost impossible. "Forget this pain, this heartache." Patiently, she wove into his mind a different story of his turning. A story where it was Drusilla, instead of Angelus, who had found him crying in the barn, who had bitten him, who had stolen him from the mortals, and who had made him her knight.
Then finally, she abandoned her human mask and went straight for the jugular, covering Angelus' mark with her own.
Bright blue eyes snapped open at the pain, a voiceless scream from his throat. From the other side of the room, Angelus thought for a moment that the boy had seen him. Tears began to well up in William's hurt filled eyes, and then finally he closed his eyes, letting a single tear to flow down his face.
Angelus' eyes followed the tear's track and when it reached William's lips, the boy muttered 'sire' under his breath. This time, Angelus knew the word was not meant for him.
***
"Hey, Spike! Are you looking for Fred? She's not around." The vampire looked up to see a man in the upstairs room, dressed in a blue shirt and a white long coat, smiling down at him. Spike grinned back and glanced casually at his surroundings. There was no one else in the room.
It looked like a hospital to him. The lights were bright, with many metallic equipments lying all over the place. Spike shuddered. He had seen something like that before. But he could not remember where.
"The implant works. Hostile 17 can't harm any living creature in any way, without intense neurological pain. We'll bag it."
"Spike, you okay?" Knox put a hand on the vampire's shoulder. With a shiver of fear that suddenly ran down his spine, Spike struck out instinctively, sending the lab assistant crashing into a table.
The smell of blood hit Spike like the sight of an oasis to a dying man. With slow deliberation, he allowed his demon visage to be brought forth. He remembered it now. The many whippings Angelus had given him. How Angelus had thrown him out of the house when William refused to hunt, refused to give up the humanity in him, and had only allowed him back with open arms and a proud kiss to the forehead when William the Bloody returned home, stinking with the stench of his victims' blood drying off his skin and hair.
A blood bath was exactly what he needed to bring his sire back to him.
Spike's hands began to shake when he smelled the fear emitting from the human, aching for the reassuring weight of his favorite railway spike. He hated to do this, especially without the weapon.
But he had to, even if it meant using just his bare hands, even it meant that he had to kill an innocent human with the same hands he used to write poetry with.
This was for Angelus.
"Are you afraid? Don't. It won't hurt." The blonde vampire grinned and strode up to the man. He squatted down in front of Knox, put a hand on one of kneecaps and squeezed tightly, crushing the bones under his powerful grasp.
"Who am I kidding?" Spike chuckled. And then he sobered.
"It will hurt," he whispered, speaking more to himself than to Knox, "a lot."
***
Fred entered the upstairs room of her lab, a frown on her face. Wesley had told her about Spike's amnesia. It was strange. The sedatives Spike had taken should not have that effect, unless there were some components in it that they did not know about.
She took out a scrunchie from her pocket and tied her hair into a loose ponytail. She laid a sample of the pills on the table and went on to put on her lab coat. She looked around the room. Where was her lab coat? She bit on her lower lip and thought.
Finally, she shrugged and opened the window to shout for Knox downstairs. Perhaps he would know where she left her coat.
"Knox?" Fred searched the laboratory with her eyes, all the while wondering where the man would be. He had never skived off work before. But when she eventually found who she was searching for, she screamed.
At the far corner where eyes could easily miss, was the battered body of the lab assistant, his head twisted in an unnatural angle. His light blue shirt was drenched completely in dark red blood. His eyes were wide with fear, his mouth parted in his final scream for help.
On the wall beside him, two words were written loudly in drying blood, eerily stylish in its Victorian script.
'For Angelus'.
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End of Chapter Three
Continue to Chapter Four