Chapter Two
"Penthouse"
"Spike, take it easy, you're fine." Angel said, bracing his hand against Spike's back. It felt oddly warm. Angel wondered, for a moment, if it was the drugs. He'd never had the pleasure of knowing what morphine felt like. Spike wavered on his feet, clutching at the wall with his useless left hand.
It was only 1 in the morning. Spike had been asleep for hours. Angel heard him get up and when he came to see if the vampire was alright, he found him on the floor, cold dreams plaguing his mind.
"Gotta get out..." he said feverishly, eyelids half closed in a drunken stupor. He slipped again and Angel pressed his fingers into his spine, keeping him upright.
"Spike, you're gonna hurt yourself..." he tried, feeling the younger vampire tremble beneath him. Spike convulsed slightly and began sliding down the wall.
"Gotta...stop her..." he whispered, sweat dripping down his neck. Angel wasn't aware that vampires could get sick, but Spike looked like shit. He thought about calling Fred. Or, hell, even the med team. He didn't care. He needed Spike to calm down.
Again, Spike convulsed. It was halfway between a shiver and a tremble. This time he closed his eyes fully and slumped slowly into Angel's arms. Angel reached carefully around the vampire and hugged him close, shifting him the two feet onto the bed.
Note to self: Ask Fred why Spike has a fever.
It took a moment of maneuvering, but once Spike was back on the bed, he didn't move for several minutes. And when he did, it was only a twitch.
As soon as Angel was sure Spike was asleep, he stepped back into the darkness and sighed in relief, rubbing his fingers over his face. He glanced back at his childe through
the darkness and saw that he was glistening with sweat. Every now and then, his hands would twitch and his head would follow. Angel wondered if it was his nerves. Severed nerves knitting back together painfully.
He shook his head and padded to the bathroom, flipping on the light and blinking at it's brightness. After splashing a good amount of water on his face, he leaned against the wall, soft terry clothe in his hands. He closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep. But he knew that the moment he fell asleep, he would wake up, worried about Spike. Worried about Spike. Now there's a new and repulsive turn of emotion. Angel thought, rubbing the terry over his face. It made him want to beat his head against the wall until his mind was devoid of all emotion. Until the only thing he could feel was stone-cold hatred for the creature his Dru had created years ago.
And yet, there he stood. Wrapped in his own guilt and worry and history. He was too guilty to sleep. To worried to leave him in the hospital. To familiar with who William was to leave him alone. Too much emotion, Liam. Way too much emotion.
