Title: Admitting Series: Love Has Limits (2)
Author: Miz Thang
Characters/Pairing: Angel, Spike, Angel/Spike
Rating: FRM / R
Word Count: 1331
Warnings: Angst. Melodrama. Slash. Romance. Fluff

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else belongs to who it belongs to.
SummaryAngel won't admit any feelings for Spike. Spike admits that he can't act like Angel.

Author's Note: If you're tuning in after November 2, 2005, then you should know that I've combined the ficlets, so that there are four longer parts instead of eight supremely short ones. It just didn't sit well with me before. Each part has an Angel pov and a Spike pov. Enjoy! As of June 20, 2006, the story has been completely edited.

Love Has Limits

Spike is waiting for him when he catches the elevator to his private apartment. Angel doesn't know why, but there he is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. Beautiful, in Angel's opinion.

"You going to stand there and watch me all day?" he asks, opening his eyes to look at Angel. The look he gives is somewhat bleak and Angel has the distinct feeling that Spike isn't in a good mood.

"Did I do something?" Angel asks. He has the tendency to ask Spike that sometimes. He has more mood swings than Darla, and sometimes it really pisses Angel off. Especially when the issue tends to be nothing more than Angel not having cookies in one of his cabinets.

"No." Spike replies. "I was just waiting for you. Can I do that, or is it against the rules?"

Angel doesn't reply to that, taking off his blazer and watching Spike as he flops down onto an Italian leather chair. Spike definitely has a moody air and Angel has decided to wait him out.

Sometimes it's like this. Quiet. Comfortable. It seems as if they are only two friends, enjoying each other's company. An illusion. Sometimes Angel doesn't know if it's one they painted, or one they let everyone else paint for them.

Angel sits forward. "What's really bothering you?" he asks Spike, ready to skip to all the things Spike isn't saying. It's not as if Spike has the patience to wait any longer, and, really, this is for their own good to get It out now.

"What makes you think something's bothering me?" he counters and Angel suddenly wants to strangle him, even if it wouldn't prove productive – because Spike is always doing that, even if he knows he's obvious, always trying to pretend he's fine.

"You're not saying anything." Angel says, and it isn't like it's a keen observation when Spike usually doesn't know when to shut up.

"Maybe there's nothing to say. Ever thought about that, Angel?" Spike's relaxed posture dissipates and he sits forward, within Angel's reaching distance.

"Damn it, Spike. Then what did you even come here for?" Angel asks, aggravated to say the least. Spike dodges their issues instead of talking about it, he skirts around it, as if he's hoping Angel will realize it on his own and fix it. Except Angel didn't see it, and if Spike knew him as well as he thought he did, he wouldn't be beating around the bush.

"I don't even know anymore." Something is bothering Spike; Angel's sure of it as the bleached blond stalks towards the door, his black duster flaring behind him.

Angel suddenly has a change of heart while watching him go and gets off the couch to catch his arm just before he leaves the room. "You know, I wasn't telling you to leave." He's almost disgusted by the way it sounds as if he's worried Spike wouldn't come back.

"Like I'd listen to you anyway," Spike replies, his eyes burning, fiery and swirling. For a moment Angel feels like he's drowning in a pool of blue. Then Spike blinks. He still holds onto Spike's wrist and doesn't let go even when Spike looks down at it before looking back at Angel. Angel's grip unconsciously tightens.

"I know." Angel replies. "Stay."

Spike rolls his eyes, but he lets go of the door knob. Angel almost smiles but doesn't let go of Spike's wrist.

He doesn't admit it. Not that he really knows, or understands, why he doesn't. Well, he does. Maybe he's scared to admit to Spike that he's received a larger part of Angel's heart than he's ready to give, all this time in his life, that Angel thinks about him all day, and that he contemplates every single day telling Spike how he feels. Because Angel really did love him.

-

Spike knocks back the shot glass without a second thought. Yes, he's angry, and he's hurt, and he's pissed. Tonight, he just wants to get drunk enough to fall flat on his face. To fall flat on his face and forget he's ever been foolish enough to thing –

And, as always, it's Angel's fault.

Call Spike anything you want; you can even go so far as to call him a romantic, but he wasn't so in love that he was blind to the fact that the only person really hurting in this situation was him. It's like before, only not, because this wasn't a new situation for him, it was a repeat of another time and Spike knew enough to see the signs this time.

Spike told Angel it was over.

The funny bit, though? The funny part was that Angel had the nerve to ask him why. Why did Spike want it to be over? Why can't they just sit and talk it out?

He knocks back another shot glass and wishes it could actually numb him enough, to the point where it didn't hurt.

Spike had laughed at him, when he asked why. Spike laughed at him and said that if Angel really didn't know, it was just another reason for them to be over.

It feels weird though. For once, Spike is the one ending a relationship, not the other way around. He's the one that put his foot down and said he wanted it to be over. Done. Gone. Nothing to come after, because it was the end and finished.

"What did you say to Angel?" Fred asks curiously as she takes the seat beside him.

And it's about time because Spike had known she was there. He'd known since he sat down. She'd followed him to the bar, probably wondering what insanely stupid thing it was this time, only this time, it wasn't stupid. It was serious. It wasn't some debate about something inane (which Spike usually started to get some kind of attention from Angel). It was about their relationship.

"Not really sure what you're asking, Fred."

"Well, Angel locked his office door and he's playing Barry Manilow." Spike visibly winces and Fred knows he understands. "What exactly is going on between you two?"

Because even she knows this isn't the usual macho, testosterone, who's-the-bigger-vampire pissing contest.

"I told him…" Spike trails off, trying to contemplate whether he should spill. But then, he figures, if angel's so worried about his friends finding out, Spike might as well tell the entire world. Served that bastard right. "I told him it was over."

"What was over?" Fred frowns, not yet understanding, yet in some recess of her mind, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Us. Me and him. Dirty little secret that it was." Spike calls the bartender for another drink as Fred makes this face that tells Spike that she caught his train of thought. He nods to himself in satisfaction as he takes his drink from the bartender.

"You should…I think you should talk to him." Fred says, slightly calm, considering.

"No."

"No?"

"No. For the past few bleeding days, weeks, months, I've been sitting here hoping against all bleeding hope that he'd finally suck it up and tell me. And do you know when the obvious hit me? Yesterday. Yesterday I was sitting, watching him do his job – and, yeah, annoying him, because that's what I do. And he went on about how I should do something with my time, like always. Then Charlie came in and he acted like I wasn't there. Like I wasn't sitting there. Which is all well and good and nothing new, but it was the last time."

Spike stands, throwing bills down in payment for the drinks. "So, boo hoo for him, but I've had all I can take. Tell him that." He left the bar.

Fred called the bartender over and ordered a drink as she watched Spike leave and she understood perfectly what had happened. Spike had finally reached his limit of what he'd take from Angel.