The fact that Angel didn't want the two reunited was largely unspoken, and one of the few topics between them that had gone virtually undebated. Moments after Spike's return, his knees had nearly buckled as the thoughts of her flooded his mind for the first time, overwhelmed by his desire to see her, knowing it was possible… He had attempted to lash out at Angel immediately in the confusion, his scrappy nature silently screaming that Angel was the largest roadblock to their reunion; which of course, is how he discovered that he was facing a far larger obstacle.
As Spike grew more used to his situation, he began to feel a small measure of relief that he couldn't follow that initial instinct. By the time he was 'better', physically ready to leave LA, the sobering thoughts started to flood over him: those last nights I spent with her weren't about love, she thought the world was ending… who wouldn't seek comfort? She confessed her love only as I died, I couldn't handle her admitting to my face that she'd never really meant it... Even if she had meant it… she thought I died to save her, to save them all. If she found out I never truly paid that price… thinking back, he closed his eyes to dull the pain. I wasn't worth her love until that moment, and that moment was taken away from me. I'm nothing to her again, I can't be anything. Not after everything I've done. I don't deserve her.
Angel had taken him in, he knew, out of a combination of pity and a weary self-inflicted responsibility to keep an eye on the younger vampire. There was a look in his eyes these days that made Spike's knuckles flash white when he noticed it; some semblance of a 'older brother' protectiveness and diluted exasperation reminiscent of how Buffy looked at Dawn. He couldn't help but be grateful for it all the same, as he didn't know what else he would do, where else he would go. Souls were a pesky thing, in their way. Any chances he had at making money in the ways he used to get by were gone, if he wanted to stay on the path he had begun, and as a vampire, he couldn't exactly get any old office job. Angel lucked into quite the lucrative gig, and made plenty of money to support them both - even if he did steadfastly refuse to pay for smokes. 'The lease doesn't allow it' my ass... that bloody poof. Of course, that never stopped him from bumming one here and there when he did head out at night.
Knowing sleep was a joke at this point, Spike shrugged into his jacket and jeans, pushing violently out of his room, and out into the building's main walkway. He'd been a night owl even before his hundred years of nights spent awake, it was only the last few months he'd taken to a somewhat conventional sleep schedule again, due to Angel's insistence on complete silence at night. Captain Hairgel sure likes his beauty rest for his big-time head honcho gig.
Los Angeles wasn't a silent city, at least, even 'soulful' Spike revelled in the distractions and chaos and noise. When he was sick of Angel's restrictive house rules, he had plenty of places to drift to, several demon bars, human strip joints with worse crowds than the demon bars, and of course, patrolling. Even if Angel found himself somehow above it these days, he himself enjoyed patrolling far more than the other 'entertainment' options available to him. The adrenaline was a high he could never get enough of on the more exciting nights, and even on the quiet ones, he loved how close it made him feel to Buffy. Remembering the nights they spent patrolling together in Sunnydale, the nights he patrolled alone in her honor after her death, even the nights they patrolled with the potentials, as an awkward little teaching team, so much unspoken between them.
Walking into the local cemetery, Spike remembered how he had felt on that particular trainee-patrol, when she had hit him too hard, winding him, and gripped his hand tight as she checked him over for damage. He smiled to himself. Silly bint never could make up her mind. Hit me or hold me? She never knew.
The all-too-familiar smell of fresh, wet dirt exposed to air caught his overly sensitive nose, giving him a welcome distraction. Quickly spotting the source a few yards away, he lounged lazily back on a mausoleum, waiting for the newly sired vamp to finish clawing his way out of his grave. Rubbing his fingers together, he bitterly wished for a cigarette, cursing Angel's pettiness under his breath.
Patience was never his strong suit. With an angry sigh, Spike lept towards the hands reaching from the dirt, gripping them by the wrists and yanking them up with force that would have broken bones, had the wrists been human.
"Oooouch!" shrieked the vamp, emerging in full game-face, spitting small bits of dirt from his mouth. "I've had hookers be more tender, goddamnit man!" he rubbed his wrists.
"You'll live, quit your fussing." Spike smirked. "On second thought, your life ended hours ago, and I'm here to dispatch you from this silly little purgatory you've discovered."
The vamp took a wide step back, panic and confusion visible even with his distorted features. Even so, he steeled his jaw, taking a weak protective stance; this one was a fighter.
Spike's excitement bubbled into his swing as he lept towards the newbie, diving into a perfectly balanced forward roll and slamming his foot squarely into his opponent's chest. Stumbling back, the other vamp managed to catch the collar of his coat, taking his attacker down with him, sending them both sprawling into the muddy earth.
"Take that, bitch!" he screamed, his fist colliding with Spike's head. Rolling away triumphantly, he turned to make a run for it, a moment too slowly. Spike pulled the stake from his sleeve, stabbing swiftly with the same motion, and pulling his coat around him as he did so, protecting his eyes and mouth from the dust that was now drifting onto the cemetery ground.
"Take that, bitch." he muttered. Glancing around, he breathed in deeply through his nose, catching absolutely nothing else, to his disappointment. Slow nights like this, I actually miss that damn Hellmouth. Couldn't Angel have woken me up BEFORE last call? Insensitive prick. He turned to head back, kicking the ground like a petulant child as he did so. Not much sleep left to catch before Angel whirls around with that bloody hairdryer, better hurry.