Spike/Angel ficlet for Kita
Sep. 27th, 2003 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenMy darling ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kita0610 asked, and I am happy to answer (and pay forward all the nice ficlets people wrote for me the other day)
It was strange, being immaterial.
Not in the grand cosmic sense, of course. No, Spike was pretty clear on his lovely self being less than unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Unless you bought Watcher-boy's theory about the Powers having planned it all along but honestly Spike didn't. Prophecies were Angel's gig, not his. Nope, he'd just been the wrong bloke in the right place and the right time. Much as he loved to needle Captain Hairdon't, he knew deep down it could've been either one of them wearing the Home Shopping Special 'round their necks.
Even so, Spike couldn't picture Angel on this side of things. Popping in and out, no control over himself, walking around like some bloody cheap picture show where the projector lamp was gasping out its final vapors and the reel was tilting to the side of the screen besides. Nah. Angel would've gotten something bigger, dramatic. Probably would've come back all pretty and strong, flush with brand new powers or some rubbish.
Might've even come back human.
Or, if he was lucky, not come back at all.
"I'm not sure how this works," Fred told him, scrunching her nose up against her glasses as she waved some shiny beeping thing all over his intangibleness. "I mean theoretically there's no reason why your ectoplasmic matrix can't be synchronized with the same electromagnetic wavelength as the primary plane."
"She means you should be able to touch things," Wesley helpfully translated.
"Should be able to rip your bloody throats out," Spike reminded them, too tired of it all to even feign politeness. He met Angel's eyes across the lab, daring the other vampire to say something. "Whole lotta shoulds in this world never come about."
"Ain't that the truth?" Angel observed, his emotions shuttered.
***
Taking the piss out of Angel proved a way to pass the time. Plus it was one of the few things he could bloody do. A mind could only go so long without a little stimulation. Action/reaction, the whole bit. He didn't have friends in LA, didn't feel like making any, the local version of the Scooby Gang didn't interest him in the slightest and Angel - well, Angel was known.
Also easy as Hell to get a rise out of.
"Spike," Angel said, forcing the word out with a tired sneer that attempted, but never succeeded, at trying to show that the big hero was above such petty concerns as the wayward branches of his family tree. He glared at Spike, as though that might remove him from Angel's office.
"I was wondering," Spike replied, wishing like Hell he had a cigarette to convey the right form of studied casualness, "when you ordered the desk did you ask for the same wood as the kind that fills your skull or was that just a happy feng shui coincidence?"
"Go away, Spike," Angel told him.
"Must be nice, though," Spike said, pushing Angel's buttons further by pretending that he could get his fingerprints all over the polished surface. "I mean material as dense as all that - must repel the stains like nobody's business, eh?"
"I'm going upstairs," Angel said. "You are not invited."
"Doesn't matter anymore, mate," Spike retorted. "Not a real vampire anymore, am I?"
"You're not an anything, Spike," Angel reminded him, a glint of smug triumph gleaming in his eyes. "Just a really talky memory that won't go away."
The truth hurt, and he couldn't hide it. He flipped Angel off and ignored whatever other looks Angel deigned to throw his way before the elevator doors closed again.
***
"Why'd you do it?"
The question, coming from Angel, always had an accusing tone. But that night it seemed mixed with geniune curiosity.
Or maybe that was Spike's imagination.
Spike shrugged, not making eye contact. He looked around the empty apartment building, scanning for any other shadowy nasties that might be lurking about. "Got bored watching you lot reinact really cheesy horror flicks what with attacking the air and all. Plus other ghosties are apparently something I can hit."
"You saved Fred," Angel pointed out.
"Easy mistake to make, won't happen again," Spike assured him.
Angel studied him, his brown eyes unnervingly immobile.
"Some thought strike the little gerbil that powers your mind?" Spike asked.
"Talk to Wesley," Angel told him.
"What, about your mind?" Spike asked. "Bloody short conversation, that."
Now Angel glared at him. "I told him to have his people study exorcisms."
Spike refused to show a reaction to this. "So you're giving me fair warning before you get rid of me?"
"Wes is thorough," Angel replied. "Ask him how to take something out and he'll also find out how to put it back in."
Spike frowned. "What's that got to do with the taste of blood in China?"
"Just talk to him," Angel snapped, walking away. "And for God's sake stop bothering me."
"Feeling's mutual, pet," Spike shot back.
***
"Did it work?" Angel asked, for once not demanding to know why Spike was hanging out in his apartment.
Spike stood by the floor to ceiling window, looking out at the moonlight as it fell across the city. He checked the angle of it in the sky. "Know in a couple of minutes I suppose."
Angel glanced over at the clock, watching the second hand sweep the time away until midnight.
"Why?" Spike asked.
"Because having spells that work at 11:45 wasn't dramatic enough?" Angel ventured a guess.
"Why have your boy do this?" Spike explained. "He had all he needed, you know. Supplies and everything. One little nod of your great big head and bang, no more me."
"Tempting," Angel admitted.
"So?" Spike asked.
Angel waited, his eyes never leaving the clock. When all three hands pointed straight up he reached over, his strong hand wrapping familiarly around the back of Spike's neck.
Spike shuddered, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling again. He licked lips that could now actually feel dry. "Why?" he asked again, not breaking out of a hold that brought back centuries worth of memories, though none of them were of this exact vampire that was standing in front of him.
"Because," Angel said, his voice soft and rough with a pain all his own, "I'm sick and tired of losing members of my family."
Curious, but figuring he had all the time in the world to find out, Spike let Angel pull him closer. They held one another, each man taking his own unique comfort in the touch.
Fin.
kita0610 asked, and I am happy to answer (and pay forward all the nice ficlets people wrote for me the other day)It was strange, being immaterial.
Not in the grand cosmic sense, of course. No, Spike was pretty clear on his lovely self being less than unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Unless you bought Watcher-boy's theory about the Powers having planned it all along but honestly Spike didn't. Prophecies were Angel's gig, not his. Nope, he'd just been the wrong bloke in the right place and the right time. Much as he loved to needle Captain Hairdon't, he knew deep down it could've been either one of them wearing the Home Shopping Special 'round their necks.
Even so, Spike couldn't picture Angel on this side of things. Popping in and out, no control over himself, walking around like some bloody cheap picture show where the projector lamp was gasping out its final vapors and the reel was tilting to the side of the screen besides. Nah. Angel would've gotten something bigger, dramatic. Probably would've come back all pretty and strong, flush with brand new powers or some rubbish.
Might've even come back human.
Or, if he was lucky, not come back at all.
"I'm not sure how this works," Fred told him, scrunching her nose up against her glasses as she waved some shiny beeping thing all over his intangibleness. "I mean theoretically there's no reason why your ectoplasmic matrix can't be synchronized with the same electromagnetic wavelength as the primary plane."
"She means you should be able to touch things," Wesley helpfully translated.
"Should be able to rip your bloody throats out," Spike reminded them, too tired of it all to even feign politeness. He met Angel's eyes across the lab, daring the other vampire to say something. "Whole lotta shoulds in this world never come about."
"Ain't that the truth?" Angel observed, his emotions shuttered.
***
Taking the piss out of Angel proved a way to pass the time. Plus it was one of the few things he could bloody do. A mind could only go so long without a little stimulation. Action/reaction, the whole bit. He didn't have friends in LA, didn't feel like making any, the local version of the Scooby Gang didn't interest him in the slightest and Angel - well, Angel was known.
Also easy as Hell to get a rise out of.
"Spike," Angel said, forcing the word out with a tired sneer that attempted, but never succeeded, at trying to show that the big hero was above such petty concerns as the wayward branches of his family tree. He glared at Spike, as though that might remove him from Angel's office.
"I was wondering," Spike replied, wishing like Hell he had a cigarette to convey the right form of studied casualness, "when you ordered the desk did you ask for the same wood as the kind that fills your skull or was that just a happy feng shui coincidence?"
"Go away, Spike," Angel told him.
"Must be nice, though," Spike said, pushing Angel's buttons further by pretending that he could get his fingerprints all over the polished surface. "I mean material as dense as all that - must repel the stains like nobody's business, eh?"
"I'm going upstairs," Angel said. "You are not invited."
"Doesn't matter anymore, mate," Spike retorted. "Not a real vampire anymore, am I?"
"You're not an anything, Spike," Angel reminded him, a glint of smug triumph gleaming in his eyes. "Just a really talky memory that won't go away."
The truth hurt, and he couldn't hide it. He flipped Angel off and ignored whatever other looks Angel deigned to throw his way before the elevator doors closed again.
***
"Why'd you do it?"
The question, coming from Angel, always had an accusing tone. But that night it seemed mixed with geniune curiosity.
Or maybe that was Spike's imagination.
Spike shrugged, not making eye contact. He looked around the empty apartment building, scanning for any other shadowy nasties that might be lurking about. "Got bored watching you lot reinact really cheesy horror flicks what with attacking the air and all. Plus other ghosties are apparently something I can hit."
"You saved Fred," Angel pointed out.
"Easy mistake to make, won't happen again," Spike assured him.
Angel studied him, his brown eyes unnervingly immobile.
"Some thought strike the little gerbil that powers your mind?" Spike asked.
"Talk to Wesley," Angel told him.
"What, about your mind?" Spike asked. "Bloody short conversation, that."
Now Angel glared at him. "I told him to have his people study exorcisms."
Spike refused to show a reaction to this. "So you're giving me fair warning before you get rid of me?"
"Wes is thorough," Angel replied. "Ask him how to take something out and he'll also find out how to put it back in."
Spike frowned. "What's that got to do with the taste of blood in China?"
"Just talk to him," Angel snapped, walking away. "And for God's sake stop bothering me."
"Feeling's mutual, pet," Spike shot back.
***
"Did it work?" Angel asked, for once not demanding to know why Spike was hanging out in his apartment.
Spike stood by the floor to ceiling window, looking out at the moonlight as it fell across the city. He checked the angle of it in the sky. "Know in a couple of minutes I suppose."
Angel glanced over at the clock, watching the second hand sweep the time away until midnight.
"Why?" Spike asked.
"Because having spells that work at 11:45 wasn't dramatic enough?" Angel ventured a guess.
"Why have your boy do this?" Spike explained. "He had all he needed, you know. Supplies and everything. One little nod of your great big head and bang, no more me."
"Tempting," Angel admitted.
"So?" Spike asked.
Angel waited, his eyes never leaving the clock. When all three hands pointed straight up he reached over, his strong hand wrapping familiarly around the back of Spike's neck.
Spike shuddered, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling again. He licked lips that could now actually feel dry. "Why?" he asked again, not breaking out of a hold that brought back centuries worth of memories, though none of them were of this exact vampire that was standing in front of him.
"Because," Angel said, his voice soft and rough with a pain all his own, "I'm sick and tired of losing members of my family."
Curious, but figuring he had all the time in the world to find out, Spike let Angel pull him closer. They held one another, each man taking his own unique comfort in the touch.
Fin.
