No Hero
folder
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
3,404
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
3,404
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
All Apologies
Author's Notes: My Gaelic is extremely rusty, folks, so if any of you speak the language fluently, feel free to correct me and help me out!
More will happen in the next chapter, I hope, but for now, a chapter with nothing but Spike and Angel bickering and completely getting distracted will have to do.
Thanks to the two Kates, and to the one currently sitting across from me (ahem, sis!) it's not necessary to review online, you goof!
Thank you, Neo! I hope it will be. ::crosses fingers::
Ace, could we use Wind Beneath My Wings as our song? ::wink wink, nudge nudge::
All Apologies
“Spike!” Fred called excitedly from his sire’s room, jarring the sleeping vampire from his slumber – or some semblance of it – on the couch in the living room. “Angel’s awake and alert; he’s asking for you.”
Like the truly magnificent ponce that he was, the blonde vampire surged up from the couch and nearly took flight in his haste to reach Angel’s side. Of course, had anyone pointed out his race to his sire, he would have mocked them, laughed it off. He would have been humiliated.
Spike paused in the doorway, visibly relieved when he saw Angel standing rather than sitting, his eyes filled with their usual brooding misery rather than blank and lifeless, his hair gelled in its trademark pointed manner rather than flat and shaggy.
“Conas atá tú?” Angel inquired in his native Gaelic, giving Spike a pointed glance that clearly asked another question: Did he remember the language Angelus had insisted he learn all those years ago?
“Tá mé go maith,” the younger vampire answered, his cockney accent suddenly replaced with a soft, almost lilting inflection of the British upper class. Silently, Spike laughed at the absurdity of the situation – an Englishman was speaking Gaelic. Glancing at Fred, he clarified, “He asked how I was, and I told him I’m doing well.”
“Thanks for explaining that,” she said lightly. “I’ll let the two of you… catch up.” With that, the intelligent brunette inclined her head to the pair of vampires and left the room silently.
“You remember after all this time,” murmured Angel softly.
“How could I forget?” Spike quipped, instinctively straightening his posture. He was Angel’s childe, that would never change, but he was his own man now. He could stand up for himself.
Angel cringed inwardly at the reminder of how his lesser – or was it his greater? – half had finally taught the younger vampire the proper inflections of his mother tongue. He, no, no, Angelus had used every method of torture known to man, and some not known to man, and he felt assiduous twinges of pain now when he looked back on those times. But he was Angelus, wasn’t he?
“Peaches?” Spike asked warily. His sire wasn’t the most talkative bloke, that was true, but his silence was worrisome now, for lately silence meant catatonia.
“I was remembering… then,” the elder answered, “remembering how you learned Gaelic. I never –”
“Look, Angelus, I don’t know why you called me in here, but if it was to have a bleedin’ heart-to-heart –”
“Silence!”
Force of habit alone, dredged up by old memories after his use of Angelus’ native language, bade Spike to obey the command when Angel interrupted him as he had been interrupted.
Despite his previously harsh shout, the dark-haired vampire’s eyes remained gentle as he said in apology, “Let me finish, William. I never meant harm to any of you, even if the demon did.”
“That’s all well and good,” the blonde retorted, “but it doesn’t have a soddin’ thing to do with why you’ve been off in bloody La-La Land. Fred and I agreed that it had to be post-traumatic stress disorder that sent you into the whole fit of catatonia, but now I’m thinkin’ it was some nasty mojo or –”
“It was,” said Angel softly.
“Eh?”
“Nasty mojo, bad magic, something… I don’t know what, but I do know that I can’t remember things… people I know are important. I can remember the distant past, all the things I’ve done…”
“Y-you’ve been forgettin’ things?” Spike asked warily. “What kinds of things?”
“Buffy,” he answered simply.
Anger flared in Spike’s eyes at his sire’s mention of the woman he loved – the woman they both loved. “You left her,” he said heatedly, “that makes your claim on her null and void.”
“No,” replied Angel coldly, “my claim on her was broken when she died. You know that, or are you so foolish as to think that you could claim her with your dick.”
Spike growled in response and, before either vampire realized exactly what had happened, punched his sire with enough force to split his lip. Blue eyes widening, he immediately lowered his hand to his side, expecting a swift rebuttal that never came.
“One free blow,” Angel muttered, “you had it. The next time, I hit back. I love Buffy with everything in me. I love her with my entire soul.”
“Yeah, well, you lost that, didn’t you?” the blonde spat. “I had a problem and I soddin’ well fixed it! She needed someone to help, I helped! She needed someone to look after the Bit, and I fuckin’ did it! When she needed someone to beat and fuck and break, I was bloody well there! She wanted a vampire with a soul, and I got mine back! I died for her!”
“SO DID I!” Angel bellowed, his eyes blazing amber as he licked the trickle of blood from his lip. A moment later, he added bitterly, “AND I WENT TO HELL!”
Suddenly, Angel’s ire returned Spike’s senses to him, and he said maliciously, “‘S the difference between you and me, Peaches. You died, went to Hell, and blamed her for it. I’d do it all over again, burn alive again – for her – and never regret a second.”
Golden eyes immediately returning to their soft shade of brown, Angel sucked in an unneeded breath at the realization that, in spite of what he tried to believe, he did blame Buffy for the time he had spent in Hell after his disastrous raising of Acathala. The woman he loved more than life itself – or at least tried to – was also the cause of so much of his bitterness. “Gabhaim pardún agat…”
“Don’t beg me to pardon you, Sire, you should be begging her.” In spite of the detachment in his tone, Spike’s eyes softened. One could say that he hated his sire and it would be true; one could also say that he loved his sire – equally true. Their relationship was nothing if not complex.
“I should,” Angel agreed hastily. “I can’t.”
“I know.”
“You would.”
A mere inclination of his head was Spike’s response, and he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.
After a long pause, during which he watched Spike enjoy his cigarette with the fierce pride of a formerly abusive parent now in anger management classes. “You’re still here,” he murmured in amazement.
“That my cue to exit?” Spike retorted.
“No. Why, after almost three years of seeing me how I was, three years you could have been free of me – could have killed me – why are you still here?” the brunette asked seriously, and his childe knew that an answer was required.
“You’re my bloody sire,” he replied. And it was as simple, and as complicated, as that.
More will happen in the next chapter, I hope, but for now, a chapter with nothing but Spike and Angel bickering and completely getting distracted will have to do.
Thanks to the two Kates, and to the one currently sitting across from me (ahem, sis!) it's not necessary to review online, you goof!
Thank you, Neo! I hope it will be. ::crosses fingers::
Ace, could we use Wind Beneath My Wings as our song? ::wink wink, nudge nudge::
All Apologies
“Spike!” Fred called excitedly from his sire’s room, jarring the sleeping vampire from his slumber – or some semblance of it – on the couch in the living room. “Angel’s awake and alert; he’s asking for you.”
Like the truly magnificent ponce that he was, the blonde vampire surged up from the couch and nearly took flight in his haste to reach Angel’s side. Of course, had anyone pointed out his race to his sire, he would have mocked them, laughed it off. He would have been humiliated.
Spike paused in the doorway, visibly relieved when he saw Angel standing rather than sitting, his eyes filled with their usual brooding misery rather than blank and lifeless, his hair gelled in its trademark pointed manner rather than flat and shaggy.
“Conas atá tú?” Angel inquired in his native Gaelic, giving Spike a pointed glance that clearly asked another question: Did he remember the language Angelus had insisted he learn all those years ago?
“Tá mé go maith,” the younger vampire answered, his cockney accent suddenly replaced with a soft, almost lilting inflection of the British upper class. Silently, Spike laughed at the absurdity of the situation – an Englishman was speaking Gaelic. Glancing at Fred, he clarified, “He asked how I was, and I told him I’m doing well.”
“Thanks for explaining that,” she said lightly. “I’ll let the two of you… catch up.” With that, the intelligent brunette inclined her head to the pair of vampires and left the room silently.
“You remember after all this time,” murmured Angel softly.
“How could I forget?” Spike quipped, instinctively straightening his posture. He was Angel’s childe, that would never change, but he was his own man now. He could stand up for himself.
Angel cringed inwardly at the reminder of how his lesser – or was it his greater? – half had finally taught the younger vampire the proper inflections of his mother tongue. He, no, no, Angelus had used every method of torture known to man, and some not known to man, and he felt assiduous twinges of pain now when he looked back on those times. But he was Angelus, wasn’t he?
“Peaches?” Spike asked warily. His sire wasn’t the most talkative bloke, that was true, but his silence was worrisome now, for lately silence meant catatonia.
“I was remembering… then,” the elder answered, “remembering how you learned Gaelic. I never –”
“Look, Angelus, I don’t know why you called me in here, but if it was to have a bleedin’ heart-to-heart –”
“Silence!”
Force of habit alone, dredged up by old memories after his use of Angelus’ native language, bade Spike to obey the command when Angel interrupted him as he had been interrupted.
Despite his previously harsh shout, the dark-haired vampire’s eyes remained gentle as he said in apology, “Let me finish, William. I never meant harm to any of you, even if the demon did.”
“That’s all well and good,” the blonde retorted, “but it doesn’t have a soddin’ thing to do with why you’ve been off in bloody La-La Land. Fred and I agreed that it had to be post-traumatic stress disorder that sent you into the whole fit of catatonia, but now I’m thinkin’ it was some nasty mojo or –”
“It was,” said Angel softly.
“Eh?”
“Nasty mojo, bad magic, something… I don’t know what, but I do know that I can’t remember things… people I know are important. I can remember the distant past, all the things I’ve done…”
“Y-you’ve been forgettin’ things?” Spike asked warily. “What kinds of things?”
“Buffy,” he answered simply.
Anger flared in Spike’s eyes at his sire’s mention of the woman he loved – the woman they both loved. “You left her,” he said heatedly, “that makes your claim on her null and void.”
“No,” replied Angel coldly, “my claim on her was broken when she died. You know that, or are you so foolish as to think that you could claim her with your dick.”
Spike growled in response and, before either vampire realized exactly what had happened, punched his sire with enough force to split his lip. Blue eyes widening, he immediately lowered his hand to his side, expecting a swift rebuttal that never came.
“One free blow,” Angel muttered, “you had it. The next time, I hit back. I love Buffy with everything in me. I love her with my entire soul.”
“Yeah, well, you lost that, didn’t you?” the blonde spat. “I had a problem and I soddin’ well fixed it! She needed someone to help, I helped! She needed someone to look after the Bit, and I fuckin’ did it! When she needed someone to beat and fuck and break, I was bloody well there! She wanted a vampire with a soul, and I got mine back! I died for her!”
“SO DID I!” Angel bellowed, his eyes blazing amber as he licked the trickle of blood from his lip. A moment later, he added bitterly, “AND I WENT TO HELL!”
Suddenly, Angel’s ire returned Spike’s senses to him, and he said maliciously, “‘S the difference between you and me, Peaches. You died, went to Hell, and blamed her for it. I’d do it all over again, burn alive again – for her – and never regret a second.”
Golden eyes immediately returning to their soft shade of brown, Angel sucked in an unneeded breath at the realization that, in spite of what he tried to believe, he did blame Buffy for the time he had spent in Hell after his disastrous raising of Acathala. The woman he loved more than life itself – or at least tried to – was also the cause of so much of his bitterness. “Gabhaim pardún agat…”
“Don’t beg me to pardon you, Sire, you should be begging her.” In spite of the detachment in his tone, Spike’s eyes softened. One could say that he hated his sire and it would be true; one could also say that he loved his sire – equally true. Their relationship was nothing if not complex.
“I should,” Angel agreed hastily. “I can’t.”
“I know.”
“You would.”
A mere inclination of his head was Spike’s response, and he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.
After a long pause, during which he watched Spike enjoy his cigarette with the fierce pride of a formerly abusive parent now in anger management classes. “You’re still here,” he murmured in amazement.
“That my cue to exit?” Spike retorted.
“No. Why, after almost three years of seeing me how I was, three years you could have been free of me – could have killed me – why are you still here?” the brunette asked seriously, and his childe knew that an answer was required.
“You’re my bloody sire,” he replied. And it was as simple, and as complicated, as that.