Dust

******

SETTING: Up the alley.
RATING: NC-17 when I can get the boys in the mood and in position.
DISCLAIMER: The boys aren't mine. *pouts*
WEBSITE: www.colddeadseed.com ( for Spangel, Spuffy, Spike, James and writers far far better than me.)
FEEDBACK: Mmmmm, yummy. Yes please.


DUST

Part 7.

Not too many people had ever dared call Angel a coward. Except for Spike of course, who used every opportunity to call Angel all sorts of derogatory terms no matter how preposterous.

Angel felt like a coward. Room 18 Spike was in pain, confused, hurting, and he wasn’t even the real Spike, yet the split second before he was due to plunge the stake through Spike’s back and into his heart he fell back and stumbled out of the room, unable to complete the irreversible disqualification of this Spike.

Staking Spike – even a fake one - was not as easy as one would have thought, even after a century of Angel professing the desire almost daily.

Still, he knew that when he found the real Spike he would be able to come back and dust these pseudo impostors without any such hesitation, so he marched on into Room 19, eager to find Spike so he could escape this place once and for all.

Room 19 was slouching on an old couch watching television. How this was possible was a mystery, as there seemed to be no electrical sockets or power chords leading from the television set, yet the screen flickered away perkily showing an assortment of snowy plastic characters blurting out inane dialogue before adopting and holding a plastic person’s pose for the camera close up.

“Oi! Get out of the way scumbag!”

Angel scooted forward out of the line of vision, but scowled at the mysterious screen a bit longer before turning his expression of distrust to the couch and Spike.

“You sitting and watching or just gonna hang around impersonating a hat rack all day?” Not once did Spike’s eyes leave the screen as he said this.

It seemed silly to sit on the floor, so Angel perched himself primly on the end of the sofa, as far away from Spike as possible. Not that he was expecting Spike to suddenly lunge at him and try to rip all his clothes off, but you could never be too cautious about these things.

“Your brainwaves are interfering with the tele. Quit brooding!”

“I’m not!”

He was.

So they watched the fuzzy screen together for a few long minutes. Why? Angel didn’t know, except that perhaps it was a relief for him to be able to sit in a comfortable – well, lumpy and ill-sprung – couch to rest for a while, the domesticity of the cushions and the television giving everything a short sharp shot of normality. The strange truce lasted until one of Angel’s silent sighs suddenly became audible and caused Spike to reach across the couch and grope around by Angel’s leg. Angel yelped and skittered away to the far corner of the cave causing Spike to lean back, give Angel a stern look over then laugh in surprised delight.

“My my Miss Chastity, aren’t we all nervous and flitty today?” Spike leaned forward and said in a low conspiratorial voice, “Don’t worry petal, your buttons aren’t the ones I wanted to push,” then picked the remote control out of the crack in the couch and waved it merrily.

Irritated beyond belief at the momentary twinge of regret he experienced about his buttons being undesirable, Angel stormed out of the cave and down towards Room 20. Three more to go, so surely soon he would find Spike any minute now?

The figure leaning heavily against the wall - his forehead resting against his forearm - immediately gave Angel hope. Maybe this was him? Traumatised, lost, waiting?

“Spike?”

“Angel?”

As Angel approached, Spike turned and watched him over his shoulder, but he made no attempt to turn to greet him. It didn’t bode well, but with only two more rooms to go Angel wasn’t going to be put off just yet.

“Is it you?” Such a dumb question, but straight to the point.

Funnily enough, this Spike didn’t seem too sure.

“Does it matter?” he said sadly, scratching his brow slowly with an extended thumb and exhaling deeply.

Angel leant on the wall beside him and took in the despondency and the deep sense of gloom. Spike didn’t meet his eyes, but didn’t turn away.

“I could be anyone. I have been anyone: poet, killer, schmuck in love, but it doesn’t change anything. I’ll always be alone.”

“I’m here,” said Angel, surprised at the great degree of uncertainty in his voice.

“Oh I’m always surrounded by people, but no one who actually wants to be with me. Not like that anyway.” The effect of Spike saying ‘that’ and glancing up at Angel accusingly was immediate.

“Oh jesus, cut the crap Spike. I’m sick of all these versions of you who aren’t you but who make these snide insinuations about me and you … him …. like I bloody owe you something. I don’t, so get over it!”

Spike flinched. “Now will you hit me like she did?”

“Will I …?” Incredulous, Angel was on the verge of hitting Spike, but he managed to sound offended. “I’m not going to hit you, and if Buffy hit you it was because you probably deserved it.”

This seemed to confirm something to Spike and without looking at Angel again, he rocked his head back onto his arm and slouched despondently against the wall.

“Go to hell, Spike,” snapped Angel, angry that he was part of the apparent cause of this malaise, and even more angry at the implication that getting close to Spike was apparently how he was supposed to cure it.

So angry was Angel that he stormed into Room 21 fully intending to immediately stake the occupant if it wasn’t real Spike.

With such strong intentions it was therefore a shame when Room 21 turned out to be completely empty. Angel spun around, stared at the emptiness with incredulity, repeated the action, then flew outside.

“Illyria? Illyria!”

He imagined a trick. Spike was supposed to be in Room 21 and someone had taken him. Maybe Wolfram & Hart had set this whole thing up just to stretch the torture out one step further? Maybe the gods had taken Spike and he was being subjected to the same arduous test and was trying to find Angel? Maybe Spike had never actually survived the fight and this whole thing was just a sick joke?

“Illyria!”

Her name echoed around the immediate chamber then fell into the abyss and was lost.

After a long moment Angel’s shoulders slumped and he turned to face the final room. He entered with a heavy heart and stared at the figure crouched in the centre of the room. Room 22 Spike sprang up, startling Angel and forcing him back against the wall to the left of the doorway.

“Hello Sir.”

It wasn’t difficult to tell that this wasn’t Spike, and Angel immediately knew he had to return to Room 21 to find Spike – the real Spike - who was missing and obviously in a lot of trouble.

“Sir?”

“Look, I don’t have time for someone who is just a pretend…”

Room 22 Spike looked so crestfallen that it stayed Angel. “Damn this,” he muttered, before adding louder, “What do you want?”

Spike perked up quickly and his face lit up with a big open smile. He moved in closer and bent up to whisper something conspiratorial to Angel, who pressed back into the wall in alarm.

“Mother almost found me,” he whispered breathlessly.

Angel narrowed his eyes and properly looked at Spike’s face for the first time. His eyes were bright and sparkling, his grin beaming and wide, and his whole body was fidgeting as he eagerly studied Angel’s reaction.

When Angel didn’t reply, Spike added excitedly, “I secreted myself behind the beer barrels while the ladies talked,” His voice lowered and his eyes opened wide, “They spoke of gentlemen friends and goings on.” Spike looked about and brought his mouth right up to Angel’s ear, hissing “One of the ladies made a gesture and it seemed to me that one of the gentlemen had touched her there.”

Angel looked down expectantly, then had to raise his gaze by a foot to where Room 22 Spike was clutching awkwardly at his chest.

Narrowing his eyes, Angel spun a question around in his mouth for a moment before asking, “How old are you?”

Spike giggled with glee and did some more bouncing. “Too young to understand such debauchery mother says, but although she tries to shield the sin from me, I see it when I hide in the stable behind the blacksmiths. I’m a man of the world!” he announced proudly.

Angel gently nudged Spike away and headed for the door.

“Will you not stay?” he wondered disappointedly. “I had so hoped we could play together.”

Visions of a slightly less innocent Room 13 and the ‘playing’ he had indulged in earlier flashed through Angel’s mind, making his exit silent and speedy.

“Illyria!”

There was no answer, so he strode back into Room 21, which remained empty and cold.

“Fuck. Spike, where are you?”

Angel sat down despondently on the chilled dirty stone to compose his muddled thoughts and try to coax his mind into making a coherent plan about where he should go from here.

He only barely caught the movement in the corner and looking up, all he saw was dark brown oily rock. But as his head lowered down to rest on his knees once more, there was an unmistakeable shift barely in the range of his peripheral vision.

It was good that Angel was patient, for the shifting blur seemed uncertain and vague. It took an hour and a degree of stability from the strange form to his left before Angel felt able to say softly, “I won’t hurt you, you know.”

The room bristled, as if the words were cutting and shaking through a delicately settled atmosphere.

There was no reply, but finally Angel felt things had settled enough again to allow him to raise his head to look at the light impression of colours which hovered uneasily nearby.

The slimy wall was still visible, but Angel had to view it through a shimmering figure who lingered unstably and looked completely lost.

“Spike?”

Angel rose up, and held out his hands in a sign of peace as the figure regarded him and began to flicker.

“Spike, I want to help. Talk to me.”

Slowly - and it seemed to take a great deal of effort – Spike turned his gaze to Angel. “You have a question for me.”

Taken aback, Angel shook his head briefly.

“You have a question for me,” repeated Spike. “The gods…”

“I … I thought I could choose who I asked it to,” stammered Angel, his mind racing to catch up. “Can’t I ask another …” He could have added ‘another Spike who is both more coherent and more tangible’, but Spike interrupted him again.

“You have a question for me.”

“Where is Spike?”

Room 21 Spike wavered alarmingly and gave Angel a confused look.

“I cannot answer that.”

Angel made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “Gee, and doesn’t that just shock me.”

Spike focussed on Angel and seemed to become more corporeal. “Ask me a question the gods would like.”

Angel stared back at him, then gradually, as the words sunk in turned into a flustered animated cursing form. He didn’t like rule changes and especially ones that could affect a life, albeit a ‘life’ that was dead..

“For fuck’s sake. Spike – I can call you that can’t I? If I sit down to think will you make sure you don’t do a disappearing act on me? Oh, and that’s definitely not my question to you in case you were wondering.”

Room 21 Spike didn’t seem to have the sense of humour that Ghost Spike had possessed, but he nodded solemnly and closed his eyes as if to conserve energy, floating unnervingly back into the corner.

Angel was finding it hard to think. At first he wondered if he had a time limit to figure out a question to ask, then that reminded him that he had totally lost track of which day it was and how much time he had left to find Spike. Time wasn’t a problem if he could ask the right question and find him straight away, but what could he ask if not the exact location of Spike?

He shook his head and closed his eyes to think, then when that failed to bring about any enlightenment he opened his eyes fractionally and studied the ghost Spike.

It took an hour for him to decide on a question and as he made up his mind the ghost Spike opened his eyes and cocked his head, as if sensing the decision.

“You have decided on a question?” he asked gravely.

“I have,” said Angel with more assurance than he felt.

“Well then …?”

It took a deep breath to summon up the courage to speak, but finally Angel found his nerve.

“What is the most insightful question about Spike that the gods would be prepared to answer for me?”

Maybe it was all part of the illusion, but Angel could swear that Ghost Spike smiled.

“Well chosen. And the answer? The question you should have asked is “Why does Spike not want to be found?”

At first Angel waited for the profundity of the answer to sink in. When it didn’t he shifted forward to confront the ghost, but it nodded to him then vanished completely.

“Fuck. Spike? Illyria? FUCK!”

Ghost Spike didn’t return, despite Angel imploring him to come back. He stomped outside, ready to howl the place down, only to run straight into Illyria standing calmly by the door.

“You fucking ….”

“Random angry language does not intimidate me, vampire.”

Angel grabbed Illyria by the neck and slammed her back into the wall, sending small slivers of rock crackling down around their feet.

“Where. Is. Spike?”

She made a feral noise and promptly twisted out of Angel’s grasp. “He is there, as I have assured you. You have asked your question and received an answer, now stop threatening me, dust the ones you do not need then go and collect Spike. You have fifteen hours left.”

“The rules keep changing Illyria.”

“You are almost there. Your choice of question was sound. Now let us see if you have earned your leader’s title by luck or skill. Use your knowledge of Spike, use what you know and go and find him.”

“Have I told you how much I hate gods?”

“Choose correctly and you will not be bothered by this one again.”

“Good.”

Angel turned to go but Illyria held his arm and turned him partially back to face her. “Do not be afraid to look deeply. Together, whole, sated, you will be a far stronger force than forging on alone. This is our lesson to you.”

They stared at each other for a second, Illyria’s shattering blue unblinking eyes boring into Angel. She twitched back and nodded curtly, as if having seen something she was searching for. “You will not see me again. Goodbye Angel.”

Nodding back and not understanding this conversation at all, Angel turned to go, then halted and made to say something further. It was too late. Illyria had vanished.

“Why does Spike not want to be found?”

Angel sat down on the bridge entry where he could see all the Rooms and began to ponder both the question the gods required to solve this puzzle and what their answer to it may have been.

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