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 8.


It was a miserable length of time that Angel spent thinking about Spike. The miserable/ thinking about Spike part was par for the course, but Angel felt that seven hours of valuable brooding time was being completely wasted on him.

Why does Spike not want to be found?

It was a doozer of a question, he had to admit. In order to tackle the answer, Angel first had to accept the implication by the gods that Spike really didn’t want to be found. It took a good hour to get his head around the fact that Spike was deliberately hiding. Angel knew he could reject the notion of course, but with the clock ticking and no other entities looking like they were going to offer up an explanation in the time limit provided, he had to eventually agree to let his mind go with this train of thought.

What possible reason did Spike have for hiding from him?

Angel thought about the battle in the alley. Before Spike was dusted he had been badly wounded, as had they all. Maybe he felt that he was so badly disfigured that he could not face the world again?

That thought made Angel smile, even as he dismissed it. He had seen Spike burnt, beaten, armless, so no amount of injuries in the other would shock either of them.

No, that wasn’t it.

Had Spike done something evil in the battle?

Angel knew he hadn’t, nevertheless he let his mind wander back over the fight for signs of Spike slipping up, deceiving him and he even let himself toy with the notion that Spike had betrayed him and that he was really working for Wolfram & Hart.

It was totally preposterous of course. He knew Spike. Despite all Angel’s denial about his good intentions, he knew without a doubt that Spike was as much of a champion as he was.

His mind did a sharp U Turn back from that idea, but Angel couldn’t quite let go of the battle as a cause of this apparent alienation.

Had something else happened to Spike?

He had been dusted, yet now he had returned. Was he whole though? Had Spike suffered from the same changes which affected Buffy after her return from death?

Angel thought back to William’s turning. He remembered him grasping his new strength and howling with delight as his demon rejoiced. An image of Spike in a wheelchair, humiliated, impotent to fight back, yet keeping his strength through it all. And Spike sweeping into his office on a whirlwind after three weeks of non-existence. Spike being sucked into Hell by Pavayne and digging his heels when all others would have fallen over the precipice from fright.

Lastly, Angel thought of Spike after he sought his soul. This brought Spike’s trials close to home. It wasn’t a subject Angel liked dredging up, as comparing his own recovery to Spike’s made him seem like a professional wallower. Spike had fought not only for his soul, but for his subsequent sanity. There would never be another obstacle which would be harder for either of them to deal with than coping with their souls.

Angel frowned.

Had Spike lost his soul again? Had the fight affected him?

He thought about Illyria’s continued insistence that Spike was indeed in one of the rooms. None of the Spikes seemed whole. They all appeared to represent fractions of his life, his personality, the quirks he developed during his existence.

Except for a couple of rooms which were definitely nothing to do with the real Spike.

Angel quickly swerved his brain around those two rooms to avoid dealing with them, but deciding that Spike had been affected by the battle and was now altered to such an extent that he was unwilling to be saved by Angel left him with an impossible pick as to which Spike was the real Spike.

Angry, rejected, drunk, depressed, happy, insightful, menacing … Angel had seen all these sides of Spike. He was like the fucking seven dwarves all rolled into one. And even the sides of Spike Angel hadn’t bore witness too – such as the newly souled Spike, the youth in the last room, and the Spike with the chip – he still knew enough about him to be able to recognise these elements in Spike’s everyday dealings with life. Buffy had told him all about Spike’s chip and the effect it had on him. Angel didn’t need reminding of the pain a new soul could inflict. Christ, even the thrilled youth defying his mother showed up every time Angel tried to force Spike to do anything!

The comparison with himself and Spike’s mother was very disturbing.

But not half as disturbing as tackling Room 2 and Room 13.

They were not Spike. Spike was not loving with anybody, least of all Angel. Spike was also not in the least bit sexy, therefore Room 13 was an unexplainable anomaly.

So none of the Spikes in any of the rooms could be easily or definitively pinpointed as being a Spike affected by the battle.

It took another full hour before Angel let his mind wander back to the two incongruous rooms.

Why were they there?

All the other rooms existed as sample parts of Spike, yet these two stood out as misfits.

With terrible misgivings, Angel allowed himself to ponder Room 2 Spike and Room 13 Spike.

Spike had of course been loving and giving in the past – just not directly to Angel in his past. Drusilla had a century of Spike’s love and care. Despite his mind screaming at him to deny it, Angel had to admit that Buffy had also received limitless love and attention from Spike. He thought of Fred and how Spike treated her, looked up to her, fought to save her, even though theirs was not a romantic love.

It was impossible to deny that when Spike loved someone he adored them, worshipped them, and would do anything to keep them safe and free from angst or harm.

Angel’s brow furrowed deeply when despite serious misgivings, he let his mind wander back to the way Room 2 Spike had treated him.

“Like fine delicate porcelain balanced precariously on a pedestal in the centre of an elephant stampede.”

Darla’s dry disgusted commentary when describing how Spike treated Drusilla made Angel run his hands through his gritty hair. Maybe Room 2 Spike was a part of the real Spike after all, and being the only person around, Angel was the one who had copped all Spike’s misplaced affection?

‘Misplaced’ was the only true comfort Angel could find in that explanation, but he decided to run with that idea for a bit longer.

It took him a full ninety minutes before he was ready to tackle Room 13 though.

“Spike is sexy.”

“Spike is sexy.”

“Spike IS sexy.”

No matter how many times Angel muttered it, he refused to accept that it was true. Harmony found Spike sexy, but then she would adapt her preferences to any male if she thought it would raise her standing in the crowd, so her opinion could easily be ignored. In no way did Angel think that sexiness was a part of Spike’s personality.

Except when he was trying to get his own way. That was indisputable. Spike would tip his head, pucker his lips and peer up devilishy from under those ‘innocent’ brows and lashes to try to elicit whatever favour he wanted at the time. He tried this on everybody – male or female - and everybody in the end gave in to Spike when he pulled this routine.

Except Angel.

He was never influenced by Spike's so called 'charms'.

Okay, that was a lie.

Spike tried it on with Angel when he wanted a favour, money, a car, whatever. It was just the look, nothing more, and it had no effect on Angel at all of course.

Angel frowned.

Spike was not at all sexy and anything he may have conned out of Angel was purely a cunning plan on Angel’s part to get rid of Spike and to make him think that he had got his own way.

He frowned again.

Spike always got his own way of course.

“Spike is not sexy!”

Angel said this with a degree of force and confidence that made him brave enough to think a bit more about Room 13 Spike. He remembered the way Spike had prowled towards him, the purring words that cajoled and entranced him, the way his arms snaked over his shoulders and into his hair … soft skin, softer lips, tugs and rubs and oh the sight of that skin rouching into the entrance which led to a world of sin …!

“Oh fuck!”

Angel shut his eyes tight and tried not to notice that his cock was rearing up in his trousers like a divining rod discovering the Pacific at the mere thought of Spike being sexy towards him.

This was just too bizarre. He had never thought about Spike like that.

It took over half an hour before Angel admitted that that statement too was a lie. Of course Angelus had found William sexy. There, he admitted it. Angelus had found William sexy.

Therefore ( and this next follow on thought took some time to develop) … it was not surprising that he … Angel … might also look at Spike and occasionally recognise something in him which was ever so vaguely … *deep breath* … sexy.

Such a revelatory train of thought almost led to hyperventilation, but by blaming Angelus and William, Angel somehow managed to let this idea remain in his consciousness.

Spike was … very occasionally … sexy …. and Angel recognised that fact.

It seemed simple to accept, but the truth needed to be brooded over for many hours thereafter. Angel also discovered that the truth of the matter made him exceptionally terrified as his brain shrieked in horror at more open thoughts about Room 2 and Room 13 Spike.

If Angel found Spike sexy in a mirror of how Room 13 Spike lusted after Angel, then did Angel also mirror Room 2 Spike?

Affection? For Spike?

It sounded like an outrageous falsity. Of course Angel felt a connection to Spike. He was part of his bloodline for goodness’ sake! And they had spent twenty years together as constant companions, albeit sometimes slightly acrimonious ones, so it was understandable if Angel felt some sort of tenuous obligation to help Spike at times.

The souls of course played a part. The two of them were unique!

Angel couldn’t think of much more to add to that. Circumstances meant that they had always come to some sort of uneasy truce, but that was as far as their mutual ‘affection’ stretched.

Denial was a horrible thing to live with. Abstinance was even worse. Three more hours of listening to the invisible clock ticking away into the gloomy ether and soon to take Spike with it made Angel’s emotions war to be heard in his head and in his heart.

Physical self-flagellation was one thing, but Angel specialised in abusing his own emotions. No love was too great to push away or sacrifice. Buffy, Connor, Darla had all been repelled from the all-encompassing love which Angel suspected – albeit not totally convincingly – of residing somewhere deep down in a nasty shrivelled part of his heart.

It was there in him, he acknowledged finally. But he couldn’t afford to ever let it out for fear of happiness, abuse, rejection …. love?

For love came with so many clauses. It gave others the power over you to twist and snap your heart and make bitter your old professions of love which were once reciprocal. It represented risk so great that an alley crawling with acidic assassins paled in comparison to the hurt a lifetime’s admission of love given, then rejected, would cause.

Whatever vague notions about Angel’s feelings toward Spike that had been raised during this episode with the Rooms, Angel was grimly determined not to acknowledge that they had any bearing on how he should save Spike or how he should act after they were safely away. In fact Angel was utterly resolute when he decided that the worst possible outcome of this episode would be if Spike were to have any hint whatsoever that he felt even the vaguest twinge of affection for him beyond the begrudging acceptance they had tolerated in the weeks leading up to the battle.

That Angel had cried over a pile of dust which represented all his hopes and dreams and dashed desires was something which he would rather die hiding than reveal to Spike.

That thought hung for a moment. It expanded into something encompassing and immense and provided Angel with the one revelation that he was thankful to receive.

Angel stood and stepped off the end of the bridge then reached into his coat and drew out the stake. There was only a slight hesitation before he ran into Room 6. Spike was lying on the ground, hurt, in agony and crying for help. Angel provided it in the form of a sharp piece of wood through the heart.

The dust settling around his feel only slowed him down momentarily. He turned and ran down to the room at the end, the anticipation about finding Spike making this unholy task bearable.

“Sir?”

Angel nodded.

“What is that you hold?”

“It is a secret weapon.”

Room 22 Spike’s eyes lit up. He looked around nervously, but Angel made a ‘shhhhhhh’ noise and summoned him forward with a crooked finger.

“Shall I tell you about it boy?”

Spike nodded eagerly, the blonde hair unable to move as a young Victorian boy’s should have in such circumstances.

“Come,” beckoned Angel as he leant in to place his lips to the ear that enthusiastically bent up to receive the clandestine information.

A sprinkle of dust in his eyes made Angel close them, and when they reopened he was facing his own hand curling in after the stake had thrust through Spike’s back.

It still felt right.

He knew where Spike was now.

Angel stood outside Room 22 and looked back down the line. He shut the door behind him, signalling closure.

Down the line he went, entering each room with the stake held firmly, no indecision now, no mercy.

He only paused twice. One time for fifty minutes. The other time for seven hours. Then he continued all the way down the line of doors until there was only one left.

“Hello Spike.”

A broad smile broke out over Room 2 Spike’s face

“Angel!”

There was only a small hesitation before Angel dropped the stake and opened his arms wide. A small noise of delight escaped from Spike as he began to walk, then run across the cave to wrap himself up in Angel’s strong, willing arms.

Angel noted that there was no erection prodding into his groin as they hugged and basked in the simple feeling of being in each other’s arms.

“Spike?”

“Mmm?”

“Am I silly for not doing this sooner? For not allowing myself to hug you and be open with you and let myself care?”

“Mmm.”

The non-judgemental affirmation made Angel smile.

“Spike?”

“Yes?”

“If I told you I loved you now, I’d be lying. You know that, don’t you?”

There was no hesitation. “I know. It’s too soon.”

“But you do know that I will try, don’t you? No more denial. We have a second chance now and I’ll not let this slip away again.”

He felt Spike smile into his neck and curl his arms tighter around his back. “You always do your best. That’s why I love you.”

Angel turned his face into Spike’s hair and kissed the strands, taking in their scent and texture as he held Spike close.

“I promise I will try.”

The stake entered Room 2 Spike’s back swiftly and the only noise was a small cry from Angel as the body disintegrated within his hold.

The first pang of regret and fear struck at Angel as he watched the dust float noiselessly to the ground. There was no turning back now. What was done could not be undone. He walked slowly out of Room 2 and shut the door behind him. Ahead, the closed doors stretched around in an arc to where the small gold numbers on Room 22’s door glinted in the distance.

All this and still ten minutes to spare.

Angel dragged his feet along past the rooma until a small draft blew across his feet out of the one remaining open door.

He entered and stood just inside the door, feeling a sudden sense of calm again as he regarded the figure sitting at the back of the cave furiously sucking on a cigarette.

“Hello Spike.”

There was no answer from the figure at the back of Room 5 and no movement that indicated that he had even been heard.

“Was it worth it?”

The head dropped slightly, but it was expertly covered by another drag on the smoke.

“Would you have let me do it? Stake you?”

“’S what you’ve always wanted. Why not?”

At the words, and as Spike tried to glance up nonchalantly, all Angel’s tension and confusion and immense sadness which had welled up since he first regained consciousness in the alley three days previously, finally erupted. He flew across the room, picked up Spike and smashed him back into the wall in one fluid torrential movement.

“How could you? You fucking idiot, Spike! How could you do this? How?”

“Get off me you fucker!”

But Angel wasn’t going anywhere. “What was all that for in the battle? What did Gunn die for, and Wes and Fred? What have you been fighting for all this time, battling evil and scouring the earth for your soul only to end up wanting to die like this?”

Nothing was held back in the punch Angel landed on Spike’s jaw, but his words kept flowing. “How do you think I would have felt, Spike? Knowing I’d staked you because you were unwilling to let me know you were here? How could you do this to me?”

“Do this to you?” Spike’s eyes flashed with rage. “You absolute prick, do you think I asked for any of this to happen to me, Angel. Huh? Do you? After everything I’ve been through I still have the fucking forces that be dragging me around by the asshole and dropping me in the middle of a situation where I can be laughed at and made fun of. I’m not doing it again and I don’t care who speeds up my exit, I refuse to be the town joke again.”

Angel let go of Spike’s coat, but didn’t give him any space. “You’ll notice I’m not laughing, Spike.”

With a sneer, Spike pushed Angel back then gave a bitter choked laugh. “Oh, but you will. “Look at what a dork William was in Room 17. Did you see the pimply sad case in Room 22? Isn’t Spike’s depression hilarious? Doesn’t he look cute when he lets his demon cut loose?”

Confused, Angel began to come forward. “You know I didn’t make fun of you. None of this was a joke to me, Spike, you know that! You know what this did to me and how it made me feel, what it made me do!”

“How do I fucking know that, Angel? All I know is that instead of burning up in Sunnydale and finding myself being sucked out of a fucking necklace, I was turned into a pile of dust in an alley in L.A after doing my best, giving my all, and suddenly I’m here surrounded by some sort of freaky sideshow where you get to walk around in versions of my history, my head and my heart without me having any fucking say in it. And all the time I have to sit in here imagining what the fuck is going on in the rooms next door.”

Quaking with anger, Spike tried to pick up his smouldering cigarette, but gave up with a curse when his fingers were too jittery to hold it and crouched down instead with his head in his hands.

Angel was frantically replaying Spike’s speech in his head. “You knew the versions of you that were in the other rooms, but you didn’t get to see what happened in there?”

Spike shot Angel a bitter look which left his ignorance in no doubt. Angel was completely taken aback.

“Spike, we need to talk about this. Room 2 proved to me that ….”

The fist flew up so hard and fast that Angel’s teeth pierced deep into his tongue and the pain clattered from his jaw right up to his temple. It was his turn to slam onto the unforgiving hardness of the ground.

“Not another word.” Spike’s tone was deep, his words spat out sharply and viciously as he climbed on top of Angel’s prone body and held him down with an iron grip. He was almost growling as he lowered his face to Angel’s. “I don’t ever want to hear you speak another word about what happened here. Look at me, Angel. None of them are the real me. This is me. Whatever you were told or shown in those rooms doesn’t change how I choose to live my life or who I choose to spend the rest of my days abhorring. My reality is all that matters and I choose not to spend it fawning over you like the rest of the world.”

As Spike eyeballed Angel and Angel marvelled that this angry Spike seemed so much more intense than the Room 1 angry Spike, they both almost missed the brisk footsteps approaching outside the door.

At the last moment, Spike sprang back with a snarl, as if touching Angel burnt him.

Angel looked up and a bright light seemed to pierce his eyes and block out everything in the room

“Angel? Gee, don’t you know we’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

The light seemed to move from side to side until Angel realised it was a static fluorescent with a figure moving in front of it. The walls seemed to have closed in and Angel found himself lying on the carpeted floor of a lift.

“You had us worried there, boss,” said Gunn.

Too stunned to move, Angel could only gawp as Gunn chuckled and hoisted him to his feet and out of the Wolfram & Hart elevator and into the busy lobby of the L.A office.

“I know it was a shock but you’ll be over it by morning.”

“A shock?” Angel stood his ground and refused to move forward, despite much tugging on his arm by Gunn.

“Gunn?”

“What?”

“Gunn!”

“Whoa, hey man, Angel? Lobby’s not the place for man on man touchy feely, and I can cite at least fifteen legal actions I can take against you as a senior member of this firm if you don’t stop hugging me in the next three seconds.”

“Gunn!”Angel laughed and it seemed a long time since he had reason to do that.

Gunn laughed with him, but it was clear he was only doing so to humour Angel and that he was still concerned about his welfare.

“Oh Angel, there you are.”

The voice froze him. He saw Gunn making a warning expression to someone over his shoulder, as if they should expect a certain degree of craziness from him.

“Errm, is everything okay now, Angel?”

“Wes.” The name escaped as a breath as Angel turned to face him.

“Careful, he’s been infected by some violent hugging disease.”

“Will it help if I tell him that I have just bathed in holy water?”

“Apparently not,” said Gunn as Angel fell forward and suffocated Wesley in a slow giant hug.

When both of them were unable to extract Angel from the embrace, he heard Gunn say, “I think the whole thing has been a bit overwhelming.”

It jolted Angel back to this version of reality just enough to loosen his grip on Wes, who jumped back, straightened his clothing and eyed Angel suspiciously.

“Wes.” Angel said it, waited to see if the figure would still be there after the word was out, then threw up his arms and yelled at the top of his voice, “WES!”

“That’s what he’s been doing, man, hugging men then repeating their names.”

“So gayness is catching after all?”

Gunn and Wes laughed uproariously at this remark, but it sobered Angel up considerably.

“What was that?”

“Oh, maybe you’ve caught the gay bug off him Angel.”

Suddenly Angel’s stomach clenched as he had the horrible feeling that this old world and the revelations of his recent days with Spike were about to merge into a horrible bad taste dimension.

“I … he isn’t gay.” It was said awkwardly, but Angel felt an overwhelming need to defend Spike. He was shocked to hear them talk about him so.

“Isn’t gay?” Wesley’s face was incredulous. “I know you’ve had a rough couple of days recently, but I do think you’re in denial if you can’t see it, Angel.”

“I … I’m not in denial. I mean, I am, I have been, but not … not now. Not that I’m gay though, because I haven’t really had enough time to think about it, but he definitely isn’t gay because he won’t admit to it yet and maybe he never will and can vampires even be classed as gay?”

If Angel was trying desperately to reach out to his friends for some answers and help, his attempts were scuppered, as indicated by the alarmed looks on their faces.

It was a relieved Wesley who exclaimed, “Oh thank goodness. I think Angel needs a checkover too. He’s rambling and not making any sense.”

“Don’t forget the hugging.”

“Thank you Gunn, yes, he’s hugging people too and it’s most disconcerting. Please help him or at the very least sedate him to stop him manhandling the senior staff.”

A soft, teasing voice spoke, and the words cut straight to Angel’s heart. “Angel, are you giving my boys a hard time?”

“Fred?”

“Oh here we go again!”

“Watch out Fred, he’ll move in for the big squeeze now!”

But Angel didn’t move to hug Fred. Instead, he just studied the big brown eyes that smiled at him warmly and which looked tired and slightly worried, but were undeniably real and held not the slightest hint of blue ice in them.

“Angel, you’re crying!” It was Fred who moved in to hug Angel, as he collapsed down to the floor in a heap.

“Angel?”

“You were dead! Everyone was dead. We’d gone to fight them and I was the only one left, but then Illyria took me to see caves full of him and I had to choose the right one, but he was hiding because he didn’t want me to know how he felt and the second room where he told me he loved me came before the room where he was and because he kept quiet I ended up meeting the one who wanted to have sex with me and it all went downhill from there and I found him, I did, but now he hates me.”

“Who’s Illyria?”

“Even I make more sense than that when I’m drunk.”

“Somebody give him an elephant tranquiliser.”

“Shhh,” chastised Fred before she turned her attention back to Angel. “You’ve had a bad shock, we all have. But he’ll be okay and Buffy will forgive you.”

“Why will Buffy forgive me?” This comment completely threw him.

“Our gay friend will report back to her no doubt, but we’ll back you up, Angel.”

That didn’t help Angel’s confusion. “Spike’s gone to see Buffy?”

“Andrew, Angel, we’re talking about Andrew!”

“Please knock him out.”

“Did he just call Spike gay?”

“Maybe he needs a night in hospital with Spike. I think Dana managed to stab him with a needle somewhere along the way too.”

“Wait, what?” Angel shook his head and looked at the three very concerned, very real faces staring at him. “Spike’s in hospital? Dana’s here?”

Fred knelt down and held Angel’s hands, then seemed to consider this inappropriate and crossed her arms instead. “Spike will be fine. The surgeons attached his arms and he’s had enough drugs to knock out half of downtown New York. Vampire healing won’t be able to fix this overnight or even completely in the next few weeks, but he’ll be fine. Spike will be fine.”

Angel was still struggling, but gradually the picture was getting clearer.

“Dana cut off Spike’s arms. Andrew took her back to Europe. You’re all …. “ he looked at them each in turn, “… You’re all okay, you’re alive.”

Fred smiled. “Of course silly. And I know that you pretend you don’t like Spike, but he is on our side and you saved him and I’m sure you’re pleased to know he’s going to be fine.

Angel managed a nod.

“You can go and see him tomorrow night to make your peace with him when he comes around from the anaesthetic, okay? After all, he needs your help to recover I think and you can offer so much in the way of guidance.”

Another nod.

But the final words froze Angel, as he remembered the same slight figure but with brilliant blue eyes and a dark red shell of an outfit saying the exact same words to him earlier in the day ….

“Use your knowledge of Spike, use what you know and go and find him.”

Such ominous words no matter which petite female with striking eyes was saying them.


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