Author's Note: This is very impromptu and just because I wanted some vamp-boy-love-hate (almost typed "heat" instead of "hate," can آپ say "Freudian?").
Setting: Angel Season Five, with Ghost!Spike.
Rating: PG-13 (FFN Rating system T)
Late was not the word for the hour, because for Angel the concept of "late" was a moot point. Regardless, at some گھنٹہ of the night when most people would be sleeping, یا at least relaxing, یا maybe indulging in an embarrassing fantasy یا two with a consenting partner, Angel was slumped over his ڈیسک in his dank office at the demonic law firm of Wolfram and Hart.
He had lived two hundred years (more than that, if one counted the extra hundred he spent in that hell dimension) and yet he had never seen so much calculated trickery in his life. Going over contract after contract searching for a loophole proved fruitless. It seemed that every time one appeared, he would find another loophole that counteracted the first loophole. His hand drummed precariously close to his phone. His fingers were itching to seize the receiver and dial Gunn's number for assistance, but the man did need his sleep.
Angel didn't need sleep, at least not as much, but he rather enjoyed it from time to time.
He chewed on his lip and squinted, scrutinizing the papers in front of him and vaguely wondering if they had been authored سے طرف کی the Senior Partners themselves. یا maybe they just had the Devil write it for them.
He never thought his life would boil down to sitting behind a ڈیسک looking over legal documents for a way to manipulate an evil system in his favor. And he never thought that system would be the United States Judicial System. He thought about that hell dimension he had spent a hundred years in and decided that this was a far worse fate. In fact, there was no possible way it could get any worse.
And then, he heard the chains.
Everyone in the office had gone ہوم because the business دن was technically over, which suited Angel's needs perfectly because he liked the quiet. And there was only one person in the world that knew exactly how much he loved the quiet, and Angel deduced that it was that very person who was somehow rattling chains in the abandoned hallways of Wolfram and Hart.
Frustrated, Angel allowed his heavy head to fall forward, where his forehead made contact with his ڈیسک with a loud thump. The rattling of chains grew slowly noisier little سے طرف کی little. Angel tried to ignore it as he straightened up in his chair and with a sigh returned to his work. His door was closed, and Spike didn't know how to interact with solid objects, so he was safe.
And then the ghost floated through the door. Angel had forgotten that while the blond bane of his existence couldn't open the door, he could just walk through it.
"Take a look at this," کہا Spike gleefully, gesturing to a number of equally incorporeal chains that ladened him. "Got this off a bloke named Jake Malley یا somethin' like that. کہا he was tired of draggin' them around all places he went." He rattled them at Angel for effect. "Ooooh, aren't I scary?" he moaned sarcastically.
"Spike," Angel growled through gritted teeth. "I'm tired. Don't make me call up the exorcist."
"We tried that once, didn't work," Spike observed, amused at Angel's frustrations. He unloaded the chains on the floor and took a step towards Angel's desk. "In fact, as I recall, all it did was make me nose turn blue. Fun stuff, that, I can use it for party tricks."
"We can always try again," کہا Angel, though he knew it was futile.
"No good. You're stuck with me until you're dust."
"And then what will آپ do, Spike, huh?" Angel demanded out of pure irritation. "Wander around the earth with Dickensian chains for the rest of eternity?"
Spike looked as though he had never thought of this. "You mean after you..." He paused. "Well, I s'pose I could always..." He frowned. "I mean, there is the..." He bit his lip. "You know, Anya would still be... Oh wait."
Angel was surprised to find he suddenly had the upper hand and smiled. "That's right, Spike. آپ better hope I stick around a long time, because in a hundred years time, I'll be the only guy آپ know."
Spike's eyes cast downward and he was silent. Angel took this opportunity to go back to his work.
"Funny thing, that," Spike کہا pensively, after a moment.
Angel growled, having once again been interrupted. "What is?"
"We've lived a good long time, آپ and me," Spike mused. "But now, Darla's dead, and Dru is gone, and all of my other دوستوں are... human." He کہا the word with such horror and distaste, as if it were something embarrassing to admit. "And pretty soon, they'll be dead. Buffy'll be dead..."
Angel disliked the mention of their mutual old flame, especially uttered on Spike's lips. It always ignited a کڑوا, تلخ jealousy in him and he ground his teeth, wanting to remind Spike that he had loved her first, that he had done everything first and Spike was just a grubby little copy-cat. But he kept his mouth shut this time, and he wasn't quite sure why.
Spike laughed. "S'been a long time to spend with someone آپ hate," he said, mostly to himself.
"You've become oddly nostalgic," Angel شدہ تبصرہ snidely.
"I'm musing here," کہا Spike, almost defensively.
"I muse too, but I do it silently," Angel retorted.
"You muse? Yeah, I've seen آپ 'muse,' except most of us would just call that moping. آپ broody depressive sod, is there anyone who doesn't want to kill themselves when they listen to آپ gripe about how bad آپ got it?"
"And you're not griping?" Angel returned. "You're talking about how آپ don't have any friends... And you're sad about that fact! Hell, I remember in the nineteenth century, آپ bragged about eating all of your friends."
"I have a soul now, in case آپ haven't heard," Spike said.
"And somehow that gives آپ license to--"
"It gives you license to do a whole number of things! See, آپ know what you're problem is, Angel, آپ just were never very good at sharing, were you?"
"Sharing? With you? Why should I share with you--"
"Take Buffy, for example," Spike began. "See, I would have been perfectly happy to--" He seemed to just become aware of what he was saying and shut his mouth tightly.
"To what, Spike? To share her?" Angel growled.
Spike's lips twitched into a mischievous smile that Angel wished he could slap off the ghost's face. "Well, آپ have to admit, it would have been interesting."
Angel exhaled sharply through his nose, misunderstanding Spike's intentions. "You're lucky you're incorporeal یا else آپ would be out the window سے طرف کی now."
"Lucky am I?" Spike exclaimed. "That I can't seem to exist in any world completely? That I can't smell, taste یا touch anything?" He was walking towards the ڈیسک now, until he stood just before it, یا floated rather, as the floor wasn't actually baring his weight. "You think I'm lucky? Well, Mr. Big Shot CEO, would آپ like to switch places with me because you're the one that Buffy--" He stopped himself again.
Angel looked up, but this time his expression was not a negative one. "Buffy what?"
"Oh sod it, never mind," Spike mumbled, folding his arms.
Angel pushed his chair back and tried to look Spike in the eye, but the ghost avoided him. He walked around the ڈیسک and sized up a sulking Spike. Spike pouted, but Angel noted that it was exaggerated to make the whole thing seem like an act.
"She کہا she loved me, آپ know," he said, as if in his own defense.
"I loved آپ first," کہا Angel, thoughtlessly.
Spike looked baffled and slightly disturbed. "Did I just hear آپ right?"
Angel blinked. "Her. Her, I loved her first. The... Buffy."
Spike bit his lip. "Yeah. آپ did everything first." He smiled, sadly but proudly. "Well, I died first. Beat آپ to that, didn't I?"
"Well, technically--"
"I became all ghost-y first. That's somethin', isn't it?" Spike interrupted.
Angel couldn't help it. The ghost was so pitiful, it made him laugh. He also realized that Spike's misfortune gave him the most genuine chuckle he'd had in a very long time. "You really can't touch anything, can you?"
"I can if I try," کہا Spike, again on the defensive. "If I concentrate very hard and if I think about it, I can even... smell... things. Like you, for instance. آپ always did reek like a dead cat."
A memory struck Angel at that moment. "Do آپ remember Saragossa?"
Spike cocked an eyebrow. "1894. آپ mean that night the girls were out."
Angel snorted. "You remember it better than I do. Was it 1894?"
Spike took a step backwards, warily. "Why do آپ bring that up now?"
If Angel's blood still ran through his veins, he might have felt himself blush at that moment. "I'm not sure," he confessed.
"I remember," Spike began with a sly smirk, "the Royal London Hotel. آپ wanted to know if آپ were a deviant because آپ liked me."
"I never کہا that--"
"But آپ meant it," Spike کہا teasingly, in a sing-song voice. "You really are a fairy, aren't you?"
"Spike--" Angel made a اقدام to hit the ghost, but his hand went right through him. Spike's smile faded as he saw Angel's expression grow puzzled.
"What? Am I cold? Tingly?"
"No..." Angel said, curiously. "It's... nothing. Like air. آپ might as well not be there at all."
Spike nodded. "Huh. I get that a lot."
Slowly, Angel raised his hand, his palm flat as if pressing against an invisible wall. Confused at first, Spike followed his lead and raised his hand, positioning it right in front of Angel's. He wrinkled his brow, staring at Angel's palm, and then pushed forward.
It was like a shock to Angel, pure electricity that knocked into his palm, and yet it was surprisingly warm. The contact lasted for about three سیکنڈ before Spike pushed too hard and his hand went through Angel's and he stumbled forward, his whole body falling right through the older vampire's as if he was nothing at all.
The old companions stood back to back, each of them staring straight ahead, wondering what exactly had just happened and مزید importantly, why either of them had participated.
"I touched Fred once," کہا Spike, out of the blue. "She کہا I felt funny. Like water, she said."
Angel put a hand against his chest. It may have been his imagination, but for the brief instant that Spike's form had coexisted with his own, he could have sworn he felt his دل actually...
"I think آپ should go," Angel breathed, feeling as if Spike had committed some personal taboo.
"S'kind of funny, that I can go through you," thought Spike out loud. "If آپ think about it, I could reach inside someone's chest and, permitting I could hold my concentration long enough, rip out their دل without even breaking their ribcage."
Angel was breathing hard. Not so much breathing as forcing his lungs to exhale and inhale for the purpose of speech. But still, he was forcing them to do it heavily, and he wasn't sure why. "And this thought of ripping someone's دل out appeals to you?"
Spike was quiet a moment. They were still back to back. Neither of them wanted to look at the other. "No, I s'pose not. Not really. Not unless it was your heart, and even then آپ wouldn't die 'cause آپ don't really need it, do you? So it would be... pointless."
"Right," breathed Angel. "Pointless."
"Yeah, silly, really," Spike said, fumbling. "Um... sorry about that."
"It's OK."
Spike turned around quickly and spoke to Angel's back, who took a step towards the window. "You know, Angel, if I were... If I could touch right now, I think I might..."
"I thought I told آپ to go," کہا Angel, staring out at the Los Angeles skyline.
Spike held his tongue. "OK," he said, his hands in the air and taking a few steps backwards. He reached down and lifted his chains, which rattled ominously. "Best be gettin' on, then."
He dragged the chains out with him, through the door, and back down the hall, leaving Angel to stare out at the city.
He was, as he called it, musing, یا perhaps Spike would call it moping, and some others may have in fact called it brooding. But in all reality, Angel was just thinking about things he had refused to allow himself to think about since Saragossa, 1894. He had lived two hundred years (more than that, if one counted the extra hundred he spent in that hell dimension), and yet he had never met a person so infuriating, so aggravating, so fascinating as Spike. And there is one thing to say about fury-- it definitely gets the blood boiling.
Angel thought about Saragossa and he smiled.
THE END
Setting: Angel Season Five, with Ghost!Spike.
Rating: PG-13 (FFN Rating system T)
Late was not the word for the hour, because for Angel the concept of "late" was a moot point. Regardless, at some گھنٹہ of the night when most people would be sleeping, یا at least relaxing, یا maybe indulging in an embarrassing fantasy یا two with a consenting partner, Angel was slumped over his ڈیسک in his dank office at the demonic law firm of Wolfram and Hart.
He had lived two hundred years (more than that, if one counted the extra hundred he spent in that hell dimension) and yet he had never seen so much calculated trickery in his life. Going over contract after contract searching for a loophole proved fruitless. It seemed that every time one appeared, he would find another loophole that counteracted the first loophole. His hand drummed precariously close to his phone. His fingers were itching to seize the receiver and dial Gunn's number for assistance, but the man did need his sleep.
Angel didn't need sleep, at least not as much, but he rather enjoyed it from time to time.
He chewed on his lip and squinted, scrutinizing the papers in front of him and vaguely wondering if they had been authored سے طرف کی the Senior Partners themselves. یا maybe they just had the Devil write it for them.
He never thought his life would boil down to sitting behind a ڈیسک looking over legal documents for a way to manipulate an evil system in his favor. And he never thought that system would be the United States Judicial System. He thought about that hell dimension he had spent a hundred years in and decided that this was a far worse fate. In fact, there was no possible way it could get any worse.
And then, he heard the chains.
Everyone in the office had gone ہوم because the business دن was technically over, which suited Angel's needs perfectly because he liked the quiet. And there was only one person in the world that knew exactly how much he loved the quiet, and Angel deduced that it was that very person who was somehow rattling chains in the abandoned hallways of Wolfram and Hart.
Frustrated, Angel allowed his heavy head to fall forward, where his forehead made contact with his ڈیسک with a loud thump. The rattling of chains grew slowly noisier little سے طرف کی little. Angel tried to ignore it as he straightened up in his chair and with a sigh returned to his work. His door was closed, and Spike didn't know how to interact with solid objects, so he was safe.
And then the ghost floated through the door. Angel had forgotten that while the blond bane of his existence couldn't open the door, he could just walk through it.
"Take a look at this," کہا Spike gleefully, gesturing to a number of equally incorporeal chains that ladened him. "Got this off a bloke named Jake Malley یا somethin' like that. کہا he was tired of draggin' them around all places he went." He rattled them at Angel for effect. "Ooooh, aren't I scary?" he moaned sarcastically.
"Spike," Angel growled through gritted teeth. "I'm tired. Don't make me call up the exorcist."
"We tried that once, didn't work," Spike observed, amused at Angel's frustrations. He unloaded the chains on the floor and took a step towards Angel's desk. "In fact, as I recall, all it did was make me nose turn blue. Fun stuff, that, I can use it for party tricks."
"We can always try again," کہا Angel, though he knew it was futile.
"No good. You're stuck with me until you're dust."
"And then what will آپ do, Spike, huh?" Angel demanded out of pure irritation. "Wander around the earth with Dickensian chains for the rest of eternity?"
Spike looked as though he had never thought of this. "You mean after you..." He paused. "Well, I s'pose I could always..." He frowned. "I mean, there is the..." He bit his lip. "You know, Anya would still be... Oh wait."
Angel was surprised to find he suddenly had the upper hand and smiled. "That's right, Spike. آپ better hope I stick around a long time, because in a hundred years time, I'll be the only guy آپ know."
Spike's eyes cast downward and he was silent. Angel took this opportunity to go back to his work.
"Funny thing, that," Spike کہا pensively, after a moment.
Angel growled, having once again been interrupted. "What is?"
"We've lived a good long time, آپ and me," Spike mused. "But now, Darla's dead, and Dru is gone, and all of my other دوستوں are... human." He کہا the word with such horror and distaste, as if it were something embarrassing to admit. "And pretty soon, they'll be dead. Buffy'll be dead..."
Angel disliked the mention of their mutual old flame, especially uttered on Spike's lips. It always ignited a کڑوا, تلخ jealousy in him and he ground his teeth, wanting to remind Spike that he had loved her first, that he had done everything first and Spike was just a grubby little copy-cat. But he kept his mouth shut this time, and he wasn't quite sure why.
Spike laughed. "S'been a long time to spend with someone آپ hate," he said, mostly to himself.
"You've become oddly nostalgic," Angel شدہ تبصرہ snidely.
"I'm musing here," کہا Spike, almost defensively.
"I muse too, but I do it silently," Angel retorted.
"You muse? Yeah, I've seen آپ 'muse,' except most of us would just call that moping. آپ broody depressive sod, is there anyone who doesn't want to kill themselves when they listen to آپ gripe about how bad آپ got it?"
"And you're not griping?" Angel returned. "You're talking about how آپ don't have any friends... And you're sad about that fact! Hell, I remember in the nineteenth century, آپ bragged about eating all of your friends."
"I have a soul now, in case آپ haven't heard," Spike said.
"And somehow that gives آپ license to--"
"It gives you license to do a whole number of things! See, آپ know what you're problem is, Angel, آپ just were never very good at sharing, were you?"
"Sharing? With you? Why should I share with you--"
"Take Buffy, for example," Spike began. "See, I would have been perfectly happy to--" He seemed to just become aware of what he was saying and shut his mouth tightly.
"To what, Spike? To share her?" Angel growled.
Spike's lips twitched into a mischievous smile that Angel wished he could slap off the ghost's face. "Well, آپ have to admit, it would have been interesting."
Angel exhaled sharply through his nose, misunderstanding Spike's intentions. "You're lucky you're incorporeal یا else آپ would be out the window سے طرف کی now."
"Lucky am I?" Spike exclaimed. "That I can't seem to exist in any world completely? That I can't smell, taste یا touch anything?" He was walking towards the ڈیسک now, until he stood just before it, یا floated rather, as the floor wasn't actually baring his weight. "You think I'm lucky? Well, Mr. Big Shot CEO, would آپ like to switch places with me because you're the one that Buffy--" He stopped himself again.
Angel looked up, but this time his expression was not a negative one. "Buffy what?"
"Oh sod it, never mind," Spike mumbled, folding his arms.
Angel pushed his chair back and tried to look Spike in the eye, but the ghost avoided him. He walked around the ڈیسک and sized up a sulking Spike. Spike pouted, but Angel noted that it was exaggerated to make the whole thing seem like an act.
"She کہا she loved me, آپ know," he said, as if in his own defense.
"I loved آپ first," کہا Angel, thoughtlessly.
Spike looked baffled and slightly disturbed. "Did I just hear آپ right?"
Angel blinked. "Her. Her, I loved her first. The... Buffy."
Spike bit his lip. "Yeah. آپ did everything first." He smiled, sadly but proudly. "Well, I died first. Beat آپ to that, didn't I?"
"Well, technically--"
"I became all ghost-y first. That's somethin', isn't it?" Spike interrupted.
Angel couldn't help it. The ghost was so pitiful, it made him laugh. He also realized that Spike's misfortune gave him the most genuine chuckle he'd had in a very long time. "You really can't touch anything, can you?"
"I can if I try," کہا Spike, again on the defensive. "If I concentrate very hard and if I think about it, I can even... smell... things. Like you, for instance. آپ always did reek like a dead cat."
A memory struck Angel at that moment. "Do آپ remember Saragossa?"
Spike cocked an eyebrow. "1894. آپ mean that night the girls were out."
Angel snorted. "You remember it better than I do. Was it 1894?"
Spike took a step backwards, warily. "Why do آپ bring that up now?"
If Angel's blood still ran through his veins, he might have felt himself blush at that moment. "I'm not sure," he confessed.
"I remember," Spike began with a sly smirk, "the Royal London Hotel. آپ wanted to know if آپ were a deviant because آپ liked me."
"I never کہا that--"
"But آپ meant it," Spike کہا teasingly, in a sing-song voice. "You really are a fairy, aren't you?"
"Spike--" Angel made a اقدام to hit the ghost, but his hand went right through him. Spike's smile faded as he saw Angel's expression grow puzzled.
"What? Am I cold? Tingly?"
"No..." Angel said, curiously. "It's... nothing. Like air. آپ might as well not be there at all."
Spike nodded. "Huh. I get that a lot."
Slowly, Angel raised his hand, his palm flat as if pressing against an invisible wall. Confused at first, Spike followed his lead and raised his hand, positioning it right in front of Angel's. He wrinkled his brow, staring at Angel's palm, and then pushed forward.
It was like a shock to Angel, pure electricity that knocked into his palm, and yet it was surprisingly warm. The contact lasted for about three سیکنڈ before Spike pushed too hard and his hand went through Angel's and he stumbled forward, his whole body falling right through the older vampire's as if he was nothing at all.
The old companions stood back to back, each of them staring straight ahead, wondering what exactly had just happened and مزید importantly, why either of them had participated.
"I touched Fred once," کہا Spike, out of the blue. "She کہا I felt funny. Like water, she said."
Angel put a hand against his chest. It may have been his imagination, but for the brief instant that Spike's form had coexisted with his own, he could have sworn he felt his دل actually...
"I think آپ should go," Angel breathed, feeling as if Spike had committed some personal taboo.
"S'kind of funny, that I can go through you," thought Spike out loud. "If آپ think about it, I could reach inside someone's chest and, permitting I could hold my concentration long enough, rip out their دل without even breaking their ribcage."
Angel was breathing hard. Not so much breathing as forcing his lungs to exhale and inhale for the purpose of speech. But still, he was forcing them to do it heavily, and he wasn't sure why. "And this thought of ripping someone's دل out appeals to you?"
Spike was quiet a moment. They were still back to back. Neither of them wanted to look at the other. "No, I s'pose not. Not really. Not unless it was your heart, and even then آپ wouldn't die 'cause آپ don't really need it, do you? So it would be... pointless."
"Right," breathed Angel. "Pointless."
"Yeah, silly, really," Spike said, fumbling. "Um... sorry about that."
"It's OK."
Spike turned around quickly and spoke to Angel's back, who took a step towards the window. "You know, Angel, if I were... If I could touch right now, I think I might..."
"I thought I told آپ to go," کہا Angel, staring out at the Los Angeles skyline.
Spike held his tongue. "OK," he said, his hands in the air and taking a few steps backwards. He reached down and lifted his chains, which rattled ominously. "Best be gettin' on, then."
He dragged the chains out with him, through the door, and back down the hall, leaving Angel to stare out at the city.
He was, as he called it, musing, یا perhaps Spike would call it moping, and some others may have in fact called it brooding. But in all reality, Angel was just thinking about things he had refused to allow himself to think about since Saragossa, 1894. He had lived two hundred years (more than that, if one counted the extra hundred he spent in that hell dimension), and yet he had never met a person so infuriating, so aggravating, so fascinating as Spike. And there is one thing to say about fury-- it definitely gets the blood boiling.
Angel thought about Saragossa and he smiled.
THE END
