Slashficathon Angel/Spike

[gilascave]

Come Down in Time
by James
for saussy

Angel knew who it was before he ever walked out of his room. He was standing in the middle of the lobby - coat and hair and scent unmistakable.

His posture, and the expression of fear when he raised his head to return Angel's gaze was not. It was so unlike anything Angel had ever seen, heard of, or dreamed to expect from Spike that his first thought was -- he's possessed. That thought was rapidly followed by 'shapeshifter,' 'spell,' and 'maybe I'm dreaming again.' Lord knew he was still struggling with his sense of reality after his summer at the bottom of the ocean. He hadn't dreamt of Spike then; maybe he was making up for it now.

But Spike was standing in the lobby and staring up at him. Angel had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was for real. He said nothing as he headed for the stairs, wondering idly why Spike just stood there waiting for him. As though one more piece of odd behaviour would explain why this...this...thing wearing Spike's skin was here at his hotel.

When his foot hit the floor, he smelled it.

"For fuck's sake, Spike. What did you do?" He didn't try to hide his disgust -- as though what he needed right now was another souled vampire, someone stupid enough to get cursed after seeing the torment it put him through. Not that Spike would ever mind Angel's being tormented. But even Penn, who had copied his methods and copied his lusts and copied his fucking *hairstyle*, wasn't stupid enough to copy him in this.

Spike just stood there, looking at him.

"Spike?" It was unnerving. The way he stared, his eyes wide and bewildered.

He looked like he had that moment he'd woken up in Angel's arms. Newly dead, his personality still at the fore enough to keep his expression soft, and show the fear he felt.

"She's coming," Spike said, and his tone faltered.

Angel narrowed his eyes. "Who's coming?" He thought immediately of Buffy -- but would she send Spike as her messenger? Possibly, if Spike were cursed with a conscience and the leash of a soul.

But Spike shook his head slowly, and Angel suddenly realised that Spike's hands were balled into fists, tight enough that only another's vampiric strength would be able to unclench them. If there were any reasons to. Angel told himself he didn't care what guilt Spike was suffering from.

"Spike, tell me what the fuck--"

"No." But he wasn't looking at Angel. Eyes focused enough that Angel half-turned to see who it was Spike was talking to.

Nothing there. Of course. Angel narrowed his eyes and glared at Spike. "Tell me why I'm not throwing you out."

Startled, Spike looked at him now, blinking as though he hadn't realised Angel was standing there. Angel was ready to throw him out anyway, and to hell with whatever crisis had brought him here. "Angel!" Spike moved forward in a flash, hands now clenched around Angel's shirt.

Angel frowned and poked at him, trying to let him know he would be happy to rip those hands off if Spike didn't let go.

"She won't stop singing," Spike said, whimpering. God. *Whimpering*.

"Christ. You're insane." Not like Angel hadn't learned to recognise it.

"She's *coming*!" Spike repeated, insistent tone giving Angel pause. "Buffy needs me. She won't die without it."

The words surprised him. Spike was definitely insane, and there was every chance that the danger he was talking about was imaginary, or long over.

But there was also the chance that Buffy *had* sent him here, for help or with a warning. That made him attempt for a little patience as he asked, "Who is coming, Spike?"

He wasn't prepared for Spike's face to fall. For a second he was shocked into thinking Spike was about to *cry*. But Spike just collapsed, landing on the floor in a heap and staring at Angel's feet.

"I tried," Spike said, desolately. "I tried, she won't listen. She doesn't stop." He turned his face up, looking like a child seeking help from his father.

"Who won't?" Angel asked, struggling for more patience. He wanted to yank Spike to his feet, shout at him, toss him outside. Hit him a few times for a bonus. He wanted Spike to tell him what the hell was going on without talking about birds and dancing with dolls.

Spike shook his head, slowly. Then his eyes darted to one side again, and his face screwed up in a silent grimace of shock. Then there was fear -- terror -- and he scuttled backwards, away from some invisible phantom. Angel leapt towards him, grabbing Spike by the arm and hauling him to his feet -- shocking himself by standing between Spike and the non-existent thing he feared.

Spike focused on him. "They don't stop. She's coming to take me. I won't be able to stop her."

He could see, now, there was no reason in Spike's eyes. Whatever he'd done to get this soul, he'd been trapped by the guilt and the loathing, trapped in his memories.

Angel tried hard not to remember those days of his own. "Spike," he tried, knowing there wasn't anything he could say that would snap him free.

Spike barely seemed to hear him, glancing about at things in his head, and flinching as they drew near.

"Spike!"

His eyes darted to Angel again, and he whispered, "I can't help Buffy this way. Not with them here."

"What does Buffy need help with?"

"She doesn't know, yet. Beneath us, devouring...it's coming, Angel." He almost sounded cogent. He was still making no sense.

"What's coming?" Like he had time to deal with another apocalypse. Like he had time to deal with Spike.

He wanted to drop Spike and run to Sunnydale. Find out what it was Buffy needed, and give it to her. But it had been a long time since he'd been allowed such freedom. A long time since he'd really wanted it.

He looked at Spike. Caught, in the maze of Sunnydale and Buffy and a soul, just like Angel had been. Running to him now, for whatever help it was he thought Angel could provide.

There was really only one thing he could do. Angel grabbed Spike's chin, forcing him to look at Angel. Spike did so, head tilting and a brief smile playing on his lips. Not a sane smile. This was something that laughed at the evil in his head and the pain he was suffering. The demon, or maybe just the human inside who couldn't bear to scream anymore.

"Fuck." Angel knew he would hate himself in the morning. Possibly as soon as he did it. But there was nothing else he could offer, and he couldn't send Spike away in the state he was in.

Not if Buffy really did need him.

Angel tilted his own head, and placed Spike's mouth on his neck. It only took a second before Spike's fangs descended and broke through the skin.

Two seconds later Angel shoved him away, blood trickling from his neck and from Spike's mouth. This time, there was something else in Spike's eyes as he nodded.

"It won't last long," Angel told him.

"I know." Spike looked stunned, but hiding under an expression of practicality. Of understanding.

There was time. He could ask Spike what the hell was going on. Get real answers while the blood filled Spike's body and quieted the demon, lent him a few precious hours of sanity before it was devoured again. He could find out what was happening, and if what he'd just done was a huge mistake.

"Get back and...do whatever it was you were trying to do."

Spike hesitated, before nodding. He turned and moved towards the door, walking quietly and steadily. He didn't pause as he reached the door, stepping through it and gone before Angel could surrender to the desire to call him back.

Or go with.

He headed for the stairs, and told himself he had too many things going wrong in LA, to wonder what he might have done in Sunnydale.

the end