You were right. My soul doesn’t make me anything like you. In fact, outside of blood, it may be the only thing we have in common. I wasn’t agreeable on that proverb until I saw you just now, your naked body immersed in the navy fabrics draped across your bed. You’re still as beautiful as you used to be. The roundness of your shoulders, the valley of your spine, your pale skin stretched across the vigor of solid bones, all unchanged in its symmetry.
I used to kiss that detailed tattoo painted on your back. Do you remember, or is it in a basin of past wrongs that still singes your perfection? I prized that feeling…when your muscles moved beneath the contours of my mouth like a sea of anguish. You forfeited those exclusive moments long ago, and for what? Now you’re just the vampire that once was, the man who’s found a loophole in mortification.
You always had the strength, even if I was the one who had the tendency to find the motive. Together we could’ve been unstoppable, Angel. But you never had the strength for that. You never had the pure guts to accept me as your opposite. Me, with the passion a vampire wasn’t meant to have. My body reduced to skin and bones, yet just as mighty as yours when dealt out enough punishment. I was always your weakness, wasn’t I? I was too stupid to care about taking over the world, too smart to get off on it when it happened.
Even still…I miss your wild dreams, Angel. I never participated in the planning, but I sure as hell soaked in the glory that you emanated and took it into myself. You were my strength, and it suffocated me. That’s why I can’t stand to be around you anymore. You love too hard. You get disappointed too easily. And in the end it’s all the same. You’re still okay. There are endless possibilities for you. You can still dream.
I’m just a lunatic who has bad nightmares.
In a place with at least a dozen rooms accompanied by welcoming beds, he found the sofa first. Funny how comfortable one became when the other option was having your sleep invaded by walls that talked to you.
The big, open front room suited him well enough. Angel could be heard stirring in the kitchen, and the nauseating smell of blood was easily detected and captured in the folds of his nostrils. He had begun to recoil from that smell more and more each day, especially when it reminded him of just another nameless little girl’s throat he had split.
He rose, magnetized to where Angel dwelled. Watching him operate the microwave, he had to give a slight and short-lived smile. “Amazing how you’ve learned to move with the times.”
Angel turned inappreciably, having already sensed the other’s presence, mug of blood in hand and prepared. “Here. You should drink some.” Angel inspected him briefly. “You look terrible,” he mentioned offhandedly before handing over the warmed liquid.
Spike graciously accepted the offering, although once upon a time he would’ve turned a nose up at anything but human blood. Unfortunately, the alternatives were all he had to survive by now. “I could say the same for you,” he countered, taking a sip. “But then I might actually regret hurting your sensitive little feelings.”
Angel ogled wordlessly, the microwave beeping its end before he removed a mug for himself from within and drank in unison with Spike. “So, how’s Sunnydale?” Angel questioned.
“You first,” Spike responded with daring eyes.
Angel, taken aback, replied, “I told you.”
“No you didn’t. You mentioned the obvious and left the guesswork for me. So…fill in the rest.”
“Well,” Angel chanced, “all you really have to know I’ve told you.”
“It’s about what I want to know.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Hazard a guess,” Spike remarked.
“I don’t know,” Angel barked with a bitter scowl.
Spike shrugged passively. “Where Cordelia is…why Fred and Gunn are here when really they aren’t. Or maybe why Wesley’s brains aren’t cooperating with your manpower and why this entire place smells like your blood.”
Angel stood immobile with a sustained muteness glued to his lips. “I get hurt a lot?”
“I didn’t mean your blood in the literal sense, Angel,” Spike re-directed.
“I gave Fred and Gunn a vacation,” Angel supplied with a reserved tone of voice.
“You fired them?” Spike crooned with amazement.
“No…I gave them some time off,” Angel explained.
“And why exactly would you do that?” Spike investigated.
“Because I’m not all monster,” Angel said with impending frustration, finishing the remains of his blood before gruffly placing the empty mug in the sink.
“Okay,” Spike accepted. “But what about Wesley?”
Angel faced him again. “We had a disagreement. Now he’s involved with Wolfram and Hart…more specifically their staff.”
A fracture of a laugh left Spike’s throat. “That should’ve been expected. He was too good for his own good.” An amused brow was raised. “Then comes the question of Cordelia.”
There was something that flickered behind Angel’s paralyzed stare; something violently drugged of tribulation. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“No. I don’t. If I did…” Angel strayed, the onset of tears wrestling his coal eyes. “I have a son,” he blurted out suddenly.
“A son?” Spike echoed.
“Yes. Connor.”
“The mother?”
“Darla.”
“That’s impossible,” Spike contended.
“Trust me, it’s not. He’s flesh and blood. Nothing vampire about him.”
“Except his blood,” Spike marveled.
Angel suppressed any argument. “Darla sacrificed her life for him.”
“Never knew the bitch had it in her.”
Angel was alerted by the comment, visibly offended. “Don’t provoke me, Spike.”
He scoffed. “Oh, don’t be so huffish, Angel. I was just reminding you that you had it easy with her. Just because she had a soft spot for you, didn’t mean any of us others got off that easy. She was the definition of evil. She had the ability to look at a man and have him on his knees begging for mercy. She did it to you, didn’t she?”
Angel finally moved, looking itchy in his clothes.
“Sunnydale bleedin’ sucks if it’s any consolation,” Spike comforted, raising his mug absently to inspect the remnants, downing the last sip.
“It’s not,” Angel returned.
“Willow went crazy. She fell into that terrible two stage; making plans to destroy the world and what not. Then the nice witch, Tara, kicked the bucket…which was as great a tragedy as they come.”
“You liked her,” Angel acknowledged.
“She never gave me reason not to.” Spike paused. “But then Buffy died…so many times I lost count.” Something shivered through him. “But I guess you already knew that, huh?”
Angel watched Spike’s flawless composure, nodding in confirmation. “I knew that, yes. I just didn’t know how much it affected you.” Angel confronted the surprise scrawled all over Spike’s face. “I know you well enough to know you’d be lying if you said it didn’t. After all…you mentioned she was the reason you got a soul.”
“Did I?” Spike faltered.
Angel smiled without feedback; walking past his last piece of family to the phone that Spike hadn’t realized was ringing, all because he had made a point of shutting out most sounds. They usually represented the unreal.
“Hi, Fred,” Angel said softly into the receiver after picking up.
Spike walked out of the kitchen to the front desk where Angel stood stiffly, introverted, in a hunch over the phone.
“Really?” Angel said with dull excitement. “No, no. Everything’s fine.” Pause. “No.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “No, Fred, it’s okay. Just leave it up to me and have fun.” Pause. “Okay, bye.” Click.
“You’re really the conversationalist, aren’t you?” Spike mocked.
Angel passed him a regardless look before grabbing his leather jacket and hightailing it towards the door. “Listen, I’ve got some things to do. I’ll be back soon.” He hesitated in momentary thought, looking as if he was assigning his thoughts to separate portions of his mind. “Oh, yeah. And stay out of trouble,” he added before leaving.
“Yes, daddy,” Spike sassed.