Chapter Thirteen

One thing Angel hadn't been ready for was how *crowded* Buffy's house was going to be. There were teenage girls everywhere. Even when most of them went upstairs, or down to the basement, or outside, there were still always one or two wandering around. The kitchen was almost constantly full of people.

His initial conversation with Buffy had been awkward, to say the least. There was a tendency to stare at each other, and Angel would have been lying if he'd said that he hadn't wanted to kiss her. He'd probably always want to kiss her. It was just that whatever it was between them -- destiny, fate, whatever -- was bigger than both of them. It made things harder to control.

And there'd been Wesley beside him, somehow communicating exactly how much he hated being here without ever saying a word or letting his face show any expression other than 'fixed'. Everyone had stared at Wes like he was a zoo exhibit or something. It had made Angel feel protective and possessive of his fledgling, and that, here, was just too damn confusing.

Angel dragged his attention back to the dining room. "Thanks," he said awkwardly to Willow as she bustled by him again. The box with the orb was sitting on the dining table, and she was collecting the other materials she'd need for the spell.

"No problem," Willow said, glancing from him to Wes, who was standing over against the wall and looking pretty uncomfortable. "Don't worry; it's going to be fine."

It wasn't the first time she'd reassured him. "Yeah, I know." Angel's eyes went over to Wesley again.

Wes was still... not happy. His stance was stoic if not martyred, and beyond what he probably considered the polite essentials, he wasn't talking at all. His gaze met Angel's now, unyielding but unchallenging, just... doomed. Wes still believed that his resouling would end everything good between them.

"I'm gonna send everybody out when we do it," Willow said, drawing Angel's attention back to her. "I don't want anyone interrupting because they can't find the diet coke or tampons or... okay, I'm thinking that was probably too much information."

"Um, yeah." Angel could feel the back of his neck starting to ache from the tension, and he rubbed at it surreptitiously. "You're sure there isn't anything I can do. To help, I mean?"

"Nope, I've got it." Willow took one last survey of the table, hands on her hips, then nodded. "Yup, that's everything. Give me like ten minutes to clear the house out, and we're good to go." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Wesley's eyes were closed when Angel looked at him again, his head tipped back against the wall. Angel was about to say something, he wasn't sure what, when a familiar voice from the doorway immediately got his hackles up.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Angelus got himself a new boy, has he?"

Spike.

Fuck.

"It's Angel," he said flatly, standing up straighter instinctively. Then he said the one thing he was pretty sure was going to cut deep. "So how's the soul?" He realized, too late, that this wasn't really the conversation to be having in front of Wes.

Spike straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the doorframe and prowled in a few steps, smirking. He was still wearing that fucking stupid coat. "Soul's fine and dandy, *Angel*. I fought for it; I won it. Comes without a happiness clause, y'know."

"Too bad having it hasn't made you any less of an asshole," Angel said. From the corner of his eye, he could see Wesley watching Spike with cold interest.

"What? You were expecting bad hair and a nice new line in brooding?" Spike asked with an amused quirk of his lips. He seemed about to say more, but Wesley interrupted.

"I see little evidence of brooding, but you seem to have excelled with the bad hair."

Spike turned to look at him. "Oh. You got a tongue then. Was wondering. I'm Spike, and you, apparently, are a mistake the old poof's trying desperately to rectify. Like putting a band aid on a shotgun wound, if you ask me."

"Shut up," Angel told him, taking a few steps to put himself slightly in between the two of them like he could protect Wes that way. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Spike's gaze returned to Angel, a far too familiar sneer on his face. "Don't I? Why'd you make him then? Don't tell me it's true love, for fuck's sake, 'cause then I'd have to stake you to stop you getting too happy. Protect the world and all that. 'S what souled vamps do, apparently."

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Angel could feel his anger rising and couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It'd be so fucking satisfying to beat the crap out of Spike, who obviously deserved it. "And is that what you're doing here? Saving the world?"

"I live here," Spike said, not looking as pleased with himself as Angel would have expected with a statement like that. "And yeah. We're fighting a war to save the world from the First Evil. You come to help then? Oh yeah, that's right. You just want to use up our resources to fix your mistake. Sorry, forgot."

Wesley moved to stand beside Angel. "If by 'resources' you mean Willow's time, I feel sure she can spare the twenty minutes or so that we are asking of her. We brought our own components. I'd thank you to take your deliberately provocative aggression elsewhere. I see now exactly why you have the reputation that you do."

"Actually," Angel said, glancing at Wes and trying not to feel pleased that Wes was defending their presence even though he didn't want to be there. "Spike's aggression probably comes from the fact that he's not getting any. Funny, I don't remember what that's like," he lied.

Spike stared a little fixedly, clearly disbelieving, but also pissed. He tipped his head a little to one side and asked in a snide tone, "Got a nice tight arse, has he, sire? Feels good having someone to bruise and break again, 'm sure. Buffy know about all this then?"

Angel stiffened at the mention of Buffy's name, his fist clenching. He was aware that there were girls moving through the living room and out the front door, but none of them came through the dining room, so he had to assume that Willow had warned them to steer clear. "This isn't about Buffy; it's about you. What is this, Spike? You jealous?" He felt Wesley move closer still, their sides pressing together, and Angel had to resist the impulse to put a possessive arm around him.

Spike seemed flustered for a few moments, but then sneered some more. "What the fuck've I got to be jealous of, Angelus? Not like I enjoyed anything you ever used me for. Interesting that you chose an Englishman though. Been missing me, have you?"

"No. Can't imagine why not though, when you're such a pleasure to be around." Telling himself that he wasn't going to hit Spike, not now, with all those Potentials on the other side of the wall, Angel turned to Wes, giving the fledgling his full attention and a gentle caress. "You okay?"

Wesley gave him a tight little smile and seemed to take the attention as permission to move closer still, his hand rising up to lie flat over Angel's heart.

"Aww, sweet," Spike mocked, an edge to his voice that Angel was now confident *was* jealousy, or something closely related to it. "And there was me thinking that making a hot little love slave was something that only evil soulless vamps would do."

"Enough," Angel growled, lunging at Spike with the half-hearted intention of shutting him up, but letting Wes pull him back with a tight grip on his arm.

"Don't," Wes said quietly. "It's not worth it. *He's* not worth it." Spike laughed, and Wesley glared at him. "Speaking as one of those evil soulless vampires, I feel I should warn you that I'd have no qualms whatsoever about dusting you."

"Oh yeah?" Spike chuckled. "You're a feisty one. Suppose you could an' all if your big bad daddy here held me down."

"I wouldn't require any help," Wes asserted with calm, cool confidence.

Angel grinned at Spike, the expression feeling both natural and unnatural on his face. "See, Wes knows how to use his brain, which is something you never really learned. Even with the soul, there's no comparison between the two of you -- Wes is actually who I want." He smirked. "You never were."

He could sense the tension emanating from Spike's body; he was taut and ready to snap. "Dru always had better taste than you... well, apart from the fact she actually liked your ugly great cock inside her... but then, she was mad. You never answered my question anyhow. Buffy know about your new sweetheart? 'Cause if not, think she should be told."

"And let me guess, if I don't tell her, you will, right?' Angel rolled his eyes, part of him grateful for Wes' hand still on his arm. He didn't even want to think about what Buffy's reaction might be to the news that he and Wes were together *that* way. He remembered what it had been like to find out about the soldier guy Buffy had dated after he'd left for LA. "Grow up, Spike."

From the corner of his eye, Angel watched Willow come into the room and spot the three of them so close together, their postures clearly confrontational even to a non-vamp. She wrinkled up her nose and left in a hurry.

"Hey, Wes?" Spike laughed. "Maybe you need to use that brain of yours to explain to lunkhead here what immortality's all about. You know -- sleep all day, party all night, never grow old, never die... "

"As I remember," Wes answered coldly, "The vampires in that film died quite thoroughly. But be that as it may, you seem to be doing a conspicuous lack of partying. The soul must make that difficult, I imagine."

Spike didn't deny Wesley's words, saying simply, "Well, your partying days are apparently numbering less than zero, mate. So dunno what you're crowing for."

Angel felt Wes stiffen beside him and quickly said, "Wes doesn't have a hundred years of killing to feel guilty for. It'll be different for him."

"Yeah? This new boy of yours was a Watcher from what I've heard. Buffy's in the process right now of sending Giles out with a few of the girls to stop him coming in here with a stake. He's feeling a bit murderous these days, is our Rupes, and he don't seem to like the idea of a Watcher-vamp. Can't say I blame him actually. How'd you think you'll feel, Wes, all souled up, knowing what you've become? Little bit like staying up to see to see the sun, I'd reckon."

Wes was statue-still and silent beside Angel.

"Wesley understands," Angel insisted. "He knows what I am. He knows what a souled vampire can be, if he chooses."

"Really?" Spike asked, tipping his head and studying Wes. "Don't look like he agrees with you, Angel."

Stung, Wesley said angrily, "I have long admired Angel."

"Sure. 'Course you've admired the big hulking brute of a hero, who wouldn't? Well, me... but that's not the point, Wes, old boy. Point is, you're a Watcher, trained to think of me and mine as abominations, and even souled, we're a danger to humanity *apparently*. And now you are one, a little big bad -- like Dustin Hoffman with fangs. How's your training gonna cope with that?"

"The same way he's dealt with it the whole time he's known me." Angel's fist was clenched again, and he was only holding back from hitting Spike because of Wesley's hand still on his arm. "Wes is about a thousand times smarter than you, Spike. He can cope. And I'll be there to help him when he needs it. Too bad you've never inspired that kind of loyalty in me, huh?"

Wes still said nothing; it made Angel worry.

Spike's hands were pushed inside his coat pockets, but Angel could tell his fists were bunched. "Shit, Angelus. Your head's so big 's wonder you can get enough gel to coat all your follicles. Sorry to disappoint an' all, but you were never much more than a pain in my arse. Literally. Unlike you, I'm not a big Irish poofter."

It wasn't the words that pushed Angel over the edge -- it was probably just a build-up of everything that had happened over the past few days. In any case, he lunged at Spike so unexpectedly that Wes, who wouldn't have been able to stop him anyway, pretty much let him go. Angel shoved Spike to the floor, the two of them going down in a heap, and Spike cracking his head on the baseboard. Angel started punching, each smash of his fist into Spike's face loosening the tightness in his own chest.

Spike roared into furious game face and rose up, grabbing Angel's face between his hands and biting hard into his cheek. Spike's fangs went all the way through the flesh to crack into Angel's own teeth.

Enraged, Angel was preparing to batter the blond irritant senseless, when he heard a female voice command, "Dirime!" and felt himself flying up and back into the wall. Pulling himself up, he saw Willow and a furious looking Buffy in the doorway.

Spike looked up and laughed. "Oops. Someone's in for it now."

Wiping at the blood that he could feel running down his face, Angel snarled in Spike's direction, shaking with fury and trying to control the impulse to hurl himself at the other vampire a second time.

"*Enough,*" Buffy said, drawing his attention in a way no one else could have. "Both of you. Spike, why don't you go outside and cool off?" She didn't look at Spike as she said the words, and Angel felt a little glimmer of sadistic pleasure at that.

"Why?" Spike asked angrily, pulling himself to his feet and dabbing under his nose with the back of his hand. "Your Watcher out there with a stake for me?" Nonetheless, he left the room, shrugging his coat back onto his shoulders.

Wes had moved towards Angel, but stopped halfway, as if confused about what he should be doing in this situation. "Would you like me to take a look at that?" he asked, indicating Angel's face wound.

"It's fine," Angel said shortly, most of his attention still on Buffy. He jerked his head in the direction Spike had gone. "He started it."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh." Her arms were crossed in front of her, her posture straight and perfect. "I don't care who started it. I've got twenty-something girls staying here and only two bathrooms, and the last thing I need is for you and Spike to knock down a couple of walls as you butt heads."

Wes retreated back to where he had come from, returning to silence. Willow busied herself around the room, lighting candles and incense, and said, "I'm about to start with the room cleansing so any more displays of vamp testosterone should be taken outside, please."

"Yeah, right," Angel said, realizing that he was getting all tied up in knots over nothing. Spike -- and Buffy's irritation -- weren't what was important here.

He went over to Wes and ran a hand up the fledgling's arm, stopping at the spot between shoulder and neck and giving a gentle squeeze. "You okay? He didn't, you know, upset you?"

Wes gave a tight little smile, but didn't answer. His arms were folded in such a way that they were almost wrapped around him. He glanced over in Buffy's direction, but his gaze didn't settle.

Oh. Feeling stupid for not realizing sooner, Angel looked over his shoulder at Buffy. "I need to talk to Wes for a minute. Could you do me a really big favor and go make sure Spike is okay?" Buffy did a double-take, and Angel clarified, "I wouldn't want Giles to stake him before I had a chance to hit him again."

"Right," Buffy said slowly, exchanging glances with Willow. "Angel, get this done quick, okay? We're fighting a war here, and if you're not here to join my army, I seriously don't have time for this." She turned and left the room.

Willow looked at the two vamps. "I guess you'll want me gone too? You've got five minutes, not a minute more. This is my firm face, so you know I mean it." She followed Buffy out and pulled the door to behind her.

Angel would have been fine with Willow staying, since she actually had something to do, but not like he was going to complain about having some alone time. He wrapped his arms around Wes and pulled him close. "Sorry about the Spike thing."

"It was... interesting." While Wes did return the embrace, he felt stiff in Angel's arms and his head was turned to the side, his eyes apparently focused on Willow's ritual items and the box containing the orb.

Which, Angel realised with a chill, could so easily have been damaged had his fight with Spike been allowed to go on longer. "He just pisses me off," he said, trying for a lighter tone of voice. "Always has."

"He doesn't seem to like you much either." Wesley's voice seemed kind of distant.

Angel shifted uncomfortably, then nuzzled Wes' throat, hoping to distract him. "There are reasons for that, I guess."

Wesley seemed to be putting up with the attention rather than enjoying it. "Yes, I can't imagine Angelus was a great deal of fun to have as a sire-in-situ."

Pulling back, Angel tried to get Wesley to meet his eyes. "Probably not."

Wes seemed to sense what Angel wanted, as he did his best, although with obvious reluctance, to drag his gaze up to meet Angel's. The unsteady eye contact didn't even make the two-second mark before Wes grimaced and buried his face against Angel's neck. At least the resistance was gone from the fledgling's body now, Wesley almost clinging to Angel.

"Hey... it's okay." Angel cradled Wes closer, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. "Everything's gonna be fine. You trust me, don't you?"

Wesley didn't answer, but snuggled closer, his arms tightening almost painfully. There was a noise outside the door however -- just someone passing -- and Wes drew back, pushing out of Angel's arms and moving back to the wall. "We should perhaps let Willow get on with this. Drawing it out isn't going to make it any easier."

"Okay. Yeah." Angel wouldn't -- couldn't -- let himself feel hurt that Wes hadn't said he trusted him. "You're right. Let's get Willow in here and get this done."

***

Bloody hell. Bloody fucking bleeding hell.

Spike stormed through the back door, stopping short on the veranda, as the garden was full of Potentials. Bugger it. There really was no place to be on his own anymore. You'd have thought after the school basement, Spike would've been glad about that, but just right now he really didn't want to be around vulnerable little girls. There was so much blind fury bubbling and steaming inside of him that the soul was terrified for the children doing callisthenics on the lawn.

He lit up and inhaled deeply, trying to find some kind of calm. But it wasn't happening. Bloody Angel.

Wasn't the conspiracy to kill him enough to have to deal with? No, apparently being locked in a room lined with crucifixes by a hurt little boy in a murderous ninja's costume wasn't hell enough for the likes of Spike. He had to have the return of the Great White Poof as well, complete with his all-new toffee-nosed toerag boy.

And of course, Buffy wouldn't hear a sodding word against the big lummox.

Jealous, heh. That was a joke. Did Angel really have so little clue about what an absolute fucking arsehole he'd been as Angelus?

Yeah, sure, they'd had some laughs together. Laughs that now made the soul scream inside Spike. Made him wanna beat his head pulpy against the wall to make it shut the fuck up. But yeah, there'd been moments when him and Angelus had been almost... mates. Except Angelus had never let Spike forget that, in his opinion, Spike was his property, to be used and abused at whim.

And since Spike had entertained the opposite opinion that had meant endless... well, beatings to start with. Then as Spike had grown stronger, fights. But the fisticuffs had ended up as beatings too. Didn't matter how strong Spike got, Angel was always gonna be stronger. That pissed him off; didn't mind admitting it.

But it didn't matter how often or how thoroughly Angelus had broken Spike's body, as he'd never ever won. Not really. Sure Spike would beg eventually -- plead to be let alone, or to be fucked, or just that he was sorry. But they'd both known it was just rote and ritual and empty words, and that Spike's spirit was undamaged and still his own. He was nobody's sodding property.

Sometimes he felt like he'd spent the whole of the Twentieth Century just proving that fact again and again. Rubbing his grandsire's face in the fact that Spike was so much more than just his 'boy'.

Which all made the whole situation with his soul, and Buffy, and everything else of the here and now -- like trying to save the world and all that stupid shit -- kind of embarrassing. Because Spike knew he wasn't following in the big fat footsteps of Bat-Angel, flappy-coated crusader and doomed romantic hero. But he had to admit the evidence was stacking up against him.

He pulled his coat around himself and watched the Potentials glumly. His face hurt. Angelus had always hit him in the face first, liking to have the bruises where he could see them, Spike guessed. It was all about possession with the bastard, always had been. The bruises had marked Spike out as his. Hell, Spike might as well have worn a sodding dog collar and tag marked 'Property of the Irish Poofter. If found, please return for a solid beating up.'

You'd think Angel would be happier, less prone to want to slam his fists into Spike's cheekbones, now that he'd got himself a new English boy. One so obedient and submissive that he'd even allow himself to be souled again, when his fear and unwillingness of this procedure stank from every pore of the gangly wanker's skin.

Apparently not.

Stubbing out the dog end of his fag, Spike turned back to go inside. Angel stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he was trying to seem more relaxed and casual than he actually was. Spike rolled his eyes in extreme exasperation. "Buffy know you're out here? Only I got the impression she wasn't into seeing any more ringside specials."

"So we won't let her see." Angel didn't move -- just kept standing there looking at him, making him twitchy.

Spike let his eyes slide to the lawn full of young girls, most of whom had stopped exercising to watch the two of them, seeming to sense the tension. Hell, Andrew had probably given them all a slideshow presentation about the whole bloody Aurelian line.

What Angel had just said finally filtered through. "Oh," Spike said, nodding thoughtfully. "So. Wanna go for a walk then?"

Angel looked at him, patient, like maybe he'd never shift himself from the doorway, then said, "Sure. Not too far though."

"Where's the late Watcher then?" Spike asked, pulling his fags from his pocket again as they walked through the side gate. He offered the pack to Angel.

"Willow's getting him ready." Angel sounded terse, but he took the slightly battered pack from Spike's hand and got out a cigarette. "You're lucky he and Buffy kept me from ripping your face off. You know that, right?" It was said mildly, without any heat.

"You never could take too much in the way of truth, could you?" After lighting up, he passed Angel his Zippo.

Angel lit his own cigarette, then handed the pack and lighter back to Spike. "It doesn't have anything to do with truth."

"Your compulsion to batter me? No, probably not." They started walking down the road together. "So what d'you blame it on?"

"Me wanting to hit you all the time?" Angel shrugged and took a long drag, like it'd been too long since the last time he'd smoked. "I dunno. Probably the fact that you piss me off."

"Oh, so it's nothing personal then." Spike grinned at his grandsire, for some incomprehensible reason feeling a lot calmer.

Angel smirked back at him. "Other than that the person in question is you? Nah."

"So you never hit Long Tall Larry in there then?" Spike gestured back down the road with his head.

"Didn't say that." Angel shrugged again, the curve of his shoulders low.

Spike studied him. "So you hit him, but you don't feel good about it? That the soul talking? Or is there some other reason he doesn't make a satisfactory punching bag?"

As if reacting to the scrutiny, Angel tucked his hands into his coat pockets. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, obviously that's me talking -- *me,* not the soul. But..."

"Bloody hell," Spike said, not believing what he'd suddenly realised. He stopped and stared at Angel. "You love the lanky git."

Angel slouched even more, like if he hunched his shoulders enough he could disappear into his coat altogether. "No, I don't."

"Oh, come off it! You can't lie to me; you never could. You sodding well love him. It's written all over you, just like his stink is in your pores." Spike laughed, trying very hard not to hear the bitter edge to the sound. "For fuck's sake, keep him unsouled 'cause really, mate, the return of your more outgoing alter-ego is the last thing we need here right now."

"If I leave him like this, I'm going to be following him around forever, stopping him from killing, cleaning up his messes. Trust me, I need that just about as much."

Spike found he couldn't leave well enough alone. "So 's that why you made him? 'Cause you love him? That's very old school of you, grandsire. Did you give him a choice?"

Before he could blink, Spike found himself flat on his back with Angel on top of him, the collar of his duster fisted into Angel's hands. "You think *I* had a choice? You think I would have done something like that if..." Angel sat back on his heels, shaking his head in what looked like disgust.

Spike stared up at Angel, who was straddling him, and repressed his renewed rage -- and any other emotion he wouldn't admit to be feeling -- choosing instead to allow a slow grin to form on his face, his tongue pushing into the corner of his lower lip. He flexed his hips, pushing up into Angel's arse. "Didn't think you liked it this way, you great pon--"

Angel clamped a hand around Spike's throat, effectively cutting him off. "You don't know what I like. You never did."

Instinctively, Spike's hands went to Angel's wrist, trying and failing to move it. But then he had a better idea and gathered his hands into a double fist, bringing them down hard towards the git's balls.

The blow was only partially deflected by Angel's muscular thighs, and the bigger vampire rolled off Spike, curling up around himself and groaning. "There, see?" Angel wheezed. "Anyone could have guessed I wouldn't like *that.*"

"Well, I hardly did it 'cause I thought you'd like it," Spike said, rolling his eyes as he stood up. He gazed down at Angel, and then, strangely, found himself offering his grandsire a hand up.

Angel glared at him, kind of half-heartedly, and then accepted the hand and let Spike pull him to his feet. Still slightly bent over, Angel asked, "So what *is* this? I mean, what are you trying to accomplish?"

Spike started walking again, slowly so the old pillock could keep up. "What d'you mean? Here in Sunnydale?"

"Yeah. I guess." Angel paused. "With the soul."

Spike *really* didn't want to talk about the 'whys' of the soul. He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."

"Uh huh."

He sighed and looked sideways at Angel. "I thought I'd be a better..." he snorted quietly, "man with it."

"And yet somehow you seem to think Wes will be a better man without one?"

"Nope. Just think you're a better man without the happy of fucking the souled."

Angel snorted. "So it's me you're worried about. I'm touched."

"Actually, it's Buffy," Spike admitted. "She doesn't need to go through that again. Though if you want another round of breaking Giles' fingers, I won't stop you." He paused and then sighed. "Ah, who am I kidding; I probably would an' all."

"Well, you don't have to worry about it. I'm not... going to go bad again." Angel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

Spike shot him a look. "Why not?"

"Because it's not that simple?" Angel sighed. "Do you have any idea how many things in my life would have to fall into place for me to have a moment of perfect happiness?"

Having this -- almost civilised -- conversation was odd, but Spike thought he liked it. After all, there wasn't anyone around he had more in common with than Angel. Which didn't mean they wouldn't be fighting again within a few minutes, but that was cool too. Nice bit of violence that they both knew wouldn't ever be deadly for either of them. Where was the harm in it?

He glanced at Angel. "Your unlife got a lot more complicated since the Buffy days then?"

Angel shrugged and just kept walking. "Yeah."

"Got yourself a gang, yeah? Your pretty Wes, of course. The cheerleader and the Irish half-demon? Maybe some more since then? 'S weird how they get into yo--" Spike stopped walking again and stared at Angel who was looking as if... as if he wanted to hurt Spike badly again, only he wasn't. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

"Nothing. You didn't know." A pause, and then, "They're all dead."

Spike felt something screw up inside him -- his soul he supposed. Angel was... well, either Angel was radiating pain or Spike was all too good at imagining how he'd feel in the same circumstances. "All of them? How many? How? When? Fuck, sorry, 'spect you don't wanna talk about it. Bugger."

The two of them stood there, not really looking at each other. After a minute, Angel offered, "Couple of weeks ago. That's when Wes... when I..."

Hardly able to believe he was doing it, Spike stepped forward and put his hand on Angel's arm. "I'm sorry, mate. Really."

Angel flinched, but didn't pull away. He took a shuddering breath, like he was trying to calm himself down. "Thanks."

Spike took his hand away before it got too uncomfortable for both of them. "You want help getting the arseholes that did it? Or you already taken care of that?"

Angel cleared his throat, glancing up at Spike and then back down at the ground. "Yeah. It's been... taken care of."

"I see why you made him now," Spike admitted, sympathetic despite everything. "You should be getting back to him, I guess."

"Yeah." Angel gave a pained chuckle. "Might as well find out what happens next, huh?"

Spike nodded. "Yeah. I, er... I won't tell Buffy. But she's not stupid, Angel. She watches you two together too much, she'll see for herself. And while, in a way, that'd suit me just fine, she's got enough to handle without it."

"I know." They started walking back toward the house. "And you're right. About her having enough to handle, I mean."

"Things have kinda gone to shit here," Spike told him. "The First Evil... well, you know how that one goes. D'you hear that I got myself brainwashed and programmed and the like? Chips, souls and triggers -- where the fuck am I under all that crap? Well, only one of 'em left now, but still." He was filling in the empty space with his chatter, the thought of what Angel had lost was bothering him more than it had any right to.

Angel glanced at him, clearly startled. "The chip's gone?"

Spike frowned. "Got a soul now. You of all people should know how much better that is at keeping us in line. Chip only hurts for a few minutes at worst. Soul never bloody stops."

"Oh, trust me, I know. I was just surprised. I was kind of under the impression that you were stuck with it." Angel was starting to sound more like himself.

"Buffy made the soldiers take it out. Was killing me, you see. Had started misfiring." Spike couldn't stop himself adding, "She could've had 'em fix it, but she trusts me, see. Now."

"I hope she has reason to," Angel said quietly, but it wasn't an accusation. In fact, it sounded more like... an expectation.

"Dunno." Spike looked down. "Did some bad stuff -- real bad stuff -- under the First's programming. Didn't know I was doing it, but... Don't know why she trusts me really. I wouldn't." Especially after the thing that he would never ever admit to Angel that he had tried to do before getting the soul.

Angel reached out and punched Spike's upper arm, not really hard enough to hurt. More like he wanted to make sure he had Spike's attention. "That's not really the way to convince me it's safe to leave you here with her, you know."

"Maybe you shouldn't," Spike said very quietly, still looking down.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence. "Christ," Angel said, the tension in his frame saying loud and clear that he'd like to hit something. Again. "This really isn't what I need right now, Spike."

Spike looked up in a hurry. "No need to get your scanties twisted, mate. I only meant you should maybe stay. You and the newly resouled, I mean. We could do with all the help we can get here; that's all."

"I don't... I can't make any promises. I don't know what Wes is gonna want to do." Angel was obviously conflicted.

Spike considered things briefly. "He's a Watcher. Regardless of the 'ex' or the blood-drinking, that's what he'll always be. 'Cause the First's brainwashing has nothing on the Council's. Nothing at all. So if he knows what's going on here and believes he can help, he'll stay. Trust me on that one."

Angel nodded as the house came into sight. "Maybe you're right."

Spike was quiet until they were walking up the driveway, when he said casually, "You were one of them, you know."

Confused, Angel frowned. "One of what?"

Spike looked at the front door, shrugged and headed round the back again. "One of the guises the First used to torment me."

"Huh." Angel didn't sound very surprised. "Guess that makes sense." He paused, then asked, "You want me to tell you I'm sorry?"

Spike hesitated on the back porch and gave Angel a disbelieving look, refusing to take the question as anything deeper than the most surface meaning. "That the First wore your face? Nah, mate. That won't be necessary." He opened the back door, and they went in.

***

Wesley stared glumly at the orb that now contained his soul. That... that patch of St Elmo's fire was apparently a soul, an immortal conscience. *His* immortal conscience. He wondered dimly if he could move quickly enough to smash the orb before someone could stop him. But Buffy was too close by, leaning against the dresser with her arms folded, watching him as if he were about to bolt, which he supposed he would be once the orb was smashed.

Slayers. They had been the bane of his existence in many ways. It was only right that she was here now to oversee the destruction of his one chance at happiness. Being conscience free, for all that it had come with so much pain and grief, had been such a... relief. For once he had been free of the constant attrition of the endless and ever growing tumour of guilt he'd nurtured inside him.

Allowing it back inside him would be like... like deliberately hamstringing his own legs. Oh Lord, he couldn't do this. Yet he was still here.

Still here, even though Angel wasn't. Buffy had told him matter-of-factly that his sire had gone out to play with Spike, and Wesley didn't like the sound of that whatever way he replayed it in his head. He needed Angel here -- needed his strength and his... need for him. He didn't trust Spike and didn't want the two of them together, for many reasons.

"It will all be over soon," Willow told him sympathetically from where she was readying the second part of the ritual. "And then we'll just have Angel to do, and you'll be all set."

The words, at least the meaning of them, didn't hit him immediately. When it did, he turned and stared hard at her. "What are you going to do to Angel?"

"Um, you know. Getting rid of his food allergy." Willow spoke distractedly, like she wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying.

Wes attempted to translate the scooby-ese in his head but got nowhere. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Willow, unless you're referring to removing his soul, and that would seem rather stupid, even to me."

"What?" Willow turned her head and looked at him. "No, not the soul. Why would we do that? Hello, we're just in the middle of trying to give you back yours."

"You said 'food allergy'," Wes pointed out. "The only thing he can't eat is living human blood."

"Actually, technically he can," Willow said, glancing at Buffy apologetically. "But I was talking about, you know. The happiness clause. See, there was this whole analogy about changing part of a spell being like changing ingredients when you're cooking, and -- "

Wesley had forgotten, or rather he had allowed himself to forget, quite how difficult the Sunnydale children were to communicate with. However, he thought he'd finally gathered Willow's meaning and so interrupted. "You're stripping Angel's curse of the happiness clause?"

Willow blinked at him uncertainly. "Yes?"

"Okay," Buffy interrupted, before Wesley could respond. "Have we stepped into bizarro world or something here? Since when can you just remove part of a spell like that?"

Willow gave a little shrug. "Since always? I mean, once you know what you're doing."

Angel hadn't told Wesley about this. Angel hadn't told him about Spike's soul either. Wesley supposed the former meant he wouldn't have a happiness clause either with his resouling, not that it mattered. Happiness and his soul were not compatible. And what the latter meant, really, he had no idea.

He frowned at Buffy. "Shouldn't he be back in here by now?"

Buffy's arms were crossed in front of her, her stance radiating her annoyance. "Well yeah, other than the whole bizarro world thing. For all I know, he and Spike ran off to get married."

Wesley felt himself looking away with distaste. It was strange; he'd expected to feel jealous about Angel's connection to Buffy and hadn't really considered Spike as a catalyst for this particular sort of unease. No, that wasn't strictly true, but still things were not playing out quite the way he'd imagined.

In fact, the realisation abruptly hit him, they were worse than he'd thought. Much worse. And he'd been right to fear Buffy more than Spike as a threat to his link with Angel. Because with the happiness clause gone, there was nothing stopping Angel being with Buffy, his one true love. And turning back to study the Slayer, Wes could see clearly that the same realisation had just hit her.

Suddenly, there was no point in dreading the resouling. Angel, it seemed, was lost to him no matter what happened... and in fact, as Angel would only let Wes leave if he were souled, it would be best for that to happen and quickly.

"Let's get this over and done with," he told Willow, his voice gruff. He wrapped his arms around himself and added emphatically, "*Please.*"

From the doorway, Angel said, "Yeah. We ready to do this?" He glanced at Wes, then his eyes went almost immediately to Buffy, who gazed back at him steadily. Wesley felt something crushing inside of him, crumpling up like metal foil into a tight ball.

It was almost ironic to see Spike beyond Angel, the expression on his face so exactly like how Wesley felt.

Willow nodded slowly, watching the two fated lovers stare at each other. "Yup. All set." She waited another second or two, then cleared her throat, and Buffy wrenched her eyes away from Angel.

"Right," Buffy said. Wesley could see the faint blush on her cheeks clearly, the rosy glow of blood just beneath the skin taunting him in more ways than one. "Okay. I'm just gonna go do..." She pointed out the doorway, realised that she was pointing at Angel, flushed more, and jerked her thumb at the other exit. "Um. Check on the girls. Spike? You coming?"

Spike's expression was back to the punk sneer. "Nah. Reckon I'm staying here to see how the fun and games work out." He slid into the room and grabbed a dining chair, spinning it around before sitting astride it, folding his arms on the back.

Buffy shrugged, and with another, almost unwilling, gaze at Angel, she left the room.

"Okay. So," Willow said brightly. "Um, Wesley, do you want to, you know, sit down somewhere? I mean, not speaking from personal experience as the soul-ee, but my guess is this isn't going to be much fun."

Wes quickly perused the room. "I'm fine where I am."

Willow raised a hand in a 'whatever you like' sort of gesture, then turned to pick up the book she'd been reading over earlier.

Moving over closer to Wesley, Angel asked, "So is there... something I can do? To help?"

"Not really," Willow said. She must have realised how this sounded, as she immediately added, "I mean... just be ready. In case he, you know..."

Because he'd already pretty much wedged himself in the corner, it wasn't actually possible for Wesley to back away from Angel, but he found himself doing his best, without ever consciously intending it. The idea of being touched by his sire currently was... intolerable. "I don't need any help," he insisted, not meeting anyone's eyes. His own cowardice was revolting, but it was as much as he could do to just stop himself running, or worse still, throwing himself at Angel's feet and begging for... something.

He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.

"Just do it," he grated out.

Angel seemed to note his discomfort and took a half step away, but it was clear from his sire's hovering stance that Angel was prepared to do whatever might be needed.

"Okay, okay." Willow's eyes flickered over the page one more time, then she set the book back down. She picked up the orb, cradling it between her hands, and started to chant.

Once her attention was on the spell, Angel moved closer again. Despite himself, Wesley looked up. Angel's expression was difficult to read, but Wes thought it might be a combination of concern and regret. "Just... it won't be long now," Angel said quietly.

Wesley closed his eyes.

So much of him just wanted to reach out and touch Angel, hold him and be held. To take comfort like a child would from strong arms wrapped around him, a caring voice muttering soothing platitudes. But really, that would just be prolonging the pain. He tightened his arms around himself and tried to concentrate only on the objective of getting this done and getting out of here.

"Leave the poor bloke alone, Angel," Wesley heard Spike say. "Can't you see he doesn't want you near him?"

"Shut up, Spike." Angel's voice was low and grating, but the anger that had been in it earlier during the confrontation with Spike seemed to be gone. Still, Angel stayed where he was. Didn't come closer.

Willow's chanting was steady. She sounded confident, and it set Wesley's teeth on edge. Only it wasn't her voice, he realised, that was causing the irritation. It was happening.

A feeling of pressure began to grow inside Wes -- not quite a physical sensation, more a welling up of unspecified emotion. It quickly became uncomfortable and then painful, and despite his stoic intentions, Wesley was scared.

This was going to destroy him and destroy Angel too.

Suddenly, Buffy and happiness clauses and everything else ceased to matter. All that was important was Angel. Wes opened his eyes and stared at his sire, beseeching him, his arms half-reaching out. "Oh God, Angel..."

Almost immediately, Angel moved the few steps needed to reach Wesley, to take hold of him. "It's okay, Wes. I'm right here. It's gonna be okay."

"No. God, no, it isn't." Wesley clung to Angel then as the terrifying feelings overwhelmed him, his knees buckling so he was held more or less upright only by his sire's strong arms. There was heaviness growing fast inside him, as if gravity were somehow increasing. Like stepping out of the swimming pool, everything of him seemed three or four times its normal weight.

The sensation expanded, rapidly filling him, pushing down on him, rising up inside him until he felt it burst out of his eyes and mouth as blinding light. Blinding pain consumed his consciousness. He tried to call out to Angel as the light carried him away, but he never heard his own voice.

It was rather strange, Wesley thought as he started to come round, that unconsciousness should be accompanied by such a brilliant whiteness instead of the more traditional darkness. He could feel Angel's arms cradling him and hear Angel's voice saying repeatedly, "Wes? Come on, Wes, wake up."

He struggled to sit up, which he eventually managed because Angel helped and not because Angel had released him. Opening his eyes, Wesley saw he was surrounded by anxious looking faces. This was... humiliating. "Help me up," he instructed Angel.

Angel paused, then did as told, assisting as Wesley got to his feet, but still not letting go of him completely. Wesley could feel the tension almost radiating from his sire. "You okay?" Angel's thumb moved across Wes' upper arm.

Wesley tested his stance. "Yes. You can let me go now." He backed up a step from Angel, whose arms fell uselessly to his sides. For several moments, Wesley stared into his sire's eyes. There were so many questions that it was far too late to ask, the least of which -- why? -- was most close to being spoken. He may have even mouthed the word.

But then he turned, nodded a brusque thanks to Willow, and left the room, heading for the front door, because the answers didn't matter, only the facts that had provoked the questions.

"Wes? Wesley... *wait.*" Angel sounded more frantic than Wesley would have expected, but also as though he was trying to put some level of command into his voice. Angel's hand grabbed onto his arm, pulling at him to stop, urging him to turn around. "Please. Wes?"

Wesley could hear the coldness in his own voice when he asked, "Have you changed your mind?"

Angel blinked, and his grip on Wes' arm loosened noticeably. "Changed my mind about what?"

"You said you would no longer try to control me, now that I'm... whole."

Behind Angel, Wesley could see Spike slouching in the dining room doorway, watching the conversation, a slight frown on his face. Having an audience was far from desirable. Wesley pulled his arm from Angel's grip.

"Sorry," Angel said, glancing from Wes to the floor and back again, obviously very agitated at a turn of events that Wesley had been predicting all along. "I'm not... I mean, I won't. Try to control you. But I don't want you to go."

Defiant, vindictive words danced on the tip of Wesley's tongue, but he swallowed them, looked down, and said quietly. "I really am sorry." He could hear Angel draw in breath to ask what for and so raised his eyes to explain. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay." He clasped a hand to Angel's arm and added intensely. "Angel, stay here. You're needed here. You're lov--" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "It will be good for you here."

Wesley turned, walked out the front door, and didn't look back.