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Dust Settlesby WesleysGirlRating: R Angel/Spike Written for KellyHK. "FUCK!" Spike's voice rang out in the basement of the ruined building, and Angel slapped a bloodied hand over his mouth. "Shut up," Angel said sharply, taking his hand away and looking down at Spike's still-crooked leg. "Or do you want somebody to know we're down here?" Spike was breathing, each exhale a pained whimper that dissolved into the air like smoke. "What bloody difference does it make?" he asked, shifting his body and stifling the accompanying cry. "They're gonna find us sooner or later." "Yeah, well, I'd rather it was later, if you don't mind." Angel got up, wiping his hands on his slacks and mentally counting the hours until the sun would go down. They'd lost Wes first, of course. Looking back, Angel knew they'd lost him when Fred had completed her strange metamorphosis into Illyria. Wesley hadn't changed right along with her, not exactly, but that had been when he'd slipped over the line, and Angel wasn't sure that anything would have ever been enough to pull him back. Gunn and Illyria had both died in the alley, with the rain pouring down. One minute Gunn had been standing there, and the next he was on the pavement, totally still, unblinking despite the rain that fell directly into his opened eyes. It had reminded Angel, for a second, of Darla, and the night Connor was born. "You gonna give this another shot, or what?" Spike asked, interrupting his train of thought. "It's in pieces, Spike," Angel said wearily, looking at Spike's leg again. "Yeah, well, so was my spine, once, and that healed up all right," Spike said. "And how long did it take?" Angel asked. "Months. It doesn't matter how many times I try to straighten it out, it's still not going to heal overnight. Even if you had unlimited blood." He didn't need to point out that they didn't. Wouldn't. They were both quiet for a while. "How many do you think there were?" Spike asked. Angel didn't want to talk about it. "Too many," he said reluctantly. "Thousands. Tens of thousands." Spike nodded. He looked small, broken, on his back but with his weight hitched up onto his elbows. "How far you think it went?" That, Angel didn't want to talk or think about. He decided to give yanking Spike's leg bones back into place another shot instead, since, if nothing else, it'd shut Spike up. Well, stop him talking about things Angel didn't want to talk about, at least. Going back over and kneeling down, Angel ran his hand lightly up the inside of Spike's thigh, concentrating on feeling the bones without jarring them. As his hand neared the top of the seam, Spike tilted his head and gave Angel a strange grin. "Angel. You getting fresh with me?" "You'd know if I was," Angel said, letting one fingertip brush the underside of Spike's balls very deliberately and watching as Spike's eyes narrowed. He took advantage of that moment of distraction to grab hold of Spike's leg just above the knee and *pull*, adding a twist of his wrist that slid the bone back into alignment and made Spike scream, head tipped back and tendons in his throat standing out. Like the last time, Angel reached out his other hand and clapped it over Spike's mouth, effectively cutting off most of the sound. He let go of Spike's leg first, then uncovered his mouth. Spike's scream had faded into something more strangled by then, his eyes glaring at Angel like he blamed him for everything that had ever happened. Maybe he did. Angel couldn't really be mad at him for it. "Here," Angel said, moving over behind Spike, shoving himself into the space between Spike and the wall and letting Spike lean against him. It had to be more comfortable than the concrete, and Angel didn't like hearing anyone making sounds like the ones Spike was making, pained sounds with every breath he didn't need to be taking. Okay, so maybe he did like hearing them, but he didn't want to like hearing them. "Didn't know you cared," Spike said, turning his face into Angel's chest. "I don't," Angel said, holding him. "I just want you to shut up." There couldn't be much left of L.A. at that point. They'd fought all night until the first rays of sunshine creeping into the streets had driven them inside, underground, and had been here ever since, but that didn't mean they hadn't been able to hear it. The screaming, the sounds of buildings collapsing. Spike must have been thinking along the same lines Angel was, because he said, "Like the end of the world." "Yeah," Angel said. "Think we can stop it?" Spike asked. Angel sighed, settling a hand on Spike's chest where he'd have been able to feel a heartbeat if Spike had one. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to lie and reassure you?" "Yeah, but you've gone and fucked it up now," Spike said, his voice slightly muffled against Angel's torn shirt. "What else is new?" Angel had been fucking things up for years. Even this, or what had started it, had been his idea. It was quiet for a while, or mostly quiet. They could still hear faint sounds of the battle, if you could even call it battle. It was more like the slaughter of innocents. Then Spike said, "Yeah." "Yeah, what?" Angel asked. "Yeah, this'd be the part where you reassure me." Angel leaned down and inhaled the scent of Spike's hair -- blood and sweat and bile, demon smells. Death smells, right and wrong at the same time. "As soon as your leg heals up, we're going to get out of here and end this. You and me. Take down the bad guys and put everything back the way it's supposed to be." He didn't even know if he could figure out what that was anymore. "Angel?" Spike said. "Hm?" "You're a bloody awful liar." Angel smiled faintly. "Tell me something I don't know." He thought that maybe he'd finally shut Spike up, but then Spike cleared his throat. "Glad you're here," Spike said. That didn't mean anything, of course. But it was, just maybe, better than nothing. End.
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