A Past Not Forgotten

Author: angelspike69 & anamcara420

Pairing: Angel/Spike

Summary: It’s been 25 years since the events in the alley. Who survived?

Spoilers: There will be some slight spoilers from Not Fade Away, and then it goes totally AU as the screen went black.

Warnings: M/M sex – if this isn’t your cup of tea, then don’t read.

Disclaimer: Joss created the characters. We’re just playing with boys, and having lots of fun.

Distribution: My Perfect Rhyme and in my LJ Memories. If you’d like to archive it, please ask.

Authors’ Note #1: Many thanks go out to Elisabeth (dragonydreams) for the wonderful beta. She answered our call, and we are truly thankful.

Feedback: AngelSpike69 & Anamcara420.

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~Part: 1~

May 2004

Angel walked cautiously into the alley, blinking through the rain splashing onto his face, looking left and right, hoping for a glimpse of his friends; hoping that the demons had not yet arrived.

Spike appeared from the shadows, his face bloodied. “Boo,” he said in an attempt to be his normally nonchalant snarky self.

Angel sighed inwardly in relief. Spike had made it. “Anyone else?”

“Not so far. You feel the heat?”

“It’s coming.” Angel responded quietly.

With his usual snark, Spike answered. “Finally got ourselves a decent brawl.”

The two vampires turned when they heard footsteps. A bloody Gunn ran down the alley toward them, carrying his beloved homemade battle-axe. As he neared them, his steps faltered, but he grinned a little. “Damn! How did I know the fang boys would pull through? You’re lucky we’re on the same side, dogs, ‘cause I was on fire tonight.”

His voice grew weaker. “My game was tight.”

He wavered and almost collapsed, but Angel and Spike caught him and helped him to sit on a box.

Spike looked at Gunn’s wounds. “You’re supposed to wear the red stuff on the inside, Charlie boy.”

The injured man looked down at the blood covering his chest and then stared up at the two vampires, concern etched on his dark, battered face. “Any word on Wes?”

There was sudden movement and Spike and Angel whirled to face it. Illyria, her blue streaked hair in a sodden tangle, jumped down into the alley. “Wesley’s dead.” She said softly.

Angel’s wet face revealed his anguish at the loss of his friend. The tears on Gunn’s face warred with the raindrops and blood. Spike hung his head.

The leather clad ancient god continued in her quiet, clipped voice. “I’m feeling grief for him. I can’t seem to control it. I wish to do more violence.”

Spike pulled his reserve of mockery from deep within his body. “Well, wishes just happen to be horses today.”

Angel glanced down the slightly brightening alley at the approaching demons and answered quietly. “Among other things.”

Lightning pierced the sky as Spike, Gunn and Illyria followed Angel’s gaze. A cacophony of shrieks and shouts hit them as the huge, clamoring horde marched purposely toward them, brandishing weapons; intent on a massacre. Fury contorted their faces; fury at the audacity of the two souled vampires and their friends who breached the secrecy of the Black Thorn and destroyed the L.A branch of Wolfram and Hart in their foolhardy attempt to bring down the Senior Partners.

Gunn, his agony blooming amid the blood on his face, spoke to Angel and Spike. “Okay. You take the 30,000 on the left…”

Illyria stared at the wounded human. “You’re fading. You’ll last 10 minutes at best.”

The proud, but injured warrior stood carefully, his hand clutched tightly around his axe. He struggled to put bravado into his voice. “Then let’s make ‘em memorable.”

Angel stepped forward, followed by Spike, Gunn and Illyria. They stood tensely, gripping their weapons as the demons strode, stomped, rolled or slithered toward them.

Spike glanced briefly at Angel. “In terms of a plan?”

Angel responded in typical laconic fashion despite the danger. “We fight.”

Spike looked more intently at Angel. “Bit more specific.”

Angel grasped his sword tightly, stepped forward and stared up. A huge dragon, its enormous wings glittering with rain drops, filled the sky above the alley. It dipped and hovered above them spewing puffs of smoke. Angel knew that the smoke was the precursor of its fiery breath.

He answered quietly, awe modulating his voice. “Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon.”

The demons drew closer and the din increased.

Angel spoke again, the awe gone, determination in his words as he raised his sword. “Let’s go to work.”

With Spike on one side of Angel, Illyria on the other and Gunn standing precariously behind, the heroes faced the multitude of demons storming toward them. Angel and Spike brandished swords wildly and cut down several in the first wave. They were not unscathed. Angel had the use of only one arm. The other hung uselessly by his side, a huge gash bleeding profusely. Spike had a large, deep gash across his chest and blood gushed from a wound in his neck. Gunn fought bravely for a few minutes but succumbed to a thrust by a four-armed Caarxeta demon.

The dragon careened toward Angel, its fiery breath dangerously close. He stabbed its belly and it spit fire as it soared upward. Angel jumped back readying his sword for another thrust. He turned his head slightly toward Spike who was battling a Kvorathan demon. Suddenly the valiant vampire, who had given his life to save the world only a year before, disappeared in a cloud of dust, staked from behind by one of the Fell Brethren. Angel froze, and then his scream pierced the air. “No!”

The alley was suddenly bathed in a blindingly brilliant white light. All movement and sound ceased. Angel lifted his eyes. Illyria stood, arms out, head thrown back as tendrils of glaring white erupted from her body and swirled violently into the passageway. Angel was flung into a shattering wall. He fell to the ground unconscious as the wall collapsed, covering him with bricks. He did not hear the demon screams and wails. He did not see them disintegrate into dust. He did not see Illyria’s body fly apart and disappear into the torrents of rain pummeling the alley.

~Part: 2~

Angel regained consciousness slowly, reluctant to pull himself from his dream; his dream of good times with Spike. He was Angelus in London prowling with the newly turned William. He taught him how to choose his victim; how to seduce a woman; how to track prey with finesse. They spent hours together alone, even after William became proficient in his attack strategy. He saw them laughing in a tavern surrounded by lovely young barmaids vying for the attention of the two obviously elegant young men. Spike, fragile and hurt after the crazed slayer cut off his hands reluctantly moving in to his penthouse to heal. Spike trying to teach him how to play the video games that he cajoled him into buying – ostensibly to help his fingers regain their flexibility. Spike laughing at him because as he failed to maneuver his large fingers on the buttons while the younger vampire’s own slender fingers flicked over the key pad amazingly fast. His offer that Spike stay in the spare room whenever he wanted. It was nice having someone to go home to occasionally. Slowly they grew closer. Their friendship grew hesitantly. He saw them tentatively comforting each other on the plane as they traveled back from the Deeper Well. Their anguish over the loss of Fred drawing them together, although they kept up their snarking in the office. Their failure to rescue Buffy from the Immortal and their reluctant realization that they had to move on as she had. The evenings spent watching old movies, drinking and talking for hours. It was not smooth sailing. They were both master vampires, but Angel learned it did not diminish him to listen and to value Spike’s suggestions…some of them. The knowledge and satisfaction that Spike always had his back and…that loyalty killed him.

Angel tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. He realized that there was a huge weight crushing him. His entire body ached and pain stabbed violently into his head. He groaned as he tried to get up.

“Did you hear that?” Faith asked.

“What?” Buffy demanded.

Angel groaned again. He heard the voices indistinctly. He marshaled all his strength and tried to move and felt some of whatever was on top of him shift.

“Listen! Wait, that pile of bricks moved. Someone is under there.” Faith yelled as she knelt next to the mound and began to toss the crumbled bricks from the pile.

“Faith, wait. It…it could be…” Buffy began.

“Yeah, and it could be Angel or Spike or Wesley or Gunn.” She retorted without stopping her search.

Two of the new slayers joined her. They had removed only a few more bricks when the mound shuddered and a dusty body lifted itself onto its knees. Faith and the young slayers drew back, while Buffy stood there brandishing her stake. The body moaned and attempted to stand. Without thinking of any possible danger, Faith rushed in to help.

“Faith, stop!” Buffy yelled as she grabbed the dark-haired slayer by the arm, stopping her from going any farther.

The body staggered to its feet and lifted its head. Everyone gasped. It was Angel; a terribly battered and bloodied Angel. Faith looked into her friend’s horribly bruised face. “Angel.” She rushed forward and he leaned heavily against her.

“Where’s everyone else? Where’s Spike, Angel? He was with you.” Buffy asked loudly in an annoyed tone. She didn’t seem to notice his damaged body.

Angel stood up a bit straighter and glared at his former lover, all feelings for her dissipated in a moment. “You’re standing on him,” he said quietly although his body trembled with rage. The pain and anger were too much and he wavered. Faith clutched him as he groaned. He stumbled past Buffy as Faith kept her arm around his waist and walked with him.

Willow, Kennedy and several of the young slayers gasped at the devastating news of Spike’s death. Dawn began to cry.

Buffy glanced down and for the first time noticed the dust scattered at her feet. She turned and stalked out of the alley after Angel. The vampire was leaning against the partial wall of a collapsed building; his head down. Faith hovered in front of him, speaking softly. “Angel, you’re hurt. I know vampire healing and all, but let’s get you somewhere and clean the wounds; get you blood.”

A strident voice pierced the eerie quiet in the alley. “Angel, what happened? How did Spike die? Where are the demons? Everything is dust.” Buffy spoke in confusion and anger.

Angel slowly lifted his head and she stepped back, startled by the look of pure hatred in his eyes – the golden eyes of Angelus.

Leaning heavily on Faith, he spoke, his voice dangerously quiet. “Wesley died elsewhere, murdered by a demon. Gunn died with us in the alley.” He closed his eyes, took an unneeded breath and hissed in pain. His chest felt like hot pokers were wedged between his ribs; his arm was half numb, half on fire. He looked at Buffy again. This time she gasped involuntarily at the anguish in his eyes.

“I was fighting the dragon. Spike was next to me fighting a demon. I turned to look at him and before I could warn him, another attacked him from behind.” Angel struggled to continue, but his voice broke. All of them watched as tears fell from the powerful vampire’s eyes. “He turned to dust. I couldn’t get to him and he turned to dust. I couldn’t…I couldn’t help him.”

Angel sagged to his knees, the effort of speaking and his pain exhausted him. Faith knelt next to him, her arm protectively around his waist. Angel lowered his head. His shoulders shook and he sobbed. The others were silent, awed by the depth of the souled demon’s pain and sadness.

“We need to take him somewhere safe. He’s got to rest so he can heal.”

Angel lifted his head, his cheeks wet, tears pooling in his brown eyes. “Illyria did some god thing and light burst from her body. Everything began to crumble and that’s the last I remember.”

He groaned and struggled to stand. He drew himself up straight and walked stiffly toward Buffy. His face contorted with anger; his voice low but wild with fury. He spat out each word. “Maybe…maybe if you had helped us…Maybe Spike would be alive…maybe this all could have turned out differently…maybe they’d all still be alive. You deemed us evil, that’s why you didn’t help Fred when I called. You said you couldn’t help…I was evil…had to be evil to be working at Wolfram & Hart. Yet you had no problems with my association with them when you needed my help to get your slayer back. How ironic is that? You got what you wanted, but when we needed the help, you all were suddenly so self-righteous. Couldn’t stoop to help the enemy.”

He stared for a long moment at Buffy and then with Faith’s help, he staggered out of the alley, mumbling quietly, “I’ve lost everyone…Doyle, Cordy, Fred, Wes, Gunn, and Spike…no one’s left.” Buffy called out his name as he was walking way, and he turned his head slightly to look at her. “That’s it Buffy. I’m done. I’ve given all I can give; there’s nothing left.” With that said, he turned back around, and let Faith lead him out of the alley. Buffy did not follow. At the end of the alley, he turned left and gasped. “Hotel…we need to go into the Hyperion.”

“Angel, it’s damaged. It could be dangerous.”

Angel pulled her with him, determined. They entered the devastated courtyard of the old hotel. Angel walked slowly through the toppled trees and up the shattered steps of the building. The glass doors were smashed and he maneuvered carefully around the jagged pieces of wood. He stopped and stared into the building that had briefly held such happiness for him. He began to step down and stumbled; only Faith’s strength kept him from tumbling down the steps. The lobby was strewn with debris and Faith nervously eyed the cracks in the wall. “Angel, this whole thing looks like it will collapse. What do you have to do here?”

“Have to get some things…in the office.” He said as he looked up at the large crevices in the walls. He walked carefully over the chunks of plaster and around the broken railings from the balcony. The lovely round sofa in the center of the lobby lay under chunks of plaster. He stopped and closed his eyes as he remembered Cordelia sprawled on the soft velvet cushions and Fred resting her head on the top. Faith looked up at him but said nothing. She stood silently supporting him. Angel opened his eyes and they made their way through to the office. He walked around his desk and stopped before a bookcase.

“Help me move this, Faith.”

The slayer helped the weakened vampire and the bookcase stood away from the wall. Angel looked down. “Faith, could you kick in that part of the wall?”

Without asking the reason, Faith thrust her foot against the paneling and it gave way. Angel knelt before the jagged hole. He removed a worn leather shoulder bag and stood up.

Faith’s eyes widened and she smirked. “You dragged yourself over here to get a handbag?”

He looked at her and his mouth twitched slightly. “This is my nest egg. Let’s go before the building falls on top of us. We’ll go out the back; see if my car is still there.”

They walked out into the semi-darkness and Angel turned to Faith. “It’ll be dawn soon. Can you drive?”

Faith nodded and got into the front seat of the old Plymouth. Amazingly it wasn’t damaged by falling debris, only covered in dust. Angel reached into the bag, retrieved a key, and handed it to her. “Pump the gas a few times first.” He said as he walked around to the other side. The old car coughed, wheezed and then caught. Faith looked up at Angel in surprise. He offered a small smile. “I kept her tuned. Bet that Viper I drove at Wolfram and Hart wouldn’t have started. Nothing fazes this old girl.” Angel climbed into back seat. “I’ll have to cover up once the sun rises.”

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Just drive north, out of Los Angeles. We’ll find a motel and stay until dark. If…if that’s okay with you.” Angel said quietly.

She turned to face the vampire and smiled. “I’m with you, Angel; as long as you need me.”

Angel returned her smile and directed her to US 101. She picked up I-10 and drove toward San Bernardino. Faith searched for a motel as Angel watched the pink of the early dawn sky. The slayer saw a sign and pulled off the highway. She drove into the parking lot of an old motel, its neon sign only half lit. She jumped out and went inside the office. A few minutes later she came out and drove them around the building.

“The back is more heavily shaded.” She told Angel as she parked in front of the door marked 24. She unlocked the door and Angel hurried out of the car, huddled beneath the folds of the blanket.

The room was old but clean. It had two twin beds, a dresser and a chair. Angel collapsed onto one of the beds although his hand still clutched the leather bag.

“I saw a 24 hour grocery as we drove here. I’ll go and get toothbrushes, shampoo and other stuff. I don’t know where we can get your blood.” Faith spoke, her brows furrowed in concern.

“I’ll be okay today. We’ll try somewhere tonight.” The vampire whispered sleepily, his eyes already closed although he still sat up.

“Angel, your clothes are still damp.” She pulled him to his feet and pulled down the bedspread. She pushed him down and tried to take the bag from his hand. He opened his eyes and released his grip. Faith laid it on the floor. She gently helped him out of his torn duster and ragged shirt. He hissed in pain and held his arm close to his chest. She knelt and took off his boots, and then helped him to lie down. He was asleep before she left the room and did not stir when she returned.

She emptied the bags of supplies and stumbled tiredly into the shower. She stood for a long time in the scalding water, shampooing her hair over and over to get the dust and dirt out. She banged her fist on the tile and remembered another night after Wesley had come to tell her about Angelus. She had broken out of prison and pummeled the tile in his bathroom until it crumbled. She rinsed her underwear and t-shirt in the sink and hung them on one of the towel racks as she thought of her time in the sleazy motel in Sunnydale. Wrapping one of the towels around her long hair and the other around her body, she walked out of the steamy bathroom. Her jeans weren’t that dirty and they’d never dry. She’d just have to wear them until she could wash them. Maybe the next motel would have a laundry room.

~Part: 3~

Faith stood watching Angel. His brow furrowed even in sleep; the frown lines and gashes marring his handsome face. She carefully draped the wet towels over the chair and climbed naked into the bed. She slept soundly despite the nightmares and woke to the sound of the shower. Angel had awakened. The bathroom door opened and Angel peeked out, the towel barely covering his large body. She smirked and tossed him a bag. Inside were sweats, toothbrush and toothpaste.

“I hope the size is at least close. I guessed.”

Angel closed the door and came out a few minutes later, drying his hair with a small towel. She looked at him and laughed. The grey sweatshirt had the Disneyland logo on it. He grimaced.

“Sorry. That was all they had. Your shirt is in shreds and your slacks are torn as well. Maybe you can get something else the next time we stop. You look fine. I guessed the size pretty well.”

Angel looked down at himself and then up at her, a slightly pained expression on his face.

Faith went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash up a bit. She dressed and they left to find a diner. Angel wore the worn bag over his shoulder. She had to bite back another laugh. It was too incongruous to see the mighty vampire who favored designer clothes in sweats and carrying a shoulder bag. It was too late to find a butcher shop and Faith worried that Angel wouldn’t heal if he didn’t get blood. The bright lights of an all-night diner a block away beckoned them. Angel drank tea and ate toast but Faith ate eggs and bacon and home fries.

“Angel, we’ve got to find you some blood and we have to get far away from LA.”

He didn’t answer for a moment but stared intently at her. “Faith, you need to get away from me. We can drive north to San Francisco and you can get a plane back to Cleveland.”

She glared at him and pointed her fork at him. “I’m not leaving you. You’re coming to Cleveland with me for a while. Then you can decide what you want to do. Buffy will head back to Italy with Dawn and the potentials, um…slayers. Don’t know where Willow and her girlfriend will wind up. They had been in South America.”

“Faith, it’s dangerous being…”

She interrupted, scowling at him. “Not. Leaving. You. Not till you know what you’re doing.” She lowered her eyes and spoke quietly. “You were there for me, Angel.” Faith looked up and Angel saw tears in her lovely dark eyes. “I’m gonna be there for you.” She grinned. “And since I’m stronger than you, you can’t argue. We’re gonna find the library so I can use the computer to map our trip.”

The waitress directed them and Faith spent almost an hour deciding on the best and quickest way to Cleveland. Angel sat in a nearby chair waiting and remembering. Spike standing with him in the courtyard in Italy, ready to take on the Immortal’s henchmen. Spike, proudly standing next to him in the alley, ready to face whatever the Senior Partners planned for them. Spike, dying in a flurry of dust. Spike… He closed his eyes tightly, fighting the tears that always hovered.

“Angel.”

He blinked open his eyes. Faith was waving papers at him. He got up and walked to the table. She printed out all the directions and spread them out on a table for him.

“Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll drive from here to Cedar City, Utah. It’ll take close to six hours. From there we’ll drive to Denver in about eight hours. From Denver to Des Moines takes nine hours and then ten hours to Cleveland.”

She looked up at him. Angel looked surprised. Faith was a high school drop-out. She laughed. “Yeah, I’ve changed a bit. Robin taught me how to use the computer.”

“Robin?”

She blushed. “Robin Wood. He was the principal at the new Sunnydale High – for a year till Spike…um…” She paused and bit her lip as she watched hurt flicker in her friend’s eyes. “Until the school and town fell into that huge hole. He came with me to Cleveland – the other Hellmouth. Been together since then – though – not sure how long it’ll last. He’s sort of intense and…and a bit righteous. His mother was a slayer. Spike killed her in New York.”

Angel’s surprise intensified. Faith had not been known for faithfulness to one man. The fact that Robin’s mother had been killed by Spike and he was Spike’s sire would not make him very friendly. He’d figure out something by the time they got to Cleveland. He wouldn’t mess up Faith’s life with the man.

Angel drove until just before dawn while Faith slept. She drove them into Utah and found a motel. While Angel slept, the slayer found the local hospital and managed to steal several pints of human blood. She went to the butcher’s and bought several pints of pig’s blood and then bought a cooler and ice. Angel wasn’t thrilled but he had to admit that drinking some human blood was a good idea. He mixed the pig’s blood with a little of the human to accelerate his healing. They checked out just after sunset and drove to a mall. Even though he hated the idea of shopping, Angel couldn’t stand being in the sweats any longer. He withdrew some money from his bag and handed it to Faith. He insisted that she buy a few things for herself and they separated, meeting an hour later in the sticky-floored food court.

Angel drove to Denver while Faith slept. Faith drove to Des Moines while Angel slept in the back. Fortunately it was dark and stormy so no stray sunrays entered the car. Faith slept while Angel drove toward Ohio. He woke her up as soon as he saw signs that they were close to Cleveland so she could direct him to her house.

“Faith, I’ll drop you at your house and go to a hotel. Robin won’t appreciate you bringing me home.”

She snorted. “It’s my home too. I can bring home guests. I called him. He knows.”

“Faith…”

“Angel, you’re coming home with me. I can knock you out and carry you. You’re still pretty weak.” She said grinning at him.

He glowered at her and then smiled.

Robin was friendly, in a stiff, uncomfortable way and Angel knew he couldn’t stay long. Besides there were three teenaged slayers living there too, and while the house was large, it was crowded. A large, padded envelope had arrived for Faith while she was in Los Angeles. Angel asked her not to open it yet. He stayed with her for a week and then found a furnished house on the other side of town that he could rent from month to month. One evening shortly after he moved in, he invited her over and told her to bring the envelope. When she entered, a wonderful aroma filled the house. He had apparently shopped for a few groceries and had cooked.

“You don’t eat,” she said in surprise as she sniffed the air. “What is it?”

“Food doesn’t sustain me. But occasionally I enjoy a meal…with…It’s coq au vin – basically chicken and vegetables cooked in wine.”

He poured wine and they began to eat. Faith ate heartily while Angel picked at his food and drank a lot of wine. After dinner, they went into the small living room. Faith sprawled on the sofa and Angel sat across from her in a chair. He withdrew the small photograph album from the leather bag and handed it to her.

“The first picture is of Doyle. He came to me shortly after I arrived in Los Angeles. He had visions sent by the Powers That Be, to show me who needed help. He died; sacrificed himself.”

Faith turned a few pages. There were pictures of Doyle with Cordelia, Cordelia alone, Wesley, Gunn and Fred. She stopped and looked up when she saw the picture of the baby.

“That was Connor as a baby.”

Faith’s eyes teared as she saw the pictures of Angel smiling, adoringly holding his son. She had never seen that look on his face. There were several pictures of Lorne with the others in his wildly colored suits. There was also a picture of Gunn, Wesley, Angel, Fred and Cordelia in formal dress.

“You look great in a tux, Angel.” She said smiling up at him.

As she paged through the little book, she didn’t see the shadow that swept across the vampire’s face as he remembered. Buffy…telling her he had to leave…breaking her heart in the sewer. Buffy resplendent in a pink dress as they danced at her Prom. Cordelia, her hair piled up on her head; the red satin dress clinging to every curve… spirits taking them over…making love with the woman he had fallen in love with only to lose her to the Groosalog.

He looked up when Faith gasped at the picture of Illyria; the blue haired, leather clad god who took over Fred’s body. The last pages were pictures of Spike. Spike sprawled in Angel’s office chair at Wolfram and Hart. Spike in a fighting stance facing Illyria. There were several of the younger vampire obviously taken without his knowledge; his face in various expressions – smirking, smiling, angry, his dark brows meeting together as he scowled, and several of him peacefully asleep. Spike, his arms heavily bandaged sitting forlornly on a sofa, his head resting on the back, his eyes closed.

The last pages contained pictures that someone had taken of Angel without his knowledge. Angel brooding at his desk, sitting on the back of a chair staring out the window of his office, dozing on a sofa. The album ended with a picture of Angel lying with baby Connor on his chest, both of them asleep. Faith got a lump in her throat. Angel slept for once without a furrowed brow. His face was peaceful as he held his child in his arms.

She looked up at her friend. His long life filled with so little joy as Angel, the souled vampire; filled with so much anguish.

“Thanks for showing me this.”

He nodded. “Now open the envelope. I’m surprised that you didn’t open it already.”

Faith made a face at him and tore off the end of the large envelope and withdrew a letter and a bank book. She looked up at him in confusion and then began to read his beautiful handwriting.

Dear Faith,

I will not survive this final battle with Wolfram and Hart. I have arranged a trust fund for Connor and sent him the information, but this is for you. You are a strong woman, Faith. Do not be afraid to follow your own path. Do not live in Buffy’s shadow. Your life experiences have given you a unique perspective. You’re not judgmental. You do not think that you alone have all the answers. The young slayers can learn much from you. You will find a place where you can fight the ongoing battle against evil in your own way. I believe in you. Never doubt that you are a wonderful woman. I am proud to call you my friend.

Always,
Angel

Faith read the note. When she looked up at Angel, her lovely face was wet with tears.

“Thank you…thanks for those words. They mean…I…I’m glad you consider me your friend. I knew…I knew there was one person who cared, who believed in me.”

“Open the little book.” Angel said smiling.

She did and gasped. “What? What…”

Angel laughed. “That’s for you. Slayers don’t get a salary and it’s tough to work after a night of battling demons. Now you won’t have to worry.”

She got up and knelt at his feet. “I…I‘m grateful…But you lived, Angel. You need this money.”

He picked up the leather bag and handed it to her. She opened it and whistled. Inside were packages of money wrapped up.

Angel smiled. I…I wanted…I remembered that motel in Sunnydale. I lived in some pretty awful places. I didn’t want you to have to live like that ever again. I…I never thought I’d survive, Faith, but…I did and…and I have to go on.”

Faith nodded. “I know. You can stay here in Cleveland. It’s not as bad as Sunnydale yet, but I’m sure it will be. I can use your help.”

Angel didn’t answer. He knew he had to go on alone…far away from slayers and their battles; far from the machinations of the Powers That Be and the long reach of the remaining Senior Partners.

Angel stayed in Cleveland for a few months; long enough for the demons in the Hellmouth to realize that things had changed for them, but not long enough for them to suspect that Angel had survived. He fought but always wore a mask in case any of the demons had been in Sunnydale. He didn’t want word of his survival to get back to the Senior Partners or whoever was now in charge of evil on the West Coast.

“What’s that play where the guy wears a mask?” Faith asked amid her laughter the first time she saw it, although she knew it was a wise move.

He grumbled. “The Phantom of the Opera. And mine is black!”

Finally Angel decided it was time to leave. He knew where he would go, hopefully to start again, alone.

“Angel, you don’t have to go. You’ve got your own place…”

“Faith, I…I need to move on. You’ve got things under semi-control.” He smiled at her and clasped her hand. “Faith, I…I did this…with Buffy…I need…I need to find my own niche.”

She nodded. “I understand. I like not being in B’s shadow. Cleveland is my kind of town, not hers. She’s happy in Europe.” She stopped speaking when she noticed the brief look of sadness in the vampire’s eyes.

Angel reached for her and they hugged. “Thanks, Faith…you saved…”

“You saved me, Angel. I wouldn’t be alive now if it hadn’t been for you.” The powerful slayer blinked away tears that she would never admit to. “You have my number. Let me know where you are, okay?”

“As soon as I know, Faith, I promise.” He bent down and gave her a quick kiss and she hugged him tightly resting her head on his chest. He strode out of the house and got into his new car. He’d traded his beloved Plymouth for a black 1966 Mustang; convertible, of course. His old car was too recognizable and he needed a much smaller car where he was going. Wolfram & Hart in Los Angeles had been destroyed. He knew that most of the branches had burned or were leveled suspiciously but that didn’t mean that Evil was over. He waved as he drove away. Although he didn’t tell Faith, he had decided to go to New York. He had spent time there long ago. It was a huge city. A vampire could hide amid the crowds of people and hopefully find a home and a future.

~Part: 4~

Twenty-five years later

Angel sat watching the deepening night sky, listening to the lyrics of a song he had heard when he went into a music store his first week in New York. Spike’s face haunted him as he listened to the words over and over through the years.

He had been surprised when he learned that the song was from a musical called The Phantom of the Opera and that it was the story of a disfigured man who haunted an opera house long ago in Paris. Eerily, on two different occasions many years before, he had met young boys whose faces were terribly scarred and who eventually made their homes beneath the famed Opera Populair.

In 1881, he took his first trip alone with the recently turned William. Darla and Drusilla had gone on one of their many visits to the Master and he, Angelus, had been restless. He took the still new vampire to the famed City of Lights and the boy was childishly excited to have time alone with Angelus in Paris, despite his recent assumption of the brash persona of Spike. William had never been out of England. He and William had recently fed when they bumped into a ragged street urchin being chased by a mob. The child looked up at the vampires and in the shadowy darkness they could see his hideously deformed face. Angelus felt William flinch. Suddenly the younger vampire picked up the boy and ran into a near-by alley. Angelus shouted after his childe, furious at his tender behavior. He knew that he’d have to do something to break him of these human tendencies. The mob stopped abruptly when Angelus, in his true, snarling face, blocked their way. He turned and raced after William before the crowd recovered from their terror. He caught up to William and the child and dragged them into a church. No one would expect a vampire to enter a church.

The boy, unaware that the sympathetic young man carrying him and his companion were vampires, told them that he had escaped from a brutal master who forced him to display his disfigurement to crowds for money. William blinked his tear-filled eyes furiously as the child whispered the story of his horrific life. Despite the loss of his soul, the young vampire retained too much of his humanity. Angelus knew he had to rid William of his gentle heart or he would be quickly staked by a group of righteous citizens in Paris, and in other cities, or die at the hands of a Slayer.

The older vampire had been startled by the young boy’s story. Twenty-five years before, another young boy, viciously scarred, had rescued him and led him into the maze of tunnels under the city of Paris. He had petulantly left Darla, who had been the center of attention at a house party, and was prowling the streets alone. Hungry, he pulled a woman into an alley and was drinking from her as he thrust violently into her. In his throes of ecstasy he did not hear footsteps. A shout broke his concentration and he turned. Another woman stood at the end of the alley and began to scream when she saw the vampire’s true face. Angelus dropped the woman and ran through the cold and wet darkness although he could hear the harsh voices and the thundering footsteps of a mob that began to follow him. A child’s voice called to him and a small hand beckoned from the shadows of a crumbling building. “Sir. Here, Sir.”

Angelus followed the voice and entered the hidden stairs beneath the Opera House. The boy led him down into the dank and slippery passages as he carried a small lantern whose flickering candle offered little light. One tunnel opened into a cavern surrounded by black, oily water. The child led Angelus across a dangerously deteriorating path of rocks to his camp. He hurried to light the nubs of candles strewn about the space. When he turned in the light, the vampire could see that one side of his face was horrifically disfigured.

“They chase me too. Why were they after you?” The boy asked innocently.

Angelus stared at the boy’s ruined cheek. Although he was a soulless, vicious vampire, a sudden memory of his father’s brutal beatings briefly softened his cold heart and he spoke quietly. “They thought I killed a woman. Why do they chase you?”

The boy pointed to his face. “Because of this. A man found me and put me in a cage and people paid to look at me. I…I hurt him when he was drunk and ran away. Some of them remember seeing me and they know he died.”

“You live here?”

“Yes, I found it a few months ago. I can hear the music from the Opera House. It’s beautiful.” The boy yawned. “Are you hungry? I have bread and a little wine.”

“No. Go to sleep now.” Angelus responded.

The vampire watched silently as the boy fell asleep quickly. He gave a final glance at the child, left him a few coins, and quietly hurried through the shadowy passageways. He was surprised and confused. He had no interest in killing the child. It had to be that woman’s blood. It was rich. He felt full.

“Angelus. Angelus.” His fledgling childe whispered and the older vampire was pulled from his memories. William begged his Sire with his eyes to keep the child. Angelus shook his head. He was too young and would be too much trouble.

The streets had quieted. “William.” He said refusing to acknowledge the younger vampire’s pleading. “Come.”

They left the sanctuary of the church and Angelus led them hurriedly through the murky streets until they came to an inconspicuous doorway in an alley. Angelus broke the lock and turned to the boy. He spoke quietly but firmly. “There is someone…someone like you hiding in the tunnels. He will find you.”

Annoyed with William’s pleading, he showed the boy his true face. The child stood riveted until Angelus told him to run. He darted down the crumbling steps and did not look back.

Angelus started to walk away and called for William to follow him. When he hesitated, Angelus’ eyes flashed golden, and he growled his childe’s name. “William, you are to come with me now. There is nothing more to do. Do not make me regret my decision to help the boy. Now come!!!”

The older vampire did not have to finish his threat. William had already suffered beatings and torture at his Sire’s hands for his recalcitrant behavior. Angelus purposefully strode away, knowing that his erstwhile childe got the message.

William looked back at the empty stairway, then at his Sire’s retreating back. Chewing on his bottom lip, he knew what was best for him, so he walked quickly to catch up with Angelus, looking back one more time in the direction of boy he left behind, hoping that he’d be okay.

Angel blinked his eyes and the visions from his past disappeared. He had been surprised when he’d learned that someone had written a novel and then a play about a disfigured man who haunted an opera house. Of course he couldn’t believe they made a musical play out of Victor Hugo’s, Les Miserables.

~Part: 5~

It never got truly dark in New York. Too many lights. Angel remembered the total darkness of Galway at night and the darkness of the woods in Romania. Even so, New York was a great city for demons. They could easily hide in the labyrinth of alleys between the many tall buildings and grab unsuspecting humans. So many people went out on the streets late at night that vampires were unnoticed. At least until too many citizens went missing in one area. Angel patrolled occasionally, but he was no longer the champion of the Powers That Be. He turned his back on that after the devastation in Los Angeles.

He sipped his tea and thought. Twenty-five years. It had been twenty-five years since Faith helped him stumble out of the ruined alley; the only survivor of their futile battle against the Senior Partners. All gone. Spike. Wes. Gunn. Fred. Illyria. Dead because he arrogantly wanted to show the Senior Partners that “for one bright shining moment…they don’t own us.”

Twenty-five years. He thought again how he’d come to the city that the world knew as the Big Apple. He and Spike had just returned from their fiasco in Rome. A desperate, non-evil client had interrupted their sadly humorous attempt at moving on. The man’s twin daughters had been abducted by a demon cult. After Wes’ quick research on what would destroy them, Spike and he had quickly demolished the large group of very young Taragas demons, who while in movie-star handsome human form, used a mystical combination of drugs to persuade their young female prey to join them.

The girls’ father, a widower, had been grateful, had paid them very well and gave Angel his card. He was moving his daughters back to the East Coast and would be happy to assist Angel in anything he needed. Angel added the money to his secret bank account under the name Liam McDonagh, his maternal great grandmother’s name. He had been making lucrative investments throughout their year at Wolfram and Hart and he had already set up a trust fund for Connor. He made Spike the beneficiary of the rest of his estate because if anyone could survive what ever happened, it would be his brash childe although he never told the younger vampire this. Unfortunately, he was the only one who survived.

Several months after their last battle, Angel had left Cleveland for New York City. The client, Jed Cardiff, was a trustee and a major donor for New York University, especially the Tisch School of Art. Angel met with him about eventually working at the school. Although he had enough money, the vampire knew he would be too restless to sit around with his memories. He needed to keep his mind from “overloading in brood mode” as Spike once told him.

He told the man that he had to go away for a while. He had to make sure the Senior Partners who remained, and any of their minions, hopefully forgot about him. Mr. Cardiff told Angel to stay in touch and to let him know a few months before he planned to return so he could set the wheels in motion to get him a teaching position. The man advised Angel that he needed academic credentials and perhaps he would be able to arrange that while he was away.

Angel booked passage on the Queen Elizabeth II. He began his journey in London. The vampire searched the city for places that remained from long ago. He actually found the area where he and Drusilla had followed a tearful William. He had kept watch while she coaxed the young man to become part of her world. She drained him but then heard the stars calling her or some such rot and dropped him to the ground. He, Angelus, had thought the young man rather fragile, but something about him made the vampire hurry into the alley. He picked up the nearly dead boy and held him, staring into his pale face. The boy’s eyelids fluttered and unfocused blue eyes peered at him. He felt unusually aroused by the young man and slashed his wrist, forcing the dying boy to drink. He was the one who stood near his grave to help him enter their dark world and William became his childe. Their relationship was tumultuous and the gentle William suffered much at his hands.

Angel shuddered at his memories and surprisingly stumbled upon the alley where William had died. Several of the surround buildings were still standing, but others were gone, probably destroy during the wars. He stayed in London for several months searching for his old haunts and visiting the Tate and other museums. He was amazed at the number of pubs and houses that remained from his days in the city. Unlike the United States, England attempted to maintain its old architecture.

The lonely vampire traveled across Europe for several years. He even visited Romania where the gypsies had cursed him and returned his soul. He went to the Far East and spent time in China where Spike had killed his first slayer. He stayed for a few years in Japan, a place that he had never visited, but one that had always intrigued him. He found a Buddhist monastery and spent time learning to meditate to soothe his troubled soul.

Finally, he arrived in Ireland. He explored his homeland and visited Galway where he had been born. Nothing remained that he remembered but the town was a mere village when he lived there and now it was a large, bustling city. He stayed for many months in Dublin and often spent evenings in a pub near Trinity College and sometimes worked in his sketchbook. One night an elderly man approached him.

“Excuse me.”

Angel looked up and smiled at him. “Good evening. May I help you?”

The man answered in a raspy voice. “I’ve noticed you here quite often. You’re an American, but Irish, yes?”

Angel was startled. “Yes, my ancestors came from Ireland. I’ve lived all over the world and have spent many years in the U.S.”

The old man nodded and held out his hand. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m Dominic, a Sióchain demon. You’re the vampire with a soul, Angel?”

Again Angel started and mumbled, “Sióchain, that means peace.”

“Aye.” Dominic pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I’ve never heard of you.”

“Aye.” The man repeated. “We tend to stay in the shadows – like you – unless we’re needed. We are a very small group of demons.”

Angel sat back in his chair, a stunned look on his handsome face. “I’ve never read about you. Wesley…a man who was my research expert never mentioned you.”

The man smiled and his soft blue eyes glittered as if filled with tears. “We are angels, sent only occasionally for special reasons.”

Angel blinked. An angel talking to a vampire. “I can’t imagine you’d have anything to do with me.”

“You’re wrong, boyo. We have been watching over you for a long time; since you received your soul.”

“Watching over me!” Angel said harshly and a bit loudly. He lowered his voice. “I’ve had my soul for over one hundred years and I’ve never met one of you.”

“Our way is not to intrude. You must follow your path. The Powers That Be stepped into your life and we watched you become a champion. We were concerned when you lost your soul but the slayer …”

“Sent me to hell.” Angel interrupted angrily.

Dominic nodded sadly. “We were concerned again when you lost your way when Darla and Drusilla came back into your life and when you lost your son. But you overcame your despair. We watched you struggle at Wolfram and Hart, but we knew you would not lose your way.”

“Lose my way!” Angel hissed. “I lost everyone. You didn’t help. No one helped.”

“Hush, Angel. We had to allow you to become who you were destined to be. We had to allow you to become who you are now. We would have intervened but you were never truly lost. Yes, you suffered mightily and you lost hope but you fought always.”

Angel sat quietly for a long moment, staring at the old man, an angel. He spoke in an angry whisper. “Why are you here now? Are you taking over for the Powers? Are you going to misdirect my life?”

The old man rested his hand on the vampire’s shoulder. “No, Angel, A leanbh na páiret. We want you to know that we’re here; always watching. You are never totally alone. We are truly proud of you and all you’ve done in this world.” He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Soon, you will have someone to take your loneliness away.” He reached into the pocket of his worn pants. “Go to Trinity College tomorrow. Take your drawings. See this man. He will help you on your next journey.” He stood, nodded and smiled. He walked away before Angel could respond.

Angel sat for a long time, lost in thought. At first he seethed with fury. Someone will take my loneliness away! Yea, until I lose them too! Then, he felt a flare of hope. He brushed it aside. He had hoped long ago but no more. But it was odd that the Sióchain demon angel came to him now. Who had sent him? Angels…angels come from God. That’s impossible!

Despite his misgivings, Angel took his sketchbook and sought out the man at Trinity College. Surprisingly, the professor offered him a temporary position as a drawing instructor. The teacher of the class had died suddenly and it was the middle of the term. Angel had success in that course and eventually became an instructor in Art History as well as drawing. He stayed in Ireland for three years. When they found another professor to take the classes, Angel decided to return to the United States. He had been gone for ten years. He wasn’t sure what was calling him back but he listened to his inner voice and left for New York. He contacted Willow and she managed to provide him with his credentials. He now had a PhD in Art History from Trinity College.

Before he left Ireland, he contacted Jed Cardiff who, true to his word, managed to get him a position at the Tisch School of Art at New York University. When Angel arrived in the city, the grateful client sold him the top floor loft of one of his buildings at the edge of Greenwich Village in Soho at a very very low price. Angel fitted the huge glass wall with obscenely expensive necro-tempered glass and hid the other smaller windows with heavy drapes. He loved the expanse of open space. The previous client had created a roof garden and Angel often sat up there and watched at least part of the city go to sleep as he remembered his regrets.

~Part: 6~

Angel was not the only demon on the staff of the University, but he was the only vampire. There were many benevolent demons, like Lorne, who blended into human society. After ten years, human were becoming more tolerant of good demons, including them in their daily lives; seeking them out for help and protection.

While he was gone, he had asked Willow to search for Lorne. It had taken two years, but she finally found Lorne in Rio. He had opened another Caritas and was doing well. Angel sent him a large check and promised that he would not contact him again. Lorne had responded with sincere thanks.

Angel, now Professor Liam McDonagh, had taught classes in Art History and Drawing in the fall and spring semesters for the past fifteen years. He smiled and shook his head. The start of the spring semester was in January and it was already snowing lightly. He put on his duster, grabbed his briefcase and strode quickly to the campus. He stopped in his tiny office and took out the text and the paperwork for the first class. At exactly 7 o’clock, he walked into the large classroom to face a hundred students who were in the class because it was required, not because they had any desire to know anything about art. He introduced himself and began to call the names of the students.

When he got to the last name on the list he paused and looked up. “William Tate?” A slender young man way in the back raised his hand. Angel blinked. The boy’s light brown hair hung in soft waves almost to his shoulders. Angel couldn’t help but stare at the young man before him. No! No! It couldn’t be. I’m imagining this…him…Has to be a dream. Has to be. But no…oh God. It’s not. Suddenly he recalled the words of the Sióchain demon. “Soon, you will have someone to take your loneliness away.”

“Professor, are you all right?” The young man asked.

It was William’s cultured voice! Not the rough accent he had adopted when he took on the Spike persona.

A young woman’s voice brought him back. “Professor, should I get someone? Are you okay?”

Angel calmed his trembling and stammered. “Ah, sorry. Ah, I’m taking new medicine for…for migraines and…sorry.”

The stunned vampire swallowed and fought for control. It isn’t. He just looks similar. Tate is a common English name. William is a common English name.

Getting himself under control, Angel continued with the class. “Okay. Have all of you gotten the text?” He held up the large, hideously yellow-covered book, The History of Art and looked around the room. Most of them had the book. The other students must have been admitted late.

Angel called on his powers of concentration and began his introduction to the course. He ignored the soft groans as he passed out the syllabus. Students who thought that this would be a cake class, were unhappily disappointed. Angel was a demanding teacher. He never looked in William Tate’s direction. He was gathering his papers after class when he felt someone at his desk. He looked up. My God he is…change his hair to the platinum color that Spike preferred, and he looks exactly…NO!

“Yes, William, right?” He said quickly trying to calm nerves he didn’t know he had.

“Yes, sir. I didn’t get the text yet. I’m a transfer from Cambridge.”

“Cambridge in England?” Angel swore his voice squeaked.

“Um, yes. My parents are working in China for the year and then will be working at the Museum of Natural History in New York. They thought it would be better if I got started in school while they were gone.”

“Oh. I’ve been to Cambridge. Wonderful old buildings, great architecture,” Angel stammered. He caught the tiny smirk on the young man’s face. Oh God! It’s Spike’s smirk. Could it be? Could he have shanshued?

“You don’t like architecture?” He managed to ask.

“I do. It’s just I’ve been dragged through too many museums and looked at about a billion churches. I like Gothic architecture though – all those flying buttresses and gargoyles.” He smiled.

It’s Spike’s smile. This is crazy. Can vampires become psychotic?

“Professor?”

“Yes, William?” Angel answered.

“I prefer Will,” he said with a grin. Spike’s grin.

It has to be. There are too many coincidences. How is he here?

“Um…ah…what can I do for you?”

“I’ll have the text by tomorrow, but I’m going to miss the next class. I’ve finally found an apartment and have to settle and move in. I arrived only a week ago and have been living in a hotel temporarily. All the registration was done by e-mail and snail mail.”

“Okay…You have the syllabus so you’ll be able to keep up.” Angel said.

“Yes. I just wanted you to know. Didn’t want you to think I was dropping the class already.” William smiled again and Angel grabbed the edge of the desk. He could feel it splinter.

The young man looked at him a bit apprehensively.

Angel struggled to smile and relax. “Do you have another class tonight?” Great. Control yourself. He’ll think you’re a lunatic. No classes start at nine!

“No, this is my only night class. Well…see you next week Professor.” He smiled and left the room.

Angel threw his papers into the briefcase and hurried to his office. He quickly slipped into his coat and almost ran to the elevator. The ancient thing groaned and grumbled its way up. It’s as slow as the old beast in my first apartment in Los Angeles. He closed his eyes as memories of Doyle and Cordelia drifted into his thoughts. Finally the doors opened and he entered impatiently. Probably should have run down the stairs. Not thinking clearly. Get a grip! He silently admonished himself.

Angel arrived in the lobby and looked around. No one was in the small student area in the building. He opened the door and walked out into the night filled with lightly falling snow flakes. He saw footsteps and strode quickly in the same direction. He noticed a black coated figure with light brown hair about a block away. Angel followed surreptitiously. William Tate walked along oblivious. He has to be more observant. This is New York. He can get mugged! Angel worried. He recalled a fledgling William strolling the streets of London in thoughtless abandon. He had been following him and was furious at the younger vampire’s carelessness. He beat him brutally although William didn’t know that part of the anger was from his fear of losing his favorite childe.

Suddenly the ground vibrated and William vaulted down the subway steps. Angel ran but as he got to the stairwell, the train pulled out. The vampire stood for a long moment until a police car stopped next to him.

“Are you all right, sir? Is that you Professor McDonagh?” The impossibly young female cop asked.

“What? Oh, yes…Sorry…I was thinking…about my new classes…” Angel stammered.

“I took your Art History class two years ago.” She said smiling. “Never had any art classes before. Been draggin’ my boyfriend to the Met and the Whitney.”

Angel smiled. “I’m glad you liked the class.”

“Yes, truly did. Well, goodnight professor.” She said. Her partner pulled the car from the curb.

Angel turned around and walked slowly back to his apartment, his painful memories tumbling through his mind, crowding out all other thoughts.

William, embarrassed, when Angelus discovered his poems…Teaching the new vampire to hunt…William newly turned, sobbing after his first of many beatings…Bathing William in the huge iron tub in the kitchen of one of the houses they lived in...Wild passionate sex with him when Drusilla and Darla were gone…Showing him the delights of the various houses of ill repute…Laughing at his embarrassment…Taking him to Paris and Geneva without the women. Sketching William over and over…undressed in provocative poses…reading a book, his spectacles perched on his nose…William angry and hurt when he spent too much time in Darla’s bedroom. Furious when Angelus went away with his Sire, leaving him to care for an increasingly crazed Drusilla…William changing… his wild bravado inciting too much interest and forcing them to hide in a mine in York for several days…William altering his posh accent to harsh cockney and demanding that he be called Spike…Seeing him again in China…learning that he killed a slayer…The vampire proud of his childe’s accomplishment, while the soul tormented him because of that pride…Leaving his family…Spike… again…His childe’s surprising arrival in Sunnydale…the look of disgust when Spike realized that his Sire was working with the slayer…Losing his soul and torturing Spike, raping him when the younger vampire was paralyzed and couldn’t fight back.…His sudden arrival at Wolfram and Hart as a ghost. His unselfish rescue of Fred…Their horrific battle over the cup…the battle that he…the Sire, the long souled vampire lost…Spike’s love for Fred…his loyalty…traveling together to the Deeper Well…Spike trying to offer comfort because of their failure…his willingness to spar with Illyria…their hours together after the slayer hurt him…his loneliness lessened in Spike’s company. Spike, the first one to raise his hand at the end…The first one to reach him in the alley. His death in a cloud of dust.

Angel somehow found his way to his apartment. He grabbed a bottle of Jameson’s and collapsed into his chair by the huge window. He sat for hours drinking glass after glass of the strong Irish whiskey until he fell into a troubled sleep; his haunting memories bruising his soul. He was awakened by his ringing phone, but when he answered it, no one was there. He wasn’t sure how long it rang, so he figured it was a wrong number. He looked back over the comfortable chair, now bathed in sunlight. Fortunately the window had necro-tempered glass or he would have burned to death. He wondered briefly if that would be so bad. The city had been a refuge; a lonely refuge, but he had found some satisfaction in teaching and spending time with a few of the other demons on the staff. He often saw Mr. Cardiff and his daughters and not for the first time, wondered about the capacity of some humans to accept a demon into their lives. He had been invited to one of the girls’ weddings; an exquisite evening ceremony in a candle-lit cathedral. When the lovely, blonde young woman walked up the aisle on the arm of her father, he shuddered recalling a nightmare from long ago when he and Buffy married and as they left the church, her gown flamed and she burned into ashes.

But now…thoughts of his past with William continued to taunt him; scenes from his past flickering haphazardly through his mind. He stood up quickly and stalked into the bathroom to shower, but the scalding water did not relax his body’s tension nor wash the haunting images from his mind.

After his shower, he warmed some blood and read over his notes for the tonight’s class.

~Part: 7~

William ran down the subway steps and flew into the car just as the door whooshed shut and rumbled away from the station. Panting, he fell into the first empty seat. He smirked and his blue eyes twinkled as he stared out into the blackness of the tunnel. He knew Angel was going to follow him as he left the classroom. The snow made even the crowded city a little quiet, but he heard his muffled footsteps. Even the cars’ motors and tires seemed less noisy. He felt the vampire’s eyes on his back and he grinned. Angel. Intelligent. Curious. Controlling. Cautious. Ever the protector. And obviously not as stealthy as he had been long ago!

William had known that Angel would be unnerved by his appearance. He could sense the older man’s hesitancy and confusion. Apparently, Angel did not hide his feelings or thoughts as well as Angelus. William shivered as a flash of memory raced through his thoughts. Angelus, his long dark hair flowing over the collar of his black suit, his face passively interested in the prattle of the festively dressed young women vying for the handsome man’s attention. As he pretended to listen, the vampire was choosing the one he would take out into the garden to kill.

He stood quickly as the train pulled into the next station. He hopped off and crossed the platform to enter a car that would take him back to where he boarded the train. He had taken the train to get away from Angel but now he had to get back to his car.

William sighed as he walked through the heavier flakes. Carrying his boxes and suitcases up to his new apartment would not be pleasant tonight. He found his car and maneuvered out of the rather tight parking space. It took him a few minutes and the driver who waited for his spot kept flicking his lights impatiently. Finally, he extricated the car and drove the two blocks to his new building. Using his card he entered and waved to the guard as he drove to his assigned space. The man nodded and dutifully stepped out to check his license plate. Fortunately, his rent included a space in a secure underground parking garage and he had made a point of buying donuts for each shift to insure that they would be a little more vigilant regarding his car. He carried a few necessary boxes and suitcases up to his apartment; the rest he would get tomorrow while he waited for the movers.

William unpacked his clothes and hung them in the large walk-in closet. He arranged his towels and toiletries in the bathroom. He shook out his sleeping bag from one of the remaining boxes and found the six pack of beer, still cold from the car. He took one bottle with him and walked over to the large sliding glass door at one side of his apartment. He opened it and stepped out onto the small balcony. William retrieved the telescope that was next to the patio door, set it up, and bent over so he could look through it. When he focused it, he could see Angel sitting in a poofy red chair, drinking copious amounts of Jamesons and staring out of his large window. Another flash slipped into his thoughts. Poof! He called Angel poof! Used to piss the ponce off – a lot! Ponce!

The young man shuddered at the jumbled memories flickering in his mind. He had seen images for as long as he could remember, the first coming when he was quite young, maybe about five or six years old. He remembered that dream – a man with long brown hair, and funny clothes. To his young eyes, the man was scary and didn’t have a nice face. He remembered waking up and running to his parents’ room crying about a bad dream. They asked him about it, consoling him and telling him it was nothing but a nightmare and that he was safe. He had them periodically over the years, but they were nothing more than snippets. Sometimes they were not nightmares. Sometimes he seemed to be part of a group of teenagers who hung out with a man that resembled Mr. Giles! It was his face but he had bleached hair and wore a dark leather coat and smoked a lot! He always told his parents about them, but they never seemed worried and told him they were nothing more than his over-active imagination. But, when he turned thirteen, they came more often and became more violent. He thought he might be losing his mind; becoming schizophrenic like his Uncle John. He didn’t want to worry his parents and as he grew older, he felt less close to them. They were often away for months at a time and left him with nannies and frequently with their friend, Mr. Giles.

After a particularly terrifying dream of a vicious battle with the dark haired man who haunted his dreams, he sought out Giles, a former watcher, and one of his parents’ oldest friends. Giles had been horrified and had taken him to the coven of witches who had found him as a baby. One witch, Claire, had seen a baby in a vision and they found him in an abandoned house sleeping peacefully. They knew that he was a special child although they didn’t know exactly how special. The witches contacted Giles and he brought the baby to his friends, Sebastian and Vanessa Tate who were childless. His parents weren’t watchers, but they did research for the new Council on demons and their habitats around the world.

William found out about his true beginnings when he approached Giles with his troublesome visions. He stayed for several weeks submitting to spells; spending hours talking over and over about what he had seen. Finally, after he had demanded an answer, Giles relented and told him who he really was.

William was stunned. He had been a vampire! He had fallen in love with a slayer and fought for his soul. He died saving the world and arrived at Angel’s new offices at Wolfram and Hart as a ghost. He mysteriously became corporeal and had died, again, fighting against evil with Angel in Los Angeles. He had shanshued – became a human being; a newborn baby!

Once he learned about his past, he had badgered his parents and Giles about his vampire persona, Spike, but they were not overly forthcoming. Every time his parents went away, William would search for information and eventually found journals secreted in a tiny hidden office off the library. He knew who he had been and he was determined to find this Angel who made him a vampire. In some ways, he hated this creature that destroyed his life but there was always a deeper feeling of belonging and devotion hovering at the edges of his consciousness, a feeling he didn’t quite understand. How could he feel this, yet not remember?

He went to University like a dutiful son but he was determined to find Angel; learn more about his years as Spike from the vampire who truly knew who he had been. When his parents were asked to go to China for the Watcher’s Council, William had his opportunity. He used his charm and played on the deep maternal feelings that Claire, the youngest of the coven’s witches had for him, and learned that Angel was now in New York and he was Liam McDonagh, a professor at a university. He found out everything he could and told his parents he wanted to try living on his own in the United States while they were away. Cambridge agreed to the transfer and his parents acquiesced. They didn’t know that Angel was living in New York, but Giles did. The elderly man was not happy about William’s decision, and tried to talk him out of it, to no avail. He reluctantly relented as long as Will promised to stay in close contact with him via email and phone. Giles, who always had a deep connection with William, promised not to tell his parents.

William had made the arrangements with NYU and had arrived a few weeks before. Professor McDonagh was listed in the school directory. William learned what classes he was teaching and managed to get a place in the Art History class. He found out where Angel lived and through a contact provided by Claire, he managed to rent his new apartment. The apartment overlooked Angel’s loft. He felt a bit guilty at his voyeurism but his desire to know the truth about who he had been as Spike dismissed propriety.

He continued to watch Angel as he sat there looking out his window. He saw the vampire drink glass after glass as he stared at the dark and snowy sky. William could see Angel’s face through the telescope and the vampire’s loneliness saddened him.

He watched Angel as he got up out of the chair and got his briefcase off the table. He turned to the chair, sat down, and started pulling papers out. When he was done, William watched as Angel laid his head on the back of the chair and saw the tumbler slip from his fingers. William knew that the vampire had fallen asleep. He had expected Angel to stay up all night and sleep during the day. William wondered if seeing him in class had led Angel to drink enough to fall asleep. He stood shivering on the balcony, peering into his telescope for several hours but the vampire did not stir. Finally, William grew sleepy, and very cold, and left the balcony for his warm bed.

He awoke abruptly from a nightmare. Angel was sitting in front of a window! When the sun rose, he would burn to ashes. The frightened young man hurried to the balcony and with shaking hands tried to focus the telescope. Angel was still sprawled in the chair in front of the window, obviously still asleep and as alive as a vampire could be. William glanced nervously at the morning sky. It was cloudy but glints of sunshine pierced the gloomy grey.

William didn’t want to take any chances. He hurried inside for his cell phone and located Angel’s number in his small leather phone book. He had found the vampire’s home telephone number on the Internet shortly after he arrived in New York. He had initially been surprised at the amount of personal information available but apparently once you had a credit card and made purchases online, you could not count on anonymity. He had wondered what a vampire would purchase via the Internet.

William raced back outside and placed the call. It rang several times before Angel stirred and Will worried it would go to voice mail. The vampire stood up shakily and walked away from the window. William hung up before the vampire picked up the phone. He had saved Angel!

~Part: 8~

William watched Angel all morning, taking occasional breaks to get out of the cold, but he always returned. He was curious to see what he did during the day. It surprised him to learn that even though Angel was a vampire, he seemed to keep the same hours as humans. During the morning, he used a computer, sat at a desk with what must have been his class notes and briefly watched television.

William went back inside to warm up a bit and had just started to make some coffee when the buzzer rang. He walked over and flicked the switch.

“Mr. Tate, this is Jack, the movers are here, sir. I’ll send them up in the freight elevator, okay?”

William recognized the voice of the doorman and glanced at his watch. He was surprised to see that it was almost noon. “Thanks, Jack, send them up.”

About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. He opened it and stood to the side to allow the movers to begin their delivery. He stayed out of their way and directed the arrangement of his furniture in the living area and in his bedroom. As they began to carry in the boxes, he asked the men to just leave them against the wall for him to unpack. He was itching to get back outside to see what Angel was doing. Once everything had been delivered, he signed the paperwork, tipped the men and closed the door.

Leaving the unopened boxes for later, he hurried out to his balcony to take another look into Angel’s apartment. When he didn’t see the vampire in the living room, he guided the telescope until he found Angel again, lying on a king-sized four poster bed. He didn’t understand…the sun was shining on the cold winter day, yet Angel hadn’t drawn the curtains. Why wasn’t he burning up? He focused the lens on the figure lying on the massive bed and watched Angel as he slept.

After a little while, William stood up and stretched before going back into his apartment. He figured that Angel would sleep for a while before it was time for him to head over to the University for tonight’s class. William spent most of the afternoon unpacking the boxes and putting his belongings away, occasionally checking to see if Angel was still sleeping. After he had things reasonably in order, he opened a small box labeled fragile. It held his parents’ journals and more importantly, those that belonged to Giles. He had never read the former watcher’s journals. Giles had just told him things when he asked questions generated from his dreams. When he told Giles that he was coming to New York, the elderly man gave the books to him. “You need to know about your time in Sunnydale. You became a champion at Buffy’s side.”

He carefully carried the worn leather journals into his bedroom and placed them in a small chest at the foot of his bed. Giles did not have much information about Angel’s time in Los Angeles but gave William the name of someone who would be able to help him. Before he knew it, the sun was beginning to set. He quickly made up his bed and returned to his telescope. As he glanced up at the darkening sky, he worried that there wouldn’t be enough light for him to see into the now dark room. After he had peered through the lens for a few minutes, he saw a light blink on. Angel had awakened. The vampire rose and walked into another room; obviously the bathroom.

A sudden image of him in a large iron tub as Angelus bathed him with a sponge flitted through his mind. His groin stiffened despite the cold and he felt himself blush. Hurriedly, he pushed all thoughts of his past with the vampire from his mind and concentrated on his plan. Angel walked out of the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around his waist; his massive chest bare. William felt himself getting warm again and stepped away from the telescope. He gripped the frigid railing and got his breathing under control.

When William peered again into the telescope, Angel was getting dressed, oblivious to his audience. He was unsettled by his reactions. Get a grip you ponce. He’s a vampire! He killed you and made you a demon! God! He’s gorgeous!

Angel turned off the light as he walked out of the room. William quickly swiveled the telescope toward the front door of the apartment building, waiting for Angel to leave. He saw the vampire walk down the large concrete steps. Figuring this was as good a time as ever, he raced back into his apartment, closing the sliding door behind him. Grabbing his keys and a flashlight, he left his apartment and headed for the elevators.

When the elevator reached the lobby, he walked quickly across the tiled floor and out the front doors of his building. Looking left, he saw nothing; looking right he saw Angel turning the corner. He smiled as he crossed the street and walked up the stairs of the large converted factory, slipping inside behind a pizza delivery boy. William already knew that Angel’s apartment was on the top floor so he headed for the elevators and pushed the button for twelve. When he stepped out into the hallway, he looked around to make sure there was no one around. As he walked toward Angel’s door, he glanced toward the other apartment, but all was quiet. Certain now that the coast was clear, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out his tools, and proceeded to pick the lock of Angel’s door.

When he heard the click of the lock he smiled, opened the door, and slipped in the shadowy apartment. Just inside the door, William flicked on his flashlight and swept it around the darkened areas of the room. He whistled at the size of the loft. Immediately to his right was the small kitchen; every appliance gleamed in soft, brushed grey metal. A huge cabinet with glass doors formed a barrier in front of the kitchen. He walked over to stare at the fragile glass vases and jade figurines bathed in soft lighting. A highly polished dining table and chairs stood in front of the cabinet. He was puzzled. Vampires don’t eat! He startled as he glanced at the wall at the end of the dining area. Weapons, all obviously very old, were hung on the entire surface. The metal glinted in the flashlight’s beam. His eyes took in the black marble fireplace against the same wall. An enormous brown leather sofa surrounded by several upholstered chairs stood in front of it. Facing him was a large screened television; a sound system situated next to it. Next was a wooden bookcase that went half way across the room. DVDs, CDs and books filled every shelf. On the other side of the room was the red chair sitting in front of the wall of glass. Next to it was an enormous desk with a chair and a multi-colored glass lamp that lit the area. A laptop stood in front of the lamp. He’d check that out after he explored. He knew that he had three hours before Angel would return.

William shook his head at the opulence of the apartment, although an almost three hundred year old vampire must have had money stashed away. He turned to glance at the line of films. He really wanted to see if they held any information about Angel, and maybe himself, but he had to see the vampire’s bedroom. He walked toward the two doors in the far wall. The first opened into the bathroom. He peeked in and gasped. Opulence indeed! The counters and floor were grey tile but his eyes quickly riveted on the huge black spa tub complete with jets. He turned his head and gaped again. A black tiled shower stall took up almost the entire wall; each of the three walls had a huge shower head. Suddenly an image of another fabulous bathroom slipped into his thoughts. He saw Angel standing naked under the streaming water!

William spun around and left the room. He walked through the next door into Angel’s bedroom. The bed was a huge four poster with a red velvet canopy and drapes tied back. He shivered as another image darted into his mind. He was sprawled naked on a bed; his hands and legs were tied to the posts. Angelus stood over him, slapping the handle of a whip against his hand. He shook off the memory and went to the dresser. He opened drawers but soon became frustrated. He wasn’t finding anything about him. Maybe this idea was useless.

He flicked the light on as he stepped into the large walk-in closet and smirked at the number of clothes that hung on the bi-level racks. He had heard that the vampire favored designer clothing made with softly textured fabrics like silk, velvet and cashmere. A small door stood at the end of the closet. He knelt down and opened it. It was a tiny attic and it contained several boxes. He removed the closest box and carried it out to the bedroom. He placed it on the bed and slit the tape with his fingernail and peeled back the tissue paper. There were charcoal and pencil drawings; some of them looked quite old. He carefully removed the drawings from layers of tissue paper. There were sketches of a haughty blonde woman in period dress, along with a fragile looking brunette…Darla and Drusilla! As soon as he thought their names, visions flooded into his mind shifting quickly in and out of focus. He saw the four of them, Angelus, the women and him all elegantly dressed in London at various parties. He saw himself, Spike, laughing as he rode in a carriage with Angelus; the vampire’s arm around a young woman in a bridal gown, blood dripping from bite marks in her neck.

William closed his eyes for a moment, horrified at what he had been. He opened them and continued to look through the drawings. There were many of Darla and Drusilla; in many they were undressed and sprawled on couches or on a bed. He blinked when he saw several of them entwined with each other. Suddenly, another harsh vision made him shudder. He and the women were at a gypsy camp. He saw himself as Spike standing on the steps of a wagon; his mouth covered in blood. He didn’t see Angelus. He looked through more sketches and another image assaulted his mind. A war! China! The four of them sauntered down a street filled with crowds of people fighting. Angelus was there and then he disappeared.

Shaking the unpleasant memories from his mind, he continued to pull out the fragile sketches. He stopped and stared. The ones in the bottom of the box were all of him. He picked them up carefully because the paper was old and thin. William looked at them one by one. It was strange to see himself in nineteenth century clothing; his hair was longer and tied back. He was shocked to see drawings of him stark naked, in various poses. Several were of him sprawled open-legged on a bed. He couldn’t imagine lying positioned like that. He was far from prim and proper, but to pose like that for Angelus made him question what their relationship had been. The final sketches were of him sitting or lying beside the fire reading, spectacles perched precariously on his nose, his ruffled shirt half open. But his trousers were on!

When he removed all the drawings, he found a leather folder. When he opened it he saw they were photographs – of him. His hair was short, white and slicked back with way too much gel. He was in modern clothes; black jeans and t-shirt and a black leather duster. He was slouched on a sofa in a large, modern office. The drapes were open and the sun was streaming in! Something must have been on these windows to stop the rays from getting through! Angel must have the same stuff in his apartment.

He glanced at the next pictures. He was standing in a lab with a tiny girl dressed in a white coat. In others he was sitting with a green demon with red horns! In one he was in a different office with a tall, black man. There were several of him sleeping, his arms heavily bandaged. A scene of Spike wrapped in chains in a cellar haunted him briefly but he forced it out of his mind. There were only two photographs of him and Angel, both apparently taken in the same office without their knowledge. In one they were on opposite ends of a sofa. Angel was glaring at him, but he was not looking at the vampire. In the other, Angel was sitting on the back of a chair and Spike stood next to him. They were both staring out of a large window as dusk fell.

His mind flitted back, and he could see himself dressed in a black duster in a big office with Angel. Their faces were contorted in anger and they were arguing with each other. The terrible fight scene in the dilapidated building repeated and then he saw Angel visiting him in a hospital. He lay in bed and his arms were bandaged. Once upon a time.

The memories continued to cascade quickly through his mind until he saw himself in an alley. He and Angel were brandishing swords as rain poured down and lightning flashed. He turned to yell at Angel and then…nothing. He shivered as he shook his head to clear the many unsettling pictures and thoughts. Forcing himself to calm down, he carefully put everything back into the box and returned it to the attic. He looked at the other boxes but knew he did not have time now to search them. A little part of him was hurt that Angel kept photographs of him locked away. Giles had told him that he worked in L.A. with Angel until the apocalyptic battle. Stupid sod! Why would he have them out? They hated each other for years. Furious with himself for his feelings, he slammed the little door closed, stood up and stalked out of Angel’s bedroom.

William marched over to the desk where Angel had left the light burning low. He had left his email minimized but open. William maximized it and scrolled through the messages. He didn’t recognize any names immediately. Giles mentioned that they hadn’t heard from him since before the events in L.A. in 2004. There were a few messages from students about coursework, then one from a man inviting Angel to a christening. William found himself smirking. Christening – a vampire in a church?

He stopped scrolling when he saw a familiar name. There was an email from Faith; she was a slayer. He clicked it open. The message wasn’t very long, just Faith checking in with Angel to see how he was doing. He closed that email and opened one from Willow that was basically the same thing. He wondered if Giles knew that Faith and Willow were in contact with Angel. For some reason he didn’t think so. He found nothing else of interest so he minimized the email and stood. He checked his watch. He had been in the apartment for an hour and a half. He still had some time but he had to move quickly.

He stood up from the desk and strode across the room to the bookcase. He stared at the shelves and perused the film library. The titles were alphabetized! He thought about his own DVDs shoved every which way on his shelves and grimaced. Angel had eclectic taste in film: Ben Hur, Casablanca, Gladiator. He paused at one title and took it from the shelf: Love is a Many-Splendored Thing. He didn’t know the movie but it seemed an odd choice for a vampire. He continued to search the shelves. Angel had the Lord of the Rings, Spiderman, and all of the Star Wars and Superman films. He smirked and shook his head. Fancies himself a hero I guess.

William walked to the next section of the bookcase. On the top shelf he saw a DVD labeled Angel Investigations. He pulled it down and popped it into the player. He turned on the TV and stepped back to watch. A small man speaking in an Irish accent appeared on the large screen. He remembered Giles telling him about Doyle who had been Angel’s first link with the Powers That Be until he sacrificed his life. It was just a short clip with an obviously nervous Doyle talking about looking for a hero and coming over to the offices of Angel Investigations.

He pulled the film out of the machine when it was finished and replaced it on the shelf. On the shelf below he noticed several photographs in pewter frames. There was one of a beautiful long-haired brunette. She was a stunner. Next to it was a picture of Doyle and then one of Angel with the two of them. He continued perusing the photographs. He recognized Wesley from a picture that Giles had. There was a picture of Angel with another dark-haired woman and one of a young man who looked a lot like Angel. Giles never mentioned him and he was curious. Again he felt a little stab of hurt that there wasn’t one of him, as Spike, framed and out in the open.

Annoyed with himself, he glanced at his watch. He needed to leave. He strode to the front door and looked back once, his mind filled with more questions than answers. He closed the door, locked it and walked across the hall to the elevators. He left Angel’s building and walked back to his quickly; his thoughts jumbled and unsettled. He rode the elevator up to his floor and entered his apartment. He grabbed a beer and lay on the couch, once again wondering about Angel before finally falling asleep; his dreams filled mostly with images of violence, although there were a few tender scenes that troubled him even more.

~Part: 9~

Several hours later, Angel returned to his apartment. He was tired but not from being overworked. Even though he knew the student wouldn’t be there, he searched the back of the room, disappointed not to see Will’s face. Will. The name brought a flood of memories that tormented him as he walked home from class.

He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back wall of the elevator as it lumbered to the twelfth floor. When it creaked to a stop, he withdrew his keys and headed for his door. His vampire senses startled. A faint scent, different from the usual, wafted near his apartment. Angel shook his head. Vampires don’t age. Do they get Alzheimer's?

He withdrew his key from the lock and entered the semi-dark apartment. He paused and shook his head again. Maybe he needed to ask Jed Cardiff for a psychiatrist. Were there shrinks that could deal with a vampire’s insanity? Angel put down his briefcase and headed straight for the refrigerator. He took out the tall glass pitcher of blood, put it in a mug, and warmed it up in the microwave. Tiredly, he leaned against the counter while he waited. Suddenly he straightened, startled. That scent! The same scent that he sensed in the elevator and in the hallway. It was much stronger here. Someone’s been in the apartment! He walked quickly to the door to check the locks, but they weren’t forced. He wandered back into the room and stood breathing. The scent seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. The familiarity hung on the outer edges of his memory. He followed it from the living room, to the dining room, and to his bedroom where it was the strongest. The person spent the most time there!

He walked back through the rooms again. He looked carefully but didn’t notice that anything had been disturbed. He went to get his blood out of the microwave, unable to shake the feeling that he knew this scent. Suddenly, he dropped his mug in a loud, shattering crash. He ignored the blood that splattered all over the floor. Spike…it was Spike’s scent. But how was that possible? Spike was dead. He sniffed the air, thinking he had to be mistaken. No, that was definitely Spike’s scent. He’d never forget it. He stood for a long moment with his eyes closed and memories rushed into his mind as painful feelings punctured his heart. Spike! Running his hand through his hair, he began to believe he was really losing his mind. First, he saw his new student and mistook him for William…Spike; now he imagined he smelled the scent of his dead Childe! Angel shuddered and with shaking hands, he fell to his knees to clean up the mess on the floor.

Totally confused and truly concerned about his sanity, Angel grabbed the bottle of Jameson’s from the counter and walked into his bedroom. He tossed the bottle onto his bed and shed his clothes, dropping them in piles on the floor. Disturbed, he climbed into the large bed and propped himself into a half sitting, half lying position. He opened the bottle and took a long swig of the fiery liquid, questions that he had no answers to cluttering his mind. Was it a sick joke? Who could do this? He had been safe for twenty-five years. Was it something cooked up by the Senior Partners to finally send him over the edge? Could they have finally found him?

Angel continued to drink straight from the bottle, trying to block the haunting scent and memories that were enveloping him in a cocoon filled with thoughts of the past. It was impossible. The smell was everywhere! No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore it. How could he? The memories the scent evoked…memories of William…memories of Spike… He closed his eyes and prayed to what ever deity that would listen to a souled vampire. He needed Dominic, that Sióchain angel that came to him long ago in Ireland. The angel said that they watched over him. Are you watching now? Now would be a good time to help me! Disgusted and distraught, he threw off the covers. Grasping the bottle of Jameson’s in his trembling hand, he leapt out of bed and hurried to the closet. Yanking open the door, he stumbled to the small attic door in the back wall and pulled it open. He fell to his knees and reached deep into the hidden compartment and pulled out a large box secreted behind the others.

Taking a deep breath that he didn’t need and another swig from the bottle, he removed the lid of the box. The scent of leather and Spike wafted over him. His senses vibrated. Angel closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of family. His loneliness and sadness pierced his unbeating heart deeply. He ran his fingers gently over the soft leather. Lifting it carefully from the tissue paper, he grasped the coat reverently in his hands. Angel took it out of the box and buried his face in it. The smell was definitely Spike, with a mixture of leather and cigarettes. As he clutched the coat, he remembered how he always gave Spike a hard time about refusing to give it up. He had mocked the younger vampire when the woman at the Italian branch of Wolfram and Hart sent him ten of the coats after his was destroyed in the bombing in the piazza.

But now…now he was glad that Spike had kept them. Angel had managed to sneak one out of the closet in the spare room of the penthouse and hide it away. The coat was all he had left of Spike…his Childe…his enemy…his…friend. His mind floated back through the years and over all of their fights and arguments. How often over that year, after Spike literally burst into his life in Los Angeles, they needled each other constantly; one feeding off the other. God but Spike could be annoying and frustrating. But even with all the bluster and snarking, they found a way to respect each other…help each other. Angel figured he got the better end of deal in the long run. No one understood him like Spike did. Understood what he felt, what he went through day in and day out. Understood how hard it was for him to live with a soul and ignore the inner rumblings of his demon. Over the course of the year, he felt them coming together, getting closer. Where that would have led, he didn’t know. Now he’d never know. It was just him now.

He stood up and carefully carried the duster out of the closet. He gently laid it on his bed and stood looking at it for a few minutes. Images of his brash Childe swaggering in his leather duster in Sunnydale…in LA...drifted into his mind. A cigarette always between his lips. His platinum hair gelled stiffly. He sighed and shook his head as if to dislodge the painful thoughts. Not liking the direction his brooding was taking him, he turned away. He ignored the pile of wrinkled clothing on the floor and stalked into his closet. He dressed hurriedly in black pants and an old, comfortable black sweater. He had to get out of there! He had to get away from his tormenting memories and now, the haunting scent of Spike that seemed to permeate his apartment…his life. Grabbing his coat and keys, he walked a bit unsteadily out of his apartment and entered the elevator. Somehow, he had to escape his thoughts and the pain in his heart.

Angel closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the back of the elevator. He was drunk; really drunk. I used to drink much more than this and never got drunk. It’s Will. He looks…he looks so much like Spike. I’m tired…tired of being alone…tired of outliving everyone.

The door clicked open and the vampire staggered slightly as he strode out of the building into the frigid air. He needed to fight. He needed to fight demons; get his adrenalin back; get thoughts of Spike out of his head and out of his heart. Angel walked purposefully toward Washington Square Park. Demons of all types lurked there in the shadows. He had often patrolled…patrolled…with Buffy…a few nights with Spike in LA. He sighed. The student who looked so much like Spike had pierced his resolve and the cask of painful memories that he had kept locked away, flooded into the present.

As he entered the darkened park, Angel heard a faint footstep behind him and turned quickly. A huge Rangoth demon with arms ending in claws appeared from behind a copse of trees. Angel swept into action and within seconds the demon was dead. Two young vampires were his next unlucky victims. A heavily scaled, seven foot tall Grenouille demon approached from behind and Angel leapt up and twisted his neck. His frog-like head landed at the vampire’s feet. When a Fell Brethren walked haughtily from behind a rock, Angel stilled briefly and then his fury and sadness boiled over. He attacked the demon viciously with his long knife. The creature died with the second thrust, but Angel continued to pierce its body as he screamed over and over. “You killed him…killed him…dusted my Childe…killed…killed him!” He furiously severed the demon’s head and flung it into the bushes as tears flowed down his face. Angel turned and stumbled out of the park.

Will had been peering through his telescope waiting for Angel to come home. He saw the vampire drinking heavily and watched him remove the black duster from its box and gently caress the black leather. He’s remembering Spike…almost as if…as if he were touching…a…a lover. Everyone said the vampires hated each other.

He watched Angel stagger out of his bedroom and walk unsteadily toward the door of his apartment. Will hurriedly left the balcony, grabbed his coat and ran out into the hall. Fortunately, the elevator door was open and he entered. Although the car moved swiftly downward, he cursed impatiently. He tore out of the building and into the street. Angel was striding along quickly, although he seemed to be lurching haphazardly.

Will followed, hoping that Angel’s vampire hearing had been dulled by all the alcohol. When Angel strode into the park, Will paused. He had staked a vampire there when he first arrived in New York. He knew the deep shadows held possible danger for unsuspecting humans. He was confident that he could handle one at a time but was uncertain about his success against more. He heard piercing screams suddenly and without thinking, he hurried in their direction. A dim light from the streetlamp cast shadows into a clearing between tall trees. He saw Angel battling a huge frog-looking beast. Will gasped as it fell heavily to the ground after the vampire twisted off its head. He watched with sick fascination as thick blood oozed from its wounds. Almost without pausing, Angel ran after two obviously young vampires who had been mesmerized by the battle as they stupidly stood directly beneath the streetlamp. Will watched their dust float through the air. Suddenly an ugly demon with tentacles around its mouth stepped from behind a rock. Will stared as Angel’s face contorted with fury. The vampire thrust his knife repeatedly into the creature as he shouted incoherently. Will looked on in horror as he continued to slash the dead demon’s body. After Angel severed its head, he yelled maniacally into its face before flinging it into the bushes.

Sick with fear and disgust Will backed away and hid behind some trees. Still shaking from the brutality of the killing, he cowered behind some bushes. He started when he heard talking. Two policemen walked from behind several trees.

The older cop spoke. “Saw him fight like that a few times before. Always the same type of demon. He really has a hard on for that type.”

The younger cop was obviously shaken by what he had seen. “Don’t…don’t we arrest him?”

“Are you kidding? Since he’s been here, the park is even safer than before. The commissioner decreased our patrols because of him.”

“Who is he?” The younger policemen voice squeaked.

“All I know is that he’s some professor at NYU. Whenever I asked, I was told just to appreciate his help. Assist him if he needed it. Never has as long as I’ve been walking this beat. Must be secret for some reason. Let’s get some coffee. I can’t feel my feet.”

After the two men hurried away, Will left his hiding place. Still trembling from the violence he witnessed, he walked in the direction that Angel had taken. Why…why was he…it was dead…why did he keep stabbing it? Why was he shouting? What was he saying? He stopped outside one of the neighborhood bars. Got to get out of the dark. I need a beer.

Will entered the dimly lit room and glanced around. Angel sat in the last booth way in the back. He grabbed a bottle from his table and poured whiskey into the glass he grasped tightly. He drank deeply and then rested his head on the wooden back of the booth. Will crossed to the other side of the room and sat at a small table. He ordered a beer and watched Angel drink heavily. His mind was in turmoil. He had read everything he could find about Angel and he had badgered Giles for more. No one seemed to know much about his last year in Los Angeles. Or didn’t want to know. Even Giles palmed him off on someone else. Unfortunately, the man the former watcher had told him to contact had died just before he arrived in New York.

As he sat watching the vampire get drunker and drunker, Will wondered if he should email Faith or Willow. Will they tell me anything? Do they know what happened…who I am? Who am I? How much of me is Spike?

Will drank his beer and thought about his life and what he knew of his former life. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more. Angel is the only one who can tell me. Will he tell me? Is he dangerous? He has a soul. How can he be so brutal with a soul?

He heard a raised voice and looked up. Angel was staring angrily at a blonde woman who had sat down in his booth. The vampire’s face twisted into a snarl and the woman stood up quickly and hurried away. Will saw the look of horror on her face. Suddenly, Angel stood. He grasped the edge of the booth for support and then stumbled out of the bar. Will threw some money onto his table and followed the unsteady vampire.

Angel staggered and almost tripped. Without thinking, Will rushed to him and kept him from falling. The vampire turned and tried to focus on his face. “Spike…Spike…is that you?”

“No, professor, it’s Will. One of your students. Let me help you home.”

“Look like Spike…not so blonde.” His dulled eyes swept over Will’s body as he raised his hand to touch the soft curls that were begging to be entwined in his fingers. “Always in black…duster…just like Will.” Angel leaned close to Will and buried his face into young man’s neck. Will tensed at the contact, and his body trembled as the vampire inhaled deeply, a memory of something flittering on the outer edges of his mind that he couldn’t quite identify. “You smell like Spike…you were in my apartment earlier.” It was more of a statement than a question. “But you died…” Angel pulled away from the young man and stared at him with a mask of confusion and sorrow.

“Come on professor, you need to go home.” Will responded as his heart pounded in his chest. He thinks I’m Spike! Will I find out who I was from him?

“I’m sorry…so sorry…I…I…I let him kill you…I turned…too late…he staked you.”

“Who staked Spike, professor?” Will asked, desperate for any fact about who he had been when he worked at Wolfram and Hart with Angel.

“The Fell…that demon…that scaly…evil…the Fell Brethren. I turned…too late…I’m sorry…I…I miss you…Spike…I’m…I’m…alone…you left me…alone…too alone. I never…never told you…” Angel lurched and fell to his knees. When he looked up at Will, his handsome face was wet with tears. “Sorry…sorry…”

As he helped the heavy vampire to his feet, Will wasn’t sure what to say. He spoke quietly, hoping that his words wouldn’t make Angel worse. “Angel…Angel…it wasn’t your fault…you…you were fighting demons…”

“Dragon…damn dragon…smoke…flames…I should have watched …I should never…I didn’t see him…Why didn’t I die too?”

Will held Angel tightly and they walked slowly toward his building. The vampire mumbled incoherently and his tears never ceased. “Give me your card, professor, so I can get us in.”

Angel fumbled in his pocket and handed a battered wallet to the younger man. As he peered through the wallet for the entry card, he stopped. There was a picture of him…of Spike. Except for the platinum hair, they looked exactly alike. They were dressed exactly alike…all in black.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind them.

Spike turned to face a woman carrying a suitcase. “May I help you?” She glanced at Angel. “Oh, it’s you professor.” She looked up at Will. “Is he sick? Let me help.”

“I’ve got him ma’m. Little too much to drink. Can you let us in?”

The woman looked shocked but she slid her card into the slot and the door clicked open. “I’ve never seen him like this. Did something happen?”

“Um…yes…an old friend died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do…I live 1002. He’s helped me out several times. He’s a very nice man.”

They entered the elevator and rode in silence. When the doors slipped open, the woman turned again. “Take care of him. I’m glad he has someone…he’s always alone. No one should be alone. Good night.”

“Good night and thank you,” Will answered. Fortunately, Angel had been quiet. He stood with his head down and no longer mumbled about killing anything. Will helped the vampire out of the elevator and over to his door.

Suddenly Angel opened his eyes and peered into Will’s face. “Will?”

“Yes, professor. It’s Will…Will Tate. I’m in your art history class.”

Angel looked confused but retrieved his key from his pocket and handed it to the young man. Will opened the door and helped him inside. Angel stopped and peered intently at him again. “Spike…Spike…is that you?”

“No, professor. It’s Will. I’m your student. Let’s get you to bed.”

Angel pulled away when Will took a hold of his arm. He scented the air again and looked at Will, bending forward, he smelled him again. “You’re dead…you can’t be here Spike…I saw you die…you were just dust…” The vampire gazed intently into Will’s eyes and then lowered his head. Angel kept mumbling but didn’t resist as Will gently grabbed his arm and walked him to his bedroom and pushed him down onto the bed. The vampire allowed him to remove his duster. Will placed the coat on a near-by chair. When he knelt down to unzip Angel’s boots, the vampire grasped the younger man’s chin in his hand and lifted his face. “Spike? I…failed…I failed you. I failed everyone." Angel rubbed his thumb across Will’s lips. “Spike…Will…I…miss…I miss you…why can’t…can’t you come back to me…why?”

The vampire released Will and sat with his head bowed. Shaken by the whole evening, Will said nothing and hurriedly removed Angel’s boots. He stood up and pushed the vampire down onto his pillows. Angel suddenly reached for the duster at the end of the bed…Spike’s duster…and held it to his chest. Will gently pried the coat from his fingers and laid it over the vampire. As Will leaned over to cover him with the duster, Angel placed both hands on his face and stared deeply into Will’s eyes. “Blue…so blue…saw everything…saw me…I wanted…wanted us to…”

Angel suddenly grabbed Will and brought him down on top of him, squeezing him tightly. Will couldn’t breathe. “Professor! Prof…I can’t breathe…Angel!”

The vampire released him and the young man stood quickly. Confusion and sadness marred Angel’s handsome face. Tears fell slowly from dark eyes that had seen so much pain and horror over so many years. The vampire blinked a few times. “Why…why…Will?”

“Yes, professor. It’s Will…Will Tate. You…you were a little drunk. I helped you home. Sleep now. I’ll…I’ll see you in class.” Will nodded and almost ran from the room and the apartment. He was terrified by Angel’s violence with the demon; frightened by the intensity of the vampire’s sorrow; and appalled by the implications of the vampire’s words. What did he mean? Why is he so…why does he want Spike back? Why is it his fault that Spike died?

Will ran out of Angel’s apartment. His anxiety wouldn’t allow him to wait for the elevator. Adrenalin charged, he pulled open the heavy stairwell door and raced down several flights of steps before stopping. Breathless, he staggered and leaned his sweaty face against the cold concrete wall outside the eighth floor and closed his eyes. His mind was awash with images. Angel crazed, stabbing the demon repeatedly. Brutally slicing the head from the body. Screaming at the dead face as blood dripped from the severed neck.

Will shuddered and opened his eyes warily, as if expecting to see more carnage. Slowly he pushed himself away from the wall and walked shakily to the massive metal door of the hallway. He stared. His body was boneless; his strength had fled. He could not open the heavy door. He closed his eyes again and forced his breathing to slow. Get a grip. You need to get out of here. Away from…him! Will took a deep breath, opened his eyes and pulled at the door. Determinedly he strode through the opening and into the hallway. He pushed the elevator button and stood perfectly still until the large doors slid open. He hurried inside and rode down, absently watching the lights of the floors flick on and off; willing the doors to stay closed. He did not want to face anyone.

Finally, the heavy doors hissed open and he walked swiftly into the lobby of Angel’s building and out into the night. Icy raindrops pelted him as he hurried. He forced himself to just walk quickly. Running would call attention and he had no desire to face questions by the police. Although it was just a short distance away, Will arrived at his building wet and shivering from the relentless sleet. He fumbled for his card and slid it into the slot. When the door clicked open, Will strode purposefully inside as he glanced around the lobby. He sighed; the foyer was empty. The doorman must have been assisting another tenant and he was relieved. He didn’t want to have to stop and chat with the man.

The elevator’s metal doors slid open at his touch and closed quickly. He pressed the button for his floor and closed his eyes, opening them only when he heard the doors open. He walked down the hall to his apartment. Feeling that someone was watching, he glanced over his shoulder. The hall was empty. Stupid sod…he’s asleep…drunk. Will was unsettled. He knew about a vampire’s unnatural speed and he was uncertain how long alcohol stayed in the demon’s system.

Increasing his pace, he arrived at his door, clutching his keys in his hand. His hands were shaking and it took him several frustrating tries to insert the key into the lock. Stop it you ponce! He’s home in his bed. He didn’t follow you. Since when are you such a scaredy-cat? Will finally opened the door to his dimly lit apartment. He hurried around and lit every lamp in his living room, refusing to acknowledge the mocking voice in his head. Scaredy cat, Will. Don’t like the dark? Demons chasing you? Shaking himself, he tossed his coat onto the sofa and went into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of Chamomile tea and stood quietly watching it spin in the microwave.

He carried the steaming cup carefully into the living room. He stared for several minutes at the glass doors of his balcony; at the telescope beckoning him. Furious at his nervousness, he stalked toward the doors and yanked them open. A blast of freezing rain blew into his face. He shivered, blinked away the moisture, stepped back inside and closed the doors. There’s nothing to see. The drunken sod is sleeping.

Will sipped his tea but it did not soothe him. He slammed the cup down and began to pace. Images suddenly forced themselves into his thoughts. Him…Spike standing over a bloody man as he repeatedly forced a railroad spike into his body. Spike, his mouth dripping blood…the body of a woman collapsed at his feet…her neck torn and shredded. Angelus shaking his head. William…finesse…William…like this…

Will forced his mind away from the horrific memories but the thoughts would not be denied. You murdered innocent people…you were Spike…a soulless vampire…like…like Angelus.

The confused young man flung open the door to the balcony. Ignoring the frigid rain pelting his face, he stepped to his telescope and peered into Angel’s apartment. He had left a light on by the bed and saw the vampire tossing, thrashing about as he slept fitfully. Once again images surfaced. Angelus taking him to the National Gallery in London. Explaining…describing the paintings as they strolled through the rooms during a special evening party. He, William…Spike basking in the older vampire’s undivided attention. Standing at his Sire’s side as he charmed the rich donors with his knowledge of art…Angelus’ Irish brogue deepening as the wealthy art patrons listened intently…introducing William…Angelus rescuing him as he stammered, blushing at the scrutiny.

Confusion warred with terror and disgust in his mind and soul. How could Angelus be part of Angel? Angel, the Champion of the Powers That Be? Angel, the souled vampire loved by the slayer? But then brutal memories forced themselves into his mind. Angelus coaxing lovely young women away from a gathering. Draining them, snapping their necks and dropping them to the ground. Angelus…accompanied by William...interrupting a wedding…killing the priest, the groom and some of the guests… carrying the screaming bride out of the church…Angelus brutally beating William, a pathetic fledgling who was too soft…too human.

Will stopped pacing. The conflicting images and emotions were exhausting him. He went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He withdrew two vials of pills that his psychiatrist had prescribed. One was for anxiety and his nerves; the other to help him sleep…on nights like this. He stood looking at them; wondering if he should take them. He hated feeling dependent on medication. I need to sleep…sleep without nightmares! Sighing, he opened the first bottle and tapped one pill into his hand. Should he take more than one?

Unnerved by his dangerous thoughts, he quickly swallowed just one of each pill. He walked slowly into his bedroom and undressed in the dark. Tossing his clothing onto a near-by chair, he slipped naked into the cool sheets. He lay quietly for a few minutes willing all thought from his mind. He flicked on the light and picked up the book he had been reading – the poetry of John Keats. The romantic poet’s eloquent verses always soothed him. He read for a while until the medicine worked its magic and he fell into a dreamless sleep. His hands clutched tightly around the book was the only clue to his still anxious state.

~Part: 10~

Angel woke slowly. He had dreamed – mostly vicious nightmares of his past but – as the fog lifted from his mind, he remembered. He remembered Spike; Spike dressed in his usual black. Spike…no…Will. His voice soft, gentle. “No professor. It’s Will. I’m your student. Let’s get you to bed.” His scent…Spike’s scent was …everywhere in this room. He blinked open his eyes and quickly shut them. The lamp was glaring on his bedside table. Sunlight filled the room from the west window. Sunlight…sunlight. For a moment the old fear of the sun roared awake, and then his mind began to work normally. Necro-tempered glass!

Angel sat up abruptly and stared around the room. It was his bedroom; his bedroom in New York. He closed his eyes again and sniffed. He didn’t dream it. Spike’s scent…how could that be? Other images flooded into his now conscious mind. The member of the Fell Brethren…in the park. Stabbing it over and over. Cutting its head off. Screaming at it like a madman and flinging it into the bushes. Feeling Spike nearby as he fought the demon. That couldn’t be! Spike.

He remembered drinking a lot of whiskey. He remembered a blonde woman who sat uninvited in his booth. He snarled at her and she hurried away. He knew he left the bar but after that everything was shrouded in confusion. He stumbled and Spike…no…” No professor it’s Will. One of your students. Let me help you home.”

Angel groaned and got up. A shower. I’ve got to wake up…remember! He was unsettled. He didn’t remember forgetting everything because of drink, except of course, when he was human. Liam often awakened in a field unable to remember how he got there. Angelus…I drank a lot and could always remember. The vampire walked into his bathroom and turned on the shower. He undressed and entered the large stall. He stood and allowed the jets to pelt his body with scalding water as images from the past cascaded through his mind. The final scene in the alley repeated over and over. Spike asking him about a plan. “Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon.” Proud. Always proud…impressed with himself. Only Spike…only Spike could make him see the truth…a fool…he was an arrogant fool…Angel, the champion of the Powers That Be. Angel, the vampire with a soul expected to earn the shanshu. How could I ever have believed that Angelus, the vicious scourge of Europe, would ever shanshu? Angelus thought he was invincible until the gypsies…Angel…I knew I was not.

I wanted to fight the dragon. Always what I wanted. I fought the dragon and didn’t watch over Spike! I’m sorry…so sorry. I let them kill you. I turned…too late. He staked Spike. Then the image of the young man; the young man who looked like Spike pierced his thoughts. “No Professor, it’s Will…it’s Will. I’m your student. Let’s get you to bed.”

Angel forced himself out of his reverie and turned off the shower. Wrapping a large, fluffy towel around his waist, he walked into his bedroom. He went into the closet and dressed in house pants and a sweater staring at the small door to the attic. Kneeling down, he opened the door and pulled out one of the boxes. He sat for a long while sifting through the sketches and photographs of Spike. Finally he returned the pictures to the box, closed it and shoved it back into the small space.

He stood and looked around helplessly. It was so quiet. Always so quiet now, except in his head. His memories were always hovering at the surface, never letting him forget. He just wanted to forget…if only for a few minutes…just a few minutes of peace. Peace… Sióchain. Suddenly he recalled a prayer that his mother had said to him every night when he was a boy.

It had been more than two hundred years since he'd recalled that prayer; two hundred years since he'd murdered his mother, father and sister. Why are all these memories returning now? Had the sight of Will opened the doors that he had hoped would forever stay closed?

He shook his head and grimaced, remembering the angel who had suddenly appeared to him fifteen years ago in Ireland. Dominic, who hadn’t returned despite his assertion that he and the other Sióchain angels watched over him. He could never have peace; not with the guilt that always haunted him. The brutal memories he could never forget. But how could he ever forget? He'd killed so many. He'd killed his friends; friends who trusted him. He'd killed Spike…killed the one person who understood him…who, he hoped, would help to soothe his troubled soul.

With a cry and a heavy heart, Angel returned to his bed and started straightening the rumpled sheets and blankets. That’s when he saw it, hidden within the folds of the blankets…a strip of black leather. He pulled at it and realized it was Spike’s leather duster…his second skin. Confused, he wondered why it was in his bed and not packed away in the attic with the rest of his keepsakes, especially the pictures of Spike.

Then he remembered. He had taken the coat out of its box. He remembered that before he left the apartment last night, he had folded it and placed it on his bed. He sat and ran his fingers across the soft leather; breathing in the scent of Spike. He started. Someone with gentle hands had covered him with the duster as he fell into an alcohol-induced sleep. Who covered him? Spike? No, not Spike. He was dead. It was Will…his student who looked so much like Spike. How did Will know where he lived? He remembered leaving the bar and…and Will was suddenly there helping him to walk. He didn’t remember telling him where he lived, he just seemed to know. How did Will know where he lived?

His head was really starting to hurt with all the thinking and the confusing images. Angel wrapped his arms around the coat, holding it tightly to his chest, trying to draw some comfort from it…trying to soothe his lonely, tortured soul. He had to stop this. It’s Will…he looks so much like Spike…when Spike was still Will, a fledgling vampire.

As he continued to think of Will, images of the younger man’s concerned face filled his mind. “No professor it’s Will. One of your students. Let me help you home.” Shaking his head as if to physically dislodge his painful thoughts, Angel went into the kitchen and heated some blood. He drank two glasses hurriedly hoping that it would begin to alter the effects of the alcohol. He walked into the living room and glanced at the enormous grandfather’s clock that ticked just like a heartbeat. It was 4:30. He looked toward the huge window at the edge of the room. Already the sunlight had faded leaving a dull grey sky, which was quickly seeping into blackness. Darkness fell early in January in New York. He forced himself to look over the papers he had to return to his students in class tonight. They had groaned and complained when he reminded them they had a paper due at the second class meeting. It was in the syllabus. Their topic of the short paper was their opinion about the importance of art in the world. The first paper revealed a lot about each student. He grimaced. Only two would be happy with their grades – Norah and…and Will…Will had left his paper in his mailbox at the faculty mail room since he wouldn’t be in class. He shook his head. He did allow the students to rewrite their papers but only the ones truly interested in art would make the effort. The rest, taking the class because it was a requirement, would be happy with their C’s. Peering at the clock again, he was startled to see how much time had elapsed. He got up and walked into the kitchen to put his glass into the dishwasher and then went into his bedroom to dress for class.

Angel went into his closet and perused the stack of sweaters neatly arranged on his shelves. Ponce…you are a ponce…designer clothes. He heard Spike’s voice clearly in his head. The younger vampire had tortured him constantly with his snide comments as he waited impatiently for his arms to heal. Angel had insisted that he stay in the spare bedroom in the penthouse for the first few days after he was released from the hospital. Spike couldn’t go back to his apartment until his arms healed a bit more. Angel saw the two of them on the sofa. Spike trying to teach Angel how to play one of the video games the doctor recommended as therapy. He grinned as he remembered the look on Spike’s face when Gunn and Wes arrived with the games and the terminal…or something... and the controllers that you used to maneuver the game. Spike had been thrilled and the four of them had a pleasant evening drinking and playing the very difficult games. At least, it was difficult for him. He smiled a little when he remembered the taunting he had to take from the three of them, especially Spike. “You’re a vampire Angel…s’posed to have great reflexes. How come your fingers can’t stay on those keys?” He had been chagrined that Gunn and Wes could play easily, although Wes was a little slow.

Again, Angel pulled himself from his memories and grabbed a pair of slacks and a sweater. He dressed, shoved his papers into his briefcase, grabbed his coat and left the apartment unmindful of the icy rain that had begun to fall.

Angel peered around the classroom searching. Will wasn’t there. Did something happen to him on the way home? He forced himself to focus. He couldn’t stop the class.

“Someone get the lights and we’ll see the slides. They will be your introduction into the art of Greece and Rome.”

Angel did not know how he got through the next two hours. As soon as the slides were finished, he let the students leave early, saying the icy weather was getting worse. He was worried about Will. Could he have been hurt? No...more likely he’s disgusted…He had to help me home? His vampire constitution failed him. He knew that he had finished two bottles of Jameson’s. He wasn’t sure if he’d had more. He left his briefcase in his office and walked out into the freezing rain. His shoulders hunched with sadness and concern; his thoughts racing. I could break into the registrar’s office to find out where he lives. Make sure he’s okay.

Angel stopped abruptly when he heard the Irish music. His feet had taken him to McSorely’s. He had spent many hours there when he had arrived in New York in 1902. John McSorely patterned the ale house after a public house in his native Ireland. The old man hired him because he was Irish, but he insisted he bathe and gave him some clothes that his son no longer wanted. He washed dishes late at night for a while until he had enough money to travel. He could never stay long in one place; never allow anyone to befriend him. When he returned to New York in 1940, he often spent nights in the bar until late, just before closing. He listened to the brogues of the Irish patrons who often spoke Gaelic; the language that he had known long ago. But it became too popular after Life magazine did a picture story about the historic ale house that had first opened in 1854 and he couldn’t risk being around so many people.

He sat alone in his tiny apartment night after night. Then, of course, he had been forced by the Demon Research Initiative to rescue a submarine filled with American sailors and Spike. Spike climbing up the ladder. “You’re still a dick.” He never knew if Spike had made it to shore until he arrived in Sunnydale. You are a dick. You’ll never make up for any of it. So many dead. Spike…Fred…Wes…Gunn…Cordy.

He pushed open the door and scanned the room. He had been surprised when he returned to New York to find it barely changed; still run by members of the McSorely family. It was modernized a bit, but the old bar remained; the walls even more crowded with pictures of the famous. Of course now it was more of a “happening place.” And several times he had to pass it by because it was too crowded. But fortunately tonight, a table way in the back was empty and he strode toward it as he nodded to the bartender. A young man placed a bottle of Jameson’s and a glass on the table and Angel paid him. He drank his whiskey and tuned out the lively chatter of the other patrons lost in more memories: his debauched life in Ireland, Darla, Drusilla, Spike, Buffy, Spike…

“Tráthnóna maith agat.” "Dia dhuit.”

Angel lifted his head and stared, unnerved that he hadn’t heard anyone approach. He recognized the intruder and stiffened. He snarled softly but harshly, “God has not been with me for a long time, if ever.”

“Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú?”

“Fine. Why are you here?” Angel responded harshly.

Dominic sighed and sat down uninvited. “Sióchain, A leanbh na páiret.”

Angel snarled again. “Peace? I’ll never have peace and I’m not your dear child. What do you want? More cryptic messages for me?

Dominic frowned. “Are you not well, Angel? Have you not found a place at the university?”

Angel nodded, his face hard and angry. “What do you want, Dominic? I am not a champion anymore. Why are you here now?”

The angel reached out and touched Angel’s hand. The touch made the vampire’s hand warm and he withdrew it. Dominic frowned slightly. “Do you remember what I told you in Ireland?”

“You said several things.” Angel answered.

“Did I not tell you that someone would come to you to ease your loneliness?”

Angel stared at Dominic and suddenly trembled. He didn’t answer the angel but he felt a flicker of hope intrude into his misery. The Sióchain angel smiled.

“Spike…Will…my student…he looks like Spike.” Angel responded haltingly.

Dominic nodded. “Spike shanshued right after he died in the alley that night twenty-five years ago. He was reborn as a human baby, and he grew up as William Tate in London. He had dreams and nightmares for most of his life, but as he grew older, they became more explicit. He wanted answers.” The angel smiled. “He tortured Rupert Giles for information and read the watcher’s journals. He came to New York to find you and find out who he was.”

For a long moment, Angel could not speak. Spike. It was Spike. It was his scent. I am not losing my mind. Then he remembered. “The watcher’s journals tell of Angelus. Why would he want to find Angelus?”

“Yes, he knows about the soulless Angelus and even who he was as Spike. But some of his dreams revealed a tenderness from you and the watcher’s journals told nothing of his time with you in Los Angeles.”

Angel lowered his head and hissed angrily. “A tenderness? Angelus…I was rarely tender. I beat him brutally and often. I taught him to stalk and kill human beings. In Sunnydale…He hated me…I...I didn’t want him around when he returned as a ghost.”

Dominic interrupted. “All that is true, but after Fred died, you grew closer.”

Angel had gone rigid when Dominic mentioned his lost friend. “I don’t want him…once he finds out...” He stopped and lowered his head. “He’s better off with no connection with me. I…everyone…dies. He’s alive now…he has a new life…a better life. I have no place in his life anymore. He’s in the light now…human, while I still live in the darkness…a monster. Spike died…because of me.”

Once again the angel touched the vampire. He sought to infuse Angel with hope, but his guilt blinded Angel to all the good he had done over the years. Yes, he had been a vicious vampire. Yes, he’d still be if the gypsies had not forced his soul to return to his body.

“William has always been haunted by his dreams and nightmares. He wants to know the truth about who he was. He wants answers to his dreams. Yes, he is often terrified by what he remembers, but he made the decision to come to New York. To find out whom he was; who he is.”

The angel paused and spoke again, looking into the vampire’s eyes, willing him to understand. “Angel, you signed away the Shanshu to bring down evil. You succeeded, in part. There will always be evil, but it is not just you who must fight it. You gave up something precious to you. You made a sacrifice. You are not the only champion; only the most famous.” Dominic smiled but Angel did not return it.

The angel continued. “You had hope in your heart. Hope that you could make up for all your…for everything. You’ve lived for a long time without hope. Without hope you cannot be a champion and the Powers of Good still need a champion.”

“I no longer work for the Powers. I have no allegiance to anyone anymore.” Angel answered quietly but with obvious anger.

“Because you’ve lost hope.” Dominic looked deeply into the vampire’s dark eyes. “The young man will bring hope back into your life, but you must allow it. Push aside a little bit of the guilt and allow hope to grow. Spike sought his soul out of guilt, but he became a champion in Sunnydale. He perished there willingly. He made a sacrifice. He returned to Los Angeles and died again at your side, willingly. When you gave up the Shanshu, it went to him. You will not receive humanity, but William will bring you peace.”

Speechless, Angel stared at Dominic as he continued. “William is curious but he is frightened and often repulsed by the images of his past. He has a human heart now and it is fragile. A door has been opened but there is no guarantee that William will choose to walk through to you. Can you risk rejection? You also must choose. Can you forget some of your guilt? Can you allow this young man to come into your heart if that is what he wants? Can you accept it if he chooses to leave? Can you bring him peace? Will you allow him to bring you peace? The opportunity is offered. The outcome is not certain. You both must decide and it will not be easy for either of you.”

Dominic stood. “I’ve brought you much to think about, Angel. Sióchain.”

Before Angel could respond, Dominic walked to the door. He turned back, smiled and disappeared into the night. Angel sat for a long time, remembering the angel’s words; thinking about all that he had said. Finally, he stood and walked home. Although he was not ready to accept all that Dominic said; not ready to trust any Powers That Be, a tiny spark of hope continued to flame in his unbeating heart.

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