Family Reunion Part 9
Mar. 24th, 2007 08:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightThere are only 3 parts of this fic left so I thought I might as well post them daily over the weekend and on Monday, since that's most convenient for me (ie. I'm not working). Thanks to everyone who has read this far. I hope you enjoy the rest of it.
For rating/pairings/setting etc, see Part 1. Previous parts are here.
This part contains a rather more explicit m/m sex scene and it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger.
Family Reunion Part 9
"I, Angelus of Aurelius, do solemnly swear by the infernal blood in my veins, that I will protect you, Connor, child of Darla, grandchild of the Master, with my life if necessary and for as long as I shall live."
Spike hated all this ritual crap. It was like being trapped in a bad fantasy movie. It occurred to him too that whoever had thought up the phrasing of this oath – and he was fingering old Nest as the culprit – could have worded it a bit better. Like this, not only did Angel have no obligation or loyalty to Darla herself but he was free to interpret 'protecting' Connor however he saw fit.
Still, in the end, it didn't make any difference. Spike was pretty sure Angel wouldn't consider himself bound by an oath taken to a vampire, even signed in blood like this one. For that matter, Angelus wouldn't have either.
"There. That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Darla's voice was at its most sweetly poisonous. She was holding Connor in her arms like she was afraid if she didn't the kid would try and run away. Looking at his face, Spike wasn't so sure he wouldn't. It amused him no end to see that childish pout and snarl all aimed at Angel, especially since he himself was usually the one on the receiving end.
"What do you say, Connor?" Darla again, and now she was frowning at her son. Any minute now she'd be giving poor Belle a tongue-lashing for not teaching him better manners.
"Thank you," Connor said, sulkily, to Angel, and Spike saw Annabelle breathe a sigh of relief. Her hair was a bit awry, he noticed and there was a smear of dust on the front of her dress. He supposed she must have fallen over in her haste to get back with the gloves.
"Now what?" Angel had risen from his knees and stood staring down at Darla and the kid. His eyes were on Connor, though, as if he couldn't ever look at him enough.
"Well," Darla gazed up at him slyly, "if you were anyone else, I'd say, now we feast. However, I guess in the circumstances, it would hardly be polite. You must be terribly hungry, Angel."
"I can manage." Angel looked pained – or maybe he was just constipated? Spike was pretty sure that a diet of pigs' blood played havoc with a vampire's digestion.
"We could play chess," Darla said, suddenly, "or backgammon. You used to be fond of both games, as I recall, back in the day."
"Or we could go out clubbing." Spike couldn't stop himself butting in. In spite of Darla's words the previous day, he didn't like the way she and Angel were just so comfortable together. "Always were a live wire on the dance floor, weren't you, Angelus old son?"
They both ignored him. Angel was looking down at Darla – and from his vantage point he could see right down her cleavage – his eyes flicking from her to Connor and back. "Chess it is," he said, at last. "I don't think you've beaten me yet."
"Well, there's always a first time." Darla's smile was cool. She snapped her fingers at one of the minions to go and fetch the chessboard and men. Connor, meanwhile, had climbed on her knee and had his little arms wound tightly round her neck. Spike wondered how long she'd put up with it.
He nodded to Angel's guards – a signal to them to keep their wits about them. At the same time, he realised Ravinder was missing. She was nowhere to be seen amongst the minions, now dispersing about their business save for the two guarding Angel. The bloody little fool had probably gone chasing off into the tunnels after Erroll, Spike supposed, and he added another cross to his mental checklist of her bad behaviour. There were getting to be a few too many of those. Maybe it was about time to teach her the true meaning of discipline?
Of course, that brought him back to thoughts of Angelus and his own upbringing, and he frowned again to see that same person – because it was the same person, no matter what the bastard said – sitting down all cosy to play chess with Darla as if they were holed up together by choice - a family like in the old days. Any minute now, Angel would be calling Spike to come and sit at his feet so he could mess about with his hair the way he'd used to do back then, and if Dru were here, he'd be wanting her to play a tune on the pianoforte.
"Think I'll take a stroll," he said. "I'll see you old folks later."
Neither of them even looked up from setting out the chessmen.
Seeing that, Spike tried very hard not to storm out of there but it was bloody difficult. He went across to the eastbound platform and poured himself a drink in the kitchen. There was a pencil on the floor – one of Connor's colouring pencils – and he picked it up and spent a while trying to do the crossword. He'd never been good at puzzles, though. After a while, he gave it up and had another drink instead. He realised that he hadn't believed a single word Darla had said to him the previous night. Or at least, he knew she meant it with her head but her heart was another matter. He remembered, too, that Angelus had always used the truth about people to hurt them, because lies never had the same impact.
It was over, he thought, morbidly. He should take Dru and get away now while he still could and bugger the consequences to her. At once, nothing else seemed to matter so he left his half-finished glass on the table and walked to the other way up from the platforms, the disused stairway that led to the old lift-shaft. He descended the rickety ladders down, down into the dark. The faulty light bulb was still flickering and the air smelled fouler than ever.
"Dru?" He paused outside the cage. She was slumped in the corner, her head fallen forward onto her breast. She looked asleep or unconscious. Spike undid the padlock and went inside, shutting the door behind him. He trod daintily over the bloodstains on the floor and squatted down beside her. "Dru, love, can you hear me?"
She looked up so suddenly that he jumped in shock. And now she was staring at him with yellow eyes that glowed like lamps in the dark.
"Hurts, doesn’t it?" she hissed, and somehow it didn't sound like Dru's voice at all. "Hurts when they take everything from you – your life – your mind!" And then she put her hands over her ears and screamed.
Spike reacted instinctively – because in the last five years, all his actions round Dru seemed to involve keeping her quiet, keeping her safe – making sure she wasn't a nuisance, because that way Darla would allow her to live. Now, he seized both her skinny wrists in one hand and covered her mouth with the other, ignoring the way she tried to use her fangs to bite him.
"Shush, shush," he hissed in her ear. "It's all right, love, I got you." He began to rock her, soothing her, and after a short struggle, she relaxed against him and her face reverted to human. She shut her eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks leaving clear trails behind through the dirt. He let go of her mouth.
"It does hurt, doesn't it?" she said again. "Hurts worse when your family do it."
"Well, you'd know," he wanted to say, remembering the way she'd flirted with Angelus – and not just flirted. He'd sat too many times in that bloody wheelchair watching Angelus take her like a cheap trull, legs splayed, on her back on any convenient flat surface. Angelus had mostly looked at Spike while he cored her, not wanting to miss a moment of his jealous fury, but her eyes had all been for her daddy.
He didn't say it, though. That was the past and though he hadn't forgiven her, he loved her still in spite of it.
"Grandmamma will be so sad," Dru said, suddenly, in a sing-song voice, "if Daddy goes. Daddy won't leave her anything if he can help it – not even you, my Spike."
"Dunno what you mean, love," he said. As if he ever did.
Suddenly Dru giggled, an unnerving sound full of spite and childish glee that reminded Spike horribly of Connor. "They're coming," she said. "Through the dark – the black knight and the white, and they're bringing their magic with them."
"Who's that then, Dru?" Suddenly, she was making a kind of sense – more than she had done for ages. "Who're these knights, then? Anyone we know?"
"I know them," she said, smugly. "You don't know them. You don't know anything."
"Very likely." Spike undid the chains at her wrists and tried to haul her to her feet. "Come on," he said. "We're getting out of here. Not gonna stay where I'm not wanted."
But Dru was clinging to the cage bars now, so hard he couldn't shift her.
"Silly Spike," she said, sing-songing again. "Daddy's filled your head with nonsense. He always could do that."
Spike gave up trying to raise her. "So what are you saying? That I'm letting Angel mess with me – that I should just stay? She doesn't want me, Dru. She only wants him, just like always."
"No," and now Dru sounded completely sane. She regarded him solemnly with pale eyes that reminded him of winter. He shivered, even though it was hot and stuffy down here in the dark. "She wants you, Spike, she needs you."
"Bugger that! You didn't see her making moon eyes at him, Dru. I'm nothing to her – never have been."
Dru closed her eyes and began to hum and Spike thought he'd lost her again. Then suddenly she spoke, almost chanting the words.
"Grandmama is so greedy – just like her dear Papa. She wants you but she wants Daddy as well. She wants him in little pieces to feed to the baby prince."
Spike got up. He began to back away from her. She didn't try and follow him. Instead, she looked up at him soberly and said, "Go back, Spike. It's not time for me yet."
And just like that, her head drooped again and she became completely still, as if she were a clockwork doll whose mechanism had run down.
"Fuck!" Spike slammed the cage door shut behind him and began to run back the way he'd come.
*
Annabelle had thought Darla would send her and Connor away when the chess game started. Usually, she couldn't tolerate Connor's clinging for very long. This time, however, she endured it, allowing the child to sit on her lap and make her dress all creased, even to fiddle with her perfectly styled hair. Seeing the way Angel's eyes would fix themselves on Connor, only reluctantly returning to the game, Annabelle thought Darla had done it to torture him.
Annabelle had tried to learn chess when she'd been at school – mostly so she'd have some way to get Daddy's attention when she was staying at his house in the school holidays. It was hard, though. She'd never once managed to win a game. Both Darla and Angel seemed like seasoned players, however, and Annabelle supposed they'd had plenty of time to practise.
Angel moved a pawn.
"So," he said. "You and Spike – how'd that come about?"
Darla moved her own pawn. She was playing white. "William's a helpful boy," she said. "Always was – you know that."
"Helpful – not exactly how I'd describe him. Where'd you find him?"
"In Mexico." Darla kissed Connor's forehead but her eyes were on Angel's face. "Ciudad Juarez, to be exact."
Angel's hand paused but then he completed the move, setting down another pawn. "You got all the way from Los Angeles to Juarez on your own – with a new-born baby?" He sounded incredulous. "How'd you do it?"
"I stole a car – in fact, I stole several." Darla took Angel's second pawn. "He –" and she nodded her head towards Connor – "never stopped crying once."
"I don't understand." Suddenly there was a raw edge to Angel's voice – an open, vulnerable quality that made Annabelle's breath catch in her throat. "You told me you were afraid that once he was born you wouldn't be able to love him any more – that you wouldn't even remember loving him. His soul's not inside you now – nourishing you – how can you be like this with him?"
"What, you think I should've stuck around and let you put me out of my misery?" Darla laughed. "Vampires do know what love is, Angel – I forgot that. Once he was born, I remembered it again."
"Love! Is that what you call it?" Angel's tone turned bitter. "How is it love – keeping him down here in the dark – teaching him to be a monster just like you – allowing that – that filth to be his father? That's not love. You're destroying him."
"Are you going to make a move or not?" Darla's voice was calm but Annabelle could sense her growing fury. "Ask Connor if he wants to leave me, Angelus. Go on, ask him."
Connor didn't wait to be asked. He stared at Angel solemnly and said: "You're stupid. I always knew you were – and Papa isn't filth."
Angel ignored him, except to say, "See what I mean?" He moved his knight and captured Darla's pawn.
"Hush, baby," Darla kissed Connor smooth brow and held him tight against her. "He wouldn't talk that way if he knew what you really were. Mama knows – Papa knows – but he doesn't."
"He's a little boy," Angel said. "An innocent human child with a soul. He doesn't belong here any more than she does," and he gestured at Annabelle, who was trying to shrink into the background and not be noticed.
Darla didn't even glance her way.
"He's a lot more than that," she said. "One day you'll see for yourself. In fact, one day the whole world will see." She moved her other pawn out of danger.
There was silence for a while. They played the game with furious concentration. Angel took Darla's bishop and Darla two more of his pawns. Then, Angel said, "So – about Spike – in what way is he helpful beyond the obvious? For that matter, what happened to Dru? Spike get tired of her, did he?"
"Ah, dear Drusilla." Darla put Angel's king in check. "Without her, I wouldn't be the woman I am today. Spike would never get tired of her, Angel, you know that – and as for his helpfulness – everything you see around you is his doing."
Angel glanced up at the low ceiling, the grubby white tiles on the walls. Nearby, a rusting notice left over from wartime days read, ENQUIRIES & COMMITTEE ROOM. Angel didn't look impressed. "So much for a room with a view."
"You think I can do better?" Darla watched as Angel rescued his king. She moved her own king to safety. One hand still petted Connor's hair. "You, for instance?"
"I always found you the best hotels," Angel said. "You never lacked for anything you wanted – clothes, food – the very best food – money – I gave you all of it."
"You did." There was a nostalgic note in Darla's voice. "You were the best at everything – the handsomest – the cleverest – the most wicked – my darling boy – my beautiful, evil Angelus."
"Mama!" Connor pulled Darla's hair quite hard but she took no notice of him. Instead, with her eyes fixed on Angel, she moved her queen and put Angel in check again. "Our glory days, Angelus," she said. "I wouldn't have missed them for the world. But they're over. There are other things I want more now and I can't have both them and you."
"Why not?" Angel seemed to have forgotten the game entirely. He leaned across the board, a pleading look on his face, and Annabelle wished that once – just once – a man would look at her that way before she died.
For answer, Darla gave Connor a gentle push off her knee and steered him in Annabelle's direction and this time he went, though his eyes were fixed on his mother and father, wide and blue and curious. Annabelle could see why. For a moment, she thought Angel and Darla would kiss. The air between them almost seemed to sizzle.
"Why not?" Darla said, then, and she leaned back in her chair, holding the white queen in her hand. "Because I know you don't want me, Angel – I knew that when you chose your little virgin Slayer over me." Angel opened his mouth to protest but she held up her hand – regal – peremptory – and he was silent, an unreadable look on his face. "Even if you lost your soul again, I wouldn't take you back. Angelus wouldn't tolerate my son for more than five minutes before he killed him. He could never brook a rival. No – I'm the Mistress now. I don't want equals around me."
Then she leant forward and put the chess piece down on the board. "Oh, and by the way, checkmate."
Connor had come to Annabelle's side and wonder of wonders, was standing quietly. He even stuck up his hand for her to hold and she took it. She had a sense of having watched more than just a chess game, as if some long undecided contest had suddenly been ended.
"It's over, then," Angel said, and Darla smiled. "It is."
Then there was the sound of feet pounding up stairs and moments later, Spike came into view. He'd been running but when he saw them watching he slowed to a walk, affecting nonchalance.
"Good game, was it?" he asked, and he fished a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and took one out, though he didn't light it. Darla didn't like him smoking around Connor.
"Most – enlightening." Darla smiled sweetly. "And you?"
"Yeah," Spike said, "I feel pretty enlightened an' all."
"Good to hear." Darla got to her feet and gestured to the guards to escort Angel back to his room. "You'll be gone by this time tomorrow," she said to him. "Don't look for us again, Angelus. You won't find us."
Angel stood up too. "That's Angel. Angelus is some other guy. Hope you're not going to renege on our agreement. After all that sitting around, I could do with some exercise." His eyes were on Spike. Annabelle felt herself colouring up and had an absurd desire to put her hands over Connor's ears so he couldn't hear the conversation. She glanced down at his face and saw on it the familiar look of avid curiosity.
"He's yours like I promised," Darla said. She was straightening the folds of her gown. "If you have an itch you need to scratch, who am I to deprive you? Just remember what I said last night, that's all."
She walked off in the direction of the platforms, gesturing to Annabelle to follow her. As they went past Spike, Annabelle saw a look exchanged between him and Darla – a wary, almost covert look that she didn't like at all. She glanced back over her shoulder, to see Angel's whole attention fixed on her. He moved his hand very slightly, almost beckoning, but then his eyes were on Connor again as if there were nothing else worth looking at in the world.
It was enough, though. That was the signal.
*
"Alone again at last." Angel was sitting on the narrow bed smoking a cigarette. He regarded Spike lazily through the blue haze of smoke that filled the room.
"Yeah, wonderful." Spike had already taken off his duster. Now he began to unfasten his belt. He hoped Darla had understood his silent message back at the chess game – that even now she'd sent word to Erroll to gather the troops and keep a bloody good eye out for trouble. He had no way of knowing, though. He'd had to tag along behind Angel at once to avoid arousing suspicion. "How'd you want me, then, mate? Bend over and grab my ankles, shall I?"
Angel exhaled smoke. "I thought I might take you on your back tonight, William," he said. "Like a woman. After all, the way Darla treats you, you might as well be one."
Spike thought of the fate of Connor's wet nurse, and of one of the kid's earlier nannies who'd particularly pissed off Darla. "Oh, you don't wanna know how Darla treats women."
Angel stubbed out his cigarette on the floor by his foot. Then he got up and crossed the room, looming over Spike and seizing hold of his hands. "Let me," and he began to undress him with sudden unnerving tenderness. "I told her you were filth," he said. "I guess you are – I guess we all are – but such beautiful filth, William. Look at you."
Spike looked down to where Angel had freed his cock from his jeans and sure enough, the poor dumb piece of flesh was filling and rising, in thrall to the power of Angel's voice. Angel wrapped his big hand around it and pumped it once and Spike heard his own breath hiss out through his teeth. Angel put his mouth close to Spike's ear. "I want you naked," he said, and his big hands were busy sliding Spike's jeans down to half-mast, cupping his arsecheeks and squeezing the flesh between his fingers. "God, Dru had good taste."
The mention of Dru brought Spike to his senses a little. He realised he'd been on that slippery slope into the depths of unthinking sensual pleasure – the one that Angelus had never had any trouble pushing him down. "If you're fishing for information," he said, "don't fucking bother. I've nothing to say."
"Come on, William, don't be that way." Angel pulled Spike's t-shirt off over his head, giving him the momentary sensation of being trapped in the folds of material, which wasn't pleasant given the circumstances. The look on Angel's face was, though – the expression of intense lust all directed at him, as if he were the most desirable object in the world. Spike had forgotten how Angelus could do that.
Angel herded him backwards towards the bed at an awkward shuffle since his jeans were trapped round his knees. A moment later, Spike was flat on his back with Angel on top of him and Angel was reaching to pull off his Docs and tug his jeans all the way down. Angel sat up then, staring down at Spike's body as if it were a feast laid out just for him. Then he bent and ran his tongue from nipple to navel, licking round the indent in Spike's flat belly in a wet circle before heading further down south. With half his mind – the half that still worked – Spike recognised the attempted seduction and he almost laughed. At least it was better than last time – and some of what Angel was doing – well, he'd have to make sure to teach it to Erroll.
"You're so fucking beautiful." Angel was nipping at Spike's sac with blunt human teeth. Then he bent Spike's knees up to his chest and went burrowing deeper. Spike gasped and moaned as the cold tongue circled his hole pushing at the resistant muscle to soften it. "Oh, fuck," he said. He couldn't help it.
Angel surfaced for air. "All in good time," and he laughed. And now he ran his tongue up Spike's cock from balls to tip before opening his mouth wide and engulfing it whole. Spike jerked with shock and something that sounded suspiciously like a squeak escaped his lips. He'd never in a million years have expected to see this – his cock in Angel's mouth. For a moment, he was afraid the old man meant to bite it right off but when there was no sign of that, just sucking and licking and the easy movement of practised throat muscles, he let go the thought and let go everything else too. Instead, he moaned and gasped his pleasure – head flung back, body twisting and writhing. Then he felt huge fingers worming their way inside him, crooking to touch his prostate. He howled at the sensation -like fireworks going off inside his body - scrabbling with his arms whether to fend Angel off or to urge him on, he wasn't quite sure.
"Shush, shush, William. It's okay. I got you." Angel had released Spike's cock with a wet pop of lips and a cat-like curl of tongue round the exposed pink head. His breath tickled the sensitive flesh just inches in front of him. "Poor little boy," he said. "I know what you need," and he sat up, still pumping Spike's cock with one hand while with the other he freed his own. It was huge – a bloody bargepole – glistening with icy precome. Angel gathered some of it onto his fingers and used it to slick up Spike's hole, which was already pouting, Spike could feel it – an eager little whore almost begging to be opened and fucked.
"Let your sire take care of you," Angel said, and he bent Spike's knees back until they were right next to his ears, positioned himself and began to push – gentle little thrusts this time, rather than the previous battering. Spike felt the smooth muscles in his back passage contract around Angel's cock, encouraging it on its way.
"Yeah, take it, baby." Angel was grinning in triumph. "You know you want it."
Spike knew he should say something – a joke – something – but he couldn't get the words out. All he could think of was that Angel had said almost the exact same words to him as Erroll had the last time they'd fucked. Had Spike taught Erroll those words because he'd remembered Angelus saying them? Why the hell did he still want this? But when Angel began to move – short shallow thrusts that glanced past his prostate – when Angel laced their fingers together and looked down at him as if he really wanted him – he realised he just didn't care. Instead, he let himself melt, surrender – be washed by the tides of lust onto a familiar shore where he knew he couldn't stay long but – oh, it was good to be back!
*
"It's late," Darla said to Annabelle. "Put him to bed. He can have his bath in the morning."
She'd taken off her dainty little high-heeled shoes and lay on her side on the bed, one slender arm propping her head up.
"Yes," Annabelle said. As usual, she couldn't quite bring herself to say 'madam' and as usual, she was thankful that Darla didn't insist on it.
"I'm not sleepy!" Connor protested. "I want to wait for Papa to come back."
Darla turned to answer him just as a faint vibration began in the floor, heralding the arrival of another train. With Darla distracted, Annabelle glanced quickly at her watch. It was midnight. In another hour the last train would have passed and the current would be switched off. She didn't know what Angel's plan was but it would have to take place between then and 5am when the current came back on if he wanted to escape through the tunnels.
Maybe that wasn't his plan, though? Maybe he meant to get out via the spiral stairway? The door at the top was solid steel. Annabelle didn't think it could be broken down but maybe Angel had a key.
"What are you standing there gawping for, stupid girl?" Darla raised her voice over the hum of the transformers. "I told you to put him to bed."
"No!" Connor said, again, and, with horrific suddenness, Darla hissed back at him, "Do what you're told, you hateful little brat!" She'd gone into vampire face, her features even more hideous in the subdued light of the room. She got like this with Connor sometimes – angry with him – almost fierce - as if she hated him for even existing.
Connor didn't react to her outburst at all, however. Instead, he regarded his mother from stony blue eyes. "You're stupid to miss him. I'm much better than him."
The cacophony of the passing train drowned any answer Darla might have made and when it passed, her vampire face went with it. She gathered Connor close in her arms and kissed him. "You are," she said. "Oh, you are, my beautiful little boy."
"Papa's better than him too," Connor went on. He nipped at the skin on the side of his mother's neck with his childish human teeth and Annabelle saw Darla shudder and close her eyes. "Papa doesn't want to take me away from you."
"Such a clever boy – Mama's little darling." Suddenly, Darla's eyes opened again, staring coldly at Annabelle. "Go to bed, girl," she said. "My son is sleeping with me tonight."
Annabelle didn't argue. In fact, it was a relief. She went into the inner room she shared with Connor and shut the door on them. They gave her the creeps and never more so than when they were all over each other like this.
She changed quickly out of her uniform and put on jeans and a long-sleeved top. Then she got under the bedclothes and waited. It was quiet except for the rattle and vibration of passing trains and after all this time, she'd come to find that quite soothing. Soon, she started to relax and even to feel sleepy. Every time her eyes closed, though, she'd jerk awake again because she'd remember something - like that she'd killed Ravinder and what Erroll would likely do when he found out. She'd seen him angry before, though never really with her, and she knew that no matter how easy-going he seemed, he was still a vampire underneath.
It was scary to think about so she tried not to. Instead, she tried to think of other things – normal things from when her life had just been like everyone else's; holidays with Daddy and Harry at Daddy's place in Scotland, going shopping with Mother in the West End and having tea at Harvey Nicks afterwards– games lessons at school – the routine at Norland College. It didn't work, though. Instead, for some reason, her mind kept going back to things she didn't really want to think about, like the weird stuff she'd been taught at her first school.
She'd only been eight when Mother and Daddy had quarrelled about it and taken her out of there and everything was a bit hazy but the teachers had been really strict, she remembered, and mostly old men and the lessons were long and boring. There'd been lots of history but not the normal sort like the Tudors and Stuarts. It'd been all to do with long-lost empires where the people had funny names. She remembered the pictures of them. Some of them had even had horns. Maybe they hadn't even been people?
She's learned stuff too about this special girl the teachers were always talking about but she couldn't remember why or who the girl was supposed to be. Belatedly, she wondered if it was this that had made her decide she herself was special. Maybe she'd imagined she was this special girl, the way other girls pretended to be princesses?
Annabelle's eyelids drooped again and again she forced them open. It was nearly one o'clock now and she had to stay awake. When the last train went past she made herself get up. For a while, she sat, staring at the door into Darla's room, trying to gather the courage to open it. What if Darla was still awake? She'd be in fearful trouble. Her stomach felt as if it'd shrunk to half its size – or maybe it had grown bigger because there didn't seem to be enough room in her body for her lungs to expand properly. She was panting – feeling a bit light-headed – and suddenly she realised she was in danger of hyperventilating.
She made herself breathe more slowly. She made herself get up too and walk towards the door. She reminded herself she really didn't want to die and this was her only chance to escape. With her hand on the doorknob she stopped again. Then, although panic threatened to overwhelm her – drive her back to the false security of her bed – she opened the door.
Total silence greeted her. With the trains stopped for the night, not even a breath of air stirred the hangings in the room. Annabelle stood still, staring. Darla lay on her back on the bed. She wore a white lace negligee and her arms were crossed on her breast like some old statue on a tomb. She was pale and she wasn't breathing. In fact, she looked dead. Connor was still dressed. He was curled up next to his mother with one arm flung possessively across her waist. As Annabelle watched, he twitched and whimpered but he didn't wake up.
Annabelle remembered that Angel had said: when the time came, she was to bring Connor to him and she wouldn't find it difficult. She wished he'd explained what he meant a bit better.
As she tiptoed across the room, she kept expecting Darla to catch her scent and wake up but instead Darla continued to lie corpse-still, which was scary and unnerving. Annabelle was sure she wouldn't be able to do it but somehow or other she found herself reaching out and seizing hold of Connor's outspread arm. He whimpered again and his childish brow furrowed but he didn't wake and neither did his mother.
It's not natural, Annabelle thought, and as she thought it, a great sense of urgency overtook her. Quickly, she hefted Connor's small body into her arms leaving Darla bereft on the bed, and carried him to the door. She tried balancing him on her hip but he was too big and his legs dangled down too far, and as she stumbled out into the bricked-in corridor, she very nearly dropped him.
Recovering herself, she set off at a staggering run towards the archway and the eastbound platform.
*
Spike lay on his side. Angel was taking up most of the room, leaving only a narrow strip on the edge of the bed for him. His head was pillowed on Angel's shoulder. They were sharing a cigarette between them like some clichéd romantic couple from an old black-and-white movie.
"Think you'll miss me when I'm gone?" Angel asked, suddenly. He blew smoke into the air, in which dust from a train just passed hung heavy, trapped in the blue haze.
"You are joking, aren't you?" Spike snatched the cigarette off him and took a deep, satisfying drag. "Can't wait to see the back of you."
Angel was looking at him now, his eyes slitted and secretive. "See, I don't get that," he said. "In fact, I don't get this whole set-up. It's not like you at all."
"Like I said, you don't know me any more." Spike made to pass the cigarette back but Angel's hand had suddenly dropped to his groin and a big finger ran down the length of his sated cock – which, only too predictably, perked up and took an interest.
"Don't I?" Angel was smiling. "I know enough to know you still like to take it in the ass, William – always were quite the giver. Some things don't change."
"Fuck you," Spike said, without heat. He took another drag. Angel was squeezing his cock now and it hurt just a little.
"I also know," Angel went on, "that it's all about love with you – even if what you think is love is just a travesty of the real thing. Darla doesn't love you, William. You know that as well as I do. Darla doesn't love at all."
"Leave me alone." Spike prised Angel's hand off his cock and sat up. The semi-tumescent flesh bobbed at his groin disconsolately. He leaned down and stubbed the cigarette out on the floor. "Kept your eyes shut as well as your mind have you, while you've been here?"
"If you're talking about her feelings for Connor, forget it," Angel said. "She wants him because she thinks he belongs to her – that's not love. It's just possessiveness."
"Who made you the judge and the fucking jury?" Spike could feel his temper rising and he tried to smother it. Angel wanted to make him angry. "She's as much right to the kid as you – more, since she had to carry him for nine months in her belly. As far as she's concerned, mate, you're nothing but a fucking sperm-donor. You've no rights to the kid at all. If you have, show me the sodding paperwork."
"More rights than you," Angel said, and for a moment, his voice turned venomous. Then, suddenly, he laughed. "This is ridiculous. You're vampires – you've no business raising human children."
"That what you think he is?" Now it was Spike's turn to laugh. "Think all that saying he hates you is just sweet childish prattle, do you?"
"You've turned him against me," Angel said, as if there couldn't be another answer.
"Didn't need to." Spike began to put on his jeans. He had to be careful buttoning his fly. "That kid's not normal, Angel. Dunno how you could fucking expect he would be – child of two vampires, it's just not natural."
"I agree he's special –" Angel began but Spike had had enough. He pulled on his t-shirt then waited impatiently as another train went by. There couldn't be many more now – just the last drunks to be ferried home.
"You fucking listen to me, Angelus," he said, because he was tired of this Angel crap. "Kid's special all right but maybe not how you think."
Angel was sitting up now too. "What do you mean?" His tone was very hostile.
Spike shoved his feet back into his boots. "Somehow - who the fuck knows how -Darla found me and Dru in Juarez," he said. "The minute she walked in the room with that kid in her arms, Dru went crazy – crazier, that is – and she hasn't been right again since. He's the Miracle Child all right – the real Anointed One – the one old bat-face was waiting for."
Just for a moment, Angel looked daunted but then he said, "So Dru is still around. I wondered. I almost thought I could sense her. Quite a little harem you've set up for yourself here, William."
Spike rolled his eyes. "You don't fucking listen, do you? This kid of yours – you know what else they called him in the prophecy? The Tro Clon -the fucking Destroyer, that's what."
"I know that." Angel dismissed the epithet with an impatient wave of his hand. "I don't believe that nonsense any more than I believe Darla's the Master's heir. What surprises me most of all is that you believe it. You were always such an iconoclast, William."
Spike was putting on his duster. He felt tired suddenly and his eyelids were heavy. He rubbed them in annoyance. He'd just raised his hand to bang on the inside of the door and ask to be let out when Angel spoke again.
"Tell me. I want to know. And most of all – because I don't understand it – I want to know why she chose you."
Spike rubbed his eyes again. It was getting hard to concentrate but one thing was crystal clear.
"Pisses you off, doesn't it?" he said. "Knowing it was me that raised your son – that I'm the one he calls 'Papa'? Far worse than if it'd been some stranger. Family are always the ones who can hurt us most. You taught me that, Angelus."
"You look tired," Angel said in reply. "Maybe you should lie down," but Spike just gave him two fingers. He turned and banged on the door. There was no response from the guards.
"Fuck! Where've those wankers gone?"
Spike knocked again. Suddenly, there was a rush of air and Angel was right beside him. A moment later, he was in a headlock he couldn't break and his reactions were all off anyway. Angel began to drag him back towards the bed.
"You didn't answer my question."
Spike struggled feebly but he couldn't break Angel's grip.
"She chose me because I'm family," he managed. His voice was slurring badly. "She knew me – knew she could trust me, provided she keeps me sweet. And she has, Angelus – you ought to know just how."
Angel didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he tightened his stranglehold. "Didn't think you came so cheap," he said, "but it doesn't surprise me to hear it. She'll betray you, William – put you down like a dog – and I hope I'm there to see it."
Moments later, Spike found himself on his back on the bed again. He felt dizzy – enough to know this wasn't natural. This was it. Angel was springing his trap and Spike was right in its jaws. He couldn't say it came as in any way a surprise.
Angel was leaning over him and Spike was sure if he could only focus, he'd see his death in Angel's eyes again.
"Since you mention it, though," Angel said, "it does piss me off that you got to raise my son. It pisses me off that you ever touched him."
His arm went back. The last thing Spike saw before blackness took him was Angel's fist coming towards his face.
TBC
Notes:
The West End: the part of central London where all the best shops are.
Harvey Nichols (Harvey Nicks for short): One of the very best department stores - and no, what Annabelle thinks of as a 'normal' life is certainly not normal for everyone in the UK.
For rating/pairings/setting etc, see Part 1. Previous parts are here.
This part contains a rather more explicit m/m sex scene and it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger.
Family Reunion Part 9
"I, Angelus of Aurelius, do solemnly swear by the infernal blood in my veins, that I will protect you, Connor, child of Darla, grandchild of the Master, with my life if necessary and for as long as I shall live."
Spike hated all this ritual crap. It was like being trapped in a bad fantasy movie. It occurred to him too that whoever had thought up the phrasing of this oath – and he was fingering old Nest as the culprit – could have worded it a bit better. Like this, not only did Angel have no obligation or loyalty to Darla herself but he was free to interpret 'protecting' Connor however he saw fit.
Still, in the end, it didn't make any difference. Spike was pretty sure Angel wouldn't consider himself bound by an oath taken to a vampire, even signed in blood like this one. For that matter, Angelus wouldn't have either.
"There. That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Darla's voice was at its most sweetly poisonous. She was holding Connor in her arms like she was afraid if she didn't the kid would try and run away. Looking at his face, Spike wasn't so sure he wouldn't. It amused him no end to see that childish pout and snarl all aimed at Angel, especially since he himself was usually the one on the receiving end.
"What do you say, Connor?" Darla again, and now she was frowning at her son. Any minute now she'd be giving poor Belle a tongue-lashing for not teaching him better manners.
"Thank you," Connor said, sulkily, to Angel, and Spike saw Annabelle breathe a sigh of relief. Her hair was a bit awry, he noticed and there was a smear of dust on the front of her dress. He supposed she must have fallen over in her haste to get back with the gloves.
"Now what?" Angel had risen from his knees and stood staring down at Darla and the kid. His eyes were on Connor, though, as if he couldn't ever look at him enough.
"Well," Darla gazed up at him slyly, "if you were anyone else, I'd say, now we feast. However, I guess in the circumstances, it would hardly be polite. You must be terribly hungry, Angel."
"I can manage." Angel looked pained – or maybe he was just constipated? Spike was pretty sure that a diet of pigs' blood played havoc with a vampire's digestion.
"We could play chess," Darla said, suddenly, "or backgammon. You used to be fond of both games, as I recall, back in the day."
"Or we could go out clubbing." Spike couldn't stop himself butting in. In spite of Darla's words the previous day, he didn't like the way she and Angel were just so comfortable together. "Always were a live wire on the dance floor, weren't you, Angelus old son?"
They both ignored him. Angel was looking down at Darla – and from his vantage point he could see right down her cleavage – his eyes flicking from her to Connor and back. "Chess it is," he said, at last. "I don't think you've beaten me yet."
"Well, there's always a first time." Darla's smile was cool. She snapped her fingers at one of the minions to go and fetch the chessboard and men. Connor, meanwhile, had climbed on her knee and had his little arms wound tightly round her neck. Spike wondered how long she'd put up with it.
He nodded to Angel's guards – a signal to them to keep their wits about them. At the same time, he realised Ravinder was missing. She was nowhere to be seen amongst the minions, now dispersing about their business save for the two guarding Angel. The bloody little fool had probably gone chasing off into the tunnels after Erroll, Spike supposed, and he added another cross to his mental checklist of her bad behaviour. There were getting to be a few too many of those. Maybe it was about time to teach her the true meaning of discipline?
Of course, that brought him back to thoughts of Angelus and his own upbringing, and he frowned again to see that same person – because it was the same person, no matter what the bastard said – sitting down all cosy to play chess with Darla as if they were holed up together by choice - a family like in the old days. Any minute now, Angel would be calling Spike to come and sit at his feet so he could mess about with his hair the way he'd used to do back then, and if Dru were here, he'd be wanting her to play a tune on the pianoforte.
"Think I'll take a stroll," he said. "I'll see you old folks later."
Neither of them even looked up from setting out the chessmen.
Seeing that, Spike tried very hard not to storm out of there but it was bloody difficult. He went across to the eastbound platform and poured himself a drink in the kitchen. There was a pencil on the floor – one of Connor's colouring pencils – and he picked it up and spent a while trying to do the crossword. He'd never been good at puzzles, though. After a while, he gave it up and had another drink instead. He realised that he hadn't believed a single word Darla had said to him the previous night. Or at least, he knew she meant it with her head but her heart was another matter. He remembered, too, that Angelus had always used the truth about people to hurt them, because lies never had the same impact.
It was over, he thought, morbidly. He should take Dru and get away now while he still could and bugger the consequences to her. At once, nothing else seemed to matter so he left his half-finished glass on the table and walked to the other way up from the platforms, the disused stairway that led to the old lift-shaft. He descended the rickety ladders down, down into the dark. The faulty light bulb was still flickering and the air smelled fouler than ever.
"Dru?" He paused outside the cage. She was slumped in the corner, her head fallen forward onto her breast. She looked asleep or unconscious. Spike undid the padlock and went inside, shutting the door behind him. He trod daintily over the bloodstains on the floor and squatted down beside her. "Dru, love, can you hear me?"
She looked up so suddenly that he jumped in shock. And now she was staring at him with yellow eyes that glowed like lamps in the dark.
"Hurts, doesn’t it?" she hissed, and somehow it didn't sound like Dru's voice at all. "Hurts when they take everything from you – your life – your mind!" And then she put her hands over her ears and screamed.
Spike reacted instinctively – because in the last five years, all his actions round Dru seemed to involve keeping her quiet, keeping her safe – making sure she wasn't a nuisance, because that way Darla would allow her to live. Now, he seized both her skinny wrists in one hand and covered her mouth with the other, ignoring the way she tried to use her fangs to bite him.
"Shush, shush," he hissed in her ear. "It's all right, love, I got you." He began to rock her, soothing her, and after a short struggle, she relaxed against him and her face reverted to human. She shut her eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks leaving clear trails behind through the dirt. He let go of her mouth.
"It does hurt, doesn't it?" she said again. "Hurts worse when your family do it."
"Well, you'd know," he wanted to say, remembering the way she'd flirted with Angelus – and not just flirted. He'd sat too many times in that bloody wheelchair watching Angelus take her like a cheap trull, legs splayed, on her back on any convenient flat surface. Angelus had mostly looked at Spike while he cored her, not wanting to miss a moment of his jealous fury, but her eyes had all been for her daddy.
He didn't say it, though. That was the past and though he hadn't forgiven her, he loved her still in spite of it.
"Grandmamma will be so sad," Dru said, suddenly, in a sing-song voice, "if Daddy goes. Daddy won't leave her anything if he can help it – not even you, my Spike."
"Dunno what you mean, love," he said. As if he ever did.
Suddenly Dru giggled, an unnerving sound full of spite and childish glee that reminded Spike horribly of Connor. "They're coming," she said. "Through the dark – the black knight and the white, and they're bringing their magic with them."
"Who's that then, Dru?" Suddenly, she was making a kind of sense – more than she had done for ages. "Who're these knights, then? Anyone we know?"
"I know them," she said, smugly. "You don't know them. You don't know anything."
"Very likely." Spike undid the chains at her wrists and tried to haul her to her feet. "Come on," he said. "We're getting out of here. Not gonna stay where I'm not wanted."
But Dru was clinging to the cage bars now, so hard he couldn't shift her.
"Silly Spike," she said, sing-songing again. "Daddy's filled your head with nonsense. He always could do that."
Spike gave up trying to raise her. "So what are you saying? That I'm letting Angel mess with me – that I should just stay? She doesn't want me, Dru. She only wants him, just like always."
"No," and now Dru sounded completely sane. She regarded him solemnly with pale eyes that reminded him of winter. He shivered, even though it was hot and stuffy down here in the dark. "She wants you, Spike, she needs you."
"Bugger that! You didn't see her making moon eyes at him, Dru. I'm nothing to her – never have been."
Dru closed her eyes and began to hum and Spike thought he'd lost her again. Then suddenly she spoke, almost chanting the words.
"Grandmama is so greedy – just like her dear Papa. She wants you but she wants Daddy as well. She wants him in little pieces to feed to the baby prince."
Spike got up. He began to back away from her. She didn't try and follow him. Instead, she looked up at him soberly and said, "Go back, Spike. It's not time for me yet."
And just like that, her head drooped again and she became completely still, as if she were a clockwork doll whose mechanism had run down.
"Fuck!" Spike slammed the cage door shut behind him and began to run back the way he'd come.
Annabelle had thought Darla would send her and Connor away when the chess game started. Usually, she couldn't tolerate Connor's clinging for very long. This time, however, she endured it, allowing the child to sit on her lap and make her dress all creased, even to fiddle with her perfectly styled hair. Seeing the way Angel's eyes would fix themselves on Connor, only reluctantly returning to the game, Annabelle thought Darla had done it to torture him.
Annabelle had tried to learn chess when she'd been at school – mostly so she'd have some way to get Daddy's attention when she was staying at his house in the school holidays. It was hard, though. She'd never once managed to win a game. Both Darla and Angel seemed like seasoned players, however, and Annabelle supposed they'd had plenty of time to practise.
Angel moved a pawn.
"So," he said. "You and Spike – how'd that come about?"
Darla moved her own pawn. She was playing white. "William's a helpful boy," she said. "Always was – you know that."
"Helpful – not exactly how I'd describe him. Where'd you find him?"
"In Mexico." Darla kissed Connor's forehead but her eyes were on Angel's face. "Ciudad Juarez, to be exact."
Angel's hand paused but then he completed the move, setting down another pawn. "You got all the way from Los Angeles to Juarez on your own – with a new-born baby?" He sounded incredulous. "How'd you do it?"
"I stole a car – in fact, I stole several." Darla took Angel's second pawn. "He –" and she nodded her head towards Connor – "never stopped crying once."
"I don't understand." Suddenly there was a raw edge to Angel's voice – an open, vulnerable quality that made Annabelle's breath catch in her throat. "You told me you were afraid that once he was born you wouldn't be able to love him any more – that you wouldn't even remember loving him. His soul's not inside you now – nourishing you – how can you be like this with him?"
"What, you think I should've stuck around and let you put me out of my misery?" Darla laughed. "Vampires do know what love is, Angel – I forgot that. Once he was born, I remembered it again."
"Love! Is that what you call it?" Angel's tone turned bitter. "How is it love – keeping him down here in the dark – teaching him to be a monster just like you – allowing that – that filth to be his father? That's not love. You're destroying him."
"Are you going to make a move or not?" Darla's voice was calm but Annabelle could sense her growing fury. "Ask Connor if he wants to leave me, Angelus. Go on, ask him."
Connor didn't wait to be asked. He stared at Angel solemnly and said: "You're stupid. I always knew you were – and Papa isn't filth."
Angel ignored him, except to say, "See what I mean?" He moved his knight and captured Darla's pawn.
"Hush, baby," Darla kissed Connor smooth brow and held him tight against her. "He wouldn't talk that way if he knew what you really were. Mama knows – Papa knows – but he doesn't."
"He's a little boy," Angel said. "An innocent human child with a soul. He doesn't belong here any more than she does," and he gestured at Annabelle, who was trying to shrink into the background and not be noticed.
Darla didn't even glance her way.
"He's a lot more than that," she said. "One day you'll see for yourself. In fact, one day the whole world will see." She moved her other pawn out of danger.
There was silence for a while. They played the game with furious concentration. Angel took Darla's bishop and Darla two more of his pawns. Then, Angel said, "So – about Spike – in what way is he helpful beyond the obvious? For that matter, what happened to Dru? Spike get tired of her, did he?"
"Ah, dear Drusilla." Darla put Angel's king in check. "Without her, I wouldn't be the woman I am today. Spike would never get tired of her, Angel, you know that – and as for his helpfulness – everything you see around you is his doing."
Angel glanced up at the low ceiling, the grubby white tiles on the walls. Nearby, a rusting notice left over from wartime days read, ENQUIRIES & COMMITTEE ROOM. Angel didn't look impressed. "So much for a room with a view."
"You think I can do better?" Darla watched as Angel rescued his king. She moved her own king to safety. One hand still petted Connor's hair. "You, for instance?"
"I always found you the best hotels," Angel said. "You never lacked for anything you wanted – clothes, food – the very best food – money – I gave you all of it."
"You did." There was a nostalgic note in Darla's voice. "You were the best at everything – the handsomest – the cleverest – the most wicked – my darling boy – my beautiful, evil Angelus."
"Mama!" Connor pulled Darla's hair quite hard but she took no notice of him. Instead, with her eyes fixed on Angel, she moved her queen and put Angel in check again. "Our glory days, Angelus," she said. "I wouldn't have missed them for the world. But they're over. There are other things I want more now and I can't have both them and you."
"Why not?" Angel seemed to have forgotten the game entirely. He leaned across the board, a pleading look on his face, and Annabelle wished that once – just once – a man would look at her that way before she died.
For answer, Darla gave Connor a gentle push off her knee and steered him in Annabelle's direction and this time he went, though his eyes were fixed on his mother and father, wide and blue and curious. Annabelle could see why. For a moment, she thought Angel and Darla would kiss. The air between them almost seemed to sizzle.
"Why not?" Darla said, then, and she leaned back in her chair, holding the white queen in her hand. "Because I know you don't want me, Angel – I knew that when you chose your little virgin Slayer over me." Angel opened his mouth to protest but she held up her hand – regal – peremptory – and he was silent, an unreadable look on his face. "Even if you lost your soul again, I wouldn't take you back. Angelus wouldn't tolerate my son for more than five minutes before he killed him. He could never brook a rival. No – I'm the Mistress now. I don't want equals around me."
Then she leant forward and put the chess piece down on the board. "Oh, and by the way, checkmate."
Connor had come to Annabelle's side and wonder of wonders, was standing quietly. He even stuck up his hand for her to hold and she took it. She had a sense of having watched more than just a chess game, as if some long undecided contest had suddenly been ended.
"It's over, then," Angel said, and Darla smiled. "It is."
Then there was the sound of feet pounding up stairs and moments later, Spike came into view. He'd been running but when he saw them watching he slowed to a walk, affecting nonchalance.
"Good game, was it?" he asked, and he fished a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and took one out, though he didn't light it. Darla didn't like him smoking around Connor.
"Most – enlightening." Darla smiled sweetly. "And you?"
"Yeah," Spike said, "I feel pretty enlightened an' all."
"Good to hear." Darla got to her feet and gestured to the guards to escort Angel back to his room. "You'll be gone by this time tomorrow," she said to him. "Don't look for us again, Angelus. You won't find us."
Angel stood up too. "That's Angel. Angelus is some other guy. Hope you're not going to renege on our agreement. After all that sitting around, I could do with some exercise." His eyes were on Spike. Annabelle felt herself colouring up and had an absurd desire to put her hands over Connor's ears so he couldn't hear the conversation. She glanced down at his face and saw on it the familiar look of avid curiosity.
"He's yours like I promised," Darla said. She was straightening the folds of her gown. "If you have an itch you need to scratch, who am I to deprive you? Just remember what I said last night, that's all."
She walked off in the direction of the platforms, gesturing to Annabelle to follow her. As they went past Spike, Annabelle saw a look exchanged between him and Darla – a wary, almost covert look that she didn't like at all. She glanced back over her shoulder, to see Angel's whole attention fixed on her. He moved his hand very slightly, almost beckoning, but then his eyes were on Connor again as if there were nothing else worth looking at in the world.
It was enough, though. That was the signal.
"Alone again at last." Angel was sitting on the narrow bed smoking a cigarette. He regarded Spike lazily through the blue haze of smoke that filled the room.
"Yeah, wonderful." Spike had already taken off his duster. Now he began to unfasten his belt. He hoped Darla had understood his silent message back at the chess game – that even now she'd sent word to Erroll to gather the troops and keep a bloody good eye out for trouble. He had no way of knowing, though. He'd had to tag along behind Angel at once to avoid arousing suspicion. "How'd you want me, then, mate? Bend over and grab my ankles, shall I?"
Angel exhaled smoke. "I thought I might take you on your back tonight, William," he said. "Like a woman. After all, the way Darla treats you, you might as well be one."
Spike thought of the fate of Connor's wet nurse, and of one of the kid's earlier nannies who'd particularly pissed off Darla. "Oh, you don't wanna know how Darla treats women."
Angel stubbed out his cigarette on the floor by his foot. Then he got up and crossed the room, looming over Spike and seizing hold of his hands. "Let me," and he began to undress him with sudden unnerving tenderness. "I told her you were filth," he said. "I guess you are – I guess we all are – but such beautiful filth, William. Look at you."
Spike looked down to where Angel had freed his cock from his jeans and sure enough, the poor dumb piece of flesh was filling and rising, in thrall to the power of Angel's voice. Angel wrapped his big hand around it and pumped it once and Spike heard his own breath hiss out through his teeth. Angel put his mouth close to Spike's ear. "I want you naked," he said, and his big hands were busy sliding Spike's jeans down to half-mast, cupping his arsecheeks and squeezing the flesh between his fingers. "God, Dru had good taste."
The mention of Dru brought Spike to his senses a little. He realised he'd been on that slippery slope into the depths of unthinking sensual pleasure – the one that Angelus had never had any trouble pushing him down. "If you're fishing for information," he said, "don't fucking bother. I've nothing to say."
"Come on, William, don't be that way." Angel pulled Spike's t-shirt off over his head, giving him the momentary sensation of being trapped in the folds of material, which wasn't pleasant given the circumstances. The look on Angel's face was, though – the expression of intense lust all directed at him, as if he were the most desirable object in the world. Spike had forgotten how Angelus could do that.
Angel herded him backwards towards the bed at an awkward shuffle since his jeans were trapped round his knees. A moment later, Spike was flat on his back with Angel on top of him and Angel was reaching to pull off his Docs and tug his jeans all the way down. Angel sat up then, staring down at Spike's body as if it were a feast laid out just for him. Then he bent and ran his tongue from nipple to navel, licking round the indent in Spike's flat belly in a wet circle before heading further down south. With half his mind – the half that still worked – Spike recognised the attempted seduction and he almost laughed. At least it was better than last time – and some of what Angel was doing – well, he'd have to make sure to teach it to Erroll.
"You're so fucking beautiful." Angel was nipping at Spike's sac with blunt human teeth. Then he bent Spike's knees up to his chest and went burrowing deeper. Spike gasped and moaned as the cold tongue circled his hole pushing at the resistant muscle to soften it. "Oh, fuck," he said. He couldn't help it.
Angel surfaced for air. "All in good time," and he laughed. And now he ran his tongue up Spike's cock from balls to tip before opening his mouth wide and engulfing it whole. Spike jerked with shock and something that sounded suspiciously like a squeak escaped his lips. He'd never in a million years have expected to see this – his cock in Angel's mouth. For a moment, he was afraid the old man meant to bite it right off but when there was no sign of that, just sucking and licking and the easy movement of practised throat muscles, he let go the thought and let go everything else too. Instead, he moaned and gasped his pleasure – head flung back, body twisting and writhing. Then he felt huge fingers worming their way inside him, crooking to touch his prostate. He howled at the sensation -like fireworks going off inside his body - scrabbling with his arms whether to fend Angel off or to urge him on, he wasn't quite sure.
"Shush, shush, William. It's okay. I got you." Angel had released Spike's cock with a wet pop of lips and a cat-like curl of tongue round the exposed pink head. His breath tickled the sensitive flesh just inches in front of him. "Poor little boy," he said. "I know what you need," and he sat up, still pumping Spike's cock with one hand while with the other he freed his own. It was huge – a bloody bargepole – glistening with icy precome. Angel gathered some of it onto his fingers and used it to slick up Spike's hole, which was already pouting, Spike could feel it – an eager little whore almost begging to be opened and fucked.
"Let your sire take care of you," Angel said, and he bent Spike's knees back until they were right next to his ears, positioned himself and began to push – gentle little thrusts this time, rather than the previous battering. Spike felt the smooth muscles in his back passage contract around Angel's cock, encouraging it on its way.
"Yeah, take it, baby." Angel was grinning in triumph. "You know you want it."
Spike knew he should say something – a joke – something – but he couldn't get the words out. All he could think of was that Angel had said almost the exact same words to him as Erroll had the last time they'd fucked. Had Spike taught Erroll those words because he'd remembered Angelus saying them? Why the hell did he still want this? But when Angel began to move – short shallow thrusts that glanced past his prostate – when Angel laced their fingers together and looked down at him as if he really wanted him – he realised he just didn't care. Instead, he let himself melt, surrender – be washed by the tides of lust onto a familiar shore where he knew he couldn't stay long but – oh, it was good to be back!
"It's late," Darla said to Annabelle. "Put him to bed. He can have his bath in the morning."
She'd taken off her dainty little high-heeled shoes and lay on her side on the bed, one slender arm propping her head up.
"Yes," Annabelle said. As usual, she couldn't quite bring herself to say 'madam' and as usual, she was thankful that Darla didn't insist on it.
"I'm not sleepy!" Connor protested. "I want to wait for Papa to come back."
Darla turned to answer him just as a faint vibration began in the floor, heralding the arrival of another train. With Darla distracted, Annabelle glanced quickly at her watch. It was midnight. In another hour the last train would have passed and the current would be switched off. She didn't know what Angel's plan was but it would have to take place between then and 5am when the current came back on if he wanted to escape through the tunnels.
Maybe that wasn't his plan, though? Maybe he meant to get out via the spiral stairway? The door at the top was solid steel. Annabelle didn't think it could be broken down but maybe Angel had a key.
"What are you standing there gawping for, stupid girl?" Darla raised her voice over the hum of the transformers. "I told you to put him to bed."
"No!" Connor said, again, and, with horrific suddenness, Darla hissed back at him, "Do what you're told, you hateful little brat!" She'd gone into vampire face, her features even more hideous in the subdued light of the room. She got like this with Connor sometimes – angry with him – almost fierce - as if she hated him for even existing.
Connor didn't react to her outburst at all, however. Instead, he regarded his mother from stony blue eyes. "You're stupid to miss him. I'm much better than him."
The cacophony of the passing train drowned any answer Darla might have made and when it passed, her vampire face went with it. She gathered Connor close in her arms and kissed him. "You are," she said. "Oh, you are, my beautiful little boy."
"Papa's better than him too," Connor went on. He nipped at the skin on the side of his mother's neck with his childish human teeth and Annabelle saw Darla shudder and close her eyes. "Papa doesn't want to take me away from you."
"Such a clever boy – Mama's little darling." Suddenly, Darla's eyes opened again, staring coldly at Annabelle. "Go to bed, girl," she said. "My son is sleeping with me tonight."
Annabelle didn't argue. In fact, it was a relief. She went into the inner room she shared with Connor and shut the door on them. They gave her the creeps and never more so than when they were all over each other like this.
She changed quickly out of her uniform and put on jeans and a long-sleeved top. Then she got under the bedclothes and waited. It was quiet except for the rattle and vibration of passing trains and after all this time, she'd come to find that quite soothing. Soon, she started to relax and even to feel sleepy. Every time her eyes closed, though, she'd jerk awake again because she'd remember something - like that she'd killed Ravinder and what Erroll would likely do when he found out. She'd seen him angry before, though never really with her, and she knew that no matter how easy-going he seemed, he was still a vampire underneath.
It was scary to think about so she tried not to. Instead, she tried to think of other things – normal things from when her life had just been like everyone else's; holidays with Daddy and Harry at Daddy's place in Scotland, going shopping with Mother in the West End and having tea at Harvey Nicks afterwards– games lessons at school – the routine at Norland College. It didn't work, though. Instead, for some reason, her mind kept going back to things she didn't really want to think about, like the weird stuff she'd been taught at her first school.
She'd only been eight when Mother and Daddy had quarrelled about it and taken her out of there and everything was a bit hazy but the teachers had been really strict, she remembered, and mostly old men and the lessons were long and boring. There'd been lots of history but not the normal sort like the Tudors and Stuarts. It'd been all to do with long-lost empires where the people had funny names. She remembered the pictures of them. Some of them had even had horns. Maybe they hadn't even been people?
She's learned stuff too about this special girl the teachers were always talking about but she couldn't remember why or who the girl was supposed to be. Belatedly, she wondered if it was this that had made her decide she herself was special. Maybe she'd imagined she was this special girl, the way other girls pretended to be princesses?
Annabelle's eyelids drooped again and again she forced them open. It was nearly one o'clock now and she had to stay awake. When the last train went past she made herself get up. For a while, she sat, staring at the door into Darla's room, trying to gather the courage to open it. What if Darla was still awake? She'd be in fearful trouble. Her stomach felt as if it'd shrunk to half its size – or maybe it had grown bigger because there didn't seem to be enough room in her body for her lungs to expand properly. She was panting – feeling a bit light-headed – and suddenly she realised she was in danger of hyperventilating.
She made herself breathe more slowly. She made herself get up too and walk towards the door. She reminded herself she really didn't want to die and this was her only chance to escape. With her hand on the doorknob she stopped again. Then, although panic threatened to overwhelm her – drive her back to the false security of her bed – she opened the door.
Total silence greeted her. With the trains stopped for the night, not even a breath of air stirred the hangings in the room. Annabelle stood still, staring. Darla lay on her back on the bed. She wore a white lace negligee and her arms were crossed on her breast like some old statue on a tomb. She was pale and she wasn't breathing. In fact, she looked dead. Connor was still dressed. He was curled up next to his mother with one arm flung possessively across her waist. As Annabelle watched, he twitched and whimpered but he didn't wake up.
Annabelle remembered that Angel had said: when the time came, she was to bring Connor to him and she wouldn't find it difficult. She wished he'd explained what he meant a bit better.
As she tiptoed across the room, she kept expecting Darla to catch her scent and wake up but instead Darla continued to lie corpse-still, which was scary and unnerving. Annabelle was sure she wouldn't be able to do it but somehow or other she found herself reaching out and seizing hold of Connor's outspread arm. He whimpered again and his childish brow furrowed but he didn't wake and neither did his mother.
It's not natural, Annabelle thought, and as she thought it, a great sense of urgency overtook her. Quickly, she hefted Connor's small body into her arms leaving Darla bereft on the bed, and carried him to the door. She tried balancing him on her hip but he was too big and his legs dangled down too far, and as she stumbled out into the bricked-in corridor, she very nearly dropped him.
Recovering herself, she set off at a staggering run towards the archway and the eastbound platform.
Spike lay on his side. Angel was taking up most of the room, leaving only a narrow strip on the edge of the bed for him. His head was pillowed on Angel's shoulder. They were sharing a cigarette between them like some clichéd romantic couple from an old black-and-white movie.
"Think you'll miss me when I'm gone?" Angel asked, suddenly. He blew smoke into the air, in which dust from a train just passed hung heavy, trapped in the blue haze.
"You are joking, aren't you?" Spike snatched the cigarette off him and took a deep, satisfying drag. "Can't wait to see the back of you."
Angel was looking at him now, his eyes slitted and secretive. "See, I don't get that," he said. "In fact, I don't get this whole set-up. It's not like you at all."
"Like I said, you don't know me any more." Spike made to pass the cigarette back but Angel's hand had suddenly dropped to his groin and a big finger ran down the length of his sated cock – which, only too predictably, perked up and took an interest.
"Don't I?" Angel was smiling. "I know enough to know you still like to take it in the ass, William – always were quite the giver. Some things don't change."
"Fuck you," Spike said, without heat. He took another drag. Angel was squeezing his cock now and it hurt just a little.
"I also know," Angel went on, "that it's all about love with you – even if what you think is love is just a travesty of the real thing. Darla doesn't love you, William. You know that as well as I do. Darla doesn't love at all."
"Leave me alone." Spike prised Angel's hand off his cock and sat up. The semi-tumescent flesh bobbed at his groin disconsolately. He leaned down and stubbed the cigarette out on the floor. "Kept your eyes shut as well as your mind have you, while you've been here?"
"If you're talking about her feelings for Connor, forget it," Angel said. "She wants him because she thinks he belongs to her – that's not love. It's just possessiveness."
"Who made you the judge and the fucking jury?" Spike could feel his temper rising and he tried to smother it. Angel wanted to make him angry. "She's as much right to the kid as you – more, since she had to carry him for nine months in her belly. As far as she's concerned, mate, you're nothing but a fucking sperm-donor. You've no rights to the kid at all. If you have, show me the sodding paperwork."
"More rights than you," Angel said, and for a moment, his voice turned venomous. Then, suddenly, he laughed. "This is ridiculous. You're vampires – you've no business raising human children."
"That what you think he is?" Now it was Spike's turn to laugh. "Think all that saying he hates you is just sweet childish prattle, do you?"
"You've turned him against me," Angel said, as if there couldn't be another answer.
"Didn't need to." Spike began to put on his jeans. He had to be careful buttoning his fly. "That kid's not normal, Angel. Dunno how you could fucking expect he would be – child of two vampires, it's just not natural."
"I agree he's special –" Angel began but Spike had had enough. He pulled on his t-shirt then waited impatiently as another train went by. There couldn't be many more now – just the last drunks to be ferried home.
"You fucking listen to me, Angelus," he said, because he was tired of this Angel crap. "Kid's special all right but maybe not how you think."
Angel was sitting up now too. "What do you mean?" His tone was very hostile.
Spike shoved his feet back into his boots. "Somehow - who the fuck knows how -Darla found me and Dru in Juarez," he said. "The minute she walked in the room with that kid in her arms, Dru went crazy – crazier, that is – and she hasn't been right again since. He's the Miracle Child all right – the real Anointed One – the one old bat-face was waiting for."
Just for a moment, Angel looked daunted but then he said, "So Dru is still around. I wondered. I almost thought I could sense her. Quite a little harem you've set up for yourself here, William."
Spike rolled his eyes. "You don't fucking listen, do you? This kid of yours – you know what else they called him in the prophecy? The Tro Clon -the fucking Destroyer, that's what."
"I know that." Angel dismissed the epithet with an impatient wave of his hand. "I don't believe that nonsense any more than I believe Darla's the Master's heir. What surprises me most of all is that you believe it. You were always such an iconoclast, William."
Spike was putting on his duster. He felt tired suddenly and his eyelids were heavy. He rubbed them in annoyance. He'd just raised his hand to bang on the inside of the door and ask to be let out when Angel spoke again.
"Tell me. I want to know. And most of all – because I don't understand it – I want to know why she chose you."
Spike rubbed his eyes again. It was getting hard to concentrate but one thing was crystal clear.
"Pisses you off, doesn't it?" he said. "Knowing it was me that raised your son – that I'm the one he calls 'Papa'? Far worse than if it'd been some stranger. Family are always the ones who can hurt us most. You taught me that, Angelus."
"You look tired," Angel said in reply. "Maybe you should lie down," but Spike just gave him two fingers. He turned and banged on the door. There was no response from the guards.
"Fuck! Where've those wankers gone?"
Spike knocked again. Suddenly, there was a rush of air and Angel was right beside him. A moment later, he was in a headlock he couldn't break and his reactions were all off anyway. Angel began to drag him back towards the bed.
"You didn't answer my question."
Spike struggled feebly but he couldn't break Angel's grip.
"She chose me because I'm family," he managed. His voice was slurring badly. "She knew me – knew she could trust me, provided she keeps me sweet. And she has, Angelus – you ought to know just how."
Angel didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he tightened his stranglehold. "Didn't think you came so cheap," he said, "but it doesn't surprise me to hear it. She'll betray you, William – put you down like a dog – and I hope I'm there to see it."
Moments later, Spike found himself on his back on the bed again. He felt dizzy – enough to know this wasn't natural. This was it. Angel was springing his trap and Spike was right in its jaws. He couldn't say it came as in any way a surprise.
Angel was leaning over him and Spike was sure if he could only focus, he'd see his death in Angel's eyes again.
"Since you mention it, though," Angel said, "it does piss me off that you got to raise my son. It pisses me off that you ever touched him."
His arm went back. The last thing Spike saw before blackness took him was Angel's fist coming towards his face.
TBC
Notes:
The West End: the part of central London where all the best shops are.
Harvey Nichols (Harvey Nicks for short): One of the very best department stores - and no, what Annabelle thinks of as a 'normal' life is certainly not normal for everyone in the UK.