FIC: Reflections 11: Renewal: continued: Riley/Spike: NC17
Details as for previous post Reflections 11: Renewal
Saturday 3rd February
When Spike woke up next day, he couldn’t wait to give Wesley a call, though he insisted Riley to do the talking.
Riley was puzzled. “I don’t see why -”
“Well: it’s embarrassin’ isn’t it?” Spike said. “You should have heard the things I came out with: made out I had more self-control than a barrel-load of Vulcans. That all went pear-shaped pretty damn quick.”
“He’ll be fine with you,” Riley assured him. “He’s pretty cool: one of the good guys.”
“Deserves better than the Ponce,” Spike grumbled.
Riley stopped dialling and looked up. “What d’you mean?”
“Oh. You didn’t know? Bloke’s got a crush a mile wide on Angel.”
Riley’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “He never mentioned …”
“Well, how could he? Ex-Watcher; wouldn’t be ‘appropriate’ would it? Gotta keep a stiff upper-lip.”
“So he and Angel aren’t -”
Spike shook his head. “Angel’s still obsessin’ over the Slayer: and/or Darla: some little blonde anyway. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not the brightest when it comes to that stuff: probably hasn’t twigged even now. Right pair they’d make. Both so bloody repressed they’d take a year to reach first base, and spend the next ten in a joint angst-fest.”
Riley wrinkled his nose. “Poor Wes.”
“Give ‘im time, he’ll get over it: it‘s just a crush. He needs to get out more, is all: get his nose out of those books of his.”
“So, you don’t think this thing will go anywhere then?” Riley was clearly concerned for his new buddy.
“No. Nor should it,” Spike said, firmly. “Liam’s a ladies’ man at heart, always has been. He’ll take a man alright, but when he does, it’s mostly about showin’ you who’s boss: or sometimes just crushing you.”
With mild astonishment, Spike noted the absence in his heart of the anger, resentment, or even embarrassment that such reminiscence usually brought. That was new. Shrugging, he went on, “Wesley doesn’t need that. I mean, look at him: he needs someone that’ll build him up not flatten him.”
“I guess.” Riley paused, thinking. “You like him, then?”
“Wesley? Yeah … not, like that, but yeah … He seems like a decent enough sort. Why? You got that look that says you’ve got something up your sleeve.”
“Maybe: just an idea.” Riley dialled before Spike could interrogate him further. “Hi, Wes, it’s Riley.”
“Riley! Oh, good. I wondered where you’d got to.”
“’Wilshire Grand.’”
“Oh! Very swanky! Well, you can tell Spike to stop worrying, if that’s why you called. The girl’s okay, though I’m afraid they gave her an anti-rabies shot before I could think of a reason they shouldn’t.”
Spike winced. Not a wild dog.
“She had a transfusion, and she’s been referred for psychological counselling and diagnostic tests. She was babbling about death being the only way to live, so they thought they’d better keep her in for observation.”
“Oh, well, that’s … great news. I suppose. I guess she must need help.” Riley touched the bite-mark on his neck reflexively but didn’t appear perturbed.
“How is Spike faring?” Wesley said quietly. “Is he alright?”
“Ask him yourself.”
Spike made frantic refusal gestures but when Riley tossed the phone to him, he caught it with a resigned grunt.
“Wes. Thanks for … you know: takin’ care of things: that girl. And for lookin’ after my fella these last few days. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Wesley insisted. “He was a model house-guest; I hardly knew he was here.” He paused before continuing a little tentatively, “Angel told me what happened: why it happened. That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Did he now?” That was a shocker. “Decent of him. Bit of a false start to my new life all the same.”
“I’m sure it must have been most distressing for you.”
Spike was momentarily thrown. Sympathy for the Devil: and from an ex-Watcher too. “Yeah, well. What is it they say? ‘Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better’?”
“That’s the spirit.” Wesley sounded like he was pepping up the troops ready for the big push. “Anyway, Spike, I do hope you and Riley are intending to stop by at the Hyperion later today. Angel was most … well, he’s anxious to see you.”
This could be fun. “Is he now?” Spike said, trying not to sound too interested.
“Very much so,” Wesley replied fervently. “He doesn’t say it, but … please don’t go tearing off home without seeing him again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Wes.”
Spike heard Wesley sigh with relief.
“Don’t tell him that, mind! Let him sweat for a bit.”
Wes sighed again, this time in exasperation. “But you will -”
“Yeah, we’ll be along: after sunset, okay?”
“Bless you, Spike.”
Spike gave the phone a dubious look. “Yeah, well …”
“So -” Wesley said, getting back to his usual businesslike self, “- shall I pack up Riley’s things for him and bring them along there?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Spike said, not seeing any reason he shouldn’t. “See you later then.”
“And we still have to have that talk you promised me.”
“See you Wes.”
~~
Wesley had been hanging around expectantly in the back office for most of the latter part of the afternoon, trying to look busy, but unable to concentrate. In so far as Angel’s moods could be judged at all, he, too, seemed distracted. If Spike were to decide he’d rather not see Angel after all - send Riley to collect their possessions - Wesley didn’t know what he would do.
But Spike - as good as his word - pushed through the Hyperion front doors half an hour after sundown, tugging Riley along behind him.
Wesley decided to stay in the office for the moment, to see how Spike and Angel would deal with one another without his interference.
Spike nudged Riley in the ribs and pointed to where Angel was sitting behind the front desk, making no sign that he’d heard them come in. “Told you,” Spike whispered to Riley.
Angel looked up.
“Tosser!” Spike greeted him cheerfully.
“Oh. Spike. Riley. Hi.” Affecting casual, Angel set his apparently absorbing paperwork aside. “I didn’t know whether you’d show up. Thought you might have just decided to up and leave.”
“Couldn’t do that mate,” Spike said, batting his eyelids and smiling a smile of sweet reassurance.
“Oh.” Angel’s face lit up slightly. “Why’s that?”
“Left my coat here didn’t I?” Spike replied with every appearance of seriousness.
Angel sagged. “Oh; yeah. Of course.”
Coming out of the back office, Wesley shook his head reproachfully at Spike.
Spike bit his lip. “I’ll just go get my stuff then, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Angel bent his head to his papers again.
Wesley saw Spike wink at him, and tutted impatiently. They really were as bad as each other. He scribbled something on Angel’s ink blotter, and then tapped pointedly on it. Angel squinted at it, and shifted in his chair. Looking embarrassed, he said, “Spike, you don’t have to rush off. Why don’t you and Riley stick around - stay here for a night or two? Do your old man a favour. It’s not like we don’t have room, and it’s free.”
Spike eyed him suspiciously. “So; what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing. I just …” He shrugged helplessly. “Oh, do what you want, Spike, I just thought it would be … I dunno -”
Angel picked up his pen and started writing on his blotter, not looking at Spike.
“- nice or something …”
Spike covertly shot a smug grin at Riley. “No more tricks?” he said, kicking the Reception desk with a show of petulance.
“No tricks, I swear.”
Spike ducked his head. “Guess it’s up to Riley then. His folks are missing him something rotten.” He kept his face carefully neutral, and Wesley suspected that if he’d tried for sincerity he’d have lost it completely.
“They miss you too, Spike,” Riley said seriously, looking Angel in the eye.
Wesley didn’t think he’d ever seen Angel look as vulnerable as he did right then, and he was mightily relieved when Riley, looking back fondly at Spike, said, “Alright. So long as it’s what Spike wants, it’s fine with me.”
Angel nodded briefly. “Great.”
“We weren’t actually leaving town tonight anyway,” Riley admitted. “I have both cars in the auto shop getting detailed.”
Wesley suppressed a smile, while Angel just looked confused.
“It’s a bit of a dilemma, actually. We don’t really want to drive all the way back to Iowa separately, so I was wondering - Wesley, do you feel like taking a trip out to the farm sometime - spend a few days with us? I was thinking you could drive out with Spike’s car, stay a few days and fly back? Our treat.”
Wesley swallowed, suddenly almost overcome. He clearly remembered the joy of being invited to stay with friends as a child, and the crushing disappointment when his parents, as they invariably did, sent polite refusals on his behalf. It was cruelly ironic that since he’d been free to make his own decisions - in all his adult life - no one had ever asked him to be a guest in their house; until now.
Taking Wesley’s silence to mean that further persuasion was needed, Riley went on, “I would let you take the SUV but it’s packed with munitions I wouldn’t want you getting caught with, and Spike’s car’s too conspicuous to take them in that.”
“Of course, I’d be delighted,” Wesley said, finally managing to get a sentence together. “That would be wonderful, yes.” He cast a pleading glance at Angel. “That is, if you can spare me?”
“Sure Wes,” Angel said gruffly. “Any time you like; we’re not busy, and Gunn’s finished his business in South Central.”
“It doesn’t have to be straight away,” Riley added. “Just, whenever’s convenient.”
Out of the corner of his eye Wesley saw Spike nudging Riley.
Reluctantly, Riley added, “You’re invited too Angel.”
“I am?” Angel’s brow creased as if he’d been given two shovels and told to take his pick.
Riley sighed. “Sure. But honestly? I can’t see you having much fun on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Precious little cover, and not much demonic evil to fight in Iowa.”
“Yeah, and believe me, I’ve looked,” Spike volunteered, with heartfelt disgust.
“You’re right of course,” Angel conceded, regretful but at the same time, somewhat relieved. “The city: LA. That’s where I’m needed. I should probably stay here.”
Wesley’s heart clenched when he saw the resignation in every line of Angel’s body. He’d have given anything to lighten the burden. If only he were stronger: could find some steel in his backbone, like that other, darker version of himself he’d glimpsed in those strange visions. It must be in there somewhere. He rubbed his lower back reflexively.
“So: nap-time?” Spike’s voice broke into his reverie.
“You only just got up!” Riley protested.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t napping!” Spike said mischievously.
Angel and Wesley tried not to look at each other, and Riley gave Spike a reproachful dig in the ribs.
“What?” Spike said. “I was watchin’ the telly.”
“Sorry,” Riley said confidingly to Wesley and Angel, as he took Spike by the hand. “He gets like this when he’s over-tired.”
He tugged Spike towards the stairs, and they watched in mild astonishment as Riley Finn led William the Bloody, un-protesting, up to his room.
~~
Spike was pleased to find his room mercifully free of cheerleaders, dead or alive. Not only that, but it had been tidied up by some kind, or guilt-ridden person. A momentary panic passed when he saw his coat on a hanger on the back of the door.
Riley found his overnight bag near the dresser. He opened it and sniffed his clothes suspiciously, then reddened slightly.
“What’s up?”
“These are fresh out of the tumble dryer,” Riley said, grateful but embarrassed.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Spike said, raising an eyebrow. “That Wesley’ll make someone a lovely little wife one day.”
Riley swatted him on the behind. “It’s not effeminate to be able to look after your own stuff.”
“Or your mate’s?” Spike said grinning. “I tell you, me and the ex-Watcher’ll be having words if he’s ironed your smalls.”
“Yeah: because that’s your prerogative.”
“As if,” Spike grunted.
“Well, I might insist on it, if you’re gonna wear this,” Riley said, digging something out of his pocket.
“What’s that then?” Spike said nervously, taking a deep breath. He didn’t know quite what to expect. For a microsecond, the uncomfortable idea that it might be some kind of collar fleeted across his mind, but he dismissed it. What then? It couldn’t be a ring. Maybe a chain or bracelet: something in the Goth metal idiom, perhaps, with a skull motif, or runes, or a dragon.
Riley handed Spike a jewellers’ envelope.
Spike pursed his lips. “I wondered what secret mission you were on: didn’t think it could have taken all afternoon to get the cars sorted.”
He opened the envelope with clumsy fingers, and tipped it over his palm.
“Oh.”
Breathing hard, Spike looked at what he held in his hand. He turned the ring - a design of leaves twined around each other, in gold and silver metals - between his thumb and forefinger, examining it intently as he collected himself. At last he said, “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
Riley let out a breath he’d been holding. “It’s not magic,” he said, apologetic.
“Yeah,” Spike assured him, looking up at last, blinking. “Yeah, it is.”
“I just wanted to … I mean, after you got me that ring, I wanted to get you one straight off, but then, I didn’t want you to think it was just a reflex. That I didn’t really mean …”
Spike just looked at Riley, with his head on one side, his lips slightly parted.
Riley swallowed. “But ever since then I’ve been worried you might have thought I didn’t feel …” He looked at Spike, waiting for him to give some hint, but Spike said nothing so he went on, “If you don’t want to wear it, that’s … I mean … I know silver’s your thing, and this is gold - that bit that looks like silver - it’s not, it’s white gold -”
“Shhh!” At last Spike took pity on him and stemmed the flow of words. “You’re thinking again. It’ll rot your brain you know.” He put a finger to Riley’s lips: kissed them softly. “Well, you gonna do the honours: make an honest vamp of me?”
Riley smiled, relieved. “Sure,” he said, fumbling with it.
“This is it then,” Spike said, a little breathlessly.
“This is it,” Riley confirmed, looking steadily at him.
“I might have to do something sappy now,” Spike warned him quietly.
“Please, go ahead,” Riley said as he finally managed to put the ring on Spike’s finger. “I’ll surely feel better if you do.”
Keeping tight hold of Riley’s hands, Spike looking down at them as he began, “I know I’m not much of a catch, and a bloke like you could have done a lot better for himself -”
Riley opened his mouth to protest but Spike held a hand up to stop him, and continued, the words tumbling out as though if they didn’t, the door might close and trap them inside forever.
“- but I take you, Riley Finn, if you’ll have me: my friend, partner, lover, whatever you want to call it: gonna keep you, defend you against all-comers, no matter what happens, demons, apocalypses, parallel universes, I don’t care what, I’m sticking with you. Richer, poorer, all that crap.” He swallowed. “You get the lot, for what it’s worth: my hand, my cock - every part of me - and most of all, my heart. My love.”
“You’re wrong about one thing,” Riley said. “About, doing better for myself. I can’t see how. Can’t do better than to have the person you love, loving you right back.”
“S’pose not,” Spike said.
Still holding onto Spike’s hand, Riley said, “My turn?” and when Spike inclined his head in assent, he spoke as though primed for the moment; “Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your friends will be my friends, and your loves will be my loves. Death will never part you from me.”
Spike blinked. “You been rehearsing?”
Riley shrugged, admitting guilt.
Spike frowned, glanced at the door, and began stalking towards it while going on, rather more loudly, “In the presence of Angel, who’s probably eaves-dropping from his desk, and Harmony and Genevieve, listening outside the door -” this last was growled as he flung open the door, revealing the startled pair.
“Oops!” Genevieve jumped backwards, clapping a hand to her mouth.
“Sorry!” Harmony squeaked. “But, you guys! You’re so…!”
With a low threatening rumble rising in his throat, Spike let his game-face come slowly to the fore, and the girls backed away down the hallway, giggling nervously behind their hands, then turned and made off, squealing.
~~
TBC
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Saturday 3rd February
When Spike woke up next day, he couldn’t wait to give Wesley a call, though he insisted Riley to do the talking.
Riley was puzzled. “I don’t see why -”
“Well: it’s embarrassin’ isn’t it?” Spike said. “You should have heard the things I came out with: made out I had more self-control than a barrel-load of Vulcans. That all went pear-shaped pretty damn quick.”
“He’ll be fine with you,” Riley assured him. “He’s pretty cool: one of the good guys.”
“Deserves better than the Ponce,” Spike grumbled.
Riley stopped dialling and looked up. “What d’you mean?”
“Oh. You didn’t know? Bloke’s got a crush a mile wide on Angel.”
Riley’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “He never mentioned …”
“Well, how could he? Ex-Watcher; wouldn’t be ‘appropriate’ would it? Gotta keep a stiff upper-lip.”
“So he and Angel aren’t -”
Spike shook his head. “Angel’s still obsessin’ over the Slayer: and/or Darla: some little blonde anyway. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not the brightest when it comes to that stuff: probably hasn’t twigged even now. Right pair they’d make. Both so bloody repressed they’d take a year to reach first base, and spend the next ten in a joint angst-fest.”
Riley wrinkled his nose. “Poor Wes.”
“Give ‘im time, he’ll get over it: it‘s just a crush. He needs to get out more, is all: get his nose out of those books of his.”
“So, you don’t think this thing will go anywhere then?” Riley was clearly concerned for his new buddy.
“No. Nor should it,” Spike said, firmly. “Liam’s a ladies’ man at heart, always has been. He’ll take a man alright, but when he does, it’s mostly about showin’ you who’s boss: or sometimes just crushing you.”
With mild astonishment, Spike noted the absence in his heart of the anger, resentment, or even embarrassment that such reminiscence usually brought. That was new. Shrugging, he went on, “Wesley doesn’t need that. I mean, look at him: he needs someone that’ll build him up not flatten him.”
“I guess.” Riley paused, thinking. “You like him, then?”
“Wesley? Yeah … not, like that, but yeah … He seems like a decent enough sort. Why? You got that look that says you’ve got something up your sleeve.”
“Maybe: just an idea.” Riley dialled before Spike could interrogate him further. “Hi, Wes, it’s Riley.”
“Riley! Oh, good. I wondered where you’d got to.”
“’Wilshire Grand.’”
“Oh! Very swanky! Well, you can tell Spike to stop worrying, if that’s why you called. The girl’s okay, though I’m afraid they gave her an anti-rabies shot before I could think of a reason they shouldn’t.”
Spike winced. Not a wild dog.
“She had a transfusion, and she’s been referred for psychological counselling and diagnostic tests. She was babbling about death being the only way to live, so they thought they’d better keep her in for observation.”
“Oh, well, that’s … great news. I suppose. I guess she must need help.” Riley touched the bite-mark on his neck reflexively but didn’t appear perturbed.
“How is Spike faring?” Wesley said quietly. “Is he alright?”
“Ask him yourself.”
Spike made frantic refusal gestures but when Riley tossed the phone to him, he caught it with a resigned grunt.
“Wes. Thanks for … you know: takin’ care of things: that girl. And for lookin’ after my fella these last few days. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Wesley insisted. “He was a model house-guest; I hardly knew he was here.” He paused before continuing a little tentatively, “Angel told me what happened: why it happened. That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Did he now?” That was a shocker. “Decent of him. Bit of a false start to my new life all the same.”
“I’m sure it must have been most distressing for you.”
Spike was momentarily thrown. Sympathy for the Devil: and from an ex-Watcher too. “Yeah, well. What is it they say? ‘Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better’?”
“That’s the spirit.” Wesley sounded like he was pepping up the troops ready for the big push. “Anyway, Spike, I do hope you and Riley are intending to stop by at the Hyperion later today. Angel was most … well, he’s anxious to see you.”
This could be fun. “Is he now?” Spike said, trying not to sound too interested.
“Very much so,” Wesley replied fervently. “He doesn’t say it, but … please don’t go tearing off home without seeing him again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Wes.”
Spike heard Wesley sigh with relief.
“Don’t tell him that, mind! Let him sweat for a bit.”
Wes sighed again, this time in exasperation. “But you will -”
“Yeah, we’ll be along: after sunset, okay?”
“Bless you, Spike.”
Spike gave the phone a dubious look. “Yeah, well …”
“So -” Wesley said, getting back to his usual businesslike self, “- shall I pack up Riley’s things for him and bring them along there?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Spike said, not seeing any reason he shouldn’t. “See you later then.”
“And we still have to have that talk you promised me.”
“See you Wes.”
~~
Wesley had been hanging around expectantly in the back office for most of the latter part of the afternoon, trying to look busy, but unable to concentrate. In so far as Angel’s moods could be judged at all, he, too, seemed distracted. If Spike were to decide he’d rather not see Angel after all - send Riley to collect their possessions - Wesley didn’t know what he would do.
But Spike - as good as his word - pushed through the Hyperion front doors half an hour after sundown, tugging Riley along behind him.
Wesley decided to stay in the office for the moment, to see how Spike and Angel would deal with one another without his interference.
Spike nudged Riley in the ribs and pointed to where Angel was sitting behind the front desk, making no sign that he’d heard them come in. “Told you,” Spike whispered to Riley.
Angel looked up.
“Tosser!” Spike greeted him cheerfully.
“Oh. Spike. Riley. Hi.” Affecting casual, Angel set his apparently absorbing paperwork aside. “I didn’t know whether you’d show up. Thought you might have just decided to up and leave.”
“Couldn’t do that mate,” Spike said, batting his eyelids and smiling a smile of sweet reassurance.
“Oh.” Angel’s face lit up slightly. “Why’s that?”
“Left my coat here didn’t I?” Spike replied with every appearance of seriousness.
Angel sagged. “Oh; yeah. Of course.”
Coming out of the back office, Wesley shook his head reproachfully at Spike.
Spike bit his lip. “I’ll just go get my stuff then, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Angel bent his head to his papers again.
Wesley saw Spike wink at him, and tutted impatiently. They really were as bad as each other. He scribbled something on Angel’s ink blotter, and then tapped pointedly on it. Angel squinted at it, and shifted in his chair. Looking embarrassed, he said, “Spike, you don’t have to rush off. Why don’t you and Riley stick around - stay here for a night or two? Do your old man a favour. It’s not like we don’t have room, and it’s free.”
Spike eyed him suspiciously. “So; what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing. I just …” He shrugged helplessly. “Oh, do what you want, Spike, I just thought it would be … I dunno -”
Angel picked up his pen and started writing on his blotter, not looking at Spike.
“- nice or something …”
Spike covertly shot a smug grin at Riley. “No more tricks?” he said, kicking the Reception desk with a show of petulance.
“No tricks, I swear.”
Spike ducked his head. “Guess it’s up to Riley then. His folks are missing him something rotten.” He kept his face carefully neutral, and Wesley suspected that if he’d tried for sincerity he’d have lost it completely.
“They miss you too, Spike,” Riley said seriously, looking Angel in the eye.
Wesley didn’t think he’d ever seen Angel look as vulnerable as he did right then, and he was mightily relieved when Riley, looking back fondly at Spike, said, “Alright. So long as it’s what Spike wants, it’s fine with me.”
Angel nodded briefly. “Great.”
“We weren’t actually leaving town tonight anyway,” Riley admitted. “I have both cars in the auto shop getting detailed.”
Wesley suppressed a smile, while Angel just looked confused.
“It’s a bit of a dilemma, actually. We don’t really want to drive all the way back to Iowa separately, so I was wondering - Wesley, do you feel like taking a trip out to the farm sometime - spend a few days with us? I was thinking you could drive out with Spike’s car, stay a few days and fly back? Our treat.”
Wesley swallowed, suddenly almost overcome. He clearly remembered the joy of being invited to stay with friends as a child, and the crushing disappointment when his parents, as they invariably did, sent polite refusals on his behalf. It was cruelly ironic that since he’d been free to make his own decisions - in all his adult life - no one had ever asked him to be a guest in their house; until now.
Taking Wesley’s silence to mean that further persuasion was needed, Riley went on, “I would let you take the SUV but it’s packed with munitions I wouldn’t want you getting caught with, and Spike’s car’s too conspicuous to take them in that.”
“Of course, I’d be delighted,” Wesley said, finally managing to get a sentence together. “That would be wonderful, yes.” He cast a pleading glance at Angel. “That is, if you can spare me?”
“Sure Wes,” Angel said gruffly. “Any time you like; we’re not busy, and Gunn’s finished his business in South Central.”
“It doesn’t have to be straight away,” Riley added. “Just, whenever’s convenient.”
Out of the corner of his eye Wesley saw Spike nudging Riley.
Reluctantly, Riley added, “You’re invited too Angel.”
“I am?” Angel’s brow creased as if he’d been given two shovels and told to take his pick.
Riley sighed. “Sure. But honestly? I can’t see you having much fun on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Precious little cover, and not much demonic evil to fight in Iowa.”
“Yeah, and believe me, I’ve looked,” Spike volunteered, with heartfelt disgust.
“You’re right of course,” Angel conceded, regretful but at the same time, somewhat relieved. “The city: LA. That’s where I’m needed. I should probably stay here.”
Wesley’s heart clenched when he saw the resignation in every line of Angel’s body. He’d have given anything to lighten the burden. If only he were stronger: could find some steel in his backbone, like that other, darker version of himself he’d glimpsed in those strange visions. It must be in there somewhere. He rubbed his lower back reflexively.
“So: nap-time?” Spike’s voice broke into his reverie.
“You only just got up!” Riley protested.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t napping!” Spike said mischievously.
Angel and Wesley tried not to look at each other, and Riley gave Spike a reproachful dig in the ribs.
“What?” Spike said. “I was watchin’ the telly.”
“Sorry,” Riley said confidingly to Wesley and Angel, as he took Spike by the hand. “He gets like this when he’s over-tired.”
He tugged Spike towards the stairs, and they watched in mild astonishment as Riley Finn led William the Bloody, un-protesting, up to his room.
~~
Spike was pleased to find his room mercifully free of cheerleaders, dead or alive. Not only that, but it had been tidied up by some kind, or guilt-ridden person. A momentary panic passed when he saw his coat on a hanger on the back of the door.
Riley found his overnight bag near the dresser. He opened it and sniffed his clothes suspiciously, then reddened slightly.
“What’s up?”
“These are fresh out of the tumble dryer,” Riley said, grateful but embarrassed.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Spike said, raising an eyebrow. “That Wesley’ll make someone a lovely little wife one day.”
Riley swatted him on the behind. “It’s not effeminate to be able to look after your own stuff.”
“Or your mate’s?” Spike said grinning. “I tell you, me and the ex-Watcher’ll be having words if he’s ironed your smalls.”
“Yeah: because that’s your prerogative.”
“As if,” Spike grunted.
“Well, I might insist on it, if you’re gonna wear this,” Riley said, digging something out of his pocket.
“What’s that then?” Spike said nervously, taking a deep breath. He didn’t know quite what to expect. For a microsecond, the uncomfortable idea that it might be some kind of collar fleeted across his mind, but he dismissed it. What then? It couldn’t be a ring. Maybe a chain or bracelet: something in the Goth metal idiom, perhaps, with a skull motif, or runes, or a dragon.
Riley handed Spike a jewellers’ envelope.
Spike pursed his lips. “I wondered what secret mission you were on: didn’t think it could have taken all afternoon to get the cars sorted.”
He opened the envelope with clumsy fingers, and tipped it over his palm.
“Oh.”
Breathing hard, Spike looked at what he held in his hand. He turned the ring - a design of leaves twined around each other, in gold and silver metals - between his thumb and forefinger, examining it intently as he collected himself. At last he said, “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
Riley let out a breath he’d been holding. “It’s not magic,” he said, apologetic.
“Yeah,” Spike assured him, looking up at last, blinking. “Yeah, it is.”
“I just wanted to … I mean, after you got me that ring, I wanted to get you one straight off, but then, I didn’t want you to think it was just a reflex. That I didn’t really mean …”
Spike just looked at Riley, with his head on one side, his lips slightly parted.
Riley swallowed. “But ever since then I’ve been worried you might have thought I didn’t feel …” He looked at Spike, waiting for him to give some hint, but Spike said nothing so he went on, “If you don’t want to wear it, that’s … I mean … I know silver’s your thing, and this is gold - that bit that looks like silver - it’s not, it’s white gold -”
“Shhh!” At last Spike took pity on him and stemmed the flow of words. “You’re thinking again. It’ll rot your brain you know.” He put a finger to Riley’s lips: kissed them softly. “Well, you gonna do the honours: make an honest vamp of me?”
Riley smiled, relieved. “Sure,” he said, fumbling with it.
“This is it then,” Spike said, a little breathlessly.
“This is it,” Riley confirmed, looking steadily at him.
“I might have to do something sappy now,” Spike warned him quietly.
“Please, go ahead,” Riley said as he finally managed to put the ring on Spike’s finger. “I’ll surely feel better if you do.”
Keeping tight hold of Riley’s hands, Spike looking down at them as he began, “I know I’m not much of a catch, and a bloke like you could have done a lot better for himself -”
Riley opened his mouth to protest but Spike held a hand up to stop him, and continued, the words tumbling out as though if they didn’t, the door might close and trap them inside forever.
“- but I take you, Riley Finn, if you’ll have me: my friend, partner, lover, whatever you want to call it: gonna keep you, defend you against all-comers, no matter what happens, demons, apocalypses, parallel universes, I don’t care what, I’m sticking with you. Richer, poorer, all that crap.” He swallowed. “You get the lot, for what it’s worth: my hand, my cock - every part of me - and most of all, my heart. My love.”
“You’re wrong about one thing,” Riley said. “About, doing better for myself. I can’t see how. Can’t do better than to have the person you love, loving you right back.”
“S’pose not,” Spike said.
Still holding onto Spike’s hand, Riley said, “My turn?” and when Spike inclined his head in assent, he spoke as though primed for the moment; “Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your friends will be my friends, and your loves will be my loves. Death will never part you from me.”
Spike blinked. “You been rehearsing?”
Riley shrugged, admitting guilt.
Spike frowned, glanced at the door, and began stalking towards it while going on, rather more loudly, “In the presence of Angel, who’s probably eaves-dropping from his desk, and Harmony and Genevieve, listening outside the door -” this last was growled as he flung open the door, revealing the startled pair.
“Oops!” Genevieve jumped backwards, clapping a hand to her mouth.
“Sorry!” Harmony squeaked. “But, you guys! You’re so…!”
With a low threatening rumble rising in his throat, Spike let his game-face come slowly to the fore, and the girls backed away down the hallway, giggling nervously behind their hands, then turned and made off, squealing.
~~
TBC
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