Just Rewards (A Missing Scenes Ficlet)
Rating: T
Pairing: implied Spangel
Word Count: 919
Warnings: inner monologuing, slight angst, ghost!Spike, broody Angel, set during the bedroom scene in 5x02:Just Rewards
Summary: Spike pops up that first night ready to get right back to the heroics.
“Well, look at you.”
Angel’s eyes shot back open at the sound of the voice he knew all too well, the ghostly form of his returned Childe appearing suddenly by the window.
“Oh, no. No. No, no!”
“Sitting in luxury’s ample lap.Top of the world, looking down on - well, everyone. It’s good to be king, isn’t it?” The snark behind his words was dulled, muted. A mere shade of the attitude they once would have held, much like their issuer.
“Ground rules: Haunt me all you want during business hours, but this space - off-limits.”
Angel groaned and pushed himself up against the headboard, his hands folded over his lap, suddenly all to aware of his half-naked state and wishing he’d worn the long-sleeved shirt that matched the sweats he had found in one of the drawers; clothes magnanimously provided by the Senior Partners along with nearly everything else in the suite. Hadn’t he had a long enough day? Bad enough he’d had to face his Childe the entire day down at the office and not have a moment of peace to even begin to process it; did he really have to pop up here too, like Jacob fucking Marley, come to show him his misdeeds, dredge up the past - as if he’d ever forget - toss the hypocrisy right into his face, how he was living in the epicenter of all evil and making nice with the enemy.
“Relax, beefcake. I didn’t come for a fight.”
Spike’s words broke through Angel’s internal monologue as though he could hear the gears grinding. It was eerie, sometimes, how well his Childe knew him. Angel looked over at him in surprise, his eyebrow quirked.
“Really?”
“Not that I could, right? Can’t touch. Can’t affect anything.” Spike stared over at him, his face bleak, and Angel knew that his face would have flushed red with embarrassment if he were human. “Yeah, I overheard your little group powwow about me.”
“How much?” Angel asked, kicking himself for his candid, thoughtless words, words spoken in haste, needing to get the others off his back, to give him time to think, time for the return of his Childe to fully register; he had only said those things to get them to calm down, so that he could figure out his own feelings on Spike’s sudden return into his life.
“Enough of enough.”
“Look, Spike-”
“Necromancer tried to make a deal with me.”
Spike turned fully away from the window, his hands stuffed into his duster, head down as he spoke. God, how he wished he could gather his William to him, soothe away the furrowed brow, the sad look that marred his face.
“What?”
“Said he could bring me back, body and soul,” Spike walked closer as he spoke, and Angel crossed his arms over his chest, aware once more of his bare chest, and of his body’s usual reactions to the blonde as he closed the distance, “if I used our close personal relationship to double-cross you.”
“Tempting. And what’d you say?”
“You see, right there - that’s a problem. You having to ask me that.” Spike’s tone turned indignant, his voice still soft, but just this side of calm, and Angel hated the hurt he sensed coming from him, the sadness he felt rolling off him even as he tried to play it off as a mild offense. “I don’t play for that side anymore or haven’t you heard. Besides, even if Mr. Death could do what he promised, I trust him about as much as you trust me.”
“What do you want from me?” Angel asked, forcing himself to look Spike in the eye. Hell, he’d do anything to wipe that grief away, to see his Golden Childe smirk again, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth in that sardonic way of his.
“I can’t live like this, Angel. Bein’ useless. Bein’ nothing.” Spike had turned towards the window as he spoke, his voice pained and nearly broken as he looked back at him. “I want it to end.”
Angel stared back at Spike, his face methodically blank, betraying none of the turmoil inside. His Childe, his William, finally back on the Earthly plane, and already wanting to leave again. Hell if he was going to let that happen. He would die before he lost his Childe again, if anyone deserved a continued existence, Spike did. He’d earned it.
“Spike, you can’t mean-”
“Don’t fret, Peaches, I don’t really want you to smash the amulet and send me back into the ether.” Spike’s lips lifted in a half-smile and Angel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Bloody death-dealer let slip the process of his magicky bugaboo and I figured I could help you ‘s all. Christ, Angel, did you really think I was itchin’ to get myself dusted - well, ectoplasm-ed - all over again? Not bloody likely.”
Angel looked away sheepishly, his soul relaxing slightly as the demon let out a chuckle at the pluck of his Childe. At least he sounded a mite more like his old self, the snark more genuine.
“Right, so what is it exactly you needed me to do?”
Spike flashed him a small smirk, no hint of tongue pressing against his teeth, but a smirk nonetheless. Angel would take progress where he could find it.
“Just follow my lead, and we’ll ‘ave that smarmy bastard dead before dawn. Then we can try an’ figure out how to get me all flesh and bone again.”
Pairing: implied Spangel
Word Count: 919
Warnings: inner monologuing, slight angst, ghost!Spike, broody Angel, set during the bedroom scene in 5x02:Just Rewards
Summary: Spike pops up that first night ready to get right back to the heroics.
“Well, look at you.”
Angel’s eyes shot back open at the sound of the voice he knew all too well, the ghostly form of his returned Childe appearing suddenly by the window.
“Oh, no. No. No, no!”
“Sitting in luxury’s ample lap.Top of the world, looking down on - well, everyone. It’s good to be king, isn’t it?” The snark behind his words was dulled, muted. A mere shade of the attitude they once would have held, much like their issuer.
“Ground rules: Haunt me all you want during business hours, but this space - off-limits.”
Angel groaned and pushed himself up against the headboard, his hands folded over his lap, suddenly all to aware of his half-naked state and wishing he’d worn the long-sleeved shirt that matched the sweats he had found in one of the drawers; clothes magnanimously provided by the Senior Partners along with nearly everything else in the suite. Hadn’t he had a long enough day? Bad enough he’d had to face his Childe the entire day down at the office and not have a moment of peace to even begin to process it; did he really have to pop up here too, like Jacob fucking Marley, come to show him his misdeeds, dredge up the past - as if he’d ever forget - toss the hypocrisy right into his face, how he was living in the epicenter of all evil and making nice with the enemy.
“Relax, beefcake. I didn’t come for a fight.”
Spike’s words broke through Angel’s internal monologue as though he could hear the gears grinding. It was eerie, sometimes, how well his Childe knew him. Angel looked over at him in surprise, his eyebrow quirked.
“Really?”
“Not that I could, right? Can’t touch. Can’t affect anything.” Spike stared over at him, his face bleak, and Angel knew that his face would have flushed red with embarrassment if he were human. “Yeah, I overheard your little group powwow about me.”
“How much?” Angel asked, kicking himself for his candid, thoughtless words, words spoken in haste, needing to get the others off his back, to give him time to think, time for the return of his Childe to fully register; he had only said those things to get them to calm down, so that he could figure out his own feelings on Spike’s sudden return into his life.
“Enough of enough.”
“Look, Spike-”
“Necromancer tried to make a deal with me.”
Spike turned fully away from the window, his hands stuffed into his duster, head down as he spoke. God, how he wished he could gather his William to him, soothe away the furrowed brow, the sad look that marred his face.
“What?”
“Said he could bring me back, body and soul,” Spike walked closer as he spoke, and Angel crossed his arms over his chest, aware once more of his bare chest, and of his body’s usual reactions to the blonde as he closed the distance, “if I used our close personal relationship to double-cross you.”
“Tempting. And what’d you say?”
“You see, right there - that’s a problem. You having to ask me that.” Spike’s tone turned indignant, his voice still soft, but just this side of calm, and Angel hated the hurt he sensed coming from him, the sadness he felt rolling off him even as he tried to play it off as a mild offense. “I don’t play for that side anymore or haven’t you heard. Besides, even if Mr. Death could do what he promised, I trust him about as much as you trust me.”
“What do you want from me?” Angel asked, forcing himself to look Spike in the eye. Hell, he’d do anything to wipe that grief away, to see his Golden Childe smirk again, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth in that sardonic way of his.
“I can’t live like this, Angel. Bein’ useless. Bein’ nothing.” Spike had turned towards the window as he spoke, his voice pained and nearly broken as he looked back at him. “I want it to end.”
Angel stared back at Spike, his face methodically blank, betraying none of the turmoil inside. His Childe, his William, finally back on the Earthly plane, and already wanting to leave again. Hell if he was going to let that happen. He would die before he lost his Childe again, if anyone deserved a continued existence, Spike did. He’d earned it.
“Spike, you can’t mean-”
“Don’t fret, Peaches, I don’t really want you to smash the amulet and send me back into the ether.” Spike’s lips lifted in a half-smile and Angel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Bloody death-dealer let slip the process of his magicky bugaboo and I figured I could help you ‘s all. Christ, Angel, did you really think I was itchin’ to get myself dusted - well, ectoplasm-ed - all over again? Not bloody likely.”
Angel looked away sheepishly, his soul relaxing slightly as the demon let out a chuckle at the pluck of his Childe. At least he sounded a mite more like his old self, the snark more genuine.
“Right, so what is it exactly you needed me to do?”
Spike flashed him a small smirk, no hint of tongue pressing against his teeth, but a smirk nonetheless. Angel would take progress where he could find it.
“Just follow my lead, and we’ll ‘ave that smarmy bastard dead before dawn. Then we can try an’ figure out how to get me all flesh and bone again.”