Title:   A Past Not Forgotten

Author:   angelspike69 & anamcara420

Rating:   NC17

Pairing:   Angel/Spike

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

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

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

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

Distribution:   My Perfect Rhyme.  If you'd like to archive it, please ask.

Authors' Note #1:   Thanks to dragonydreams for answering our request for a beta.  You did a marvelous job.

Feedback:   AngelSpike69 (marinersgal69@msn.com) & Anamcara420 (ldelrossi@excite.com)

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Chapter 9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

The younger cop was obviously shaken by what he had seen.  "Don't...don't we arrest him?"

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

"Who is he?"  The younger policemen voice squeaked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, professor, it's Will.  One of your students.  Let me help you home."

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

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

"I'm sorry...so sorry...I...I...I let him kill you...I turned...too late...he staked you."

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

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

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

"Dragon...damn dragon...smoke...flames...I should have watched ...I should never...I didn't see him...Why didn't I die too?"

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

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

"Excuse me," a voice said from behind them.

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

"I've got him ma'm.  Little too much to drink.  Can you let us in?"

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

"Um...yes...an old friend died."

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

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

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

Suddenly Angel opened his eyes and peered into Will's face.  "Will?"

"Yes, professor.  It's Will...Will Tate.  I'm in your art history class."

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

"No, professor.  It's Will.  I'm your student.  Let's get you to bed."

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

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

Angel suddenly grabbed Will and brought him down on top of him, squeezing him tightly.  Will couldn't breathe.  "Professor!  Prof...I can't breathe...Angel!"

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TBC