Author: Buffywatcher

Feedback: Constructive comments always welcome: jinxascendant@hotmail.com

Pairing: S/A

Rating: Strong R possibly some soft NC-17'ishness

Spoilers: Some for Power Play & Some for rumours about the series finale: Not Fade Away

Warnings: M/M relationship, possible language, strong visuals and other goodies like that

Disclaimer: Just borrowing them for a bit of harmless fun. All characters, recognisable likenesses are retained by their owner and accredited license holders.

Writer's Notes: This story takes place in an AU setting. Please excuse any minor discrepancies or artist license. As always thanks are going out to GF, MarieC, Luba, and Mera my most excellent group of Beta/Editors.

Writer's Credits: This fic will feature the songs, 'When you come back down' by Nickel Creek and 'Worlds on Fire' by Sarah McLachlan. There is a Wav and MP3 respectively available by email and/or link; if you're interested in hearing it just drop me a line at my email address above. The bad bit of poetry towards the end there you can blame on me lol.

Distribution: If I've already been given permission to archive my work please consider it yours if you want it. If I haven't and you would like to archive it please do, all I ask is that you email me and tell me where it's going so I can visit.

Summary: On the eve of what could be a final battle, Angel learns a valuable lesson from Spike.
 

*This little interlude is told mainly from Angel's POV*
 

He watches as Connor leaves the coffee shop, walks slowly out of sight and he sighs. Such a brief respite to mark what may well be the end of his days. He wonders what the others have chosen to do for their 'last great hooray' as Spike so succinctly phrased it in his own inimitable fashion.

His hand is in his pocket, pulling out something that looks vaguely like the Gameboy Spike is so fond of playing with; he taps in several keystrokes and waits. After a few moments the screen begins to glow as thin tracings of light flash across the screen, thickening and overlapping until a very accurate aerial view of the city is formed. A few seconds after the map appears, lighted points of varied colours begin to appear one by one on the screen. He isn't surprised to see that some of the lights are together; that is what he'd expected to see and he is equally unsurprised that some are alone. He's not proud of having the Wolfram & Hart tech department secretly arrange to have trackers placed on the people he wanted to keep track of, but his plan is a dangerous one. If there's going to be any chance of it succeeding, than he needs these people to make it happen. He knows it's unlikely that any of them are going to survive the battle that is coming. He has to wonder if the ennui that seems to have bound all of them isn't just one more ploy by the Senior Partners to keep them down. Only one of them seems to have been able to stave off the stagnation, but it's always been his way to cling to the energy of life over the stilled breath of death and abject despair. How funny that the person in his life that seems to know the most about living is a man killed well over a century ago by his insane Childe.

He taps several keys and after a few seconds the crimson red light on the map flares brightly and the view zooms in and an address tickertapes onto the screen. He stares at the glowing address for a moment and then grabs his coat and throws himself out of the booth.

He's not surprised to find out that the tracker has led him to a bar, but he is rather surprised to find out that it's actually a rather nice looking, upscale establishment. He was rather expecting some dingy, so far off the beaten track that there is no track kind of place. One of the innumerable hole in the wall kind of place, that claim lives every night, as the hopeless seek the oblivion of watered down liquor, cheap thrills and even easier kills for those so inclined.

It's easy enough to slip in, as the lateness of the hour has driven all but the most determined night owls home to pursue other means of entertainment and rest. It is the habit of centuries that seems him clinging to the anonymity of the darkest corner's welcoming shadows. Light has never been his friend and soul aside, the shadows will always be his home, the place where he belongs.

He's not sure what he expected to see when he got here, but he's pretty sure that the sight before his eyes isn't it. As much as the shadows cling to him, claiming him eternally for its own, so the light enfolds its welcoming arms around the oblivious blond on the stage.

The simple wooden guitar cradled in his lap shines with rich oils and glows with age and loving care and it is obvious that it has been well taken care of in the more than a century that has passed since he last saw it. As in times past the simple instrument absorbs its master's seemingly tender strumming and returns notes so clear and true, that the blackest of Demons wept more than once at its undeniable beauty. Nameless tunes that once soothed the most savage of beasts into a purring contentment that has never been equalled and could never be surpassed.

He braces his elbow against the table and lets his head tip into his palm with a sigh as he watches the blond work his own brand of magic. Merlin himself would surely be a hundred shade of green to be an audience for such an enchanting show. A waitress arrives and takes his order and returns with it a few minutes later and never once has his eyes strayed.

Everything seems surreal, yet strangely familiar in some way that keeps nibbling away at the edge of his conscious thoughts and he's alternately fascinated and annoyed when he cannot label what he is feeling. In keeping with the unreality of the moment, the normally razor hard punk edge is totally lacking from the mercurial blond, leaving the impression of soft approachability.

The black Duster that is as much a part of the younger Vampire as his skin is no where in sight and without its encompassing embrace he seems almost nakedly vulnerable. The tight black cotton of his usual T-shirt has given way to a simple steel blue silk dress shirt. The cuffs are unbuttoned and the sleeves are rolled back over his forearms and most of the buttons are undone displaying the perfection of the chest it hugs. Bloused casually for comfort and tucked in beneath the waistband and button fly of his black belted jeans, he looks comfortable and classy in a casual way. The skin-painted black jeans have been replaced with slightly more relaxed fitting blue jeans. The denim is thin and worn with age and soft with countless cycles through a washer. It clings to the strength of his lower body with buttery softness that would rival a lover's embrace. His usually harsh looking biker boots or favourite Doc Martens are no where in sight, simple black suede cowboy boots peek from beneath the hem of his jeans. His hands and wrists are naked of his usual harsh and edgy jewellery and rings. The ring finger of his left hand sports a simple signet ring and a tear stings the corner of his eye and he rubs it away. He doesn't need to strain his eyes to look closer at the ring to know that it is the signet ring of their order. It once long ago graced his own finger until the night that it was willingly gifted to the youngest Master Vampire the Aurelius order had ever welcomed.

He was so proud of his Childer that night, as they stood before the Demon world in the full thrust of their glory and were the envy of all. He smiles gently to think how proud he was of he was again earlier. He knew that Spike's hand would be the first one going up, would be the first one to understand exactly what he was asking them to do, to give up. Part of him wants to do nothing more than to knock him unconscious and wrap him in chains and have him secreted safely away, far from the danger that will likely end his existence. Even as he fights that impulse he knows that they're both trapped and he despairs that in making a bargain with the Devil to save his son, it will cost him the existence of another childe. The Senior Partners aren't going to let him survive much past eliminating their pawns; assuming he of course even manages to survive long enough to do that and isn't killed in the attempt.

He meant what he said in his office earlier in the day, he can't do this without them, he can't do it without Spike, and by agreeing to help him he's signed his own death warrant. There isn't a doubt in his mind that their long history together is going to end as it began, swimming in blood and screaming with pain. He forces the maudlin thoughts away and returns his attention to more important matters like enjoying what may well be the last day of his un-life.

Spike's eyes are half closed as his talented hands coax the most amazing music from the instrument nuzzled in his lap. He's surprised at the mellow tones of the passionately fervent Spanish flamenco song that by all rights should be beyond the range of the old guitar. It's hardly the only thing in the room however that is managing to defy its age and what should have been its limitations.

He looks strangely at home amidst the quintet of the other musicians gathered around him and he wonders if he's known them for long. Part of him mourns that he doesn't even know the simple facts of whether or not Spike has any friends in L.A.; aside from the unusual relationships he seems to share with his co-workers at Wolfram & Hart. He's tried so hard to ignore everything about Spike's life; knowing he's had more than a passing effect on how it has been shaped; that he realises that he doesn't really know him at all.

Looking at him now, so comfortable and casual amongst humans that he could easily be one of them and he envies him that gift. Spike has always been the one that despite his well-earned reputation as a killer, that has always managed to make himself at home among sea of humanity. He has watched him on countless nights, swimming in and amongst the human tide with all the grace of a sleek seal but the unquenchable hunger that drives a shark. He's watched it all before, in so many places that he can't even remember them all anymore. They practically swim up to him and offer up their lives to his embrace. They court death with utter disregard for their lives, and one more human is silently pulled beneath the tide of their number to feed the predator in their midst.

He tilts his head and contemplates his deadly Grand-Childe. His eyes widen as he realises that he isn't hunting or having a lark on with the small group of musicians around him. He's actually enjoying himself and has no agenda other than that.

He almost laughs, figuring that he'd sooner have expected to find Spike in some dingy dive or dark and dreary coffeehouse reciting his less than famous poetry; rather than to see him playing Troubadour to a packed human bar. Maybe it goes to show just how little he really does know about Spike.

"Tonight is kind of a special night, so we're going to do something a little different for you to mark the occasion. I may be moving on tomorrow, you know how it is; always itching to see those new places and different faces." Spike's voice is whiskey smooth and the cadence of his accent has softened and lengthened into the silken tones of his privileged upbringing.

He watches in amazement as Spike and his band-mates adjust their microphones to singing level and get resettled. In all their years, he has never heard his Grand-Childe sing. Drusilla raved and gushed obscenely over her Childe's vocal talents; among other more private talents; but it was a pleasure reserved solely for her. No plea was successful, no bribe was too great, and no torture was too painful to rip the gift from him unwillingly. He should know; he tried repeatedly often enough. How sad that he should finally hear it now.

Spike leans forward as his graceful hands strum the strings of his guitar and he finds himself leaning farther over the table to get just that one or two inches closer to him.

"You got to leave me now, you got to go alone. You got to chase a dream, one that's all your own. Before it slips away..." His eyes slip closed on the beauty of that elusive voice after so long and he sways gently to the rhythm. "When you're flyin' high, take my heart along. I'll be the harmony to every lonely song that you learn to play." It's more beautiful than he could have imagined; he too would have kept such a gift for himself.

Spike's band-mates join their voices pleasantly to his for the chorus. "When you're soarin' through the air, I'll be your solid ground. Take every chance you dare, I'll still be there, when you come back down, when you come back down."

"I'll keep lookin' up, awaitin' your return. My greatest fear will be that you will crash and burn; and I won't feel your fire." Just Spike and the bassist continue. "I'll be the other hand that always holds the line. Connectin' in between your sweet heart and mine, I'm strung out on that wire."

Spike continues on alone as the bassist falls silent, his fingers flying over the strings. "And I'll be on the other end; to hear you when you call. Angel, you were born to fly, and if you get too high, I'll catch you when you fall, I'll catch you when you fall."

His eyes fly open and he stares in amazement. Spike didn't choose this song on purpose surely? He has no way of knowing he would be here to hear it would he? To his amazement a tear wrestles its way from the corner of his eye and he dashes it away.

"Your memory's the sunshine every new day brings. I know the sky is calling. Angel, let me help you with your wings." His mouth drops open and he can only watch helpless in the grip of emotion unlike any he has ever known as Spike sings to him. He knows without a doubt now that he is singing to him, for him. Spike's eyes are closed as he sways gently as he sings. A peaceful smile curves his lips upward in a true smile rather than his usual arrogant smirk.

Spike's band-mates join their voices pleasantly to his again for the chorus. "When you're soarin' through the air, I'll be your solid ground. Take every chance you dare, I'll still be there, when you come back down, when you come back down."

Their voices join once more in a pleasant harmony. "When you're soarin' through the air, I'll be your solid ground. Take every chance you dare, I'll still be there, when you come back down, when you come back down."

The band-mates slowly let their voices soften until they're an almost wordless accompaniment for Spike's voice. "Take every chance you dare, I'll still be there, when you come back down, when you come back down."

All of their voices die away as their instruments raise their own sibilant voices fading to a quiet peaceful fluttering and finally a comfortable silence. The clapping begins after a moment of silence and Spike accepts it graciously as he stands and carefully leaves the stage area for a small alcove. The rest of the band stays seated and continue playing and within a few minutes Spike returns minus the guitar.

He's about to stand and go over to him when he sees a tall, good looking man with dark hair intercept Spike and stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Spike looks startled and vaguely alarmed for a moment but he quickly veils his emotions with the casual skill of a century in the parties and ballrooms of turn of the century society.

They stand talking for a few minutes and Spike looks up through his lashes as flirtingly as any Debutante behind her fan and nods. The man steers him toward the cleared floor space that serves as a makeshift dance floor and wraps his arms around him, pulling him much closer than propriety and good breeding will allow. He narrows his eyes and glares at the sight of the dancing pair. They make for an attractive sight, the tall and powerful build of the dark haired man a perfect foil for the sinuous and graceful build of the smaller blond enfolded in his embrace. They pivot and Angel claps his hand over his mouth to trap a startled shriek as the new angle lets him see that Spike's partner is none other than Marcus Hamilton! An obviously possessive and proprietary liaison to the Senior Partners from the look of things no less. He is out of his chair and taking refuge in the deepest dark of the shadowed nooks the bar has to offer. It doesn't appear that Hamilton has noticed him, thanks to a quick pivot and a clever little shimmy from Spike that has kept his attention focused on other pursuits; namely Spike from all appearances. It was quick thinking on Spike's part but he'd just as soon not watch the deliberate seduction that he's initiated to ensure he keeps Hamilton's attention focused on him.

It's not the first time that Spike's body has been put on the line to ensure some plan or scheme of Angelus' would succeed he knows but it makes him feel ill to stand by and watch it happen. He forces himself to stay put and keep to the plan he came up with; he knows that with Spike's help, even Hamilton's strength wouldn't prevent his demise but now is just not the time. Everything has to go off like chain lightning if they're going to bring the evil machinations of the Senior Partners to a grinding halt. Acting now, though he is really sorely tempted to permanently remove Hamilton from existence, will only alert the others to their duplicitous actions. That would be a disaster and would ruin everything they've gone through up to now and it's already cost them too much.

It takes Spike almost an hour to extricate himself from Hamilton's hold and he expects that his success had more to do with the cell phone that seems to miraculously sprout from his hand and answered with a scowl. He watches as Spike carefully schools his features to betray a disappointment that he hardly feels at Hamilton's imminent departure. Judging by the arrogantly confident and pleased grin on his face, Hamilton is more than convinced by the performance.

He watches as Spike watches Hamilton leave a faintly longing expression on his face until he can see the last of him. A few minutes later he lets the expression melt off his face to be replaced with a burning hatred that makes him catch his breath. He understands now what he's been seeing all night. He should have realised it sooner and curses in his head that he didn't. The lack of Spike's hard, razor edged style and softer manner should have clued him in that he wasn't dealing with 'Spike' anymore but William the Bloody.

Strangely he's not alarmed at the realisation but comforted that they just may manage to pull off this suicidal plan he's come up with. With Spike channelling the controlled devastation that was William the Bloody and maintaining the hard razor edges of his 'Spike' half there's nothing they can't do. The last time they walked together Europe was on its knees in fear and they were anarchy personified; how much more can they do when they're focused and controlled? L.A. is going to find out.

He watches as Spike leaves his field of vision but a soft sound reaches his ears and he knows that Spike is leaning against the other side of the thin drywall barrier that separates them. There have been thicker walls between them than this through their many years but he finds it hard not to resent this one the most, as it shouldn't need to be there. He knows that Spike's caution is prudent and part of him is impressed that he's thinking so fast on his feet and dealt so skilfully with Hamilton's surprising appearance. He still wants to grind the tall man into cat food though.

"What did Hamilton want?" He keeps his voice low, almost a purring breath rather than actually spoken but he knows that Spike can hear him as easily as if he'd been shouting. A low amused chuckle dances over his nerves. "Knock it off Spike!" He growls in vexation. "I could see what else he wanted but what did he have to say?"

"He saw that little mixer-up in your office and he was trying to feel me out about what happened I think. I told him it was nothing but a bunch of wanker-posturing on your part, pulling an Angelus is the biggest, baddest doggy on the planet to make sure we were in line. He bought into that since it seems to fit the way you've been acting lately and he changed the subject after that." Spike replies just as softly.

"He looked like he was pretty into you there." He replies back with a grimace.

Another amused chuckle dances over nerves that already feel like they have fire licking across them. "A good nine or ten inches into unless I'm mistaken." A low warning growl sobers Spike up right away. "He wanted to assure me that I had at least one 'friend' in very high places and that I could rely on him to make sure that what happened to Drogyn didn't happen to me. I got the impression that he was hinting at something but he never came right out and said anything. I think you're right...about that matter we discussed earlier, right about the who too I think."

"They must not be sure that the information is reliable or they probably would have tried to stop us by now." He replies musingly.

"Or they think that we can't do it." Spike says bitingly. "And plan to get their chuckles over watching us try."

"That Keystone Cops routine in Rome aside, we're not to be taken that lightly Spike."

"I still say the Senior Tossers had more than a little to do with that humiliation Mate. The timing was just a little too convenient, ya get my drift."

"You may be right but in a way I'm actually glad we got our asses handed back to us. If The Immortal can do that to us than Buffy should be safe enough with him. They may have intended to humiliate and demoralise us but instead they've set us free."

"Yeah Mate whatever, I still hate the Tosser." Spike growls. "I guess you're right though. Don't suppose who Buffy is 'moving on' with is going to matter much soon anyway."

He turns on his side and presses his palm against the wall. "For what it's worth, the only way I'd be sure she would be safer is if she was with you."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that Angel. She's died once on my watch already."

"That wasn't your fault Spike. Willow told me what happened, you did everything you could. It's just what had to happen. It may surprise you to hear but none of them ever blamed you for letting her down, not really. I think they all kind of respected you in the end. They came here after...Sunnydale was gone and they were grieving, not just for Anya either."

"Well guess they can be nice enough to the dearly departed." Spike says grudgingly. "Just as well they think I'm still dust."

"You never told any of them you were back?" He's rather surprised by that. He can see why he may be wary of telling Buffy but as strange as it is, those kids and Giles were as close to family as he's had in a long time.

"It's been too long since you spent time with them hasn't it?" Spike's voice is sad but a thread of amusement runs through it as well. "You tell one Scooby anything and you'll be telling them all. Andrew is the only one that knows and he promised me that he wouldn't say anything and I believe him. In a way he inherited my spot now didn't he? It's in his interests to keep my counsel to himself."

"What do you mean?"

"Demon Girl and I were the pet projects. Hey lets see if we can tame these Demons to play nice and sure we had our uses for a while. In the end we sacrificed ourselves, funny that isn't it? Andrew inherited their attentions and from what I saw in Rome he's thriving on it. The ponce isn't about to give that up because one of their pet projects suddenly gets himself de-dusted now is he?"

"Well I guess not, but it's their loss." He tries to sound comforting but in truth he knows that neither of them ever really belonged to their exclusive little group and were little more than useful muscle to keep around. "I'm sorry about well everything." He says honestly. "I should have come for you when I heard about the chip those bastards shoved in your head. I'd spent long enough fighting my natural urges, I could have helped you. Especially once you got your soul back."

"Water under a very old and rickety bridge, Angel and maybe it's best to just let that water run on by." Spike says on a sigh, not really wanting to spend his last hours reopening old wounds. "What are you doing here anyway? I figured you'd have more important things to do...like Dog Girl."

"Yeah well I sent her away. It was the only way to keep her safe." He finds that he's not really missing her as much as he would have thought he would and wonders if his feelings for her are as deep as he first thought.

"Well one less person to go down in flames, I guess that's good now innit?" Spike says quietly.

"I'd send you away if I could William." As soon as he says it he realises that he means it and it's not just empty words of comfort.

"We both know that's not in the cards we've been dealt. You need me and I guess part of me needs to be here too. The fight's here and it's nasty, where else would I be?" Spike tries to make his voice sound flippant and irrelevant but underneath it all there is responsibility and courage. "How does that quote go, 'Live by the sword, die by the sword' is it?"

"I think I'd rather live." He's startled to hear himself say with a laugh.

"You're better than two centuries too late for that Mate." Spike joins in the laughter.

They both fall silent for several moments just enjoying the camaraderie.

"I liked your music." He says quietly. "At least I can say I've heard you sing now." A quiet chuckle is his answer. "Thank you for that William. How did you know I would show up here?"

"I didn't and I'm shocked that you have. You're kind of hard to miss though you know, Mate. Not too many people walking around smelling like blood and Sandalwood these days. Got a bit of a shock yourself did you?"

"Well I admit; I didn't expect to see...what I did."

"Let me guess...seedy bar...loose woman...Jack Daniel's flowing like water and floating me down the river of drunken debauchery." Spike says clearly amused.

"Well something like that...I expected...poetry I guess." His laughter joins Spike's and he finds that it makes a very pleasant sound and it's sad that it should be circumstances like these that should reveal that.

"I did that earlier so you were partially right." He can hear the smile in Spike's voice. "I did all of the above...well it was a loose man, but still same idea right?" He finds himself envying that unnamed man and fights down the very real urge to hunt him down and drain him dry. "It just seemed fitting to come here, I'm not really sure why." The truth rings loudly in his voice. "I guess I came into this existence as William, I'd like to go out as him too."

"I kind of did like your poetry." He really does but as Angelus he wasn't really ever supposed to miss things like that and it became just one more weapon that could be used to hurt Spike. "I miss it."

"Want me to sprout off my poncy verse now?" Spike's voice is clearly belittling and the scoffing tone tells him that he's not expecting him to say yes.

"Would you please?" There is dead silence at his softly spoken words and finally Spike answers.

"Sure Mate but it's not any better now than it used to be, but I guess a Barry Manilow aficionado would hardly be a tough audience." A small chuckle that is part embarrassed nervousness and part smokescreen causes a small pang in his heart. He's done so much to damage Spike that it's a wonder that they've managed to find what peace that they have.

"Lift up your voices, oh heavenly host,
And sing me to my end of days.
I have grown wearied of this life and find I cannot stay.
Of all the souls that I have known,
Yours is the one that I will miss the most.
Play the song of my life and I will call the dance.
I have grown weary of this life and find that I cannot stay.
Sing me to my end of days, oh trusted Angel show me the way,
Show me how to stay or sing me to my end of days.
This will be one good day; I'll follow the Angel that shows me the way.
Together we shall sing us to our end of days."

"Wow that was really nice, when did you write that one?" He's flattered because he's pretty sure he's the 'Angel' in it.

"Just now actually, but like I said; Hallmark's got nothing to worry about with me."

"I liked it."

"Well you still like Barry Manilow too."

"Hey, he's an often overlooked musical genius!"

"Yeah, yeah and I'm William Shakespeare."

"Well you're half right." They both laugh. "Would you...will you sing again?"

"I thought we were saving the torture for the bad guys, but sure if you want." He can hear Spike walking away but he doesn't move, just turns to lean his back against the wall and closes his eyes.

He can hear Spike softly talking to the band and the rustle of silk and denim as he gets settled.

"A very old friend has made a special request for one more song and since he's heading out on what may be a very long trip, I've decided to indulge him. This song really isn't my usual style but great talent knows no barriers so here is my version of it."

The band starts to play a soft tune, heavy on the piano, lilting and drifting over the bar. Spike lifts up his voice. "Hearts are worn in these dark ages. You're not alone in this story's pages. Night has fallen amongst the living and the dying and I try to hold it in, yeah I try to hold it in." Spike's voice is soft but strong, gently forcing its way into the softly playing melody.

"The world's on fire and it's more than I can handle. I'll tap into the water." Spike's voice is husky and heartfelt as it picks up the first lines of the chorus.

"I try to pull my ship." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's stronger tones.

"I try to bring more, more than I can handle."

"Bring it to the table." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's stronger tones.

"Bring what I am able" Spike's clear voice continues on alone once more.

"I watch the heavens and I find a calling, something I can do to change this moment.

Stay close to me while the sky is falling; don't wanna be left alone, don't wanna be alone."

"The world's on fire and it's more than I can handle. I'll tap into the water." Spike's voice is clear and husky with emotion as it lifts into the chorus again.

"I try to pull my ship." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's stronger tones once more.

"I try to bring more, more than I can handle."

"Bring it to the table." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's melodic tones.

"Bring what I am able." Spike's clear voice continues on alone once more.

"Hearts break, hearts mend, love still hurts; visions clash, planes crash. Still there's talk of saving souls, still the cold is closing in on us." The bassist joins Spike and their voices weave together in a pleasant counter-balance.

"We part the veil on our killer sun. Stray from the straight line on this short run. The more we take, the less we become, a fortune of one that means less for some." Spike voice deepens with his rolling emotions as it trails to silence for an instrumental break.

"The world's on fire and it's more than I can handle. I'll tap into the water." Spike's voice is clear and husky with emotion as it lifts into the chorus again.

"I try to pull my ship." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's stronger tones once more creating a haunting refrain.

"I try to bring more, more than I can handle." Spike's tones deepen and roughen slightly into a purring cadence that is hauntingly evocative.

"Bring it to the table." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's melodic tones.

"Bring what I am able." Spike's clear voice continues on alone once more.

"The world's on fire and it's more than I can handle. I'll tap into the water." Spike's voice is clear and husky with emotion as it lifts into the chorus again.

"I try to pull my ship." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's stronger tones once more.

"I try to bring more, more than I can handle."

"Bring it to the table." The band harmonises their voices to Spike's melodic tones.

"Bring what I am able." Spike's clear voice continues on alone once more, slowing and deepening until he is almost talking rather than singing. He lifts his voice in a wordless refrain that weaves into the music as it trails to silence.

Once again the crowd is silent for several moments before breaking out in applause. He can't bring himself to join them as he holds himself as still as death; anything to keep the moment unchanging and inviolate for just one minute longer.

When he opens his eyes it's to look into Spike's glowing eyes, as rich and vibrant as the deepest blue sapphire. A simple brown leather bomber jacket has replaced his ubiquitous black leather Duster and a guitar case is cradled between his legs and a wicked smile graces his full lips.

He stares wide eyed as the younger Vampire leans closer, way beyond the usual comfort zone of his persona space to whisper. "Why Angelus, is that a tracker in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

He pulls the palm sized bit of electronics out of his pocket with a quirk of his brow that has the blond chuckling and shaking his head. "I'm still glad to see you though too." He reaches out and takes Spike's unresisting hand and presses it to the evidence of that as it lies restlessly against his thigh.

Spike's brow quirks up and his eyes and smile deepen as the light of intrigued curiosity about where he's going with this little scene brightens his eyes. "You've got something in mind?"

"No, I actually thought I'd stop thinking for a while actually. Care to help me with that?"

"You know me; I've never been one for thinking too much." Spike says gruffly.

"Teach me to do that?" He asks quietly.

"I think I can handle that Mate, but I thought you wanted to play things cool in case we're being watched?"

"So let 'em watch." He slips his hand into Spike's and pulls him closer, careful not to tip over the guitar case leaning against his legs but spike carefully moves it aside and leans it against the wall. "I think you've taught me a valuable lesson about the evils of thinking too much.

"I didn't know you had it in you Mate." Spike says with a devilish smile as he relaxes and feels himself being moulded against the strong form of the man pulling him closer.

"I'd rather see what we can get into you." He leans over and wraps a hand around the guitar case and links their free hands together and heads for the stairs to the basement.

"You know I really wish that one of these days someone doesn't wait until the eve of my imminent destruction to get all cosy and kissy-face with me. It'd be much more of a giggle really." Spike sniffs in disgust.

"Less talking and more keeping up here Spike. We're on the clock you know." He says with a smile in his voice.

"Right Mate, heaven forbid we should be late for the Apocalypse or something." Spike quips but obligingly picks up the pace. If he's going to go out in a blaze of fiery glory than at least it'll be with a bang to remember he thinks as Angel pulls him down the stairs after him.
 

 Is it the beginning of the end or just the end of the beginning? Guess you'll just have to keep tuning in to find out.