This story is one that has been kicking around for a while until
Aileen's April Challenge gave it an entirely new direction. It
already has nine chapters and the tenth is underway, and I will post
one part each day until I catch up with myself except for Friday
Saturday and Sunday this week when I will be in Blackpool.

Hopefully it will be finished a lot quicker than the last as I now
have oodles more free time. Please send your emails to the hungry
feedback-eating demon who lives on my PC. We live on the pretty words.

So, please heed the warnings and enjoy the angsty smutty fun.

Luv from Lysia.

TITLE: Guardian Angel
AUTHOR: Lysia
EMAIL: lysias_fanfic@yahoo.co.uk
RATING: 18/NC-17 depending where you live.
WARNING: NASTY/ANGST FIC! Contains torture, prostitution, rape,
slavery and very very hurt Spike. Bless!
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. Characters are property of Joss Whedon.
SPOILERS: Starts off in B:TVS S4 'Pangs' and A:TS S1 'I Will Remember
You', skips through to 'Primeval' on much the same lines, then goes
off on a huge tangent into the murky realms of AU. (see chronolgy)
ARCHIVING: Nowhere at the moment, but I would be honoured if anyone
requested it. Feel free to do so.
PAIRING: Spike/Angel plus some extra minor pairings.
NOTES: Answer to April Challenge and plot bunny on 'Our Armageddon':
http://www.shibbybitch.net/ourarmageddon/plotbunnies.html "Angel
stayed human in I Will Remember You, but he and Buffy doesn't work
out somehow, and he flees the country with Wesley in tow. In the
meantime, Spike escapes The Initiative, and leaves Sunnydale,
embarrassed by his disability to kill and maim. The two meets up in
some strange country... From there on... *shrug* - ???"

CHRONOLOGY

NOVEMBER 1999 – Angel becomes human through the regenerative blood of
a demon. Buffy and Angel resume their romance. Spike is chipped.
MAY 2000 – The Initiative is destroyed. Buffy moves to LA with Angel.
Spike disappears.
2004 PRESENT DAY – Buffy leaves Angel, Angel moves to Europe.

CHAPTER 1

SOMEWHERE IN THE MID-ATLANTIC OCEAN – PRESENT DAY

Angel stared downwards at the pure white waves of foam as the bow of
the ship bit through the water. His arms ached from leaning on the
barrier for hours on end, but he didn't feel physically or mentally
capable of doing anything else. He didn't want to move, he didn't
want to think. He didn't want to be alive.

Everywhere he looked something would remind him of her: The couple
strolling up and down the deck of the ferry; the cheerful music
playing in the bar; even the sun – the sun which he was seeing for no
other reason than because he had wanted to be with her.

Four years ago, he had been made human by the blood of a creature
sent to kill him. He had been blessed with life, but rendered
incapable of continuing his cause. Until then, his only reason for
living was to fight evil in the hopes of achieving his redemption,
and he had given it all up for her. Just to be with her.

And now she was gone.

He glanced at his watch. It would be exactly one week in twenty
minutes.

One week since Buffy had packed her things and walked out after four
years or happiness. Apparently he could no longer give her what she
wanted. He chuckled bitterly to himself. Of course, a 200 year old
former vampire wasn't the ideal partner for a 23 year old. She had
better things to do with her life than hang around with someone whose
idea of a fun night was to sit and read or paint. She had thought it
was romantic at first, then the freshness wore off and she thought it
was just... dull. He was dull.

And the most horrific thing was, he couldn't even bring himself to
blame her. She hadn't wanted to hurt him; she had just wanted a
little more adventure in life than what he could offer her. Day after
day he had gone over everything in his head and tried to think of
what he could have done to make himself more appealing to her, and
day after day he reached the same agonizing conclusion that nothing
could have made any difference.

Angel sighed and glanced over his shoulder as he heard Wesley
approaching. The former Watcher was not even bothering to hide the
concern he had for his former employer. It was blatant that Angel was
not taking things well. He had gone into some sort of trance when
Buffy left, and Wesley had found him, sitting in the half-empty
apartment, his head in his hands, staring blankly at the floor.

After that had come the anger, about 12 hours later. Several pieces
of furniture had been broken, Angel had screamed at whoever was
listening about how hopeless it all was and how his life had been
ruined. Then, after only a few days, he had suddenly decided to sell
off Angel Investigations and get out of LA, and then out of America,
as quickly as possible.

Wesley had decided it was best to follow him. Angel didn't seem to
object to the company. The PI Agency was in the capable hands of
Cordelia, Gunn and Fred, and Wesley was on what he could describe as
some sort of adventure. It was an adventure with a depressed former
vampire attempting to escape his pain, but Wesley had to agree that
the change of scenery would be good for them both. While Wesley was
not so keen on the fact that they were meandering across the globe
with little idea of where they were going to end up, the travelling
was an experience and the uncertainty could be a little exciting.
Angel desperately needed to leave America behind, along with all its
bad memories of Slayers, vampires and gypsy curses, and Wesley just
wanted to make sure he was safe and take the opportunity to see the
world.

He looked at the miserable vampire with a mixture of sympathy and
admiration for his courage in the face of pain. For many
people, 'moving on' usually meant a long period of moping and the
eventual acceptance of their loss, perhaps accompanied by the
selection of another partner. But Angel was taking it one step
further. Venturing out into the unknown was not something to be
sniffed at.

Wesley stepped up to the railing beside Angel and scanned the empty
horizon. Angel glanced at him briefly, acknowledging his presence but
not attempting to start conversation.

"We've got about another day's sailing before we reach France,"
Wesley stated, knowing that Angel was already aware of this but
feeling the need to remind him. "After that we need to arrange some
sort of plan as to what you want to do and where you want to go. Any
thoughts?"

Angel shrugged and dropped his gaze back to the foam at the bow of
the ship.

His indifference worried the former Watcher, who sighed and clasped
his hands in front of him pensively. "Well, think it over. You've got
one day to decide. If you don't feel like worrying about the plans,
then I'll organise something. I can get us a flat to stay in or
transport to somewhere else, but you let me know if you need
anything."

Angel nodded and Wesley decided to leave him to his thoughts for a
while longer. When Angel wanted to talk, he would talk, but when he
wanted to be alone then Wesley would acquiesce. He turned and headed
back for the cabin of the ship, squinting through the salty spray of
the ocean as it leap upwards onto the deck.

"Wesley?"

Angel voice caught his attention and he halted, glancing backwards to
see Angel looking at him with an expression that was worryingly
miserable.

"Not France," Angel stated blankly. "Too many memories. I want to go
somewhere else after we dock."

Wesley gave a polite nod. "I'll enquire about transport
arrangements," he agreed.

The Englishman tried to keep his concerns as quiet as possible, but
he was secretly fretting over the uncertainty of their destination.
God knows where they would go. The first thing they would do would be
to book a coach ride out and across the continent as quickly as
possible until they reached a place where Angel could escape his
sorrows free from any memories of the past.

Yes, Wesley thought, taking a backward glance at Angel to remind
himself of his reason for being there. Angel needed a sanctuary from
the past, because at that moment he looked as though he must be the
most miserable man in the world.

*       *       *

ELSEWHERE...

Spike's eyes snapped shut as the blindfold that was tied almost
painfully around his head was suddenly ripped away. The bright light
of the room was enough to make his head hurt, and he struggled away
blindly as the strong and none-too-gentle hand of his captor grasped
his chin to hold him still, pushing his head back against the
mattress he was lying on.

"Don't move!"

Acting on instinct, Spike tried to wriggle out of his tormentor's
grip. He was rewarded with a sharp blow to the side of the head with
what felt like a knuckle-duster. Pain shot through his face and the
scent and taste of blood filled his senses.

"It's too bright," Spike explained, muttering under his breath.

"Aww, does it hurt your eyes?" the voice mocked him, sneering and
patronising. It made Spike want to kill its owner. "Tell it to
someone who cares, bitch. Move again without my permission and I'll
rip 'em out the sockets and feed 'em to you.."

"I wouldn't, mate," Spike spat back through gritted teeth. "The
boss'll have your bollocks off in return if you damage
his 'property'."

The familiar voice chuckled in Spike's ear in a way that made him
shudder. Keeping his eyes closed so he didn't have to look at this
man's face, he tugged helplessly at the manacles that held his wrists
and ankles as instinct compelled him to run. The chains held fast.
Running wasn't an option.  Neither was fighting – four years of
headaches had taught him that. He was helpless. The voice continued
to taunt him. "You're a vampire. You wouldn't be damaged. Eyes grow
back. We played that little game before, remember?"

Spike went cold – colder than usual. Shit. He knew who this guy was
now.

"Oh, and by the way," the voice continued, "you don't call me 'mate'.
What do you say?"

The hand, now deceptively soft, stroked down Spike's cheek, tracing
the deep ragged cut it had made there. Spike shuddered again and
hissed in pain.

"Wanker!"

The word was barely more than a whisper, but still loud enough to
earn Spike a matching wound across the other side of his face.

"What do you say?" The question was a growl that proved that the
speaker meant business. "I don't take that kind of abuse from scum
like you. Remember your place, or I'll put you in it. Now, say it."

Spike swallowed his pride and gave the answer he had been instructed
to give countless times before. "Sir."

Another chuckle, one of proud joy, relishing a moment of
power. "Better. Now look at me and say it."

Spike opened his eyes, squinting into the light, and faced his captor.

"Sir."

It was impossible to hide the venom in his voice, but today it didn't
earn him a broken rib, unlike last week. Good – 'Sir' must be in a
merciful mood. He just laughed.

"Can we just get this over with?" Spike asked as sweetly as he could,
staring sullenly at the arrogant bastard who was currently straddling
him. He had got used to the brightness now, and could clearly see the
knuckle-dusters that adorned the human's hands, their glistening
metal smeared with blood. His blood.

The laughter stopped suddenly, and 'Sir' smashed his fist into
Spike's face for a third time, breaking the vampire's nose and
splitting his lip. Spike whimpered, then cringed at his own
cowardice. His pain tolerance wasn't half what it used to be.

"That wasn't polite," 'Sir' scolded him, his voice low and
threatening. "Ask again properly – the way a slave should address his
lord and master."

Rage burned in Spike's heart at the human's orders, but not half as
fierce or heated as the burning of terror and despair that now
tormented his every waking moment.

When he spoke, his voice had become a desperate sob. "Please, please
get it over with."

The human pretended to think, but reached the same conclusion he had
reached when he had first seen the vampire chained up in the room as
he had requested. "Hmm... no."

Spike's reaction – a single, stifled splutter of anguish – reassured
his 'master' that this would be the most entertaining decision he
could have made. With a spring in his step, the mortal fetched the
leather flogger from the bedpost, running the knotted plaits through
his fingers. Spike watched in absolute dread.

"Oh bloody hell, no!" The request was uttered with a defeated tone
that made it clear that the vampire already knew that nothing he said
would make any difference. He tried desperately to remember the days
when he was strong and healthy and such a beating would have been a
mere inconvenience. Fun, even. But now, with his body weak and
hurting from years of abuse and malnutrition, damage like this would
be excruciating.

With a sadistic laugh, Spike's captor allowed the whip to sway
menacingly just above the blonde's face. The vampire trembled with a
fear he had forgotten how to control. He heard himself whimper.

"For fuck's sake!" Spike cried out, almost hysterical. He hated this
sick bastard, and all the other brutal psychos who visited him, but
most of all he hated the fear and dread that came when they prolonged
and delayed the inevitable.

The whip cracked down across his face, leaving six angry red lashes
across his face and three across his neck. It burned as his precious
blood flowed from the cuts, pooling in the open wounds and trickling
away.

"That's for the language," 'Sir' informed him with the arrogant
authority of the schoolmasters Spike had known as a boy. In his
youth, Spike had found the thought of his history teacher and his
cane the most terrifying figure imaginable, but now he paled into
insignificance next to this monster.

'And to think they call ME the evil one,' Spike thought. He chuckled
quietly, and it earned him several more blows across the face.

"SHUT UP!"

The order was lost among Spike's screams as the mortal proceeded to
slash beautiful patterns of blood across the pale skin of the
vampire's chest. Spike heard himself apologising and begging for
mercy in a voice that he knew was his, but didn't sound like it one
bit. The shame hurt more than the flogging, but still the words
didn't stop. He couldn't make that voice keep quiet until the hour
was up, the beating was finished and Spike was left alone, still
chained to the bed, bleeding rivers of dark crimson and crying like a
weak, human child.

TBC...

And now I have to go write boring things like essays. *sulk*