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 chronology)
ARCHIVING: http://www.the-crypt.net under 'Lysia'. If anyone else
wants it just ask.
PAIRING: Spike/Angel plus some extra minor pairings.
NOTES: Answer to April 'Whore-fic' Challenge on 'Spike-coddling'.

CHAPTER 20

SUNNYDALE, FEBRUARY 2001

Three days after the... 'incident' Spike approached Stannler and
requested to be moved to the European posting in Amsterdam he had
been told about. Stannler seemed more than pleased and Spike was more
than convinced that his employer had allowed him to go out in the
hopes that something bad would happen to him and thus convince him to
leave Sunnydale willingly.

The deceit might have pissed him off normally, but Spike felt oddly
emotionless at the blatant manipulation he had been subject to. He
just didn't care any more. It was easier if he tried not to feel
anything at all.

The transfer to Amsterdam took only a few days. Papers were signed
and before Spike knew what was happening he was being escorted to the
airport by Stannler and an armed guard, his possessions packed in a
depressingly tiny suitcase.

Stannler's private jet was a cosy but plush little craft and Spike
didn't feel like he was being shipped off for a life of slavery.
Probably the whole reason for treating him to such luxury. He was
given free drinks and a glass of blood that tasted like heaven. The
whole experience was oddly enjoyable, but the guard sitting opposite
him made him uneasy. He didn't feel right. He tried to put to down to
the guard, who was glaring at him in a way that just screamed 'I will
rip you to pieces if you move' and also looked rather familiar.

The flight dragged by, and by the time they touched down in Amsterdam
Spike was exhausted. He fell asleep during the drive through the
moonlit Amsterdam streets, but woke frequently. The guard was still
glaring at him. Spike didn't like the look of him, and turned away to
gaze out of the window. The garish neon signs of Amsterdam flashed
past. Red-lit windows littered the grimy, blackened buildings and
Amsterdam's hookers and dope-peddlers plied their trade on the
streets.

Odd to think of himself as one of them.

"Home sweet home."

Stannler's voice brought him back to reality and Spike found himself
staring out of the window at a huge brickwork structure with some old-
fashioned ornamental architecture worthy of a mansion. This couldn't
be...

The door being held open for him assured him that it was, and the
guard aimed a tazer at him to encourage him to get a move on.

The interior of the brothel – apparently called the Chambers of
Hades – was even more stylish than the outside. Plush carpets covered
the floors, ornate gold and marble fixtures adorned the walls. Spike
was led up a staircase and into a corridor lined with double doors.

Spike was less than pleased to find Lindsey McDonald standing in the
corridor waiting for him, also surrounded by guards. A chill ran
through him – he had hoped against hope that he would never have to
see this man again in his life. Bile rose in his throat and the urge
to rip Lindsey's lungs out was only controlled by the knowledge that
a single wrong move would result in something severely unpleasant,
courtesy of the military thugs.

Lindsey smiled a sickeningly charming smile and strolled up to the
group, giving Spike a brief suggestive glance. "Great to see you all
here," he announced. "Hope the flight was smooth, especially with
such precious cargo." He reached out and stroked Spike's face.

Spike resisted the urge to flinch away. He just stared at the
floor. 'Ignore him. Don't think about it. It'll be okay if you don't
think.'

"So glad you decided to join us here," Lindsey purred into Spike's
ear. "I'm gonna love having you around."

Spike shuddered and was vaguely aware of Stannler explained to him
that Lindsey liked to oversee the Amsterdam branch of the 'business'.
How convenient that he had left that detail out when making the
arrangements for Spike's move.

"So let's show you where you're gonna be working then," the lawyer
decided, taking Spike's arm and leading him through a set of double
doors, with Stannler and a soldier in tow.

The room beyond was enough to make Spike's jaw drop. It was as plush
as the rest of the building, with a marble fireplace, a huge gold-
framed mirror, thick red velvet curtains surrounding both the huge
window and the vast four-poster bed.

For a moment, Spike was amazed, but then the amazement faded and he
was left with a bitter emptiness. This was more conditioning to get
him to behave. He stared at the carpet again.

"So let me guess," he muttered. "This is my reward for being good and
doing whatever you tell me, but if I misbehave you'll stake me or
something."

Lindsey burst out laughing, which puzzled Spike.

"Does he think this is his room?" Lindsey giggled hysterically,
turning to Stannler.

Stannler just grinned at Spike. "Sorry Spike – the cushy stuff ends
here." He turned to the guard. "Miller – scan him and get him locked
up."

Spike barely had time to register what was happening until the guard
was aiming his tazer at him and advancing with a malicious glint in
his eyes. Fear consumed him, and he turned and ran for the only exit
he could see – the window.

The first tazer blast missed him, but the second caught him when he
was mere feet from the widow. Pain surged through him and his nerves
felt like they were on fire. He screamed and hit the deck, the guard
pinning him down in seconds.

He fought furiously, trying to ignore the agony his chip inflicted on
his brain as he punched wildly and clawed at his attacker's face. The
guard was less than happy.

"Riley! Lance! A little help!"

Two more soldiers were soon holding Spike down while Miller landed a
brutal kick to Spike's ribs. Spike howled in agony but his struggling
weakened. Miller grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head
up, pressing some kind of electronic device to his skull. It beeped
loudly and Spike felt a strange tingling sensation in his head.
Disorientated, he couldn't do anything to fight as he was hauled to
his feet and dragged out of the room and down the corridor.

A door was opened, and as Spike was manhandled through, the carpet
under his feet vanished and was replaced by bare concrete. He
stumbled down a set of steps into a chilly basement, where his
attackers dropped him in a heap on the floor.

Spike's head hit the concrete with a painful thud. He just managed to
open his eyes and looked out across the room, just about able to see
stone walls and iron bars.

The terror he felt was nothing compared to the sense of utter
stupidity. How had he allowed this to happen? Why had he given in?
Was he really so weak that he had let a group of humans make him feel
so low?

He stared blankly at the floor, fighting tears, as the guards
stripped and cuffed him, dumping his clothes in a cardboard box. The
shame was unbearable, but he knew there was nothing he could do.
Attempting to defend himself would only result in more pain, and
would probably amuse his captors.

He was shoved forward, and landed on the cold wet floor of a tiny
cell. The door slammed behind him.

Silence followed, and Spike stayed curled up on the floor. He had
never felt so lost and alone. Nobody could help him now. Nobody knew
he was here, or cared what happened to him.

The urge to cry finally got the better of him and he buried his face
in his hands and allowed himself to sob quietly, hoping against hope
that someone would come and get him out of this.

"Oh God... help me... Angelus... Sire..."

He didn't even register what he was saying until he heard laughter.
He sat up and spun around, staring through the bars of his cell,
ashamed and furious at being seen crying. One of the soldiers was
standing there, staring at him with a fascinated look and a surprised
smile. Spike's brow furrowed as he managed to put a name to the face.

"I know you. You're... that Riley bloke... from the Initiative."

Riley nodded and grinned. "That's right. And I remember you, Hostile
17."

Spike bit his lip, lowering his head in an attempt to hide the tear-
tracks that covered his face. "Might have known all this shit had
something to do with the government," he muttered, glancing about his
prison, spying other vampires occupying the cells around him. "Is
this the new plan to 'fight for truth, justice and the American way'?"

Riley shrugged. "I guess. Although the unbearable hell we're gonna
put you through isn't half of what you deserve for your crimes.
You're pure evil – you and your disgusting species."

Spike glared up at Riley as the soldier crouched beside him, smirking
at him through the bars that separated them. Finn was such a smug git...

"And you're Angel's Childe?" he commented with great interest. "Well
this'll be fun – if I can't beat the crap out of him then at least I
get the pleasure of taking it out on his beloved little creation."

Spike felt a pang of bitterness and snorted disdainfully. "Beloved? I
think you've been reading too many Anne Rice novels, mate. Angel
doesn't give a toss about me, and I wouldn't bat an eyelid if someone
told me the poof had got himself killed. So if you think this is some
form of revenge on him 'cos little Buffy ran away with..."

He fell silent with a hiss of pain as Riley grabbed his hair and
stood up, dragging Spike to his feet.

"Don't mention her name!" Riley yelled, wrenching Spike's head up to
glare at him.

Spike winced as something sharp and metallic pierced the skin on his
stomach, and then a searing bolt of electricity shot through his body.

He hit the floor again, landing on his back, his head striking the
concrete. He could taste blood and realised he had bitten his tongue.
Despair, fury and hatred consumed him, washing over the dam he had
put up against his feelings, and he spat venomously, "You really are
obnoxious little fuck, aren't you, Riley Finn?"

Riley frowned. "Lance – get me the controller. I wanna show this
little shit what happens when he talks back."

Spike heard approaching footsteps but didn't even bother looking up.

"Oh and by the way," Riley added, "from now on, you call me 'Sir'."

Then the chip went off. Spike cried out, grabbing his skull. What was
going on? He hadn't even...

He glanced up and saw Finn holding some sort of remote control. No...
they couldn't...

"So you see Spike," Riley commented happily, "you're ours now. You're
totally under our control, and if you try to escape..."

Another blast from the chip made Spike scream in agony. He huddled in
the corner of his cell, cradling his splitting head in his hands,
vaguely aware of Riley and Lance walking away laughing.

He shouldn't have got angry. He should have learnt this by now.
Better to just stay quiet and pretend not to care.

This lesson learnt, Spike slowly retreated back into the safety of
his own mind. Nobody could hurt him there.

AMSTERDAM, PRESENT DAY 2004

Spike finally fell asleep after about two hours of constant tears and
heart-breaking confessions. The change had been astounding. Words and
feelings that usually took Spike huge effort to drag up to the
surface had poured like a torrent until he ran out of tears and no
longer had the energy to speak.

Angel had then held Spike gently until he drifted into slumber, but
was unable to sleep himself. He had left the bed and begun pacing the
room, deep in thought. So much of the information Spike had given him
caused concern.

Riley had it in for Spike not because he had escaped the Initiative,
but because he was Angel's Childe and Riley was bitter about losing
Buffy. Once again, Angel was to blame.

He returned to bed and wrapped one arm around the cool, frail body of
the blonde who lay there. A possessive voice in the back of his head
stirred into life. 'Mine. My Childe. Mine...'

If only he could have been there for Spike four years ago like he was
now. Spike could have come to him for help, rather than some human
stranger offering 'demon rehab'. Then Spike would never have met
Stannler; would never have ended up selling himself to stay alive;
would never have ended up in that awful place...

Stannler was also a cause for concern. From what Spike had said about
how the major had manipulated him, sending him off to a demon bar
where he would inevitably be attacked in order to make him move t
Amsterdam more willingly, Stannler was an expert on demon psychology.
Few people understood vampires' views on pride, hierarchy and race,
but Stannler clearly did, and used it to his advantage.

Spike mumbled in his sleep and turned over, facing Angel with his
face inches from his Sire's chest.

Angel smiled – Spike was having nice dreams. Happy dreams. For the
first night since he had moved in, Spike's nightmares were gone, his
pain eased by the final release of his repressed emotions.

Spike was murmuring, nuzzling against Angel and giggling softly.
Angel couldn't help but find it amusing... and then unbelievably
adorable... then erotic, as soft, cool lips began to brush feather-
light kisses across his chest. He froze, unsure of how to react.
Spike was dreaming – probably had no idea what he was doing - but
Angel's first instinct was to wrap his arms around the tiny vampire,
holding him protectively, noting how smooth and cool his skin was...

Angel suddenly felt so very... wrong, as if he would be taking
advantage of Spike's unconscious actions by taking any delight in
them whatsoever.

He slid off the bed and left the room as quickly as he could, intent
on distracting himself with some cleaning chore in the kitchen.

As he stormed into the main room he saw Wesley sitting at the dining
table, leaning over an electronics book, the chip controller laid out
on the table in front of him with the plastic backing removed. The
Watcher glanced up at him when he walked in, and Angel froze, feeling
as though he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Angel – you're still awake."

"And so are you."

Wesley shrugged and glanced at the mess on the table. "I could hear
Spike crying for hours and couldn't bear to not do anything. I
realise that you're the one he prefers to turn to when he's upset,
but I wanted to help in the only way I really can."

Angel managed a weak smile – the warm feeling he got from being
Spike's shoulder to cry on seemed a little more than a simple pat on
the back from his conscience. He took a seat opposite his friend and
tried not to think about the sweet little blonde curled up on his
bed. The vampire who had just kissed him...

"So, Wes." Angel cleared his throat. "How's it going with the gadget
these days?"

Wesley sighed and deposited his screwdriver on the table. "Well, I
picked up some new electronics books from the library, which has
proved vaguely useful. I've managed to completely disable the higher
voltage functions on the controller, so that even if we can't disable
the chip, it will at least stop this little toy from being used to do
any damage."

"Well that's a start," Angel sighed, glancing back towards his
room. "Listen, Wes, I've got another brainteaser for you."

"Oh good – because this one is proving to be quite the headache."

"They taught you about demon psychology, vampire sociology and all
the kind of stuff at the Watchers' Academy, didn't they?"

Wesley nodded and folded his arms. "Of course they did, Angel, but I
think if anyone around here is qualified to evaluate Spike's
condition it's..."

"That's not why I'm asking," Angel replied. "Spike's just been
telling me about how that Stannler guy got him to work at that place,
and if you ask me the little scumbag pimp has been taught a damn
sight more about vampires than those Initiative butchers could ever
figure out from chopping up demons. You think it's possible that he
was trained at the Watcher's Academy, then did a runner? Maybe got a
job in the Initiative as some sort of advisor?"

"It's possible," Wesley agreed. "I can contact the Council and ask
for their help in exchange for Stannler's location if our suspicions
are confirmed. I can tell them that he's putting humans in danger or
risking exposure of vampires' existence. Then the council will
undoubtedly track him down..."

"And cart him off to some top-secret penitentiary in the Outer
Hebrides," Angel finished with a grin.

"You're really quite determined to see some justice done for Spike,
aren't you?" Wesley commented, sounding a little pleased and
impressed.

Angel glanced down at the table. "No creature deserves to be treated
like that, and Spike's my Childe. I haven't felt this protective of
anyone in centuries. Not even Buffy. Spike is blood – he's family.
When I look at him I just think... 'He's mine' and I never want to let
him go. I can't explain it but..."

"You don't have to," Wesley told him. "I've seen the way you act
around him, and I've read enough case studies on vampire society and
families to recognise your behaviour. Now I admit it's odd for a
human to display Sire-like affection towards a vampire, but I assure
you there's nothing to worry..."

"But I am worried," Angel interrupted, scratching at his fingernails
and rubbing his hands awkwardly. "Sometimes it doesn't seem quite...
right, you know."

Wesley stared at his agitated friend, confused for a moment as to
what could be causing him such stress. "Angel, has Spike said
something?"

"No," Angel replied, sounding almost offended that Spike would ever
hurt his feelings. "Spike hasn't done anything. It's... it's just..."

"Angel, whatever's on your mind just tell me."

Angel sighed and hung his head even lower. "I think... I think there's
more to this than just me being protective," Angel confessed
quietly. "I'm sure of it." He leaned back in his chair and picked at
the peeling paintwork on the table. He needed to get this off his
chest.

Wesley interrupted briefly with, "Well you've usually been inclined
to help those in need regardless of any connections with them so..."

"He kissed me."

There. It was done. It was out.

Wesley stared at Angel in silence for a moment. He had known for some
time that Angel and Spike were close but it was fair to say he wasn't
expecting that. "It's not uncommon," he replied simply, "for a
vampire to turn to his Sire for comfort in a time of need, nor to
develop romantic attachments. I wouldn't let his advances bother you
too much, and as long as you make it clear..."

"I liked it."

This confession brought forth a slightly concerned, "Ah, I see."
Wesley removed his glasses and toyed with them. "I take it this is
why you're out here wandering about in the early hours of the morning
despite looking exhausted."

Angel rubbed his sweaty palms of his knees and stood up, pacing the
tiny lounge. "Well I couldn't exactly stay in there, Wes. I mean,
he's so... cuddly, and what if... I mean I'm not even sure if he knows
what he's doing. After everything he's been through this could be
some sort of side effect and he could end up hurting himself."

"Angel..."

"And look at me! Am I in any fit state to be getting into something
like this? Fresh out of a four year relationship, nowhere near over
Buffy and most likely clinging to the first vulnerable cute blonde
who comes along without the slightest regard for my own motives. God
knows what it would do to him if I... reciprocated only to end up using
him."

Wesley rubbed his eyes. "I don't understand Angel – are you more
worried about him hitting on you or you hitting on him?"

"Either," Angel replied, tearing at his hair. "Both. I don't know. I
just need to be the hero that Spike needs me to be, and I don't know
if I can do that any more."

Wesley sighed and gathered his electronics book and the remote
control up, work clearly no longer on the cards this evening. "First
of all," he explained softly, "I think you ought to let Spike decide
what he needs before striving to be his hero. Secondly, stop worrying
about what might happen and focus on being there for him. If his
advances bother you, then politely decline. If your feelings bother
you, then control them. I think that after a century with that curse
over your head you must have learned something about self-control."

Angel calmed a little and ceased his frantic pacing. He stared down
at the carpet. Wesley had a point.

"Oh, and another thing," Wesley added as he headed past on his way to
his room. "You ARE starting to get over Buffy. You just said her name
without stuttering or crying. Didn't even pause."

Angel managed a weak smile of gratitude towards Wes before his friend
disappeared into his room closing the door behind him, leaving Angel
with no other choice than return to his room where Spike was sleeping.

With a sigh, Angel turned to head back for his room. The door opened
and the moonlight from the lounge window flooded through. In the pale
glow, Angel could see Spike lying on the bed, tangled in the sheets
while the dark shape of Angel's shadow was cast across his form like
a jet black curtain draped across him.

Leaving the door open a crack so he could see, Angel tiptoed into the
room and around the bed, slipping silently under the duvet.

Or so he thought.

A cool arm circled its way around his waist and Angel found Spike
clinging to him once again as he settled against the pillows.

"Did I wake you?" Angel asked him softly.

Spike shook his head, ruffled blonde hair tickling Angel's
shoulder. "Not really. I'd only just dozed off. I sleep better when
you're here."

Angel smiled, feeling suddenly warm at those words. He glanced at
Spike, and his skin tingled at the sight of his Childe's tiny, shy
smile and grateful, shining blue eyes.

'Self-control, Angel,' he reminded himself.

He turned away and settled down, his back towards the vampire. "Let's
get some sleep now then," he urged the blonde. "I'm tired. 'Night,
Spike."

The arm wrapped around him again and he sighed inwardly as Spike
practically plastered himself to his back, resting his head on his
shoulder.

"Good night Angel."

Oh yeah, this self-control thing was an absolute piece of cake.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~