TITLE: Guardian Angel - Chapter 4
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 4

LONDON, 1880 – ANGELUS

I can remember it like it was yesterday. I never used to look on it
as a significant moment other than the day that William went from
being a respectful, obedient and rather likeable minion to the wilful
and rebellious ruffian that Spike always prided himself on being. On
retrospect, I can see now that it was the day I first looked on him
with affection and recognised the bond that had been created between
us, the bond that now has me searching the massage parlours and strip-
clubs of Amsterdam in the hope of finding his and saving him.

Of course, I had never dared to admit my feelings back then.
Emotions, human or vampire, were a weakness that Angelus would not
entertain.

It was a typical evening's activity for us back then. The residents
of the spacious townhouse trembled on the floor in front of us as we
strolled around the drawing room, taking our pick of the deliciously
well-fed family. Darla t my right hand side, cooling herself with a
luxurious feather fan stolen from one of our hostesses. Drusilla
loitering off to my left behind us. I can still imagine her clapping
quietly with glee at our little party. William, as always, was by the
side wall, hanging back, unsure of whether he's allowed to join the
fun or not. So shy, and so apprehensive.

Drusilla's new playmate fascinated me back then. Ever since she
brought home the half-dead, terrified little poet, I found his
behaviour odd and irrational. For one so shy and quiet he displayed
sudden bouts of passion which would be considered quite unseemly by
the prim and proper in habitants of this snobby London borough.

It was a pleasant surprise to see. At first, I thought the boy was
quite a dull catch. When Drusilla pleaded with me to turn him, I was
unsure if the cow-eyed whimpering wreck was even worth feeding from,
let alone making into a vampire. However, never being one to deprive
my girl of her wishes, I did as she had asked.

Not unsurprisingly, when I bit into his neck, William squealed and
cried and pleaded with me to stop – a natural born coward, I had
observed with some distaste – but when I opened a vein on my wrist
and pressed it to his lips, I was surprised at the way he reacted.

Most humans either try to fight the blood and spit it out, or lie
there like corpses as you try to feed them, but not my William. No,
he latched onto the wound and suckled like a lamb. Even in the throes
of death, he grabbed my arm with both hands and drained every drop he
could get his greedy little tongue on until death took him and he
fell to the floor, crimson smeared across his face.

I had never seen such blood-lust in a human before, and the power of
his hunger moved me, even when I had no soul and hardly any feelings.
I loved to watch him feed ever since then. It reminded me of the
night I turned him. I liked to remember how he had hungered for my
blood the way he then hungered for the blood of our victims ever
night thereafter – of those poor souls cowering on the floor before
us. But I didn't want him to feed from them. I wanted him to feed
from me. I wanted to feel that hunger, and I wanted it to be for me.

Of course, being who I was I refused to accept my feelings for what
they were. Angelus the Scourge of Europe could never ever feel drawn
to another man, especially a weak human-like childish fledge like
William. I would never have allowed anything to happen. Not even to
let him taste the blood again that had instilled such passion in him.
It wouldn't be proper. I was the alpha male of my pack and for me to
let him taste my blood again would have been unthinkable. In my mind,
it could have undermined my position as leader and rob me of the
respect of the Order.

And how I loved being a leader back then, before the curse – before I
hid myself away from the world. I loved power, whether it was power
over my own kind or over mortals, like the miserable humans whose
house we had invaded that night.

I taunted them, if I recall, and of course, being who I was back
then, I relished it.

"Well well, if it ain't Professor Lawrence o' the Guardian Political
pages, what a pleasant surprise," I announced with a smile. "What an
honour this is. I must say, I was fascinated by your article on
Sunday – the one about how the Irish are a lot of barbarian
alcoholics wit' no manners an' all the sophistication of a pack o'
wild dogs."

The professor looked up at me with wide terrified eyes. I ran my
tongue across my fangs, and the old man flinched.

"If I caused you any offence, sir," he mumbled with a trembling
voice, "then you have my most sincere apologies."

I shrugged and crouched down beside him, giving him an amicable
smile, displaying teeth which make the poor old gent shake like a
tree in a hurricane. "I wouldn't worry about apologisin', old mate,"
I assured him kindly. "After all, everyt'in' ye said was perfectly
true."

And with that, I lunged forward and rip his throat out, gulping down
the blood that sprayed from the severed arteries. He was drained
within seconds and left dead on the floor. His wife and daughter were
screaming and trying to crawl away, but Dru and Darla pounced on them
like cats and sank their fangs into their necks.

Strange to think I once enjoyed such 'sport'.

I stood up and grabbed a glass of wine that still sat on the table
beside the sofa. I took a sip to wash the blood down, then wiped my
lips on my handkerchief.

"One o' the t'ings I love about the London upper-classes," I
commented happily, "is that they're always so polite, even when yer
about t' kill 'em."

I looked around at the carnage in the posh living room. Blood was
splattered up the walls. By now, Dru and Darla had drunk their fill
and Dru appeared eager to explore her new home. I asked Darla to take
care of her and the ladies disappeared upstairs to discover what
beautiful treasures lay in the rooms above – or, if they were lucky,
what beautiful snacks lay in cribs and cradles in the nursery.

My gaze fell on William, who was still lingering shyly by the wall.

"You know, Will," I told him with a small chuckle, "ye dinnae have to
wait fer my permission t' eat."

He looked at me with big blue eyes. I found his respect and fear for
me endearing. It's a pity I didn't make the most of it at the time,
but Angelus was never the emotional type, and of course back then I
didn't know what he would become.

And so I teased him about it, poor sweet lad. It wouldn't do for me
to act as though I was too attached to him, so sometimes a little
mockery was in order to make sure he knew who was boss.

With a slightly faltering step, he crossed the room and dropped to
his knees beside one of the bodies on the floor. He sank his teeth
into the flesh of a victim's neck and began to drink. He moaned
softly – a beautiful sound I would now give anything to hear again –
and I wondered at the time if he was underfed in order to create such
bliss at the taste of blood, or if he simply enjoyed the feed with
uncommon enthusiasm.

It is with some fascination and delight that I decided it is the
latter.

I took a seat in the armchair beside the fire and watched as William
drank. His whole upper body moved as he tried to force the blood out
of the veins of his victim. Such enthusiasm was somehow contagious.

He moved onto the second body, which lay at my feet, and I continued
to watch him. Something warmed my dead heart – something that
horrified and confused me back then but understand in retrospect all
too clearly. My whole body froze as realisation gripped me.

The feeling was desire.

And I was powerless to stop it, just as I was powerless to tear my
eyes from the beautiful sight of my Childe feeding and am now
powerless to stop the instinct that compels me to rush to Spike's aid
to rescue him from danger, despite being weak and mortal. The memory
of the moment that feeling began is as clear as day. I wanted that to
be my blood he was tasting. I wanted my blood to make him moan like
that; to make him tremble with pleasure. He was so close I could
almost reach out and ruffle those golden locks of hair. I longed to
touch him. I wanted to hold him and cradle him in my arms and let him
direct all that passion towards me.

Disgusted with myself, I looked away and studied the mantelpiece for
a while, trying to quash the perverted feelings in my gut. However, I
could still hear William's frenzied feeding, and was tempted to look
back at the undeniably erotic sight.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he drained the corpse
and let it fall. He carefully wiped his mouth with his hand, and then
proceeded to lick his fingers.

Only 'lick' really isn't the term to use. He sucked them. One by one,
he slid each digit into his mouth, pursing his lips around it as he
removed every last drop of blood. The mental image it created was
enough to make me gasp out loud.

William's head darted up and his finger slipped from his mouth with a
slurp. "What?" he asked, seeming startled.

Panic gripped me, and I tried to cover my utterance. The first thing
that occurred to me is to turn my gasp into laughter, which I did so,
and quickly sought an explanation for my 'amusement'. I now know that
I should not have mocked him so happily.

He frowned at me. "What's so funny, Angelus?" he asked me, his brow
furrowed and his blood-coated lips pouting.

"Ye look so young and innocent sometimes, William" I told him, hoping
my words would be the least offensive of the possible explanations I
had thought up. "Ye don't kill – ye just eat our leftovers. Ye dinnae
look like a vampire at all." I leaned forward and grinned at
him. "Just the little human poet ye were not so long ago."

He stared at me, wide eyed, so innocent and adorable I wanted to hold
him. I felt myself leaning forward towards him.

Much to my shock, his curious frown turned into a scowl and he leapt
to his feet. His head hit me on the chin and stunned me. As I waited
for the pain and blurriness of my vision to clear, I was vaguely
aware of William running out into the street.

I clambered off my chair to try and run after him, but the blow to my
head has affected my balance and I collapsed on the floor.

The noise bought Darla running down the stairs to see what the
commotion was. She helped me to my feet as I tried to explain the
events, leaving out the parts where I was watching William feeding. I
told her that he ran out because I told him he looked like a child,
which is the basic truth. I could never have told her the full story.

"Oh Angelus," she sighed, patting my shoulder. "You do tease the boy
terribly. Is it any surprise that his feelings are hurt?"

I was about to explain that I hadn't intended to tease him, when I
heard screaming in the street outside. I looked up to see William –
dear sweet little William – dragging a teenage girl into the house. A
live one. He had some sort of weapon at her throat, which I later
learned to be a railway spike.

Dread and fear consumed me as I realised he must have been seen.
There was no way he could not.

"William, what are ye playin' at?" I hissed, praying that he had not
just run outside and dragged a girl off the street in full view of
the public.

But he wasn't listening. He was just shaking with rage, glaring at me
with tears in his eyes.

"Still think I'm a bloody child, do you?" he spat furiously at me.

With that, he plunged the spike into the girl's neck. The blood
poured as if from a faucet, and William latched his mouth over the
wound and drank in loud gulps before dropping the still-twitching
carcass to the floor. He glared at me, his face splashed red with the
blood. He made no attempt to clean it, nor did he lick up every last
drop as if his life depended on it, as he usually did. He had taken
to pleasure from this feed whatsoever – an unheard of anomaly for
William.

Angry shouting from outside disturbed my concern for my newest
Childe, and with horror I realised that he had been seen. I leapt to
my feet, ignoring the pain still ringing in my skull, and shoved
William out of the way so I could slam and lock the door, still
grasping his collar in my hand.

Yanking at his shirt, I smashed him backwards against the wall
repeatedly. How could he have been so stupid? Where did he learn such
ludicrous behaviour?

"What i' the name o' Hell did ye t'ink ye were doin', William?!" I
yelled at him, fury now taking precedent over the affection I had
felt for him not a minute before.

He flinched in pain as his head smacked loudly against the wall, but
I showed no remorse. "Proving to you that I'm not a child," he
snapped back at me. "All you ever do is laugh at me or make fun of
me. Well I'm sick of being patronised. From now on I'm going to do
what I want, and you can rot in Hell for all I care."

The memory of those words pains me, but then I simply forced myself
not to care. I glared at him, furious with him for his stupidity, but
some part of deep down was also furious with him for surrendering the
William that I adored so much in order to become this cocky rebel.

"Listen t' me, boy," I hissed into his ear, determined to get the old
William back, even if it involved inflicting severe pain on my dear
boy in order to make him see sense. "First, we're goin' to get out of
this mess that you've got us into, an' then I'm goin' to make yer
life very unpleasant indeed until ye learn t' show a little bit more
respect."

I kept my grip on him but turned my attention to Darla. Drusilla
wandered down the stairs.

"The white Queen thinks it's checkmate," Drusilla murmured, "but the
board has two sides to it."

I ignored her and issued instructions to my family. "We can get out
of the house int' the back garden," I explained to them. "From there
we can climb over the fences and get t' the streets or cut through an
unlocked house if we find one. Darla, Dru, ye'll have to remove yer
skirts."

Darla gave me a suggestive look and Dru clapped and giggled at the
naughtiness of it.

"You sleazy bastard," William smirked at me.

I punched him across the jaw for that. "An' later I'll remove the
skin from yer back wit' the buckle end of my belt," I told him
menacingly.

It seemed to work. A look of terror crossed his face, and I smiled at
him and dragged him off towards the back of the house. The ladies
left their abandoned skirts in the drawing room and we made our
escape just as the front window smashed and our attackers entered the
building to discover the bodies of our dinner and no vampires to be
seen.

Since that day I quashed my feelings for William, or Spike has he
began to call himself soon after. Shunning my role as a protector and
teacher, I simply became an authority figure who ignored him when he
did well and brutally punished him when he was rebellious or wilful,
something he did much of the time. I secretly longed for the old
William to return, but I could never respond to the nasty, soft,
human-like feelings in my gut – feelings which I realise now may just
have made Spike rethink his change of image.

And now he hates me, and undoubtedly thinks that I hate him. Or
perhaps he recognised the look in my eyes that night as I watched him
feed and it disgusted him just as much as my mockery.

Either way, I only hope that what I am about to do will in some way
compensate my past actions. It's strange to think how much of my life
has been spent searching for forgiveness, and now, as a human, I am
no different.

TBC...