"Two Fusiliers" - part two! *s/a - adult*

[tabaqui]

*waves at sweptawaybayou*

Hiya, bay-bee!
Well, here we go, part two. Hope you like it! It's so *odd* to write these two, but i do like it.
Title and cut tag text are from the Robert Graves poem, Two Fusiliers.
Part one is here.







Show me the two so closely bound
As we, by the red bond of blood,
By friendship, blossoming from mud...



"What is it about 'organized demon armies' that you don't get?" Angel snapped, and Spike heaved a sigh and poured out the last of the bottle – stared at it morosely and then drank the mouthful in the bottom of his glass.

"I get that you've all got your knickers in a twist over this, and I get that the people who helped save the world a time or two but aren't good enough to talk to are suddenly the lynch pin of the whole save-the-world-again plan. What I don't get is why in fuck you think I'd give a damn!"

Angel looked utterly bewildered and Spike laughed – stood up with a lurch and went back to his bar to fish out the last bottle. Squatty brown thing, some special hand-made bourbon from Kentucky that tasted like... Well, it tasted damn good and, for a moment, Spike hesitated to give any to Angel at all.

"Because you care!" Angel said, somewhere behind him. Little slur to his words and Spike hauled the bottle out and brought it back to the table, falling heavily onto the ratty upholstery of the La-Z-Boy he'd salvaged. Angel had the old straight-back, and serve him right.

"No, see, there's where you're wrong. I bloody well don't care. Not about wars, and not about Slayers, and not about whatever bloody suicide mission the redoubtable Miss Summers has conned you into signing up for." Spike poured – they drank.

Angel licked his lips and stared at his glass. "That's...really good."

"Damn right it is. Dunno why I'm sharing it with you. Poof."

"Idiot."

"Poncey git."

"Deluded fop."

Spike squinted at Angel and poured out more bourbon. "Puppy rescuer."

"Babysitter."

"Rat - hey! Babysat Dawn, me. Very important job."

"You just did it –"

"To what, get into a dead girl's pants? Please."

Angel looked shifty. "Could have been."

"Could have been, wasn't, and that's all water over the bridge, mate."

"Under the bridge," Angel said, draining his glass and Spike squinted at him.

"What?"

Angel made a complicated gesture with both hands. "Under, not over."

Spike copied the gesture sloppily, spilling his drink. "Well, nobody's crossing that bridge again, anyway, so it may as well be over." *Over and done. God, feels like that was all a hundred years ago...*

"Huh."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Spike fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. It was bent, and poked upward at a jaunty angle. Spike scowled at it, going nearly cross-eyed, but lit it anyway and took a long drag. *Time to end this.* "So, wanna shag?"

"Might do," Angel murmured and then blinked hard. "What?"

"You're here, I'm bored – why not? Got some warming lube somewhere..." Spike felt down into the depths of the recliner and Angel watched, horrified, as Spike pulled out a crushed packet of crisps, three empty cigarette boxes, a bong with a scummy high-water mark etched into its purple-glass sides and a mummified mandrake root. "Bugger. Well – don't really need it, do we?"

"Spike! What the hell is wrong with you!" Angel lumbered to his feet, knocking the straight-backed chair over in the process.

*Get up and run, Angel – curl your lip in disgust and go home. Leave me be...* "Only the usual." Spike flicked ash in the general direction of the fireplace and watched Angel straighten his jacket collar and run a hand back through his hair. Angel's gaze darted around the room and finally settled somewhere to the left and up of Spike.

"Listen, this is serious, Spike. They need us to stop this thing before it gets out of hand."

"Do they now?" Spike pushed himself wearily to his feet, feeling... Well, feeling every fucking year he'd lived and unlived. He grabbed a fistful of Angel's coat and towed him to the window, shrugging a little when Angel snarled and swatted his hand away. Spike pulled the dusty curtain back and gestured with his cigarette. "Take a look, Angelus. Take a good look – tell me what you see."

"Spike, what are you –?"

"Just look," Spike snapped, anger replacing exhuastion and Angel subsided, taking a step closer and peering out through the dingy glass.

"It's...LA, Spike. There's some burned up buildings and some dead spots but..." Angel shrugged, turning to Spike and Spike wanted to punch him. Flexed his fingers and contemplated it and then just did it, taking Angel by surprise. Angel reeled back a few steps, his head snapping sideways with the force of the blow.

"Yeah, it's LA, you wanker." Spike stalked closer to Angel, pushing right up into his face, chest nearly touching chest. "The city you bled for? The city you said was yours. The city you bloody well abandoned after that last, ridiculous....mess you made!"

Angel took a step back, looking agitated. "I didn't abandon - look, Spike, when I beat the Black Thorn –"

"When we beat them. You weren't the only one bleeding in that alley, Angelus."

"I know that! When we – it was over. Wolfram and Hart moved out of here, the Black Thorn was gone... I needed to move on, Spike!" Angel leaned against the wall, staring blindly past Spike. Staring at but not seeing the pocked landscape – the fires that refused to go out. The wreckage left in the wake of an army and a dying dragon. "I needed...after Wes died, and Gunn..."

"We all needed, Angelus. Looks like you're the only one that got." Spike walked over to the table and stubbed his cigarette out – kicked his boots off and started emptying his jeans pockets. Roll of bills, straight razor, keys to the place – odds and ends. He knew he was being unfair but right at that moment...he just didn't care. *You left, Angel. Left after all that mess and madness and pain... But I couldn't. Wouldn't.*

"What – are you doing?" Angel asked, and Spike sighed – tipped up the last of his drink and set the glass down.

"I'm going to bed, Angelus. I'm just... I'm too tired to argue. You tell the Slayer..." Spike walked over to the fireplace and stood there, gaze on the rippling coals. "Tell her whatever the fuck you want."

"Spike –" Once more, Angel was right there, scent of iron and whiskey, of spice and cream and smoke. Spike just looked at him – watched the anger and bewilderment in the brown eyes fade. Watched Angel close his eyes for just a moment, taking in a long, long breath. "I didn't come here to fight. I never... I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry – Wes died, and Gunn... I'm sorry that Illyria...went away."

Spike shrugged, curling his bare toes into the worn rug. "Sorry, always sorry. I'm not your confessor, Angelus. I don't care what sins you think you've committed." Spike looked up at Angel and smiled slightly. "Was there for most of them, if you recall."

"I know." Angel leaned against the mantel. Reached out and ran his finger down Spike's lapel – took a fistful of the leather in his hand and tugged, just a little. "Why do you still wear this? Aren't you...wouldn't you rather have something...new?"

Spike raised an eyebrow, smiling for real, this time. "Not all of want to shed old skins. This is... This reminds me. Better times."

"You murdered someone for this coat," Angel said, and Spike lost the smile.

"It wasn't murder then, was it? It was...Darwin. Survival of the fittest, and that was me. Things were...they were black and white, then. Didn't have to...weigh every bloody choice and action and...word." Spike stopped and Angel's hand slowly let go of the coat – slid up and pushed one side back, off Spike's shoulder.

"Well then...let's not talk for a while," Angel said.

Spike just stared at him a moment – laughed softly, shrugging and letting the coat slip away to the floor. "God, how in hell did you ever get laid?" Angel laughed too, letting his own coat hit the floor with a soft slither and thump and Spike pushed him flat to the mantel, the heat of the coals stinging on his shin.

"Just shut up, Spike."

Angel tasted like whiskey and honey and blood. *Just like old times...*




Part three.

Comments

[sweptawaybayou.livejournal.com]

I wish I could find the words to give you back what you have given me. With this story and all the others you have written. Will write.

Angel tasted like whiskey and honey and blood. *Just like old times...*

But this ... is. so. good. Beyond what I dreamed you could do with these two. Your Spike, is, of course, incomparable. And, baby, your Angel is beautiful.

Thank you so very much.

Now, let me go reread chapter one and devour chapter two. AGAIN and again and again.

**smooches you**
*loves*

[tabaqui]

*hugs you hard*
I'm so glad you like it, bay-bee.
Just...so glad.
:)

*luffs hard*

[katekat]

i want to cuddle the crap out of Spike right now. At least he gets sex, yes? I can't wait to see where (if) you go further with these two and this, because your brain is brilliant.

And as for angel/spike icons... can i tempt you with these?

[tabaqui]

Thank you thank you! It's kinda fun writing them, even if it's hard to feel like i really have *Angel* down, you know?

Ooooh...so pretteh! Lemme have that first one, that black and white one with the blue...
Niiiiiiiiiiice!
Thank you!
:)

[fanbot.livejournal.com]

Oh! nummy nummy!

[tabaqui]

*grins*
Thanks!

[shakatany.livejournal.com]

Is this your first Spangel? It will be interesting to see where "Two Fusiliers" will go.

In this 'verse Spike's coat that he took from Nikki wasn't destroyed in "The Girl in Question"?

Shakatany

[tabaqui]

Hrmmmmmm...no, i've written one other Spangel piece, a Spike pov of a scene that sweptawaybayou wrote.

That whole business with the coat in GIQ? As far as I'm concerned, never happend, because that was the lamest, stupidest thing *ever*. Sheesh.

[yourlibrarian]

Hmm, so Angel ran off and Spike stayed behind to pick up some of the pieces. I liked the dance these two were taking around the ring. Of course they're pretty familiar with one another's moves.

[tabaqui]

Yisss...they really are very familiar with this dance but...i think they like it.
:)

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Hot *DAMN*!!! Angel and Spike, and Angel--hell yeah, it's a good day! I'm thrilled to death you're writing Angel because I know you'll write the hell out of him!

[tabaqui]

*bounce*
Thank you thank you!
*smooooooooch*

[bendtothesun.livejournal.com]

Well, I may not be in love with this pairing but now when I read them this is how I want them to be done. I get the feeling with these two they have a very casual relationship they can fuck or fight. At least it's become that way.

Spike, oh man, Spike. Have I mentioned lately how much I love your Spike? This newest incarnation appeals to me so very much. I love how he's pissed at Angel for leaving the city after the big fight. I also love that he stuck around. To me that's one of the essential things that makes up Spike, he gets his heart and soul into something and it's gonna take more than one little apocalypse to tear him away from it.

Also, the way he's so... brutal, for lack of a better word, with Angel is very satisfying. He's never been once to mince his words, especially around Angel. He's saying some things that Angel really, really needs to hear. In this I'm getting the impression he's relating to Angel like... hmm, I suppose like an old lover, one who's completely in love with the guy but resigned and trying to move on because he *knows* that this guy isn't what he needs. But at the same time, he still wants him.

Now Angel... well, Angel is typical Angel (which is actually a compliment, I'm *extremely* picky about my Angel. I feel very few people manage to capture him). He's regretful and yet still very full of his reasons and ideals. I like that while Angel doesn't really get Spike, Spike gets him and that irritates Angel to no end. The thing about Angel is that, he doesn't change. A hundred years from now he's gonna brooding in some dark corner, waiting for someone to forgive him.

Reached out and ran his finger down Spike's lapel – took a fistful of the leather in his hand and tugged, just a little. "Why do you still wear this? Aren't you...wouldn't you rather have something...new?"

Spike raised an eyebrow, smiling for real, this time. "Not all of want to shed old skins. This is... This reminds me. Better times."

If someone ever asked me what the difference between Angel and Spike were? This would be my example. Angel's inability to comprehend how Spike can live with himself after getting a soul. How Spike is able to forgive himself and live with himself better than Angel ever will. And about a million other things, all in that one exchange. So. Very. Perfect.

Yes well I'm still intrigued and I still can't wait to see where you go with this. It's got so much... potential, for so many things. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out.

(also, apologies if this posts twice, LJ is being a butt)

[tabaqui]

I think they're 'ship is way beyond casual. They *need* each other, but they don't dare admit it. Ever.

But i'm so glad you're reading and liking Angel! I don't write him often and am always worried he won't come across right. Thank you so much!

Spike was always the truth-teller on the shows, even when it hurt him. And he *never* pulled punches with Angel. And yeah - Angel just can't let go of some things, and Spike just knows he *has* to - that's what it's all about.

Thanks again - I appreciate the considered fb! And i got it in my email twice, but that's okay - no big!

[julia-here.livejournal.com]

Oh, very much yeah, all of it. Especially that old wanker Angel being unable to say "yes" but having to make it looks like it's his idea, instead.

Julia, such a lovely thing to see...

[tabaqui]

Thank you!
Heeee - yeah. He really *can't* say now, but gods help him if he'll admit it.
:)

[eyezrthewindows.livejournal.com]

It's so *odd* to write these two, but i do like it.

Could've knocked me down with a feather when I saw you were writing Spangel! But I'm so enjoying it!

Got any Spander in the works, btw? *hopeful puppy expression*

[tabaqui]

Heeeee!
Thank you!

I'm working on a BtVS/SPN xover....hopefully it'll be done *soon*.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_beetle_/]

"I get that you've all got your knickers in a twist over this, and I get that the people who helped save the world a time or two but aren't good enough to talk to are suddenly the lynch pin of the whole save-the-world-again plan. What I don't get is why in fuck you think I'd give a damn!"

Because Angel can't not give a damn. he's like Buffy. Always fighting to save someone or something from badness. Control freaks--big hearted ones, undoubtedly--but control freaks. Love=safe=control.

Angel looked utterly bewildered and Spike laughed – stood up with a lurch and went back to his bar to fish out the last bottle. Squatty brown thing, some special hand-made bourbon from Kentucky that tasted like... Well, it tasted damn good and, for a moment, Spike hesitated to give any to Angel at all.

From what little we know of Liam, he'd have probably drunk paint thinner, so--why waste the good stuff? Not like he'd really appreciate it =D

"Because you care!" Angel said, somewhere behind him. Little slur to his words and Spike hauled the bottle out and brought it back to the table, falling heavily onto the ratty upholstery of the La-Z-Boy he'd salvaged. Angel had the old straight-back, and serve him right.

Please, the straight-back chair matches the hair shirts Angel prefers. He's happiest when he's suffering. he equates it with doing good and, more importantly, not doing bad.

"No, see, there's where you're wrong. I bloody well don't care. Not about wars, and not about Slayers, and not about whatever bloody suicide mission the redoubtable Miss Summers has conned you into signing up for." Spike poured – they drank.

Spike cares, but he doesn't want to lose any more than he's already lost--doesn't want to get his heart broken again.

Which makes me wonder--kinda OT--what about Dawn? Of all the people who've abandoned Spike, I can't believe Dawn would, or even Andrew. Not after everything that happened.

Angel licked his lips and stared at his glass. "That's...really good."

"Damn right it is. Dunno why I'm sharing it with you. Poof."

"Idiot."

"Poncey git."

"Deluded fop."

Spike squinted at Angel and poured out more bourbon. "Puppy rescuer."

"Babysitter."

"Rat - hey! Babysat Dawn, me. Very important job."

Damn right--last i heard, that puppy didn't have the power to destroy whole dimensions, and cast them into darkness forever.

"You just did it –"

"To what, get into a dead girl's pants? Please."

Angel looked shifty. "Could have been."

I've never liked that Spike could give Lindsey--fucking Lindsey--the benefit of the doubt over having changed, and not Spike. At least you know where you stand, most of the time, with Spike. Lindsey . . . as much as I like the character, he's a two-faced slimeball.

"Could have been, wasn't, and that's all water over the bridge, mate."

"Under the bridge," Angel said, draining his glass and Spike squinted at him.

"What?"

Angel made a complicated gesture with both hands. "Under, not over."

Spike copied the gesture sloppily, spilling his drink. "Well, nobody's crossing that bridge again, anyway, so it may as well be over." *Over and done. God, feels like that was all a hundred years ago...*

"Huh."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Spike fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. It was bent, and poked upward at a jaunty angle. Spike scowled at it, going nearly cross-eyed, but lit it anyway and took a long drag. *Time to end this.* "So, wanna shag?"

"Might do," Angel murmured and then blinked hard. "What?"

LMFAO!

Ambushed! Ambushed into giving a straight-forward answer! I maintain that Angel's frustration and irritation with Spike is him projection the irritation he feels with himself for the insane levels of sexual frustration not fucking Spike must cause.

It's enough to drive someone with a vampiric sex drive batty.

What he doesn't get, is that there's so damn much history between them, so much water over and under the bridge, so much ground that's been retread, that whatever happens between them is nothing more than what it is, and nothing less. Things will never be over between them, no matter how strained. The bonds are too strong, too deep they know each other too well.

[tabaqui]

*twirls you*

Yes, so *much* between them. Stuff Angel hates to remember - stuff he won't admit to. They were *friends*, for a long time, i think. Even if they were friends who spatted and growled. But they had each other's backs, as it were, and they were *family*. That doesn't change, no matter how much you want it to.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_beetle_/]

"You're here, I'm bored – why not? Got some warming lube somewhere..." Spike felt down into the depths of the recliner and Angel watched, horrified, as Spike pulled out a crushed packet of crisps, three empty cigarette boxes, a bong with a scummy high-water mark etched into its purple-glass sides and a mummified mandrake root.

Except for the empty cig boxes . . . sounds like my pockets on wash day. Throw in the odd yoyo or useless-key-that-unlocks-only-god-knows-what.

"Bugger. Well – don't really need it, do we?"

"Spike! What the hell is wrong with you!" Angel lumbered to his feet, knocking the straight-backed chair over in the process.

*Get up and run, Angel – curl your lip in disgust and go home. Leave me be...* "Only the usual."

Comfort? Familiarity? Family?

"Listen, this is serious, Spike. They need us to stop this thing before it gets out of hand."

There's the real difference between them: Angel needs to be needed. Spike, needs to be wanted.

"Do they now?" Spike pushed himself wearily to his feet, feeling... Well, feeling every fucking year he'd lived and unlived. He grabbed a fistful of Angel's coat and towed him to the window, shrugging a little when Angel snarled and swatted his hand away. Spike pulled the dusty curtain back and gestured with his cigarette. "Take a look, Angelus. Take a good look – tell me what you see."

"Spike, what are you –?"

"Just look," Spike snapped, anger replacing exhuastion and Angel subsided, taking a step closer and peering out through the dingy glass.

"It's...LA, Spike. There's some burned up buildings and some dead spots but..." Angel shrugged, turning to Spike and Spike wanted to punch him. Flexed his fingers and contemplated it and then just did it, taking Angel by surprise. Angel reeled back a few steps, his head snapping sideways with the force of the blow.

"Yeah, it's LA, you wanker." Spike stalked closer to Angel, pushing right up into his face, chest nearly touching chest. "The city you bled for? The city you said was yours. The city you bloody well abandoned after that last, ridiculous....mess you made!"

Ah, so Angel did leave. Left Spike behind, too. He proved himself worthy to be one of Buffy's gang just--left.

Angel took a step back, looking agitated. "I didn't abandon - look, Spike, when I beat the Black Thorn –"

"When we beat them. You weren't the only one bleeding in that alley, Angelus."

It's really like the others' sacrifices meant nothing. These people he fought and should've died with get swept to the side and forgotten so he could go play with the cool kids. Real mature.

"I know that! When we – it was over. Wolfram and Hart moved out of here, the Black Thorn was gone... I needed to move on, Spike!"

Moving on doesn't mean willfully forgetting what came before, just learning to live with it.

Angel leaned against the wall, staring blindly past Spike. Staring at but not seeing the pocked landscape – the fires that refused to go out. The wreckage left in the wake of an army and a dying dragon.

How badly was LA messed up? Are we talking Snake Plissken territory?

[tabaqui]

Ah, Angel. Sometimes he just *can't* see the trees for the forest.
*pets him*

LA wasn't trashed, but the demons did *damage* and of course, people kind of moved in and took over. Not nice people. Spike *does* have things to do there.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_beetle_/]

"I needed...after Wes died, and Gunn..."

"We all needed, Angelus. Looks like you're the only one that got." Spike walked over to the table and stubbed his cigarette out – kicked his boots off and started emptying his jeans pockets. Roll of bills, straight razor, keys to the place – odds and ends. He knew he was being unfair but right at that moment...he just didn't care. *You left, Angel. Left after all that mess and madness and pain... But I couldn't. Wouldn't.*

"What – are you doing?" Angel asked, and Spike sighed – tipped up the last of his drink and set the glass down.

"I'm going to bed, Angelus. I'm just... I'm too tired to argue. You tell the Slayer..." Spike walked over to the fireplace and stood there, gaze on the rippling coals. "Tell her whatever the fuck you want."

"Spike –" Once more, Angel was right there, scent of iron and whiskey, of spice and cream and smoke. Spike just looked at him – watched the anger and bewilderment in the brown eyes fade. Watched Angel close his eyes for just a moment, taking in a long, long breath. "I didn't come here to fight. I never... I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry – Wes died, and Gunn... I'm sorry that Illyria...went away."

Seems like too little, too late. Angel's not an idiot, he's was willfully blind to Spike's pain because he got what he wanted--a taste of redemption. And he's only apologizing to be relieved of his guilt.

Spike shrugged, curling his bare toes into the worn rug. "Sorry, always sorry. I'm not your confessor, Angelus. I don't care what sins you think you've committed." Spike looked up at Angel and smiled slightly. "Was there for most of them, if you recall."

I'm willing to bet he does, no matter how hard he tries to bury it in guilt. But the great thing about it is that Spike's seen him at his best and his worst, which is more than we can say for Buffy, or even Cordy. Spike accepts Angel, doesn't try to change him, or waste time and energy wishing Angel was different. He loves--yeah, loves--with complete knowledge and open eyes. That's pretty fucking special, if Angel'd just pull his head out of his pasty ass.

"I know." Angel leaned against the mantel. Reached out and ran his finger down Spike's lapel – took a fistful of the leather in his hand and tugged, just a little. "Why do you still wear this? Aren't you...wouldn't you rather have something...new?"

Something . . . that doesn't remind him of the past he's accepted and doesn't brood and obsess over?

Spike raised an eyebrow, smiling for real, this time. "Not all of want to shed old skins. This is... This reminds me. Better times."

"You murdered someone for this coat," Angel said, and Spike lost the smile.

"It wasn't murder then, was it? It was...Darwin. Survival of the fittest, and that was me."

Yes, that's what Angel and Angelus never had a grasp on. He takes guilt and the complete lack of to extremes. There's no middle ground for him, only black and white.

"Things were...they were black and white, then. See? Didn't have to...weigh every bloody choice and action and...word."

Spike was the same way before the soul. As William, he was good, as Spike he was evil. Once he got the soul--the grey started. It's like he's not complete without a demon and a soul. It's, like, a balance.

Rock on.

Spike stopped and Angel's hand slowly let go of the coat – slid up and pushed one side back, off Spike's shoulder.

"Well then...let's not talk for a while," Angel said.

Speaking of corny Angel lines. . . . =D

Spike just stared at him a moment – laughed softly, shrugging and letting the coat slip away to the floor. "God, how in hell did you ever get laid?" Angel laughed too, letting his own coat hit the floor with a soft slither and thump and Spike pushed him flat to the mantel, the heat of the coals stinging on his shin.

"Just shut up, Spike."

Spike does talk too much, sometimes. I think it's something very few people bring out in him--Angel, Buffy, Dawn, but in a different way. He only looses his cool with people he really feels for.

Angel tasted like whiskey and honey and blood. *Just like old times...*

::sighs::
Dude, more, now?

Feel free to toss in some pr0n.

[tabaqui]

Spike never really needed his soul, in my mind. He already saw the world in shades of grey and was capable of overcoming his 'nature' in ways that Darla and Dru and Angelus never were.

And yeah - only love can make Spike an utter dork. Heh.

More soon! And yis, prolly some pr0n.
*la*

[brandil.livejournal.com]

VERY satisfying *g*

[tabaqui]

Thank you!
:)

[trepkos.livejournal.com]

Is there any more or shall I read it now?

[tabaqui]

There will be one more part, up soon i hope.
:)

[a2zmom.livejournal.com]

I really like the interactions between the two of them, very well done.

[tabaqui]

Thank you!
:)

[lostakasha.livejournal.com]

I just had my editor's hat on over at the Herald and whipped it off (in the interests of partiality, don'tcha know) to RUN here and say that this is lumnious. I love how you write, Tabi. Every word is clean and spare and purposeful and so right.

And I'm so delighted that you wrote Angel. You capture his sensiblity, his sense of shame and sorrow so well ... and especially his need for the illusion of control.

Ate this up. And so glad there's a third on the way!

[tabaqui]

Thank you so much! I don't often write Angel, so i'm really glad to see Angel fans liking 'my' view of the character. Thank you thank you!
:)

[kita0610.livejournal.com]

Huzzah.

This is lovely stuff. Great voices, rhythm, everything. Went back and read the first bit too. Lovely.

I'd like to link to it from StA, and when it's done, archive it, if you'll agree.

[tabaqui]

Thank you thank you!
:)

Okay, i am totally and utterly *bad* at acronyms - can never, ever remember them. So what's StA?

I'm sure i have no objection to links and archiving. Both entries are also in my memories under the fic name if just one link would be easier.

[amavel-bel.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is fantastic!!! I'm anxious to read more ;-).

[tabaqui]

Thank you so much!
Soon, soon....

[pjgale.livejournal.com]

Oh sounds so real. This is fantastic.

[tabaqui]

Thank you so much!
:)

[herself_nyc]

Wonderful wonderful character voices, and your details are always so rich.

[tabaqui]

Thank you thank you!
:)

[stretfordditto.livejournal.com]

Exquisite.

[tabaqui]

Thank you!
:)

[realtsunamigirl.livejournal.com]

Hoo-baby. Just got around to reading this one and I'm looking forward to more.

For some reason the term "deluded fop" just absolutely, you should forgive the expression, slayed me.

I also loved the list of things that Spike pulls out looking for the lube, especially the mummified mandrake root.

Good stuff.

[tabaqui]

Heeeee. 'Deluded fop' really is just perfect.

Thank you thank you!
:)

[lil-miss-maddie.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is just beautiful! I absolutely love it!

I love the way Spike described his reason for keeping his duster.
It wasn't murder then, was it? It was...Darwin. Survival of the fittest, and that was me. Things were...they were black and white, then. Didn't have to...weigh every bloody choice and action and...word." Spike stopped and Angel's hand slowly let go of the coat – slid up and pushed one side back, off Spike's shoulder.

Keep up with this story. I think it has great potential

Angel tasted like whiskey and honey and blood. *Just like old
times...*
Mmmmm....

[tabaqui]

Thank you so much!
I'm hoping to have part three finished very, very soon.
*pokes it*

[kitty-poker1.livejournal.com]

I saw you'd posted Part 3 and realised I hadn't read Part 2. *facepalm*

Love this. It really lives up to the promise of the first part, with all the detail and fabulous character voices.

It was...Darwin. Survival of the fittest, and that was me.

I always wondered a little how souled Spike could keep the evidence of his previous evilness, but that makes perfect sense. Spike is souled; he's not a fangless pussycat who's going to brood himself into giving up something he loves.

[tabaqui]

Ha! Sometimes, that happens.

And thank you thank you!
I just *can't* make Spike give the coat up as a rule. It's simply too much a part of him. He lost it in 'Babylon' but...that was traumatic.
*pets him*

[shapinglight]

I missed this when you originally posted it. Dunno where I was.

Enjoyed it very much. I like the elegiac quality to it, like the world's about to end. I feel it is for Spike, even if not for Angel.

[tabaqui]

Thank you!
:)

Glad you caught up on it.