Part VIII

Spike woke with a start.

Disoriented, he tried to bring his hand to his eyes as if he could chase away the pitch-black darkness of the room, but his arm was pinned to the bed. He frowned, confused, and ventured his free hand in front of him.

His fingers found silk. Hair.

< Dru? >

He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Spike drew himself closer to the body lying next to him.

Coursing blood. Breathing. Warmth. A heartbeat.

Memories of the last few days washed over him.

< Morghane. >

He gathered his unconscious charge closer to his chest and squinted. Now that he was awake, his vampiric eyes allowed him to make out her features. A light sheen of sweat covered her brow and pooled at the delicate indentation of her upper lip. Her eyebrows were drawn in pain or fear, her lids tightly shut. Her breathing was harsh, uneven. Raw. She twisted, fighting against the covers, her copper mane whipping the pillow of Spike's arm.

Tears streamed down her face.

Clumsy and reluctant, Spike shook her shoulder. "Wake up, Guardian. You're dreaming."

Morghane kept on thrashing weakly in his arms. Her lips moved silently and she hitched out a strangled, distressed cry.

"Bloody Hell," grumbled the vampire, at a loss as to what he was supposed to do next.

He mused briefly about getting up and finding Angel to drag him back to the Guardian's side, but thought better of it. His Sire and the Slayer had been loud enough earlier. Spike didn't want to interrupt something embarrassing. If Angel didn't kill him, the Slayer would.

And it wouldn't be pretty.

Morghane's breaths where still coming in fast, hard bursts. Spike was glad he didn't have to breathe. This looked painful.

He nudged her damp cheek.

"Come on, Guardian. It's just a dream..."

She moaned.

Spike growled.

This comforting stuff still wasn't his forte. He wanted to ease Morghane's pain alright; he just didn't know where to start. That morning with Buffy in the study had been an entirely different matter. Spike had been acting on instinct, wild with grief. Had been consoling himself as much as he had been soothing the Slayer.

The blonde vampire prayed that Angel never learned how close Spike had come to fucking the Slayer simply because her skin, her blood, reeked of his Sire.

Morghane arched off the bed, whimpering a string of cries, and Spike didn't tergiversate any longer. He straddled her, seized both her shoulders and yelled in her face.

"Guardian! Wake up!"

The mage came awake with a panicked shout - "No! Maureen!" - and Spike recoiled.

Morghane tried to turn but found herself pinned to the bed, and lost it. Her eyes were unfocused, her mind still trapped in the throws of the nightmare. She raised her arms to protect herself, fearful, and Spike saw the now familiar glow of the Guardian magick take over the misty emerald irises.

He acted fast.

Snatching one of the Guardian's shaking hands, he brought it palm first against his face.

"It's me. Spike. Calm down, Guardian. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The unearthly light didn't dim any.

Desperate, the vampire switched tactics. He fell to the side, taking Morghane with him, plastering her against his chest, and tightened his arms around her waist. His mouth found her ear. "It's Will, Morghane. William. You're safe now. Come back to me. Please, Morghane..."

Patiently, he coaxed her back to awareness and felt her relax against him.

"Will?"

Tiny, apprehensive murmur.

Spike knew then that the danger had passed. He pulled back a little and looked at Morghane. "You back with us, now?" he whispered, keeping his voice level. "You almost fried me, you know."

He meant it to be a joke, but Morghane closed her eyes and averted her gaze. She wriggled out of his embrace, and Spike let her go. She edged away from him, going as far as she could without falling off the bed. She clung to the mattress.

"I'm sorry."

The apology caught Spike unaware. He still wasn't comfortable apologizing to people, and certainly wasn't used to people apologizing to him.

"What for, pet? It was just a nightmare. No bid deal."

His tone was light, but Morghane kept facing away from him. He inched gingerly towards her, until his fingers grazed her bare back.

She flinched.

"Don't. Please."

"Guardian..."

"I'll be fine in a minute," Morghane interrupted quickly. Her voice wavered. "Just... just a minute."

"Yeah, right," Spike grumbled, ignoring her completely. He spooned her naked frame with his body and refused to budge. She twisted, but he didn't let go. She groaned and he heard pain. His hold loosened around her bruised ribs.

"Sorry, luv."

Morghane didn't answer. The tears were drying on her frozen face, her muscles rigid under his fingers.

"You..." Spike cleared his throat. Damn, but he sucked at this. "You dreamed about your sister?"

Silence.

"Is it because the First..."

"I killed her."

The words were uttered softly, almost wonderingly.

Spike remained speechless.

Morghane sighed. "I haven't dreamed about it in centuries."

The vampire settled himself on an elbow, bringing his face above her. Morghane's eyes shone, and this time magick had nothing to do with it. He brought a hand to the Guardian's forehead, and scowled.

"Cor. You're burning up."

The mage shrugged it off. "S'okay. It was like that the first time too. My body is regulating itself, adjusting to the magick again. I'll be fine."

Spike sat up against the headboard. He wrapped Morghane in the plush coverlet and cradled her feverish form in his arms.

"What happened?" asked Spike, subdued.

The Guardian tucked her thin, ghostly face in the crook of his shoulder.

"I was young, stupid and arrogant. I had been prepared to master Guardian magicks since my birth and left in my parents' care - which is pretty unorthodox. Usually, potential Guardians are taken from their families to be trained by the Watchers. But the craft was strong in my family. There was a Guardian among my ancestors, and my Mother was a powerful witch, well-versed in Fairie magicks." She shivered and Spike hugged her closer. It wasn't emotion, had to be the fever. There was no inflection in her voice, no expression on her face. "I was really close to my sister. We were inseparable. I was the baby of the family, and Maureen would always look out for me. She never married, despite the customs of the time. She never wanted to leave me alone. I was twenty five when I went through the Rapture. I should have left the house straight away, isolated myself, sought out the Slayer's protection... until the magick was under control.

"But I couldn't face the idea of abandoning Maureen behind. So I stayed, against my Mother's council. A few days after I was Called, I was attacked by some warlock who thought he could take on an inexperienced Guardian." Morghane smirked humorlessly. "I destroyed him alright. I had the power, but I still lacked the control. I released more energy than I could handle, blew up half the landscape and Maureen was killed, stricken by the untamed magick. My parents never forgave me. I left that day."

Morghane sighed again and struggled out of the restricting comforter.

Spike let her go, too stunned to speak.

The Guardian let her feet fall to the cold wooden floor and Spike saw her bit back a groan. She wobbled her way to an easy chair and picked up the bathrobe she had abandoned there what seemed like an eternity ago. She covered her nakedness, impatiently pushed matted hair out of her eyes, and ambled slowly out the door.

Spike remained seated on the bed, wondering what his next course of action should be.

With a groaned curse, he went after Morghane.

She wasn't in the living room, and he followed her heartbeat to the other side of the dimly lit apartment. He found her leaning heavily against the doorframe of the study. Quietly, he rejoined her side.

His Sire was lying in the middle of the foldout bed, curled on his side around a pillow. Angel slept soundly, unaware of their presence. Distracted, Spike took note of a strong shoulder peeking seductively from beneath the covers.

Shaking his mind free of lustful thoughts best left alone, the bleached vampire turned to look at the Guardian.

A small, bitter smile lingered on Morghane's lips.

"What happened to this room?" she whispered, keeping her bare feet clear of the debris of a vase.

Spike surveyed the wreckage and winced, embarrassed. "I thought he was dead."

Morghane nodded. That was explanation enough.

Spike watched his Sire, surprised that Angel hadn't sensed their presence by now. Something was missing in this picture.

He jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, puzzled.

"Where's the Slayer?"

"She's gone," said Morghane.

"Gone? I thought it would take dynamite to make her leave his side."

"He's leaving her."

"What?"

Spike's exclamation was harsh and disbelieving. He caught himself, and checked to see if he had disturbed his Sire's slumber, but Angel didn't even twitch.

"I heard her. She gathered her things and left a couple hours before dawn. I knew Angel needed the rest, so I worked up a little sleeping spell. I could as well not have bothered. He's sleeping the sleep of the exhausted."

"He's leaving her?" repeated Spike, almost shell-shocked.

"It's a good decision."

Spike growled. Lucky thing he wasn't susceptible to massive coronaries, or his brain would be oozing out of his ears.

"Run that by me one more time, luv?"

Morghane sighed, never taking her eyes off the object of their conversation.

"Angel's soul is his own now. After everything, he's had to face the fact that, regardless, he still doesn't feel worthy of Buffy's love." Spike couldn't really tell if the Guardian was talking to him, to the vampire on the bed, or if she was simply thinking out loud. "Before I anchored his soul, it was a non-issue. Now..." She smirked. "I'm sure Angelus' reappearance and the First's little mind games probable didn't strengthen his self-confidence any."

Spike groaned in disbelief. "So now that he can have what he's always wanted, he just sent her packing back to Sunnydale and he's gonna spend the rest of eternity brooding?"

He snorted. This Sire of his really had it in for self-inflicted torture.

Then he remembered Angel in chains and bleeding, goading Lisandra to protect the Slayer and his Childe - and Spike sobered. "I don't understand it. Any of it."

Morghane got that far away look that Spike had learned to recognize as the 'overprotective Guardian mode' Angel had the knack to trigger.

"Do you know that Angel is truly unique?" she muttered softly. "I don't mean because he is the only vampire with a soul out there. I mean because he is the only souled creature condemned to a life in darkness. And I'm not saying condemned by choice or by circumstances, I'm saying condemned by nature. To a souled creature, there is true relief in knowing that, by definition, daylight will drive away the things that go bump in the night. That everything will be okay if only you can make it to dawn.

"Angel doesn't have that most basic of comforts which is granted to all souled creatures. And he never will. Just as his soul will always crave light, but will always be denied it, dooming Angel to a raging war against his own nature." She sighed deeply. "What I'm saying, Will, is that Angel has to make his own way. He is unlike any other. No one has opened the way for him. Humans have thousands of years of philosophy, poetry and spiritual thought behind them, guiding them - even if they are nothing but ideas to push against in an attempt to strive further. Angel is the only one of his kind. He has no experience but his own to draw upon. It's not easy making your way in the dark on your own, when you have no idea of the destination."

Spike absorbed all this silently. He shook his head. "But why leave the Slayer?"

Morghane leaned against his side. He could feel the exhaustion permeating her bones. He wrapped an arm around her middle.

"It's not that he wants to leave her. He just needs to be alone for a while, and if not utterly alone, then away from her. Self-discovery is sometimes a grim process, Will. Trust me. He wouldn't want Buffy to witness it. He doesn't feel worthy. And she would try to interfere, to help, despite herself. Validation of one's self cannot come from outside, it has to come from within."

"He loves her," mumbled Spike - not knowing himself if it was a question or an affirmation.

"Do I dignify that with an answer?" Morghane chuckled. "It's not that Angel stopped trusting in their love. He never did. It's just that he never trusted in himself. If it was only for the happiness clause, he never would have left her in the first place."

Morghane stepped forward, forsaking Spike's support, and shuffled to the bed with aching slowness.

"We must all prepare for war," she murmured, straightening up. "There can be no fear, no doubt, no weaknesses in the conflict ahead," - she smiled faintly - "or as little as possible." She bent to deposit a slow kiss on Angel's forehead and drew the covers tighter around him. "Angel's soul will be taxed as much as his body in the upcoming battle. Why do you think Doyle was sent to him in L.A.? Deep inside, Angel knows what will be required of him as Warrior and Slayer's Consort."

"You knew this would happen? You knew the stupid wanker would leave her?" asked Spike, wondering despite himself what his own role in the war would be. He was aiming for careless detachment, yet knew that he hadn't fooled the Guardian any.

Morghane's back was to him, and he watched her shoulders hunch over slightly.

"I had an inkling. Through... different channels." A pause. "I just didn't think I would survive to witness it."

She turned around, passed Spike, and treaded back to the living room.

The vampire followed, closing the door of the study behind them with a soft click.

He found her sitting on the couch, looking forlorn, her head thrown back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She was still talking. Spike didn't think she was addressing him anymore.

"There will be no rest for them, until they realize that it's not about duty. Duty cannot sustain you. And it's not about punishment. There is no such a thing as making amends. Amends to whom? The only peace you need to make is with yourself. Your only responsibility is to your soul." Her breath caught a little in her throat. "It's all about being true to your nature, to who you are. They are warriors, and they are lovers. If there's duty to be fulfilled, it's a duty to each other."

Spike pursed his lips. "Guardian... you're crying."

Morghane let her head sink to her chest.

"Yes. I'm crying. I'm crying for him, for her, for them, for you, for me. I'm crying for what lies ahead. I'm crying for what's been taken from me again. I'd like to be selfish for a little while longer, Will. If you don't mind."

She struggled to her feet, shaking her head when Spike offered a helping hand.

"I need to take a shower."

The blonde vampire couldn't stop himself. He leered at her. "Want me to join you?"

Morghane's eyes darkened. "That's all I seem to inspire anymore. Pity fucks from soulless demons."

Spike blanched.

He hadn't expected that kind of cruelty from her. Hadn't expected the words of someone who last week he had considered an enemy to cut so deep.

< Fuck, that hurts. >

He tried not to flinch when Morghane slipped her hand in his, tugging lightly. "I'm... I'm sorry, Will. That was harsh and I didn't mean it. I... I'd like you to come with me."

Spike froze. "You sure, luv?" he asked grudgingly.

Morghane nodded and smiled. A tiny, self-deprecating twist of her lips.

Spike scowled. The Guardian had way too much in common with his self-flagellating idiot of a Sire. The younger vampire might be able to experience guilt, but he was still a demon at the core, and these two redefined the concept of martyrdom. It was ridiculous.

Without another word, Spike picked Morghane up and the Guardian smothered a yelp, startled. He crossed the living room and pushed open the door of the bathroom with his foot. He set the Guardian down on the edge of the tub and began tugging his clothes off. He caught a flash of her face. She was blinking slowly, as if trying to come to terms with the reality of what she was seeing - or fighting a weird case of deja vu.

Her mumbled words confirmed his suspicions. "What is it with you people and washing me up..."

She didn't expect a response and Spike didn't give one. Soon, he was naked and had the water running hot in the shower. He stood over Morghane and reached for the tie of her robe. She surprised him by anticipating his move and dropping the garment to the floor. She stood up unsteadily and faced him, her expression unyielding.

The bruises were fading, but they still looked painful. The gaping wound left by the Sepulcher had closed up. The blood had dried around the bite mark on her left breast and between her legs. Spike's fangs hitched at the sight.

The vampire couldn't deny the effect the sight of Morghane's abused form had on him. He growled, and his cock twitched between his legs. Bound or not, he was still a demon. His connection to the Guardian's and his Sire's soul hadn't tamed him _that_ much. The aftereffects of Morghane's binding spell had given him the ability to make a choice. Since there was no more gais, Spike was, for lack of a better word, un-determined - allowed to rise above the limitations of his nature. It was all about freedom. It was about equilibrium too. His newly acquired conscience balanced his demoniac cravings.

But the vampire had needs, and the spectacle of the Guardian's violated body fulfilled a few of those. Just because he couldn't inflict that kind of damage anymore did not mean that the idea had stopped... appealing to him in some ways.

Lisandra's words resonated around his mind, unwanted - uninvited. < 'Demons like to mix some pain with their pleasure.' >

His cock hardened against his stomach.

Morghane watched dispassionately. Unruffled.

Spike's fingers wound around her wrist and he led her quietly to the shower stall. She stepped under the scalding water and hissed. Spike adjusted the temperature. She relaxed under the stream. The vampire poured some shampoo in his palm and worked the lather in her hair. Morghane sighed. She laid her hands flat against the wall for support.

Spike massaged her scalp for long minutes then skillfully rinsed the foam away. He had done this very same thing so many times for Dru. He picked up the soap and trailed the bar along her skin, down the valley between her shoulder blades. He was careful not press on the lash marks marring the mage's back, keeping his touch light. His arms slid around Morghane's waist. He dropped the soap and cupped her breasts - stroking the soft weights nestled in his palms. He steered clear of the bite mark but washed away the blood.

"Don't."

Spike pressed closer to the Guardian's back, his cock flushed against her haunches.

"What is it, luv?"

"Don't... don't be gentle. Don't even try. I don't need... I don't want that."

Spike's expression darkened. "You're hurt, pet."

There might have been a sob, but he couldn't tell for sure with the water pounding down on them.

"I can't take it right now. Please. Don't... don't act like you..."

Morghane didn't conclude, but she didn't need to.

< Don't act like you care. >

Inexplicably, Spike felt his anger rise at her assumption. Yes, he had been aroused at the thought of adding a little pain to their sexual encounter, but it didn't mean that he wanted to hurt her. Or that he didn't sincerely wish to comfort her. That he didn't care.

Annoyed, Spike turned Morghane around and pushed her against the wall with more force than was necessary. His cock stood at attention, rigid and painful against her belly. He snarled.

She didn't even blink.

Morghane looked up at him - her wide, barren green eyes stripping him bare. She didn't even try to hide her thoughts from him. She was provoking him. He had reacted exactly as she had known he would, strengthening her conviction that he didn't care.

< Making her bloody fucking point. >

He growled, and still she didn't flinch. Morghane pressed closer to him, her taut nipples teasing his hairless, alabaster chest, and he finally understood what she needed. She needed the pain to wipe away the numbness left in the wake of her unbidden resurrection. She needed Spike's hardness to pound inside her and fill up the emptiness, the hollowness eating away at her soul.

But above all she needed Spike to play the game, to help her maintain the illusory belief that their brutal joining would somehow fill these needs. Would soften the blow of having been forcefully robbed of the peace which had embraced her as she welcomed the specter of her demise. Would drown out the unrelenting call of duty, the prospect of more endless battles - and more solitude. Would kill the ache and longing festering inside of her.

Spike was surprised to discover that, on some level, this all made sense to him.

"I'm sorry."

Morghane's apology was unexpected, and he arched a scarred, confused eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for condemning you to this. For making you like us - Angel and I - the only one of your kind, and..."

Spike silenced her with a firm kiss.

He didn't want to think about these things. He wasn't one to waste his energy planing ahead and worrying about tomorrow.

"I'll give you what you need, luv, 'cos I want it too. But I won't hurt you."

Morghane didn't say anything. She tucked her chin against his breast bone and bit his nipple.

Spike gasped and narrowed his eyes. "Okay. Not much."

He grasped her rounded hips and twisted her around, pulling her ass against his cock. The Guardian moaned and Spike sneered, glad to be rid of her cool mask of indifference. He pushed her legs apart and reached down to his stone hard member. He guided himself to her entrance, finding slippery moisture there, and slammed home with one thrust.

Morghane spasmed and clenched down on his hardness with a ferocious cry of relief. She sagged forward, her legs giving out under her. Spike wound one arm around her middle, hoisting her up his torso to compensate for the difference in height. The Guardian's feet dangled a few inches above the tiled floor. Morghane threw a hand behind herself, grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face down to hers, twisting her neck to give him better access. Spike crushed his mouth to hers, devouring her. She devoured him right back, almost frenzied, as if there could never be enough contact between them. As if he would never be close enough to her body.

"Will, please..." she begged against his lips.

Spike lifted her up, almost slipping out of her, then let gravity slam her back down on his cock.

She howled, shaking, hanging onto his neck as if she was drowning. Her fiery hair was plastered to her face, her shoulders thrown back, displaying her glorious, heavy breasts, and her perk, tight nipples. Spike chose to ignore them. He slid his free hand around her hip and plunged his fingers through her wet curls. He found her clitoris and pinched, thrusting savagely inside her once again.

Morghane came with a long wailing cry, thrashing against him like a wild thing.

He held her.

Spike didn't know if it was the bond, this circle that irremediably tied him to the Guardian and his Sire, but he could have sworn that he felt the energy flowing out of her, the pain, the anger, the grief - liberated - cleansing Morghane with their uncompromising starkness.

He wanted her to enjoy the freedom for a little while.

Morghane's nails tore at his shoulders. "More..."

Her untamed frenzy was contagious. Spike twisted her so that she faced him, his hardness still sheathed in her channel. He kissed her, long and thorough. Her fingers lost themselves in his bleached blonde hair, her legs locked around his waist. He drew the sweetness of her tongue in his mouth, realizing for the first time that he needed the comfort for himself.

He burrowed his face between her lush breasts, tasting the silk of her skin, rooting for her heartbeat. The bite mark called to him, but bound or not, the demon still recoiled in fear and disgust at the thought of tasting her blood. Still he was drawn to the twin, red holes marring her full curves.

He sniffed, and all became clear.

"Sire..."

"Yes."

At Morghane's hissed confirmation, Spike lost it.

He dropped her back on her feet, slipping out of her. Tugging on her hips, he forced her to bend a little at the waist and keep her legs open wide. He guided her palms flat to the wall and squeezed her wrists, ordering her without words to hold the position. Spike felt Morghane shiver with need. She bent deeper, raising her haunches to him, wriggling her hips a little.

He kneaded the flesh, parting her cheeks, and followed the cleft with the tip of a finger to the puckered ring of sensitive skin. He pushed two knuckles inside, stretching her, preparing her. She drove against his hand, crooning softly.

"Don't worry... Do... just do it."

Spike snarled. He didn't need to be asked twice. He held her in place with both hands around her hips and delved in her delicious, tight heat with one powerful stroke.

Morghane ground against him, sighing deeply.

Spike groaned. The scalding heat, the unbearable tightness and the scent of his Sire. He felt dizzy. Suddenly frantic, he lashed onto the writhing body in front of him and clutched the Guardian to his chest, forcing Morghane to bend her spine. He sheltered his face against the smooth slope of her neck.

This was as close to Angel as he was likely to get ever again.

Realization dawned and the blonde vampire staggered. He hadn't allowed himself to contemplate that dreary truth until now.

Blunt nails dug into his forearms, yanking him back from the brink.

"It's okay, Will. It's okay."

He had been whimpering against her skin all the while. Driven, angry at his weakness and shocked by the intensity of the unexpected pain, he shoved Morghane against the wall again, pounding madly into her. He was aware of her tight, strangled cries, but he didn't care.

Torn.

It was her fault. She had done this to him. Yes, he owed the Guardian his reunion with his long-estranged Sire. If it wasn't for the binding spell, he would never have made his peace with Angel.

Made love to him again.

On the other hand, he would never have known this searing agony either. He owed that brand new torment to her too.

Never slowing his thrusts, Spike reached both hands around Morghane. He plunged three fingers, crudely, inside her dripping sex. With his other hand, he found a straining nipple. And twisted. Hard.

The Guardian exploded around him. Her muscles clenched down on him viciously, and Spike toppled after her into ecstasy.

He crumbled to the ground. He had enough presence of mind left to cushion Morghane's fall with his own body.

For long minutes, there was nothing but the undisturbed thunder of rapidly cooling water, pelting down on them. When Spike found the energy to move, he shut off the stream, gathered Morghane in his arms and staggered out of the shower stall. He wrapped them both in the same large towel, too exhausted to care, and shuffled out of the bathroom with his precious cargo.

He never made it to the bedroom. They collapsed on the sofa, the Guardian plastered to Spike chest.

Idly, the vampire began drying her skin inch by inch. Morghane's eyes were closed, her breathing steady. When he reached her breasts, Spike couldn't help himself. He bent, soothing the abraded nipple with the coolness of his tongue.

Catching sight of his Sire's brand, he pulled back.

"I'm sorry."

Morghane's hand found the nape of his neck and drew his head to her soft stomach.

"Shh," she whispered against the blonde crown of hair. "It's what I wanted, and... and I understand."

Spike sighed against the warmth of her belly. "Where will you go, luv?"

She shrugged, the muscles rippling under his cheek.

"I don't know."

"You said Guardians needed the protection of the Slayer after undergoing the Rapture."

"I won't do this to Buffy. And it's not my first Rapture. I should regain complete control quickly enough. I just need to... isolate myself for a little while."

Neither of them brought up Maureen again.

"Need me?"

Spike repressed a disgusted snarl. This bashful voice could not possibly belong to him.

But the Guardian never answered. Just drew him tighter to her damp chest.