Spike crossed Angel's apartment first one way then the other before returning to his vigil by the bedroom door, like a caged animal coming up against the boundaries of its new territory for the first time.

Cordelia was in the bedroom bandaging Morghane's wounds and the men had been unceremoniously thrown out to wait in the living room. Patience was not Spike's strongest suit - oh sweet understatement - and he had been pacing for the best part of the last twenty minutes, snarling at Angel's attempts to calm him down.

Now his Sire sat in a lounge chair while Doyle was in the kitchen fixing them a drink. Spike just wished the Irishman would bring the damn bottle already. Angel wore his best poker face, his eyes tracking his Childe without missing a beat. It didn't bode well for him. The older vampire looked like a predator on the look out.

Spike didn't have long to wait.

"So what's the story?"

Although he expected the question, Spike jumped anyway. "What do you mean?"

Angel didn't even blink. "Don't play stupid with me, Spike, you're gonna win."

The blonde vampire felt a growl forming at the back of his throat but his Sire's somber expression dissuaded him to even try. He sighed, almost collapsing against the wall behind his back. Angel would learn the truth sooner or later.

"The binding spell had an interesting side effect. Because Morghane's bonded to you and well... you and I are sort of bonded together by blood... the magick tied me to the ethereal community. Not quite a soul for good 'ole Spike - you've still got the exclusivity on that one - but close enough."

Angel shook his head. "I... I felt... something. I didn't know... I thought it might have come from the link I share with Morghane. It acts up once in a while, usually when she's tired or hurt and her psychic shields are down... So what does it mean?"

Spike shrugged, at a loss to explain the nature of what was happening to him.

"I don't know. I guess I'm becoming like Irish boy there." Angel had explained everything about Doyle. "What... a... a humanized demon?"

"Doyle is half human. He's something different from you and me." Angel looked at his Childe intently. "I'm here to help, Will... if you need me."

"It's not like I've got my soul back, you know," Spike felt the need to defend himself.

Angel nodded. "I know. And I'm glad, in a way. It's... painful. But human feelings are still hard to get reacquainted to. I remember. Everything was so overwhelming..."

"I'm sorry," interrupted Spike gruffly without looking his Sire in the eye.

This was so bloody embarrassing.

"About what?"

Spike groaned. < Of course the big poof is gonna make me spell it out. >

"The ring. What I did to you." He exhaled. "Torturing you."

"And enjoying it?"

"Yes."

Angel got out of his chair and took the few steps necessary to reach his Childe, trying to appear non-threatening. He brought a finger under Spike's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"You're my Childe, Spike. Soul or no soul, nothing can change that. I made you into the demon you became. Holding you responsible for your actions since then is pointless. But now I can tell you this, because it's not meaningless to you anymore." He paused. "I forgive you."

Spike's stare wavered and he struggled to swallow. < Pathetic. I'm pathetic. > But he couldn't help his next words just the same. "How come you can see that in me, but not in yourself?" he grumbled.

Unknowingly bringing up a long-standing point of contention between Angel and the Slayer.

Uncomfortable now, Angel took a step back, acting like he hadn't heard Spike at all.

"I can smell her on you, you know," he said simply.

Startling Spike.

"What?"

"Morghane. I can smell her on your skin."

Spike retreated slowly.

Just in case his Sire decided to go for his throat and put him out of his misery once and for all.

"Ah... I... uh... I gave her a bath."

 

Angel smirked. "That's not the smell I was talking about. Give me some credit, Spike. I'm still a master vampire."

Spike went on the offensive. "And you remember how she smells, don't you?" he fired back.

Angel growled. "This is not about me, Spike."

"Calm down, you two."

Surprised, the two vampires spun around.

Morghane, dwarfed by one of Angel's black cotton shirts, was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, supported by Cordelia.

Immediately, Angel went to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He nodded his thanks to Cordy then escorted Morghane to the nearest couch.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

Once seated among the plush cushions, the Guardian looked up at him with a grin. "Thanks, Daddy." She noticed Spike hovering worriedly in the background. "Leave Spike alone, Angel. He was just trying to... help. Relieve the pain. At least I got to have a good time before I die."

Cordelia made a disgusted face. "You and SPIKE. Yuck."

Undaunted, Spike wriggled his eyebrows at the former cheerleader. "Wait 'til you try it, pet."

"Hey, watch it," warned Doyle, returning from the kitchen, a glass of scotch in each hand.

"Children," admonished Morghane.

She lifted her eyes again when Angel's hand caressed her shoulder.

His eyes glinted like stones. "You are not going to die, Morghane."

She smiled sadly. "It's gonna be okay, Angel."

"Am I not the one who's supposed to say that to you?" he asked, his throat tight.

"Cm' ere," she said, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater.

He sat down next to her on the couch and she leaned against his side. "It's all gonna be okay," she repeated. "I'm glad to see you."

His expression softened. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured, embracing her, hiding his face in her neck.

His cold tears soaked the soft skin of her throat.

Raising her eyes over Angel's shoulder, Morghane caught Spike staring at them.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

He mumbled back. "You're welcome."

 

 

 

"Why didn't you come to me right away, Morghane? Why didn't you tell me you were going to Sunnydale in the first place?"

He trailed off.

"Is it because of... of what happened when I... when I changed?"

"No. No, Angel. Never that." Emphatic.

"Then... why?"

Morghane sighed and shook her head again.

They had been at it since they had moved from Angel's underground apartment to his office. Spike had unilaterally decided to give them some quiet time alone and dragged Cordelia and Doyle in the outer office on the pretense of doing a quick Internet search on the Sepulcher. Cordy had been all too happy to show off her newly acquired computer skills.

Now Morghane rested in the lounge seat Angel had carried over from Cordy's office and the vampire was leaning forward in his desk chair.

She let her eyes fall on the thick leather book open on Angel's desk. 'Traité des apparitions des Esprits, Revenants en corps, Anges, Démons, Vampires de Silésie et de Moravie' by Dom Calmet.

She remembered meeting the French scholar over a hundred years ago. The guy was a complete loony.

She briefly thought about mentioning it to Angel.

"Morghane?"

The wonderful, stubborn man wasn't going to let it go.

"It's what I do, Angel. I've done it a hundred times before. A thousand. I didn't know this was anything but your run-of-the-mill black mage. There was no reason to drag you all the way back to Sunnydale - and take the risk of you running across a very ticked off Slayer."

Angel faltered. "She's angry at me?"

His voice soft. Childlike.

Morghane felt like smacking herself, but she probably wouldn't survive it.

"I don't know, Aingeal," she murmured, retreating behind his Celtic name. "I can't read minds. I just don't think she would have been happy to see you back on her territory so soon after you left. She needs time."

The vampire nodded quietly. "She's moved on."

Now the Guardian felt like smacking HIM. Since she didn't have the strength to do that either, she resigned herself to an exasperated sigh. "You can believe that, if that's what you want," she answered.

Two could play dense.

Angel backed off. "It's not important now. You're all that matters. We need to find a way of disrupting the spell, discover who did this to you," he added, adamant.

Morghane stifled a groan. Why, but why did he always think he was less important than everybody else around him? That he just did not matter.

From her point of view, the idea was so ludicrous it was laughable.

But in all honesty, she knew why he had such warped view of his self. It had been pounded into him first by his father when he was human, then by a hundred years alone on the streets after he got his soul back, by five centuries of mind-numbing torture in Hell in the sole company of sadistic demons bent on breaking him; and again by the Sunnydale crowd who had all but convinced Angel that he wasn't worth the effort of being forgiven and loved when he finally made it back from the demon dimension.

However much pain it had caused all around, she was glad he had eventually made the small, selfish decision to leave. There was so much yet to achieve, so many great things yet to be done. His soul needed the reprieve that Cordy and Doyle's simple, free, uncompromising friendship could provide. Angel still needed to give - it was in his nature. But he also needed to receive, to grow - to regain his trust in a world that ignored his existence and had often wounded him so deeply.

Uncaring.

So much pain. Such a beautiful soul.

She gave him a quick hug - surprising him - and kissed his cheek softly. Then she reclined in her chair, biting back a pained groan. Her ribs were still tender. She knew he saw her wince and was getting ready to drag her back to bed kicking and screaming.

She hastened to put the discussion back on track.

"You're not getting out of this conversation so easily, you know."

"And you're going back downstairs to lie down and rest, my Lady," he countered, addressing her properly.

A title she despised and he knew it.

In the end, neither won the staring contest. Their sparring match was interrupted by the rattle of the opening front door.

Morghane tried to stand but Angel wrapped an arm around her waist before she could complete the motion. She smiled in gratitude as he helped her up.

They slowly made their way out of the office.