The Guardian Chapter 2
May. 10th, 2007 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iceminkTitle: The Guardian
Pairing: Spike/Angel and flashbacks to Angel/Darla
Rating: NC-17 (please read the warnings)
Summary: All human AU. It was eight years ago that Liam promised to protect Darla and be her angel. It's a promise he's done his best to keep, even if these days she can barely stand to be around him. Then one night he finds a young prostitute, William, getting beat up in an alley. But will helping William destroy the delicate balance of Angel's life, or will it be William who saves Angel from his own dark past?
Warning: This is a dark and angsty fic, mostly in conection to Angel's past with Darla. There's mention of non-con, a lot of this story is about prostitution, and there's a flashback to Angel and Darla when they are 17 that's very sexual in nature. And then of course there is some violence. I think that about covers it, but I'll add specific warnings for various chapters.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikeverse and slackerace for the beta.
The first chapter (newly betad) is here.
Chapter 2:
It was the smell of food cooking that woke Spike. He may have had a hard time feeling safe enough to fall asleep the night before, but once he was asleep very little could wake him.
A robe lay draped over the foot of the bed. Spike slipped it on and wandered into the kitchen where Angel was standing over the stove.
"What do you like in your omelet?" Angel asked.
"Uh, eggs?" Spike said. He couldn't recall any one ever making him omelets before, so he wasn't really sure what you put in them. Almost every breakfast in his life had come from boxes.
"Right," Angel said. "I'll just make you the house special."
Spike watched in amazement as Angel chopped up various vegetables and bits of meat and threw them in the frying pan. He couldn't recall the last time anyone had cooked for him, at least not real cooking like this.
When Angel was done Spike had a big omelet, some toast with three flavors of jam to choose from, and orange juice that he'd actually watched Angel squeeze himself. It made him wonder if the juice he'd been given last night had also been fresh squeezed as well.
"Well," Angel asked as he set his own plate down. "Aren't you going to eat?"
Spike stared at the food, his mouth watering. That awful cardboard tasting energy bar from the night before hadn't done much to fill his stomach. The food smelled so good, but why the hell was this guy cooking for him? It was probably drugged. The guy was obviously luring Spike into a false sense of security so that that he could do something really awful to him.
"You went to a lot of trouble," Spike said suspiciously.
"Not really, I was making myself breakfast," Angel said as he began to eat his omelet.
"So you what? Do this all the time?" Spike asked.
"Eat breakfast? Yep, pretty much every day." Angel took another few bites, and when he saw that Spike still wasn't eating he added, "Don't worry, though. You can do the dishes."
Spike snorted, "Not likely."
He used to do the dishes. Lots of other chores, too. He'd thought that if he was the perfect foster son, that maybe someone would adopt him. Or at least not turn him out on his ass the day he turned eighteen, but that hadn't really worked out, had it? He wasn't going to be someone else's maid.
Angel didn't move, and yet somehow he was suddenly looming over Spike. "You will," he said in a flat even voice.
Spike swallowed, suddenly remembering Jason lying beaten in the alley. He tried changing the subject. "Don't you have some high powered job to get to?"
Angel smiled and picked up a piece of toast, as if he was sure that Spike would do what he was told. "I work at night.
Watching Angel spread jam on the toast reminded Spike how hungry he was. He figured that if Angel was going to hurt him, he didn't need drugs to do it. So Spike began to eat his omelet. It was good, really good. And not just because Spike was so hungry.
"Was that work last night?" Spike finally asked.
"Yeah," Angel said quietly. "That was work."
Silence stretched between them for a few minutes and Spike tapped his fingers nervously on the kitchen table as he ate, trying to fill in the silence. He didn't notice the annoyed way Angel kept looking at his jittery hand.
"I already put your clothes in the wash," Angel finally said. "Although I'm not sure all the blood will come out." After thinking on it a moment he added, "We can get you some new ones later."
"'Cause I'm what? Staying here now?" Spike asked.
"Do you have somewhere better to be?" Angel asked.
The truth was Spike didn't. He'd stayed at a homeless shelter his first night, but most of his stuff had been stolen. Besides, you had to get there early in the evening to get a bed, and the only job he'd found so far require late hours.
He didn't want to tell Angel any of that. Didn't see how it was any of Angel's business, so he just remained quiet and finished his breakfast.
When he was done, he tried to get up from the table as if he didn't realize he'd left his dishes there.
Angel wasn't so easily fooled. A large hand gripped Spike's arm, pulling him back.
"I think you forgot something."
"Yeah, well see, the thing is, I have very delicate hands, and they get dry real easy, so-"
"I have lotion," Angel interrupted him.
Sighing, Spike grudgingly picked up the dishes and took them over to the sink. He made sure to continuously sulk as he washed the plates. He even considered breaking a dish to get out of it, but Angel actually had very nice plates that were obviously part of a set, so he refrained.
By the time Spike was done washing everything, Angel had gotten dressed in sweats and a wife-beater.
"Your clothes are on the bed," Angel told him.
Grateful to finally have something that fit him to wear, Spike hurried to change. He shut the bedroom door behind him for privacy. He didn't trust Angel not to try and sneak up behind him.
That was a mistake. A few moments after the door had shut, Spike heard the sound of something being propped up against the door.
His jeans only half on, he rushed to try the doorknob, which refused to give.
"Hey!" Spike yelled banging on the door. "Let me out you bastard!"
There was no response from the other side. A moment later Spike could hear the front door opening and closing. In the vain hope that Angel was just messing with him, he continued to pound on the door and yell.
Finally he accepted that for the time being he was locked in the room. He finished getting dressed, before trying to find another way out.
When he saw the telephone by the bed he mumbled "Idiot."
Then he realized that he had no one to call. He could call the cops, but that would mean answering all sorts of questions that Spike wasn't comfortable with. Spike wasn't even sure where he was, so even if he had had someone to call he couldn't have told them where he was.
Spike had no choice but to wait.
It was almost two hours before Spike heard the front door open again. "Angel?" a woman called out. "Are you home yet?"
Spike froze, wondering what he should do. Angel didn't really talk much, so Spike didn't think he could do a good enough impersonation to get the woman to let him out.
"Angel?" this time the woman's voice sounded worried, it was also closer to the bedroom door. "Angel, answer me. It's Darla, are you all right?"
Spike kept quiet, hoping she'd think Angel was in trouble so she'd open the door.
The door swung open and Spike found himself confronted by a small blond woman with what seemed to be a very large gun.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded. "And where's Angel?"
Spike's hands shot up the air. He'd thought after the broken bottle his life might have hit its peak for danger. But now it looked as if this might be that peak and he might not come down.
"Look, lady, I don't know." Spike began to wish he had called the cops. "He locked me in here a couple hours ago and left. He didn't say where he was going."
"Don't be absurd," she said, the gun never wavering. "Why would Angel lock you up unless. . ." Her eyes ran over the cut above his eye. Whatever conclusion it was she came to, it didn't calm her down. Instead her voice turned a bit hysterical, and she advanced on him with the gun. "You're one of them aren't you? You have him. Where is he? Tell me where he is!"
Spike stumbled back until his back hit the wall. He was going to be shot by some crazy lady. He started to wonder if he would actually feel the bullet tear through layer after layer of his flesh, or would it be over before he knew it and he'd just suddenly be dead.
"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," he tried to reason with her even as panic crept into his voice.
To his relief at least she seemed to be listening. She looked him up and down as if she could discover what she wanted to know by just staring hard enough at him.
"I guess you're too young to have been one of the ones who took him," she said finally in a measured voice. "But you've seen him right? Is he okay? Where is he?" Her voice was pleading now, even as it filled up with frantic urgency. Spike was beginning to worry she'd pull the trigger on him.
Then the front door to the condo opened again.
"Angel?" Darla called out.
"Darla, what are you. . ." Angel's voice trailed off as he entered the bedroom and saw Darla holding the gun on Spike. "Did he hurt you?" Angel demanded angrily.
"No, I'm fine," she assured Angel.
"Hey!" Spike protested, feeling a tad braver now that Angel was back. "I'm the one being held at gun point by crazy-locks here. Shouldn't you check if I'm okay?"
Satisfied that Darla wasn't hurt, Angel put his hand over Darla's, trying to take the gun from her.
"He knows doesn't he?" Darla asked. "He knows where they took him? You said you would find them and-"
"Oh, baby," Angel interrupted her mournfully.
He pulled her against his chest with one arm, while he used the other one to pull her hand up so that the gun was pointed at the ceiling and not at Spike, who took a deep relieved breath.
"I'm so sorry." Angel said softly, his voice cracking with emotion. "He doesn't know anything. He's just some hustler I caught Jason beating up last night."
Darla struggled free of his embrace. As soon as he let go she took a deep breath, replacing her angry look with one of calm as if someone had switched off her emotions.
Angel gently took the gun from her. He checked the safety, regarding the weapon as if it was another man who he'd found in bed with his wife.
"So he's just a whore, hmm?" she asked examining Spike.
"Hey!" Spike protested. Now that she didn't have the gun, and had turned the crazy from a ten down to a mere two, Spike decided there wasn't anything so intimidating about her.
She ignored Spike. "And just what do you intend to do with him?"
"He doesn't concern you Darla," Angel said.
"Of course he does Angel," she said moving closer to Spike. "He's rather pretty. I can think of at least half a dozen clients who'd love to make his acquaintance."
"He got beat up pretty bad last night," Angel objected. "Look at that black eye, and it'll take a while for that cut to heal. You don't want anyone to see him like that."
"Well, I wouldn't want to undercut his value," she said ingenuously. "Maybe you can give him some pointers?" Her voice became venomously sweet, the politeness laced with jealousy. "Teach him to be a first class cock-sucker?"
"No one's teaching me anything," Spike spoke up. He didn't like the way they were talking about him as if they were his parents deciding whether to send him to summer camp or not.
Besides, hooking was just a temporary thing, until he could sort things out, get a real job, go to college. The last thing he needed was a pimp, or a madam, or whatever the hell Darla was. Something told Spike that once she got her claws into you she didn't let go.
"Well that's not very considerate of you," Darla said. "Don't you want to be the best bitch you can be?"
"Wouldn't want to put you out of a job," Spike retorted.
She only smiled, as if Spike had inadvertently insulted himself. He didn't understand until Angel slammed him back against the wall.
"Don't talk to her that way," Angel growled. Then he looked over his shoulder at Darla. "Your money's on counter. Is there anything else you want?"
Her eyes swept over Angel. "No, there's nothing else here I want." She picked up her gun, turned, and left.
Pairing: Spike/Angel and flashbacks to Angel/Darla
Rating: NC-17 (please read the warnings)
Summary: All human AU. It was eight years ago that Liam promised to protect Darla and be her angel. It's a promise he's done his best to keep, even if these days she can barely stand to be around him. Then one night he finds a young prostitute, William, getting beat up in an alley. But will helping William destroy the delicate balance of Angel's life, or will it be William who saves Angel from his own dark past?
Warning: This is a dark and angsty fic, mostly in conection to Angel's past with Darla. There's mention of non-con, a lot of this story is about prostitution, and there's a flashback to Angel and Darla when they are 17 that's very sexual in nature. And then of course there is some violence. I think that about covers it, but I'll add specific warnings for various chapters.
Thanks to
spikeverse and slackerace for the beta.The first chapter (newly betad) is here.
Chapter 2:
It was the smell of food cooking that woke Spike. He may have had a hard time feeling safe enough to fall asleep the night before, but once he was asleep very little could wake him.
A robe lay draped over the foot of the bed. Spike slipped it on and wandered into the kitchen where Angel was standing over the stove.
"What do you like in your omelet?" Angel asked.
"Uh, eggs?" Spike said. He couldn't recall any one ever making him omelets before, so he wasn't really sure what you put in them. Almost every breakfast in his life had come from boxes.
"Right," Angel said. "I'll just make you the house special."
Spike watched in amazement as Angel chopped up various vegetables and bits of meat and threw them in the frying pan. He couldn't recall the last time anyone had cooked for him, at least not real cooking like this.
When Angel was done Spike had a big omelet, some toast with three flavors of jam to choose from, and orange juice that he'd actually watched Angel squeeze himself. It made him wonder if the juice he'd been given last night had also been fresh squeezed as well.
"Well," Angel asked as he set his own plate down. "Aren't you going to eat?"
Spike stared at the food, his mouth watering. That awful cardboard tasting energy bar from the night before hadn't done much to fill his stomach. The food smelled so good, but why the hell was this guy cooking for him? It was probably drugged. The guy was obviously luring Spike into a false sense of security so that that he could do something really awful to him.
"You went to a lot of trouble," Spike said suspiciously.
"Not really, I was making myself breakfast," Angel said as he began to eat his omelet.
"So you what? Do this all the time?" Spike asked.
"Eat breakfast? Yep, pretty much every day." Angel took another few bites, and when he saw that Spike still wasn't eating he added, "Don't worry, though. You can do the dishes."
Spike snorted, "Not likely."
He used to do the dishes. Lots of other chores, too. He'd thought that if he was the perfect foster son, that maybe someone would adopt him. Or at least not turn him out on his ass the day he turned eighteen, but that hadn't really worked out, had it? He wasn't going to be someone else's maid.
Angel didn't move, and yet somehow he was suddenly looming over Spike. "You will," he said in a flat even voice.
Spike swallowed, suddenly remembering Jason lying beaten in the alley. He tried changing the subject. "Don't you have some high powered job to get to?"
Angel smiled and picked up a piece of toast, as if he was sure that Spike would do what he was told. "I work at night.
Watching Angel spread jam on the toast reminded Spike how hungry he was. He figured that if Angel was going to hurt him, he didn't need drugs to do it. So Spike began to eat his omelet. It was good, really good. And not just because Spike was so hungry.
"Was that work last night?" Spike finally asked.
"Yeah," Angel said quietly. "That was work."
Silence stretched between them for a few minutes and Spike tapped his fingers nervously on the kitchen table as he ate, trying to fill in the silence. He didn't notice the annoyed way Angel kept looking at his jittery hand.
"I already put your clothes in the wash," Angel finally said. "Although I'm not sure all the blood will come out." After thinking on it a moment he added, "We can get you some new ones later."
"'Cause I'm what? Staying here now?" Spike asked.
"Do you have somewhere better to be?" Angel asked.
The truth was Spike didn't. He'd stayed at a homeless shelter his first night, but most of his stuff had been stolen. Besides, you had to get there early in the evening to get a bed, and the only job he'd found so far require late hours.
He didn't want to tell Angel any of that. Didn't see how it was any of Angel's business, so he just remained quiet and finished his breakfast.
When he was done, he tried to get up from the table as if he didn't realize he'd left his dishes there.
Angel wasn't so easily fooled. A large hand gripped Spike's arm, pulling him back.
"I think you forgot something."
"Yeah, well see, the thing is, I have very delicate hands, and they get dry real easy, so-"
"I have lotion," Angel interrupted him.
Sighing, Spike grudgingly picked up the dishes and took them over to the sink. He made sure to continuously sulk as he washed the plates. He even considered breaking a dish to get out of it, but Angel actually had very nice plates that were obviously part of a set, so he refrained.
By the time Spike was done washing everything, Angel had gotten dressed in sweats and a wife-beater.
"Your clothes are on the bed," Angel told him.
Grateful to finally have something that fit him to wear, Spike hurried to change. He shut the bedroom door behind him for privacy. He didn't trust Angel not to try and sneak up behind him.
That was a mistake. A few moments after the door had shut, Spike heard the sound of something being propped up against the door.
His jeans only half on, he rushed to try the doorknob, which refused to give.
"Hey!" Spike yelled banging on the door. "Let me out you bastard!"
There was no response from the other side. A moment later Spike could hear the front door opening and closing. In the vain hope that Angel was just messing with him, he continued to pound on the door and yell.
Finally he accepted that for the time being he was locked in the room. He finished getting dressed, before trying to find another way out.
When he saw the telephone by the bed he mumbled "Idiot."
Then he realized that he had no one to call. He could call the cops, but that would mean answering all sorts of questions that Spike wasn't comfortable with. Spike wasn't even sure where he was, so even if he had had someone to call he couldn't have told them where he was.
Spike had no choice but to wait.
It was almost two hours before Spike heard the front door open again. "Angel?" a woman called out. "Are you home yet?"
Spike froze, wondering what he should do. Angel didn't really talk much, so Spike didn't think he could do a good enough impersonation to get the woman to let him out.
"Angel?" this time the woman's voice sounded worried, it was also closer to the bedroom door. "Angel, answer me. It's Darla, are you all right?"
Spike kept quiet, hoping she'd think Angel was in trouble so she'd open the door.
The door swung open and Spike found himself confronted by a small blond woman with what seemed to be a very large gun.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded. "And where's Angel?"
Spike's hands shot up the air. He'd thought after the broken bottle his life might have hit its peak for danger. But now it looked as if this might be that peak and he might not come down.
"Look, lady, I don't know." Spike began to wish he had called the cops. "He locked me in here a couple hours ago and left. He didn't say where he was going."
"Don't be absurd," she said, the gun never wavering. "Why would Angel lock you up unless. . ." Her eyes ran over the cut above his eye. Whatever conclusion it was she came to, it didn't calm her down. Instead her voice turned a bit hysterical, and she advanced on him with the gun. "You're one of them aren't you? You have him. Where is he? Tell me where he is!"
Spike stumbled back until his back hit the wall. He was going to be shot by some crazy lady. He started to wonder if he would actually feel the bullet tear through layer after layer of his flesh, or would it be over before he knew it and he'd just suddenly be dead.
"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," he tried to reason with her even as panic crept into his voice.
To his relief at least she seemed to be listening. She looked him up and down as if she could discover what she wanted to know by just staring hard enough at him.
"I guess you're too young to have been one of the ones who took him," she said finally in a measured voice. "But you've seen him right? Is he okay? Where is he?" Her voice was pleading now, even as it filled up with frantic urgency. Spike was beginning to worry she'd pull the trigger on him.
Then the front door to the condo opened again.
"Angel?" Darla called out.
"Darla, what are you. . ." Angel's voice trailed off as he entered the bedroom and saw Darla holding the gun on Spike. "Did he hurt you?" Angel demanded angrily.
"No, I'm fine," she assured Angel.
"Hey!" Spike protested, feeling a tad braver now that Angel was back. "I'm the one being held at gun point by crazy-locks here. Shouldn't you check if I'm okay?"
Satisfied that Darla wasn't hurt, Angel put his hand over Darla's, trying to take the gun from her.
"He knows doesn't he?" Darla asked. "He knows where they took him? You said you would find them and-"
"Oh, baby," Angel interrupted her mournfully.
He pulled her against his chest with one arm, while he used the other one to pull her hand up so that the gun was pointed at the ceiling and not at Spike, who took a deep relieved breath.
"I'm so sorry." Angel said softly, his voice cracking with emotion. "He doesn't know anything. He's just some hustler I caught Jason beating up last night."
Darla struggled free of his embrace. As soon as he let go she took a deep breath, replacing her angry look with one of calm as if someone had switched off her emotions.
Angel gently took the gun from her. He checked the safety, regarding the weapon as if it was another man who he'd found in bed with his wife.
"So he's just a whore, hmm?" she asked examining Spike.
"Hey!" Spike protested. Now that she didn't have the gun, and had turned the crazy from a ten down to a mere two, Spike decided there wasn't anything so intimidating about her.
She ignored Spike. "And just what do you intend to do with him?"
"He doesn't concern you Darla," Angel said.
"Of course he does Angel," she said moving closer to Spike. "He's rather pretty. I can think of at least half a dozen clients who'd love to make his acquaintance."
"He got beat up pretty bad last night," Angel objected. "Look at that black eye, and it'll take a while for that cut to heal. You don't want anyone to see him like that."
"Well, I wouldn't want to undercut his value," she said ingenuously. "Maybe you can give him some pointers?" Her voice became venomously sweet, the politeness laced with jealousy. "Teach him to be a first class cock-sucker?"
"No one's teaching me anything," Spike spoke up. He didn't like the way they were talking about him as if they were his parents deciding whether to send him to summer camp or not.
Besides, hooking was just a temporary thing, until he could sort things out, get a real job, go to college. The last thing he needed was a pimp, or a madam, or whatever the hell Darla was. Something told Spike that once she got her claws into you she didn't let go.
"Well that's not very considerate of you," Darla said. "Don't you want to be the best bitch you can be?"
"Wouldn't want to put you out of a job," Spike retorted.
She only smiled, as if Spike had inadvertently insulted himself. He didn't understand until Angel slammed him back against the wall.
"Don't talk to her that way," Angel growled. Then he looked over his shoulder at Darla. "Your money's on counter. Is there anything else you want?"
Her eyes swept over Angel. "No, there's nothing else here I want." She picked up her gun, turned, and left.
