Housecall


by Rebecca
R.E.M. - Recalled Emotional Memories 1








"..fuggin' hell I swear.that is the *last* time I help those bleedin' toffs with anythingbloody idiots the lot of 'em. Don't appreciate me anyway."

Spike muttered a string of drunken curses as he staggered back into the dank mausoleum in one of Sunnydale's fine cemeteries. Clutching the half-full bottle of whiskey tightly, he stumbled his way through the entrance and blearily looked around for somewhere to sit before he fell.

The night had been a complete write-off in his opinion. Called at sunset to help the blonde Slayer and her pathetic groupies against a big bunch of large and ugly fire-breathing demons was *not* a highlight for him. He couldn't even begin to describe how much the experience had not been a pleasant one.

"I fight th' most demonscuz I'm the best.I kill th' mosteven more than th' witch an' th' whelp an' th' Watcher an' th' werewo- no, wait..he wasn't there" Spike giggled idiotically, the blond vampire's slightly slurred speech echoed eerily. "An' I beat th' livin' tar outta *all* of 'emwellthe ones Boofy didn't get to first.an' you'd think they'd be *grateful* for me help, wouldn't you? You'd think they'd fuckin' donate a pint of O+ for me trouble" Spike took a swig from his bottle and sat down on the edge of the crypt he used as a bed shakily.

"But no don't even bother to help me patch up me leg." The blond vampire winced as, if on cue, the large scorchmark running from upper thigh to knee that peeked out through the rip in his jeans of the same size began to throb. Spike upped his voice an octave and spoke in a bad impersonation of a female voice.

" 'No no no, I'm the Slayer - a bitch on a mission, and that mission does not include helping vampires who've just risked their incredibly cute immortal asses to save my tight one. What's more, I am an obstinate, dozy mare with less fashion sense than the Turkish entrants in a Eurovision Song Contest.' " Spike's falsetto dropped back to his normal pitch, and he giggled again, which quickly faded into a sigh. He dropped back onto the crypt and closed his eyes.

" 'least my night can't get any worse"

"You know, I should probably kick your ass for that." The soft voice issued from the shadows. Spike shook his head.

"No..."

Just when you thought you couldn't get any lower

Angel emerged from the darkness like he belonged to it. He stood a few metres away, eyeing off his drunken childe.

Spike squeezed his eyes shut. "It's just the alcohol...when I open my eyes I'm not going to see the great poof himself..." The peroxide blond opened one eye and, confirming that his sire was truly there, began a new stream of muttered curses. The older vampire just smirked and stood silently.

"Oh for fuck's sake" the younger vampire cursed, refusing to open his eyes. "Go on then," he said loudly, wincing as it made his ears ring. "Why don't you? Stake my worthless hide and then leave my ashes the fuck alone. I've got no time for you, Angelus." Angel's smile grew, but he remained silent.

"Well?" Spike growled irritably after a few minutes.

"Well what?" Angel countered, the amusement heavy in his voice.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off being a nonce in LA as opposed to this dump?"

Angel stayed silent for long moments, watching his childe grow increasingly agitated before answering.

"I got information pertaining to the demons you encountered. Came down to help but" he shrugged. "You stopped them. Didn't become necessary to make my presence known."

Spike took all this information in, before scowling at his sire.

"So?"

"So what?" Angel answered.

"If you didn't tell your bitch of an ex or her obnoxious flunkies -- people who actually *like* you -- you were in Sunnyhell.. why in blazes do you show up on *my* doorstep?" Angel took a step closer.

"It's not really a doorstep. More of a big old stone entryway."

"D'you think I care what the fuck it is? Why?"

"Why what?"

"Arrgh!!" Spike screamed in frustration and immediately regretted it, the noise making his head ache. "Why. Are. You. Here?"

"I saw the fight." The older vampire did not volunteer any more information, forcing his childe to press the issue.

"And? And if you say 'and what?', Angelus I swear I'm gonna rip your knackers off and use them as paperweights."

Angel ignored the threat. "You were hurt. I came to see if you were alright." His soft, sincere voice pierced the walls of sarcasm and hatred Spike erected around himself when dealing with his sire. The only sound in the mausoleum was a steady drip of water from an overhead column. The silence was uncomfortable. The blond vampire cast a look at Angel, not knowing whether to snort in derision or smile happily at the dark haired vampire's open statement. He opted for the former.

"As you can see, I'm doin' just fine. Now, if you don't mind or even if you do sod off. I want to finish my alcohol and pass out in peace, thankyousoverymuch. I don't need your help." Spike covered his head with a blanket and rolled over, his back to Angel, cuddling his whiskey bottle.

"You need some form of medical treatment."

"Don't. Go 'way." The younger vampire mumbled. Angel stepped forward and tore the blanket off his childe's body.

"Hey!" Spike yelled in protest as the dark haired vampire physically sat him up again. Angel cast a quick appraising eye over the peroxide blonde, taking in, among other things, the few scorchmarks that wore his black teeshirt thin in some places.

"Coat off." He said quietly. The younger vampire's head shot up in disbelief.

"You what?"

"Coat. Off. Two very simple words, that, when taken together, form an instruction." Angel's gaze hardened as Spike stared sullenly at him, not budging an inch. All the older vampire had to do was to speak in the right tone of voice, a tone of instruction from many years past.

"*Now.*"

Spike's eyes widened as he recognized his sire's dominant manner. Pouting petulantly, he stood and slipped out of the black leather duster. Angel took the long coat and neatly draped it over the edge of the stone sarcophagus.

"Shirt." Angel ordered. The blond vampire scowled and lifted the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor, knowing it would annoy his sire, who was anal about cleanliness. Angel rolled his eyes at the juvenile display, but still it took a fair amount of his willpower not to pick up the discarded black shirt. He turned his attention to his childe's torso. Pale skin stretched tautly over well-defined muscles, that moved and flexed as Spike fidgeted. Angel stepped forward between Spike's spread legs and lay a cool hand on his left pectoral. The younger vampire tensed at the contact.

"Hmm.." Angel murmured, tracing a finger just outside a slight burn mark. "These aren't too bad... your layers of clothing protected you for the most part." He continued to move his hands around his childe's torso, shoulders and arms, sometimes squeezing in a therapeutic, massaging way.

Spike's eyes fluttered closed. Angel moved around to the other side and placed firm hands on the blond's shoulders, and squeezed the highly-strung tendons. Spike's aching muscles cried out in relief as tension from the fight and indeed, from the last few months, began to ebb away under his sire's strong, powerful hands.

Angel ran his fingers down Spike's spine, making the younger vampire shiver. He leaned in close to his childe's ear.

"These should all be healed by tomorrow.. as for that leg..." Spike opened his eyes groggily when Angel stopped his wonderful massages and moved back around to face him.

"Pants." Angel's voice was barely audible. But the blond heard him anyway.

"What?" The older vampire did not need to repeat himself.

"Now wait just one friggin minu-" Spike's voice stopped abruptly as his eyes met Angel's. Even to his alcohol-fuzzed brain, the inherent meaning was all too clear.

Do it, or I'll do it for you.

Spike muttered a variety of extremely colourful curses as he undid the fly of his black jeans. The blond hissed in pain as edges of the torn denim rubbed against the red and blistering skin of his thigh. Angel winced in sympathetic pain and moved to help his childe. They slowly eased the ruined pants down his legs. With their removal, Spike was naked.

The blond lapsed into curses once again. He hated it. He hated being exposed in front of his sire, when in such a clearly vulnerable position, both physically and emotionally. Having Angel here, right in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch... it brought back memories. Many of which were good, but many more were painful and traumatic. The younger vampire bit his lip to keep the emotions they stirred to the surface bottled in.

Angel leant forward and studied the wound closely. When he withdrew to fish around in the pockets of his trenchcoat for something, Spike let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. His jaw clenched and unclenched in a nervous reaction. Dammit, why couldn't he have just passed out as soon as he'd gotten in?

He was jarred out of what-might-have-been-if-I-had-more-whiskey thoughts back to the present. Angel took a bandage out of his pocket. Spike looked at him wryly.

"Shall I have to start calling you the Vamp Doctor now? Since when did you become George Clooney?" Angel smirked and took the almost-empty bottle of whiskey. "It's the coifed, pretty boy hair thing isn't it? I knew you shouldn'tve gotten that telly. Your whole image has gone to pot."

"This is going to hurt." The dark haired vampire announced before pouring the last of the liquid out over Spike's leg to cleanse and sterilize the wound. The blond let out an almighty scream.

"Fucking hell, Angelus! You could have bloody well warned me, you prick!" Spike hissed and rocked back and forth in pain as Angel quickly began to bind up his leg with the fresh bandage.

"I did."

"Yeah, well half a second before the act does not a warning make." Spike ground out. After a few moments though, his hisses turned into a chuckle, which turned into a small laugh. The dark vampire looked up at his childe curiously.

"I oughtta haul your arse into court for malpractice." Spike bit out through a gritted teeth smile. Angel smiled at the blond's comment.

"If it gets the law off my back, I won't charge you for this housecall." He responded.

"I wasn't planning on paying you anyway. Besides Peaches, your bedside manner sucks." Spike retorted.

Angel finished bandaging up the nasty burn, ignoring the terrible pun. The younger vampire looked down at his newly-bound leg, and then up at his sire who stood back to look over his handiwork. Spike tugged at the bandage.

"Not bad." he commented. Angel moved closer again to retrieve the blanket he had torn from Spike's body earlier.

"Lie back." He ordered gently, pleased when the blond complied immediately, using a crooked arm as a pillow and curling his body in a semi-foetal position. The older vampire draped the ratty blanket over his childe's form, tucking it underneath him. Angel ran a light hand over Spike's arm, watching tired blue eyes flutter closed, before sighing airlessly.

Casting one last, lingering glance at the still form, Angel turned to leave.

"Angel?" Spike's voice sounded softly. The dark vampire stopped in his tracks and turned.

"Would you.. uh.. well.. at least until I fall asleep?" Spike cursed his ability to properly ask his question. Even though he was more than half-way drunk and dead-tired, he felt the instant his sire had started to move away from him. It was like sucking all the warmth and air out of a room if you relied on those things to survive.

Angel's lips curled in a smile. His boy wanted him. He walked back and brushed peroxide blond hair away from Spike's temple.

"Of course I'll stay, Will," he murmured softly and pressed a kiss to his childe's brow. "If you want me to." The corners of Spike's mouth curled up slightly and he let out a contented sigh. Angel continued to stroke his hair, and it seemed that in no time at all, the younger vampire was slumbering peacefully.

"Thankyou" Spike mumbled in his sleep and pulled the blanket around himself tightly.

"Anytime." Angel whispered, and then he was gone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



"Eaauughhh." Spike had a horrible taste in his mouth.

And a pounding headache.

And an aching body.

He slightly lifted the blanket covering him.

And not a scrap of clothing.

Minimal light coming in through the crack in the large stone door, signaled dusk, confirming he had slept soundly through the entire day. The blond blinked wearily, trying to recall details from the previous night. Images flitted through his mind demons.. fire lots and lots of fighting trying to get drunk.. succeeding.. his sire.. falling as-

His *sire*?

Spike rubbed his head in disbelief. There was no way the great poofwad had visited Sunnydale just to patch up his sorry arse. It had to be either a bad dream or a drunken hallucination. He chuckled sardonically at the notion of Saint Angel donning a nurse's outfit especially to tend to his needs and swore fluently when his head throbbed. The pain reminded him of his injuries. Looking down at his bare chest, the blond observed that the burns and scorches from the previous night's fight had all but faded.

He moved his injured leg experimentally, sitting up and carefully flipping his legs over the side of his sarcophagus bed. Surprised to find it didn't seem to hurt as much, Spike threw off the blanket that had pooled in his lap and gasped. His leg was bandaged cleanly and firmly. And from the diminished discomfort, it seemed it was healing nicely under there.

"It wasn't a dream" The blond muttered to himself, dumbfounded.

Spike sniffed the air. The lingering scent, unique to his sire, was still discernible. Angel had really been there, really taken care of him. He had really stayed until the blond had fallen asleep, just like he used to. Dampness sprang to his eyes which he forcefully wiped away.

"The nonce pays me one visit and already I'm turning into more of a soddin' nancyboy than he is," Spike growled. It was then he looked to where his head had been resting and a small, white card caught his eye. The vampire picked it up.

Angel's business card.

Spike mutely looked at it, not sure whether to tear it up or not. His decision was made unequivocally after he turned it over. On the other side, in impossibly neat handwriting was printed a cell phone number. But that wasn't what got Spike. It was the one word accompanying it.

Anytime.

A lone tear trekked down the blond's cheek, but he couldn't pinpoint for certain as to why he was crying.

Possibly because his sire still cared enough about him to be worried.

Because his sire still cared enough to come after him and patch up his injuries.

Because his sire still cared enough to leave his childe a phone number so he could be contacted again.

Because his sire still *cared*.

Spike wiped the tear away with the back of his hand and sniffled noisily. A small, ghost of a smile curled at his lips as he hopped off his makeshift bed and searched for new clothes.

"Anytime, eh?" He mumbled, pulling on a new pair of jeans.

"Maybe maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Peaches" Spike pulled on his duster and headed towards the door. The blond stopped before he reached it and walked back in. He looked at the card for a moment, before snatching it up and placing it carefully in his pocket, before heading out into the night, whistling a cheerful tune.



[FIN]

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