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tamingthemuseTitle: Knife's Edge
Author: Guardian Erin
Rating: PG
Fandom: Angel
Characters: Spike, Angel
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: First person reflection of the Spangel loyalty. Not so happy.
Dark hair and brown eyes wasn't my kind of guy. Hell, no guy was my kind of guy until I met him. He was the tall, dark, and handsome that girls dreamed about. He was also the dark, dangerous type. On the surface, it was the stuff that fantasies were made of. Underneath the slick veneer, it was all terror and nightmares.
He chose me. Pathetic, hopeless as I was, caught like a lost kitten in an alley. Drusilla made me, but ultimately it was Angelus who kept me. He let me stay, kept me fed, and showed me how to watch out for myself. With me around, he found some need for a male companion satisfied. With him, I found the lack of a father figure… almost. Like I said, he wasn't my type. At first.
It's funny how standards can change. How easily corruptible my morals turned out to be. They were stuffed around my human life like so much delicate tissue paper, and thrown away just as easily. Something new and wild was born. I wouldn't have lasted a year without him as my mentor. Without him, I never would have found my path in life, both bloody marvelous and wretched as it was.
Awe was our connection back then. There was the novelty of a malleable male companion for him, and the admiration of a sinister new world for me. His handiwork inspired me, and my fresh blood rejuvenated him. Now our only real connection is our understanding of one another. He knows where I'm headed, and I understand all of the darker parts of him. All of the parts he hid away over the years but I've always known. He'd laid them out to me before and gladly counted them up as if they were tokens of his wealth. We reveled in the skill of creating such misery in the world. Now all that's left seems to be misery.
It's funny how life can change so much, but end up right back where you started. His forced indifference to me was a strain. Taunting, jeering, mockery, badgering and outright assault could at least win a few punches and hard words. He changed without me; that wasn't my fault. Seemed that it took a hundred years to become something he'd allow at his side again.
Have to be the bad guy, though. Goading, reminding, keeping a contrast to keep him on the straight and narrow path of moral righteousness. Bloody knife's edge, that is. He stumbles now and then, too, so unsure of himself, so worried that I'll only ruin things again. When he stumbles, I'm always a step behind, ready to push him back on track if he slips. The cold shoulder I can handle for a few moments of heat, a few more moments of truth.
Truth is, whatever we are – hero or villain, heroes or monsters – we're stuck together and he knows it. Hell for both of us in the end, but until then we'll go out blazing. Most important thing was to prove that to him, like I proved to the slayer. He can count on me to keep going as long as I can still move. Bastard as he is, he's mine. I'd protect him, protect whatever is precious to him, if he'd just ask. But he doesn't ask. He knows there's no coming back.
Author: Guardian Erin
Rating: PG
Fandom: Angel
Characters: Spike, Angel
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: First person reflection of the Spangel loyalty. Not so happy.
Dark hair and brown eyes wasn't my kind of guy. Hell, no guy was my kind of guy until I met him. He was the tall, dark, and handsome that girls dreamed about. He was also the dark, dangerous type. On the surface, it was the stuff that fantasies were made of. Underneath the slick veneer, it was all terror and nightmares.
He chose me. Pathetic, hopeless as I was, caught like a lost kitten in an alley. Drusilla made me, but ultimately it was Angelus who kept me. He let me stay, kept me fed, and showed me how to watch out for myself. With me around, he found some need for a male companion satisfied. With him, I found the lack of a father figure… almost. Like I said, he wasn't my type. At first.
It's funny how standards can change. How easily corruptible my morals turned out to be. They were stuffed around my human life like so much delicate tissue paper, and thrown away just as easily. Something new and wild was born. I wouldn't have lasted a year without him as my mentor. Without him, I never would have found my path in life, both bloody marvelous and wretched as it was.
Awe was our connection back then. There was the novelty of a malleable male companion for him, and the admiration of a sinister new world for me. His handiwork inspired me, and my fresh blood rejuvenated him. Now our only real connection is our understanding of one another. He knows where I'm headed, and I understand all of the darker parts of him. All of the parts he hid away over the years but I've always known. He'd laid them out to me before and gladly counted them up as if they were tokens of his wealth. We reveled in the skill of creating such misery in the world. Now all that's left seems to be misery.
It's funny how life can change so much, but end up right back where you started. His forced indifference to me was a strain. Taunting, jeering, mockery, badgering and outright assault could at least win a few punches and hard words. He changed without me; that wasn't my fault. Seemed that it took a hundred years to become something he'd allow at his side again.
Have to be the bad guy, though. Goading, reminding, keeping a contrast to keep him on the straight and narrow path of moral righteousness. Bloody knife's edge, that is. He stumbles now and then, too, so unsure of himself, so worried that I'll only ruin things again. When he stumbles, I'm always a step behind, ready to push him back on track if he slips. The cold shoulder I can handle for a few moments of heat, a few more moments of truth.
Truth is, whatever we are – hero or villain, heroes or monsters – we're stuck together and he knows it. Hell for both of us in the end, but until then we'll go out blazing. Most important thing was to prove that to him, like I proved to the slayer. He can count on me to keep going as long as I can still move. Bastard as he is, he's mine. I'd protect him, protect whatever is precious to him, if he'd just ask. But he doesn't ask. He knows there's no coming back.
