FIC: Friday, part 1 of 2

[girlpire]

My posting day again (technically)! This time I bring fic.

Title: Friday
Author: girlpire
Rating: NC17... but this part actually ends before porn. Sorry about that!
Pairing: Angel/Spike (Spangel)
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Live like there's no tomorrow.
Warnings: This part - couple of cuss words, nothing major. The second half has some graphic male/male sex scenes. When you write primarily smut, do you have to warn for plot?
Author's Notes: This story was written for spring_spangel. It is divided into two parts, one for now and one to be posted at a later date (but not too much later). I'd like to thank lilithbint for looking over Spike's dialogue for Americanisms. All mistakes belong to me, etc., etc.



*

"Experience isn't interesting until it begins to repeat itself. In fact, till it does that, it hardly is experience." - Elizabeth Bowen

"What we do today, right now, will have an accumulated effect on all our tomorrows." - Alexandra Stoddard

"What if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today." - Groundhog Day

*

Friday
Part One

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are. Instinctual fear of sudden death by fire is better than an alarm clock.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed, trying to hang onto that last wisp of a dream. But only five minutes, and then you let it go. You can’t remember what it was about anyway.

You get up, shower, dress like always. All in black. It suits you. It suits your mood.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock. Then you’ll probably take off early. No one will mind; you’re the big boss man, you can do whatever you want.

You take a moment to consider how much you hate this life. Then you jab the down button on your private elevator and the doors open up and you step inside.

This is how you start the day.

*

You’re sitting in your office reading Wesley’s notes about Ri’ipki etiquette when Spike comes in without knocking. You aren’t surprised to see him, never are these days, but for some reason he seems surprised to see you.

“You’re here too,” he says. In this voice that sounds half confused and half suspicious.

“I work here,” you tell him, not looking up. “Unlike some people, who prefer to live off the charity of others.”

“Thought Evil Inc. was closed on Saturdays, is all.”

You give him a look. “Today’s Friday, Spike.”

He starts to say something in reply – likely a smartass comment – but then his brow furrows and he just stands there, looking as though he’s trying to remember something. Finally he just says, “Oh.”

You look back down at the notes. Ri’ipkis are terribly offended by yawning. You hope the meeting this afternoon is brief.

“So yesterday was Thursday, then.”

“That’s usually how it works,” you tell him a little absently. “Thursday, then Friday. Tomorrow’s Saturday, in case you wondered.”

He nods slowly, still looking at you like he doesn’t quite believe you’re there. But then he just walks away and you start on the notes again, trying not to be as tired as you feel.

You eat lunch in Gunn’s office with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne. Fred was too busy in her lab to take a break. You listen to them talk about all the good Wolfram and Hart is accomplishing. You listen to them not talk about the compromises.

The meeting doesn’t go well. The Ri’ipkis want something you can’t give them. It runs long; you try not to yawn. You don’t get to leave early.

That night you go up to the roof to think. You bring Don Quixote in the original Spanish, but you don’t read it. You look at the lights of L.A. You look at the moon. You try to remember what your dream was.

Around 11:30, you go for a walk. You come across two demons fighting in an alley; one of them is Spike. He kills the other. Purple blood spews out of its bulbous neck and across Spike’s boots. Spike looks up at you with that same confused expression he had this morning.

“Angel, we need to talk,” he says.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are. It’s appropriate, you think, that every morning you’re afraid you’ll catch fire. You are a demon, after all, working in Hell.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed, trying to hang onto that last wisp of a dream. But only five minutes, and then you let it go. You can’t remember what it was about anyway.

You get up, shower, dress like always. All in black. It suits you.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock. Then you’ll probably take off early.

You hate this life.

You jab the down button on your private elevator and the doors open up. You step inside.

This is how you start the day.

*

A mug of blood is waiting on Harmony’s desk for you when you arrive. It says #1 Boss on the side, and you wonder if she’s having some kind of private joke at your expense, but you dismiss the idea when you remember it’s Harmony. She gives you a manila folder from Wesley. Etiquette notes. A Post-It stuck on top: “Angel, please review these notes before the meeting this afternoon. -WWP.”

“So I was wondering if I could take off an hour early today,” Harmony says. “I mean, I’ve gotten all my work done already and there’s this really great sale at—”

“Yeah, sure,” you tell her. Whatever.

“Thanks, boss!” she calls. You’re already walking away.

Spike is in your office. “Leave,” you tell him simply as you walk past. You sit at your desk, open the folder, pretend to be very interested in it for a few minutes. You make a mental note not to yawn during your afternoon meeting. You notice that Spike doesn’t leave, but you’re not surprised. Doesn’t really matter, as long as he’s not saying anything. But then he does.

“Today’s Friday, isn’t it?” he says.

“Yep,” you say, not looking up.

“Again,” says Spike.

“Happens every week,” you tell him. “Toward the end. I’ve started expecting it.”

“Usually just the once, though,” says Spike. “Just... one time a week.”

You look up at him. “Yeah, Spike. That’s how it works.” You’re about to explain the days of the week in very simple words for him, but he’s looking back at you with this completely bewildered expression. “What?” you ask.

“You don’t remember,” he says. Like he’s figuring something out.

“Remember what?”

“Yesterday.”

“Of course I remember yesterday,” you say. “I was there.”

“No,” he says. “You remember Thursday.”

You get the feeling you’re missing something here, but before you can ask what it is, Spike walks out. Which is good, because you had work to do anyway.

At lunchtime, you meet Gunn and Wesley and Lorne in Gunn’s office. Fred was too busy in her lab to take a break. You listen to them talk about all the good things going on at Wolfram and Hart these days. No one seems to regret anything. Which is good.

The two o’clock meeting doesn’t go well. The Ri’ipkis want something you can’t give them. You try not to yawn. You don’t get to leave work early like you’d hoped.

At night you go up to the roof and stand near the edge. You bring Don Quixote in the original Spanish, but you don’t read it. You look out at the lights of L.A. You look at the moon. You try to remember your dream.

Around 11:30, you go for a walk. You come across two demons fighting in an alley; one of them is Spike. He kills the other one, rips its head clean off. Purple blood spews out of its bulbous neck and across Spike’s boots as its body falls to the ground. Spike looks at his boots, then over at you.

“It’s just me,” he says. “I’m the only one.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are. Think you’d be used to it by now. Maybe you never will be.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed, trying to hang onto that last trace of a dream. You can almost smell it. But only five minutes, and then you let it go. It’s too late. You don’t remember.

You get up, shower, dress. You wear all black. Black suits you.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock. Maybe afterwards you’ll take off early. No one would mind.

You hate being here.

You press the down button on your private elevator and the doors open up. You let the elevator swallow you whole.

This is how you start the day.

*

Spike is waiting for you when the elevator doors open again. You’re a little startled, but you push by him without speaking, as though it’s perfectly natural for him to be there. You’ve only made it one step before he grabs you by the arm and hauls you back into the elevator, punches the button for your penthouse.

“Spike, what the hell?” You wrench your arm back out of his grasp and the doors close. You feel yourself start to move up.

“It’s Friday again,” says Spike through gritted teeth. He says it like it means something significant.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Happens every week.” You almost begin explaining the days of the week to him in very simple terms so he can understand, but then he takes a step closer and stares right up into your face. It’s kind of unnerving for him to be looking into your eyes so intently. “What?” you ask. His nose is barely three inches from yours.

Suddenly he takes a step back and sighs. It’s a big, heaving sigh that makes his shoulders slump in his coat so that he looks much smaller than he really is. He leans back against the wall of the elevator and doesn’t look at you. “You don’t remember,” he says quietly. "Again."

“Remember what? What’s gotten into you?”

“Don’t know,” he says softly. “But it really is just me, isn’t it? I thought... maybe if you knew... but it doesn’t work that way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The elevator stops at your penthouse and the doors open, but neither of you gets out. You reach over and press the down button again and the doors close. You start to move down. “What’s going on?” you want to know.

“I could tell you,” says Spike. “But you’ll just forget again.”

"You know you're even more annoying when you don't make any sense?"

He gives you a look. "Don't worry, you won't remember."

And he's right, you don't. Not until that night when you're standing on the roof of the building, looking out across the city. You realize you haven't seen Spike since early that morning, when he forced you into the elevator and proceeded to talk crazy at you for a couple of minutes before muttering something about putting things right. You still have no idea what he was talking about. You'll ask him about it tomorrow.

Around 11:30, you go for a walk. You come across a largish, snarling demon in an alley, so you kill it. Purple blood spews from its bulbous neck and across your shoes. You try to remember what your dream was.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are. You wouldn't be jarred awake every morning if you just invested in some blinds or a curtain, but you know already that you'll never do that. You can't ignore what you are.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed, trying to hang onto that last scent of your dream. But only five minutes, and then you let it slip away. It’s already too late.

You get up, shower, dress. All black today. Like your mood.

It's Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock. Maybe you'll leave right afterwards. You can do that; you're the boss.

You take a moment to consider how much you hate this life. Then you jab the down button on your private elevator and the doors open up. You step inside.

This is how you start the day.

*

You're eating lunch with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne in Gunn's office. Fred was too busy in her lab to take a break and join you. You're listening to them talk about the reasons taking over Wolfram and Hart was a good decision, all the good things going on. No one seems too unhappy about their new jobs, which is good.

Then Wesley asks, "Have any of you spoken with Spike today?" No one has. Wesley considers this, and you're almost afraid of whatever's coming next. What did Spike do this time?

"He's acting a bit... odd," Wesley continues. "None of you have noticed?"

"He seemed alright yesterday," says Gunn. "Why, what did he do?"

"He asked to borrow a book," says Wes. "Which, in itself, isn't strange. I know he was an avid reader back before he was turned." He glances at you for confirmation, so you give a little nod. Then he says, "It was just... the particular book he wanted was a rare volume discussing archaic rituals to manipulate time and space using powerful magicks. Not the sort of thing one would expect Spike to be interested in."

"Did he say what he wanted it for?" you ask.

"He said he wanted to look at the pictures," Wesley says. "Some of them are... quite provocative, I admit. But he asked for this text specifically by name and was careful to designate which translation he wanted, although the images are the same in each. I believe he was actually reading it."

You brace yourself for the worst before asking, “Does the book explain how to cast actual spells?”

“Oh, no,” says Wesley, and you try not to show how relieved you are. “Nothing like that. It’s mostly a collection of essays discussing the theory behind the magicks, what sort of rituals are used by different ethnic or demonic groups, how it all works. No recipes, though. It’s only used for research.” He looks a bit sheepish and adds, “To be honest, I didn’t even know my department possessed a copy until Spike asked for it this morning.”

“Kinda makes you wonder how Blondie knew,” says Gunn.

“It was the strangest thing,” Wesley agrees. “But the most interesting part about it was his pronunciation of the title. It was flawless.”

“What's so interesting about that?” Lorne asks. “I mean, how hard is it to say the title of a book?”

“Well,” says Wesley. “It took me two weeks to learn to say Krhlpp’prfims-Syfdncwessznax. And that’s only the first word.”

When the meeting with the Ri’ipkis begins at two o’clock, you’re preoccupied. You haven’t had a chance to speak to Spike yet, and it worries you that he’s been researching something without telling you what’s going on. You feel sure he wouldn’t do anything bad on purpose, but things have a way of backfiring around Spike... It’s just better if you know what he’s up to.

The meeting doesn’t go well. They want something you can’t give them. It’s already late by the time you and your friends trudge out of the conference room. You hate all of this.

After dinner, you go looking for Spike, but you don’t find him. You end up on the roof of the building, looking out over the city. It probably wasn’t that important anyway. You’ll ask him about it tomorrow.

Around 11:30, you go for a walk. You come across two demons fighting in an alley; one of them is Spike, and you’re relieved. You watch him kill the other one, rip its head right off. Purple blood spews out of its bulbous neck and across Spike’s boots as its body falls to the ground. Spike looks up at you and grins.

“Tomorrow,” he says. Like it’s a promise.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are.

You lie in bed for five more minutes with your eyes closed. You know you dreamed something, but you can’t quite remember what it was. That always seems to happen.

You get up, shower, dress. All black.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting this afternoon. Damn.

You straighten your collar and punch the elevator button. Touch your hair one more time.

This is how you start the day.

*

You’re sitting in your office reading Wesley’s notes about Ri’ipki etiquette when Spike comes in without knocking. You aren’t surprised to see him, never are these days, and you’re fully prepared to ignore him. You don’t even look up.

Suddenly, Spike produces a wooden bowl and flings its contents at you with a few muttered words in Latin. You get splashed in the face and chest with something oily and greenish that smells like oatmeal and is the consistency of creamed corn.

You’re not quite sure how to react.

You go for the first thing that pops in your head. “Spike, what the fuck!” You leap up from your chair and swipe a hand over your face, pushing the sticky globs off your skin and onto the floor with several soft plops. You can feel the juice sinking into your clothes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? What is this shit?”

He’s watching you intently but seems completely unfazed by your anger. “What do you remember?” he asks. “Think. Hard.”

“What do I... what? What the hell is wrong with you? Jesus Christ!” You’re trying to wipe the stuff off your chest, but you’re only managing to spread it around. This better not stain, or his ass is toast.

“What do you remember,” Spike asks again, “about yesterday?” He’s looking at you like something very important depends on your answer.

“What are you talking about?” you demand angrily. You get very close to his face so he can better appreciate your glare. He smells like cigarettes.

Spike searches your eyes hopefully for a long moment. Then despair seems to overcome his features. He takes a few steps back and collapses forlornly onto the couch. He looks past you to the window and doesn’t say anything else.

Shit. You don’t have time for these stupid games. You punch the button for Harmony’s desk, and when she answers, you say, “Get janitorial in here immediately.” You throw another world-class glare Spike’s way, but he’s just staring off into space, looking catatonic. “I’m going to change,” you tell him irritably. “Don’t be here when I get back.”

When you do get back, he’s still there, still sitting on the couch and staring out the window with a blank expression. The muck is gone from the floor and your desk and chair, so someone must have been by to take care of it. “I thought I told you to be gone,” you say.

He turns his head slowly to look at you. “That was it,” he says simply. “There’s nothing left.”

You have no clue what he’s talking about, and you’re still mad at him. You say as much in your expression.

“There’s no other... Look, I’ve tried everything,” he tells you. His face is carefully expressionless. Doesn’t even look like himself, really, without some kind of smirk or eyebrow thing going. His voice is soft, disbelieving. He looks almost lost.

“Six potions,” he says. “Two blood sacrifices, four summonings, a fire dance. Five different witches and three sorcerers, not counting Percy. I even called Giles.” He huffs. “That was awkward.”

You don’t get it. “Spike, I—”

“Don’t know what I’m talking about,” he finishes for you. “I know. You never do.”

“I do sometimes,” you argue. “When you make sense. Which is rare.”

“It’s been weeks,” he says quietly. “Told you a hundred times. Told the others, too. We’ve had meetings. But it’s not enough time. It starts over.” He sighs heavily, closes his eyes. “How can there be an infinite amount of time,” he asks, “and still never enough?”

You don’t remember the last time you saw Spike this genuinely upset. It’s a little strange, and you still don’t understand what he’s talking about, but you go over and sit on the couch next to him and try not to think about your favorite shirt covered in oily green oatmeal because he seems convinced that flinging it at you was the right thing to do at the time, although it failed to accomplish whatever it was he was going for.

“Spike,” you say. “Tell me what’s going on. Maybe if I—”

“—Understand what the problem is, I can help,” Spike says automatically. Then, “We’ll get Wesley on it. He’ll know what to do. Harmony, cancel my two o’clock. If what you’re claiming is actually happening, then we need to figure this thing out right away.” He looks over at you. “You always sound so sure of yourself. But you have no idea what you’re dealing with here.” He slumps back against the couch and looks toward the window again. “You make the same promises every day, Angel. And every day we end up right where we started. What’s even the point?”

You’re staring at him now, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. You can’t.

“Spike,” you start delicately, unsure how to phrase your next thought. “This isn’t something you’ll want to hear, but maybe it would do some good for you to—”

“—Go up to level eight, talk to one of the counselors in the psych department,” interrupts Spike. “I’ve heard they do a world of good, especially after some kind of... traumatic event... like whatever you’ve gone through. Maybe they can even make you forget.” He shakes his head. “It’s no use, Angel.” After a significant pause, he says, “How far away from here d’you think I could get before midnight? In the Viper.”

By this point, you’re so weirded out that you can literally think of nothing to say.

“Don’t worry,” Spike says, standing. “You’ll have it back tomorrow.”

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. You flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are. It’s like this every morning.

You lie in bed for five more minutes with your eyes closed, trying to hang onto that last slip of a dream. But only five minutes.

You get up, take a shower, dress. All in black.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock. You’re sort of dreading it, but these things have to be done. Maybe you’ll take off early afterwards.

You really hate this.

You push the down button on your private elevator and the doors open up and you step inside.

This is how you start the day.

*

A mug of blood is waiting on Harmony’s desk for you when you arrive. It says #1 Boss on the side, and you sort of resent it. She gives you a manila folder from Wesley. A Post-It note is stuck to the top.

“So I was wondering if I could take off an hour early today,” Harmony says. “I mean, I’ve gotten all my work done already and there’s this really great sale at—”

“Yeah, sure,” you tell her. Might as well.

“Thanks, boss!” she calls, but you’re already walking away.

You’re sitting in your office reading Wesley’s notes about Ri’ipki etiquette when your phone rings. It’s security. Apparently someone has smashed in the windows of every single car you own.

You don’t quite believe what they’re telling you, so you go down to see for yourself. It’s true. Every single one is trashed. You don’t cry, but you do have to sit down.

“It had to be someone with clearance, sir. No one else could have gotten in this way.”

You’re eating lunch with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne in Gunn’s office when the surveillance photos arrive. You all stare for a while.

“I’m going to kill him,” you say. And you actually almost mean it this time.

“Can you think of any reason why Spike would do something like this?” Wesley asks. You rack your brain, but nothing comes up. Nothing serious enough to warrant what he’s done.

“Maybe it’s not him,” says Gunn.

“Yeah, Angelcakes,” Lorne jumps in helpfully. “Maybe it’s some other bleached blond in a long black coat, with amazing cheekbones and security clearance. I could name a dozen of those right off the bat.”

You just glare. You've been having a hard time with words ever since you saw what’s left of your cars.

The meeting at two doesn’t go well. The Ri’ipkis want something you can’t give them.

Afterwards, you don’t leave the office for quite some time. You can’t imagine what Spike could be so angry about that he would purposefully destroy the only things in your life that you actually like. You can’t stop thinking about it. You’re grateful that he didn’t show up today. You know you won’t be able to talk to him for a long time without losing it completely.

Around 11:30, you go for a walk. You come across two demons fighting in an alley; one of them is Spike. He’s losing badly. You watch in disbelief as the other demon punches him in the gut repeatedly and he doesn’t even try to block, although he’s still fully conscious. He’s laughing. When he sees you, he lifts his hand in greeting and goes on getting pummeled.

You step in and kill the demon yourself before Spike lets it go too far and kill him. Purple blood spews from its bulbous neck and across Spike’s body where the demon dropped him in the alley.

“Thanks, mate,” Spike slurs drunkenly at you. “Didn’t know you... cared.” He coughs up some blood. The way he looks - broken teeth, broken ribs - reminds you of your cars. You clench your fists.

“Spike, if that thing hadn’t already beaten you pulpy, I’d do it myself.”

“Rain check,” he says. “How ‘bout tomorrow?” For some reason, he seems to find this extremely funny. His whole body convulses in what must be the most painful laughter you’ve ever heard. If you weren’t so mad, you’d probably think it was eerie.

“Go home, Spike,” you tell him. “Tomorrow your ass won't be healed enough to kick anyway."

He wheezes another laugh almost as eerie as the first. “You’d be surprised,” he says.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch.

You lie in bed for five more minutes with your eyes closed, trying to hang onto that last haze of a dream.

You get up, take a shower, dress. All black.

Today is Friday.

You push the down button on your private elevator and the doors open up.

This is how you start the day.

*

You take your mug of blood from Harmony's desk. She hands you a manila folder and you give her permission to go home early today. Spike is in your office when you walk in. “Leave,” you tell him simply as you walk past. He doesn't. You sit at your desk, open the folder, pretend to be very interested in it for a few minutes. You make a mental note not to yawn during your afternoon meeting.

Out of nowhere, Spike says, "I'm sorry, Angel."

You glance over at him. He's sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He's staring down at his hands. You're not sure you heard him right. "What?" you ask.

He swallows and looks up at you. "I'm sorry," he says. He looks sincere. You almost buy it.

You put down the Ri'ipki etiquette notes in your hand. "What did you do?" you ask him. You're already telling yourself not to panic.

"Nothing specific," he says quietly. "Not today, anyway. Just... sorry. For being me."

It's weird how completely still he is. "Spike, what are you talking about?"

"If I were anyone else," he says, "it would be over by now. I'm just a fuckup, Angel. Never could do anything right."

You've got no idea what brought this on, and for a long moment, you say nothing. Then you tell him, "If you're looking for someone to argue against that, I'm probably not the right person."

"No," he says. "Don't need an argument. Just stating a fact."

"Okay," you say. You look back down at the notes. Spike makes no move to leave. After a while, he turns in his seat and stretches out, lying on his side on the couch. His eyes are open.

A few minutes pass in silence. Normally, you'd be glad that he was so quiet, but today it's distracting. You can't concentrate with him just lying there not saying anything. You wonder what he's thinking about.

"Angel," he finally says, not looking at you. "Let me stay with you today."

You almost knock your mug over. For a second, you actually see it happen: dark, cooling liquid spreading across the papers on your desk. "What do you mean?" you ask.

"I just want to... be here," he says. "With you. Spend the day together. Is that alright?"

It's pretty much the last thing you expected to hear him say. "You want to... what, follow me around? The whole day?"

"Yeah," he says. "Won't be any trouble, I promise. You won't even know I'm here."

"Why would you want to do that?" you can't help but ask.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "You wouldn't get it if I told you. "

"Try me."

He looks over at you but doesn't sit up. "Because when you don't have a future," he says, "you start thinking about the past. Missing it, even."

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "You're right," you tell him. "I don't get it."

"I'm tired, Angel," he says. "And lonely. And it's never going to end." He pauses and sighs before going on, "But you and me, we have history. That's something I can't have with anyone else now. It's... comfortable, being with you. In a completely sad and ridiculous way." He stops again.

"Spike, I think you've lost it," you say.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Just don't ship me off to the loony bin yet. Want to spend the day with someone who knows me first."

You shrug. "Fine. Don't talk or do anything stupid, and you can hang around for as long as you want."

"Thanks," he says softly.

Spike lies on your couch for most of the morning, arms folded behind his head, just staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't say much. You just sit at your desk and work as though he's not there. When you're done going over the notes, you start sorting through the other folders and papers on your desk, separating them into piles: signed, will sign with amendments, will never sign and you can't make me, and ask Wesley. Around lunchtime, you get a call from Gunn; he wants to know if you're still planning to eat with the rest of them. You ask if he minds if Spike comes with you, and after a startled pause, he says it's fine.

Spike's looking at you when you hang up the phone. "Lunch," you tell him. "Come on."

The two of you eat lunch in Gunn's office with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne. Fred was too busy in her lab to take a break. You have someone bring in another mug for Spike and you give him half of your blood. They always order too much anyway. Lorne and Gunn exchange looks, but Wesley tactfully acts as though nothing is out of the ordinary. Spike sits off to the side while the other three men talk about Wolfram and Hart, all the good things going on here. A couple of times, Spike snorts as though he disagrees, but for the most part he doesn't say anything, for which you are grateful.

The meeting with the Ri'ipkis doesn't go well. They heartily object to Spike's presence for whatever reason, so he finally just waits outside. The meeting runs long; they want something you aren't prepared to give them. When you finally come out, you're surprised to find that Spike is still there.

"I thought you'd have found something else to do by now," you say.

"Done everything else already," he replies simply. He follows you to your elevator.

You pause. "I'm just going home now," you tell him.

"Figured that."

You didn't expect him to want to come with you, but he steps into the elevator just behind you, so you push the button for your penthouse and the ride up is quiet. You're tired.

"You want a drink?" you ask when the doors open up.

He follows you into your apartment. "If you're having one," he says.

You go to the bar and pour two, hand one to Spike. He takes a sip, but you drink yours down in one.
"This what you normally do after work?" he asks as you pour yourself another.

You shrug. "It's been a long day."

Spike almost chokes on his drink as he starts laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask.

He just shakes his head as though you wouldn't get it. Then he grins at you. "Fancy killing something?" he asks.

You do, actually.

Spike makes sure you're wearing a watch before the two of you head out. You take the Viper, Spike riding shotgun with a small smile. He directs you to this little shop in Chinatown, and you're both standing in the alley behind it exactly one minute before a Shtreent shows up clutching a victim. Together, you make short work of it.

You gaze down at the puddle of goo that's left. "Thanks," you tell Spike. "I needed that."

"Not done yet," he murmurs. He takes your wrist and looks at your watch. "Come on."

You're waiting in a vampire nest downtown when three of the occupants show up. You and Spike dust them, then it's off to a cemetery to stop a group of kids summoning a demon (and a small detour to stake a new vampire rising in the same area), followed by pushing an old lady out of the way of an oncoming truck and beating a Yoruna to death with one of its own tentacles. Somehow, you manage to arrive just in time for each thing.

The last stop you make is an alley not far from Wolfram and Hart, where you slay a largish, snarling demon by tearing its head off. Purple blood spews from its bulbous neck and across Spike's boots as its body falls to the ground. Spike seems pleased.

"How did you know?" you finally ask him. You've been wondering for a while.

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. What matters is saving the day, yeah? Which we did."

"Yeah. I guess we did." You smile at him. This evening's actually been sort of... pleasant. Slaying demons, helping people, driving your favorite car. You'd forgotten that Spike could be pretty good company when he wasn't trying to argue with you all the time. And you'd forgotten how much you enjoy watching him fight.

"Tomorrow," offers Spike, "we can do the same thing again. If you want."

"You know the exact schedule of several demons tomorrow too?" you ask.

He just nods.

You're a little suspicious, but it does sound like fun. You don't have any other plans anyway, so you tell him yes. Then, "You want to come back to my place?" you find yourself asking. "For another drink or something."

He hesitates, then takes your wrist to look at your watch. "Almost midnight," he says.

"We're vampires," you remind him. "We stay up late. It's a thing."

"Maybe tomorrow." He hesitates again, then asks, "Think we could be friends, Angel?"

It's not a question you expected to hear from him. But when you think about it, you're not completely opposed to the idea. "We used to be," you say.

"D’you think you could forget everything that's happened since then?" he wants to know.

You consider what he's asking. "I don't know, Spike. That kind of thing takes time. And like you said this morning, we've got a pretty long history."

He nods slowly. "Right,” he says. “Just one more question."

"Yeah?"

"What would you have done tonight, if you could have done anything you wanted?"

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. You flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed, trying to hang onto that last whisper of a dream. But only five minutes, and then you let it go. It was already gone anyway.

You get up, shower, get ready for work.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting with the Ri'ipkis this afternoon.

You take a moment to consider how much you hate this life. Then you press the button for your elevator.

This is how you start the day.

*

You’re sitting in your office reading Wesley’s notes about Ri’ipki etiquette when Spike comes in without knocking. You aren’t surprised to see him, never are these days, and you’re fully prepared to ignore him. You don’t even look up.

He stops in front of your desk. “Hey,” he says.

“Leave,” you reply.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he doesn’t move either, so you glance up at him. He’s holding something small in his hand, looking down at it.

You sigh. “What do you want, Spike?”

Without preamble, he asks simply, “D’you want to go to a hockey match tonight?”

Your eyebrows go up. “What?”

“Ice hockey,” says Spike. “Tonight. The Kings versus...” He looks down at the thing again. “The Calgary Flames.” You can see now that he’s holding a pair of tickets. “At seven.”

You're staring at his hand. “Where did you get those?” you ask.

He sets them down on your desk and you pick them up. They’re good seats. “Bought ‘em,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because they don’t let you in otherwise.”

You blink at the tickets for a moment. They’re definitely real. And it’s not like you’ve never seen hockey tickets before, but they’re pretty much the last thing you expected Spike to bring into your office and give to you this morning. “And you're asking me to go. With you.”

“That was the idea, yeah,” he says.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you have to ask.

“No,” he says. And that’s all. No further explanation. Then he adds, “Don’t have other plans, do you?”

“No,” you say slowly. But... something occurs to you. “Didn’t you just tell me a few days ago that you thought hockey was stupid?”

Spike’s brow furrows like he doesn’t remember. “Did I?”

"Yeah. On... Tuesday. You told me you thought it was stupid and only a bunch of 'bloody idiots' would like it."

He looks sheepish for a moment, then shrugs it off. "Tuesday was a long time ago,” he says. “Maybe I've had a change of heart since then. Or maybe hanging around this place has turned me into a bloody idiot like you." You frown, but he's smiling a little good-natured smile - which is, yeah, sort of weird, but you let it go anyway. "What do you say, Angel?" he asks. "Pick you up at six thirty?"

You hesitate. But it's hockey... and you can't remember the last time you went to a game... "Yeah, okay," you tell him. "Six thirty."

Spike leaves the tickets with you and goes off to do whatever it is that he does on Fridays. You put the tickets in your pocket, and you find yourself touching them at various times throughout the day. You're not quite sure what to make of Spike's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness, and you're still kind of suspicious - like at any moment you're going to find out this is some kind of setup to embarrass you - but you also can't help looking forward to tonight. Calgary's not half bad this season. The last time LA played them, the Kings lost 3-2 in overtime. It could be a good game.

You eat lunch in Gunn's office with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne. Fred was too busy in her lab to take a break. The meeting with the Ri'ipkis begins at two, and Fred shows up just in time to join the rest of you before you meet them in the lobby, walk into the conference room together. It doesn't go well; they want something you can't give them. The meeting runs much, much longer than you expected.

Spike's waiting when you come out of the conference room.

"I thought you said six thirty," you tell him.

"Figured we could get a bite first," he says. He glances down at his watch. When did he start wearing a watch? "Meeting went longer than usual," he comments.

"There's a 'usual' amount of time to meet with Ri'ipkis?" you ask.

"No, I just meant... nevermind." He smiles briefly, then holds up a paper bag. "Brought you something."

You’re surprised at what you find inside. You pull it out and unfold it, hold it up to see it better. "A Kings jersey?" you say incredulously. "Spike... are you feeling alright?"

He shrugs, grinning, and pulls a similar jersey from the bottom of the bag to show you. "Thought we could go as fans," he tells you. "S'my first hockey game. Technically. Want to do it proper, like."

The very idea of Spike wearing a hockey jersey is almost too much. If he hadn't been standing there with a completely genuine look on his face, you'd be searching the office for hidden cameras. "I'll do it if you do it," you say, still kind of bewildered.

"Deal, mate," he says with a smile. "Now how about dinner?"

The two of you pick up some blood from the Wolfram and Hart employee cafeteria and carry it up to your penthouse to eat before you change clothes. You change in your bedroom, and when you come back out, Spike is pulling on his jersey over his black t-shirt. You don't laugh at the way he looks with it on, but you sort of want to. He reaches for his duster, but you stop him.

"You can't cover it up with a coat," you tell him. "You want people to see it, right?"

"Oh," he says. "Right." He looks at you in your jersey and smirks. "You pull this off better than I can," he says, and you grin.

You have a good time at the game. In fact, you can't remember the last time you had this much fun. The seats are perfect, there's a huge crowd, and the Kings lead for the first two periods. Spike doesn't say much during the game, but he seems interested whenever a fight breaks out among the players. You spend about half the time forgetting that he's even there and the other half of the time explaining to him in explicit detail all of the rules, every play, and player statistics, to which he listens politely and nods when appropriate.

During the third period, Spike glances at his watch and suddenly stands up. He tugs your arm. "Come on," he says urgently.

You're engrossed in the game. "What?" you ask, not looking away from the ice.

"Come on," he repeats, pulling you to your feet. He starts making his way down the row, dragging you after him. You follow reluctantly, eyes still glued to the match. You have no idea where he's taking you, but it turns out he's just moving to the other side of the rink. He finally stops and looks around. "Okay," he says. "Wait for it."

You glance at him. "Wait for what? What are we doing over here?" You can still see your vacant seats, which were better than where you're standing now.

"Just wait," he says enigmatically. He glances at his watch again.

You stand there for about a minute, still watching the game, before Calgary's center suddenly hits a fly puck. It comes right toward where you and Spike are standing, and before you know it, you're holding it in your hand, palm stinging a little where the hard rubber slapped your skin as you caught it in the air. The people around you who stood up to try for it too are all smiling - although a couple of them look really jealous - and a guy behind you slaps your back and makes some kind of encouraging comment that gets lost in the noise. Spike is grinning broadly.

"Holy shit." You shove the puck in Spike's face. "Look - I caught it."

"Yeah," Spike says cheerfully. "Good on you, Peaches."

"How did you know to come over here?" you ask him.

He shrugs. "Lucky guess."

The Kings lose to Calgary 3-2 (again), but it was a close game, and you had a lot of fun, so you're not too disappointed. The only disappointment is that it's over. You're tossing the puck back and forth in your hands as you and Spike walk back out to the car. You're still amped and don't really want to go back home yet, so you ask Spike if he wants to go for a drink. You'd forgotten that he could be pretty good company when he wasn't trying to argue with you all the time.

He glances at his watch first, then agrees with a grin, and you take him to a sports bar - you can't really go any place classy the way you're dressed. You sit in a booth and Spike gets two beers, gives you one.

"So," says Spike. "Enjoy the game?"

"Yeah, it was great. Too bad we lost, though."

"Yeah." He frowns. "Really no way to change that, is there? Short of playing the game ourselves."

"Well, first we'd have to build a time machine. Hey, I'll get Fred on that." You grin. Then, "That was your first game, right? What'd you think of it?"

"Same as usual," he says. "The best part was the company." He lifts his beer to his mouth.

You blink in surprise. That's definitely not what you expected him to say.

"The company was alright," you agree after a moment. "For being completely unprecedented and surreal. And possibly insane."

He chuckles. Then, "Not unprecedented," he says. "We used to be friends. Remember?"

You consider. "We were different people back then."

"No, we weren't people," he corrects you. "Not like we are now. Maybe it's time to give it another go."

You raise an eyebrow. "You're saying you want to be friends?"

"Yeah," he says. "That's what I'm saying."

You look down at your beer. When you glance back up, Spike is watching you, head tilted to the side. He's got an eyebrow lifted in question. "You think we could actually have a relationship without trying to kill each other?" you ask. You're not really opposed to the idea, but you're trying to be realistic.

"Happened today," says Spike.

"I'm not convinced you're really yourself today, Spike," you remind him.

He gives a small smile and looks down. "Today," he says, "I've had more time to be myself than you’d think."

The way he says it sounds like he knows something that he’s not telling you, but you don't know what it could be. "And you're planning to be like this tomorrow too?" you ask.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "If I'd planned on a tomorrow," he says, "I wouldn't have worn this ridiculous shirt."

You grin. "It really, really doesn't suit you."

He pulls a face. "See if I ever take you to another hockey game. Ponce." But he's smiling after he takes another gulp of his drink.

You find yourself smiling too. "Yeah," you tell him finally. "I think we could be friends, Spike."

He tilts his bottle toward you with a nod before finishing it off, then glances at his watch. "For another hour, anyway," he murmurs.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. Like always, you flinch for a fraction of a second before you remember where you are. It’s better than an alarm clock.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed. You know you dreamed something, but... it’s gone now.

You get up, shower, dress like always. You wear all black.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock. Then you’ll probably take off early.

Sometimes you wonder how this became your life.

You press the down button on your elevator. When the doors open, you step inside.

This is how you start the day.

*

“So I was wondering if I could take off an hour early today,” Harmony asks you. “I mean, I’ve gotten all my work done already and there’s this really great sale at—”

“Yeah, sure,” you tell her absently. You’re looking down at the manila folder in your hand. Etiquette notes from Wesley.

”Thanks boss!” Harmony calls as you walk away.

Spike is already in your office when you come in. “Leave,” you tell him simply as you walk past. He doesn’t, not that you actually expected him to. You sit down at your desk with your folder and your mug of blood and don’t look up as he comes over and sits in a chair across from you.

“Thought we could spend some time together today,” he says, out of nowhere.

You almost knock your mug over. For a second, you actually see it happen: dark, cooling liquid spreading across the papers on your desk. You stare up at him. “What?”

“There’s a film noir festival this week. Double feature tonight.”

You blink. He can't possibly be inviting you out. “And?”

“And come with me.” He says this as though it’s perfectly natural for him to be asking you to the movies. Like it’s no big deal for the two of you to just hang out together.

“Is that some kind of joke?” you ask.

“No,” he says. And that’s all. No further explanation. Then he adds, “Don’t have other plans, do you?”

You don't, actually. But. "Did I miss something here?" you ask him. "Did we suddenly become friends while I wasn't looking?"

"Would it be good enough for you if I said yes?"

“No,” you tell him. “What’s going on? Did you do something?” You stand up. “Are you trying to bribe me so I won’t kick your ass?” You make yourself look very intimidating.

He just sighs. “What’s going on, Angel, is you have a crush on Humphrey Bogart and I’m offerin’ to be your enabler. That’s all.”

“My... what? No I don’t.”

“Oh, you so do,” he says.

“No, I – Look, he’s just a very... I mean, I admire him, but it’s not the same as—”

Spike raises an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t have a crush,” you say.

He shrugs. “Alright. You don’t.” But he’s not concealing his smirk very well.

You sit back down. After a pause, you ask, “The Maltese Falcon?”

“And The Big Sleep,” says Spike.

You obviously don’t have a crush on Humphrey Bogart. That’s ridiculous. But. These movies are classics. Two of the best films ever made, really... and not just because of Bogie, but also the writing and... and how he just looks so natural in those roles...

“Pick you up at six thirty?” Spike asks.

You hesitate. “I still don’t know why you’re asking me to the movies.”

“Honestly, it’s ‘cause I’ve run out of ways to make the same bloody hockey game interesting.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I’m spending way too much time with you. Think I’m actually starting to like you, Peaches. Odd, innit?” He grins and hops up out of the chair. “Six thirty, then?”

“I—”

“Good. Don’t let those Ri’ipki bastards keep you late today, eh?”

The Ri’ipki bastards do end up keeping you late. Spike’s already waiting when you come out of the meeting that afternoon, your shoulders hunched and your hands in your pockets. You’re so tired. “I thought you said six thirty,” you tell him.

“Figured we’d get a bite first,” he says. He glances at his watch and frowns. Then, “Wanna get something here, or go out?”

“Let’s just eat here,” you say. You don’t really feel like going anywhere. You just want to rest.

Spike tilts his head. “You alright?” he asks. As though he’s actually concerned.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You start toward your elevator and Spike follows you. “There’s blood in my fridge.”

The two of you eat together in your penthouse, and by the time you’re done you’re feeling a bit more like going out. You put the damn Ri’ipkis out of your mind, and on the way to the theater strike up a conversation with Spike about Lauren Bacall, whom you both think was a knockout until she let herself get old.

The festival is at one of those tiny old theaters with red carpet, flaking gold-painted fixtures, and doorways that are too short, although it was probably very glamorous sixty years ago. You feel right at home. There aren’t very many people, which is nice, and Spike buys soft drinks for you both and a large tub of popcorn, and the two of you automatically head for the back row without even discussing it. You expect to do the manly thing and sit with a seat in between you, but Spike sits down right next to you and immediately offers you some popcorn, which he’s already consumed about half of even though the movie hasn’t started yet. You try to be annoyed by this, but you’re not really, and you take some popcorn and the movie starts, and your arm is touching Spike’s arm for almost the whole length of The Maltese Falcon. And it’s comfortable.

Bogart is, of course, amazing.

There’s an intermission between the movies, and Spike offers to get more popcorn, but you decline.

“Feeling any better?” he asks you.

“I’m fine,” you reply. You gesture at the theater and add, “This place is pretty cool.”

“Reminds me of back in the day,” says Spike. “Everything’s small.”

“It’s your size,” you joke. You half expect him to bristle at the comment, but he just rolls his eyes like he expected you to take a cheap shot but he’s not actually offended.

“What’s with you?” you have to ask. “Why are you being so... nice?”

“Something wrong with being nice?” Spike asks.

“No. It’s just weird,” you tell him. “I feel like we keep skipping the parts where we’re supposed to yell and punch each other.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “S’better this way, don’t you think?”

You consider. Then, “I like not having to be angry,” you finally admit.

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Yeah, I like that too.”

When The Big Sleep ends, the two of you walk out of the theater together, and Spike asks if he can drive. You can tell by the look on his face that he didn’t expect you to say yes, and it makes you smile.

It’s almost eleven. For some reason, Spike doesn’t drive straight back to Wolfram and Hart, but heads toward San Pedro instead. You almost ask him why, but he’s suddenly very quiet and the ride is nice and calm, and you don’t want to ruin the mood, so you don’t say anything. It’s not like you were in a hurry to get back, anyway.

He stops the car on a bluff that overlooks the L.A. Harbor. “Come on,” he says as he opens the door.

You watch Spike walk around to the front of the car and then sit back on the hood, looking out toward the ocean. You get out of the car as well and go stand beside him. “What are we doing here?”

Spike looks down at his watch, then over at the rows of boat lights glowing brightly in the harbor. He doesn’t look at you. “Less than an hour before you start hating me again,” he says softly. “Thought we could just... sit here. Together.”

You’re not quite sure what to make of that. You don’t know what he means, and it’s a strange thing to want to do, but on the other hand you can’t really see how it could hurt anything just to sit. So you sit on the hood of the car next to Spike, and you look out at the ocean and the boats. You can smell them, even this far away. After a long moment, you say, “I don’t hate you, Spike.”

Another long moment passes before he looks over at you. “Wish we had more time,” he says quietly, and you don’t know what he means by that either.

“We’re eternal,” you remind him. “We have as much time as there is.”

"Yeah." His voice is soft, introspective. "But there's only today." And then, for some reason, he slides closer to you on the car, and he leans down, and he puts his head on your shoulder. And he just sits that way.

"Spike," you say, not moving. "What are you...?"

"Shh," he murmurs. "Just want to be close to you. Just for a few minutes. Before it starts over."

Before what starts over? you almost ask. But now you're remembering a time when the two of you were always this close, and you look out at the ocean and you can hear it, and you can smell the boats, and you feel the comfortable weight of Spike leaning against you and breathing slowly in and out, and you think about the kind of closeness that you had back then, and you realize that neither one of you has that now, with anyone. And you find yourself not saying anything, but just sitting there with him, together.

Tomorrow you'll probably write this off as some sort of fluke, a moment of mutual nostalgia inspired by Spike's random weird mood. Both of you will probably pretend it didn't happen. But for now, it's kind of nice.

A few seconds before midnight, Spike touches your hand. "'Night, Angel," he says softly.

As your name rolls off his lips, you feel yourself go suddenly weightless. It only lasts a moment.

*

You wake up to the sun on your face. You flinch, then relax when you remember where you are.

You lie in bed for five more minutes with your eyes closed, trying to hold onto that last vague memory of a dream. But it doesn't come back to you.

You get up, take a shower, dress. All in black.

Today is Friday. You’ve got that big meeting at two o’clock.

You push the down button on your private elevator and touch your hair once more before the doors open up.

This is how you start the day.

*

You take your mug of blood from Harmony's desk. She hands you a manila folder and you give her permission to go home early today. Spike is in your office when you come in. “Leave,” you tell him simply as you walk past. He doesn't, not that you actually expected him to.

Spike invites you to a film noir festival. For some reason, you find yourself planning to go with him. He says he'll meet you back here at six thirty, and then he leaves you to your work. You go over the Ri'ipki etiquette notes from Wesley before moving on to contracts and case files and other things that you hate doing but have to be done.

You eat lunch in Gunn’s office with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne. Fred was too busy in her lab to take a break. You listen to them talk about all the good Wolfram and Hart is accomplishing. You listen to them not talk about the compromises.

The meeting with the Ri'ipkis begins at two, and Fred shows up just in time to join the rest of you before you meet them in the lobby, walk into the soundproof conference room together. As you close the door behind you and move around the table to your seat, the five Ri'ipkis begin muttering something in unison. You glance over at Wesley, who looks back at you with an expression that says he doesn't know what they're doing either but just go with it. So you sit down politely and wait. It's probably some sort of greeting ritual.

It doesn't hit all of you at once. First you see a growing look of horror on Lorne's face, followed quickly by similar looks from Wesley and Gunn. Fred gasps and covers her mouth before you've even realized what's happening. But then it comes to you, and at first you don't understand.

It's like remembering a dream. You don't get the whole story at one time, but bits and pieces of it start to slowly stick together, forming a line that loops back on itself many times. It's the same day, over and over. It repeats; it runs into itself and you can't tell sometimes where one repetition ends and another begins, because it's all the same. You can't count how many mornings you've woken up today. It's impossible, incomprehensible. You can't wrap your mind around it. You don't believe it!

And then you remember Spike, the only part of your day that ever changes. He knows. He's told you, fuck, how many times? He's tried to make it stop. You remember now finding him dancing crazily around a fire in the lobby, shouting commands to an ancient tribal time-god. Potions he's thrown at you or tricked you into drinking, witches he's brought in to wave their arms and wail at your office, innumerable meetings you've called with your friends so that Spike could explain what was happening over and over and over...

Destroying your cars. Trashing entire offices in frustration. You remember beating him bloody at least twice in different places. Forcing him to talk to the shrinks on level eight. Hockey games. God, how many? That little theater, Humphrey Bogart, San Pedro, so many times. Dinner on your roof. He... he kissed you, and you kind of freaked out at the time, but right now, suddenly remembering it all, you want to be back there again. You want to do it over while you still understand what's happening, while you can still remember what you saw that first night, the night of the first day, before everything started over. He hasn't mentioned it. Maybe he doesn't even know.

Four of the Ri'ipkis abruptly raise their arms, and you find you can't move your lower body at all; you can't stand up or try to escape. Fred's hands fall to her sides, and when you look around, you can tell that none of your friends can move anymore either. The remaining Ri'ipki sits down at the table and opens a folder. "Picking up where we left off..." he begins.

And now you remember these meetings, but it’s not like several meetings; it’s like one long meeting that never ends, and it’s actually less like a meeting and more like terrorist negotiations. "Never," you interrupt. “You'll never get what you want, not as long as we're in charge here."

"But Mr. Angel," he says smoothly, "you haven't even heard the rest of our argument."

You, Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, and Fred sit immobilized for the next few hours while the Ri'ipki ambassador drones on and on, beginning exactly where he left off yesterday. You can't move your legs. You can't do anything. Your friends look at you with helpless expressions, but they're holding on to the same idea that you are. Somehow, Spike will save you. He's the only one who can.

You wish you had a way to send him a message. You know he'll be waiting when you come out of the conference room, but by that time, all of this will be gone again and you'll be right back where you started, not even fully trusting him, a slave in your own life and not even knowing it.

The meeting runs long. Spike’s already there when you come out, your shoulders hunched and your hands in your pockets. For some reason, you’re incredibly tired, like you've spent the last few hours throwing yourself against a wall. “I thought you said six thirty,” you say quietly.

"Figured we'd get a bite first," he says. "Hey, you alright?" He looks like he actually cares.

"I'm fine," you say. "Just tired. Bad meeting." At least, you're pretty sure it was bad. You weren't really paying attention. All you remember is a general feeling of nobody getting what they want. "You know, I think I'd just like to stay home tonight, Spike," you tell him. "Sorry, I just... I'm not up for the movies right now."

"Oh." He looks confused. "You sure? You usually feel better after some blood. Why don't we..."

"I just want to be alone," you say. "Go... bother someone else." You turn and start walking away before he can respond. You half expect him to follow you to your elevator, but he doesn't. Which is good.

That night you go up to the roof to think. You bring Don Quixote in the original Spanish, but you don’t read it. You look at the lights of L.A. You look at the moon. You try to remember what your dream was. It's been nagging at you.

Around 11:30, you go for a walk. You come across two demons fighting in an alley; one of them is Spike. The fight goes on for much longer than you would have expected before he finally kills the other. Purple blood spews out of its bulbous neck and across his boots.

Spike looks over at you. "Don't know what I did wrong today," he says softly.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

He comes forward a few steps and looks up into your eyes. "You're the reason I haven't gone mad yet, Angel," he tells you. He actually looks sincere. "Every day, I look forward to seeing you. That's all I have."

You don't get it. "Spike, what are you talking about?"

He looks away but continues quietly, "Keep thinking maybe you'll remember. Maybe... that some part of you would... remember not to hate me." He sighs and then looks at you again. His eyes are sad. "I miss you, Angel. And I'm so bloody lonely sometimes I think I'll explode. All I want is to be close to you, but today... didn't even get the chance to try, did I? Don't know what I did wrong..."

You have no idea how to respond to that. "Spike, I..."

"Guess I'll just try again tomorrow," he says, more to himself than to you. He suddenly looks at his watch. Then he takes your hand, and you're too confused to do anything but stare at your hand clutched tightly in his. "One day I'll get it right," he says, "and that can be the day we do over and over."

You start to ask him again what he's talking about, but before you can, you feel yourself go suddenly weightless. It only lasts a moment.

*

Part Two is [here].

*

Comments

[silverjaime.livejournal.com]

Brilliant!!! Loved it!!!! Fantastic idea - fantastic piece of writing!
When's the next bit???!!!
Really - loved this - poor Spike, trying everything, not knowing that the demons are to blame, that Angel remembers everything during the meeting - god!! He has to go to the meeting one day!!
I honestly haven't read anything that kept me on the edge of my seat for a long time - well done! Please post the next part really quickly....

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thank you so much! i'm not sure when the second half will be posted - i'm still working on it - but i am writing a little bit more every day and i won't work on anything else until this is finished... plus i want to post it at spring_spangel, so i'm looking at around may 9 or 10, which is about two weeks. stay tuned! :)

[silverjaime.livejournal.com]

AND>>>>what did Angel see the night of the first day??? that Spike probably won't remember???!!

AAARRRGGHHHH!

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

these questions and more answered soon on an lj near you!

[makd.livejournal.com]

This is a great fic! I love the homage to Ground Hog Day;I love way you've injected the malaise of their lives as they re-live each Friday every single day. I love Spike trying patiently to break the spell, to enjoy the time.

Neat.

Little niggle: He’s watching you intently but seems completely unphased by your anger. You mistyped "unphased"; it should've been "unfazed". :-)

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks! although the things you love pretty much disappear out of the second half of the fic... it gets pretty angsty. but i hope you will read it!

eek, i changed unphased to unfazed. (how embarrassing.) i really ought to start using spellcheck, but i get annoyed by it because i use so many words that aren't real and there are always red squiggles all over my document. *sigh* thanks though. :)

[fanfictionaddic.livejournal.com]

I loved this, esp the last bit. It was so sad. Can't wait to see how this resolves.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks so much! check back in a couple weeks, the other part should be posted by then. :)

[lilithbint.livejournal.com]

this was just as good,
second, third or fourth time around.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks lilith! i really appreciate that. :) and thanks so much for helping me with it.

[starawings.livejournal.com]

this is bloddy brilliant! I love the story! groundhog day is one of my favorite movies!
Spike is trying so hard and is so sweet, I just want to hug him.
Please hurry with posting part 2 cause I really want to know how it is going to end!

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks! i like groundhog day too, but i've always wondered what it would be like to see something from the POV of someone who didn't know the day was repeating, watching someone who did know go slowly crazy. heh.

[shanmara.livejournal.com]

I'm trying to comment with something else that "I'm amazed" but it appears you made me speechless.... Looking at the pointer blinking on the screen for about 5 minutes but, yep, still brainless. I loved it so much that it seems it knocked me out for good.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

oh no. i hope i didn't damage you too badly.
thanks. :)

[lily-le.livejournal.com]

Very good!

I hope Spike can save the day!

Thanks for sharing

Lily

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks! i hope he can too; otherwise i'll be very disappointed in him. :)

[ex-dark-ami.livejournal.com]

Oh this is truly excellent. Great work!

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thank you!

[zoesmith.livejournal.com]

Very interesting first chapter.
Angel’s voice felt so real.
And I just want to hug poor Spikey...

You remember now finding him dancing crazily around a fire in the lobby, shouting commands to an ancient tribal time-god.

He! That image is so amusing!

Can’t wait for the next part... and the smut of course. :-)

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks! i always feel much more comfortable with angel's voice than with spike's. i think pretty much all my stories are angel's POV.

i am still working on the smut! stay tuned. :)

[amavel-bel.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is fantastic!!! I couldn't stop reading, your writing is so enthralling. Oh my, what a great idea this story with Angel living the same day over and over and over and Spike being the only one to know what's happening and feeling impotent to do something to stop the cycle. And then everything left to Spike is making the non-stopping day worthwhile by approaching Angel and hanging out with him, which makes so painful for him to deal with Angel every morning, knowing he doesn't remember what they did together.

At first, I thought the demon in the alley was the responsible for this endless Friday thing (with the purple blood spewing on Spike and at all). Just when they went to the hockey match (awwww, so adorable) and Spike didn't fight that demon in the alley, it hit me. It must be the meeting with the Ri'ipki demons!!! LOL, took me so long!!!

I'm already anxious to read what happens next. Thanks so much for writing such a great story.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

which makes so painful for him to deal with Angel every morning, knowing he doesn't remember what they did together.

exactly! the second half gets more into that - it's pretty angsty.

At first, I thought the demon in the alley was the responsible for this endless Friday thing

hey, that's not a bad guess! and don't tell anyone, but that demon does actually play a part in what's happening - though probably not in a way you would expect! :D

thanks!

[bunnster.livejournal.com]

Wow!
Stumbled across your journal and found this. Great fic. Now I want to know what happens next!

I was suspecting those demons about halfway through the story. The revelation *what* they are doing was delightfully shocking. :-) Poor guys going through this each day and not being able to do anything. Spike's a little thick though. The length of this meeting is the only thing that seems to be able to change independently from him. He needs to sneak in there some friday...

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks! i'm glad you like it. :)

Poor guys going through this each day and not being able to do anything.

i know, it's so sad! *single tear*

Spike's a little thick though.

heh! well, one tries to keep them in character... ;)

[thatotherperv.livejournal.com]

*FLAILS* omg, you're right, I fucking love this. you've got me all tied up in knots, you bitch. I was all sad and achy and then I was all warm and glowy, and now I'm sad and achy again! he remembered! and then he forgot! I think I wanted to cry when he didn't know what Spike was talking about that last time. *flail*

He just sighs. “What’s going on, Angel, is you have a crush on Humphrey Bogart and I’m offerin’ to be your enabler. That’s all.”
there were a lot of funny moments here, but this made me laugh out loud, and not in that metaphorical way of lol. literally. I snickered.

this fic got me thinking about how maybe Spike is the only one who could have handled this quite this way. I'm not convinced that *any* of them could have found a way out of the loop, and that he's just underestimating himself. he's such an adaptable character, and it rings true that he would eventually find a way to make himself and Angel happier instead of just going mad. I don't know that Angel would have handled this nearly as well if the situation were reversed--I think it's possible he would have gone crazy eventually, if he weren't able to fix it. Angel is so...goal-oriented? I don't know how to explain what I'm thinking. but I think if he found everything he did to be completely ineffectual, he would become very disheartened and depressed. it would be an exaggerated version of what we saw in s5 at W&H.

looking forward to the rest. had to use this icon, as a woobie to make myself feel better. fix it, fix it!

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

*FLAILS*

*ducks*

he remembered! and then he forgot!

OMG IT HAPPENS EVERY DAY! *single tear*

i see what you're saying about the difference between how spike and angel would handle things. i'm thinking spike would still eventually lose his mind (mwahaha) despite trying to make the best of things, whereas angel would probably just start killing people and doing evil things again because he'd convince himself that it didn't matter. and then he would go insane. :D because i think pretty much everyone would go insane after a while of this.

fix it, fix it!

well... okay. but remember, it has to get worse before it can get better. *is evil*

[uncouthkitten.livejournal.com]

Absolutely loved it, eagerly awaiting more.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thank you! :)

[xenodike.livejournal.com]

This was fantastic, what a great idea!

I can't wait for your next posting date.

Truly a wonderful story.

*hugs*

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks so much! i guess the appropriate thing for me to do now is actually sign up for another date... luckily there appear to be several available. :)

[icemink.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is amazing. First of all it's great seeing a ground hog's day story from the point of view of one of the people repeating the day, as oposed to the person who isn't. And you manage to keep it interesting every time. I can't way to see what happens next and what the demons want and if Spike figures it out.

Oh, and Spike's lonelyness is so heartbreaking.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

it's great seeing a ground hog's day story from the point of view of one of the people repeating the day, as oposed to the person who isn't.

THANK YOU. i'm so glad you pointed that out, because that was the whole reason i started writing this to begin with - because i wanted to see what it was like to have the same story from the other side. lots of people are commenting that they like the story because they liked groundhog day, but no one else seems to have noticed the fundamental difference. so thank you. :)

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

i love getting comments that begin with a clause that makes me get all defensive, before i realize it's a compliment. :D i'm very proud that i was able to pull off second person well enough for you to not hate it.

the reason i chose second person - and i know you didn't ask, but let me tell you anyway because i've been thinking about it - is because i knew i wanted a limited POV, where you only get angel's side and not spike's, because the whole thing really is a story about spike, the way he looks each day, progressively, to a person who doesn't know what he's going through. BUT when i try to do third limited, i invariably end up with third omniscient by accident (plus i would have to use 'he' to refer to both angel and spike, which is sometimes tricky when they have a lot of interaction). AND i knew i couldn't use first person because i need a little distance between the narrator and the character so that i don't have to go too deeply into what the character's thinking at every single moment, so that i feel like i can skip stuff if i wanna, and so that i'm not calling myself angel, which would be weird. plus i usually hate first person fanfic. :)

I love that after a while Spike just says, fuck it, and stops trying to break out of the time loop and starts bonding with Angel.

yay! i'm glad you noticed that he redirected his efforts. i think people are not noticing that spike finally gave up, which is an important factor in part 2.

Oh, damn. Just - damn.

*is evil* :D

[lynnenne]

This is really well done. It's hard to maintain a reader's level of interest in a story like this, where passages repeat themselves over and over, but you've managed to accomplish it. Your second-person POV works really well, too, which is difficult to pull off. I like the way the repeating day is a sort of mirror for Spike's and Angel's condition:

"I'm tired, Angel," he says. "And lonely. And it's never going to end." He pauses and sighs before going on, "But you and me, we have history. That's something I can't have with anyone else now."

This would be true whether the day were repeating or not. They are doomed to spend eternity together, losing their pasts with everyone they love--except each other. Beautifully done.

One small quibble: It's the Calgary Flames. The Red Wings play out of Detroit. :)

Can't wait to read the second part!

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thank you! the parallel between what's actually going on and spike and angel's relationship is something that also makes me happy about this story. so glad you saw it. :)

eek, i changed it to flames! that's what i get for foregoing actual research in favor of trying to remember what some guy told me one time. heh. i'm much more of a baseball fan, myself. i actually said one of the players hit a fly ball, but i caught it time to change it to puck before i posted. :D

second half coming soon!

[samifidler.livejournal.com]

**Spike, the only part of your day that ever changes. He knows. He's told you, fuck, how many times? He's tried to make it stop. You remember now finding him dancing crazily around a fire in the lobby, shouting commands to an ancient tribal time-god. Potions he's thrown at you or tricked you into drinking, witches he's brought in to wave their arms and wail at your office, innumerable meetings you've called with your friends so that Spike could explain what was happening over and over and over...

Destroying your cars. Trashing entire offices in frustration. You remember beating him bloody at least twice in different places. Forcing him to talk to the shrinks on level eight. Hockey games. God, how many? That little theater, Humphrey Bogart, San Pedro, so many times. Dinner on your roof. He... he kissed you, and you kind of freaked out at the time, but right now, suddenly remembering it all, you want to be back there again. You want to do it over while you still understand what's happening, while you can still remember what you saw that first night, the night of the first day, before everything started over. He hasn't mentioned it. Maybe he doesn't even know. **

Spike must feel like he's in hell, but he just keeps on trying. This is wonderful I'm actually enjoying it more than Groundhog Day, because I like the characters better.

Sami

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks! i'm so glad you're enjoying it. this is definitely hell for spike. :)

[the-nites-gurl.livejournal.com]

Speechless!!! Breathless!!!

Seriously! No words! Wow....

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thank you! :D

[toiffag.livejournal.com]

omg, this is so *awesome*
I just can't begin to tell you how wonderful I think this fic is!!!!!

It's like...
No, I really can't tell you...

I absolutely love the story, I so love that spike wants to be friends and uses all he knows about angel just for that,
and I just *knew* from the beginning that what the demons wanted was the key. *wail* what *is* it???

oh, and at first when I saw the day was repeating, I was like "oh fuck, how boring it's going to be", but that was so not the case!! It was really, really interesting...

loved the image of spike dancing around the fire ;)

and omg, I just realised, didn't you say something about not posting the rest for at least a week???
You can't do that! I'll die!! :(

I'm *so* looking forward to this!!!!!!!!!!!! <3<3<3

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

It's like... No, I really can't tell you...

haha! well, thanks. :D

you'll find out what the demons want in the second half. i'm looking at posting around may 9 or 10, which is more than a week... i hope you don't die before then!

[a-mistletoe.livejournal.com]

This is stunningly well written. I love the little nuances of change so that although it repeats it is not repetitive. Subtle.
This is not a criticism it's just how I always feel in time loop stories from the X files to The Time Machine. You'll probably solve it in the second part. How is Spike the only one (in the whole world?) not affected by the demons' spell? You don't have to be in the room with the demons to be caught up in it judging by Harmony. It hurts my head when I try to solve this sort of thing.
Anyway, I still loved it all to pieces.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks!

and there's a completely valid (in my world) explanation of why spike isn't affected by the spell - it will all be revealed in the second half, but it has to do with this passage: You want to do it over while you still understand what's happening, while you can still remember what you saw that first night, the night of the first day, before everything started over. He hasn't mentioned it. Maybe he doesn't even know.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks so much! i'm thrilled that you liked it. :)
the second part should be posted around may 9 or 10.

[shapinglight]

Ah, I knew it had to be something to do with that meeting!

That was great - very ,very well constructed so that it was never boring even though there were so many repetitions.

Very much looking forward to part 2.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thanks so much! i'm looking at posting part two around may 9 or 10, depending on when it's finished. i'm about halfway done with it.

[shiny-n-new.livejournal.com]

This is so sad and beautiful and poignant, and it's so concerning that Spike seems to be losing it a little bit. 'Wow' is all I can say about this. Beautiful.

[girlpire.livejournal.com]

thank you! yeah, spike's losing it a bit, but then again i think pretty much anyone would. so glad you're enjoying it!