Defenseless

First Person POV: Spike

He thinks he's so fucking smart, the idiot.

"It's bollocks, Angel! It's your brand of bollocks, from first to last."

Won't even look at me while I try to prove him wrong – the big poof has had his back to me throughout most of this argument.

"No, you can't ever see the big picture. You can't see any picture!"

And he can't see what's his for the taking, the blind, stupid git.

"I am talking about something primal! Right? Savagery. Brutal, animal instinct."

"And that wins out every time with you. You know, the human race has evolved, Spike!"

He's walking away from me – as usual. But I won't let him get out of this so easily.

"Oh, into a bunch of namby-pamby, self-analyzing wankers who could never hope to overcome pure aggressors!"

Fucking ponce. God, how I hate this man.

" - plus, there's a thing called teamwork, not to mention the superstitious terror of your 'pure aggressors!'"

I'll show him pure aggressor… just give me a chance…

"You just want it to be the way you want it to be."

"It's not about what I want!"

It is always about what he wants, never about what I want… and this could be my chance…

"Sorry." Wesley – bleedin' Christ, somebody shoot him for walkin' in here now. "Is this something we should all be discussing?"

"No." And the clot behind me sounds embarrassed – good. I can't bring myself to look back at him – I really do want him to believe that I'm angry with him. So I focus on Wesley, who I am angry at. But he doesn't know it. And he will probably never know why.

"It just… sounds a little serious."

"It was mostly…" Come on, Angel, tell the nice man what it was so he can bloody well leave. "Theoretical. We…"

"We were just working out a b- " Bloody hell, I'm just gonna say it already. Not like we were getting into anything personal. God forbid anyone ever found out what I was thinking about while we were arguing. "Look, if cavemen and astronauts got into a fight, who would win?"

I know he's uncomfortable, leaning against the table behind me. Makes me feel a bit better – knowing I unnerve him. At times, I'll sit in the bathroom just thinking about him – lock myself in a stall and just think for what feels like hours. He consumes my thoughts and upsets me – and I hate him for it.

"Ah." Typical Wesley – man of many words, he is. "You've been yelling at each other for forty minutes about this?"

Yeah, we have… And I know I'm a loony for enjoying hearin' him shout at me. But… it's Angel. I'd do anything to spend so much time with him – even let him shout at me.

"Do the astronauts have weapons?"

"No." But they would if he asked me once – just once. I'd give him anything – I'd admit defeat in all our arguments, lay down my life and my soul if he needed them. I'd leave myself defenseless while he beat his frustrations out of me.

Now who's the idiot?

Bloody hell.

I get no peace in this damned place. I wander off for a while to settle down, you know, find a place to have a decent wank and get it out of my system, blow off some steam. Because that's all I do around him – build up steam and pressure until it's all too much to take, and I either have to kill something or wank off. And now, I'm following 'the littlest vampire' back up to ground zero. Someone stop me, I can't go in there.

"Harmony just pulled me out of a very promising poker game down in Accounts Receivable, so this better be good." I step onto and over his furniture, trying to remind myself that despite the sudden loss of blood to my brain I am not happy to see him. "Oh, and by the way, all the guys down there agree that astronauts don't stand a chance against cavemen, so don't even start."

Might as well get comfortable, he'll probably want another long, petty argument. Christ, I'll never make it out of this place with any semblance of sanity.

"Look, I can't do this anymore."

"Admitting defeat, are you?" Bastard. You just don't want to admit you lost the argument.

"You and me. This isn't working out."

"Are you saying we should start annoying other people?" Because I'll stop annoying him if that's really what he wants. He says the word; I'll be his whipping boy.

"I'm saying you should go."

"You really can't stand the competition, can you?" If he says yes, I'll die again. I'm not competition to him – no matter what happened back with the fake cup we raced to drink out of, I'm no match for him and I never will be.

"That isn't the – " Oh, he does consider me competition, eh? Good, I think. I may be a bit starkers for it, but I will always enjoy seein' him unsettled. "The way I figure it, Lindsey brought you back as a spirit bound to this place so you'd become – " Mad as a March Hare? " – Invested in it. He only made you corporeal again once you'd gotten used to it, attached to it." Christ, he knows I've bonded with the place.

"I'm not attached." Yes I am, and I'm bloody pathetic. "I just don't have anywhere else to go." Because this is where he is, and I don't want to be where he isn't.

"What if you did?" What? "Look, Wolfram & Hart has got offices in every major city in the world – and a lot more out of it." Bloody hell no, I'm not leaving. "I'll give you the resources you need to go anywhere: cars, gadgets, expense accounts. You fight the good fight, but… in style." Please don't send me away. "And if possible, in outer Mongolia."

He really wants me gone, I suppose. It's always about what he wants…

"A roving agent." He looks torn in two right now. Not noticeable to anyone who hasn't known him for at least a century. But I know that look. "Sort of a 007 without the poncy tux." He can't hide it from me – he doesn't really want me to go. "Go anywhere I want?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere." But I want to stay here!

"Hmm. Anywhere but here…"

And I really would leave, if he looked me right in the eyes and told me flat out that he wanted me gone – if he could say it and mean it, I'd leave in a heartbeat, just to make him happy.

Bloody hell, but I'm whipped.

What the hell is happening?

"I've never flown before." It's bloody unnatural for me to look out a window and see sunlight – but I'm growing accustomed to that at Wolfram & Hart – so kind of them to have necro-tempered windows really. But to look out a window and see not only sunlight, but clouds below me, proves that I am definitely not the same vamp I was one year ago.

"I've been in a helicopter. They don't… go this high." He's terrified. His fear is coming off him in waves. Course, I know it's rolling off me as well, so I don't give him hell. For once. In this small a space, there's too much that could go wrong. Too much that I could lose if I lost me temper.

"Back to the mother country." I'm trying to relax – it's getting easier as time goes by. "Hey, after we save Fred, we should hit the West End, take in a show."

"I've never seen Les Mis." Leave it to him to think of that show.

"Trust me, half way through the first act, you'll be drinking humans again." Unless I finally admit my thoughts of you… and this is some alternate dimension where you would return my feelings.

Wait, why in hell am I thinking about him right now? There are more important things to do! Save Fred! And… save Fred! And… oh, bugger.

"Can't lose her, Spike." And he thinks I needed to be reminded of that?

"We won't." We can't lose her, I can't lose her – she's the only one who hasn't judged me in all the time I've been here. She has to get better. Who else could I talk to about how I feel… for him… She's the only one who'll ever understand…

"I lost Cordy."

Why the hell is this happening now?