"Spike! What the Hell were you thinking of?"

"Try not to do too much of that," replied Spike. "Thinking leads to brooding and Angel does enough for both of us. Anyway, I thought you wanted me to help?"

Spike had a point, Wesley reasoned. That was the trouble, Spike always had a point. Unfortunately, it usually led to Angel’s further retreat into the shell that had hardened with Cordelia’s absence from their lives. Spike’s arrival in L.A. had coincided with a fragmentation of the tightly knit team that Angel Investigations had been prior to their employment at Wolfram and Hart. Angel had become even more morose than usual after his fight with Spike for possession of the Cup of Perpetual Torment, whereas Spike had bounced back in that irritating fashion that was fast becoming his trademark. He’d thrown himself headlong into his own version of helping the helpless each venture resulting in various degrees of discomfiture for the rest of them.

Wesley didn’t understand why, or how, but Spike’s latest escapade had affected Angel in a way that both surprised and worried him. On hearing what had taken place, Angel had initially merely shrugged and observed that it was ‘par for the course’ where Spike was concerned. Later that evening, Angel had received an inter-office memo from Eve, apparently spelling out in detail exactly what the repercussions of Spike’s actions were. Wesley was used to Angel’s brooding but, on receipt of the memo, the older vampire had swung from moody silence to noisy rage. Working out how to impose some form of control over Spike was proving more difficult than Wesley had anticipated.

"Well, yes, we did say that we’d like you to help, but by working with us, not going off half-cocked on your own tin pot one-vampire-with-a-soul-crusade." Wesley reasoned that Spike needed to hear his message in terms that would leave him in no doubt as to the irresponsibility of his actions.

"How many times do I have to say it? Not on any crusade . . . Hang on, ‘Half cocked?’ I never do anything by halves." A slow grin spread across Spike’s face. "Particularly if it involves cock - "
The word was cut short by the sudden appearance of Angel at the open office door. He glared at Spike, arms folded, silent, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"…unlike someone not a million miles away," finished Spike. "Hello Gramps. What brings you to this neck of Wesley’s office?"

"Your stupidity, Spike, as usual." Angel’s soft voice barely concealed his anger at Spike’s latest blunder. He looked at Spike and wondered, not for the first time, why he’d been sent to Wolfram and Hart. All he’d done so far was cause trouble. Not that Spike causing trouble was anything new; he’d done that from the first day Drusilla had brought home her ‘knight’.

Spike, a Champion. Angel still couldn’t accept it, no matter what Eve told him. "So that’s your idea of being a Champion is it? Getting drunk and killing the first demon that happened to get in your way? I think you need lessons in how things are done around here. Unfortunately for me, I don’t have the time to give them to you. There are more important matters that need my attention, thanks to you."

With that, Angel turned and stomped away. Spike clenched his jaw. It had only been one measly demon; it wasn’t as if he’d torn through the entire demon population of L.A. How was he to know it was the progeny of Wolfram and Hart’s most important client? And what was it doing in that bar, disturbing his quiet drink? As far as Spike saw it, the annoying little bugger had deserved all he got.

Spike hesitated, unsure what to do next. Should he follow Angel to find out just why he was so pissed off about the previous night’s bar brawl? Or should he try to pump Wesley for more information on this mysterious client? It took only a split second for Spike to choose the easier option. Winding people up was a favourite pastime, one he’d practised through the decades until he had it down to perfection. It was time to see just how he’d fare doing the same with Angel.

* * * * *
"Don’t you ever knock?" Angel’s voice, barely a whisper, choked back his misery. He hated Spike; did not want to see him, not like this. Not one of his friends remembered anything about Connor and he’d be damned if he was going to tell Spike about him. Angel had hit rock bottom, or thought he had, when the implication that Spike might be the one to Shanshu had struck him. He didn’t think he could sink any lower. But now he had, back down to where Holtz had sent him when he’d taken his son away from him; and he felt himself falling apart.

Spike just didn’t know what he’d set in motion when he’d killed that demon. How could he? Angel alone knew of the deal done with Wolfram and Hart to give Connor a normal life. He’d lost Connor once. Now it looked as though he might lose him again, forever this time. Of all the bars in L.A., the soul-eating demon had to walk in to the one in which Spike had chosen to get thoroughly drunk.

Silence hung in the air between them; cold, empty and barren, no sign of what passed for normal relations between the two vampires.

This isn’t right, thought Spike. He should have kicked me back out of the door by now, or through the window, or something. Anything would be better than this. Spike closed the door and strode across to where Angel was standing in the fading light by the window.

"Say something, "he demanded. "Tell me what I’ve done that’s so terrible you can’t give me the beating you obviously think I deserve."

"Didn’t losing your hands teach you anything?" Angel spat at him.

"About what? Taking orders without question? That was never my style Angel, you know that."

"About thinking before rushing in where angels fear to tread." Angel cringed at the pun but it was too late to take it back. He sank into his chair. He had no way of dealing with this. The memo from Eve had spelled it out clearly enough. The contract demanded blood, his progeny’s blood, a life for a life. Renege on the contract and the whole deal with Wolfram and Hart was off, for all of them. How could he explain to any of them that this was all Spike’s fault when they knew nothing of the contract he’d signed? "God help me William, what am I going to do?"

"I was just explaining my allergy to thinking to Wes before you interrupted us, but, as you did, perhaps you can clarify a few things." Spike stopped, Bloody Hell! Last time he called me William, it was Angelus in the driving seat. Spike swung the chair round to peer into Angel’s eyes. " Wait a minute." Spike looked deeper, his blue eyes piercing Angel’s brown. "Nope, soul’s still intact. Your little shag fest with Eve the other day obviously didn’t do the trick." Spike hesitated as Angel returned his gaze, staring intently at him as if seeing him for the first time.

So, it’s true, thought Angel. You can see the soul in the eyes. He gazed at Spike. What lies behind those eyes? What does Buffy see that makes him a Champion to her? She once saw only the killer. What difference does the soul make?

What did it matter? A soul wasn't going to help them now. What they needed was - Angel didn’t know what they needed, that was the problem.

"Just tell me. What’s happened that’s so terrible you’re in no fit state to beat the crap out of me?"

"You proved I couldn’t do that anymore the other day," replied Angel wearily.

"Oh, come off it, Peaches. You gave as good as you got. You could have stopped me a dozen times. You just didn’t want it enough, did you?"

Spike had hit the target once again. Just where did he get the talent for cutting right through to the heart of the matter? Buffy had once told him that you could fool many people, including yourself, but the one person you couldn’t fool when it came to your true motivation, was Spike. What had prevented Angel beating him and claiming the Cup for himself?

There was no time to dwell on his failure to beat Spike. His current problem had nothing to do with being a Champion, who deserved the Shanshu more, or what having a soul meant. This was about family and honour, his family’s honour. And that didn't just mean Connor. It meant all of them; Wes, Gunn, Fred, Lorne, and, God help him, Spike.

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