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2.

Spike spent the next few months miserable. He lived in the same apartment as Will, worked in the same office, rode the same elevator and said maybe twenty words to each other in that whole time, mostly at corporate meetings where the rules were clear and there was no chance for things to disintegrate. Things had gotten so tense that even Anya had noticed, though not even she could break through the stoney wall of silence.

Spike split his time between his room, the office, and the bar a couple of streets away. He was seriously considering moving out because things were getting unbearable. Eve spent almost every night at their apartment, and he could hear her voice and Will's laughter through his closed door. It hurt every damn time.

They started out 'just friends.' Will had gone out of his way to drop that information into their non-existent conversations. Spike snorted every time, because Eve wasn't gunning for 'just friends.' She had her claws in Will and she was in it for the long haul. Spike tried to spend the least amount of time in her company, because when they were together the temperature of the air around them could give someone frost bite.

Eve continued to worm her way into Will's good graces. She brought him his favorite foods, cooked for him, debated the great works of literature. Spike couldn't figure out how Will missed the practiced air of her speeches, the lack of passion, the fact that she'd read some essay or book and was regurgitating the information without really feeling the artistry of the works. Will was blinded by something, and fuck if Spike could figure out what or why.

So they drifted apart, day by day, hour by hour, until Will was a ghost in their apartment and Spike hadn't seen the sunshine in months. This rift between them was killing him, and he had no idea how to fix it. A growing pessimistic part of him was positive there was no coming back from this place for them. What they'd had, what they'd been, was no more and would never be again.

Since they hadn't spoken more than twenty words to one another over the past month, Spike was understandably surprised when Will knocked on his door one night. Spike watched with inscrutable eyes as his brother hovered nervously on the threshold, shifting his weight from side to side. Spike's heart broke a little, because not too long ago Will would have never felt uncomfortable around him, when he'd have known his lover's secrets almost the moment they happened. Had been his lover's secret keeper for longer than either of them could remember. This farce they'd been living, this distance...it was killing him, one day at a time. He realized he was tired of this bullshit, tired of the anger and the recrimination. He wanted to make things right, to get back what they'd lost. Spike took a deep breath when Will blurted out, “I'm getting married.”

Spike felt like someone had sucker punched him in the gut, all the air whooshing out of his lungs. He felt...numb. He stared at his brother unflinchingly.

“I, ah, asked Eve. Last week.” That hurt more than Spike wanted to admit. “And I'd...I thought you should hear it. From me. Before you heard it around the office.” Will tried to open his mouth, to get the words out, to tell Spike how much this separation sucked, but they just wouldn't come out. He'd been holding them back so long he'd forgotten how to say them. There was a flurry of movement and Spike pushed past him, heading for the front door.

“Spike! Wait!” Will cringed as the front door slammed closed. That had gone as well as expected.

Spike started walking without any destination in mind because this was LA and when he'd walked himself out, he was pretty sure he could find a bar within two feet of where he stopped. He wanted forget the last five minutes of his life had ever happened, because he'd been so fucking naive to think his life couldn't get any more pathetic.

Where the hell did Will get off marrying that trollop?!

Spike walked for what felt like hours, hands shoved into his pocket, people giving him a wide berth as he stalked down the streets. He only stopped when the pain of what had to be the mother of all blisters demanded he stop walking. He found a bar and ordered himself a bottomless Jack Daniels on the rocks.

They kicked him out around half a bottle. Spike stumbled around a bit, his balance precarious. Despite his best efforts, Spike ended up tumbling ass-over-ankles, sprawled out on the sidewalk under a garish neon light. 'Tattoo' flashed brightly over his head.

The tattoo artist looked nothing like what he'd imagined. He was a she for starters, and her tattoos bore an unusual elegance. They ghosted along her skin, coming alive as her muscles moved and flexed as if each image was alive. Then again, he was pretty drunk, so it could all be in his head.

“What can I do for you handsome?” Spike leaned forward, beckoning her closer.

“I've had a bit of a heartbreak,” he told her with the intense seriousness of the drunk. “And I'd like to commiserate it.”

“You mean commemorate there, gorgeous?” Spike considered it and shrugged; he didn't really see the difference. “Now why would you want to go and do a thing like that? You'd be better off movin' on.” She gave him an appreciative once over. Spike snorted and reached for a nonexistent drink. “What'd she do sugar?”

“'s gettin' married, right? T'this absolute fuck of a human bein'. Ponce.”

“Aw, sugar, love's a bitch some time.” Spike started laughing, drunken giggles that still conveyed the pain he was in.

“That's me. Love's bitch. Should get that tattooed on m'ass.” The tattoo artist chuckled and stroked her hands through the shock of bleach-bottle hair. Poor boy was hurtin' bad. She grabbed a water from underneath the counter and handed it to him. He stared at the water for a moment before he shrugged and tilted his head back, chugging it in large gulps. Claire admired the arc of his long neck, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he drank. He was a handsome lad, she couldn't imagine who gave all that up.

“Now sugar, let's hear the whole sordid tale.” She set another bottle of water in front of the handsome stranger. “Tell me about the woman that broke your heart.” He snorted.

“The bitch's name's Eve. Eve. Downfall of man, she is.”

“Eve huh? Broke your heart, fed you the poisoned apple?” She grabbed her pen and started sketching.

“Nah. Feedin' Will the poison. I just got caught in the crossfire.”

“So she's a he?” Spike giggled again.

“Schwat I thought 'bout you!” Claire smiled benevolently, shaking her head at the drunken man. His humor was short lived, and she winced at the curtain of pain in his eyes. “Yeah, Will. Love of m'fuckin' life and he's off marrying some piece of ass with nice tits and an eye fer his bank account. Gold digging whore.” Claire chuckled and shook her head, her hands skating along the paper in front of her.

“See, Will 'n me...we go way way way far back...” Claire listened to the man spin his tale of woe, words of love and lust and intense hurt. His wore his lover's defection as clearly as any physical wound she'd ever seen. Her heart went out to the two of them. To have found such love and then just thrown it away... She popped open Spike's pants and eased them down around his hips; boy was well put together, had muscles his wry frame hid well. She picked out the perfect spot for her creation and shaved the fine hairs away.

The more she heard about this Will, the more her heart hurt for the broken man in her chair. His love was palpable, as much as his despair. She paused to switch needles, the red flowing from her thicker tool and staining the pale skin, a visual representation of the bleeding heart before her. This man, who hadn't even told her his name, spun the most delicate story of love and loss she'd heard in many a year of being a tattoo artist, and she'd heard quite a few. He wound down just as she put the final touches on her work of art, both a symbol of the present and her hope for the future.

A single red heart stood out vividly from the pale, fine skin, outlined in black with an angular 'W' racing thought the center, breaking the heart and holding the pieces together.

“All done, sugar,” she said kindly, taping a bandage on. The bottle blond raised his head blinking owlishly at her.

“Wazzat?” She laughed and buttoned his pants.

“You're all tatted up. Need me to call someone for you?” Spike shook his head.

“Naaaaaah. How much?” He fumbled with his wallet, but Claire stopped him.

“Not interested in your money, sweets. Consider it a present. You sure I can't call you a cab or somethin'?” Spike smiled a little at her and pocketed his wallet. The water and the chair time had sobered him up a bit, and he wasn't quite ready for that.

“Ta, luv. Appreciate it.” Claire sighed as the man slipped out of her studio, murmuring a prayer for his lost soul and broken heart.

***

“He was really upset,” Will said for the umpteenth time. Eve suppressed the urge to sigh and roll her eyes. She was so tired of hearing about Spike. Will carried on about his mopey brother incessantly. Coupled with the way Spike was acting about the engagement and their relationship...well, if they hadn't been brothers, she'd have suspected something.

“He's so stubborn, what if he gets himself hurt? Spike can be really stupid when he drinks and—“

“Honey,” Eve interrupted saccharine-sweet, “Spike's a big boy, I'm sure he can take care of himself. How about we go to bed, and if he's not back in the morning, we'll go look for him.” Will smiled at her and drew her into his arms.

“What would I do without you?” Will breathed in her scent, letting it calm him, ignoring the little voice that accused him of driving Spike to this, of neglecting his brother and ignoring him. Eve rolled her eyes again, but played the part of the dutiful fiancée. She was counting down the days until they were married and she had everything she wanted.

She was half asleep when she heard the phone ring. Will stirred beneath her, but she soothed him back to sleep. Slipping out of the room, she picked up the phone in the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Cabo's Cantina. Dude's drunk, he gave us this number to call. You know a...James Giles?” Eve let a small, vicious grin settle on her face.

“He's my fiancee's brother. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

***

“Hey. Buddy. Your ride's here.” Spike grumbled and pulled his head up, forcing his eyes to focus. He gritted his teeth when Eve's scowling face came into view.

“Wassatere?” he slurred. Stupid bitch, what the hell was she doing here, interrupting his drunk. She should be holed up with Will having socially appropriate, disgustingly heterosexual sex.

Eve wrinkled her nose at the smell and sight of Spike. God, he was disgusting. She'd picked the right brother without a doubt. The bartender helped her get Spike into her car.

“You sure you're alright?” Eve sent the guy a flirty smile; he was kind of hot and had been VERY helpful.

“I think I've got this all sewn up,” Eve said with a grin. The bartender nodded, looked her over one more time, and gave Spike a disgusted glance. Eve concurred completely. She climbed into the car and started heading back to Will's apartment. She pulled out her cell phone after making sure Spike was well and truly passed out.

“Hello vixen.”

“Kyle, darling, I need your help.”

“Anything. What kind of help do you need?”

“Can I get a witness?”

“Ah, would this be related to your current...conquest and his annoying twin?”

“You know me so well.”

“I'll be there.”

“I know.”

Spike was still passed out when they pulled up to the apartment complex. Smirking, Eve thwaped Spike on the side of the head.

“Oi! Th' fuck...”

“Get up. We're home.”

“Bitch,” he growled under his breath, opening the door and stumbling out of the car. He wove unsteadily on his feet. He tried to walk forward and almost crashed into Eve. He shook his head and tried to get away from the brother-stealing whore, but they only ended up more tangled. Spike tried to clear his head and disentangle himself, but Eve was like a limpet and everything he did only made things worse.

“Geroff me you blimey bint!”

“Spike!” Eve yelled, struggling against him while pulling him closer. Spike frowned and started moving against her, his drunken clumsiness making it easy to keep him off balance. “Spike, get off me! Help! HELP!”

“What're you on about?” Spike growled. He tried to stand up, but Eve pulled him down on her. He fell forward with a grunt and a curse.

“Someone, please--”

Spike was roughly hauled up and off of Eve. A blinding pain radiated from Spike's jaw, and he stumbled back into the car so hard the alarm went off.

“You fuckin' pervert!” Spike's head snapped backwards as his assailant popped him in the nose. His head was still swimming with alcohol. Someone jacked him against the car door, bending Spike's arm so that it was pinned uncomfortably behind him. He turned his head and saw Eve crying in someone's arms. His last conscious memory was of the car door coming towards his face really really fast.

***

Spike came too with a violent headache. Even moving his eyes beneath his lids caused spikes of pain to course through him. Nausea roiled through him when he tensed his jaw, the extra spike of pain too much bear. God, he hurt. Everywhere. He tried to remember what had happened last night, but came up with flashes of some heavily tattooed woman and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. He groaned in pain and finally managed to open his eyes.

“Will?” Only it came out slurred and unintelligible, but it got his brother's attention. Will's eyes were red and troubled. He looked like he'd been crying, and there was stubble on his face; wow, whatever had happened must have been as bad as he felt.

“Will...” Spike trailed off into a moan, fighting the urge to vomit.

“Spike.” The word hits Spike like a physical blow, cold and formal and dark. Even at their lowest low, Will's never said his name like that. Spike forces his head to the side so he can face his brother head-on, despite the way the world swam and went fuzzy. Will looked...wrecked. Spike tried to reach out to his brother, but his ribs protested and he didn't seem to be in control of his body. Regardless, Will pulled away, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and watching Spike with fathomless blue eyes.

“Do you hate me that much?” Spike opened his mouth, but no words came out because he didn't understand. He loves Will; he's in love with Will. How can he want anything less than Will's complete and utter happiness?

“I...I...what?” Will dropped his head in his hands and laughed hysterically.

“You attacked Eve! You ATTACKED her, Spike! I mean...I know you don't like her, and I know you can be a complete twat when you're drunk but...I never would have thought you capable of...” Will shook his head and Spike felt himself die a little inside. Because Will actually thought...was actually accusing him of...

Spike felt nausea welling up in him, completely different from the pain-inspired queasiness. He closed his eyes and tried to let go, to forget the look in Will's eyes, to just forget.

“I can't be around you anymore,” Will said, voice pitched low with contained anger. “You're...I don't know what's happened to you, Spike. Just...I'm moving in with Eve. She can't be alone right now, not after...” what you did. The silence stretched between them. “Get yourself help, Spike. Please.”

Spike refused to open his eyes, refused to let the moisture gathered behind his eyelids escape.

***

“Come to bed, sweetie, brooding doesn't suit you.” Will smiled wanly up at Eve, who looked so fragile wearing his overly large clothes. A dark bruise peeked out from under her collar and he looked away, pain welling up in him.

“I know. I just...I'll be in in a minute.” Eve studied him for a moment before nodding and kissing him gently on the lips.

“Don't be too long.”

Will admired her long, beautiful legs as she left the room. He sighed and downed his glass of whisky in one long gulp.

Before he knew it, he was staring at the remnants of the glass littering the floor, ice and whisky-water trailing down the wall.

FUCK. What had Spike been thinking? They'd been at odds for months now, but he hadn't honestly thought that Spike was in such bad shape to have...attacked Eve like he had. Like she said he had. Will shook off the cynical voice in the back of his mind. He liked Eve. He was happy with Eve. She talked about Chaucer and Vonnegut and intertextuality. She was (too) perfect.

And yeah, there was that part of him that longed for Spike, that felt listless and unfulfilled without his brother but... Will fisted his hands in his hair.

He should not be this wrapped up in his brother. They shouldn't even be...have ever been...

Jesus, was he fucking Eve, was he getting down on bended knee and proposing forever just because he had some latent issues about fucking his brother for the past decade plus? He winced, because Spike was the crude one. He was startled out of his moroseness by a knock on the door.

Will felt like he was 80 years-old as he made his way to the door. He was surprised to find his father on the other said.

“Da. What—“

Giles brushed past his son with nary a word. He glanced at the decimated tumbler and poured himself a double. Everyone always commented on how stubborn Spike was, how impossible it was to get him to waver from what he'd decided to do once he got it into his thick skull. Spike had nothing on Will.

“Da?” Giles slammed his glass down and turned towards his son, eyes hard. He was satisfied to see Will swallow and take a step back. At least the boy had some sense in his bleached head. He pulled a business card out of his breast pocket and laid it on the table.

“You—” Giles couldn't even get the words out he was so angry. “For the first time in my life, I'm ashamed of you.” Will's jaw dropped and he reeled as if slapped. His father's voice was colder than he'd ever heard it. “I raised you boys. And I know I wasn't the best father all the time, but you both turned out well. I watched you two grow up, I watched you two grow into...the men you are today. Together. You love each other and you have a bond that I can't begin to fathom, so for you to...say such things about Spike, about you brother...” Giles shook his head and looked away, jaw clenched as he fought the anger down. He hadn't meant to attack Will, but he was just so ANGRY. He tapped the business card imperiously and, still not looking at Will, continued, “When you first started dating this Eve woman, I was pleased. When I saw your relationship with Spike start to deteriorate, I grew suspicious. I hired a private investigator to look in to Eve.”

Will opened his mouth to protest, but Giles cut him off.

“I haven't read the report. I know nothing about the girl other than what you've told me and what I've observed. However, should you ever have suspicions about your wife-to-be”—Giles' piercing gaze told Will in no uncertain terms that Giles had plenty of his own suspicions—“call that number. He'll tell you everything you need to know.”

Will was still staring at the scrap of paper long after Giles had left. It looked so innocuous sitting there, taunting him.

***

Will wiped his sweaty hands against his pants. He hated waiting. He glanced around the diner and shredded the paper napkin in his hands.

“Mr. Giles?” Will started and found himself looking up at bald black man with aviator sunglasses. He half rose out of his seat, trying to decide whether or not to shake the PI's hand. The man smiled easily and slid into the booth opposite. “Charles Gunn.”

“William Giles.” They shook hands and Will fidgeted in his seat. Gunn watched him with thinly veiled amusement and waved their waitress over.

“Can I have a Shirley Temple?” The waitress grinned at the tough-looking black man.

“A Shirley Temple?” Will asked incredulously. Gunn flashed him a smile.

“Puts people at ease. And they're great.” Will let out a strangled chuckle, working his way through his second napkin.

“So, uh, my Dad hired you and...I think...I mean, I want...”

“Do you want to know?” Gunn asked seriously.

“What?” Gunn sighed and leaned forward.

“I'm a cop. I do this stuff to pad my paycheck, but it's not my career. So if you don't want to know—really want to know—what I've found out, I'm not going to tell you. You have to be sure that you want to know whatever I've found out...for good or for bad.” Will stared at his hands, twisted around the ragged remains of his napkin. He sighed and put it carefully on the table top.

“My fiancée is accusing my brother of assault, battery, and attempted rape. He...I—“ Will choked off, his eyes brimming. “He wouldn't.” It was whispered, forced out. It was giving voice to something Will had been denying and repressing since this whole debacle started. “I need to know. I need...I love him and...” He glanced up and Gunn and saw understanding tempered by slight suspicion in the other man's eyes.

“Eve Lassiter was born Karen Adelle. She's been accumulating a nice nest egg from her various divorces over the past ten years...”

***

Spike stared morosely out the window of his hospital room, trying to keep his heart rate down. The nurses had already chided him four times about his blood pressure today.

That matched the four times the cops had been by, once to Mirandize him and take his statement—which mostly consisted of 'I didn't do it. I was drunk and don't remember anything but I didn't do it'—take his statement again, question him, and advise him that as soon as he was released, he was under arrest. Life was swell.

He heard a knock on his door and sighed.

“Nothing's changed, I'm not gonna run, can we do this later?”

“If you'd like.” Spike started at the sound of his father's voice. He shifted over and met his father's eyes, gritting his teeth at the ridiculous tears that wanted to fall.

“Da.” He was wrapped in his father's arms before he knew it, all his defenses shattered. He cried for the first time in years, tears of bitter frustration, heartache, betrayal and forgiveness. He let the build up of the past months leech into his father's shirt.

Giles held on to his son, his heart breaking all over again. Things were so broken in his family. His boys had been his one constant, the one thing in this world that had remained constant, even after his wife died. They were...special, his boys. He knew that. But to see them hurting so badly was killing him in side. All he could do was lay the groundwork for them to reconcile, but that would take time.

For now, he would take care of James.

Spike pulled away and looked at his father with wild eyes.

“Da. I didn't...I didn't do what she says I did, I was drunk but I couldn't, would never—”

“James.”

“—do something like that. I hate the bloody bitch, there's something about her, but I would never, NEVER—“

“James.”

“—do anything to hurt Will, or anyone he l-loves. It's—“

“SPIKE.” The boy ground to a halt, looking at his father in overwhelmed shock. “I know.” Spike's eyes watered all over again, and he let his father gather him up in a crushing, comforting hug.

***

Spike signed his release papers and shrugged into his jacket. Giles squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“It'll be fine, son. The lawyer will have you out before they're done processing you, I promise.” Spike tried to smile at his father, but he couldn't muster up anything but resignation. Will hadn't returned to see him after their ill-fated conversation three days ago. His father and lawyer had been in and out discussing legal strategy, and Spike was done. He just wanted to go home and sleep and never wake up. But he had to go to jail first.

“Let's get this over with,” he said solemnly.

“Spike, I want to make sure you understand—“

“I get it, Lindsey. No talking to them, no answering questions, no doing anything to make them mad.” They marched up to the waiting detective, currently on his phone. Spike grew increasingly agitated the longer the detective stayed on his phone, making affirmative noises and generally ignoring them.

“Right, I understand. Thanks.” The hulk of a man flipped his phone shut and turned to Spike. “Charges have been dropped. You're free to go.” The detective walked away, leaving the three men gaping after him.

“I don't...understand,” Spike managed. Lindsey and Giles held a silent conversation over Spike's head and Lindsey headed off to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Let's get you home, son.”

***

Home. Spike snorted and looked around the musty apartment. It was obvious no one had been in it for quite some time. It felt empty and abandoned, and emphatically not like home.

He looked into his room. The guest room. The guest room that had become his room. It all felt so wrong. He needed to find another place to live, and place without all the memories.

The doorbell rang, and Spike seriously considered not answering it. When it rand again, he figured that if it was Da, he might start worrying and either wouldn't go away or would work himself into a tizzy and call the police. So Spike dragged himself to the door and was completely floored to see Will standing outside, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

“Hi.” Spike stared at him mutely. “I, uh. Can I come in?” Spike stepped back on autopilot, closing the door and walking into the living room without actually remembering any of it. Will was hovering uncertainly around the entertainment station, looking everywhere but at Spike.

“I didn't—“

“I wanted—“

They looked at each other awkwardly, but Spike couldn't bear to keep his brother's gaze.

“Go ahead.”

“No, please, I...you go.” Spike shrugged and decided to hell with it, he might as well get this whole debacle over with.

“I'm sorry for whatever happened with Eve. I didn't do...anything, I swear, but....”

“I know,” Will said softly. Spike's head snapped up, and Will winced as he got a good look at his brother's bruised and battered face. “I, Dad, she...fuck, Spike.” All the fight seemed to drain out of Will. “I fucked up. So badly. She set you up. Eve, she was...only in it for the money. She saw you as a threat so she, uh, set out to eliminate you. As a threat.”

Spike stared at Will for a moment before he very calmly stood up, picked up a picture frame, and threw it against the far wall.

Spike was shaking.

“Spike—“ Spike cut him off with a violent slashing motion. When he turned back around, his blue eyes were stony.

“You chose her.”

“I know.”

“You chose her.”

“I...”

“You chose her.”

“I made her drop the charges. Threatened to swear out a warrant for her arrest and sue her for fraud if she didn't. I took out a restraining order and contacted a few of Dad's friends so they could keep an eye on her.” Will glanced up at his brother. “I wanted...I needed to make her gone. Because I love you.” Spike snorted contemptuously and turned away. Will reached out towards his brother, who twisted Will's wrist in his hand.

They started tussling, Spike reacting out of blind fury and Will trying to wear Spike down so they could actually talk. It was a short rumble; Spike was far too worn down from the roller coaster of the past week to put up a good fight. He ended up pinned on his back, Will hovering over him. He closed his eyes, trying to beat back the world.

“Spike,” Will whispered coaxingly. Spike's eyes remained firmly shut. “Spike.” He shook his head a little. Will bent closer, his lips hovering a millimeter above Spike's. “Spike.” It was a whispered benediction, a promise.

Spike whimpered and Will closed the gap between them, pressing against lips he knew so well. He flicked his tongue against the seam of Spike's lips, asking for entrance, asking for the chance to say 'I'm sorry' with a kiss. But Spike's mouth stayed closed and firm, and Will felt his world stutter to a halt. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against Spike's, breathing in the spicy scent of his oldest lover, the love of his life, one last time. Just as he moved to pull away, Spike whimpered again and jerked Will down into him. His mouth was hungry and desperate, and Will's heart ached that he'd put that there, he'd exposed Spike's weaknesses.

Spike tried to wrap himself around Will, to get as close and humanly possible through the layers of clothes between them. Because as much as they'd been though, as betrayed as he felt, he needed Will like nothing else in this world.

“I'm sorry,” Will breathed between kisses. “I love you. Never...again.” Spike pulled back at that, his hands framing Will's face, blue eyes piercing. “I mean it. I was...struggling with some things. But I've made my choice. I don't...I missed you. She couldn't...no one can ever compare to what you do to me, how you make me feel. I don't want anyone who doesn't want you too.” It all came out in a huge, jumbled rush, Will trying to put everything into one space so Spike couldn't get away or cut him off. “You're the most import—mphf!”

Spike cut him of with a chaste kiss, just enough pressure to stop Will from talking.

“I—“ his voice cracked. “I'm not ready to forgive you.” Will tensed, and the misery-guilt crashed back over him. He tried to jerk away but Spike held on, held him close. “But I will be. In time. I just...need time.”

“Anything you want,” Will promised. They laid there on the hard floor, more content than they'd been in ages.

“Anything?” Spike finally asked, his voice resonating in his chest, the vibrations crawling over Will's skin and he shivered. How the hell had he ever given this up? Will stroked along Spike's chest.

“Anything at all.”

“We're getting a new apartment.”


3.

“Seriously? You want the Sony?” Spike shot Will an annoyed glance that had Will immediately backpedaling. “Sure, if that's what you want, we can go with the Sony.” Spike tamped down the flash of irritation at Will's meekness. They'd both been walking on eggshells around each other the past month, and it was starting to wear at Spike. Will never argued with him anymore, was rarely ever assertive; he seemed trapped in apology-mode, always pandering to what he thought Spike wanted to hear. It was almost as bad as when he'd been dating Eve.

Spike shook his head and turned on his heel, needing to get the hell out of the claustrophobic store.

“Spike—“ Spike shook his brother's hand off his arm.

“Jus'...give me a mo, yeah?” Will slumped forward and sighed as he watched his brother leave. He was trying, but nothing ever seemed to work. Spike's temper was short and frayed, and Will was doing everything in his power not to make things worse. If he could fast forward time to the point where they were whole and complete again, life would be good.

“Sir?” the bored-looking salesperson called.

“Yeah, we'll get back to you on the television.” Will wandered towards the front of the store in search for his brother.

***

They made the trip back to the new apartment in silence. A new home for new memories, or that had been the plan. So far, nothing much had changed. They still kept separate rooms, and the house felt as empty as when they'd first bought it. It was barren and impersonal; their knick knacks and pictures were still sitting in boxes, neither one of them motivated enough to fish them out and really decorate their apartment.

Spike made a bee-line for his room the moment they were in the door, the soft click of the door more damning than a slam.

Will grit his teeth in frustration. Any amount of emotion from Spike, even something as trivial as getting pissed enough to slam the fucking door, would've been preferable to the emotional limbo they'd been living in. Will picked up closest lamp and hurled it against the wall, suddenly irrationally angry. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, and every fiber in his being wanted to cause massive, widespread destruction to everything in his path. It was a futile, impotent anger that was eating away at his soul.

Spike heard the muffled thump and crash outside and winced. This was all so fucked up. Things were supposed to be better. Will had apologized, Spike had sort of forgiven him. So why couldn't he move on? Why couldn't he just...get over it? He pulled his pillow over his face and screamed into it.

This was all so fucked up.

***

Giles watched his sons dance around their broken relationship and his heart broke. His boys were hurting, and there was nothing he could do. He let out a long suffering sigh as Spike walked away from Will, missing the longing look thrown after him.

“You raised them too British,” a voice pipped up behind him. Giles turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at Anya.

“I assure you, while Will may have a scoche of British gentleman in his bones, Spike has not even a drop in him.” Anya huffed and slapped two heavy tomes in his arms. She was amazingly disrespectful for a secretary.

“I am an administrative assistant. And they need to yell.”

“Yell?”

“At one another. Yell and scream and maybe flex their very impressive muscles and beat each other up. It's all very masculine and cathartic. A little hot. But it helps and is a good segue into reestablishing se—”

“*AHEM* Yes, Anya, I think I get the, uh, picture.” Giles fought the urge to remove his glasses and clean them off. He glanced over to catch Anya's sharp, assessing look and wondered if he was being tested in some capacity. She seemed inordinately pleased with him at the moment. He turned his gaze back to Will, who was watching his brother disappear down the hall with an intense look of longing.

“Is there anything I can do to, ah, facilitate their reconciliation?” Anya frowned.

“With anyone else, I might be able to do something. But your twins are something else.”

***

Spike growled and paced the length of his room. Another tense night spent in his tense apartment with Will mere feet away and...he growled and spun around, pacing to the other side. He couldn't take much more of this. Couldn't do this anymore.

Feeling wild and unpredictable, Spike threw his door open and strode out, intent and focused.

“Spike?” He spared a fleeting glance for Will but didn't answer. “What are you—”

“Out,” Spike growled, wrenching open the door and disappearing into the night.

He walked to the closest bar, a small hole-in-the wall with dark corners and low lighting. They served strong drinks and you could find anything you wanted there, and right now Spike wanted to fuck.

He walked in like he owned the place, eyes darting around and surveying the scene. No one quite fit what he wanted, but the night was still young. Spike ordered a double shot and tossed it back, enjoying the vicious burn and how it settled in his stomach. The waitress brought him a double Jack without him even asking and he smirked at her in thanks. He wandered over to a side booth and settled in to wait. For what, he wasn't sure, but he'd know it when he saw it.

He'd been there for about an hour, nursing his second drink, when what he wanted walked in. The man was tall and dark, his black hair gelled up, his eyes hooded and intense. He was about as far away from Will as anyone could get. And Spike wanted him. The man surveyed the room, his dark eyes zeroing in on Spike in moments. Spike smirked at him and raised his glass in greeting. The other man let his eyes wander over Spike, undressing him one article of clothing at a time.

“Hello.” Spike smirked up at his chosen target, nodding his head lazily.

“'allo.” The man slid into the booth beside Spike, his thigh brushing against Spike's. Spike tilted his head back and drained his glass. Mr. Dark and Handsome smirked at him. “Wanna get out of here?” The man tilted his own glass back and drained the contents, turning a blinding smile on the smaller man.

“Absolutely.”

***

Will heard the door open and scrambled out of bed. He and Spike needed to talk, needed to clear the air before this thing destroyed them both, ate away at what they had until there was nothing left to salvage. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Spike plastered against some hulking brute, devouring the taller man's mouth. He swallowed hard and backed down the hall when Spike's aroused moan reached his ears, bile rising in Will's mouth.

Spike reached for the man's belt, unbuckling it and pulling the worn leather out in one quick motion. The man chuckled against Spike's mouth, breath hot and unfamiliar. They stumbled down the hall, hands roving, shirts being pulled out, rucked up so their hands could feel taught skin. Spike kicked open his door and steered the nameless man into his room.

Before he quite knows how it happened, Spike is shirtless and sprawled on his bed, watching his random hookup strip out of his shirt.

“What's your name?” Tall dark and handsome dropped his shirt on the floor and teasingly popped open the top button of his jeans.

“What?” TD&H chuckled and crawled on the bed, straddling Spike's supine form. One big hand dipped into Spike's jeans, knuckles rubbing against his semi-hard cock.

“Your name, boy.”

“S-Spike. God, it's Spike!” The dark laugh crept up Spike's spine, making him shiver in pleasure and guilt; this felt dirty and illicit in a way sex never had before.

“I'm Angel.” Spike keened high in his throat as the man wrapped his hand around his cock. God, after so long it felt so good. Angel stripped his pants the rest of the way off, pressed wet kisses down the length of his conquest's chest. He paused over the boy's hip and traced the tattoo he found there. “What's this?”

“Naguhr?” Spike mumbled incoherently. He felt the brush of Angel's fingertips along his hipbone, the sensitive skin sending shivers of sensation along his flesh.

“This. Your tattoo.” Angel pressed a kiss over it, biting into the delicate flesh, and Spike bucked him off. Angel scowled from his new position on the floor. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, sorry, I...” Spike trailed off, his attention caught by his reflection. He hadn't really looked at it, the impulsive tattoo a sympathetic artist had given him for free. The think black outline, the dark red of the heart, the wide gash that lanced through its center. The gash that broke the heart in two, a stylized W that divided each side. He winced when Angel walked up behind him and pressed against his back, feeling dwarfed and smothered by his bulk so different...so different...

“It's alright. I like a little rough and tumble.” Spike spun away from his wandering hand, casting around for something to cover himself.

“Yeah, about that, I don't think—” Angel growled darkly and stepped threateningly towards the blonde.

“You don't get to back out now, boy, get back over here and—” Angel never got to finish the sentence because the urge to enact mindless violence reared up and Spike decked Angel. While Angel was groaning on the floor, Spike pulled on his sweat pants and gathered up Angel's shirts. He threw them at the other man with a sneer.

“Think it's time you leave, ponce.” He was spoiling for a fight, and something in Angel seemed to sense that.

“You fucking fag,” the darker man growled. Spike rolled his eyes.

“Creative and effective, mate. You come up with that yourself?” Angel glared daggers at Spike, swearing vengeance on the other man. He turned and wrenched open the door, stalking out of the apartment, Spike hot on his heels to make sure Angel didn't get 'lost.' He barely noticed Will poke his head out at the commotion. At the door, Angel turned around and narrowed his eyes.

“You'll be sorry you did this,” he growled angrily. Spike laughed in his face.

“Already am.” He slammed the door closed and punched the wall in fury.

“Spike?” Will took a step back at the wildness in his brother's eyes.

“William.” Will swallowed at the heat in his brother's eyes, the dangerous glint of them.

“Are you OK?” Spike started laughing, the sound harsh and bordering on hysterical.

“OK? Am I OK?! No. No, I'm not OK! I am so far from OK I can't see the shoreline!” Will hunched in on himself.

“I'm sorry—”

“STOP. Stop being fucking sorry. I don't want you to be sorry. I'm fucking tired of you being sorry all the goddamned time!”

“Well what do you want, Spike? Because we may be twins, but I can't actually read your mind!” Will yelled, his own feelings bubbling to the surface.

“This! I want you angry and pissed and real and not treating me like I'm made of glass! I want to get mad at you without you backing down, I want...fuck!” Spike turned around and sent his fist through the dry wall, reveling in the brilliant flash of pain that travelled up his arm. He was spun around, Will pushing him up against the wall, pinning him there with his hips and a thigh between Spike's legs. “Get off.”

“No.” Will pressed a firm kiss to Spike's lips. He pulled back and Spike opened his mouth. “Shut up.” Will growled at Spike's mutinous expression and shook his brother, slamming him back against the wall.

“Seriously, shut up. I'm sorry.” He moved his thigh up when Spike's expression hardened and turned mulish. “I'm sorry I caused you so much pain. I'm sorry you were so hurt, and I'm sorry I couldn't find the words to make this better. But Eve showed me somethin' important, somethin' I needed to know.” Spike rolled his eyes, but Will ignored it. This was too important. He ducked down, forcing Spike to look him in the eye.

“You're it.” Spike's breath caught in his throat as Will laid his soul bare. “I don't want to live my life without you in it, by my side, in our bed. I had, ah, some lingering issues involving our...particular situation...that I let influence that whole situation. I never loved her. I never came close. I missed you every moment of every day, and every time you pulled away, I...” Will choked off and laid his forehead against Spike's.

“You have to talk to me,” Spike murmured, his hands flexing on Will's hips. “You can't, you can't keep that stuff bottled up. You have to tell me—”

“I know. I know, luv. And I'm so—” Spike stopped the apology with a gentle finger to Will's lips, the tension finally bleeding out of him. For the first time in too long, Spike felt some semblance of peace.

“I think I get it. Finally.” And Spike smiled, really smiled, for the first time in a year and four months. He pressed a kiss to Will's lips, a vow and forgiveness wrapped in one sacred act. “I accept.”


Chapter End Notes:
What's next in the Twinlets-verse? Well. Who wants to read about their wedding? Anyone?

You'll have to give me a little while since I'm so over going chapter by chapter; it irritates me, so I'm going to post fully-written stories from now on (well, as long as that system actually WORKS), even if they end up being 35 pages like this last one...



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