Fic Post! - 'Pivotal' ~ Chapter 31

*waves* Thanks to everyone who read and commented on the companion piece. I really do appreciate it. I'm planning on answering the feedback this afternoon, I just wanted to get this posted first.


Previous chapters can be found at my site or in my memories.

Title:  Pivotal
Pairing:  S/A
Rating:  NC17
Warning: Human AU (Full header with spoilers for the story here for those who prefer/need full disclosure before reading.)
Disclaimer:  Not mine, not for profit...just borrowing them to get the plot bunny that invaded my brain to shut up already.
Beta'd: by kitty_poker1
Special Thanks: to eyezrthewindows for being my sounding board on this (and all my) fic, for giving me endless encouragement during multiple periods of writer's block, and for holding my hand through all the insecurities I've had about it. Without her, I can say without a doubt I never would have finished this story. And thanks to kitty_poker1 for beta'ing this in spite of her impending retirement from beta'ing and for listening to my endless issues with it and encouraging me through my insecurities. *hugs you both*
Summary: Spike, a singer in a famous rock band, is being stalked. When his security team fails to protect him, Angel and company are brought in to guard him and find the stalker. Complications and life-altering decisions ensue.

Note: This is very loosely based on The Bodyguard, as in, the basic idea came from it and there are scenes here and there that were derived from the movie but have my twist on them to suit the fic and characters. Don't assume, though, that because you saw the movie you know the ending to this. That will be all my own. This is not a narrative of the movie with Spike popped into slot A and Angel in slot B, so to speak.





Previously…


Angel shoved Spike behind him and pulled out his gun, aiming it at the intruder.

"Don't move," Angel warned.

"What the—" Spike started, trying to sidestep Angel's arm.

"Spike, stay behind me," Angel ordered.

The middle-aged man stood on the other side of the foyer, hands at his sides, appearing harmless for all intents and purposes…except for the fact that he'd somehow gotten into the apartment.

"I assure you, I'm not a threat."

"I'll be the—" Angel started.

Spike sidestepped Angel's arm and interrupted him in a shocked voice. "Dad?"

The man looked at Spike with something akin to exasperation. "William. Would you mind calling off your…date?"




Spike took a step toward his father before a band tightened around his chest. He stopped short and asked sharply, "What are you doing here?"

The man in question pursed his lips for a split second before responding. "Hello to you, too, son. As for why I'm here, I should think that would be obvious."

Spike pushed down feelings of hurt as memories of all the things that had been said the last time they'd been in the same room together flashed through his head. He crossed his arms over his chest as next to him, Angel lowered his gun and holstered it.

Focusing on his father, Spike said, "Right, then. Pretend I'm clueless and explain it to me."

Instead of answering, Spike's father turned to Angel and extended his hand. "Please excuse William's lack of manners. I'm his father, Rupert Giles, although I prefer to be called Giles. And you are?"

Spike watched as Angel glanced at him, then took his father's hand. "Liam O'Connor. Everyone calls me Angel."

The two men shook hands, then Giles asked, "Am I to understand you and my son are dating?"

Angel looked at Spike again, not appearing to know how to answer that. Spike didn't either. Instead, he turned back to his dad and said, "He's my bodyguard."

Giles looked back and forth between them. "I see."

The censure in his voice was apparent, setting Spike's teeth on edge. "If the third degree is over, maybe you could answer my question?"

Giles expression darkened. "Tell me, son, were you ever planning on letting me know just how serious this threat to your life was? Or was I only to discover it after you'd been killed?"

Spike tensed further than he already had upon seeing his father so unexpectedly. "I called you after the bomb. I told you then I was fine. Nothing's changed."

"You led me to believe that was an isolated incident that was being dealt with. You failed to inform me that you were being stalked and threatened, including a bloody shirt left in your limousine. Your bloody shirt. Also, thank you for the call after the riot. I might have been understandably upset had I read about that in the paper without my own son bothering to ring me to let me know what had happened and that he was alright, first."

Spike felt about two inches tall. His father always had that effect on him, and no matter that he deserved it this time because he hadn't called after the riot, it still got Spike's hackles up. "I still don't understand why you left your precious dojahng. If you were concerned, you could have just phoned."

Giles nodded his head sharply. "I could have, yes. But then I received a letter and decided the matter needed my immediate attention. When I arrived here and you were nowhere in sight, I became concerned and phoned Xander, who told me exactly what's been going on, then called the doorman downstairs to tell him to let me in."

Spike's brow scrunched. "What letter?"

Turning around, Giles crossed to a table on one side of the foyer and picked up a plastic ziplock bag with a letter inside. Spike's gut clenched, but before Giles could hand it to him, Angel stepped forward, taking it instead. Spike stood tensly by while Angel read it and immediately pulled his phone out.

Several seconds later, Angel said into the phone, "Wesley. He's been in contact again. This time through the father." There was a pause, then Angel said, "I have the letter in my hand." Another pause, then, "Okay. See you then."

Angel flipped his phone shut and said to Spike, "Wesley's taking the first flight out here." Turning to Giles, he asked, "How was this delivered?"

"It was lying on the counter in my kitchen, weighted down with a butcher knife that does not belong to me. I would have brought that as well, but with airport security the way it is now…."

Spike swallowed. Quietly, he asked Angel, "What does this mean?"

Angel met his gaze and Spike could see the worry in his eyes, which didn't bode well. Until this point, Angel had met every threat from the stalker with cool confidence. The fact that he wasn't this time….

Spike grabbed the sealed ziplock out of Angel's hands and read the note, his blood running cold. 'Your son seems to think he can hide behind his shiny new security. Tell him he's wrong. I will have my revenge.'

Off to his left, Angel said, "I don't think we should speculate—"

"'M not asking you to soddin' speculate," Spike interrupted, "I'm asking you to give me your professional opinion." Spike cursed the slightly hysterical tone to his voice, even though it was understandable. Angel had never hedged before, either.

Angel looked down at the letter in Spike's hands, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go sit down."

Spike felt sick. "It's bad enough that I need to sit to be told, is it?"

Angel looked at him imploringly. "I just…think we'd all be more comfortable in there instead of standing around here in your foyer."

Spike stared at him for a long minute, trying to figure out what Angel was thinking, but Angel had closed off his expression, revealing nothing.

"Right. Fine. Let's all get comfy, then you can explain to me just how soon I should plan my funeral, yeah?"

Spike shoved the letter at Angel's chest, then turned and started for the living room, not looking back when Angel called his name.

Once they were all seated, Spike said, "Now give me a straight answer."

Angel looked at the letter once more, as if expecting it to talk to him. Finally, he looked up and met Spike's eyes. "We know what kind of stalker we're dealing with now. Wesley and I had our suspicions before this but…this letter confirms it. He's a resentful stalker."

Spike looked at him incredulously. "What does that mean? I stole his milk and cookies at some point and he's a bit pissy about it now?"

Angel set the letter down on the end table next to his chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sort of. A resentful stalker is a classification given to stalkers who are looking for some kind of revenge for a wrong they perceive was done to them by the person they're stalking. It could be someone you know, or someone you've never met."

"But you think it's someone I've met," Spike inserted, going by their other conversations about the stalker.

Angel nodded. "Like I told you before, I think it's someone you know. Someone either in your world now or in the past, but probably not your inner circle."

"Why do you think that?" Giles asked.

Angel looked over at him and said, "The tone of his notes suggest he knows Spike. He doesn't say he can find a way around the security, he says the security means nothing. He's essentially boasting that Spike's security isn't an issue, meaning he's someone we've either looked at and dismissed, or someone we never considered in the first place. And we've considered everyone."

Giles leaned forward. "Then consider again, young man. My son's life is at stake."

Spike blinked at the heat in his father's voice. "He's the best in the business. That's why Xander hired him. I'm sure if there's a way to figure out who this is and stop him, Angel will find it."

Giles looked at Spike. "Really? Because from what I saw when the two of you stumbled in the door, he was more concerned with getting in your pants than with making sure you were safe. He didn't even know I was there until I cleared my throat. Excuse me for having doubts."

Spike tensed, not liking the guilty look that passed over Angel's face. Looking at his father, Spike said, "Don't walk in here after not bothering to come see me once in the last ten years and start insulting the people in my life. You don't have the right."

For a long, tense minute, father and son sat glaring at each other before Giles said, "I think this is a discussion best saved for later, in private. Right now, if it's alright with you, I'd like to hear the rest of Angel's thoughts on the matter."

Feeling like a teenager being reprimanded and not liking it one bit, but also wanting to hear what else Angel had to say, Spike nodded his head and turned back to Angel. "Go on."

Angel, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there in the middle of Spike's and his father's issues, cleared his throat and continued. "He's backed up the notes with action, proving he can get to you. First the letter left on your bed in your own home, then the bomb, your bloody shirt in the limo, the letter on your breakfast cart, and now this. He was in your father's house and he brought a weapon. He's telling you that your family isn't safe either."

Spike immediately stood. "Dru—"

"Is safe," Angel said, sounding sure.

Spike's stomach unknotted slightly. "Maybe I should—"

Angel shook his head. "No. Contacting her, with a call or in person, wouldn't be a good idea right now. I'm ninety-nine percent sure he doesn't know about her, and we need to keep it that way."

Spike sat again, frowning. "How can you be that sure?"

Angel held his gaze and said with absolute certainty, "Because if he did, that note would have been left with her."

Spike swallowed. "How do you know that?"

"He wants to scare you. If he had any idea you have an ex-wife you still love and feel very protective of, to the point that you keep her hidden from the public so that she's not hounded by press while trying to fight a mental illness…he'd be all over that."

Still scared for Drusilla, Spike asked quietly, "What if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong, the undercover detail—who don't know who she is beyond being a client—I assigned to her the minute she was moved into Serenity will keep her safe."

Spike stood and walked over to his fireplace, staring at the marble mantle for a long moment before turning back. "You knew this was a possibility all along?"

Angel nodded. "Yes. That's my job."

Spike met Angel's gaze. "You didn't think I should know about it?"

"It was just a precaution. I didn't see the point in alarming you unless there was something to alarm you about. Now there is, so I am."

Spike weighed the validity of that in his head, and although he felt like reaming Angel a new one for not telling him right off, he knew he wasn't really angry at Angel. He was angry with the stalker, and the stalker wasn't there for him to go off on the way Angel was.

Staring at Angel, Spike got the impression there was still something he wasn't telling him. Walking back over to the couch, Spike sat back down and demanded, "Out with it, Angel."

"Out with what?" Angel hedged.

Spike waved a hand at him. "Whatever else you haven't told me."

Angel's jaw clenched and unclenched several times, and if the subject matter hadn't been so serious, Spike might have been amused at the fact that Angel obviously didn't like being read so easily.

Eventually, Angel said, "Normally, this type of stalker is considered low risk."

"You can't be serious," Giles said incredulously. "After all that you just told us—"

"I said, normally," Angel interrupted.

Spike allowed himself a second of immature glee at the irritation on his father's face at getting cut off, then refocused on the matter at hand.

"What are you saying?" Spike asked.

"I'm saying, that most resentful stalkers are satisfied with making threats and proving they can get to their victim by breaking and entering and leaving obvious signs of that, then sitting back and watching their target squirm. Your stalker is gearing up for something. He's too aggressive to simply be happy with watching you live in fear of him or her. He flew to another continent just to make a point. He's shown that he needs more than just watching you suffer to satisfy his need for revenge. The bomb and the other stuff prove that. In other words, we're dealing with a high degree of unpredictability here."

Spike slumped back on the couch, not knowing what to think about that. Complete and utter terror came to mind, but he pushed that knee-jerk reaction down in favor of at least attempting to remain calm.

After several moments of silence, Giles asked, "What should we do about this?"

Spike's jaw clenched at the 'we', not happy with the fact that it appeared his father planned to insert himself right in the middle of this. Before he could set him straight, though, Angel spoke.

"In my opinion, Spike, you need to cancel the rest of your concert dates and disappear off the radar for a while."

Spike sat straight up. "I'm not turning tale and running. 'S not an option."

"William, be reasonable—"

"No!" Spike said, glaring at Giles heatedly. "This arsehole is not going to run my life. I owe it to the fans, the band and myself to finish this tour. There are only a couple of weeks left, then I'll disappear if Angel still thinks I should, but not a moment sooner."

Neither Giles nor Angel looked happy, but Spike was damned if he'd let either one of them run his life, any more than he'd let the stalker. That decided, Spike curtly told his father he was welcome to spend the night in one of the guest rooms, before standing and walking out of the room.




An hour later, Spike stood on the balcony just off his bedroom, staring out at the city lights. Behind him, he heard his door open and close again with a soft click. He glanced over his shoulder, the look in Angel's eyes making his stomach sink. Turning back toward the view beyond his balcony, Spike braced his hands on the railing, waiting for what he'd known was coming ever since they'd been interrupted by his father.

Spike sensed more than heard Angel come to a stop right behind him, and for a long moment neither man spoke.

Eventually Angel said, "Spike, we need to talk."

Straightening, Spike turned to Angel and opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, but then their eyes met and Spike found himself instead pulling Angel to him by the front of his shirt.

Their lips met and heat shot through Spike. It didn't matter how many times they'd had each other over the past few days, Spike still wanted Angel with the same urgency as their first time, and judging by the way Angel was responding to him, Angel felt the same.

Neither of them had made any promises to each other—there had been no talk about what, if anything, they were to each other—yet Spike had stupidly let himself believe this was more than an interlude. He'd got the sense that Angel wanted more from him than a few days of bloody good shagging before they got back on the road and back to business too, and yet here Angel was, wanting to talk with a note of finality in his voice.

Only, Spike didn't want to hear it. All he wanted to hear was Angel panting and groaning and chanting his name as he shagged him stupid.

They continued to kiss as clothes dropped to the balcony at their feet until finally both were naked and hard and talking was the furthest thing from either of their minds. Spike turned around at Angel's urging and grabbed hold of the balcony railing, the sound of a foil packet ripping open behind him making his cock harden further with anticipation. Spike's eyes fluttered closed and he sucked in a sharp breath as Angel prepared him, then slid into him from behind.

Spike widened his stance and breathed out once Angel was fully inside, hands on his hips, gripping tightly. For a long moment, neither of them moved, then Angel pulled partway out and thrust back in slowly, setting a steady, torturous pace that had Spike's knuckles turning white on the rail and his breath coming in short rasps between groans of encouragement.

Too soon Spike felt the warning signs of an oncoming orgasm and fought it, whimpering each time Angel hit his prostate just right. Spike's eyes flew open and he stared out at the New York skyline, the fact that they were shagging where anyone could see only turning him on more.

"Ang…Angel…fuck…gonna…."

Lips at the back of his neck made Spike gasp and grip the railing tighter yet. "That's it, baby…let it go."

Spike shuddered as his eyes rolled back in his head and he gave in, cumming on the railing in front of them with a choked off cry. Behind him, Angel's hands on his hips tightened as he slammed into Spike harder and faster until with a final thrust he froze, groaning out his own release.

Angel's head dropped forward onto Spike's bare back between his shoulder blades. For a long moment they stayed that way, still connected, breathing heavily as they came down from their orgasms.

Eventually, though, Angel pulled out and stepped back. Fairly sure he didn't want to be stark naked for whatever came next, Spike reached for his jeans. He pulled them on, watching out of the corner of his eye as Angel pulled on his own trousers, and then shirt.

Spike's hands faltered on the fastenings of his button fly and he left them only partially done in favor of leaning back against the railing and gripping it, wishing more in that moment for a fag than he had in quite a while.

Spike watched warily as Angel turned away and ran a hand through his mussed hair, then turned back. Spike tensed at the resignation in Angel's eyes. "Out with it, then."

"This has to stop," Angel said quietly.

The actual words were harder to hear than Spike had expected. He kicked himself for letting himself get emotionally involved so early in the game. Then again, that was his M.O., wasn't it? Jump in with both feet, only to get them knocked out from under him? Even Drusilla had done that to him the day she'd had divorce papers delivered to him, although she'd believed that she was doing what was best for him.

"Right. Got your end away a few times and now it's got old, has it?" Spike said sarcastically, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice and hating himself for it.

Angel tensed. "Come on, don't do this. You knew it couldn't last. This was just…it has to be over. It's distracting me from my job."

Spike was proud of the fact that he didn't deck him. Instead he swallowed hard and said, "Sure. Was just a bit of fun, yeah?"

An expression Spike couldn't quite read crossed Angel's face. "Yeah, fun. I'm glad we're on the same page here."

"Right."

"I mean, you were bored, I was available…."

Spike's jaw clenched. "What are you saying?"

Angel's expression closed off. "I'm saying that I was just a convenient fuck. One in a long line I'm sure you've had."

Spike shrugged, shoving his anger down deep in favor of salvaging at least some of his dignity. "Right. Just one of many, nothing more."

"Glad we cleared that up," Angel said flatly.

Spike fought the urge to pull Angel to him, disgusted with himself for wanting to. "So am I."

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Angel turned and strode out, quietly shutting the door behind him. Spike didn't move for several moments, willing himself not to lose it and throw a temper tantrum. He'd humiliated himself enough by letting himself have feelings for Angel. He'd be arsed if he'd do anything else that might clue Angel in it meant more to him than it obviously had to Angel.

When Spike did finally move, it was to pick up the shirt that Angel had pulled off him earlier. He fingered it, remembering their last time—every time—together, then angrily ripped it to shreds and tossed it off the side of the balcony, watching as the pieces slowly floated down and out of sight.


Continued here.