Title: Why Do Fools Fall in Love
Author: Willa
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Summary: The first of Willa's "Tarot Card Tales", Set in the Wishverse.
Card 0: The Fool. Symbolizes a new beginning, the start of travels, and heading into the unknown.

"It's a fool's journey, love."

Angel doesn't look up from his packing. Spike sprawls across their bed - a mattress, actually, slung casually on the floor. The bed they've shared for some odd months now, up until last night. The bed they may not share again, ever.

If Spike's feeling the betrayal, he isn't showing it - yet. Reaching for his cigarettes, he taps one out and flicks his Zippo open, lighting it. He inhales, and exhales lazily, watching the plumes of smoke drift toward the nicotine-stained ceiling.

Angel continue packing. He won't need much. A couple of shirts, a couple pairs of pants. Socks. He'll wear the shoes on his feet. Too much exposure to Spike; he doesn't even think of throwing in some boxers.

"Sunnydale..." Spike says, drawing out the word into one long drawl. "Dangerous place to be going."

"I have to."

"Right, s'what you said. Have to go." Spike takes in and releases another puff of smoke. Lazily, he trails a hand down his bare chest to his cock, lying against his thigh. "Any chance of a good-bye fuck, then, or you just going to walk out into the cold without a kiss?"

"Spike -"

"No hope for me, then, is there?" Spike snorts out a breath of smoke. He taps off the ash into a coffee cup, ringed with dried blood at the bottom, and inhales again. "You'd think the Powers that Are -"

"The Powers that Be."

"- would understand a bit of a goodbye snog. After all, we've meant a lot to each other, this past hundred-plus years and few months. You can't take the time for a proper farewell?"

"The sun'll be up in a few hours. I have to get moving. Have to be there before it's dawn," Angel tries to explain.

"Right. Those Powers don't want a nice crispy pile of ash tryin' to do their dirty work for them."

"Spike, the Powers..."

"The Powers." Spike spits. "They send down a demon that dresses worse than you did when you were eatin' rats, show you this cute little blond chippie, and tell you she's the Slayer. That she'll need your help. So what do you do? Put on your skates, and away you go. Never mind me, back here in LA. What am I supposed to do while you're gone, then?"

His voice turns silken. "Maybe I'll find a lovely little piece of ass to turn, make my own. That Lindsey MacDonald, him who's always givin' you the eye even when we fight. He'd be a tasty treat in my bed. Can you picture it? Me teachin' him how to plead, to beg for mercy, for more, for my cock down his throat or splitting him apart up the ass?"

"Spike..." Angel spreads his hands. He's never felt so helpless. "Don't. I have to do this. I have to help the Slayer."

"And that's another thing. A vampire, help the Slayer? How daft is that? She'll stake you on sight, mate."

Angel stares at Spike for a long moment. Spike defiantly stubs out his cigarette in the mug and lights another, blowing the noxious smoke at him. "I have to," he repeats lamely. "The Master's taken over the town. Who knows what they'll do if someone doesn't help them?"

"It'll come to a bad end."

Angel is silent. Unable to find words.

Spike surges up from the bed, grasping Angel's hand. "You don't have to, you know. Tell the Powers to bugger off, and stay here with me. I'll keep you busy all night long. Be anything you want me to be."

"Spike... I can't." With an effort, Angel tugs his hand free. "You didn't see her. She's just a kid."

Spike sits back on his heels, expression unreadable. "Yeah. An' you're half in love with her already, aren't you?"

Angel stares at his bag. No answer comes to his lips. Yes, he has fallen under the spell of spun-gold hair and crystalline eyes, but which set, belonging to who? He thinks of Spike, then recalls the Slayer, so innocent and tempting with her lollipop. Just a child, soon to be asked to bear the weight of the world on her small, fragile shoulders. He can't leave her to that alone. "I have to go."

"Go, then." Spike flings himself back onto the mattress. He smokes sullenly, his back turned to Angel. His shoulders are set in hard, unforgiving lines. "Don't expect me to say goodbye."

Angel doesn't. Silently, he looks down at his bag, and keeps shoveling things in. Stakes, now. Crosses, wrapped in cotton. Holy water.

He'll go to help the Slayer defeat the Master. He'll shed a few tears over leaving Spike behind, but it can't be helped.

In some strange way, this feels like it might be his destiny.