Deep In - An Angel Resource Site

Home Fiction Essays Betas Links Timeline Updates Contact STA

Title: Blood Ties
Author: Spyke Raven
Summary: A series of related vignettes from a shattered life. Set about 15 years into the future. (2015 A.D.)
Warnings: Rated R, for adult ideas and pairing. Angst. Some strange humour. Crossover with Buffy: the Vampire slayer. Oh yes, and I'm experimenting with style.
Pairing: Angel/?.
Disclaimers: Not mine, Joss'. And I make no money out of this so please send me
Feedback: At spyke_raven@gatefiction.com
Archive: Kita's if she wants it, Eterniata, I'd be most honoured, and anyone else, drop me a line so I can hug you and offer you a do-nut.
Author's Notes: after the story.

The look in the nurse's eyes was unreadable. A mixture of pity, disgust and something else, something he couldn't quite fathom.

"I'm sorry," she said, handing back the cheque he'd written her. "I can't... do this."

He swallowed, feeling the bile rise. "What did he do?"

She laughed a little too quickly. "Nothing. Nothing! I swear! He just... we just..." her voice trailed off and she gulped. "He just... prefers having someone else take care of him. Someone he's more comfortable with."

He understood then. She was protecting her patient from him.

"Keep it," he handed the cheque back to her.

She refused to take it, looking at him again with that odd mixture of sympathy and repugnance. He stood holding the piece of paper, feeling a little foolish.

"He needs you," she said, finally. Her voice held just a trace of anger. "You shouldn't be ignoring him."

She held his gaze until he was shamed into nodding.Even then she waited, searching his face to see if he was telling the truth. He was. He willed her to see it. He'd made a promise and he would keep it.

"He's my brother," he said finally, nearly choking on the lie, but she'd believed she was hearing the hard-won truth. "It's not easy - seeing him this way."

She nodded compassionately, mind breaking this explanation into palatable chunks. She spoke in platitudes about periods of adjustment, about how most families were unable to deal with it adequately at first. He nodded gratefully, mentally clocking how long she could continue the barrage of mush.

It was another hour before she left. Despite his relief at the end of the lecture, the thought of being left alone and responsible for the man upstairs nearly unmanned him. He would have begged her to stay, but decided enough damage had been done already.

It might have been fear. It might have been in anger.Whatever it was, he waited until Sunday night before going up to meet his charge.

It was his fault that Cordelia hadn't come in to work all week.

Cordelia hadn't come in to work all week. He'd expected that, and wondered what he'd do if she never came in again.

Wesley came to see him on Tuesday.

"You're sick," he'd said without preamble. Apparently he'd heard the news.

"I feel fine." Angel hadn't looked up from the pile of paperwork on the desk.

"Angel." The papers were swept away and replaced by a lean sun-brown hand.

*Sun... *

He stared at the fingers, mesmerized. The hand had flexed once, twice, as though daring to reach out to him. But he knew Wesley wouldn't touch him. No one could touch him.

"Angel. You're still in shock. You need to rest.Please."

If this had been ten years ago, maybe Wesley would have reached up with those long fingers and brushed his cheek with them. Ten years ago he'd done that to him, brushed away his tears, called him his brother in arms. Ten years ago Wesley had shared his bed on the night of the wedding, not asking, not doing anything,just holding him while the love of his life pledged her heart, hand and soul to someone else.

He stared at Wesley's hand on the polished wood of his desk, knowing it wouldn't be touching him.

"Angel?"

Angel raised his head and met Wesley's troubled eyes with a gaze that he knew was calm and perfectly sane.It should be, considering how he felt perfectly calm and sane. "I'm fine, Wesley." He smiled to emphasize the point. "Would you get me the Grayson files?Cordelia didn't put them on my desk."

The smile on his face didn't waver, not even when Wesley left the room.

He brought Riley home the next day.

He'd brought Riley home on Wednesday. Neither of them spoke a word, except a soft moan from the human as he was carefully carried upstairs and arranged on the bed. No one noticed anything unusual.

The health care professionals hovered around and made sure all the right tubes were inserted into the right orifices - catheter? Check. IV? Check. The ex-marine had lain like the dead, saying nothing all the while.No one noticed anything unusual, or if they did,perhaps they shrugged it off. Newly widowed quadriplegic being brought home by brother. Tough.Both probably still in shock. Hell, they had a right to be silent.

He'd never been fond of the pasty face, but the man looked like hell, death frozen, warmed over and refrozen, lying still and silent while a forest of machinery grew up and about him.

When Angel paid off the rabble and the two of them were alone, alone for the first time since the hospital, suddenly, painfully, he found he had nothing to say.

Apparently Riley didn't have the same problem.

His lips moved, expression unchanging dead, his voice a harsh croak.

"Why?"

Angel shrugged. It seemed to infuriate Finn man, whose wan, drawn face made him look ten times older than his mid-thirty years.

I look better than that.

She still married him.

"Why?" Riley spat out the word, and this time Angel left the room instantly, taking perverse satisfaction in the fact that he couldn't be followed.

He hired the nurse on Thursday.

Elizabeth's face haunted him all the while, but he set his teeth and smiled at his new employee, handed her a check, pointed her up the stairs and went back to his office with a sigh of relief. He'd hired a nurse. Now he had no reason to go upstairs anymore.

Maybe that would bring his friends back.

The same afternoon, the nurse told him the patient was refusing to take in food.

The news surprised him. He'd thought Riley was still on the IV.

"It's always good for the patient to actively take in nourishment, even just sipping through a straw."

"So use a straw."

She'd nearly wrung her hands. "He won't drink from it."

"Then stick with the IV until the patient feels ready to move on to something else." He was pleased with the suggestion and wondered why she'd looked at him with such horror before flouncing back upstairs. The man had about a thousand tubes stuck into him already.What difference would one more or less make?

He understood in the evening, when she came down to get her coat.

"I'll be leaving now."

"Mm," he was cross-referencing translations. "Thanks.I'll see you tomorrow."

She hesitated at the door and he looked up to see her frowning slightly.

"Yea?" he asked, and she'd shrugged before leaving.

"Nothing."

On Friday the patient had apparently stopped responding to any form of stimulus. Angel heard this without comment and wondered what he was supposed to do.

"You haven't been visiting him," she accused.

"Would that help?" he asked, mildly curious.

On Saturday the nurse quit, and for the first time since Elizabeth's death, he felt a rush of emotion.

It might have been exhilaration. It might have been rage. But it was emotion, unlike the dead calm that had possessed him this long.

It was emotion, not the absence of it, and that alone made him afraid.

"Promise me you'll take care of him," she'd begged on her deathbed.

"Elizabeth..." he'd whispered, the unfamiliar syllables clogging his throat. *Buffy, * he wanted to say. My beautiful, brave brilliant one. I wanted you to have babies and watch them play in the sunlight. I didn't want this...

"The Initiative," she'd coughed, bright spots appearing on her cheeks. "You know how...they never forgot us. They'll hunt him down... they'll... promise me, Angel. You'll take care of him, please, take care of him."

Fifteen years since he'd held her in his arms, and now he climbed on to the bed, carefully avoiding tubes and wires, making his arms a cradle she could rest in.

She felt light in his arms. Light, and hot. *A bird of prey... a hunting hawk. Oh, my love. * He gently rocked her as she spoke the words, damning him with their flow.

"They tried not to tell me... I was in the damn car,how could I not KNOW. But he'll live, Angel," she promised him, her eyes fever bright, her heart failing desperately to pump the blood she needed. "He will live. And... and you'll take care of him, won't you?"

"I will," he'd promised her then, anything to stop the tidal flow of words and let his beloved sleep, move on from the prison of her body. "I promise I will."

He hadn't told her that the child they'd taken from her body in Caesarean section had not survived the impact. He hadn't told her that the promise she'd extracted from him had been void before her death.

He'd chosen instead to honour the spirit of her request. And when Riley Finn, husband of the late Elizabeth Ann Summers had come out of his coma two days after the death of his wife and unborn son, Angel had been there to play family, to pay the bills and assume custody of the last thing that had belonged to the woman he loved.

Thing. Not man. Thing that bore no resemblance to any human, thing that was paralyzed from the neck down,that would for the rest of its life be dependant on the charity of strangers, thing, loathsome, ugly thing that had been unable to prevent the death of the wife and son it hadn't deserved. Thing. Not man.

It was still all he had left of his beloved. Thing or not, it was coming home with him.

He remembered to call it Riley when applying for the release forms. They might take the thing away from him if they thought he wouldn't be careful with it.

So, on Thursday he'd hired the nurse. On Saturday the nurse quit.

He waited till Sunday night before going upstairs again.

Riley was lying on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, his neck upturned and curiously vulnerable despite the random stubble that dotted his skin.

Angel went to his patient's side and made a move to unhook the catheter.

The dead eyes fixed on him hungrily.

His hand shook and he looked away.

Vampire ears picked up a soft rustle and he looked down to see that Riley had shifted his head so that the jugular was clearly exposed.

His gaze locked on the weakly throbbing vein for what seemed like an hour. Then -

A cough which wasn't and he realized his rival had been speaking.

"Do it."

Angel's grasp relaxed and his face smoothed into non-expression. His hands dropped gently to his side and he reached down to raise the bed level instead.

It wasn't until he turned Riley over that he realized the man was smiling.

The razor rasped steadily, cleanly cutting away layers of soap and unkempt hair.

"Why am I here?"

No response, only a steady stroking motion as Angel plied the blade smoothly about the curves of the thin,long face.

"Why?"

Still quiet.

"I get nervous when silent guys wield blades around my neck."

A tremor, but the blade didn't slip, didn't cut even though Angel was sure Riley would have leaned into it and welcomed the cut.

Silence and the sound of gentle cloth wiping away foam and the last remnant of hair.

Angel turned the towel around to show Riley.

No blood. No clots.

"Perhaps you could get me a mirror."

It amused Angel that Riley couldn't hear his thoughts.

"You must really hate me."

Silence is consent.

Days fell into a recognizable pattern. He woke in the morning and gave Riley his sponge bath, orange juice,and logged the readouts on the support machine. After that, he was free to attend to the business of the day, except for meal times, when he had to trudge upstairs again and perform his nurse duty.

Angel learned a lot in the first month alone. The first lesson was easy, the lesson of indifferent silence. Riley refused to have anyone else care for him. He talked a lot while Angel was busy about his body.

"It's the barber again. Short top and sides, my good man."

Or, "You missed a spot. Between my toes," checking slyly to see if Angel was frowning. "The honeymoon's over, isn't it? I can feel you losing enthusiasm for this."

Cripple, thought Angel, but didn't say it, only complied with the orders, despite the fact that Riley wouldn't know the difference if Angel used sulphuric acid instead of soap to bathe his legs.

Maybe it was self-flagellation. Maybe he was a masochist. It was doubtful who was being punished more.

The second lesson was a bit more difficult.

Sponge baths, he discovered, are not easy to give to unresponsive flesh. You can't say, turn over, or even,move your leg. The paralyzed may try his best, but there's still not much to work with.

It got worse if the patient knew what was happening.

Some days, as he was cleaning the patient, massaging the muscles to slow down atrophy, he'd give the man an erection. And Riley would guess, by the change in the atmosphere, by the slow careful way Angel started to work. Because Riley couldn't feel very much, he watched a lot. He was very observant. And he liked to talk.

But he didn't talk the first day it happened. He just watched intensely as Angel finished his task, taking care to clean every crevice, every fold of skin,rubbing each muscle as diligently as ever, completely and utterly ignoring the sudden turgidity of his charge's nether regions. Riley said nothing as Angel slipped the loose robe around him, knotting the ties with painful precision, his second to last task before leaving for the day.

"Don't go." The words halted him for a second, only a second, but enough that he lost this game to Riley.

"Stay." Was it a game? Wasn't it?

It was.

It was the first time Riley ever made the request. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Ashamed and angry, Angel strode out of the room.Silent still, as on every previous day.

Hate was easy. Angel understood hate.

A fortnight into this new routine, he stood in the entrance to Riley's room, jealously enumerating the virtues of his rival's face. He'd held off temptation long enough.

The moonlight softened the planes of the man's sleeping countenance. In the grand metaphorical tradition, Riley lay turned towards the light. Angel thought of closing the blinds, but realized it wouldn't make a difference. After all, vampires can see in the dark.

He stood there for what seemed like hours, stealthily devouring the countenance of the man who had taken his love from him. He'd last seen it (tried to smash it flat) fifteen years ago, still soft and pliant with the remnants of puppy fat. Now it was harsher, though sleep had smoothed away most of the pain lines.

Harsher. Older.

With a shock he realized that Riley was physiologically older than he was. Because humans age.Get older.

Jealousy at this truth came easily to him.

The man had married his Buffy and watched her grow into Elizabeth She would have had children with this Riley Finn. Maybe they'd made love together in the sunlight. If they hadn't, then he was an idiot.

He'd left his love so that she could be with a man who could give her all the things he couldn't. Warmth.Laughter. Sunlight. Babies.

Not death. Death was NOT in the plan.

If death had been all she was going to get then maybe-

He felt rather than heard the man's breathing pattern change, and turned to flee before he could be caught.

"I'm awake," said the man on the bed.

Angel clenched his fist and forced himself to turnaround purposefully. Yes, all outlined in silver, the chest was rising and falling slowly, the eyes were open, glittering harshly.

"Don't go," said Riley Finn.

Childishly, perversely, Angel grinned and left.

The world continued spinning on its axis, and Angel found that he could smile again, especially when Wesley and Cordelia returned to the office. They didn't speak of the man living with him and he closed an eye to their surreptitious trips upstairs.

A doctor visited every two days, and the health care technician came twice a week. Angel found it a bore to have to consult with them, but along with Wesley and Cordelia's daily visits, they were company for Riley.

Company was good for Riley. Strangely, he never once let slip that his 'brother' refused to speak to him or touch him unless absolutely necessary. In fact, from the suspiciously wet gleam in the doctor's eye, and the fervent clasp of his hand at the end of their consultation, Angel had the distinct impression that Riley was playing Angel's role as the 'devoted younger brother who cares selflessly for his crippled sibling' shtick for all it was worth.

That made him a little uneasy. Obviously Riley wanted to surprise him into a reaction. But even the illusion of gratitude from the thing imprisoned on its bed was enough to make him nauseous.

In a way it was a relief to meet the contempt in Cordelia's eyes.

She'd walked into his office, plonked herself on the desk and placed a ringed hand over the files he was scanning. Angel looked up, knowing what was about to come.

"I like him." She'd said simply. "I used to like you too."

"Cordelia -" he'd begun, but she waved him quiet.

"There's a Nonis demon twelve blocks away from here."She'd handed him the address. "Go. I'll give him dinner."

"Its none of your business." The admission startled him, and she'd smiled at him, smugly triumphant.

"He won't take it from you anyway," he'd reminded heron his way out. Out, not up the stairs.

"Bastard." She'd said it dispassionately enough, but he'd paused in the doorway to twist the knife a little.

"Took you long enough to get to know me."

When he was sure he wouldn't be observed, he'd doubled back and climbed cautiously up the stairs.

In less than three months time, they'd moved on to solids, which meant that Angel had to feed Riley by hand. He didn't mind it very much, except for Finn's disconcerting habit of chewing each mouthful twenty times, his eyes solemnly fixed on Angel for all that time.

"Stockholm syndrome," he said one night.

Angel refused to take the bait, only held out the next spoonful of mashed potatoes. Riley took it, chewed it,and swallowed.

"What if I start suffering from Stockholm's syndrome?"

Angel reached out and wiped the side of Riley's mouth,deliberately dragging the tissue over the man's lips.

When he removed his hand, Riley was smiling at him."Think about it. I'm dependant on you for everything.Food. Water. Medication. Companionship. You're the next thing to God. Any minute now I'll develop a massive crush on you."

Angel offered him another spoonful. Riley shook his head slightly, the limited extent of his motility.Angel got up to leave.

"I always did go for the strong mysterious type. How would you feel if I didn't hate you anymore?"

He kept walking. Through the door and out the room.

"Talk to me, Angel. Do you want me to hate you?"

The words followed him downstairs. "Because I do,Angel. I still hate you."

"You should have let me die."

Sometimes he dreamed of Elizabeth and Riley, naked on a bed, heads thrown back in ecstasy, hands and hearts conjoined, conjugal. He woke sweating after dreams like that.

He found that the best way to exorcise these dreams was to creep up to Riley's room and watch the sleeping man. The contrast between the Riley Finn of his dreams, and the Riley Finn he took care of now became painfully obvious.

For one thing, the older version was a hell of a lot more snarky than his juvenile counterpart.

"Can't sleep until you kiss me good night?"

For another, the snark was always awake at the wrong times.

"Good night Angel," sang Riley sweetly, and made loud kissing sounds. "See you tomorrow sweetie. Make sure you wake up in time for Good Morning L.A."

"Good night Riley."

For one blissful moment, Angel savoured the total,complete shock on his patient's face. It was sweet. Oh yes, revenge was so sweet.

"Good night, Riley." Angel repeated for emphasis. And turned and left in the exaggerated dark-hero comic book style that Riley had thrown up to his face ad nauseam.

It didn't work too well. Dressing gowns lack the dramatic intensity of trench coats. Still, he had the satisfaction of hearing Finn man's long drawn out,still incredulously nasal "Wha-?" die behind him.

They didn't start conversing immediately, of course.

They didn't start conversing immediately, of course.But sometimes Riley would ask him a question and Angel might answer it.

Lately the pains had been getting worse.

"I thought a quadriplegic wasn't supposed to feel anything," Riley joked, but Angel only handed him his pills silently.

He'd suffered head trauma as a result of the accident,and had been taking Tegritol to keep seizures at bay.Unfortunately, Tegritol kept him depressed, drowsy and half drunk, so more often than not he refused to take the pills, pretending to swallow them, but spitting them out once Angel left the room.

Angel normally stayed until he was sure the pills were down. Still, he'd moved into the room next to Riley's,and found himself sleeping lightly, ears pricked for the first choking sound, ready to move at a moment's notice should Riley go into convulsions.

Convulsions. A side effect of haloperidol, the other medicine he was taking, which counterbalanced Tegritol's depressant effect with mood swings.

"Mood swings, convulsions and I have to pay for the pills that curse me. Ever get the feeling that life is a big fucking joke?"

Angel wondered what had happened to the Riley Finn who refused to swear and went to church every Sunday.

They only ever had one conversation about faith.

"I know a nun," Angel said, startling a laugh out of Riley.

"You know the strangest people."

"No," mentally cursing himself for not choosing abetter opening line. "I just. You know. If it would help."

Riley looked at him seriously, considering his words.

"Would it hurt you?"

The question was surprisingly gentle and Angel was surprised into a truthful answer. "Perhaps. It might.I don't know."

"Okay. Then no."

"Sure?"

"Sure." Finn had sighed a little before murmuring softly. "I'm still angry with Him anyway."

Angel wasn't sure if he was supposed to have heard that.

On reflection, possibly not.

They didn't ever argue about money, and that was another thing that Angel was grateful for.

Riley wasn't rich, but with no dependants and a heavy life insurance policy, he was more than able to afford his own place and fancy equipment, if the notion ever struck him.

So far the notion hadn't struck him.

Angel tried not to wonder why.

Speaking of fancy equipment...

Cordelia bought Riley the television that changed channels on voice command. Wesley was a little smarter, and came to Angel with a blank cheque and a look that said 'Sign or else.'

Angel signed, and two days later, Riley had a voice prompt computer and a mammoth screen to view it from.

"No porno Mom, I swear," Riley smiled when Angel gave the new apparatus a cursory glance. "Hey, wanna watch discovery? They have this special on the mating habits of bonobo apes."

"Open your mouth," said Angel curtly, wondering why the idiot grinned before opening wide.

But he stuck around to watch the special on Discovery.And discovered that even educational channels needed adult ratings.

Finn man scouted the Net looking for online books,which he devoured voraciously, memorising strange quotes and epithets that he'd throw at Angel during their thrice daily communication.

Sometimes it seemed that Riley thought his purpose in existing was to make life hell on earth, for him,Angel.

He didn't mind too much. Prevented the one moment of perfect happiness anyway. Besides which, the man was a quadriplegic. What other joy did he have in life?

He refused to consider the fact that he accepted Riley needed joy in life. He filed it away with the other unconsidered facts, like when he'd started thinking of the room upstairs as 'Riley's room'. Or how he'd begun to look forward to the times they'd spend together,even if Riley did all the talking and he did most of the grunting.

It was fun, in a strange sort of way, especially when Finn Man quoted Shakespearean curses at him.

Riley had a deep affection for poetry and the classics. Shakespeare, Bacon, even Macaulay, whom most connoisseurs deemed a dead bore. It was strange to think he might have something in common with Riley.But not that strange. Which worried him.

You don't get to take care of another person's body as if it was your own without getting to care a little for that body and the soul residing within it.

Angel tried to remember if he'd wanted that to happen or not.

Unfortunately he didn't know. Which was why, when Riley told him, he had absolutely no answers.

When Riley finally told him, Angel had absolutely no answers. Come to think of it, he hadn't even had a clue what the man was up to. He'd thought it was just one of those mood swings.

It wasn't, as it turned out.

It turned out very badly.

"So who did you hate more?" Riley asked conversationally. "Her or me? You never came to the wedding."

Angel was sponging him carefully, kneading the muscles of the arm. He refused to let this question throw him off his stride.

"I'm guessing me of course. Then again she did stick you with me."

"Close your eyes." Angel wet the flannel and moved it over Riley's face.

"You already cleaned there," he grumbled through a mouthful of towel.

"I know. You have a dirty mouth."

"My God." The towel fell away as Angel winced. "You have a sense of humour," breathed the oblivious Finn.

"No."

Riley smiled and didn't say anything until Angel was at his torso, perilously near the no-go zone.

"Hatred. Do you hate me?"

Angel shrugged noncommittally. Riley sighed.

"I can't hate you."

The words fell gently on his ears. They should have had the stopping power of a brick wall. They should have knocked him senseless. Instead, they fell gently,almost sweetly, like he'd been waiting to hear them.

"I wanted to hate you. For a month, I did. I wondered what you wanted from me... don't know, think I stayed awake all I could for three weeks, expecting at anytime that you'd jump on me and bugger me senseless.For revenge or something."

The towel fell from nerve less fingers. Angel didn't bother picking it up.

"But you were gentle. You are gentle. Maybe you're even kind. I don't know. I guess I'm trying to say that I'm grateful."

Angel straightened up and began wiping Riley's legs clean.

"Maybe you want me to hate you? I don't know if I can do that."

One foot clean. One more to go, then he could get out of here.

Remember to wipe between the toes.

"Angel?"

He drew the covers around the quiescent soldier and fetched the robe.

There was a moment when he was doing the neck tie and his head was below Riley's. He held himself stiff,bracing himself for contact, for unwanted, repugnant contact... not knowing if he craved it or the possibility of knocking Riley's head clean off his shoulders if the Finn even dared touch him.

Instead, Riley waited till he was done and moving away from him before breathing very carefully. "I'm sorry.I really am."

Angel switched on the television and set it to the cartoon channel before leaving. Behind him, he heard Riley mute the volume. "Angel!"

He didn't look back.

Next day and for a week after, Riley decided to greet silence with silence. No words. No jibes. No seductive roll of the neck to proffer his pulse vein.

Angel was grateful.

At the end of that week Riley asked him a question.

"So. How did she taste?"

Angel dropped the plate he was feeding Riley from.

Riley's eyes fixed on him like a magnet, ignoring the shards of plate and the lack of lunch. Angel bent down to pick up the pieces, and Riley said nothing until they were eye level again.

"She told me once - we had a fight. Her neck," his stare burned, "her neck always had this little scar.Your fangs caused it. You kissed her there."

Angel dropped a piece of pottery.

"Leave that." Riley's voice was commanding, but Angel gathered all the bits and dumped them into the trash basket by the bed. He'd empty it later.

"I wanted to know how it felt."

Maybe he should empty it now.

"She said it was erotic, the most burning sensation in the world. That you were taking her, completely and totally, refusing to let go, opening your skin and making yourself a place to hide in...how did she taste?"

His voice was desperate, but then his voice always held that hint of nervous emotion. Angel let his hands fist around the edges of the basket for a second, then relaxed and set it down.

"How did she taste, Angel? You were her first. I washer last. What did you get from her that I couldn't take?"

The trash basket was the heaviest thing in the world.He had to think about getting something more lightweight for the room.

The sounds of a soldier swallowing. "I hated you for that, you know. That you knew her... intimately. Every time I touched her, every time I kissed her, there'd be a moment when I'd want to wrap up inside her, take her inside my skin the way you did, know her and feel her just the way you did. But I couldn't then. I can't now. And for the rest of my life I'll wonder how she tasted when you took her life into you."

"So tell me, Angel. Humour a poor cripple. Tell me about the woman we both loved." A soft sobbing breath."Tell me so that maybe... maybe I can let her go."

How did she taste, Angel?

I want to let her go.

Tell me so that maybe... maybe I can let her go.

Can anyone ever let this go?

She tasted like this.

Angel reached out deliberately and took Riley's hand.

It felt rough and warm to touch... strangely naked without the protective excuse of soapy flannel.

"Tell me," repeated Riley softly, and Angel nodded infinitesimally in reply.

Carefully, slowly, raising the palm to eye level so that Riley could see what was happening, Angel extended a nail and cut lightly into the foreign skin.

Sweat beaded on Riley's forehead. But Angel had the feeling that even not paralyzed, he'd have held still at the cut.

Skin sliced open, exposing light blue and pink, the hidden world of capillaries and dermis. Angel squeezed gently till a small drop of blood appeared.

Riley's eyes flicked up to his, and then back again at the wound that caused him no pain.

Angel stared at the drop for a minute, before lifting it on a finger and smoothing it over Riley's lips.

(Gently now. Gently.)

Slowly, the lips moved. Parted...

(Angel leaned down.)

Lips parted... so softly...and were licked clean.

(Like that.)

Angel remained in position, their faces only inches away.

Riley licked his lips again, re-tasting that first contact with death.

"Like that," whispered Angel, thinking * copper and life and sweetness and age, * "She tasted just like that. Human. Perfectly human."

This time when he turned to leave, Riley did not ask him to stay.

He didn't return till midnight.

Angel found out the next day that Cordelia and Wesley had gone up together and then separately to try and force Riley to eat or at least to take his medication.

The man had set his face to the wall and refused to even look at the two of them.

He found out the next day, well into the afternoon,when it was already too late.

If he'd known earlier, he might have stopped to consider. He might not have been so harsh at midnight.

But he'd been tired and he was afraid. His soul fighting for its anchor.

And a man in fear of his life doesn't fight very clean.

Midnight.

Silent blue grey images illuminated the face of the man on the bed. His mouth was twisted in a rictus of pain.

Bad night brewing. Angel hated nights like this.

He mentally cursed himself for not asking Cordelia to give Riley his medication, then remembered it would have been just like Finn man to refuse it from her hands.

The pills were on the table near the bed, and he cupped them in his palm a moment, checking the dosage before giving them to Riley.

Blue eyes flickered from him to the pills. "Water,"suggested Riley. "Thirsty."

Ah.

He filled a glass, and set it under Riley's chin, a shattered straw in his mouth. Riley drank, then opened his mouth for the pills.

They went down easily.

"Hungry?" asked Angel. Riley shrugged and Angel took that as a yes.

Soup was easy, the easiest thing for a tired vampire to make while chugging his pints of blood. Feeding Riley was a bit more difficult.

He nearly refused the first spoonful, then with an unfathomable look at Angel, downed the rest with an appetite that reminded Angel that his charge hadn't eaten all day.

When the bowl was empty, Riley closed his eyes and let angel wipe his mouth.

Angel told himself he wasn't lingering at the curve of the lips. He told himself he was making sure all traces of stickiness were gone.

Under his fingers, he felt Riley smile. No, move his lips to speak.

"If you leave me, I'll starve to death."

Finger tips stopped, slid the flannel away from the lips.

Riley's eyes opened slowly. "If you don't feed me, I won't eat. If you leave, Cordelia will have to watch me die. Or I'll die alone."

Angel felt his fingers crush into each other.

"Don't you ever walk out on me again."

In shock, Angel realized he'd heard Riley pleading.

"You hear me, Angel? Don't leave me."

This wasn't supposed to happen. G - someone, this wasn't supposed to happen.

"I'll die if you leave me."

Wasn't this what he'd wanted to happen?

Revenge. Fear.

Gut-wrenching fear. Soul-wrenching fear. And a soul fighting for its life does not fight clean.

I'll die if you leave me.

"What makes you think I care?"

Eyes stayed open for a second of incredulous shock,before snapping shut with a vengeance.

Angel watched, mesmerized, as a single tear rolled down from under the closed lids.

"Riley..."

"Get out."

"I don't even like you." Angel's voice was barely a whisper.

"Get. Out."

"I hate you." Trying hard to remember that.

"GO!"

Angel did.

It was surprisingly easy.

Hate was something Angel had thought he understood. He realized he had never understood it before.

Hate is not the absence of love. Hate is love that has stared you in the face so long you'd forgotten it was there, and once it turned its back on you, you wondered how you could have been so blind as to take its existence for granted.

Hate was the look his Wesley and Cordelia gave him,refusing to meet his eyes, answering his every question in monosyllables. Hate was what he felt in a darkened room where a man lay motionless, stone still under a barrage of metal.

The next day began with the vampire talking and the human silent.

"Stockholm syndrome. Remember?"

The eyes remained closed, the lips firmly shut, forced close on a straw but refusing to sip.

"You said you could end up suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Maybe you are."

He waited another ten minutes before removing the straw.

"You're pathetic, Finn. Crippled, dependant,useless... do you want to be a loser as well?"

No response, except a jump on the heart monitor.

Angel set his teeth and began the sponge bath.

"If you refuse to eat, I'll just have them put you on a drip."

The limbs were always slack, but today they seemed deader than usual.

"You can live almost forever on glucose and saline."

He kneaded the forearms almost urgently. There appeared to be some loss of muscle tone.

"You won't die. I'll see to that." The soft hissing of machinery underscored his words.

"I don't like you enough to let you die."

Fear was what he saw in his doctor's eyes.

"He won't eat. He won't drink. Tell me what to do."

The doctor swallowed, expression haunted.

"Tell me!"

"He's lost the will to live."

"I won't let him die."

"I'm sorry."

"He can't die."

"I'm sorry."

"He can't!"

He will.

And there was no answer to that.

"Apologize." She said on the fourth day, coming right up to him and shoving him in the chest. "Stop acting so god damn prissy and apologize to him!"

"Cordelia -" he tried to gently pry her arms away from his chest, but she growled and lashed out in a stinging slap.

"You coward." Seething, she stamped on his toes. "You COWARD!"

He recovered and lunged too late. She'd already stalked out the door.

"Cordelia!" yelled Angel, but she only turned and flipped him a rude gesture.

"I don't know what you did, but get your butt up there and APOLOGIZE!"

Wesley coughed and followed her after a last sad look at Angel.

Angel stood there trying to ignore the raging volcano in his chest.

It wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried.

Since he couldn't swallow his anger, he let it swallow his pride and climbed upstairs.

He climbed up the stairs and into the room where his nemesis lay, eyes closed tight against the world.

Against him.

Angel came up to the bed and looked at the enemy.

It looked pathetically weak to challenge him.

"I've never made a crippled vampire before."

The eyes stayed closed.

"I'll do it."

Still silence.

"Eternity stuck to this bed, to this house. Eternity stuck here with me, and the demon raging inside you.I'll DO IT!"

Even the heart monitor remained constant, not a blip showing agitation.

Angel ripped at his wrist savagely, and let the blood drip on to Riley's lips. The red stream dribbled off the corners and onto the sheets, staining them irreparably.

"Drink, damn you!" snarled Angel, letting more fall onto Riley's mouth. "DRINK!"

He didn't.

Blood smeared and made an unsightly mess, ghastly red against the dead pale of the man's face. It infuriated angel, who leaned forward, rubbing the half healed cut into slack lips. "Why. Won't. You. DRINK."

Aforesaid lips refused to respond. He could have been dead except for the constant beeping of the monitors.

Angel rubbed harder.

"Drink."

Rub.

"Drink."

Smear.

"DRINK!"

With the shout came clarity, and the sudden realization of incongruity. Angel gave a half-sob and let his bloody palm rest against the thin cheek of the man he'd hated for fifteen years.

"Please," he whispered, tracing the lips with his thumb, gently and again, again and again, repeating the action till it became his own private mantra.

Please.

Come back.

"Come back," he whispered, tracing the letters on the closed eyelids. "Come back and I'll clean up the mess I made of your face. I promise. Just come back. Don't walk out on me."

Just open your eyes and tell me I'm a stupid louse.Don't walk out on me. Come back. I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I apologize. Don't walk out on me."

Eyes shifted slowly, the slight ripple under his fingertips causing him to snatch his hand back.

Riley opened his eyes, squinting in the dark light.

Angel looked at him, catching his gaze as it opened.

"Why?" croaked the Finn man.

Apparently he wanted an answer.

"Why?" asked the Finn man.

"Because," breathed Angel, fearing the fragility of words. "Because..."

Their gazes held as the sentence died off, incomplete.

Riley was the first to look away.

"I ...heard you" he said.

Angel would have moved to fetch him water, but something in the tone compelled him to stay.

"I wasn't... asleep. I heard you... all the time."

He took a deep breath and looked straight at Angel.

"And... I don't hate you," he said. "I can't. I WON'T hate you."

Silence fell between the two of them, in soft and thick drifts that Angel feared would bury them both if he didn't say something. Something quick.

So he did say something. Something quick.

"I don't want you to hate me."

Riley blinked once, surprised.

Angel tried again.

"I... don't hate you."

Did he get it?

Not sure.

"I don't hate you," Angel repeated.

"I don't hate you..." he tried for the third time.

"Sh," said Riley, smile curving his lips. "Down..."

Angel leaned down, and whispered it once more, his breath feathering the stained and beautiful lips of the man he'd care for, for the rest of his life.

"I don't hate you, Riley" he whispered again.

And he meant it with all his heart.

~ END

Author's notes: Excuse my mind. It gets this way sometimes.

I like the idea of Riley and Angel together. Don't ask me why. Just... nice.

My experience of quadriplegics and persons recovering from severe car accidents is personal, not professional, (my grandmother was crippled for over twenty years) so all incidents here are based on my own life. I hope I didn't offend anyone out there.

Oh, and for those who didn't get the end? Treat it as a double negative, you'll see what I mean.

I never intended this story to actually be slashy.Obviously I am beyond help.

Thanks for reading. Constructive criticism more than welcome!