Fic: Thicker Than Water, 2 of 2

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Title: Thicker Than Water, Part 2
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC-17. If you're underage, be gone with you!
Summary: There have to be a thousand ways better to die than suicide by inertia.
Notes: Written for ladyoneill  with the following requirements: broken characters, angst, and a vamp feeding from another one.
Warning: Pretty damn dark. References to character deaths. Did I mention dark?

That's when he saw him. Even without the shock of platinum hair or the long leather coat, he'd recognized him right away. He looked thinner than he'd ever seen him. Huddled in a ball, he sat precariously on a window ledge. Not dressed for the harsh elements, Spike tried his best to not look like he was shivering.

 

Angel didn't know what to expect as he approached him. It was amazing that he'd found him at all. The last thing he wanted was for Spike to bolt, so he approached slowly and asked, "Little cold to be without a coat, don't you think?"

 

"You could say that," Spike answered without looking, more interested in the ragged cuticle he was picking at then engaging in any conversation.

 

"What happened?" He really didn't want to know, but there had to be a reason why Spike was half frozen and beaten to a pulp.

 

Spike turned to answer. His left eye was swollen shut. "Got jumped by another vamp, okay?" he answered with a shrug.

 

For as much as he looked broken, Spike was still filled to the brim with defiance. At least this frozen patch of hell hadn't taken that from him, but Angel doubted it was a simple mugging "How much are you going for?"

 

"Fuck off, Angel." But he didn't deny he was whoring something out. His voice softened as he turned away. "Just leave. Please."

 

"When was the last time you ate?"

 

"Doesn't matter."

 

"I've got blood back at the hotel."

 

Spike hopped off the ledge and limped down the sidewalk. "Don't need you rescuing me," he said over one shoulder. "Go be a white hat somewhere else."

 

Angel followed him as he headed into an alley. Nothing had changed. He was still stubborn as a mule. "Will you stop being a pain in the ass for just a second and listen to me?" he asked, grabbing him by the arm.

 

Spike spun around, his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into twin fists at his side. "Oh, let's catch on old times, shall we," he said. "Fancy meeting you here, Gramps. How've I been? Why, thanks for asking. Don't have a fucking penny to my name, I just lost my only pair of shoes, I'm running on vapors, and if I don't come up with at least hundred rubles by Monday, some wanker of a vamp named Vladimir or whatever the fuck his name was is going to rearrange my insides. I'm just peachy. So if you don't mind, why don't let me keep whatever shreds I have of my dignity and let me get on with my night."

 

Angel let out a sigh. Nothing had changed. He was as histrionic as always. "Are you done?"

 

Spike said nothing and stared back with indignation.

 

"Come back with me."

 

"No."

 

"Come back with me," Angel said again. "No strings attached. Just want to talk, that's all." He waited for the token protests to grind to a halt. After all, he'd known Spike for well over a century and knew exactly how he'd respond. Just needed to give him enough time to rant and rave.

 

When Spike didn't bolt, Angel peeled off his own coat and handed it to him. Spike stared at it and said nothing. "Take it," Angel said. "Looks like you could use it more than me right now."

 

Spike nodded his thanks and slid his arms into the sleeves. It was two sizes too big, and he looked like he was drowning in down. He didn't say a word as he followed Angel out of the warehouse district. They walked nearly a half-mile before they could find a cabbie that was brave enough to drive in that neighborhood after dark. Angel stumbled over his limited Russian  - Spike had been the one who'd carried the whole clan during their stay in St. Petersburg years before - but was able to give the driver the address of the hotel.

 

The two sat in silence as the cab ambled its way through the streets of Irkutsk and stopped in front of the hotels by the river. Angel quickly settled up the bill and headed inside. He could feel the staff's eyes bore into his back as he strode through the lobby with Spike in tow. It had to look bad - a filthy rent boy wearing his jacket. The hotel was used to business travelers, and the whores they usually brought back were probably a lot leggier and well dressed. But he didn't care as he headed toward the elevator. He smiled politely back at the receptionist at the front desk who looked away in embarrassment as their eyes met.

 

The elevator opened on the third floor, and Angel pulled the card key out his pocket and opened the door to his room. Wasn't anything posh. Just a bed with a mismatched desk and chair. A floor lamp stood sentry by the window. The carpet was teetering on threadbare. But it was warm and clean, and that's all that mattered.

 

"How'd you find me?" Spike asked breaking his silence.

 

"Still have some sources," Angel answered, setting the card key on the desk. "You hungry?"

 

Of course he was. Bones jutting everywhere beneath his skin, Spike was a poster child for famine. The thermos was still a little warm to the touch. It was one of those old fashioned ones that he hadn't seen in about twenty years. The lid doubled as a cup. The inside was lined with glass to trap the heat in. Cheap coffee makers and a Starbucks on every block had made them all but obsolete. He unscrewed the lid first and then the inner cap. He poured a generous amount of the pig's blood into the lid and handed it to Spike.

 

"Ta," Spike said accepting to proffered cup. He cautiously tasted the first sip but then quickly downed it in just a few gulps.

 

"Want any more?" Angel held up the thermos. "I've got plenty."

 

Spike nodded and let him refill the cup before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

 

Angel leaned against the desk and asked, "How long have you been here?"

 

"September, I think," Spike replied.

 

"They still following you?" The Black Thorn. They were always one step behind and ready to pounce. Waiting in the shadows, they were never far away.

 

Spike shook his head. "Already found me," he answered.  "Made it as far as London before they'd nabbed me.

 

"Wait a second," Angel replied. "They had you?"

 

Spike nodded.

 

"How did you escape?

 

Spike set the cup down on the nightstand. He swiped at his nose with the back of one hand. "I didn't. They let me go."

 

Angel was confused. The Black Thorn doesn't issue the equivalent of a demonic fatwa or offer a million dollar bounty just so they could catch up on old times. Spike was keeping something from him. He was certain of it. Spike had always been a lousy liar.

 

"And they just let you walk?"

 

"Well, if you call getting beaten 'til you're bleeding from every orifice then dumped in the Thames with a fifty-pound block chained to your neck walking. Then, yeah, they let me walk."

 

"I don't get it," Angel said.

 

Spike was on his feet again pacing nervously across the room. "Tossing me in the river is something Tony Soprano would do. You and I both know it isn't a way to kill a vamp, even at high noon. It was a reminder that they can find us do whatever they want to us whenever they want. I begged them to stake me, and they wouldn't. No, my punishment was worse. I got to live."

 

"What happened, Spike?" he asked.

 

Spike stopped his pacing, and for a moment, seemed more interested in the blood-soaked hole in his shirt. He drew in a shaky breath and swallowed roughly before going further. "I wasn't the only one they'd captured."

 

The room was suddenly small and suffocating, as though someone had sucked all of the air out and cranked up the heater that hissed below the window. The silence dragged on for what seemed an eternity before Spike continued.

 

"Thought I was done for," he explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "Beat me good and proper then took me down to the river. Had a bloody hood over my head, so I couldn't see. But I could hear that we were down by the docks; could smell the Thames. Filthy as ever.  They pulled me out and made me kneel on the pavement. Was just before dawn. You know how your skin starts to tingle the way it does right before the sun comes up, yeah?"

 

Angel nodded and said nothing. The floodgates were open, and he knew if he interrupted Spike, he may never find out what happened in London.

 

"Anyhow, I hurt everywhere, and figure it was curtains for me," Spike added. He paused for a second to pick at a ragged fingernail. "Waited for the stake to come, or whatever they were gonna do to off me. But when they took that stupid hood off, another van pulled up and I had to watch as they killed them."

 

He turned away for a moment, unable to look Angel in the eyes. He ignored the silent tears that had begun to spill on to his cheeks. His hands began to shake.

 

"They were trussed up and blindfolded. Made them kneel so close that I could hear their heartbeats. Oh god, Angel, they were so scared. They didn't see it coming. Those goons pulled their hoods off so they could know it was my sodding fault they were there. And then they killed them.

 

"Dawn was the first to die. Happened so quickly, I don't think she saw it coming. Single bullet to the back of the head." His face twisted in a painful grimace as he recalled the details. "It made this horrible popping sound, and then she was gone. Her blood ran out everywhere. And then they turned the gun on her."

 

Buffy.

 

Spike didn't even need to say her name. Angel felt like he was hit by a bus and staggered back a step.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to comfort Spike or hit him. Neither seemed right. He tried to move closer, but Spike waved him off and kept him at an arm's reach, not allowing him into his bubble of rekindled grief.

 

"Always figured she'd go down fighting. Or better yet, live until she was a hundred and one," Spike whispered to no one. "Never even got to say goodbye. It happened so quickly. All because we dared to tip some fucking windmill. I begged them, Angel. I begged them to kill me, didn't matter how. But they just laughed."

 

Spike finally turned to face him, and for the first time since he tried to recall that terrible morning, looked Angel in the eyes.

 

"So you see," he explained, "killing us would be easy. I mean, what's the fun in that? No they want us to live while they turn everything we touch into shit. That's our punishment. We've been sentenced to life with no possibility of parole."

 

Angel had to hand it to them. The Black Thorn had created the prefect revenge. They were all gone. It was something he would've done when he'd lacked a soul. It was something Angelus would have applauded. Cold. Heartless. But it was far worse on the receiving end, something he did not see coming, that socked him squarely in the gut. He'd thought he'd lost everything after that ill-planned battle-his friends, his son-but nothing had prepared him for the larger list of casualties.

 

The moments passed in uncomfortable silence. The heater popped and hissed beneath the windows. Hell wasn't a place filled with fire and brimstone. It wasn't an alternate dimension filled with chaos and fear. No, hell was a frozen wasteland in the middle of Siberia where apathy overshadowed grief, where if you stopped running, the rest of the world would hopefully fade away.

 

Spike sighed and leaned against the desk. His closed his eyes and let his head loll back. "I'm so tired, Angel."

 

"Leave with me."

 

Spike said nothing. His fatigue was palpable.

 

"C'mon, Spike," Angel tried not to plead. "The train goes as far as Ulaanbaatar.  We could go back to China and start over."

 

"And what makes you think they won't find us there?"

 

"They probably will," Angel conceded. "But it's got to be better than waiting for the Russian Mafia to end it for you. And there have to be a thousand better ways to die than suicide by inertia, Spike."

 

Perhaps the Thorn had broken Spike once and for all, leaving only an empty husk in its wake. Where were the fists and fangs? Where was that unmistakable defiance that helped them in that battle in the alleyway?

 

"I think my feet are frozen," Spike changed the subject. "Can I use your shower?"

 

"Yeah," Angel answered, the request taking him off guard. He hadn't expected that type of reaction. Gesturing toward the en suite, he added, "There should be towels in the bathroom."

 

"Thanks," he simply replied as he headed toward the shower and closed the door behind him.

 

Angel could hear the water running, and the distinct tang of over-chlorinated big city water slipped past the closed door. He was going to be in there a while. It was the only place Spike could retreat. His own stomach rumbled, and he poured himself a cup of blood while he waited.

Sable, at least that's what the shopkeeper had told him, but it probably was just overpriced Siberian weasel. It didn't taste that bad. A little musky, but he'd definitely had worse. By the time he finished his second cup, he heard the water turn off.

 

A few minutes later Spike emerged from the foggy bathroom wearing only a towel slung low around his hips. Beads of water collected in his bristly buzz cut. Pale and gaunt, he looked even worse with his clothes off.

 

"How're the feet?" Angel asked.  Small talk had to be better than the painful silence.

 

"Sore," he answered.

 

Spike tried to weave his way past him to sit on the bed when Angel noticed the gaping wound oozing blood from his flank. Grabbing Spike's wrist, he pulled him closer to examine the damage. "Jesus, Spike," he said. "What the hell happened?"

 

He pulled away and tried his best to cover the wound with the towel. "Got staked," he said.

 

"In your side?"

 

"Never said they were trying to kill me," Spike explained with a shrug.

 

He needed to feed. There was absolutely no question about that. His injuries weren't healing. Hell, they were barely even bleeding as though he had nothing left to leak from the wound.  Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, rolled up his sleeve and bared the crook of his arm.

 

Spike recognized the invitation immediately. "I'm not a fledge," he said, there was no mistaking the shame that filled his voice.

 

"No," Angel said, "but it's pretty obvious you're starving."

 

"Fuck off, Peaches," he spat. "I don't need your charity.

 

Angel was on his feet, toe to toe with him. Some things never changed. "Dammit, Spike, why do you always have to be so fucking difficult?

 

"I said no," Spike said. He reached the breaking point and connected his fist with Angel's jaw.

 

Reflexively Angel returned the blow and sent Spike stumbling backwards into the wall, sending a faded framed print crashing to the floor. Spike swiped at the blood from his split lip with the back of his hands as his eyes flashed yellow. His brow crunched into game face, and he lunged forward at Angel.

 

They tumbled together into a heap on the bed. Angel let out a groan as Spike pinned him to the mattress and latched on to his neck. Somewhere in the back of his head he felt the pain as teeth pierced his jugular. The blood roared in his ears as he felt Spike literally pull it from him gulp after gulp.

 

He'd fed fledges from the arm many times. It kept him in control. He could pull them off when they'd had enough. It was less personal, almost clinical. But this was so very different. Intoxicating. Time stood still. As the blood left his veins, he felt his cock stir to life.

 

Spike was gasping for air when he finally released Angel's neck. His eyes were wild. The pupils remained dilated as the yellow yielded once again to blue, and his tongue absently darted out to catch the last drops of blood from his lips. His cock was rock hard and pressed urgently against Angel's own burgeoning arousal.

 

Before Spike could change his mind, Angel flipped them both over so that his body covered Spike's and claimed his mouth with a bruising kiss. He tasted like blood. And in that moment nothing else mattered. Not Connor, not Buffy, not even the fucking Black Thorn.

 

Compared to the Spike in his scratchy towel that never did make it to the bed, Angel felt completely overdressed. He knelt back, his knees straddling Spike's hips, long enough to pull this shirt over his head while Spike fumbled with the buckle of his belt.

 

Once he had finally kicked his trousers off, he covered Spike's body with his and kissed his way down his neck, his teeth nipping a trail to Spike's collarbone. Spike let out a strangled moan as Angel fisted his cock and thumbed the clear droplet that beaded at the tip.

 

"Angel..." was all he could say, the remainder of a plea dying on his lips before he could say anything more.

 

"Let me do this for you," he whispered as he crept his way down Spike's body scattering moist kisses down his chest and abdomen. His tongue swirled into Spike's navel briefly before continuing its journey south. The thatch of dark hair surrounding Spike's dick smelled like fresh soap.

 

He couldn't count how many times he's fucked Spike's mouth a century before, but had never returned the favor until now. As he gently drew Spike into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the head, the other vampire let out a breathy sigh. Angel was in no hurry. He swallowed him whole before he brought him to the brink. Spike's breath came in ragged gasps.

 

"Angel," he groaned, "I...I..." He clawed at the bedspread below him and arched upward as he spent in Angel's mouth.

 

Angel gave him moment to recover before he eased Spike's knees apart. It had been years since they'd shared a bed, but they still fit together perfectly like pieces to a puzzle.  Spike pulled his knees up, his ankles resting on either of Angel's shoulders.  He bit his lower lip and his head lolled back as Angel probed first with his fingers, then with his cockhead.

 

Angel's hands twined with Spike's on the bed, and he started to thrust. The pace was gentle and slow at first. He was in no hurry for it to end. But soon Spike was hard again and meeting him with every thrust. He leaned in and captured Spike's mouth with his, claiming him with both tongue and teeth.

 

Spike's legs wrapped tighter around him, and Angel tried to fist Spike's length to bring him to completion, but Spike pushed his hand away and drew him closer until their foreheads were pressed together. Spike was the first to come. He gasped once, twice before he shuddered and moaned Angel's name into his mouth.

 

That was all Angel needed to tumble over the edge with him. He clung to Spike and rode out the aftershocks. He stole one last kiss before he collapsed beside him in a boneless heap. Both were too spent and exhausted to move.

 

Spike didn't bolt when Angel wrapped his arms around him in a lover's embrace. But they were never really lovers, so it was only a matter of time before this little bubble burst. Until then, he was satisfied with this brief respite no matter how short it may be.

 

Angel tugged the covers around them.  The room smelled of sex and blood. He was sure housekeeping would be horrified when they finally vacated the room.  "Leave with me," he asked one last time.

 

He could feel Spike shake his head. "End of the line for me," Spike muttered.

 

"Then at least spend the night."

 

Spike nodded once before drifting to sleep.

 

***

 

The sun filtered through the heavy curtains as Spike awoke.  He wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping, but it felt like it was mid-afternoon.  Hell, he wasn't even sure what day it was. He always seemed to lose a day or two when his body went into serious healing mode. Rolling over, he reached for Angel, but the other side of the bed was empty. The other vampire's scent still hung heavy in the air.

 

Spike didn't bother to call out for him. Angel was already gone. Figured the poncy bastard would bail in the morning. Probably best that way. The Black Thorn might spare Angel's life as long as they were a million miles apart. He couldn't follow Angel, or anyone for that matter. The Thorn wouldn't let that happen.

 

His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Pulling himself out of bed, he headed toward the bathroom for a drink from the tap. The wound in his side had knitted shut during the night, and there was only a small scab where the gaping hole had been only a day before. He filled the glass with water. It tasted horrible, but he swallowed it down anyhow.  Might as well shower off the sticky remnants of his tryst with Angel before the staff dumped him once again on to the streets. Why bother? His clothes reeked and could probably stand on their own at this point. Maybe he could raise enough rubles to find shelter for another night. He wasn't ready to return to the cold wasteland of the warehouse district.

 

His stomach rumbled. Maybe Angel had left that thermos behind. If he got lucky, the blood hadn't clotted yet, but he was willing to choke down any congealed dregs that still covered the bottom.

 

The thermos was still there, filled to the brim and warm. Angel could not have been gone for long.  Clean clothing were folded on the desk: jeans, a sweater, three pairs of socks. Boots stood side by side on the floor, and a coat rested on the chair back. 

 

A folded piece of paper rested under the thermos with what looked like a visa and a train ticket. Spike poured himself a cup and sipped on the blood as he read the note:

 

Spike,

 The room is paid through Saturday. Stay as long as you want. The clothes are yours. 

 Start living or start dying. I can't wait any longer for you to make up your mind.  I'll be on the 3:27 train.

 Take care of yourself,,

 A

 

***

 

The train was forty minutes late leaving the station.  Stalin was long in the grave, but the unpredictable departures had not changed since he was in charge. Angel settled back into his seat. He got lucky and had the whole compartment to himself. Maybe it was the scowl on his face that scared others off.  It had started snowing again and was overcast enough that he could live the shade open. The snowflakes swirled around the platform. It would be months before this god-forsaken city thawed. A few people still skittered around the platform, trying to board before the train finally departed the station.

 

He heard a conductor blow his whistle.  Someone shouted something in Russian. Probably "all aboard" or something along those lines. The train lurched once before it slowly started to roll away from the platform.  He scanned the platform once last time. An elderly couple waving at an unseen passenger grew smaller and smaller as the train slowly picked up speed.

 

He wasn't coming. Spike had decided to stay behind, a prisoner to his own private demons.

 

It would be nearly ten before he reached Ulaanbaatar. Six long hours to be alone with his thoughts. Angel shrugged out of his coat and retrieved a small flask from the pocket.  Whiskey, neither Irish nor particularly any good, burned all the way down as he took a long swig. Six hours for him to decide whether he wanted to get on living or get on dying. Six hours to try to forget about everyone he'd lost. Guess he wasn't that different from Spike after all.

 

He barely looked up as the compartment door slid open and the conductor asked to punch his ticket and inspect his travel papers.  He was bone tired. He didn't realize how exhausted he was. He'd searched for Spike for what seemed like forever, and now that he left empty-handed, the fatigue was catching up with him.  Finally allowing himself to rest, Angel leaned against the window, closed his eyes, and listened to the rhythmically clacking of the train against the rails until the gently rocking back and forth lulled him to sleep.

 

The door slid open again, and Angel awoke with a start. They couldn't have reached the border yet, but he fumbled for his forged passport and visa just in case. Spike didn't say a word as he slid into the vacant seat across from Angel and set his knapsack in the seat beside him. His color was better and his swollen eye had gone down. But the bruise, the same one Angel had given him the night before, still marred the side of his mouth.

 

Spike pulled the woolen knit cap off his head, one of the many items Angel had left for him. He was nervous, his restless energy was nearly palpable, and his silent stare bored into Angel.

 

Angel reached for his flask again. Without saying a word, he offered it to Spike. The vampire nodded his thanks, took a drink from it, then handed it back to him. Angel took another swig and offered the flask back to Spike who waved him off. Angel took another sip and eased back into the seat while Irkutsk quickly became a dot in the distance.

 

The tension slowly flowed out of the compartment. There would be plenty of time to talk later. Until then Angel was comfortable with the silent companionship. They'd figure out how to keep on living later.

 

.

Comments

[kita0610.livejournal.com]

Oh, *honey*.

I am SO glad you kept working on this. It paid off perfectly.

Damn good- sparse and ouchy and just. I love to read happily ever after fic for them, but you know, I never believe it.

This I believe.

Thank you so much for participating in our 'thon. And thank you for writing this.

Can I put it up on StA??

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

THANK YOU!!

Dude, I would be honored to be part of StA.

*dies*

Just give me a day to kill all the typos that seem to be reproducing in the dark.

*smish*

[kita0610.livejournal.com]

Sure, no worries. I'm going to wait til the 'thon is over and then collect all my favorites and put them up together. You got plenty of time to fix typos. :)

[greenstone-j.livejournal.com]

I'm ever so glad Spike caught the train. *pets the poor boys* And the Black Thron were so right. That was the worst thing they could do to them, no wonder Spike was so broken *pets more*

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

*pets Spike with you*

Thanks! I think the original ficathon request had a "no death" clause, but all my death was off screen so to speak. Wasn't sure how people would respond to killing off everyone else, but as soon as I made the Black Thorn the antagonist, I knew I had to make a large body count.

Glad you liked the fic :)

[dandieelyon.livejournal.com]

wow. This was gorgeous and bleak and completely, utterly hopeless. I *loved* it. Completely gutted me when Spike was talking about London. Such a mercyless and mundane way to go...

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

*mission accomplished*

Thanks so much for the kind words! Bleak was fun to write this time around.

[lynnenne]

Oh, wonderful story! I nearly cried reading about how Dawn and Bufffy were killed. It made all of Spike's despair make perfect sense. And the writing is just terrific.

Hell wasn't a place filled with fire and brimstone. It wasn't an alternate dimension filled with chaos and fear. No, hell was a frozen wasteland in the middle of Siberia where apathy overshadowed grief, where if you stopped running, the rest of the world would hopefully fade away.

So, so true, in so many ways.

And I love the ending, how they both can find some glimmer of hope even after losing everything. Thank you so much for writing this story for this ficathon. *loves*

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Thanks, dear!

And many thanks for bringing this all together! This was the first time I've really written a Spangel fic, so needless to say I was a little nervous how it was going to turn out.

[lynnenne]

It turned out AWESOME. You totally kicked its ass. Which of course, means you should write them more often. *g*

[acacia5.livejournal.com]

I loved this. The way you described Spike's world was amazing. You painted such a bleak, desolate existence, not just for Spike, but for everyone around him as well. The end was perfect, a small ray of hope for both of them.

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

I got the idea after reading an article in New Yorker about Irkutsk which just sounded like hell on earth. And I've always figured that Spike would be his own worst enemy when it came self-flagellation.

Glad you liked the story! Thanks for reading.

[crow-girl-74.livejournal.com]

Bleak and beautiful, and the last line really hit home. They may not have a happily ever after, but they do have each other.

Excellent!

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm happy you liked the ending.

[hello-spikey.livejournal.com]

dang! That's sad and atmospheric and just a wee bit depressing! But at least there's a note of hope at the end.

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Definitely had to have a glimmer of hope at the end. Thanks for the lovely feedback!

[sherryillk.livejournal.com]

Best fic I've read thus far. I loved the angst, the bleakness and the darkness -- it all made for an oddly sad but soothing read.

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm glad it hit the spot.

[avaaricious.livejournal.com]

It was dark and gritty and cold, and so so awesome. I love what you've done with this. Stupid circle of the black thorn knows where to kick 'em where it hurts.

SO so awesome. Your writing is superb.

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Wow, what wonderfully kind words. I'm glad this fic resonated with you. Thanks for reading!

[moscow-watcher.livejournal.com]

I don't have words. It's so sad, and bleak, and powerfull. Thank you for sharing.

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Thanks, MW!

Hopefully I didn't take too many liberties and distort Irkutsk too much.

[moscow-watcher.livejournal.com]

I've never been in Irkutsk, but I visited provincial Russian cities and towns - your depiction is pretty close to reality. Alas. :(

I'm very glad you finished your story. I remember reading the first part several years ago and hoping to get a conclusion. I wonder if it was hard to write.

[spicklething.livejournal.com]

Actually, it was pretty hard to finish. I had to be in the right mood to go depressive. But in the end, it was a lot of fun to write.

[moscow-watcher.livejournal.com]

Any hope for a sequel, then? About boys going back in time to save Buffy? :)

[amavel-bel.livejournal.com]

It's fabulous!!! I was so heartbroken seeing Spike in that situation and then Angel came to rescue him and I felt relieved. Thanks for giving them a chance, even if happiness isn't for them.

[cafedemonde.livejournal.com]

Sad, but hopeful. And such a terrible thing for Spike to witness, Dawn and Buffy. They new exactly how to get him. I wonder if it would have been worse had it been Dru.

These boys need each other and I'm glad they're together to fight whatever comes their way next.

Благодарю за статью

[trevahtanij.livejournal.com]

Отличный пост, но много лишнего. (http://site-sex-znakomstva.ru/)

[kassarabaudo.livejournal.com]

Текст перспективный, помещу блог в избранное. (http://zimnyayaobuv.ru/) (http://zimnyaya-obuv.ru/)

[iorgojix.livejournal.com]

Прикольно :) (http://zimnyayaobuv.ru/) (http://zimnyaya-obuv.ru/)