"I'll Be Watching You"

By:  Morrigan


A/N:  Well, here it is, the first chapter of the fic I promised *ages* ago, inspired by my two one shots, posted here.  I was reading through the reviews that were left for *Always* and wanted to say THANK YOU, again, for all the wonderful feedback.  It cracked through my writer's block and inspired me to get this out.  Hope you guys like it.

Oh...  One more thing, I posted an NC17 for future chapters. Also, this is marked as Angel season 5, but that's only cause of the Wolfram & Hart connection, and some characters.  The rest of this should be completely non-canon...  Of course, since this is, obviously fan-fic, I probably didn't really need to explain that. Heehee!

Beta'd, of course, by the talented and wonderful, Blacknblue2, who is, not only the girl who makes my writing look great, but someone who I am proud to say has become one of my best friends, as well.  Thanks again, girl!

All characters are property of Joss Whedon and ME, of course.  Thanks, Joss, for letting us continue to play!



"Bloody Hell!"

Spike stared daggers at the being who he deemed responsible for nearly every bad thing that had ever happened to him during his unlife, and bristled with unrestrained hatred.

Over the last few months, Spike had faded in and out of this realm, holding on the best he could to remain grounded here.  At other times, he ran for all he was worth from the great chasm that seemed to open from beneath his feet, each and every time he let go.

He knew what sort of fate his crimes had led him to.  He never figured any amount of good he had accomplished before his final demise could ever make up for the countless lives he had destroyed.  But that didn't mean that he was in any rush to jump into Hell, either.  And now, judging by the looks of this place, and the one primary figure occupying it, Spike realized that Hell was much worse than he had previously thought.

No fire and brimstone for him.  No. Spike's own personal hell would be to live out eternity with Captain forehead!

He was just about to pose the question of how Angel finally bit it, - 'Cried on the wrong shoulder?  Flirted with the wrong demon's girl?  Came across some sanctified hair gel, perhaps?' - when he noticed the shining object dangling from the chain in Angel's grasp.

The amulet.  That very same amulet that Angel had brought to Buffy before the final battle with The First.  The one that Buffy had placed around Spike's neck as she named him her champion.

The one that Angel *knew* would destroy him.

And suddenly, Spike knew that Angel wasn't dead.   And, as much as appearances pointed to the contrary, this wasn't Hell.  Angel hadn't had enough fun torturing him and sending him to his second death, the first time around.  The bastard decided it was time to dabble in Spike's afterlife as well!

"You!"   Spike snarled, pointing an accusing finger in Angel's direction.  "You did this to me!"

"Spike, wait," Angel stammered, holding his hand up as if to ward Spike away, physically.  "I don't know why you're here, or how, but - "

Angel didn't have time to finish.  With a primal roar of fury, Spike morphed into game face and charged him.  The force which slammed into Angel was indescribable, sending him flying across the room and splintering his desk as he smashed into it.  The oddest thing of all, was the fact that Spike never *actually* touched him.

The rest of the group stayed where they were, stunned beyond words as Spike made his way slowly across the room to where Angel lay, sprawled on the floor, between the broken remnants of his desk.

Spike stopped, not before the new head honcho of Wolfram and Hart, but through him.  He sneered down at Angel, who had struggled to a partially sitting position and was gaping at the sight of Spike's feet literally disappearing through his middle.

Squatting down to look Angel in the eye, Spike whispered, gravely, "Don't know why you brought me here, an' I don't care.  But, I'm leaving.  Woulda thought snuffin' me out would have been enough for you.  Bother me again, Peaches, an I'll return the favor.

"I didn't *bring* you here, Spike," Angel shot back, getting to his feet as Spike began walking toward the door.  "And, I didn't kill you!  No one knew what that amulet would do!  I tried to get Buffy to let me wear it!  The fact that it was you was just...  Well, it was just your bad luck," he finished, shrugging and nodding for emphasis.

"Just my bad luck?" Spike repeated, turning again to face Angel, and not missing the smug look he was hiding behind those soulful brown eyes. "You *are* my bad luck!  Why, if I weren't so worried I'd get stuck, I'd possess your great, hulking, sorry ass and give you a taste of my *bad* luck.

He smirked and looked to the ceiling, noting the Wolfram and Hart, CEO plaque that adorned the wall, as he thought of the many deliciously bad things that he could force Angel to take part in.  Then, meeting his eyes again, Spike quipped, "But then, last I checked, Buffy wasn't really into turncoats and I'd hate to fall out of her good graces because she mistook me for you.  Ta!"

Turning on his heel, Spike strode the last remaining feet to the door and vanished through it.

"Angel," Fred's worried voice drew his attention as she walked over to him.  "Who's Spike?"

Angel turned his attention back to the door, his eyes vacant and far away as he replied, cryptically, "The cookie monster."