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Solitary Man

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Solitary Man

It was a night, another night and L.A. was burning bright, if he might be allowed to misquote Billy Idol somewhat. Wolfram and Hart showed no sign of closing when the other vampire entered the building. Angel immediately knew who he was, though he’d never seen him before and only heard Buffy cursing him out. Now a snide voice in the back of his head whispered that it probably was because the vampire was so much prettier than she was.

Kurt Hummel somehow managed to be both what he expected and what he hadn’t expected. He was a tiny, slender thing dressed in clothes that probably cost more than Angel’s entire wardrobe (what? He didn’t care about labels and such things). He had the pale face of a doll and cold, blue eyes. He was extremely pretty, though undeniably male.

He had two companions following him. One of them was so tall he made everybody else look small and the other was more muscular with sharp cheekbones and an attitude like asking for a fight. They walked slightly behind Hummel, like they were his bodyguards.

Angel walked over to meet them. He wouldn’t subject them to Harmony. Not only because he suspected he would be short of a secretary afterward, but also because the young vampire’s shoulder was set tensely and his eyes belied his grief. It would seem like Spike’s strangely emotional side had been passed on to this childe. And Angel thought it would be cruel to let Harmony lose on him.

“I assume you are my grandsire,” the younger vampire said and wrinkled his nose slightly in disdain. “I suddenly understand every single one of Spike’s rants about you.”

Pretty, bitchy and slightly unhinged (from what he’d heard from Buffy). Just Spike’s type.

“Angel,” he said and held out his hand.

The childe gave him an once-over. His eyes lingered on Angel’s clothing and he showed slight antipathy towards them. Buffy had ranted about that too – about how he’d been giving Willow fashion tips while threatening her life. Angel would try to politely refuse any possible offers of a makeover.

The brunette reluctantly took his hand. Hummel’s hand was small and elegant. It was obviously well-cared for, like every inch of his persona indicated. He’d even recently got a manicure that made the nails shine slightly.

“Kurt Hummel,” he introduced himself haughtily. “This is Finn and Noah.”

He indicated who was who with a turn of his head towards them. The one called Finn didn’t react. His eyes didn’t seem to be aware of anything but Hummel. They didn’t flicker towards Angel even once. Noah, on the other hand, was not hiding his hostility. He glared at Angel and looked like he wanted to break the hand still holding Hummel’s. Angel quickly dropped it.

“I’m just here to get his stuff,” Hummel said icily. “I can’t stand this atmosphere. It feels too much like the rehearsing ground for the soulless automatons I competed against when I was human.”

Angel did not understand, but he realised that it wasn’t his place to understand. He could smell the hate in this one. That was how he knew that Hummel was aware of who it was that had handed over the amulet that had ultimately been given to Spike. He hadn’t known that Spike would use it. But he could see who the owner of those icy, grieving eyes blamed and he didn’t protest too much.

They entered his office and he made the others stay away by a simple look. He closed the door behind them and walked over to his desk. Though he didn’t show it, he was very well-aware of the way the young vampire was staring at him. Measuring him, trying to see if he was worth it, finding his fault – he wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to stake him.

Spike’s belongings were in his desk drawer. It was not much; just the stuff that had been left behind over the years. A letter from the publishers declining to publish the human Spike’s poetry, a lighter that Xander had accidentally kept, a photograph Angel had not looked at before (it was a portrait of a human Kurt) and other small things. Not nearly enough of Spike – not much to show for his life.

Kurt took the box and looked through it.

“It isn’t much,” Angel said after a while. “Most of it was lost when the hell mouth was destroyed.”

Kurt – when did he become Kurt in his thoughts? – had a blank facial expression on. He gave the box to Finn, but didn’t say a thing. The look he gave Angel was cold.

“He loved you,” Angel said. “They say he spoke of you a lot.”

Kurt snorted, “Don’t lie to me, Angel.” He picked on his sleeve. “I saw him with her. He went off to get a soul, the fucking idiot. For her. If he loved anybody it was her.”

“He wanted the chip removed. The soul was an accident.”

Kurt shifted and wrapped his arms around himself. He hunched over slightly. Angel realised that Kurt didn’t care what he was saying. Despite the fact that his two children stood close to him, Kurt looked lonely. His sire had died. Not only his sire – his lover, his mate. Angel was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he didn’t know what that felt like.

“Forever, he said, the liar,” Kurt suddenly said. “He said I was his forever and the moment he got that damned chip it all started to change. Forever. Where is he now?” He didn’t look like he was talking to Angel, more like he was talking to himself while tracing the edgings on the lighter. “He left us.”

Angel felt a start. He suddenly realised that he had abandoned Spike and Drusilla, just like that once he got his soul. Whether or not this creature before him had a soul, he still seemed to love. And Spike had left him. Buffy had ranted that while Spike had loved her, she was just a rebound from that brat.

“I wish I could give you the ring,” he said helplessly, wanting his grand childe to feel better.

The demon inside, Angelus, was twisting and turning. It saw Kurt as his property and sensed somebody messing with it. Angelus hadn’t loved, but his family was his and his alone to torment. Angelus wanted to make this pitiful creature bleed. It wanted to find Spike and string him up for leaving this childe, this lovely little childe, behind. Angel shook his head. He hated how close Angelus was to the surface when he was dealing with his vampire family. He noticed suddenly that Kurt’s head had shot up at the mention of a ring.

“Ring? What ring?”

There was a barely hidden sense of urgency in his voice.

“A silver ring,” Angel said, perplexed. “He never took it off.”

Kurt’s eyes widened in shock. His hands gripped the arms of the chair and he started to tremble. Angel watched in confusion and slight worry. Kurt’s breath hitched. It looked like he was struggling to keep a hold of himself. A low, mournful sound escape his throat. His hands twisted in his knee, clasping and unclasping; trying to keep control. The emotional side to Spike’s personality seemed to pass on when he turned somebody.

“That idiot,” Kurt hissed in anguish, followed by a low moan as if he was in physical pain. “That complete and utter moron! Why didn’t he come for me? Why?!”

The one Kurt had introduced as Noah took an immediate step forward. He clasped Kurt’s shoulder and held on, even when the slighter vampire tensed. This one, Angel saw, loved Kurt unconditionally and unquestioning. He apparently knew what ring they were talking about and the significance it held to Kurt.

“He’s gone, Hummel,” he said gruffly. “He didn’t deserve you.”

Kurt shook him off, almost angrily. But the walls were rising up again and soon enough his face was expressionless again. The emotional storm was hidden behind a perfect mask. Angel was sad to see it. Angelus wanted to break Kurt to ruin that mask.

“I apologise for that unsightly display,” Kurt said with disdain and rose up, smoothing his clothes down from imaginary wrinkles. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take our leave, though.”

He’d got what he needed from Angel. He didn’t want to stay in his grand sire’s company. Angel could understand it, but this was his first time meeting the Kurt Hummel he’d heard so much about. He wanted to keep him here. It felt like a terrible mistake to let him go.

“Wait!” he said, half in desperation. “Where will you go?”

Kurt had started walking away from him, but he turned around at that. His pale features looked contemplative. Even between Finn and Noah, he looked alone. Like the loneliest creature in the entire world.

“Europe, probably,” he said. “I like Europe.”

Angel nodded, because that was that. Kurt couldn’t be convinced to stay and why would he? There was nothing left for him here. Spike was what had made him come back and that was lost. He had to watch the childe walk through that door and almost collide with a man outside. Papers ended up on the floor and Kurt bent down to get a few of them. He handed them to the young lawyer opposite him, who stared at him openly.

“Kurt?” he asked.

A smile broke forward on Kurt’s face. It wasn’t real, but it looked like a good approximation of a charmingly pleased smile. It was disconcertingly human and Angel watched Matt Rutherford almost take a step back. Humans could almost sense vampires, but modern society had taught people not to trust their instincts. Hunting had been harder in the old days.

“Matt,” Kurt said with fake-warmth in his voice. “It’s been too long. You look good.”

Matt could obviously not tear his eyes off him. Angel vaguely recalled that Matt had been a student of McKinley High about the same time that Kurt had been. That must be disconcerting. Kurt had been, what, sixteen when he was turned? That must feel weird.

“So… do you,” he said insecurely. “Are you… are you–”

“A vampire? Yes,” Kurt smiled with all his teeth showing and almost predatorily. “And you’re working for a soul-sucking, quite literally I’ve heard, company. But it seems to be treating you well.”

Rutherford looked like the shock had been too much for him. He just nodded. Kurt touched his shoulder in what looked like friendly gesture. But Matt’s eyes widened slightly and looked like he wanted to flinch back.

“It’s been lovely seeing you,” Kurt said sincerely with a devilish smile. “But we’ve got to get going.”

Matt didn’t watch them leave; instead he entered Angel’s office. Without knocking, might be added. He must be really out of it since he did that. He still had the same dazed, slightly confused expression on his face when he handed over a bunch of papers to Angel. It made him miss Kurt leaving. One minute they’d been there, the next they had disappeared. It made his stomach clench for a moment in regret. He should have offered Kurt a position at Wolfram and Hart.

“Research needs you to sign off on this experiment, sir,” Matt said with a strangely automatic tone.

Angel signed and handed them off. The lawyer seemed to be in a hurry to leave. He didn’t even notice the motion in the corner of the office as a secret door started to open. But the movement stopped when the person behind it noticed that Angel wasn’t alone.”

“Rutherford,” he said just as the man is about to leave the office. “Dig up everything we have on Kurt Hummel, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said and left the office.

Angel rose and closed the door. From behind he heard a click from a lighter and seconds later the smell of cigarettes seemed to invade the office. It was suffocating. It annoyed him severely, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he asked,

“Eavesdropping much, Spike?”

There was only a slight chuckle and shrug as a response. Okay, it was time for the gloves to come off.

“You’re an idiot, Spike,” he said with heavy exasperation. “He loves you still.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Spike replied quietly. “He loves something I was. I can’t be that person anymore.”

Angel wanted to persist and wanted to argue. He saw the same loneliness in Spike that he had seen in Kurt. They needed each other in a way he didn’t understand. Spike was selfish by nature – he took what he wanted and held it tight. This willingness to just let Kurt go baffled him. But the strange frailty in Spike’s face made him not push.

He clasped Spike’s shoulder for a moment. Spike actually let him. Even more astonishing: he rested a hand with shabby, black nail polish (flaking around the edges) over his hand and held tight. It was the first time that Spike had let him touch him without slapping him away. Too bad that the moment only lasted for about a second, before Spike shrugged him off.

“Poof,” he said, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

Idiot, Angel wanted to say. Go after him. Go. Neither of you were made to be solitary men.

But he didn’t.

They had time on their side after all. With time he could wear Spike down until he would go after Kurt.

Spike wasn’t made for selflessness, after all.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

It was New Orleans fifty years later.

Finn wasn’t really looking at anything, just following Kurt blindly. The slighter vampire had grabbed hold of his hand long ago to keep him from getting lost. He wanted to keep his boys with him forever, as they were his only link to those days. The days spent tormenting Lima; blood-play and other play, before Spike had decided that he needed to kill the slayer to keep their family safe. Before it all had gone so terribly wrong.

Puck was straying away from them, always coming back. But he was ogling the scantily clad women dancing around. The sour smell of intoxication made Kurt wrinkle his nose. Mardi Gras was good for hunting, but otherwise he considered it tasteless.

It was odd how the tradition persisted. The world had changed in ways he couldn’t have imagined when he was sixteen. Time passed by and mortals withered away, while he remained young and strong. He knew that Santana and Brittany lived together again and that it was the talk of the small town they lived in. Matt had died shortly after Kurt met him the last time – some dealings with a demon had gone wrong or whatnot. Mercedes had passed away a week ago. Cancer. He’d shown himself to her and this time she’d not been frightened. She’d looked at him and died with a slight smile.

He’d wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the girl he’d known. Through the wrinkles and grey hair, but her eyes had been the same. It was whimsy, but it was the legacy that Spike had left him. A curse of emotion, if you so would.

Mr Schue’s life had been claimed in a school shooting soon after Kurt had left for Europe. Mike had gone off to become a famous dancer and to Kurt’s knowledge he still taught. He’d taken an evening class. Mike hadn’t recognised him. Or maybe he had, but rationalised it. The impossible couldn’t exist and it amused Kurt how the human brain would find explanations to protect itself from what it couldn’t understand.

He’d lost track of Tina and Artie and hadn’t bothered looking for them. There was an end to his sentimentality after all.

He caught a flash of black leather in the corner of his eye. It looked like a duster. It looked like Spike’s duster – the one that had been incinerated years and years ago when Sunnydale had fallen to ashes. It grabbed hold of him. He’d kill the mortal and take the duster. While it was not Spike’s, it looked just like it that it might fool his treacherous black heart.

He carried Spike’s lighter around with him still. It was constantly in his pocket. He could feel it burning his skin through the fabric, though it must be imagination on his part. He shook his head angrily and wished that he wasn’t so maudlin.

He turned towards the mortal and his heart dropped. Because he recognised the man beside the duster-wearing man. The dark clothes, the gelled hair, the soulful eyes – Angelus, Angel, grandsire… It made him drop Finn’s hand and draw closer. Finn grabbed for him, fretful, but he shook him off. He saw, but didn’t comprehend, how Puck turned and started to ask him something.

The man in the duster stood with his back to him. The back of his head was covered in blond hair, gelled back. Turn around, Kurt willed. Turn around. As if the man heard him, he did. Kurt was flooded with blood-lust. He wanted to rip that face off. He wanted to tear his head clean off his shoulder. Because he’d been alive all of this years when grief had almost tempted Kurt to walk out into the sunlight. He had mourned him. Because that son of a bitch, that complete and utter bastard, must have been alive when Kurt was in Angel’s office! He’d probably just dropped the lighter into the box to hand it off, to hand Kurt off, to wash his hands clean of him…

Kurt doubled over as if in pain. Puck’s voice was loud and worried, but Kurt couldn’t process the words over the roaring in his ears. He shook the worried hands off, again. He straightened and stared into the familiar eyes. They’d widened a fraction.

You son of a bitch, he thought. But there was a part of him that had started to sing. Because he was alive, alive, alive, alive, not dead, not gone, but gloriously alive and right in front of him.

Kurt took the lighter from his pocket and hurried over. Spike flinched back, anticipating a blow. Kurt just grabbed his hand when he wanted to kiss him, throw him down on the ground, fuck him right in the street in front of all the mortals who were gawking, sensing the tension…

“I think you dropped something,” he said.

And pressed the lighter into Spike’s hand, where it belonged. Their fingers touched and matching silver-bands shone in the artificial life, on the fingers were they belonged.

Spike pulled Kurt to himself and their lips melded together in a sweet kiss.

THE END