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FIC: The Immortal's (sweet) Revenge.

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This story is No. 2 in the series "My Immortal.". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Or: Capt. Jack pwns Spike & Angel. Concurrently. (Wildly AU crack!fic. Set at the very end of TGiQ.) Spike/Jack/Angel.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Dr. Who/Torchwood > Angel-CenteredelisiFR1526,741282,39921 Sep 0930 Sep 09Yes

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I merely bow before RTD and Joss and apologise profusely.

A/N: Written for the grazieprego ficathon, celebrating TGiQ's 5th anniversary. Yes, it features Jack as The Immortal, but it is in no way related to 'My Immortal'. This is just me having entirely too much fun! I hope you enjoy. :)


Part 2.
Simply put, The Immortal was fucking amazing.

Literally.

If Spike hadn’t been so thoroughly shagged out he’d have been trying to think up a poem extolling the man’s incredible bedroom skills.

But instead he (like Angel) just leaned back against the wooden headboard of Angel’s bed and drank the blood The Immortal had heated up for them - damned decent of the guy, since he was clearly worn out too. (It tasted a little odd, but he’d explained that he’d put a little of himself in it, which was a nice touch. And he’d managed to get the temperature just right.)

The man in question was now sitting at the foot of the bed, the dim lights of the bedroom making his skin look as if it was almost glowing with life, and doing that thing where he seemed to devour them with his eyes. Spike had - somewhere at the back of his head - a vague inkling that this was somewhat disturbing, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out why.

Leaning forward, with his chin on his clasped hands, The Immortal smiled.

“You know, if it wasn’t for the whole evil thing I think I might only ever sleep with vampires.”

He bit his lip, musing. “And Slayers of course. And anything with tentacles... And double-jointed species... I like fur too, although this planet is sorely lacking in sentient furry species...”

Spike cut in, thrown at someone whose sexual appetites were apparently entirely without limits. “Is there anything you won’t shag?”

The Immortal considered this carefully. “Weevils. And I’m not fond of slime. Oh, and anything that wants to destroy the world is off limits too, obviously.”

“What about robots?” Spike said as casually as he could, and the other’s face cracked open in a wide grin. “Hell yeah. Love ‘em. Generally they’re spontaneity-challenged of course, but if you program them right...”

He lifted an eyebrow and Spike blinked.

“You’ve... tried it then?”

The Immortal chuckled. “Very, very few things I haven’t tried. Oh, and by the way - you are a total bastard.”

Spike could feel his jaw drop, and dimly registered Angel reacting in a similar manner next to him.

“What the hell?”

The Immortal met his glare straight on. “For not telling Buffy that you’re alive. Less dead. Whatever. Do you have any idea how much she misses you?”

Spike could feel incredulity turn into anger, even through the post-shag lethargy. “How dare you-”

The other held up his hands, mimicking innocence. “Hey - I’m not judging. Been there, done that.”

“Really?”

There was a pause, wherein The Immortal looked down in uncharacteristic silence, and when he finally took a breath and lifted his eyes it might have been a different man looking back at them.

“She’ll be 80 this year...”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah.” He sighed, dragged a hand through his hair.

“It’s a no-win situation though. Staying and doing the decent thing doesn’t make it any easier...”

Angel swallowed. “You've been married?”

“Once. Long, long time ago. Can’t recommend it. Still hurts.” He briefly buried his head in his hands, then looked up again, eyes suddenly flashing angrily.

“Hey, you made me brood, dammit! Exactly what I wanted to avoid. It’s good that I’m getting off this planet soon - touch wood - or I’d probably end up setting up an Immortal’s Club where we could all sit around crying on each others’ shoulders.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Off the planet... Hey! I said you weren’t from this dimension. What kind of hell did you come from?”

The response was a sudden bright smile that showed off dimples and made the man look positively boy-like.

“Oh Spike, I came from the heavens.”

Angel tilted his head, curiosity barely contained. “So what are you? Some kind of higher being? Do you work for the Powers That Be?”

Judging by The Immortal’s reaction, Angel was hugely, wildly off course.

But once he’d stopped giggling, caught his breath and wiped his eyes - and Angel had stopped looking befuddled and glowering - he finally tried to answer.

“You know Angel, if your ego ever expanded any further it’d probably block out the sun... Do you seriously believe that the whole world revolves around you? Here, let me tell you a secret about your arch-nemesis: The Immortal isn’t real.”

Spike had been nodding along to the speech, but the last sentence threw him and he could see Angel looking positively flummoxed.

“But...”

The Immortal smirked. “The whole thing is just a construct, a mirage - you could never fight him because all you’d hit was thin air. What’s a good example? Hmmm, let’s say that I’m a matador and you’ve been chasing after a red cape all this time in the way of all good bulls.”

Angel did indeed look like a bull that was about to charge, and The Immortal shot him a droll look.

“Please stop that - no vampire ever had the power to frighten me, even before I joined the ranks of the undying. Vampires - even the worst one in the world - can be killed with bits of wood. Takes a hell of a lot more to impress me, princess.”

This didn’t do anything to calm Angel - drama queen that he was - so Spike decided to cut in again. (Acting as peacemaker was a strange new experience, but The Immortal had a natural knack for getting under Angel’s skin which Spike rather admired and wanted to enjoy plenty more of.)

“So who are you then? ‘Cause you’re not exactly average...”

The Immortal grinned proudly (yet another untamed ego there, he sure knew how to pick them, Spike thought to himself), but the grin faded into something softer as his eyes unfocussed.

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe... Twin sunsets over seas of smoke. A single android carrying on its work in a dead wasteland. The glass pyramid of San Kloon. C-beams glittering in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. The diamond coral reefs of Kaata-”

“Hey!” Spike called out. “You just quoted... what’s-its-thingy... Blade Runner!”

The Immortal raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know Blade Runner isn’t quoting me?”

Angel - insults forgotten - stared at the man sitting in his bed.

“What... what are you saying?”

Their (former?) adversary shrugged lightly. “Spent one night getting drunk with a bunch of film students, and in return my life gets ripped off for ever more. Seriously - do not get me started on Star Wars! You must get that a lot too I suspect, being vampires and all?”

Incredulous Spike shook his head. “OK, now you’re just having a bloody laugh mate!”

The Immortal chuckled. “Well quite frankly, if I was you I’d not believe a single word I’m saying. And not just because I could tell you anything I feel like on account of you not remembering any of it tomorrow...”

It took a moment for the implications to sink in, but as they were about to speak, The Immortal held up a hand, silencing them pre-emptively.

“Amnesia pills in your blood. As well as sedatives which are just about to take effect and should make it more or less impossible for you to move pretty much... now.”

With building horror Spike realised that the words were true - his whole body felt like lead.

Gloating, The Immortal leaned forward.

“As I said... The Immortal is just a facade - but I am real. And this astronaut is in it to win it.”

The Immortal’s eyes were glittering with pure triumph as they both stuttered angrily, trying to fight the slowness that was swiftly crowding their minds.

“And now you’re back to hating me and the circle is complete. Sleep well my little cavemen, and thank you for a fantastic night - happy dreams...”

Then the world faded away, Spike’s last conscious thought that he really, really, really hated The Immortal.

*
Groggy with sleep Lorne made his way through the unusually quiet W&H corridors... Although it was the middle of the night - he should have been more careful getting the dosage of the sleeping pills right.

But as he pressed the button to call the elevator, he heard singing. Ignoring the ping he turned, scanning the surroundings and located the sound as coming from Angel’s office.

(It wasn’t Angel’s voice though, that much was clear.)

Then the doors were thrown open, and Lorne was hit with three simultaneous impressions...

Walking through the doors was a tall, startlingly handsome dark-haired man, wearing only (remarkably well-cut) pants - cheerily singing in a clear, rich voice:

...If Mae West you like
Or me undressed you like,
Why, nobody will oppose!


The song, however, flooded Lorne’s mind with such incredible images that he almost reeled. Not the future, but the recent past... very, very recent, the man hadn’t even bothered to get dressed properly yet...

The singing stopped as the stranger spotted him and smiled widely, white teeth sparkling in the dimmed lights.

“Hel-lo there, and who are you? Unless you’re the best dressed night watchman on the planet, you must be an employee who didn’t go home when he was told. Can’t say I mind though, that shirt on its own more than justifies your presence!”

The words flowed past Lorne, but he was utterly unable to absorb them.

Instead he blinked a few times, trying to find his voice as he came to grips with what he’d seen.

“You... you screwed my boss!”

The other grinned, eyes dancing. “Indeed I did. Although to be fair, it was mostly the other way around...”

His voice trailed off as lazy eyes suddenly turned suspicious. “Hey - how do you know...?” Then he suddenly clapped his hands together, before jabbing his finger in the air, almost hitting Lorne’s chest.

“Oh! You’re... I forget your name. Empath demon, reads people when they sing! Hold on... Did you just see-?”

He doubled over laughing as Lorne nodded silently in reply, still overwhelmed at the threesome frolics embedded in his mind, and now the man’s apparent complete indifference to having his sexcapades broadcast.

“Enjoy the peepshow?” the stranger asked once he’d caught his breath again, and (as he tried his best to shove the images very firmly into the box in his head marked ‘Angel: Never look up EVER’) Lorne could finally stammer a question.

“How... how do you know who I am? Did someone write on my forehead in permanent marker while I was asleep? Or is this someone’s idea of a very, very bad practical joke? Because if it is, then I need to clear out all the shelves in the curse department.”

The stranger smirked. “Oh no, it’s very simple. I never enter enemy territory without thorough research. In this case very interesting research. I even uncovered some kind of companywide argument about cavemen and astronauts... Take my word for it, astronauts win. Anyway, I’m The Immortal - Angel’s arch-nemesis - in case you didn’t pick it up.”

He shook Lorne’s hand, holding it for far longer than necessary.

“So, what’s your name handsome?”

“I am Lorne, and I thought you were in Rome, courting the ever-elusive Buffy and toying with my poor little vampires’ heart, not toying with... other parts of their anatomy.”

A grin dimpling his cheek, The Immortal tilted his head. “You seem very well informed. I am dating Buffy, but decided to take a little time out to settle some old scores. And since I’m here, and you’re here, would you be so kind as to show me the way to the lab?”

“The lab?” What could the man possibly want in the lab? Unless...

“Hey - are you some kind of nutty professor who’s going to turn into a socially awkward middle-aged nerd if you don’t whip up another miracle potion within the next ten minutes?

The Immortal burst out laughing again, then shook his head as he slapped Lorne’s shoulder. “Nothing that elaborate, I’m afraid - just need to cover my tracks. Show me the way and I’ll explain.”

Lorne eyed The Immortal for a moment, but he’d not picked up anything nefarious from the singing - nothing except a somewhat wicked sense of humour...

And, although the humour and charisma were clearly innate, Lorne could also sense that his new acquaintance used these as a defence in the same way that he himself did...

So he led his guest to Fred’s old domain, and The Immortal - not haunted by ghosts that had so recently reared their head - almost cooed with joy as the lights flickered on.

“Fantastic! Now why does no one ever get me a place like this for my birthday?”

He sighed theatrically (Lorne was, despite the fact that they’d only just met, suspecting that theatricality was The Immortal’s default setting) and began looking into cupboards and cabinets, choosing and discarding a number of different chemical substances and various equipment, before deftly beginning to set up them up - clearly the man knew what he was doing...

Watching, nervousness rising, Lorne couldn’t help asking.

“Sorry, but... what did you do to Spike and Angel? I was told that they can’t stand you, and judging by what I saw, Sweetcheeks...”

The Immortal looked up, quirking a cheeky smile.

“Alien sex pollen!”

Lorne opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Behind and around the inventive porn there were glimpses of other things... Places, times, creatures, that all seemed quite impossible...

The Immortal started carefully measuring out ingredients, but it would seem that he had read Lorne’s mind. Smile gone, he caught his eyes.

“From what I read you can tell the future when people sing. Did you... in my future... did you see a blue box? Tall, wooden, bigger on the inside?”

There was a sudden naked desperation shining through the words, and Lorne sensed a story playing out that he only saw a snippet of.

Slowly he nodded.

“Yes.”

“Oh thank god,” the other replied, letting out a held breath. “Soon?”

Lorne fidgeted. This man’s future was as much of a tangled, impossible knot as Angel’s, if not more so. “Soon-ish? Nothing’s exactly set in stone here, Sugar.”

The Immortal smiled, fervent hope in his eyes, and Lorne felt the need to somehow curb the expectations that he could sense would never be met.

“There was also...” he hesitated, wondering how to put into words what he’d seen, “...a lot of death.”

Far from being worried or shocked, The Immortal’s only reaction was a darkly droll look coupled with a sardonically raised eyebrow. “I’d never have guessed. Next you’ll be telling me that you also saw a lot of rain and traumatised sheep. Go on - was there nothing unusual at all?”

Lorne crossed his arms, feeling somewhat defensive. “Well, you have to understand that you have somewhat of a one-track mind, Mr Innuendo Squad.”

The Immortal shot him a look that was pure puppy-dog-eyes, and Lorne sighed.

“But if you want something odd, then... um... there was a stopwatch.”

The Immortal’s hand stilled on a Bunsen burner. “A stopwatch?” He frowned. “Any context?”

Lorne shook his head, and The Immortal looked speculative.

“Should I sing some more to clarify?”

“No! I... I don’t think that would be a good idea. At all.”

He couldn’t help blushing as The Immortal shot him a teasing look, but then his guest proceeded to chat amiably about how he wished that humans came in a wider variety of colours, and then segued into reminiscensing about an ex who had been of a species whose sexual organs were wired into their hearing, so he’d learned how to sing her into climaxing - all the while deftly continuing his advanced chemistry work.

Before he could start on another anecdote, Lorne cleared his throat. Trying to sort through the jumbled mess in his head, he’d realised something... something so peculiar that he needed to mention it, even if he risked telling the other man too much about his future.

“Sorry to interrupt, Casanova, but I saw... well if it wasn’t Spike, then he has a long-lost identical twin...”

He wasn’t quite sure how to continue. The cheeky smile, the blue eyes, the cheekbones, the casual confidence and easy killing - it was all familiar. Except this (brown-haired) Spike carried weapons that made Wesley’s energy-sucking gun look like an antique, and he and The Immortal... well that’s where the porn took over again.

The Immortal shot him a quick, knowing glance. “That would be Brakovitch, my ex-partner. When I first ran across your friends a hundred-odd years ago I thought Spike was him, which was a rather unfortunate mistake. Angel - in his self-centred little world - of course thought it was all about him, and before you could say ‘spatial genetic multiplicity’ he’d decided that we were arch-nemesises. All very tiresome.”

As he spoke he put the finishing touches on his work, and with an air of undiluted triumph held up a spray-nosed bottle.

“Eat your heart out Febreeze!”

Lorne eyed it warily. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Odour neutraliser - strong enough to fool a vampire. Can’t exactly wipe their minds of the night’s activities and then leave a pheromone trail wide enough for a truck.”

Lorne suddenly felt deep misgivings. “Wipe their minds? Look, those are my friends-”

“Just simple amnesia pills, I use them all the time. Trust me, they’ll be fine. Which reminds me - please drink this.”

He held out a glass and Lorne stared at it mutely.

“It’ll shave off the last hour, I measured it very carefully. Got some sleeping pills in too, so you’ll never realise you woke up. And I honestly wish I didn’t have to do this, but I can’t leave any loose ends.”

Lorne hesitated another moment, but then realised that he’d never be able to look either vampire in the eyes again if he kept the memories; so, with a peculiar mix of regret and relief, he downed the thing in one. The Immortal smiled, eyes soft and blue, and nodded a goodbye.

“You better get yourself to a bed - I have CCTV footage to doctor before I leave. Thank you for... everything.”

As Lorne curled up on his sofa a little later, eyes heavy once more, he thought to himself that this was the weirdest dream he’d ever had. Although he wouldn’t mind dreaming of intergalactic space pirates more often...

*
Angel woke because someone had wedged their knee into his back. He reached behind him and pushed the offending item out of the way, which resulted in a pain-free back and a mumbled oath from the knee’s owner.

For a few seconds everything was fine, but then his mind joined up voice and limb and Angel’s eyes snapped open.

With growing terror he turned, and true enough, his bedfellow was a tousled-haired Spike, soundly sleeping with his mouth open.

Glancing around the room, Angel could see their clothing scattered about haphazardly (in some cases a little torn), and, tentatively sitting up (there were aches. Aches in intimate places that oughn’t ache), he tried to remember the previous evening.

There had been Rome of course (and the humiliation still stung), and the plane with plenty of alcohol and then... then there was nothing except a blank void that he felt oddly reluctant to examine further.

Exactly how much had they been drinking?

Deciding that (despite wishing to pretend nothing had happened) he needed more information he kicked Spike - hard - watching the other vampire wake and take in the situation. (Angel did his best not to look at all the scratches that spoke volumes...) For a moment there was pure dread on Spike’s face, then he turned on Angel, growling.

“What the hell did you do to me?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything! I mean I don’t think so - I...I can’t remember last night at all... Can you?”

Spike thought for a moment, before slowly and worriedly shaking his head. But then his eyes widened.

“The bottles in the plane! The Immortal must have put them there, put something in them... the bastard drugged us!”

The conclusion was inescapable.

“So... what do we do?”

Spike scratched his head, avoiding Angel’s eyes.

“I... don’t know. Except I’m getting the hell out and I was never here and nothing ever happened, OK?”

Angel nodded. “Of course.”

*
The day didn’t stop bringing surprises however.

The first thing Harmony said when seeing Angel wasn’t a cheery ‘Good morning Boss!’ as usual, but a curious, “Sooo, how did things go with The Immortal last night?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to stare at her, half expecting Spike to bump into his back. (Except Spike was leaning against Harmony’s desk, feigning nonchalance and a night not spent in a shared bed.)

“The... what? Who? The Immortal was here?”

Harmony looked at him as if he was as stupid as he felt.

“He was sitting in your office when you came back? With that demon head thingy? He asked me out?”

Spike’s jaw dropped. “That bloody disgusting two-timing bastard!”

Frowning and concerned Harmony looked from one to the other. “OK, major case of déja vu here. Don’t you guys remember anything?”

Angel turned to Spike. “He did a spell! A memory spell or a... something spell...”

A snort from Harmony’s direction stopped further theories.

“Oh please. He doesn’t use magic, everyone knows that!”

Seeing the looks on their faces, she only shrugged.

“We had a long chat yesterday before you showed up. And he thinks magic is totally skeevy.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Well, if I was you I’d not believe a single word he said!”

The words made both of them stop and, deeply uncomfortable, they made tracks to Wesley’s office, explaining their problem as briefly as they could.

The ex-Watcher, thankfully, put on his best inscrutable face and didn’t ask any questions whatsoever, instead concentrating on finding answers that he communicated to them within the hour.

One, they were not under any kind of spell, memory altering or otherwise. Second, consulting the CCTV footage, The Immortal had left not long after the employees had been sent home. Third, all empty bottles had already been cleared out of the plane. And fourth, could they please leave him alone - if they wanted his opinion, then he thought that they were lucky not to remember. Sure he could do some blood tests, but he had the distinct impression that this was more about paranoia than anything else.

Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Angel assigned the whole affair to the pit of his memory, focussing on work as hard as he could for the rest of the day.

Spike stayed away.

It wasn’t until late evening that he finally came by again, asking in a furtive voice if anyone had noticed anything. Angel denied it, adding that he’d sworn Harmony to secrecy under pain of permanent disfigurement, and Spike looked relieved, a smile touching the corner of his mouth.

Watching him, Angel wondered at the fact that Spike had been around for what - half a year now? - and he’d hardly ever (except when drugged or... something) touched the other except with violence in mind. Spike really was extraordinarily attractive, and a small (tiny, non-existent really) part of Angel was exceedingly miffed that he couldn’t remember whatever they’d gotten up to the night before. Seemed... unfair.

“Spike-” he began, throat suddenly dry as he stood up and walked around the desk. “About last night...”

Spike looked at him warily, and Angel promptly forgot what he was going to say.

Instead he reached out grabbed the other vampire and, pushing him against the desk, kissed him. Hard.

For a second Spike struggled, but then something else took over (sense memory? The kiss felt more natural than breathing) and he pulled Angel closer.

When they finally parted Angel found himself whispering words that somehow weren’t his own.

“I’ve missed that more than you can imagine.”

Spike’s only response was to drag him into the lift.

*
In Rome, Captain Jack Harkness grinned and settled back in his armchair, the laptop happily recording the private show. He knew that sooner or later they’d discover his little bugs, but until then...

Free vampire porn!


THE END

The End

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