"Be quiet, Spike."
"Not. Won't."
"William." Spike subsided.
Xander blinked. "That's all it takes? Using his real name?"
Angel smiled faintly. "That, plus having spent a few decades training him to behave." The smile broadened at Xander's look of discomfort.
"What are you going to do to him?" he asked again.
"Feed him. Wash him. Decide after that."
"That's it? He attacks Buffy, and you're not going to do anything?"
"I did not say that. What I do to Spike is none of your business. For God's sake, Xander, he's mad, what else do you want?"
"A little box of ashes with the words 'Here lies Spike' comes to mind."
"Not going to happen. What happens to Spike is up to Buffy. She's just left him down here. After her, it falls to me. I'm his sire in every way that matters, he's mine to deal with. If you want more than that, that's your problem." Xander glared at Spike, obviously unhappy. Angel studied him. "You know, it's probably a good thing Angelus didn't know about these urges of yours to administer justice yourself. He might have offered lessons."
"That's sick!"
Angel smiled very faintly. "Good apprentices are hard to find. I'm just saying." He turned back to Spike, who was hunched over tracing words on the floor again. "What are you doing, Spike?"
"Lessons. Must finish the lessons."
"I'll help you finish them later."
Something in that phrase must have triggered memories, because Spike did not look happy at the prospect. "Come on, Spike, let's get out of here."
He got very slowly to his feet, wobbling slightly. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to take you home, and I'm going to make sure you have something to eat." Angel looked around. "Let me guess--rat." Spike nodded, and Angel shuddered. "Then I'm going to make sure you're clean, then I'm going to make sure you get some decent rest."
"Your home? With you?"
Angel wondered what he might be remembering, to make him sound so wistful about that. "Yes, home with me."
Spike studied Angel for several seconds. "You're not going to hurt me?" he said in a small, lost voice. Xander remembered small boys staring up at the arbiters of their fates, the male deities of the fragile world of childhood. That tiny, uncertain voice may have come out of his own mouth one or two times, and it made him want to say everything was going to be all right. Even though nothing ever could.
Angel rested his hand on the side of Spike's face. This time Spike didn't pull away, only stared back at his sire, waiting for his answer. "Only if you need me to," he said softly, but not quite soft enough for human ears not to hear.
Spike closed his eyes and relaxed, as if he'd finally found someone who would understand.
Angel nodded. "Tell Buffy I'm taking care of this," he said to Xander. "If I can get him put back together, she can decide what else she wants to do."
Xander only nodded, trying not to think about what he'd heard and what it might mean. "I thought he hated you," he finally said.
"So? We're the good guys, we're supposed to help everybody, not just the people who like us. Besides, it's his turn to be helpless. I'll hate him later."
There was a flash of an old, upsetting grin, then the vampires were gone.