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Angel stood still in the doorway, staring at the fragile, broken shell that had once been his vibrant, defiant childe. Spike crouched on the bed, watching him with wide, wondering eyes – watchful, but unafraid.

Angel had felt relieved, but very surprised, when Buffy had asked Spike whether or not he would be all right if she left the room, and Angel stayed. He had been even more surprised when Spike had taken only a few seconds to consider her words, before nodding firmly, his piercing blue gaze studying Angel’s face with unmasked curiosity – and something almost resembling…recognition.

Now, Buffy had disappeared down the stairs a minute or two before – and Angel still stood in the doorway, unable to move closer to his childe, for fear of startling him, shattering this intuitive sort of trust Spike seemed to have in him; and unable to make his mouth form words to speak.

Amazingly – Spike found the words first.

Or rather – one word…the only one he needed.

“S-sire?”

Angel’s eyes widened as he raised his eyes to Spike’s face again, taking in the slight tilt of his head, the wide blue eyes, studying him intently, with a faint glimmer of – was that memory he saw in the younger vampire’s gaze? Did he really recognize him?

It did not matter.

The single word pulled Angel irresistibly to the side of the bed, where he crouched down beside it, bringing himself just slightly below eye level with Spike, whose questioning gaze followed his every movement, his head tilting slightly to the side, his eyes widened in surprise.

The expression on Spike’s face was what first let Angel know that his face had shifted without his knowledge, in response to that single, powerful word from his childe’s lips. As the younger vampire reached out a cautious but steady hand toward his ridged face, Angel could not help but smile at the memories that cautious touch, those strangely innocent eyes, brought back.

*It wasn’t *all* bad,* he reminded himself a bit wistfully.

“Spike,” he said softly, yet with a low growl in his voice that was completely unintentional, “do you – do you know what that word means – childe?”

Spike’s smile faded slightly in concentration, as he seriously thought about the answer to the question, and then nodded slowly, uncertainly. “You?” he guessed cautiously, meeting Angel’s gleaming golden eyes with his own, guileless and questioning and brilliant crystal blue.

A low rumbling laugh, made almost a growl by the fiercer features of Angel’s vampiric face, left his lips, as he smiled with warmth and affection at his childe. “Yes, m’boy,” he replied gently with a nod. “That’s exactly right.”

Spike’s clear blue gaze was still questioning, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Angel’s face, wondering how he had known that, and what exactly that strangely familiar word he had known meant. Yes, he knew somehow that “sire” referred to this man crouched beside him – but what exactly *was* “sire”? Not this person’s name – he already knew that his name was Angel.

So – why did he somehow instinctively know him as sire?

Sensing, feeling the questions as he reached out cautiously through their bond, Angel took a deep breath, preparing to try to explain the concept of “sire” to Spike – completely unsure as to whether or not he was even capable of comprehending it yet.

“I’m your sire,” he began quietly, holding Spike’s gaze intently. “I – I made you – what you are…no…I made you…so much *more* than – than what he – what that *monster* made you, Spike…” Angel stopped for a moment when he realized that his voice was trembling with rage, pausing to compose himself, shaking his head slightly before he went on.

When he looked back up at Spike, he was dismayed to see a vague fear and uncertainty in his eyes at the mention of the person who had hurt him, as well as a sort of uneasy shame, as if he almost felt that it was *his* fault that Angel was upset – his fault that he was no longer what he had once been.

“It’s not your fault, Spike,” Angel assured him firmly. “You – you used to be strong – powerful – until he hurt you.”

But in spite of his good intentions, his desire to make things right again for his childe, an insistent voice reminded Angel in his head, *But that’s not completely true. He was never powerful, never truly his own – not until he got away from *you*…and he still would be, if you’d done your duty and gone to him when you heard his call…*

Angel suppressed a flinch at the painful truth, forcing himself to focus completely on the needs of his childe.

“You can’t help what happened, Spike,” he went on softly. “And as much as I want to – neither can I. But – I *can* help it get better. I’m your sire – and that’s a very powerful thing. But – you have to listen to me, Spike, and do as I say…all right?”

Spike’s intense gaze never faltered during Angel’s slightly rambling explanation, which the elder vampire could not help but feel was sadly lacking – but Spike seemed to accept it with very little question, although there was still some confusion in his eyes.

“All right,” Angel nodded, taking another deep breath as he rose up to sit on the bed beside his childe. “First of all – I need you to change…”

Spike frowned, tilting his head slightly, obviously puzzled by the command.

Angel’s eyes widened, as he suddenly realized that since Buffy had found Spike, in the admittedly limited occasions in which he had seen him, he had not once seen the younger vampire change into his game face.

“Spike,” he asked softly, his voice hushed and wondering, “do you – do you even *know* that you’re – a *vampire*?”

Spike looked away from him, his expressive blue eyes troubled, as he clearly did not understand the question – and Angel suddenly realized the startling truth. In all the teaching he had been given by the well-meaning humans in Buffy’s household – not once had any of them even mentioned the word “vampire”.

A sense of mild disgust came over him, and he shook his head in disbelief, as he muttered more to himself than to Spike, “It’s a good thing she decided to let me see you. Otherwise you’d have had the world’s worst panic attack whenever your lessons get around to basic human biology.”

Realizing that his musings were doing nothing to reassure Spike, or answer his questions, Angel did his best to focus.

“You – you’re like me,” he told him, raising a hand to touch his own roughened vampire features, and then pointing between himself and Spike. “Vampire. I’m a vampire. And so are you – like me.”

Spike frowned, clearly troubled by something, as he leaned cautiously closer to his sire, a hand outstretched to cautiously touch his ridged cheek. “Vampire?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Angel replied, nodding his encouragement. “That’s right.”

Spike removed his hand, glancing down at the floor, still frowning with confusion, as he raised his hand to his own smooth cheek, before meeting Angel’s eyes again. “No vampire,” he said softly, shaking his head, a question in his gaze. “You – vampire. N-not – not me…”

Angel laughed out loud when he realized what the trouble was – and then quickly suppressed the laugh at the slight spark of annoyance he saw in his childe’s eyes – felt through their bond.

It both surprised and thrilled him to see that indignant look in Spike’s eyes, even if he could not quite bring himself to express it more fully, not yet, anyway. For now, it was enough for Angel that he was feeling it at all, after all he had been through, all the painful conditioning that had had him believing that he was stupid, worthless, deserving of mockery and derision.

“No,” Angel began to explain, shaking his head, his own expression carefully serious. “Look.” Holding Spike’s gaze, he deliberately shifted his features, back and forth, human to vampire and back again – while the younger vampire’s eyes widened in stunned amazement.

Stopping in his human guise, Angel reached one hand up to his own cheek, and the other up to gently touch Spike’s face. Spike did not flinch, just stayed focused in wonder on Angel’s face, as Angel said softly, “You – and me – we’re *both* vampires, Spike. We can look human – but we’re not. You can change your face, too…”

Spike drew back from his hand, blinking in shock at that statement, and then shaking his head vigorously – more than certain that Angel was mistaken, he could not!

“Yes, you can,” the elder vampire insisted patiently. “Go ahead – try, Spike…try it…”

Spike gave him a dubious look, but he took a deep breath and concentrated hard – trying his best to make his face look like Angel’s had looked.

Nothing happened.

“I figured as much,” Angel sighed, his own face shifting back from human to vampire. “Okay – maybe this will help…”

As Spike watched in surprise, and a little fear, Angel raised his own wrist, tearing the flesh there slightly against his fangs until a thin trickle of blood flowed from the wound – and then held it out to Spike, an expectant expression on his face, as he rose to his feet, standing over the younger vampire with an almost regal air suddenly coming upon him.

“You can smell it, can’t you, Spike?” he said in a voice that was hushed, intense. “More than that – you can *feel* it…my blood – is *your* blood, m’boy…and some part of you still knows it. You *want* it – don’t you…”

His wide crystal blue eyes locked unwavering onto the dark red stream trickling down Angel’s wrist into his hand, unaware that his eyes were glimmering with gold in the center even as he watched it.

“Go ahead – let yourself feel that, Spike – it’s what we are – let that out…come on,” Angel coaxed him gently, a low rumbling growl in his chest underscoring his words, as he held his wrist out toward his childe.

Spike’s face seemed to waver in and out between human and vampire for a few moments, as the powerful scent of his sire’s blood filled his senses, until finally the vampire in him took over, and a soft, almost tentative answering growl rose in his own throat, as he cast wide golden eyes that were somehow both fierce and pleading up toward his sire’s face.

“Go ahead, boy,” Angel nodded, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Drink…”

That was all the more encouragement Spike needed; his instincts did all the work, as he reached out with both hands to pull his sire’s wrist to his mouth, suckling at the wound greedily, with deep, surprisingly powerful pulls that brought Angel back to sitting on the bed within moments, his head falling back as he struggled against the blackening splotches of color dancing before his eyes, threatening to take his consciousness from the speed with which his childe was drinking from him.

*Just – a little more – gotta – he needs it…* he told himself firmly, again and again – until he could not seem to keep the thought coherent…and reluctantly, he tried to pull his hand away.

Spike would have none of it.

With a low, possessive growl, the younger vampire clutched at his hand, refusing to let go.

“Stop,” Angel ordered weakly, his eyes closed, barely able to breathe out the word. Then, when that was of no effect, he focused all his remaining energy on using his sire’s voice, and repeated the order, more firmly, with a low, warning growl, “*Stop*, childe…*now*!”

Immediately, Spike released him, and although his eyes followed Angel’s weakly dropping wrist with longing, there was a flash of apprehensive shame in his eyes, as if he feared punishment for his disobedience and presumption – but not the sort of extreme, sadistic punishments that his captor had dealt him for so long.

He intuitively knew that even if he *was* inclined to punish him, Angel would never treat him in that way. He could taste, smell, feel the power of their bond, the father’s love that Angel had for him, in the blood that lingered in his mouth, and coursed through his veins with an almost electric, mystical sort of heat that had nothing to do with either of their physical bodies.

He felt strong – powerful - *alive* -- in a way that he had not felt in as long as he could remember. The sense of connection and protection and family that he felt was new to him, and yet profoundly old – like something he had missed, though he had not even remembered feeling it.

What he felt for Dawn and Buffy was very similar, very close to this – but not quite the same.

In that moment, Spike felt no fear, only a sort of reverent awe – as he *felt*, deep down inside him, the meaning of the word “sire”.