Spike was feeling pretty good.
Even after that whole... thing... with Rome, and seeing Buffy shacking it up with The Immortal. Directly afterwards, as soon as their small jet had landed back in Los Angeles, after him and Angel had cleared up the whole disaster that was the missing demon head with Gunn (which, turns out, wasn't really missing-- immortal wanker), Spike did the first thing that felt right: he went to the closest bar and got himself heavily pissed. More than pissed - he'd been so drunk, so out of it, he was pretty sure by the end of the night he'd volunteered - he'd insisted - that he'd be back in a few days to read some of his poetry at their upcoming slam. Poetry. His bloody poetry.
The thought alone was almost enough to make him consider taking up AA.
That was yesterday, and since then he'd unfortunately sobered. He woke up this afternoon, his hangover a royal bitch - and unconstitutional at that. He was a vampire, immune to most things human, above all that warm-blooded stuff - he should be able to wake up the morning after a night getting intimate with his ol' pal JD without the bloody repercussions. He should be able to wake up without the nausea, the headache, the regret. And every time, all those painful memories he'd been drinking to repress, they always came flooding back at the first hint of consciousness. Came filtering through as soon as sobriety hit. And they didn't just come back, fuzzy around the corners. They came back, in full-on Technicolor, heavy emphasis on the bad that he'd been drinking to forget.
It was ten to two now, and he was reclining comfortably on his couch, bottle of beer in his hand as he clicked on the telly. He'd just gotten comfortable, settled his tired body into the cushions, when the phone rang. He groaned at the sound of it, leaning his head back against the comfort of the pillows as the ringing echoed in his head. After a few seconds and a couple more loud rings, when the thing didn't look like it'd stop on its own, he eventually sat up, placing his beer on the coffee table in front of him. The bloody thing kept up its annoying wail as he stood and painfully made his way over to it.
"Hello?"
He was met with silence on the other end.
"Hello?" he called out again after a few more quiet seconds.
No one answered, which only served to further annoy him. He knew someone was there, he could hear them breathing. The only people who had his number were those over at Wolfram and Hart - Angel and his little group of avengers. The only one who had ever called before was Angel. And - since when did Mr. Poster Boy For Vampire Clichés start breathing? He was about to say just that when he heard a loud click and then the immediate sound of the dial tone. He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring disinterestedly at it a few seconds before shrugging and putting it back in its cradle.
So, the Champ had emotionally regressed to that of a twelve year old, then? Real bloody mature.
He made his way back to the couch, picking up the remote before he plopped back down again. He glanced over at the clock. 1:51p.m. Good, Passions hadn't started yet. He was actually looking forward to this episode - they were going to finally show Alistair Crane, and there was no way he was missing that. He'd been waiting years to see what the hell this guy looked like, only catching the brief glimpses of his hand or the back of his head. They made it all mysterious-like, purposely keeping his face off camera during all of his scenes. It was about the only thing keeping him interested in the show since they went and killed off Timmy. Poor bloody doll, dying all heroic-like, all in the sake of his love for Charity. Donated his heart to her, he did, just so she could live. It was inspirational, really.
But that was years ago, and this Alistair was the only thing worth watching anymore, unless you cared about Theresa and her bloody obsessive love for Ethan. Not like Spike could relate to that. And you had to admire Alistair. All the power he held over everybody in Harmony - the wealth, the notoriety, the command. And all of that built without you ever seeing what the bloke even looked like.
The phone rang again, and Spike let out an immediate breath of annoyance. He leaned to the side as he glanced again at the clock. 1:53 p.m. Seven minutes until his show came on. Which he was not missing. He pushed himself off the couch again, this time with a bit more agitation, and threw the remote control over his shoulder and onto the couch before picking up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Spike."
"What a surprise - he talks! Real mature before."
"Yeah, listen - get down here."
"Uhm, no."
"Spike, stop being a pain in the ass and get down here."
"You've got to be kidding me. Passions is coming on, and if you think for one minute I'm missing it, you're out of your Clairol-sponsored head."
"Ten minutes, meet us in my office."
"Did you miss what I just said? I said--"
Click.
Click? What the bloody...
Spike was met with an abrupt sort of silence as Angel disconnected, and then the loud, drawn-out beeping of the dial tone. He pulled the phone back in shock, an automated voice mocking him with its repetition of: 'if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again." Oh, he'd like to make a call all right. Call the bloody Poof, who, by the way - hung up on him! What the hell. Angel hung up on him?! Rectangular sort of bloke, all incompetent to modern-day technology, hung up on him?
Well. Sod that!
There was no way Spike was going to Wolfram and Hart now. Oh, there was the slight possibility he would have, just a hint of giving in for the Greater Cause, willing to miss Passions for it, even - but not now. No way. Bloody prick, hanging up on him. Annoyed, Spike dialed the number to the Champ's office - the one that bypassed him from hesitancies such as a cute little conversation with his secretary. He looked over at the clock as it rang. 1:56 p.m. Bloody hell.
"Hello?"
"You right bastard! You think I'm just gonna drop what I'm doing and come to you, just 'cause you say so? You think hanging up on me serves as some sort of final word, some--"
"It's Buffy."
"--sort of... Buffy? What, is something wrong?"
"My office, ten minutes."
And then he was met with the loud, mocking dial tone again.
Bloody... sonofabitch!
He slammed the phone down, growling in frustration. What'd he care if something was wrong with Buffy? Last time the Champ had uttered those same very words - It's Buffy - two days ago, Spike had hopped on a jet and flew halfway across the world without thinking twice about it. Without even giving it a moment's hesitation, he'd hopped on a plane and went to her. He showed up at her apartment with Captain Rectangle at his side - three different times - and each time she hadn't been there. Out with her boyfriend.
It's Buffy.
Like he's supposed to, what? Jump at those words again? Buffy was a big girl, Slayer and all, fully capable of handling herself. Whatever was wrong, she could fix it. Or maybe have her boyfriend The Immortal help. Then she could maybe make a date out of it and everything. And besides - Spike looked at the clock again, it was 1:59 p.m. - Passions was on. Right this minute, matter of fact. He wasn't going to miss this episode just because 'it's Buffy'.
Nope, his mind was made up, there wasn't a thing that could change it. Angel had all them hero type at his work, let them worry. Let them help. He wouldn't. He was just going to sit here and watch his show, Slayer's in Rome be damned.
Yep.
"Bloody hell."
Spike slammed his apartment door shut behind him, pulling his duster on. He stomped his way up the stairs and down the hallway, cursing and fuming as he made his way towards the offices of Wolfram and Hart.
Love's bitch, through and through.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later and Spike was strolling through the halls of Wolfram and Hart. He'd felt pretty good by then, a spot of violence on the way still causing the adrenaline to course through his body in a particularly pleasant way. He'd been angrily making his way through the sewers to get to Wolfram and Hart when, just his luck, a few demons decided to pick that time to jump him. Good for him, bad for them. Spike had quickly killed the first one. He'd snapped its neck, grinning in satisfaction from the loud crunching noises it made in the process, enjoying way too much the feeling of its body going limp in his arms before he'd tossed it aside. The other one put up a bit more of a fight, but lucky for Spike, he'd learn to always be prepared - you never knew which demon had it in for you when you hooked up with Evil Empire LA and worked on the gray side of things. Was a bit worse than being associated with the Slayer, even. He'd used the sword he pulled out from with-in his duster to slice and dice the green-horned one, feeling the tension in him ease with each blow.
Nothing like a good kill to cause his mood to do a 180.
He stepped into the elevator, pressing the button that'd bring it up to their floor... or, the Champ's floor. The doors closed and he was met with the sound of Barry Manilow assaulting his ears from the speakers above. Bloody hell. Since day one that Manilow had been the soundtrack for the main elevator, and you'd think with the constant harassment from Spike and the Champ's other co-workers it'd have changed. But nope, there it played. The only surprising thing was that it didn't loop on "Mandy" - thank god for small miracles.
The doors slid open and Spike walked out, the sounds of the floor thankfully drowning out the elevator music. He strolled past Harmony, preparing himself for her shrill acknowledgment of his presence. Instead she pointedly ignored him, glancing downwards quickly when he made eye contract with her. He slowed down as he walked past, eyeing her suspiciously as she lowered in her seat. His curiosity officially kicked in full time when she leaned to the side, purposely dodging his glances. He'd stop altogether and see just what the hell she was up to, but he couldn't particularly find it in him to care.
Spike pushed the Champ's office door open, and immediately spotted the cause for his more recent disruption sitting behind his big fancy desk. "This better be important," he warned Angel, kicking the door shut behind him. "'Cause I'll have you know - I'm missing a good episode for this. They're showing Alistair for the first time, and while that might not register as interesting on that over-sized head of yours, it's bloody important."
"Spike?"
"Yeh, your Foreheadedness. You called. Hung up. Wanted me here. Ringing any bells?"
"That was thirty minutes ago," Angel told him, frowning.
Spike shrugged, not particularly caring. "Ran into a few demons on the way."
"And that took thirty minutes?"
"No," he answered, smirking. "That took about five."
Angel sighed. "Do you ever listen? I said ten minutes."
"Hey, I listen," he argued, strolling up to the desk. "I listened to that god awful Manilow in the elevator - thought you grew out of that faze in the 70's? When's the last time that ponce even had a hit -- about the same time you could still fit into a large?"
"First of all, you don't listen," the Poof was immediately defending, sitting up straight in his chair. "If you did, you would've been here half an hour ago. And second of all - Barry's stuff is timeless. 'Let's Hang On' wasn't all that bad."
"Right," Spike drawled sarcastically. "In your synthetic-pop based mind." He finally sat down in the comfy red chair in front of Angel's desk, immediately reclining back and casually throwing his leg over the side of it. "So, what's the deal with Buffy this time?" he asked, his tone a bit flat. "The Immortal dump her? She needing a bit of help now that Romeo went all bad on her or something? Can't say I didn't expect it. Maybe not this soon, but you know..."
The door opened up behind him, and a wave of familiarity washed over him. That immediate and distinct scent, that feeling, that presence...
"Spike?"
That voice.
He turned around, pushing himself out of the chair as he stood up. "Buffy?"
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!