Disclaimer: I do not own, lease, or have time-share in any of the characters from AtS or BtVS. I have borrowed them for the time being, I promise no harm will come to them (Hopefully).
Second fic and second chance to put right what I screwed up in Angel's Gift (first fic)
I have tried to make this as new as possible but there will be some references made to events which took place in Angel's Gift, sorry it I loose any of you.
Honest opinions always appreciated. That is my way of asking you to read and review.
Just Another Angel
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Rathlyn peered down upon the small man, watching as he twitched and trembled, his bony fingers plucking nervously at the sleeves of his black robe.
He had grown accustomed to this reaction from his subordinates, particularly the more academic portion. Standing seven feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a small car there were very few things that stood up to him.
His oily grey/black skin was deeply seemed and scarred from his many battles and his scars stood as warning to others. He wore them proudly, they were his badge of office stating he had proved himself on the battleground as the strongest of his corps and therefore rightful leader of the Myoran Armed Defences.
"Are you sure it is the right one?" He growled, it wasn't an intentional sound, all warrior Myoran's had gravely voices due to the high levels of acid they drank.
"Your greatness, it is a key but there is still some doubt as to its purpose. That is to say, we are unsure if it is our key." Came the snivelling reply from the short and abnormally spindly man. Rathlyn was sure his naturally pasty grey skin had taken on an even paler cast. True he was also Myoran but he was of the pedagogic creed, a subterranean sect, unlike Rathlyn himself who belonged to the warrior creed.
"And how do you mean to resolve this doubt?" He waited impatiently for the mans answer, beating his three thick, taloned fingers on the table top with slow deliberation, like the drums at a hanging.
"There are several reasons for our reluctance to approach her, Sir."
"I didn't ask for excuses, Snort." Now his tone was becoming harsh, Rathlyn was not well known for his patience, which was wearing thinner by the second.
"I understand, Supreme Rathlyn, but we can not move forward until we are sure there is no threat to us, or to the key itself."
"Snort, you are a snivelling coward. I want to be advised at all times of the activities of the key, that is if you can manage to determine if it is our key." He demanded, sighing and folding his scarred face into an even deeper scowl.
"Of course, Supreme Rathlyn." Snort backed away from him, nervously and scampered back to his cubicle to regain his wits and advise his associates of their new orders.
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The weekly meeting with the department heads was coming to a close. Harmony could hear them all muttering and rustling papers. She was glad to be excused from the proceedings, mostly due to her awful shorthand. Angel had decided it would be more practical to record the meetings, so Fred and her chums had rigged a part mystical, part technical doohicky in the room that took all the hard work out of it.
She was about to return to her office when the door opened, and people started filing out, none of them looked very happy, but that wasn't exactly unusual. She just caught a snip of conversation and she snuck over to listen more closely, attempting to make herself look busy by fiddling with a pot plant beside the door.
"I just said I thought some security procedures could do with tightening up." Cordelia huffed and glared at Angel across the huge mahogany table. "I had hoped you, of all people, would back me up."
After her recovery from the coma, such as it was, Cordelia had spent several months finding her place in the great scheme of Wolfram & Hart. She remembered nothing of her return from the higher plain, though she remembered how bored she had been there.
She had finally decided she wanted to be responsible for internal security, in light of all the problems they had had with uninvited guests and gift's. She figured there was nothing more important than the safety of her friends, and with her protective and somewhat suspicious nature, security suited her best. It also meant she could go anywhere in the building she wanted to without question, which was quite a feat in Wolfram and Hart.
"Don't you think a retinal scanner in the staff parking lot's just a bit like overkill, Cordy?" Angel was being as diplomatic as he knew how, he had some futile hope that if he pointed out the obvious she would see sense.
"If I had thought that I wouldn't have suggested it, and since you gave me control of security, it's my opinion that counts." She picked up her notes and stomped toward the door.
"You haven't made provision for additional scanners in your accounts." Angel smirked, stopping her in her tracks.
"If you think for one .." She stopped talking instantly when she read his look. "Pig."
"Are you working late tonight?" He enquired, hopefully.
"Em, no, I'm, er." Angel's abrupt change in topic caught her off guard, she couldn't decide whether this was the time for brutal honesty or an enormous lie. She bit her lip and tried to weigh her options without giving herself away.
Things had been different between them since she came out of the coma. She loved him, nothing on any plain of existence could change that, but there seemed to be an invisible barrier between them. They didn't talk about it, it was just there and neither of them seemed in any hurry to find a way around it.
"You've made plans, that's okay. I just thought, never mind." Angel doodled on his pad in an effort to avoid looking at her.
"I can change them, the plans I mean. If it was something, you know, important." She didn't want to change her plans, was in fact really looking forward to her plans, but if Angel needed her she would stay.
"No, not important. I'll talk to you later." He was gutted, but he didn't want her to know it. Cordelia was moving on, it was the right thing for both of them and he knew it.
"Why am I plagued by impossible relationships?" He wondered. His feelings for her were still as strong as ever, they just weren't, the same. It didn't make much sense but he couldn't seem to get beyond the thought of Connor and Cordy together. The fact that no one else, including Cordelia herself, remembered Connor didn't seem to help. Every time he thought of Cordy, he saw Connor with his arm around her and a protective hand on her pregnant belly. Was there such a commandment as thou shalt not covet thy mystically erased son's ex lover and Mother of your maniacal, mind controlling Granddaughter?
"Everything okay, boss?" Harmony broke into his thoughts, heedless to their life altering importance.
"Hmm? Yeah, fine." He stood up, his pad slipping to the floor. Harmony bent to pick it up and noticed the sketch on it, a sketch of Cordelia.
"Fine, really?" She returned the pad to him with a raised eyebrow and half smile.
"It's none of your business." He scowled snatching back the pad and trying valiantly to retain his cool demeanour. "And if I hear any office gossip about Cordelia and me, I'll know exactly who to fire."
"Hey, that's not fair, anyway there's enough gossip about Cordy already. Oops." She put her hand to her mouth in mock embarrassment and scurried to keep up with him as they returned to his office.
"Like what?" The question was loaded, and he hated himself for even asking but he couldn't help it.
"Well," Harmony's voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "The rumour mill is working overtime because Cordelia's been seeing one of the lawyers, someone in Interdimensional Property. At least that's what Bethany told me, and she should know."
"Who? For how long?" Angel couldn't believe it. "How come no one tells me this stuff?"
"Question one, Blake Anderson. Question two, more than a month, if you believe Bethany, which I do. Question three, because you get mad, then you get moody." She was gratefully beyond his reach by the time she finished her third statement.
"I don't get moody, I'm always moody." He chundered to himself as he closed his office door, shutting out the world beyond. "What kind of name is, Blake?"
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"It doesn't matter how long you stare at it, she still won't come to life?" Lorne informed Spike.
"Tried it, huh?" His sparkling blue eyes rose to meet the demons blood red orbs as he replaced the photograph on the corner of his desk with the others.
"Yep. Usually I'm on my fourth or fifth drink, a couple after that I can make her dance the Macarena if I really want to." Lorne smiled ruefully, he and Spike had shared several conversations about Ariane over the past months. Spike figured they must have considered every "what if" possible and even a few that were impossible.
"Good evening, Sir. Will it be the usual?" Spike imitated a posh bartender as he pulled open his filing cabinet drawer and produced another shot glass to join the one already filled to the brim on his desk.
"Why not." Lorne shrugged, it was ten thirty and he had been working since six that morning. If anyone had earned a drink he had and Spike looked like he could use some company.
"You had a shite day too?" Spike put the glass down and returned to his chair staggering slightly.
"Contract negotiations for Mariah, the woman has demands you wouldn't believe." Lorne rolled his eyes and sighed.
"The Mariah?" Spike looked stunned.
"All those octaves and you thought it was natural? The woman has demon diva written all over her. Enough about me, I'm about all talked out for one day, what's up with you, sugar?" He asked, knowing that if Spike didn't want to talk, he wouldn't, asking the question was more habit than curiosity.
Spike threw back his drink in one swift swallow, hissing as the vodka burned its way to his stomach. "I'm pissed off." He replied then sat back to ponder his answer, then nodded. It was good enough, it said everything it had to.
He couldn't think of a specific reason for his pissedoffness, nothing had happened, no one had said anything or did anything unexpected. Yeah, pissed off summed it up nicely.
"How did your meeting with Angel go this morning?" Lorne glanced at the shot of vodka Spike had poured him but didn't pick it up.
"No, Spike, you can't have a raise. No, Spike, you can't have a car. No, Spike, you can't have a pee, you should have gone before class. Does than give you a hint or do you want me to go on?" His speech was slurred, but not enough to hide the bitterness in his voice.
"That good? You can't really grumble, he gave you a job and this office." Lorne commented looking around the room and giving the drunken vampire a weak smile.
"A job? Do you think I really want to work for that ponce, it's like working for your Father. It feels like bloody charity, like I'm not capable of doing anything else. As for this ruddy office, yeah big deal, he gave me an office, after he cleared out the janitor's stores. The place still smells like flippin pine scented floor cleaner. Anyway, I had to pester him for months before I got this." Spike threw his arm around at the bare walls and dull furniture, spilling some of the dregs from his glass in the process.
"He's such a pompous git sometimes. Up there in his tower, with his secretary and his bloody panoramic view of the city, everything anyone could ask for. What do I get, a broom cupboard with no windows, a filing cabinet and a phone, and it's like he wants me fall all over him with gratitude or something. Fall all over his face with my bloody fist is what I should do." He snatched Lorne's untouched glass and tossed back another shot then almost missed the table trying to put the glass down.
"Go home is what you should do." Lorne hated it when Spike was in this mood. He was no good to anyone, least of all himself. The only person who seemed capable of pulling him out of it was Fred and she had gone home already. He hauled Spike out of the chair and drag/walked him toward the door. It made a change for him to be pouring someone else into a cab these days; it took him back to his carefree Caritas days.
"She wouldn't have let me get like this, would she?" Lorne knew exactly which "she" Spike was referring to. He always talked about her when he was drunk.
"Spike, I don't think even she could stop you when you get started."
"Nah, she would have done that thing she did, and make everything sunny, and nice, and, and she wouldn't blame me, would she mate?" Spike turned his somehow young but ancient eyes to him, filled with cautious hope.
"No, Spike, I don't think she would blame you one bit." There it was, Spike had finally admitted what was wrong. Deep down Spike had joined more than just the Wolfram & Hart team, he had joined Angel in the guilt ridden gang too.
"I didn't know killing that damned prissy playboy lawyer would blow up the cars, did I. I didn't mean to kill him, just rough him up a bit and let old McDonald do the rest. How was I supposed to know he'd go and have a flippin' heart attack. Anyway, Angel should have found her before then."
"Angel did all he could, we all did. Spike, don't do this to yourself." Lorne tried to placate the vampire long enough to get him to the lobby.
"Bugger Angel, he didn't care about her, we cared, didn't we, Lorne, mate." Spike threw his arm around Lorne in a drunken hug.
"Yeah, sweetness, we cared, we cared a lot."
"She kissed me once, did I tell you that?"
"Yes, Spike, you told me."
"She looked like Dawn too, just a little, maybe it was just the hair, but she reminded me of the bit. Why does everything have to come with a ruddy price tag, demon? Why couldn't she just be a normal kid, with a normal life? Why'd someone have to mess around with her and give her to that ponce in the first place?"
"Spike, stop torturing yourself like this, let Ari go. She's not Dawn. Dawn's fine, livin it up with big Sis in Europe."
"At least I did something right then."
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The girl wandered into his midnight dark room, crossing to the bed where he lay with a thin sheet covering only half of his body. He was sleeping, one arm draped over his torso, the other thrown out to his side. The sweetest smile stretched her pretty pink lips, crinkling the corners of her playful eyes and making her look even more like a pixie. She made no attempt to conceal her presence, but her bare feet and the hem of her exquisite gown made only the softest hiss as they brushed over the thick carpeting.
She bent over him, flicking her head to halt a sheaf of long raven hair before it could drift against his chest and wake him. She looked at him with desperate longing, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch his face. Before her fingers could caress his skin there were six thunderous shots. Blood spread outwards, swiftly saturating the fabric of her dress, turning it's virgin white to scarlet. He remained motionless, apparently oblivious to her condition, while her look of pure despair deepened.
He woke with a start, the memory of the shots still ringing in his ears, cold sweat covering his shivering body. He sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair, drawing in a cleansing breath and expelling it with a sigh. It had been eight months since it'd happened and almost as long since he'd had that dream, then from nowhere he has it twice within a week. Why the hell was he thinking like this, what was it about her he couldn't let go?
Angel lay back down and rolled onto his side to checked the clock beside his bed just as a fork of lightening blazed across the stormy night sky, it was 2.36 a.m.
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He leaned against the doorframe with one hand in his pants pocket, studying her with guarded scrutiny. His deep, warm, engaging, brown eyes running over her face, eventually fixing on her distinctive cobalt orbs. He broke into a lop sided smile and shoulder pushed himself from the doorway without taking his hand from his pocket. He walked with his usual graceful gait across the room toward her. She drank in every inch of him, her eyes running upward from his slim hips, broadening across his toned chest to his strong, muscular, shoulders, rippling under his dark grey sweater.
He approached her and stretched out a hand to return a stray strand of hair, which had drifted across her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. His gifted fingers lingered and traced a line down the curve of her neck. She closed her eyes and drifted on the tingling warmth his touch had generated. She felt her body jolt violently, four, five, six shots. When she opened her eyes again he was gone, fine, shimmering motes of dust dancing in an eddying air current the only sign of his former presence.
She awoke in her dark room listening to the rain as the storm's rage broke with all its intense beauty. Thunder crashed and she shuddered involuntarily. The dream had woken her again, the same one which had woken her the night before last. It wasn't new; she had been having it periodically for months. She just couldn't understand why her thoughts would not let him rest. A single tear spilled from the corner of her eye, running across her cheek to drop onto the pillow.
Ariane turned her head to look at the clock on her wall, a flash of lightening giving her just enough light to read that it was 2.36 a.m.
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Lorne looked the young redheaded interviewee over from top to toe. "I'm guessing Eminem, Stan." He thought to himself and took another sip of his drink. Things were bad; he had hit the bourbon already. Well the sun was over the yardarm on one continent or another what difference would it make.
"You don't have to give yourself a stroke, just sing." He had been waiting two minutes and it was two minutes too long.
"Em, well, this is my Mom's favourite." The kid gave the demon a half-hearted smile; this was the weirdest interview he'd ever had.
"Thanks for the introduction, can we see the main attraction now?" Lorne asked.
"Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars." The scarecrow crooned.
Lorne was taken aback, both by the song and the voice. "He may look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, but he sings like Sinatra." He thought, astonished. Lorne was almost finished the reading when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. He snatched something from his desk drawer and looked at it as if for confirmation.
"Something wrong?" The kid asked looking worried, he needed this job and it was going to be tough to explain he didn't get it because his singing wasn't up to scratch.
"Wrong, no. Do you know her?" Lorne showed the boy the photograph he held and waited anxiously for his reply.
"That's her." Ricky's hand stretched out to touch the print, like someone in a dream.
"Her, who?" Lorne asked, his impatience growing.
"Ariane." He spoke her name with a sigh. "She saved my life."
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She dragged herself out of bed at six o'clock. There was no point in lying there any longer, staring at the ceiling and watching the sunlight change the shadows from black to grey. Anyway she'd heard Rob moving around and she had promised to let him practice on her.
Six foot two, short dark hair, hazel eyes and with boyish good looks he was a sight most women would love to see in their bedroom in the morning. He burst in with far more energy than anyone should have a right to at that hour. "Good morning, Anne, all ready for me?" He grinned.
"That depends, what are we working on today?" She faked a worried expression as he rubbed his hands together like a theatrical villain and she followed him into the lounge. Rob was a qualified fitness instructor who seemed to take great delight in his sometimes masochistic occupation. Anne didn't complain, Rob had helped claw back her freedom.
"Stamina workout and then a massage if you're lucky." He informed her as he poured them both a coffee in the kitchen.
"Sounds painful, I mean delightful." She took the proffered mug and blew on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. "Why are you so cheerful this morning?"
"No reason." He lied.
"Hmm, did you see Jeff last night?" The question was voiced as innocently as she could manage but it still sounded too obvious.
"Yes, I did." He was busy setting up his equipment and didn't give her eye contact, but he knew exactly what she was fishing for.
"And?" She wasn't giving up until he gave her all the details.
"And, he asked me out just like you said he would. I thought he wasn't going to, then just before he left he stopped me by the door and asked if I was busy on Friday night." Rob was beaming and she couldn't have been happier for him.
"So you said, of course I'm not doing anything, where would you like to go, to which he replied?" She prompted.
"We're going to that new bar in town, what's it called again." He paused to think, the name dancing just beyond his recollection.
"Flamers." She answered for him, never having heard of it before. She had tried to curb her gift's but sometimes they seemed to have a mind of their own
"That's it." He clicked his fingers and gave her a sly, sideways glance. "You read my mind."
"If I could do that, do you think I would be here? I'd be rich, famous and living it up on my millions." She covered her lie with sarcasm, and mentally thanked Spike for this acquired talent.
"Fat chance, I've yet to see you leave this place without being forced."
"What do I have to go out for, I get all the entertainment I need right here listening to you talk about your love life."
"You need to get one of your own and stop pretending you enjoy being single. If there is one thing I know, it's that lots of people are alone, but very few of them actually like it." He was half-kidding, half-serious and she knew it.
"Yes, Mother." She shook her head and gave him a look that dripped with "Don't lecture me's".
"Stop stalling, we have work to do." He met her gaze with a no nonsense one of his own.
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That afternoon she sat in front of the computer terminal and went through the same ritual she had for almost two months.
"Just look them up. www.Wolfram&Hart.c"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it could be dangerous."
"That's just an excuse, you're hiding behind your guilt."
"That's right, I am."
"What's the worst that could happen?" And that's where the trouble started, with the 'what if's'.
"Angel is dead, what could be worse than that? What if they're all dead; what if Savage is there; what if he traces me here; what if ………" The possibilities were endless.
"Are you busy?" Sylvia's soft English accent saved her from another ten minutes of internal quarrelling.
"Never too busy for you." She smiled and turned herself around, looking behind the older woman. "Where is he? I was sure I heard giggling, isn't Jamie with you?"
"Surprise." The three-year-old jumped out from behind his mother's legs with a huge sunny infectious smile. "I was hiding." He stated with obvious pride, he was taking great pains to conceal a large piece of paper behind his back.
"You're just too clever, aren't you. What's that, have you been painting today?"
"That's why we're here, he painted it early this morning and he's been driving me mad all day to come down here to give it to you." Sylvia planted herself in a large overstuffed floral print armchair, which stood beside the open French doors over looking the pool. She plucked at the collar of her blouse attempting to create some air to cool herself down.
"I should speak to Paul about installing air conditioning down here. Anne, how can you stand this heat?" She asked, noticing the younger woman didn't seem to be suffering from the same wilting effect.
"My personal thermostat's set a little low these days." She commented "Where is Paul?"
"He had a board meeting today, remember." Sylvia reminded her. Paul Nardino was Sylvia's husband, Rob was his son from his first marriage. Technically he was Anne's boss and landlord. It had been Paul who found her lying in the street after she had been dumped out of the Mercedes.
Jamie was poking around in Anne's desk drawer, looking for something to play with when she tapped him lightly on the shoulder, "Okay, now you have to tell me what it is." She leaned close to him and he stepped closer to her so she could lift him into her lap.
"This is you," He stated pointing to a blob of black and white paint on the left of the picture.
"Who is that?" She asked pointing to another rough figure.
"That's Robbie, of course. Where is he, he said he'd take me for ice cream today?" Jamie looked at her and his little brow furrowed turning him into a caricature little old man. He slapped his hand on Anne's forehead.
"What's that face for?" Sylvia asked him from across the room.
"Annie looks sick today." Jamie pointed out to his mother. Who, on looking more closely did notice strain lines around Anne's eyes and her pale complexion.
"You don't look yourself today, are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine, I just had trouble sleeping last night." It wasn't a lie, but it felt like it.
"It's this horrible humidity, it's just awful. I had hoped last night's storm would have helped but it hasn't made any difference at all. Jamie, we'll leave Anne alone to have a nap." She put out her hand to draw her son to her.
"I haven't finished telling Annie about my picture." He stated, shaking his head and looking at his mother with a disapproving scowl.
"How rude of me." She stifled a laugh and rolled her eyes toward Anne, knowing it was pointless to argue, he took his stubborn streak from his father.
"This is an angel, he came to visit last night while you were sleeping." Jamie pointed to a dark grey figure close to the white one. He slid from Anne's knees and ran over to his mother.
"So that's what kept you awake, I don't think I'd be able to sleep with an angel in my bedroom either." Anne only caught half of Sylvia's comment and gave her a weak smile as she studied Jamie's picture.
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"Psst." Spike spun around then held his head, wincing. He was standing by the vending machine sipping his fourth cup of vile instant coffee.
"Bloody hangovers." He cursed.
"You need hair of the dog." Lorne informed him, speaking from experience.
"I'd shave the damn mutt bald if it'd get rid of this headache." He moaned, massaging his left temple with his index finger. "What's with the cloak and dagger?"
"We need to talk, it's important." Lorne whispered conspiratorially, he didn't really want to discuss this rather touchy subject where anyone could over hear.
"What have you done this time?" Spike grumbled walking toward his office, every step seeming to jar his pounding brain. "I'm not covering your arse anymore. Angel still thinks it was me who set off the sprinklers in the executive bog."
"I haven't done anything, and it was both of us who set off the sprinklers, you just got caught." Lorne closed the door behind them a little too loudly for Spikes fragile condition.
"I'll give you one more chance, Kermit, then I rip your head off and laugh, watching you fumble about trying to put it back on." He warned the Pylean.
"Okay, Mister grouchy pants, but I think you might like this one. I've got a lead on Ari." He stated proudly.
"Not this again. My head might feel like its stuffed with marshmallows, mate, but I'm not completely thick. I'm not going on anymore wild goose chases with you, not even for Ariane." Spike muttered taking a huge swallow of scalding hot coffee. He had decided this morning when he woke up with yet another guilt induced hangover that he was going to forget about her. There was no way he was going to end up like Angel, he'd rather stake himself first.
"Not even if I told you the guy who was driving the Merc to the beach came for an interview this morning and I saw her in his reading?" Lorne threw the comment at Spike hoping to arouse his interest.
"Not if you told me she walked into your office herself and sang fly me to the effing moon." He shot the empty paper cup into the bin and strode back to the door. "She's gone, mate. I'm not exactly happy about it but there's no point kidding ourselves anymore. We tried to find her, we tried longer than anyone else, but we came up with nothing, not a damned thing." Spike fumed, he hated the defeatist way he was talking but it was true.
"And that doesn't strike you as a bit strange in itself? That we didn't even find a body, Spike? There's no point in denying it, you and I both know it's weird." Lorne didn't want to argue with the vampire, but he didn't want to give up on this lead either, he had a feeling this time.
"Weird, you want to talk about weird? Weird is a bird who turns up from nowhere, reading people's minds, having visions and making everybody happy, even that moody ponce upstairs who hasn't cracked a smile in a century. Weird is that same bint getting shot saving said moody ponces grumpy arse from a good dusting. Weird, Lorne is a girl surviving a shooting, a kidnapping, and a bombing all in one day. The whole situation was screwed up from the start, so the fact that there was no body isn't weird, it's just par for the frigging course." With his rant over, Spike yanked open his office door and strutted out into the corridor, leaving Lorne alone staring open mouthed after him.
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"Gunn, mate. You got a minute?" Spike strolled into his office without waiting for an answer. He dropped into a wide comfortable chair in front of Gunn's desk. "All right Lindsey. How's the wife?"
"Fine thanks." Lindsey gave Spike a confused smile. He was, on general principals, wary of Spike, though they shared words often enough.
"You got a reason for being here, or did you just come by to shoot some with the guy's?" Gunn enquired, putting the file he and Lindsey had been discussing back on his desk.
"The licence plate you wanted traced, it belongs to a bigwig corporate fella, Paul Nardino. Got an estate out in the hills." Spike handed Gunn a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it.
"Thanks. You look like hell." Gunn commented putting the scrap of paper in his pocket.
"Feel like it too." Spike scowled and scratched his still aching head.
"Out on a school night, who is she?" Lindsey asked intrigued, since meeting his now wife he had given up the week nights out with the guy's. It was an easy sacrifice, he actually found he looked forward to going home when he had Rachel to go home too.
"No such luck. Totally self inflicted this one." Spike shrugged and stood to leave.
"You're not going to see Angel are you?" Gunn enquired.
"Not if I can help it." He scowled standing by the door. "Why?"
"Got some stuff for him, I'll take it up later. You and the boss had another run-in?" Gunn couldn't help but ask, he secretly loved it when Spike and Angel had a fight.
"Nah, gay boy's mad at me cause I won most fanciable vampire in the office poll." He shot back as he closed the door behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Miss Chance." The man's nasal voice was as irritating as his uninvited presence, Anne took a deep breath and held it until her frustration passed.
"Mr Morris." She smiled, trying hard not to allow her irritation to show. This was the fifth time he had appeared, unannounced. She was grateful for the work he gave her, but the unwanted attention was becoming a problem. She made a mental note to talk to Paul about it, hopefully he could think of a way to put him off gently.
"I thought we had decided you were going to call me Bruce." He smarmed, his expensive smile showing far too many perfect teeth. Her skin crawled as he laid his heavy hand on her shoulder. She could think of many things she wanted to call him and Bruce wasn't among them.
"I thought we had decide we were going to keep things on a professional basis." She asked, staring at his hand to indicate what she referring to. He allowed the offending appendage to slip from her shoulder, his grin faltering only slightly. Bruce Morris apparently wasn't accustomed to getting the brush off.
"She should be grateful for the attention, it wasn't like she was inundated by male interest. Damaged goods." He thought. "Do you have my reports?" His voice had turned brusque.
"I gave them to Debbie yesterday." She informed him, knowing full well that he had the desired reports on his desk. Debbie had told her this morning when she called about the invoice.
"I haven't had time to go to the office." He lied, "I've been in meetings all morning."
"Speaking of meetings, I have a new client due here any minute and I know how busy you are. I'm sorry about the mix-up, it won't happen again." She apologised even though the fault was not hers. It was a habit she found impossible to break. That instant the telephone rang and she picked it up before the second ring.
"Who's the slob in the Miami Vice suit?" Rob giggled, he was on his cell phone and obviously just outside.
"Yes, Mr Phillips, I can e-mail that information to you right now, could you excuse me for just a second." She slipped her hand over the receiver and looked back at Bruce. "Was there something else you needed?"
"No, I'll see myself out." He turned on his heel and stomped to the door, ruffled.
Anne returned to the phone to hear a buzzing, Rob had hung up already.
"That guy needs some fashion advice, quick." He stated as he strolled into the lounge by the back door, all tanned, athletic, handsome and everything else a woman could want. As usual all the best ones were either married or gay, at least that was what Sylvia told her.
"Thank you for saving me." She sighed deeply and ran a hand through her hair.
"You look exhausted, why don't you take a break." He asked as she turned back to the computer.
"I can't afford to. Medical bills to pay, remember."
"Dad settled those months ago."
"I know, so now I owe your Father, I can't keep taking things from your family, I'm indebted enough."
"It's your choice, but he won't accept your money, Anne. If my old man wants to spend some of his cash on you, let him, he can afford it." Rob vaulted the back of the sofa and landed full length, crossing his long legs at the ankles and putting his hands behind his head.
"This subject is not up for discussion Rob." She told the recumbent figure, his roguish and childlike mischievousness reminded her of Spike, perhaps that was why she liked him so much.
"He's mad as hell because you won't let him buy you that chair." He pointed to a picture tacked to the wall beside the computer monitor. She kept it there as an incentive, reminding her what she was working for.
"That's not up for discussion either." She picked up some papers from the desk and held them out for Rob's attention. "Two cheques and a new client who would like a one on one consultation next Monday." She informed him.
"Male or female?" He enquired wiggling his eyebrows and smirking.
"Female, sorry." She giggled, he was incorrigible.
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Gunn, in his now compulsory sharp suit, looked completely out of place amongst the dusty books and scrolls scattered haphazardly around Wesley's workspace. The Englishman was deep in thought as he tried to decipher a passage from some obscure cult or other. Gunn couldn't see what the attraction was with all the old stuff, but each to their own.
He glanced over Wesley's shoulder and grimaced as he saw a drawing of a wrinkly, two headed demon who looked as if he had just recently eviscerated a young woman who's body lay at it's feet. "Nice." He commented.
"I'm sure the artist would be grateful of your appreciation. What brings you down here?" Wesley removed his glasses and buffed the lenses.
"Got that address you were looking for. Paul Nardino, CEO of Nardino and Sampson Inc. Import/Export and totally legit as far as can tell. What exactly do you want with him?" He asked handing over the scrap of paper Spike had given him earlier.
"I was going home from .. I was going home the other night and I thought I saw someone I recognised in a car. I just wanted to know if it was who I thought it was."
"Was it?"
"Probably not."
"Oh, how's that thing going, the thing you were travelling home from. The thing with you and Fred?" Gunn wanted Wes to know he knew things were getting serious between them.
"Em, very well as it happens." He put his glasses back on and searched Gunn for a reaction, when none was forthcoming he coughed and looked back toward his books.
"Good, just so you know, you hurt her, I'll kill you." Gunn studied Wes with a cold hard stare, then winked and smiled. "Just foolin', you look good together, happy. That's been in kinda short supply lately."
"Yes, it has. Thank you, for the information I mean." Wes clarified.
"No sweat." Gunn nodded, knowing the thanks was for more than just an address. He knew his approval wasn't necessary, but he was sure his blessing was appreciated.
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Okay, I started this not long after I finished Angel's Gift and I've been tweaking and adding to it since then. I'm really not too sure of it, but I figure if I mess with it any longer I'm going to ruin it. Give it too me straight (Gidget, it know you will) J or L. Thanks.