Title: Santa Please
Author: Comlodge
Characters: Spike, Angel, Angel Ensemble, Santa
Medium: Fic
Rating: M for some naughtiness but only hinted at. Mentions of M/M, plans for M/M/M, mentions of Het, thoughts of Harmony's breasts, fighting (who knew?), mentions of killing things (really?), secret penthouse meetings (duh), smoopy stuff too (awww), swearing, drinking, drugs (Spike's in it, of course there is swearing, etc.)
Prompt: nekid_spike Harlot's Choice - Spike goes to see Santa
Banners: comlodge
Words: 5925 (I know right. What was I thinking.)
Disclaimer: Just for fun.
Summary: Spike has plans for this December, especially the 25th. Of course as always, his plans get off to a rocky start. It all started with a calendar...
"Spike!" The name bellowed through the open door to Angel's office. The vamp in question hunched into himself and attempted to walk nonchalantly away.
"Spike! Get your irresponsible ass in here!"
Spike came to a halt in front of Harmony's desk, straightened himself to his full height and addressed the female vamp.
"Fuck, the old sod's in a mood. You wouldn't happen to know anything 'bout it, would ya Harm?"
"No I would not. Even though I'm his personal assistant and keep his diary, arrange his schedule, get him his blood, minute his meetings, order his…"
"Okay, okay. I get it. His royalness is as tight lipped and unsharring as ever." He felt a presence loom into the open doorway.
"Spike! Get in here and explain this to me."
"Look if it's about the Viper, I just borrowed it that one night. Had a gig with Lindsey and I didn' want to be late."
"You took my car! Again!"
The voice was rising. This was so not of the good. And, fuck, no time to be channelling the Scoobies.
"Ahh. Here it is, scheduled for the first. Well, good to know you can keep some schedules."
"Wha…" Spike caught a look at the paper in the big ponce's tight fist. He caught a glimpse of colour in amongst a lot of black scrawl. Actually not scrawl, but someone's rather neat hand writing.
"Bloody, buggerin' fuck! How did you get my personal to do calendar?" A sharp intake of breath had him turning back to Harmony. If a vampire could blush, she'd be bright red.
"Fuck, Harm. Told you to leave my stuff alone and stop puttin' those stupid stickers all over it!"
He turned back to Angel, who was scowling fit to blow and studying the paper in his hand.
"Have you been scheduling our, um… meetings… in the penthouse? And maybe you'd like to explain the entry for the 13th to me." Angry brown eyes looked into his wide eyed blue ones.
Spike felt his mouth hanging open just a little and quickly tightened his jaw. Best to bluff his way through this. He put a serious look on his face and in his voice as he nodded toward the offending piece of paper in Angel's hand.
"Better we take this in the office, pet. Some quite confidential killing matters on that sheet. Employee culling and all." He turned his head to glare pointedly at Harmony as he said the last. She gulped and turned quickly to the papers on her desk.
"I'll just mark your schedule unavailable for the next 30 minutes, boss," she said, just the faintest tickle of nerves betraying her.
Angel ignored her as he turned and stalked back inside his office, still staring at the extremely neat hand writing on the paper in his hand. Hand writing he knew well, having seen it off and on over the past one hundred and fifty years or so.
"Better make it an hour, Harm. Could get a bit sticky in there. All bleedin' thanks to you, ya dosy bint."
"You're welcome, Spikey," she steeled herself as she spoke. "Just you remember who got you the appointment with Saint Nick. You owe me. Not my fault you left your calendar on my desk. It would serve you right if all your scheming went up in smoke… or dust!"
Spike snorted, glared at the bloody annoying cow and wondered for the thousandth time why the fuck he'd ever got tangled up with her. Of course the sight of her heaving chest as she hissed at him reminded him. She'd been a good distraction at a low point in his unlife and fun in the sack… when he had her mouth occupied with things other than talking.
He turned and followed his grand sire into the CEO's office, closing the door behind him. Angel was standing behind his desk, still staring at the paper in his hand. He'd known the poof could be slow but honestly, his bloody calendar wasn't that bloody difficult or interestin' to read. 'Cept the 25th of course. Please don't let it be the 25th. After all he'd had to go through to get to see old Nick. Bloody embarrassing it was, asking for a pressie from Santa, as it were.
Still, best get the great oaf away from the handy wall of shiny pointy things behind him and see if he couldn't wiggle his way out of this and save Christmas. His bloody Christmas. He strode across to the liquor cabinet, opened the ornate doors, studied the cut crystal decanters lined up in a neat row, shrugged, and grabbed the closet one. Any of them would be filled with nectar of the gods compared to the cheap shit he drank.
He pulled the stopper from the thick neck, placing it beside the bottle. He lifted the decanter and poured several fingers of its golden contents into two of the matching, large, heavy whisky glasses that sat in front of the row of bottles. He fingered a couple of ice cubes into each glass. Angel said nothing, abso-fucking-lutley nothing.
He blew out a little breath he hadn't even known he'd taken, picked up the two glasses and headed for the sofa. Really needed to get Angel away from the bloody wall of weapons. He placed one of the glasses, neatly, on a coaster on the sofa table, held the other as he walked around the table and settled himself into the corner of the leather chair. The ice tinkled in his glass, the expensive crystal tuning the sound into a little musical symphony.
Angel looked up from the paper. He looked toward the drinks cabinet and then, as though he were following Spike's steps across the room, his eyes tracked to the sofa table, settled on the glass sitting on its little coaster. Fucking little shit is most definitely up to something. Feet on the floor and using the coasters. Man spread of course. No one man spreads better than Spike. He licked his lips before he realised his tongue was on the move. Fucking, hot little shit!
He turned to look at the wall of glass that formed the wall between his office and the office space outside. He reached for the button that would turn it opaque, felt the blonde pest flinch as he did so. Definitely up to something. The smell of guilt was coming off him in waves. He continued to watch the glass as it smoothly turned solid, now reflecting back his office and its contents. Including one blonde, trattorias, faithless… Shit, he was ranting in his head.
His hand left the button and he realised the one with the paper had been busily scrunching it into a loose ball. Fuck! He placed the crumpled paper on his desk and began smoothing it out. Fuck it! He was losing the upper hand here. He needed the evidence of the half destroyed document to beat the truth from his philandering, fucking, faithless, two timing offspring.
Across the room, the object of this mental verballing quietly scented the air, taking in the waves of anger that were being replaced by frustration, embarrassment, fear and… jealousy. In fact, now that the slow burn of the very good scotch he'd swallowed rather hastily had begun to be noticed by his body, releasing some of the tension caused by worry of Angel's discovery and possible actions, he realised the scent of jealousy had been present for almost the whole of the current exchange. His sire was jealous of someone. Who the fuck was the bastard jealous over. Fuck!
Did the great soddin' Angelus want McDonald for himself? Was he that much of a soddin' control freak he couldn't even share the bloody wanker of a lawyer, former enemy now somewhat ally? Shit, shit, shit! The fuckin' bastard. Not that Spike wanted Lindsey to himself. He wanted to share.
Not his bloody poof of a sire though. Not enough he always had Dru in his fuckin' pocket. Not enough he had the Slayer first and bloody always. Not enough he had that Cordelia bint and now, dog girl, with just the scraps left over for the childe he never fuckin' wanted. Now he wanted the bloody buggerin' ex enemy for himself too. Fuck and damn and bugger it all to hell.
Why the piss didn't he get up and leave? Why the fuckin hell was he such a buggerin ponce who wanted what he was never going' to have? On that thought, Spike leapt from the leather beneath him as though it had grown serpent heads that were about to engulf him. He was outta here, and be damned, he was going to Italy!
That thought was arrested when his head connected violently with the face of his now scorned and hated sire who had, unbeknownst to Spike while his thoughts raved through his mind, crossed the room in two strides and leant forcefully down to thrust his face in his errant childe's face to demand an explanation for his infidelity.
The resulting collision threw both protagonists onto their respective behinds, Spike to sprawl in the leather cushions of the office sofa clutching his forehead, Angel to sprawl inelegantly on the lushly carpeted floor of his office, grabbing his nose that had begun to gush rivers of bright red blood.
Spike groaned, half insensate from the blow to the forehead and crown of his head. Angel likewise moaned at the pain in his face as he fumbled in his pants pocket for a handkerchief to stem the tide rising from the depths of his olfactory system.
"Fuck," Spike moaned rather than exclaimed, his head pounding enough to have done the Initiative plastic and wire solution to demon violence, proud.
"Fug!" Angel's exclamation was loud and vehement, marred by the damage to his nasal passages that effected the way air was expelled over his vocal chords. He flopped back onto the thick pile beneath him, tilted his head back and held the kerchief firmly against the offending organ.
Spike for his part, allowed his head to sink deeper into the yielding depths of the butter soft leather cushions filling the back of the couch. The sounds in the office were reduced to his soft moans of pain and Angel's grinding teeth.
Meanwhile, outside the closed, but not locked, office door, Angel's crew have gathered having been given the heads up by Harmony, of an impending fight between their beloved leader and the cuckoo in the nest, his grand childe, Spike.
Harmony stood closest to the door with her ear against the polished wood grain, relaying what she could hear. Which was of course bugger all, to put it in the words of their new English chum. She did however hear the loud crack when two solid objects met and the ensuing, curses and moans of pain. She also caught the scent of blood through the doors.
She relayed this to Wesley who immediately ordered her to open the doors, much to her great pleasure. She shouldered the oak, expecting them to be locked and instead found herself in short shrift inside the office amidst the sounds of splintering, expensive wood and breaking brass.
"Angel!" Wes exclaimed as he covered the distance to his boss, colleague and friend in quick strides. "Get security, Harmony. Now! Gun, keep an eye on Spike, if he moves, bring him down."
"Um, with what, man. I carry a brief case these days, not a cross bow. Nowhere for those sort of weapons in Armani, dude."
"Right, of course. Just watch him. Security will be here momentarily."
"Doesn't look like he's going to give us any trouble anyway. Looks more out of it than Angel."
"Fuck," moaned Spike without lifting his head or opening his eyes, "that's bloody typical. The great one uses his enourmous forehead to practically brain me and I'm the one that's a threat. Was just getting up to leave when he beaned me good and proper. Christ, I think he's cracked me skull."
"Shut the fug up, Spike. Soon as I get up you and me are having a conversation. Harmony!"
"She's calling security, Angel."
"We don't need security, Wes. It was a bloody accident. That's all. Cancel security and get Harmony to have some blood brought in. A clean handkerchief would be a help."
"Of course, Angel. Please, use mine. I'll arrange the blood." Wes handed over the hankie, got to his feet and left the room.
"Some fucking head ache pills wouldn't go astray, English!"
"Shud up, Spike. Pills don't work on us anyway."
"Do if you take enough, ponce." Spike retorted weakly. Fuck but Angel had a thick head.
"Hey, man. I'll bring you something."
"Thanks, Gun. Knew I could count on a brother for help."
"Yeah, whitey. A bro to the rescue. Back in a flash." Gun left the room passing Lorne on his way in.
"Lordy, lordy. What have you two boys been up to now? Deary me, you almost look as bad as you did after that big fight over the cup."
"Huh. Cup of soda. Bloody, buggerin' prophecies. Was a hell of a fight though. Best man won, o' course.'
"Now sweet cheeks, no need to rile up Angel cakes. You two just lie back and rest. Harmony's getting you both some nice warm A positive and a medic is on his way to check you both over."
"Fuggin' nose is broken. To be expected, I suppose, hitting a head as hard as his."
A knock at the door signalled the entrance of a full medical team with gurney in tow. They set to work on their CEO. Angel tried to wave them off but was silenced when the doctor administered a quick acting vampire sedative. He was loaded onto the gurney and whisked away.
Harmony returned with a thermos in her hand just as the medical team pushed their patient into the elevator.
"Thank god. He would have been a total bear to deal with after that. Hopefully we won't see him back here till tomorrow. Hey, Spikey, wakey, wakey. Got some nice A pos here and Gun gave me this bottle of pills for you. He said to take only a couple at a time because they're quite strong. Said they were some sort of demon Valium, or something."
Spike lifted his head with a groan, held his hand out for the pills and the thermos. Harmony unscrewed the lid of the thermos, handed it to him, before opening the bottle of pills and holding it out to too.
Spike raised the thermos to his lips and gulped the rich red liquid it contained. It was ambrosia, even dead as it was. Human blood, full of anticoagulants and other preservatives but, nevertheless, the real deal. It'd been a while and it hit his system with a similar impact to good smack entering a human's blood stream. He groaned in pleasure. His cock stirred and began to strain against his confining jeans.
Harmony rattled the pill bottle to get his attention. He lowered the thermos, reached out and took the pill bottle from her. The blood he'd swallowed zinged through his system. His head felt light and at the same time heavy, almost too heavy to hold up. He upended the pills into his mouth, swallowing them down with another big swig from the thermos.
"Hey, blondie bear. I said just a couple." She reached for the pill bottle and took it from Spike's hand. It was empty. She'd no idea how many pills had been in it. Spike looked at her quizzically over the uptilted thermos.
"Spikey, are you all right. Your eyes look kinda funny."
"'M fine, bint. Just give me a moment, yeah. Haven't had human in a long while. 'S gone to me head, I think." He sat a while longer, unmoving, thermos raised half way to his lips. Mouth slightly open.
"Spikey, give me the thermos, okay. I think you should lie down." Harmony reached for the thermos with one hand and gently pushed him back with the other.
"I'm drowin' in footwear…"
With that Spike keeled over sideways, and slid to the floor, dropping the thermos on the carpet where it began to ooze the last remnants of its contents into the pale off white Berber carpet. Spike's head hit the low table with a resounding slap, just above his left ear.
"Oh, shit, Spike. Angels' going to have my hide if that blood doesn't come out. We just had the carpet in here replaced."
Lorne stepped around Harmony and bent to the crumpled Spike. He shook him and then slapped his face. There was no response.
"Better get the med team back, cupcake. He's out for the count, and he's looking altogether too vanilla even for a vamp."
"Yeah. He should be pinker than that after a litre of the good stuff. Ewww, is he going to throw up! God, Spike! Wake up, now. You can't make any more mess on the bossy's floor."
Spike did not wake up. His body did, however begin to convulse, his mouth opened emitting low choking sounds from somewhere deep inside. Blood flecked foam oozed from his open mouth, bright blood began to trickle from his ears, eyes and nose.
Spike stopped convulsing, his mouth snapped shut with a loud clack of teeth meeting as his body stiffened, bowing up from shoulders and hips. The tendons in his neck stretched taught as the weight of his body shifted to be supported by the back of his head and his heels. It remained in this position for several minutes until it slumped, boneless to the floor.
Lorne had bypassed Harmony standing frozen to the spot as she stared in disbelief at Spike, went to the phone on Angel's desk and summoned the med team. Something was very much not right with the newest member of Angel's team. Not right at all.
….
"William." Someone was shaking him, rather roughly too. "William! Wake up boy. We need to have a chat."
"Sod off, bastard." Spike waved his arms about, or rather he thought he was waving his arms but since his eyes refused to open he couldn't be sure. "Bugger off, whoever you are. Got a headache to end all bleedin' head aches and my throat's too soddin' sore to be doing any talkin' right now. Leave me be."
He rolled over, or at least he wanted to roll over but his body was definitely not responding to that desire.
"William!" Shouted loud enough to ricochet through his poor aching skull like a dull arrow piercing walls before it bounced off them.
"For the love of… god can't you just let me die in peace."
"Don't be stupid, William. You are not dying. Open your eyes and look at me."
He lay there for a moment, thinking on it then sent the command to his eyelids. He felt them crack open, just a thin slit that let blurry dull light in. They dragged open a little wider, feeling grit filled as they caught on dry eyeballs.
"Shit! Bloody hell, what the fucks happened to me?"
"Don't be such a weaner, boy. Suck it up, open your eyes and talk to me."
Spike's lids reached their destination while this was being spoken and he blinked them a few times, trying to spread what little moisture was on his eyes to ease his reawakening to the world. As he blinked, the blurred shapes began to take on some sort of form and the light brightened.
Leaning over him was a white haired old codger dressed in a bright blaze of red, trimmed with some sort of white fluffy stuff. The man's cheeks, nose and lips were having a real go at matching the bright tones of the coat and the thick beard that reached almost to the rotund belly was a perfect match to the thatch that covered the bloke's head.
A faint stirring began somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. Something about a trip to the local mall, sliding down a dark slippery slope that opened in a, gawd he was a ponce to dredge up these words, winter wonderland. His eyes opened wide as the memories unfolded. Bloody hell, what had he been thinking.
"Santa?" The word was little more than a croak as any moisture that may have been in his throat seemed to have slid down the opening pit in his stomach.
"William, I'm mighty displeased with you. I thought you had come in good faith and I granted your wish on the understanding that you meant to keep your promise. Here it is less than a week since we struck our bargain and I find you reneging on your part in our deal."
"Um, ah…, no, now wait a minute, um… Santa. I've been being especially helpful and courteous to Angel, haven't chatted him back once…"
"Spike! You are clearly under the influence of alcohol and…," the man in red took a sniff, "drugs. You've obviously been in a fight and we both know with who. We had an agreement, you and I, that in return for my granting you the best Christmas day you've had in a very long time, with you fondest wish being granted that you would refrain from fighting with your Sire and you would go easy on the drinking."
"Now look here, Saint Nick. The smack in the head was an accident. He was bending and I was getting' up. Could a happened to anyone. As for the drink, I had one bloody glass and not a big one either. I can't help it if Gun gave me some super demon pain killers. I wasn't to know. Thought they were aspirin and a demon has to take a lot of them to get any relief. Me head was pounding from comin' into contact with the great forehead, I mean Angel. That's all. Pure misunderstanding."
"Spike, tell me that you were not building yourself into a maudlin, self-doubting funk because you were interpreting Angel's thoughts through your own narrow view of your self-worth."
"Huh?"
"Oh, I see the grey cells are still not quite up to par."
"Now look here, my cells are just fine, thank you. If you haven't noticed, I'm leaking fluid from places I'm not supposed to. And what the fuck! Who's that in the bed?"
"William, your mother would be very disappointed at your language."
"Yeah, she would. 'Course she wasn't much better when she was a vampire."
"I cannot believe you would bring that up in my presence. I know your intentions were honourable, but honestly William, even you must know, now, that you did no-one any favours by turning them."
Spike dropped his head. He was sorry he'd turned his mum. He was sorry as soon as she began talking to him. Still, he'd been happy as a vampire. Still was so he was just going to keep his trap shut and let Nick's comment pass unanswered.
"Look, mate. Tell me what's going on, please. Who's the poor bastard they're all hanging over?"
"It's you, William. It's your body anyway. You had a bad reaction to those pills you swallowed. They're working on reversing the poison"
"Bugger." Spike ran his hand through his hair. "What am I doing over here, then?"
"Truth be told, I like you, boy. I know that under that rough exterior, young William is still influencing you. He's still very much a part of you and he was a good boy. Looked after his mother very well until that unfortunate night. I thought he deserved some comfort, some human comfort and if that means your Sire and Mr MacDonald, well who am I to judge."
"Yeah, well I don't think his royal lard ass gives a damn about me at all. Was kinda hopin but I know I'm love's bitch and all."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, boy. Obviously you need to see what is happening around you. Take my hand." The old chap raised a white gloved hand, holding it expectantly towards Spike who gave a loud snort.
"What? Is this fucking Dicken's Christmas or summat?"
"Language! Now take my hand."
Spike looked at the offered hand, shrugged and placed his on it. There was a plummeting feeling in his gut and he thought he was going to spew for a second time that night, not that he really remembered much of the first time. He closed his eyes to stop the world spinning around him and when he opened them again, he was standing in Angel's office, still holding the gloved hand.
He snatched his hand back and glared at the red clothed figure beside him. Santa merely directed his gaze to the two vampires either side of the Wolfram and Hart CEO's desk. A resurrected Angel was back to full glare and voice. He held the now hated calendar in his hand.
"Harmony, what do you know about this calendar of Spike's"
"Umm, nothing, bossy. Honest. That is, I might have helped him fill it out, you know. But that's what I do. Keep schedules and stuff. I don't think I can actually tell you what it means."
"Surely you know what the entry on the 13th means. Who is this Harlot person? Has Spike got a new… girlfriend?" Angel's teeth ground loudly as he spat the last work out.
"Um, it's not me, bossy. I mean, he was fun and everything and he's really cute and all the girls in the steno pool want him, but he's so last year for me or, you know three years ago. And I wouldn't take him back if he came crawling on his hands and knees. No way, no sirree. I know he's yours, Angel and…"
Angel almost choked on those words, and he was glad he'd not been drinking something at the time. He'd have sprayed it all over the stupid female in front of him.
"What do you mean, mine?" he glowered.
"Um… you know… you're favoured childe. You're…"
"Do not finish that sentence." Angel ground out, threat dripping from every word. "Just tell me who the bloody hell Harlot is and why Spike would be buying her… or him, presents for their birthday?"
Spike stood there open mouthed at the turn of this overheard conversation. Was the old poof jealous? Of him? Did he actually like… Nah. Certainly had a funny way of showing it if he did. Always riding him, belittling him in front of everyone else, telling him to get lost. He knew the penthouse visits were just a convenience. It was the only way Angel could get his end away without the risk of losing that pesky, loosely tied, soul.
Yeah, he was just convenient.
"Time to go, William." Santa held his hand out as before and Spike placed his on it without thinking. Suddenly his stomach was once again dropping into his boots and the world was spinning his head in all sorts of unpleasant ways. He slammed his eyes shut to block out the dizzying view.
"If you can remember where you got the pills from, Gunn, we could track down the ingredients. There aren't many ways to kill a vampire, but this appears to be a possibility. Spike is deteriorating and neither the demon med team nor the sorcerers have an inkling. The book has no reference for the name on the label, which is unprecedented."
"Look, Wes, I told you, I got them from a Fra'shnik demon down in process serving and he ain't around anymore. They sent him out to serve a Polgara, by himself. Stupid waste. Those idiots that run that department couldn't organise their way out of a…"
"Yes, yes. I believe we are well aware of the shortcomings in that department. Not the point at the moment. A comrade is in trouble and we need to work together to find a solution."
"I thought you didn't like, blondie, Wes."
"I admit he can be an irritating annoyance when he wants to, but he has saved the world on at least one occasion and does prove a useful ally in our current fight. Besides which, he seems to be able to bring out a better side in Angel."
"Yeah, agree with you on that one. After one of their penthouse meetings," Gun put air quotes around the word meeting, "Angel sure seems a lot calmer and easier to get along with."
"It must be a terrible burden to be alone for as long as Angel has, worrying about his soul."
"Yeah, a hand can only do so much and it's not like he's ever going to be perfectly happy with Spike."
"Actually, I do worry about that a little. They are, after all, a perfect match. Both vampires so they both can appreciate the difficulties of bearing a soul after a century or more of killing. I would think that shared history would also allow them some mutual understanding as no human can understand."
"Hadn't thought of it like that, Wes. Makes sense I suppose. That and the fact that Spike knows how to let his hair down. A bit of fun has got to have some beneficial effect on the old man." Gun smiled and Wes looked thoughtful.
"Indeed," Wesley mused, "now we really must get to the matter at hand. Saving our friend and fellow warrior for the light."
Once again, Spike found his mouth hanging open as the white gloved hand rose into his view. He'd been pretty sure Gun liked him, certainly Fred had, but English? He shook his head, then smirked as he realised they both knew exactly what was going on in those penthouse meetings and they were okay with it. More than okay. They thought he was good for their lord and master.
He put his hand on Santa's offered one, his mind already whirling with thoughts of what he'd seen and heard on this weird trip through a scene from a Victorian novel. Yeah, lots to think on. His stomach fell into his boots once again and he closed his eyes in anticipation of their next stop.
When he opened his eyes, Lindsey Macdonald and Lorne were standing, heads together, outside Lorne's office.
"Look my fine Texan hot dawg, I really don't know what is happening with our sweet little blue eyed vamp. He and Angel were having a vigorous discussion and next thing they're both on the floor. Apparently, Spike ended up with a splitting headache and Harmony got some pills from Gunn. It seems our boy has had a bad reaction to them."
"God damn it. Why do those two fight so much? I thought a vampire's offspring was ruled by their sire."
"Oh, I think those two have rewritten all the books on vampire lore. You might say, they're a lore unto themselves." Lorne tittered and Lindsey scowled.
"Where did Gunn get the pills."
"Oh, off one of those cute little Fra'shnik demons in processing. Read him when we came. Not a harsh thought in his little orange cranium."
"Shit, a Fra'shnik. They use some weird shit they get interdimensional, in their medications. Strictly vampire unfriendly. Got to tell Angel. Thanks, Lorne. I think I know the antidote."
"Well, someone cares more for our sweet cheeks, then he's saying. You hurry on down to the infirmary. I saw Angel heading that way a couple of minutes ago. Go save our boy."
Lindsey just smiled and turned to the elevators.
Spike was beginning to feel a bit stupid for his moping. Yes, he recognised it for what it was. 'Course as a human he'd not had a lot of luck with love and then he'd had Dru for a hundred plus years. But she was only ever his on loan. Oh she loved the idea of him, sometimes loved him but he knew most of the love was on his part.
He'd never had a real friend or a lover that tended his needs as well as their own. Maybe, just maybe he was gonna have a good Christmas after all. Maybe his wish had already been filled, before he went to Nick.
He lifted his hand in anticipation, placing it on the offered one and closed his eyes. He wanted to see how this came out.
When he opened them, they were back in the hospital room, his body laying silent on the bed. Angel had a strangle hold on one of the white coated men beside the bed.
"What do you mean you've done all you can. This is Spike. This is my childe. I want him cured and back on his feet. He's a vampire. We don't get sick and we aren't allergic so give him some more blood and fix him." He shoved the man backwards, clenching his empty hands into fists, tilting his head up and staring at the ceiling as though his eyes might bore a hole in it.
"Jesus, Spike. You've been a pain in the ass since Drusilla dragged you home. But you're my pain in the ass and you better be fighting to come back to me."
Angel turned to leave the room and found the door blocked by his onetime nemesis now sometime ally.
"What do you want Lindsey? Not in the mood for your shit."
"I think I know how to treat Spike. The pills he took were made for Fra'shnik demons. There is an ingredient in them that is poison to vampires."
"What! Why the hell do we have drugs in this building that are poisonous to the CEO?" Angel looked into the soulful brown eyes of the little Texan. "You know how to fix Spike?"
"Yeah. He has to have Sire's blood. Lots of it. And the Sire needs to feed on a human who cares for both."
"What? That's the stupidest thing I've heard of." Angel snorted.
"Do you want to save Spike?"
"Where are we going to find such a human?"
Lindsey just stood there, looking into Angel's eyes, one eyebrow lifted. Just like Spike. Angel had known Lindsey wanted him. Easy enough for a vampire to know when anyone wanted them. Annoying five foot ten blonde vampires excepted. Angel never knew what he wanted.
Angel stood there for another minute, thinking. He sure wouldn't get perfect happiness with either of these pair. The lawyer was even more annoying than his blonde idiot of a childe. And he was as good as Sire to Spike having had to take on his training early in the fledge's life. They'd shared blood often enough in those first twenty years too. And just lately.
"It's worth a try. Where do you want it, MacDonald?"
Lindsey's eyebrow lifted higher and he swallowed nervously.
"Um the wrist will be fine, for now."
….
"Well, William, do you think I've granted your Christmas wish?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, Santa. More than. It's going to be a very fine Christmas, indeed."
"You just try to remember to keep your side of the bargain, boy. Plenty of time in the future for fighting. Christmas is a time for family, friends and lovers."
Spike smiled broadly as he looked from the white haired keeper of Christmas, to the body on the bed and the two men who stood beside it. He felt something drawing him towards the bed and as he looked back where he'd been standing, he saw the old man lift a hand in salute as he faded away.
"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!"
Yeah, it was going to be a bloody ripper of a Christmas.