A/N: One little half of a sentence and it's sent hordes of fanfic writers into paroxysms over S/A. The boys are pretty old though. "Intimates" (the word as used by Illyria when talking to Spike in ref. to Angel) is used to mean close personal friends, according to good old Webster's. (I've never heard it used in normal conversation, though.) Spike would know this being almost a century and a half old and of course Illyria is much, much older. Of course, that still doesn't mean nothing was going on. Evil grin.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never gonna be mine. Not making a profit here either.
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Spike didn't know what the hell was going on. Ever since he and Illyria had come back from taking care of that Boretz demon, he'd been getting strange looks, and so had the poof evidently. Course the poof was acting strange, no big surprise there, but Spike hadn't done anything to merit the looks and head shaking he was getting from the entire bleedin' office. He'd only been back for twenty minutes. What the hell could he have done in twenty minutes that warranted this?
The whole thing had only gotten stranger when Jimmy, in Accounting, had accosted him in the hallway. Now normally that wouldn't have even raised an eyebrow. He was hot and he knew it, worked at it even, but the things that boy had whispered to him… well, there were some things that even Spike wouldn't do. Not a lot mind you, but there were some things.
He would have just shrugged it off, if that had been the end of it, but when he had finally tracked Lorne down to tell him about the meeting at his apartment, the green nut job had went on and on about some friend of his named David that would be just perfect for Spike. Where Lorne had ever gotten the idea that Spike needed to be set up, he didn't know.
Illyria had gone after Wes, of course, so Spike had collected Gunn. He had thought Charlie-boy was the only sane one left in the building until they had gotten on the elevator together. That was a conversation that didn't even bear repeating.
Once everyone had been assembled in the lobby, Spike had been nominated, by popular vote, to go check on Angel before they all left. Make sure the big man was cluelessly unaware, as per usual. He would've felt better about the whole deal if everyone hadn't been looking at him like that.
He'd stopped on his way to the office and tried to talk to Harmony about it. The bint was secretary to His Royal Broodiness. If something was going on, she usually knew about it. Half the time she didn't know what she knew, and getting an intelligible story out of her was like pulling crocodile teeth, but she heard all the office gossip. She seemed to be less than happy with him for some reason though, and wouldn't give him the time of day.
Spike finally decided to go straight to the top. It would give him enough of a reason to see Angel that the ponce wouldn't be suspicious. He strode into Angel's office, kicked the door shut behind him, and plopped himself down in a chair in front of the desk.
Angel barely glanced up from his paperwork. "Spike, I'm working here." What did Spike care if the poof was working? Oh, right.
"Oi, Peaches. Do you have any idea what the soddin' hell is going on? Your office staff seem loopier than usual." Spike paid no attention to the glare that Angel directed his way. The poof was always glaring at him. Nothing new there.
Angel sighed and set down his pen. "Spike, what exactly did you tell Illyria?" Well, crap. What had he done now? The poof was talking slowly through his teeth. Spike could hear Angel's back molars grinding together. And he was breathing.
"About what?" His sparing sessions usually consisted of her beating him senseless and him grunting and saying 'ouch' a lot, even after the big light show. Other than that, he and Blue didn't talk that much. It was a bit strange what with her wearing Fred and all.
"About you and… Angelus. About your relationship." Spike just looked at Angel and blinked. He didn't have a clue as to what he could've said that would've made Angel this upset. Not that he didn't enjoy messing with dear old Granddad, but he usually did it on purpose and knew why Angel was getting his dander up. Besides, Spike knew he hadn't said anything about Angelus to anyone. Not exactly his best memories.
"Didn't say nothing about Angelus." Spike craned his head around to see if there was anything interesting and time consuming on Angel's desk. "Working hard are you? Big meetings and whatnot?" Angel was still glaring and there was that grinding sound again.
"You're trying to change the subject. It won't work you know." Leather creaked as Angel leaned forward in his chair. "You didn't think I would find out? I knew five minutes after you walked in the lobby. Spike, I know you told Illyria that you and I… that you and he had been… lovers, intimate." Ah, well now, that would certainly explain a great many things, wouldn't it?
"No, I bloody well didn't! Blue was saying something about intimates, as in friends, and I said I didn't have to worry about that cause you, Angel," Spike stabbed his index finger at Angel before turning it on himself, "and I, Spike, have never been intimate, as in friends."
"Oh." Angel leaned back in his chair and rubbed one hand over his forehead. "Are you sure that's all? You didn't say anything else?" Soddin' bastard didn't have to act so relieved about it, did he?
"Well… I did tell her there was that once." Spike tilted his head and smiled wide, letting his tongue curl up under his top teeth. Yep, Gramps' teeth were back to grinding together.
Angel stared past Spike's left shoulder as he thought about it for a minute. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he let his jaw relax. "Oh, when you were non-corporeal and we had that talk."
"Nope."
Angel looked at him, confused. "Then Rome?" He said questioningly. "When Buffy…" Angel made a twirling motion towards his temple.
"Nope." The big brute just didn't get it.
"After Fre- after Illyria." Angel nodded knowingly.
"No. Guess it just didn't mean that much to you." Now Spike was starting to get pissed off. His own sodding Sire- well, not exactly his Sire but Angel was the one who had taught him nearly everything he knew- and he couldn't even be bothered to remember one lousy conversation. "Right then." Spike slapped his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. "I'm gone."
"Wait. It was the-" Spike started striding across the office towards the door.
"Give it up, Peaches." He threw the words over his shoulder without stopping or turning around. "You got your answers and I got mine. We'll let's just leave it at that, shall we?"
Spike had his hand on the doorknob when Angel cleared his throat and spoke again. "We- we're… well, not exactly friends. I don't like you, Spike. But we're not exactly not friends. Not lately anyway."
When Spike looked back, Angel was still sitting at his desk, head down, fiddling with a pen. Spike snorted and opened the door. "Well, I don't like you either, Peaches. Never did. And me and you? We're not friends. We'll never be friends. We'll fight 'til we're bloody and shout 'til we're both blue in the face; most likely kill each other at the end. But we'll never be friends, we're way past that. Least I'm man enough to admit it."
And Spike was gone just as abruptly as he had come.
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