Author: Doyle
Pairing: Spike/Connor friendship
Rating: PG
Notes: AU with Connor inserted into season 5. Sequel to Field Trip.
It was typical. You could spend months in a formerly-evil law firm and have nothing more out of the ordinary happen than the arrival of a vampire ghost and that business with the devil's robot. But take a few weeks leave after shooting a robot masquerading as your father (they did seem to be running into a lot of robots recently, Wesley thought, momentarily derailing his train of thought) and you could come back to find that -
"Spike's corporeal? How?"
Gunn shrugged, turning the movement into part of the throw as he tossed a miniature basketball into the equally-mini hoop beside his door. "Beats me. Box arrived in the mail, gets opened, we got a new vampire on the premises. And then there was this whole thing with reality falling apart and me bleeding from the eyes, but it's a long story."
He didn't doubt it. "I should get to my department. They're probably working on what happened."
"About that," Gunn said, "your guy Sirk? Evil. Also, skipped town."
"Oh?" Wesley frowned. "Shame, really. He was the best Linear B translator I had. His work on the Knossus artefacts was inspired."
Gunn's expression adequately conveyed that he didn't have a clue what Wes was on about but was prepared to feel sorry for him anyway. "On the plus side, doesn't this put you ahead in the My Department's the Evillest sweeps?"
"Lorne's still out in front, I'm afraid."
He shook his head. "Man, I knew we shouldn't've let him count celebrities."
"Evil or no," Wes said, getting to his feet, "I should get back to work before my people stage a coup."
"Gotta watch the book-types," Gunn said, standing too and walking him to the door. "By the way, Angel's pissed, so unless you can't wait to have your head used as an office toy, stay out of his way."
Ah. Well, some things didn't change. "What did they do this time?"
He ticked off on his fingers. "Short version? Shanshu, cup of eternal torment, big fight, car, demons, totalled car."
Wesley tried to process this, and failed. "And the long version?"
"Angel and Spike got into a he-man bitch-fight over the shanshu. Some Cup of Endless Torture thing, turned out to be a fake. Then Calvin and Hobbes hotwired Angel's car, took it to Mexico, got involved with a demon diamond robbery and crashed the car."
A few months ago, he would probably have been surprised. Startled, even. Instead, he just asked, "Was Con... were they hurt?"
Gunn snorted. "You met those two? More lives than the kitty in the White Room. Got out without a scratch. The car, though..." He let out a low whistle. "I was in the helicopter with Angel when we went to get 'em. Had to call Fred and ask if vampires could have strokes."
He winced. "The Viper?"
"Very same."
'Pissed' probably didn't begin to cover Angel's state of mind. "They're all right, that's the main thing."
Gunn clapped him on the shoulder. "And if you wanna go tell that to the boss, be my guest. I'll call up to Harmony, tell her to get the video camera and trauma team ready."
A horrible thought struck his mind. "He didn't try to ground them again, did he?" They shared expressions of horror at the prospect.
"No, thank God. Probably would've, but the union threatened him with every legal argument we - I mean they - could pull together. Half of 'em are still getting over the last time."
"The Quidditch Incident," Wes said grimly.
"Nah, Angel was more creative this time."
"Creative?"
Gunn grinned. "More like diabolical."
Something Dopplered past them at high speed, almost knocking them into the wall.
"What the..."
"That was Spike," Gunn said calmly. "Connor's 'bout as fast, but he doesn't have a coat." He put his hand against Wes's chest, pushing him back as a solo mail cart zoomed past, careening in the direction the Spike-shaped blur had taken with a hugh-pitched squeak.
"The mail trolley," Wes said, "enchanted, I presume?" He put the pieces together, and had to admit he was impressed with Angel's thinking. Diabolical indeed.
-
"He hates us," Connor said. "We should have masks. At least the old guy got a mask."
Spike tapped a cigarette out of the packet, then looked up at the elevator's smoke detector and thought better of it. And not because he was Angel's housebroken corporate Pomeranian, he glared to himself as he shoved the pack into his coat. He just didn't fancy getting drenched by the sprinklers. Again.
The two carts sat peacefully side by side. Oh, they could look innocent enough now, but as soon as they tried to move more than six feet from their designated postal burden the cart followed them. Angel had warned them that if they delivered a single letter to the wrong person, or flushed the mail down the toilet, or set the cart on fire, then he'd think of something even more degrading for them to do.
Spike had a suspicion that in his case it would involve sunbathing on the roof at noon.
They couldn't even retreat to Connor's suite to play Grand Theft Auto and bitch about Angel. Not until all the stupid sodding useless mail was correctly delivered. He'd squeezed it out of Gunn, though, that they were entitled to breaks. If they chose to take those breaks in an elevator, holding it between floors and therefore putting it out of commission, well, that was the Beefcake's tough luck.
Connor kicked his own cart, then slouched to the floor beside Spike. "It's not even like we meant to smash the car."
Speak for yourself, kid, Spike thought. "Don't know what you're sulking about," he complained. "Least you're human. He can only torture you for sixty or seventy years, tops."
He shot a spiteful look at the mail carts. "I hope there's no paper by then because all the stuff it's made from dies."
"Trees. Paper's made from trees." Then, to cut off the inevitable science lesson, he added, "And your dad doesn't hate you. Just pissed off about his car and… stuff." It was the 'stuff' that was the big issue, when he got down to it. Another vampire with a soul on Angel's patch, and one who got along infinitely better with the his son than he did. Had to be a pain in the ass.
If he'd known during the trials that the soul would make him feel the occasional tiny prick of guilt and pity regarding Angel, he'd have told Lurky to shove it. Maybe.
"I had an idea," Connor said out of nowhere, "about what to do with the mail."
Spike brightened. Say what you like about the Pup, he had good ideas. The last one had lead to time travel and battles with robots and fights to the near death, and when was that ever not fun? "Let's hear it, then."
"Remember that movie we watched? With the wizard school and the cool flying game?"
Of course he remembered. He also remembered, fondly, the Cool Flying Game Reenactment.
"Yeah, I see where you're going," he said. "Problem in the logistics there, Mini-Me. Where are we going to get the owls?"
Connor leaned forward, face animated. "Okay, this is the clever part."
-
"And they really did okay?"
Eve slid the report onto his desk. She was the only employee not going out of her way to avoid him, Angel had noticed. He wasn't quite sure why.
"All mail accounted for and with its rightful recipient. They did fine."
"Huh," Angel said. "They're still doing this for a month," he added. "Maybe two."
She shrugged. "My job's the employees, champ. How you deal with your kids is your own business."
"Spike's not my..." he began, but she had already flounced away.
He got up and paced slowly around the office, thinking. Maybe he'd been too hard on them. Maybe they'd genuinely made a mistake and were trying to make up for it.
They were still on mail duty until he could replace Numero Cinco, though.
He had his back to the window, so he didn't see the pigeon happily scratching around on the ledge outside, and since the glass was soundproof as well as necro-tinted, he didn't hear the outraged squawk as the bird was swept up into a net.
Yeah, he decided, turning to his unspoiled, birdless cityscape. Connor and Spike were finally acting maturely.
END