Connor hated fish. He never wanted to see fish again as long as he lived.
"Still don't see why I have to help," Spike muttered for the twelfth time as he wiped listlessly at the floor. "None of this was my fault."
"If you'd shut up and scrub harder, we would be done already," Connor admonished, using his forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead and really, really hoping he hadn't just smeared fish guts onto his face. Spike totally wouldn't bother to tell him if he had.
"Yeah, but it's not fair," Spike whined, halting his cleaning all together. "This is literally zero percent my fault. And I'm having to help clean up your mess just because I happened to be out with you when you got yourself in a tight spot."
"Please shut up," Connor begged wearily. "I'll give you ten dollars to just shut up."
"Do I have to keep cleaning?" Spike asked.
"Yes."
"No dice, then."
"I want both of you to shut up," Angel declared from within his office. "And I'm seriously considering putting a time limit on this job, so get movin'."
"Oh, stuff it, Angel," Spike said irritably, pulling his pink rubber gloves back on with a snap and going at the floor with angry vigor. "Get off your high horse."
"Fine," Angel called. "One more hour, and if that floor's not passable, there'll be two very sorry little boys in the lobby."
"Great, now look what you've done," Connor whispered reproachfully as he dumped more of the most abrasive cleaner he had onto the floor.
He sat back on his heels for a moment and winced when everything hurt.
Spike chuckled, obviously not worried about Angel's threat in the least.
"It's not funny," Connor informed him. "Let him beat your ass a time or two and see how funny it is."
"I don't know," Spike said airily. "It's pretty funny hearing him beat yours."
Spike could be cruel when he was in a bad mood. Connor felt his face flush and clamped his mouth shut, scrubbing at the floor with renewed determination. Spike took the hint and followed suit.
An hour later, to the second, it felt like, Angel emerged from his office to evaluate their work. Connor fidgeted nervously, but Spike plopped down on the round couch and examined his fingernails as if he couldn't possibly care less what Angel thought. He probably couldn't.
"Wow," Angel said, nodding. "I'm impressed."
Connor let out a sigh of relief. Spike just snorted.
"You know," Angel said, glancing toward the couch. "That pentagram under the couch was sort of your fault, too..."
"What!" Connor exclaimed. "Not even! I was a baby!"
"I'm kidding," Angel said, looking disappointed. "But maybe the next time one of you gets in trouble..."
"Excuse me?" Spike asked indignantly. "I do not 'get in trouble' with you. I only helped your spawn clean that nasty mess up out of the kindness of my heart. Not 'cuz you 'made' me or anythin'."
Angel smirked, and Spike looked away.
"Get all these cleaning supplies put away, wash up, and start on your homework," Angel directed.
"Yes, sir," Connor grumbled.
"Oh, but what about me, Grandfather?" Spike asked with mock enthusiasm. "What more can I do to please you?"
"I was gonna tell you the location of your television today," Angel said. "But I guess if you're going to have this attitude about things..."
"No!" Spike said, standing at attention. "No, Angel. I'm sorry. Please give it back."
"Fine," Angel said, smiling smugly. "I pawned it."
"You what?" Spike asked incredulously.
"Yep," Angel said, fishing around in his pocket until he came up with a small slip of paper. "Here's the ticket. For only... fifty-eight dollars, the nice man at this address will give it back to you. If he hasn't sold it already, that is."
"Angel, you sodding... stupid... piece of... no good... rotten... blast... bloody..."
Angel laughed and tossed the paper to him.
"Better hurry," he advised.
"I hate you," Spike huffed, crumpling the paper angrily in his hand. "I mean it."
Connor rather thought he did mean it in that moment. He watched silently as Spike pulled what money he had out of his jeans pockets. From the look on his face, the results weren't good.
"Er... Angel..." he said sheepishly. "Can I borrow thirty dollars?"
"Absolutely not," Angel said, turning and walking back toward his office.
"Come on, Angel, please!" Spike called, following him. "I'll give it back!"
"Yeah, right," Angel murmured. "Heard that before."
"I will!" he insisted. "Can't you... Can't you just wallop me or something?"
That unexpected question caused Connor to drop the paper towels in his hand. He watched, dismayed, as they bounced and unrolled across the still wet floor and made a new mess to clean up.
"No," Angel said. "You already made your choice."
"Can't I change my choice, then?" Spike asked. "Come on. I know you love to pound on me. It'll be a win-win situation."
"True as that may be," Angel said, "the answer is still no."
"Connor," Spike said, emerging from Angel's office.
"I don't have thirty dollars," Connor answered immediately, keeping his eyes trained on the soggy paper towels.
"You both … just … suck!" Spike said hotly, throwing his arms in the air before dramatically mounting the stairs.
Connor heard his bedroom door slam a few seconds later.
"Wow," he murmured.
"I know," Angel said, leaning against the door frame. "Funny, wasn't it?"
"You do realize he's upstairs plotting your demise right now?" Connor asked.
Angel rolled his eyes.
"I already left the money on his bed," he admitted.
"You did?" Connor asked, frowning but trying hard not to. "I think you might be nicer to him than you are to me."
"Is that so?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Well, I just mean..." Connor said uncomfortably, quickly shoving the rest of the aerosol sprays and brushes into his carrying basket. "I didn't mean anything by it, Dad. Never mind."
"You're a git, Angel!" Spike suddenly called down the stairs.
"You're welcome!" Angel replied.
"You think I would have spanked the daylights out of you and made you buy your own TV back," Angel stated.
Connor shrugged.
"Of course I would have," Angel confirmed.
"Gee, thanks," Connor said sarcastically as he stashed the cleaning supplies into the janitorial closet.
"You're my son," Angel stated, as if that cleared everything up. "It's my job to make sure that you learn from your mistakes."
"Spike can't learn?" Connor asked with a wry smile.
"Hasn't yet," Angel said good-naturedly.
"Can I use your shower?" Connor asked. "It's just that I sorta don't have any soap." He looked down at his arms. "And I think I really, really need some today."
"Oh!" Angel exclaimed. "Of course you can. I didn't even think about that. Why didn't you say something before?"
Connor shrugged, unable to voice the fact that asking Angel for anything made him nervous and uncomfortable, especially when he was … incapacitated. Angel didn't push the issue, though, and let him go on his way.
Connor got some clean clothes out of his room before continuing toward his dad's. He passed Lorne's room on the way and paused in front of the open door.
"Hey there, sugar-free cupcake," Lorne said from his desk without looking up. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah," Connor said. "Thanks, Lorne. For what you did. For coming here and everything."
"Hey, you are very welcome," Lorne replied.
"I'm sorry if I wasn't nice to you while I was... while I wasn't quite myself," Connor said.
"No, you were actually rather pleasant to me," Lorne argued. "I hear you were quite a handful for the others, though—demanding cookies for dinner. That sort of thing."
"Yeah," Connor said, grinning. "And listen... My dad really appreciates that you came. I know how he is, so I don't know if he'll tell you, but it means a lot to him."
"Thanks, kiddo," Lorne said, finally glancing up from whatever he was writing.
Connor nodded and continued down the hall toward that sweet, sweet shower.