Unwelcome, Unethical and Dangerously Perceptive
Part 5
"Singapore Slings and Other Things"
Ooh, look, the title rhymes. Clever me.
Yes! Yes!! I managed to get through sudden writer's block by reading some Jilly Cooper trash. So, here's another part. Please let me know what you think! This one took a while, but I really enjoyed writing it. It's pretty long (each part of this seems to get longer than the last, for some reason) , but, I hope, entertaining. There's angst, there's comedy, there's a curse loophole... Oh, and if you want any recipes for cocktails whatsoever, email me. Cocktail mixing is a hobby of mine, which results in quite a few fics, actually.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't want to say exactly what I don't own, because it would give it away, but everything but the plot line is owned by someone else.
Feedback: I'd be really interested to hear your opinions... this is getting close to a resolution, so, I need an extra boost to get to the end.
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"Uh, pet, do you want to explain at some point where we are? We been sucked into some kind of demonic dimension, or is this just like a branch of hell on Earth? I knew Starbucks had branches throughout the world, but I didn't think Hades was into chain marketing." Cordy giggled at his expression, as she sipped the Singapore Sling that the waiter had brought over to her as soon as they walked in. Spike was very confused. They obviously knew her quite well here. Didn't seem like the kind of place a girl like Cordelia would have found by herself, though.
He looked around at all the other patrons. Demons sat serenely at tables, their true visages undisguised, mingling with the humans, and not trying to kill each other. The humans didn't even seem to notice the gruesome creatures surrounding them, and were definitely not bothered by it. He looked back at Cordelia, who was sitting opposite him, looking pleased with herself as his new wardrobe reminded her of her shopping triumph. He had on a pair of loose black pants, a deep blue silk shirt, and a new leather coat. He never thought he would actually meet someone who got that kind of buzz from a purchase, but the way Cordy was all lit up and glowing was rating quite high on his scale of disturbing things. Christ, he needed a strong drink. Not only had he survived a shopping trip with Cordelia Chase the evening before (and been made to buy up almost entire stores), but she'd mentioned something about some kind of fortune-telling thing at a... bar. Oh no.
Suddenly, the crowds around them parted, and there stood one of the strangest demons Spike had ever seen. Sure, he had seen its type before, but never wearing a purple silk smoking jacket and a neat haircut.
"He-llo, gorgeous and gorgeous!" He airkissed Cordy, who smiled at him, and cast an appraising glance over Spike. "Cordelicious, who is this sizzlingly attractive young man you have with you tonight? If I can really describe him as a man. Or young, for that matter." Spike was astonished. He must be some kind of mind-reader. Oh yeah, hence the fortunetelling. "Does your other tall, dark, extremely well preserved hunk know about this? Shame on you, you flirt!" Cordy grinned.
"Spike, this is the Host. He owns this place. Spike is a friend of mine. Just a friend," she said, glaring at Spike. "Don't you get any ideas, evil dead."
"Will our mysterious stranger be introducing himself to us all tonight? Because I would just love to see what is going on inside his head. Now what you be drinking, sweetheart? We have cocktail, liquor, entire spectrum of human blood, some quite exotic!" He noted Spike's bewildered expression. "I'll have something for you in a stir and a shake, don't you wander away, now." With that, the red-eyed lounge lizard marched back towards the bar, yelling something about measures and gin.
Spike narrowed his eyes at Cordy. "Right-o. Explanation time. What the fuck was that?" She rolled her eyes and started to giggle again. "And what is in that drink?"
"Geez, relax, mom. And there's no need for such vile language. So, whaddya think? Pretty weird place, huh?"
"Love, I lived in London for a good part of the eighties, and the sixties, and I was at Woodstock, but this has to be one of the most whacked-out bars I have ever visited. Are the humans in here blind or something? And why the hell isn't everyone trying to hack each other to pieces?" He pointed to two demons who were amicably discussing something or the other. "Just yesterday, while you were in one of those little shops in that alley you dragged me down, I saw those two beating the unliving crap out of each other. And now they're, what, taking in dinner and a movie?" He slumped down in his chair. "Well, this has really brought my entire system of values crashing down about my head."
"Spike, you don't have values. You don't have morals or ethics. Technically, nothing should muddle you." She raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to weasel his way out. He always tried. She found it funny.
"Well. Let's pretend I do." Bugger. Uhh... "I mean, I have some... basic, codes of unlivin', and Willy's Bar in Sunnydale was bad enough, but this... this is just too upmarket-looking and neon-y for your average demon."
"Nice try, Mr Rushdie. I have to say, your grasp of the English language is slipping in your advanced years. I may have to send you to a home for geriatric vampires." She looked pensive. "Wouldn't work, though. You'd get thrown out for sexually harrassing the nurses. You'd soon be back on my doorstep."
"And don't you forget it," Spike said, leering at her for emphasis. Obviously, he never went any further than the odd ogle, or he'd be beaten to a pulp by Angelus. Spike knew enough now not to try it on with any of the elder vampire's women. Last time, he hadn't been able to walk for days afterwards. He winced at the memory. There were places that hot pokers should just not be allowed near. Although, there were certain women who knew how to inflict just as much emotional pain to a man. Maybe more. He'd left one of those women in Sunnydale. Spike liked to pretend that he didn't think about the Hellmouth, or any of the people on it, but in all honesty, she was still on his mind quite a lot. The only time he didn't end up thinking about her was when he and Cordelia were in their verbal sparring contests. In fact, ever since he'd come to Los Angeles, his obsession with the Slayer had ... well, he wasn't about to say that it had worn off, or that he had suddenly realised, 'hey! I don't want her at all!' because it would be total rubbish. He still wanted her. He just wasn't sure that he was as in love with her as he had thought.
Cordelia looked at Spike's unusually serious face, and took a stab in the dim light at what was on his mind. "Y'know, it might help if you told me about it. She seems to cause this kind of pain and black misery in men." Cordelia hated Buffy for causing this kind of distress and torment in not only one, but two of the men she cared about most. Angel had emerged from his own tunnel of grim despair when it came to Buffy - in a strange, perverse way, the thing with Darla had somehow helped him move on with his life a little. Not that Cordy wanted his life to move in that direction. Definitely not. She had intended him to move more.. well, more in HER direction. Again with the crush. So not going to happen.
She had taken it upon herself to make sure that Spike got over his own crush without the help of sleazy, psychotic 400 year old Buffy lookalikes. Shouldn't be too hard, but still. She also wasn't sure that she wanted him to end up running off with Drusilla again. That probably wouldn't help either.
Spike smiled a little, as if amused by his own suffering, and exhaled heavily. He found exhaling very therapeutic, even if it was unnecessary.
"I'm getting through it. I know I don't love her, not really, not in the I-want-to-be-with-her-forever kind of way, cos I really don't - how tolerant can a man be? There's only so much whining and bitching I can stand. But, my ever so slightly deluded fantasies won't just disappear at the click of your beautifully manicured, thanks in large part to Angel's credit cards -" she smiled, but gestured for him to get on with it "- hands. I think that a part of me doesn't actually want to let go, even though the majority is screaming what a complete bleeding moron I've been. Two guesses as to which part is going to win. The moron part," he clarified, as Cordy started to look worried.
"Well, that's good. From what limited experience I've had with love - and it's not wholly reliable for later life, because, hello, dating on the mouth of hell? - anyway, I've learnt that you just have to let go. I mean, even that huge loser Xander Harris..." Spike nodded in agreement, "even he cheated on me. But I so didn't go crawling back. No, I moved on, and here I am! I survived." Spike studied her expression carefully.
"But don't you ever wonder what would have happened if you had? Not that I'm encouraging a reconciliation, because I really think you're over and above him..." she smiled at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Now don't make me out to be all sappy and nice, because I'm not; I'm nasty, and evil, and if I could, I'd kill you as soon as look at you," she nodded enthusiastically, but maybe a tiny bit sarcastically.
"Yes, Spike, you manly vampire, you." Okay, maybe very sarcastically.
"Anyway, my point is... wait, uh, yeah, my point is that even though you know that what you did was right, there's a really annoying, unpleasant part of you that makes you wonder. That part of you is the same fucked up part of me that wonders what would have happened if maybe, and we're talking minuscule, completely unrealistic, rearranging the cosmos maybes here, maybe Buffy had felt something back. But she didn't, so I'm just left as one sorry little vampire. But, y'know, everything happens for a reason. Hey, there you go, you've got someone to blame for my turning up here! Why don't you kill her because of it? Please?" Spike looked so hopeful, Cordelia almost thought he was serious.
"Well, I could, but then who would be left for me to accuse of everything bad that ever happens? It's my policy - blame Buffy. More like my philosophy, actually." They shared a smile - that was a philosophy Spike could easily adopt. "But seriously, Spike. Get. Over. It. She's so not worth it, and I'd really hate to have to beat it out of you."
"Point taken. Have you tried that little method of memory adjustment on Angel? If you've tried everything else, violence is always a good solution." He stared at her, for once, serious. She looked away, flinching under his gaze. "Don't think I haven't noticed the little flirting thing you two have got going on."
"Spike, I don't know why you don't get neon signs, you remind me of my stupid crush so often. Wait, flirting? Between us? Yeh, right. In my dreams." Spike couldn't help laughing. My God, the girl was oblivious.
"For an intelligent bird, you can be horribly thick. Angel, well, he has a strange way of expressing himself - bein' around him for two years plus, you probably know he's not exactly a social butterfly; he's a whole other type of butterfly, actually, but..." before he could go on, the Host reappeared, carrying a cocktail. Cordelia felt like screaming in frustration. For once, she really wanted Spike to finish his sentence. She had been really, really interested in what he was saying... Sometimes she just wished that Spike could finish a sentence once in a while. He always went off at a tangent.
The Host handed the cocktail to Spike. "Here you are, a potent drink for an impotent vampire." Cordelia wondered if she might have to physically restrain Spike, but for the moment, he was just quietly growling. "Down, Tiger. It's a Blackjack - that's pretty much entirely Jack Daniels. But hey, you don't like, don't shoot the barkeep. No violence in here - Caritas. Now, before you start on the drink, I think it's time I saw deep into your empty husk of a being!" Spike was looking frantically for the nearest exit. "So, you look like a Sinatra kind of demon." All of a sudden, his eyes fixed on what he'd assumed was a decorative stage. He could now clearly see the karaoke equipment...
At this point, Cordelia was glad that Spike was chipped. Otherwise, she wouldn't have had time to inhale sharply with fear before finding that her throat had been ripped out. Eh, he was safe. She took a sip of the brandy, gin and pineapple concoction, and watched a terrified and fuming Spike being dragged away by the sleeve of his new leather coat, which was the only thing he'd voluntarily purchased the night before. She allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smirk. That'll teach him to make fun of her obsessive-compulsive retail disorder.
* * *
Last night...
Wesley was in the middle of his speech. Angel was bored, until: "It concerns..." he wished that Wes wouldn't insist on the pausing. "...your soul."
Angel stared at Wesley. He felt a small pang of hope. Please, oh please... if he had his soul permanently, there wouldn't be even a small possibility he might lose control, do something stupid, and kill all his friends. Certainly, recently he had been tempted by a certain raven-haired beauty, whose skirts seemed to get higher, and blouses lower cut, every day. He was insanely jealous of all the time she was spending with Spike; he was so paranoid that he thought he might lose her to the blond. But he trusted her, and he still scared Spike enough to be able to trust him. He had a feeling that maybe Spike had picked up on some of his rampant emotions - actually, he knew that he had. It would explain all the snide comments. Unfortunately, Cordy showed no signs of recognition or reciprocation of the feelings. He noticed that Wesley had stopped talking, and was staring at him.
"What?"
"Uh, I was just informing you of my findings." This could be important. Concentrate, Angel, concentrate. "I have been carrying out extensive research into the various clauses, and premises, of the curse." Angel looked so hopeful that Wesley felt guilty. "I can't seem to find a loophole in that particular area." The vampire deflated before his very eyes. "But-" he perked up again- "would you please stop it?! I am in the middle of explaining some complex theories, and you keep looking at me like a battered puppy!"
"I'm sorry, please do go on." Angel was so disappointed. If the theories were complex, it meant that Wesley hadn't been able to find anything, and was trying to cushion the blow with... what? "What did you just say?" He must remember to listen to what Wesley was saying in future. Because he was sure that he heard...
"Your soul is permanent, Angel. If you could just pay attention, I would mmffrr!" Wesley found it very difficult to finish the sentence, as he suddenly found himself wrapped in a black trenchcoat. Wait, Angel was hugging him? As he was released, he jumped back and smoothed down the lapels of his suit. He addressed the grinning Angel. "If you are quite finished... well, after your recent foray into the grey areas, you had many people very worried. It is common knowledge that you are to be a key player during the coming apocalypse, and both the forces of good and evil want you on their side. You caused quite a stir, you know - Wolfram and Hart convinced the evil population of the world that they had you. So, you might imagine that I was quite surprised to find a elderly gypsy woman standing on my doorstep, say, last Friday. She handed me a manuscript, written in Rumanian."
"The same time as Spike showed up..." Angel was working through the happiness induced haze, and things were falling into place.
"Indeed. It seems that the Powers have some kind of plan for Spike, too. It was also very convenient that you and Cordelia were suitably distracted by his arrival that I was given time..." Angel arched an eyebrow, "fine, scared into staying at home. You know, William the Bloody is quite a legend, and as I was unaware of the chip situation..." Cordelia had informed him by telephone later in the week. By this time, Wesley was so engrossed in his translation of the scroll that he had just hmmed and agreed with everything she said. Afterwards, he had become quite worried that he had subliminally agreed to buy her expensive jewellery, and maybe a car... "Well, this manuscript. It turned out that it was actually a letter, from a Slavic tribe in Russia, the descendants of the tribe who first cursed you. The eldest daughter of the leader is a seer for the Powers, a little like Cordelia, but, instead of receiving visions of danger, she sees all the possible outcomes for major events in the future. In this way, the tribe can help the Powers by preventing unnecessary evil from coming to pass using their ancient magick. She received a vision of you, and the harm you could cause, but also the good you could bring about. Apparently, the vision was very... enlightening.
"The elders, horrified by the prospect of Angelus fighting for evil in an apocalypse, called a meeting. At this meeting, the elders discussed your curse. They came to the conclusion that, although the curse was designed to subject you to eternal torment, the torment you might possibly cause if Angelus were to be released would be far worse. You are, and I quote 'atoning for the great evils you have caused by saving others.' As long as you keep doing that, and don't run off with another, how did they phrase it? Ah, yes, 'psycho bitch from hell'" - Angel was impressed. These gypsies really did know a lot about him. "I may have added that part myself. But the gist was, have your soul, have a nice, but still slightly painful, unlife, don't you dare turn even slightly bad or we'll eviscerate you with our thoughts."
"Sound like good folk," Angel said, in all seriousness. He was still a little nonplussed by the fact that his soul was here to stay - he was almost human, but still on a liquid diet.
"Oh, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that if you do anything remotely moronic concerning a certain secretary/seer we both know, and one of us loves more than the other, you will have two very angry British men torturing you to death - one of whom was taught by the master." It suddenly hit Angel. Angelus would never be back. He still had the demon within him, but the soul was much stronger and more resilient. That wasn't the part he was thrilled about, though.
Right, so here was the plan. Have a good night's sleep. Find Cordelia. Tell her how you feel. The results of that part would determine what would happen next, but if he was lucky...
"I... I have to go."
Angel disappeared so fast that, if he hadn't left footprints on Wesley's carpet, Wes might have thought that he had imagined the conversation. He was thrilled for Angel, but since he wasn't a native Rumanian, he'd had about three hours sleep in the last week, in between translating the manuscript. Sleep. Sleep sounded like a good plan.
* * *
Back to present...
Angel could not believe it. When he'd first walked into the bar, he thought that everything had been a dream, and that he would wake up to find that his soul wasn't permanent, and Spike wasn't... he had then got knocked hard in the side by one of the excited, screaming onlookers, and realised it wasn't a dream.
For there was Spike. On stage. At the karaoke bar. With the Host. And they were taking the roof off the place. Angel had always known Spike could sing, but he had never guessed how well...
Cordelia, too, was gobsmacked. She had thought she would get a laugh out of seeing Spike make a fool of himself on stage. Certainly, when he had been first dragged up there, unprepared, he had looked horrified. But as soon as he got hold of a microphone... The Host had decided that he should sing "My Way". Spike had never been one to leave a challenge, so he had taken the mic. From the first note he belted out, Cordy swore that if she shut her eyes, Sinatra was in the room with them. She had never heard anything like it. She knew that Spike was into the 80s punk rock stuff, but could never have guessed that he was a closet Sinatra impersonator. Soon, heads in the bar started to turn, and conversations started to tail off. Spike moved on to Andy Williams, "Music to Watch Girls By". He was equally good at that. Demons and humans alike started to whoop and yell encouragement, soon they were all standing up and screaming. People from other bars started to crowd in. Caritas was packed. When the Host had picked up another microphone, and they started on duets, Cordelia stopped staring, stood up and joined the throng of dancing spectators. By the time Angel had walked in, Spike and the Host had started on the Sinatra/Bennet duet of "New York, New York", the Host doing his own interpretation of the Bennet part. Spike was just loving the attention he was receiving, particularly from the women, and seemed to get better and better as the audience got rowdier and rowdier.
Angel pushed through the crowds to their usual table near the front. Sure enough, there was Cordelia, screaming encouragement as the Host and Spike hit the high notes dead on. He tugged at her arm, and she turned to face him.
"Isn't this fantastic?" she yelled above the music. "How come you never mentioned that Spike is way talented?!"
"I... need to talk to you." Seeing the strange look on his face, she nodded, and allowed him to lead her through the crowd. She was so pathetic. She was even getting little sparks running up and down her arm where he was touching her. As they left, Spike and the Host were singing the reprise again, and the noise was gradually crescendoing.
"These little town blues
They have all melted away
And I'm gonna make a brand new start of it
Right there in old New York"
"You always make it there
You make it anywhere
Come on, come through
New York, New York
New York"
One benefit of being a vampire, Spike thought. You could hold a note for a bloody long time, seeing as there was little need for oxygen. As the crowd screamed for more, he could just see Cordelia and Angel slipping out the back. Heh. Maybe Angel had finally 'bought a clue', as Cordy was so prone to saying. If not, he'd think up a strategy later. Right now, he was going to sing some more. He turned to the Host.
"You up for another round?"
"Absolutely, my fanged friend!" he replied, as he picked out another track. Yep, thought Spike, he could get used to the LA life. Particularly as now he had women throwing themselves all over him. Oh, the pressures of being talented and devastatingly handsome. He grinned as he launched into the next song.
To be continued....
[I just couldn't resist Spike doing Sinatra. My dad loves Sinatra, and was forcing me to listen to the duets album today. As soon as I heard the Bennet/Sinatra, I could just see Spike and the Host doing it. Sorry, could not withstand temptation... and I've almost got the Cordelia/Angel thing going...]
Part 5
"Singapore Slings and Other Things"
Ooh, look, the title rhymes. Clever me.
Yes! Yes!! I managed to get through sudden writer's block by reading some Jilly Cooper trash. So, here's another part. Please let me know what you think! This one took a while, but I really enjoyed writing it. It's pretty long (each part of this seems to get longer than the last, for some reason) , but, I hope, entertaining. There's angst, there's comedy, there's a curse loophole... Oh, and if you want any recipes for cocktails whatsoever, email me. Cocktail mixing is a hobby of mine, which results in quite a few fics, actually.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't want to say exactly what I don't own, because it would give it away, but everything but the plot line is owned by someone else.
Feedback: I'd be really interested to hear your opinions... this is getting close to a resolution, so, I need an extra boost to get to the end.
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"Uh, pet, do you want to explain at some point where we are? We been sucked into some kind of demonic dimension, or is this just like a branch of hell on Earth? I knew Starbucks had branches throughout the world, but I didn't think Hades was into chain marketing." Cordy giggled at his expression, as she sipped the Singapore Sling that the waiter had brought over to her as soon as they walked in. Spike was very confused. They obviously knew her quite well here. Didn't seem like the kind of place a girl like Cordelia would have found by herself, though.
He looked around at all the other patrons. Demons sat serenely at tables, their true visages undisguised, mingling with the humans, and not trying to kill each other. The humans didn't even seem to notice the gruesome creatures surrounding them, and were definitely not bothered by it. He looked back at Cordelia, who was sitting opposite him, looking pleased with herself as his new wardrobe reminded her of her shopping triumph. He had on a pair of loose black pants, a deep blue silk shirt, and a new leather coat. He never thought he would actually meet someone who got that kind of buzz from a purchase, but the way Cordy was all lit up and glowing was rating quite high on his scale of disturbing things. Christ, he needed a strong drink. Not only had he survived a shopping trip with Cordelia Chase the evening before (and been made to buy up almost entire stores), but she'd mentioned something about some kind of fortune-telling thing at a... bar. Oh no.
Suddenly, the crowds around them parted, and there stood one of the strangest demons Spike had ever seen. Sure, he had seen its type before, but never wearing a purple silk smoking jacket and a neat haircut.
"He-llo, gorgeous and gorgeous!" He airkissed Cordy, who smiled at him, and cast an appraising glance over Spike. "Cordelicious, who is this sizzlingly attractive young man you have with you tonight? If I can really describe him as a man. Or young, for that matter." Spike was astonished. He must be some kind of mind-reader. Oh yeah, hence the fortunetelling. "Does your other tall, dark, extremely well preserved hunk know about this? Shame on you, you flirt!" Cordy grinned.
"Spike, this is the Host. He owns this place. Spike is a friend of mine. Just a friend," she said, glaring at Spike. "Don't you get any ideas, evil dead."
"Will our mysterious stranger be introducing himself to us all tonight? Because I would just love to see what is going on inside his head. Now what you be drinking, sweetheart? We have cocktail, liquor, entire spectrum of human blood, some quite exotic!" He noted Spike's bewildered expression. "I'll have something for you in a stir and a shake, don't you wander away, now." With that, the red-eyed lounge lizard marched back towards the bar, yelling something about measures and gin.
Spike narrowed his eyes at Cordy. "Right-o. Explanation time. What the fuck was that?" She rolled her eyes and started to giggle again. "And what is in that drink?"
"Geez, relax, mom. And there's no need for such vile language. So, whaddya think? Pretty weird place, huh?"
"Love, I lived in London for a good part of the eighties, and the sixties, and I was at Woodstock, but this has to be one of the most whacked-out bars I have ever visited. Are the humans in here blind or something? And why the hell isn't everyone trying to hack each other to pieces?" He pointed to two demons who were amicably discussing something or the other. "Just yesterday, while you were in one of those little shops in that alley you dragged me down, I saw those two beating the unliving crap out of each other. And now they're, what, taking in dinner and a movie?" He slumped down in his chair. "Well, this has really brought my entire system of values crashing down about my head."
"Spike, you don't have values. You don't have morals or ethics. Technically, nothing should muddle you." She raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to weasel his way out. He always tried. She found it funny.
"Well. Let's pretend I do." Bugger. Uhh... "I mean, I have some... basic, codes of unlivin', and Willy's Bar in Sunnydale was bad enough, but this... this is just too upmarket-looking and neon-y for your average demon."
"Nice try, Mr Rushdie. I have to say, your grasp of the English language is slipping in your advanced years. I may have to send you to a home for geriatric vampires." She looked pensive. "Wouldn't work, though. You'd get thrown out for sexually harrassing the nurses. You'd soon be back on my doorstep."
"And don't you forget it," Spike said, leering at her for emphasis. Obviously, he never went any further than the odd ogle, or he'd be beaten to a pulp by Angelus. Spike knew enough now not to try it on with any of the elder vampire's women. Last time, he hadn't been able to walk for days afterwards. He winced at the memory. There were places that hot pokers should just not be allowed near. Although, there were certain women who knew how to inflict just as much emotional pain to a man. Maybe more. He'd left one of those women in Sunnydale. Spike liked to pretend that he didn't think about the Hellmouth, or any of the people on it, but in all honesty, she was still on his mind quite a lot. The only time he didn't end up thinking about her was when he and Cordelia were in their verbal sparring contests. In fact, ever since he'd come to Los Angeles, his obsession with the Slayer had ... well, he wasn't about to say that it had worn off, or that he had suddenly realised, 'hey! I don't want her at all!' because it would be total rubbish. He still wanted her. He just wasn't sure that he was as in love with her as he had thought.
Cordelia looked at Spike's unusually serious face, and took a stab in the dim light at what was on his mind. "Y'know, it might help if you told me about it. She seems to cause this kind of pain and black misery in men." Cordelia hated Buffy for causing this kind of distress and torment in not only one, but two of the men she cared about most. Angel had emerged from his own tunnel of grim despair when it came to Buffy - in a strange, perverse way, the thing with Darla had somehow helped him move on with his life a little. Not that Cordy wanted his life to move in that direction. Definitely not. She had intended him to move more.. well, more in HER direction. Again with the crush. So not going to happen.
She had taken it upon herself to make sure that Spike got over his own crush without the help of sleazy, psychotic 400 year old Buffy lookalikes. Shouldn't be too hard, but still. She also wasn't sure that she wanted him to end up running off with Drusilla again. That probably wouldn't help either.
Spike smiled a little, as if amused by his own suffering, and exhaled heavily. He found exhaling very therapeutic, even if it was unnecessary.
"I'm getting through it. I know I don't love her, not really, not in the I-want-to-be-with-her-forever kind of way, cos I really don't - how tolerant can a man be? There's only so much whining and bitching I can stand. But, my ever so slightly deluded fantasies won't just disappear at the click of your beautifully manicured, thanks in large part to Angel's credit cards -" she smiled, but gestured for him to get on with it "- hands. I think that a part of me doesn't actually want to let go, even though the majority is screaming what a complete bleeding moron I've been. Two guesses as to which part is going to win. The moron part," he clarified, as Cordy started to look worried.
"Well, that's good. From what limited experience I've had with love - and it's not wholly reliable for later life, because, hello, dating on the mouth of hell? - anyway, I've learnt that you just have to let go. I mean, even that huge loser Xander Harris..." Spike nodded in agreement, "even he cheated on me. But I so didn't go crawling back. No, I moved on, and here I am! I survived." Spike studied her expression carefully.
"But don't you ever wonder what would have happened if you had? Not that I'm encouraging a reconciliation, because I really think you're over and above him..." she smiled at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Now don't make me out to be all sappy and nice, because I'm not; I'm nasty, and evil, and if I could, I'd kill you as soon as look at you," she nodded enthusiastically, but maybe a tiny bit sarcastically.
"Yes, Spike, you manly vampire, you." Okay, maybe very sarcastically.
"Anyway, my point is... wait, uh, yeah, my point is that even though you know that what you did was right, there's a really annoying, unpleasant part of you that makes you wonder. That part of you is the same fucked up part of me that wonders what would have happened if maybe, and we're talking minuscule, completely unrealistic, rearranging the cosmos maybes here, maybe Buffy had felt something back. But she didn't, so I'm just left as one sorry little vampire. But, y'know, everything happens for a reason. Hey, there you go, you've got someone to blame for my turning up here! Why don't you kill her because of it? Please?" Spike looked so hopeful, Cordelia almost thought he was serious.
"Well, I could, but then who would be left for me to accuse of everything bad that ever happens? It's my policy - blame Buffy. More like my philosophy, actually." They shared a smile - that was a philosophy Spike could easily adopt. "But seriously, Spike. Get. Over. It. She's so not worth it, and I'd really hate to have to beat it out of you."
"Point taken. Have you tried that little method of memory adjustment on Angel? If you've tried everything else, violence is always a good solution." He stared at her, for once, serious. She looked away, flinching under his gaze. "Don't think I haven't noticed the little flirting thing you two have got going on."
"Spike, I don't know why you don't get neon signs, you remind me of my stupid crush so often. Wait, flirting? Between us? Yeh, right. In my dreams." Spike couldn't help laughing. My God, the girl was oblivious.
"For an intelligent bird, you can be horribly thick. Angel, well, he has a strange way of expressing himself - bein' around him for two years plus, you probably know he's not exactly a social butterfly; he's a whole other type of butterfly, actually, but..." before he could go on, the Host reappeared, carrying a cocktail. Cordelia felt like screaming in frustration. For once, she really wanted Spike to finish his sentence. She had been really, really interested in what he was saying... Sometimes she just wished that Spike could finish a sentence once in a while. He always went off at a tangent.
The Host handed the cocktail to Spike. "Here you are, a potent drink for an impotent vampire." Cordelia wondered if she might have to physically restrain Spike, but for the moment, he was just quietly growling. "Down, Tiger. It's a Blackjack - that's pretty much entirely Jack Daniels. But hey, you don't like, don't shoot the barkeep. No violence in here - Caritas. Now, before you start on the drink, I think it's time I saw deep into your empty husk of a being!" Spike was looking frantically for the nearest exit. "So, you look like a Sinatra kind of demon." All of a sudden, his eyes fixed on what he'd assumed was a decorative stage. He could now clearly see the karaoke equipment...
At this point, Cordelia was glad that Spike was chipped. Otherwise, she wouldn't have had time to inhale sharply with fear before finding that her throat had been ripped out. Eh, he was safe. She took a sip of the brandy, gin and pineapple concoction, and watched a terrified and fuming Spike being dragged away by the sleeve of his new leather coat, which was the only thing he'd voluntarily purchased the night before. She allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smirk. That'll teach him to make fun of her obsessive-compulsive retail disorder.
* * *
Last night...
Wesley was in the middle of his speech. Angel was bored, until: "It concerns..." he wished that Wes wouldn't insist on the pausing. "...your soul."
Angel stared at Wesley. He felt a small pang of hope. Please, oh please... if he had his soul permanently, there wouldn't be even a small possibility he might lose control, do something stupid, and kill all his friends. Certainly, recently he had been tempted by a certain raven-haired beauty, whose skirts seemed to get higher, and blouses lower cut, every day. He was insanely jealous of all the time she was spending with Spike; he was so paranoid that he thought he might lose her to the blond. But he trusted her, and he still scared Spike enough to be able to trust him. He had a feeling that maybe Spike had picked up on some of his rampant emotions - actually, he knew that he had. It would explain all the snide comments. Unfortunately, Cordy showed no signs of recognition or reciprocation of the feelings. He noticed that Wesley had stopped talking, and was staring at him.
"What?"
"Uh, I was just informing you of my findings." This could be important. Concentrate, Angel, concentrate. "I have been carrying out extensive research into the various clauses, and premises, of the curse." Angel looked so hopeful that Wesley felt guilty. "I can't seem to find a loophole in that particular area." The vampire deflated before his very eyes. "But-" he perked up again- "would you please stop it?! I am in the middle of explaining some complex theories, and you keep looking at me like a battered puppy!"
"I'm sorry, please do go on." Angel was so disappointed. If the theories were complex, it meant that Wesley hadn't been able to find anything, and was trying to cushion the blow with... what? "What did you just say?" He must remember to listen to what Wesley was saying in future. Because he was sure that he heard...
"Your soul is permanent, Angel. If you could just pay attention, I would mmffrr!" Wesley found it very difficult to finish the sentence, as he suddenly found himself wrapped in a black trenchcoat. Wait, Angel was hugging him? As he was released, he jumped back and smoothed down the lapels of his suit. He addressed the grinning Angel. "If you are quite finished... well, after your recent foray into the grey areas, you had many people very worried. It is common knowledge that you are to be a key player during the coming apocalypse, and both the forces of good and evil want you on their side. You caused quite a stir, you know - Wolfram and Hart convinced the evil population of the world that they had you. So, you might imagine that I was quite surprised to find a elderly gypsy woman standing on my doorstep, say, last Friday. She handed me a manuscript, written in Rumanian."
"The same time as Spike showed up..." Angel was working through the happiness induced haze, and things were falling into place.
"Indeed. It seems that the Powers have some kind of plan for Spike, too. It was also very convenient that you and Cordelia were suitably distracted by his arrival that I was given time..." Angel arched an eyebrow, "fine, scared into staying at home. You know, William the Bloody is quite a legend, and as I was unaware of the chip situation..." Cordelia had informed him by telephone later in the week. By this time, Wesley was so engrossed in his translation of the scroll that he had just hmmed and agreed with everything she said. Afterwards, he had become quite worried that he had subliminally agreed to buy her expensive jewellery, and maybe a car... "Well, this manuscript. It turned out that it was actually a letter, from a Slavic tribe in Russia, the descendants of the tribe who first cursed you. The eldest daughter of the leader is a seer for the Powers, a little like Cordelia, but, instead of receiving visions of danger, she sees all the possible outcomes for major events in the future. In this way, the tribe can help the Powers by preventing unnecessary evil from coming to pass using their ancient magick. She received a vision of you, and the harm you could cause, but also the good you could bring about. Apparently, the vision was very... enlightening.
"The elders, horrified by the prospect of Angelus fighting for evil in an apocalypse, called a meeting. At this meeting, the elders discussed your curse. They came to the conclusion that, although the curse was designed to subject you to eternal torment, the torment you might possibly cause if Angelus were to be released would be far worse. You are, and I quote 'atoning for the great evils you have caused by saving others.' As long as you keep doing that, and don't run off with another, how did they phrase it? Ah, yes, 'psycho bitch from hell'" - Angel was impressed. These gypsies really did know a lot about him. "I may have added that part myself. But the gist was, have your soul, have a nice, but still slightly painful, unlife, don't you dare turn even slightly bad or we'll eviscerate you with our thoughts."
"Sound like good folk," Angel said, in all seriousness. He was still a little nonplussed by the fact that his soul was here to stay - he was almost human, but still on a liquid diet.
"Oh, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that if you do anything remotely moronic concerning a certain secretary/seer we both know, and one of us loves more than the other, you will have two very angry British men torturing you to death - one of whom was taught by the master." It suddenly hit Angel. Angelus would never be back. He still had the demon within him, but the soul was much stronger and more resilient. That wasn't the part he was thrilled about, though.
Right, so here was the plan. Have a good night's sleep. Find Cordelia. Tell her how you feel. The results of that part would determine what would happen next, but if he was lucky...
"I... I have to go."
Angel disappeared so fast that, if he hadn't left footprints on Wesley's carpet, Wes might have thought that he had imagined the conversation. He was thrilled for Angel, but since he wasn't a native Rumanian, he'd had about three hours sleep in the last week, in between translating the manuscript. Sleep. Sleep sounded like a good plan.
* * *
Back to present...
Angel could not believe it. When he'd first walked into the bar, he thought that everything had been a dream, and that he would wake up to find that his soul wasn't permanent, and Spike wasn't... he had then got knocked hard in the side by one of the excited, screaming onlookers, and realised it wasn't a dream.
For there was Spike. On stage. At the karaoke bar. With the Host. And they were taking the roof off the place. Angel had always known Spike could sing, but he had never guessed how well...
Cordelia, too, was gobsmacked. She had thought she would get a laugh out of seeing Spike make a fool of himself on stage. Certainly, when he had been first dragged up there, unprepared, he had looked horrified. But as soon as he got hold of a microphone... The Host had decided that he should sing "My Way". Spike had never been one to leave a challenge, so he had taken the mic. From the first note he belted out, Cordy swore that if she shut her eyes, Sinatra was in the room with them. She had never heard anything like it. She knew that Spike was into the 80s punk rock stuff, but could never have guessed that he was a closet Sinatra impersonator. Soon, heads in the bar started to turn, and conversations started to tail off. Spike moved on to Andy Williams, "Music to Watch Girls By". He was equally good at that. Demons and humans alike started to whoop and yell encouragement, soon they were all standing up and screaming. People from other bars started to crowd in. Caritas was packed. When the Host had picked up another microphone, and they started on duets, Cordelia stopped staring, stood up and joined the throng of dancing spectators. By the time Angel had walked in, Spike and the Host had started on the Sinatra/Bennet duet of "New York, New York", the Host doing his own interpretation of the Bennet part. Spike was just loving the attention he was receiving, particularly from the women, and seemed to get better and better as the audience got rowdier and rowdier.
Angel pushed through the crowds to their usual table near the front. Sure enough, there was Cordelia, screaming encouragement as the Host and Spike hit the high notes dead on. He tugged at her arm, and she turned to face him.
"Isn't this fantastic?" she yelled above the music. "How come you never mentioned that Spike is way talented?!"
"I... need to talk to you." Seeing the strange look on his face, she nodded, and allowed him to lead her through the crowd. She was so pathetic. She was even getting little sparks running up and down her arm where he was touching her. As they left, Spike and the Host were singing the reprise again, and the noise was gradually crescendoing.
"These little town blues
They have all melted away
And I'm gonna make a brand new start of it
Right there in old New York"
"You always make it there
You make it anywhere
Come on, come through
New York, New York
New York"
One benefit of being a vampire, Spike thought. You could hold a note for a bloody long time, seeing as there was little need for oxygen. As the crowd screamed for more, he could just see Cordelia and Angel slipping out the back. Heh. Maybe Angel had finally 'bought a clue', as Cordy was so prone to saying. If not, he'd think up a strategy later. Right now, he was going to sing some more. He turned to the Host.
"You up for another round?"
"Absolutely, my fanged friend!" he replied, as he picked out another track. Yep, thought Spike, he could get used to the LA life. Particularly as now he had women throwing themselves all over him. Oh, the pressures of being talented and devastatingly handsome. He grinned as he launched into the next song.
To be continued....
[I just couldn't resist Spike doing Sinatra. My dad loves Sinatra, and was forcing me to listen to the duets album today. As soon as I heard the Bennet/Sinatra, I could just see Spike and the Host doing it. Sorry, could not withstand temptation... and I've almost got the Cordelia/Angel thing going...]