Chapter 2 "Meeting the past."
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant enemy owns all.
Synopsis: Buffy's pushed Spike too far, and the chip's history, kiddies. Spoilers [if that's what you wanna call 'em] up till recently, not counting the stolen kisses between B n' S. 1 has happened, and that would be the one after "Once more, with feeling" episode. This takes place near the end of "Smashed". In his angered state, Spike leaves Sunnydale for a while, and in Los Angeles, he meets up with the grand Poofster...err, I mean, Angel, and they have a little talk.... Oh, and this ~ ~ ~ means a flashbacky sequence.
* * *
William the Bloody, aka Spike, tore into Los Angeles in his Desoto, swerving into the parking lot for a cheap motel. Spike wasn't too picky about where he stayed, just as long as the blinds were sufficient enough for him. Slowly, he got out of his Desoto, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder. going into the main office of the hotel. "Pet, do you have a room vacant for a wandering man?"
"Oh, yes," the woman nodded, blushing. "Here you go. That'll be 76 dollars for the day, sir." She extended out her hand, her palm holding the small, once-gold-tinted key.
"Thank you, miss," Spike murmered, pulling out the money from his duster. He took the key and trudged upstairs with his duffel bag. After opening the door, Spike's face was creased with a small smile. The suite wasn't so bad, it was quite cozy. The victorian vampire tossed his duffel bag [which had taken some abuse during his abrupt road trip] onto the bed, and quickly shut the drapes. "Now, for a day's good sleep. I bloody well need it." He took off his duster, throwing it on the chair some feet away from him. Spike eased into the bed, aftere kicking off his boots, covering himself slightly with the blanket. As he fell 'asleep', the Victorian Vampire from 18th century England dreamt of destroying the blond Slayer from Sunnydale named Buffy Summers. In a slow method of torture, using his old favourite tool--road spikes.
Angel sighed as he looked at the insanely high stack of papers that was on his desk. Today had been officially dubbed 'stop procrastinating and get your lazy asses to work' day, declared by Cordelia. How did he manage to do this to himself? Leave all the paperwork until he couldn't handle it anymore? Cordelia was busy with her own stack of work, as was Wesley and Fred was attempting to get rid of the virus that had infiltrated her laptop. Gunn was. . .well, Angel didn't know where Gunn was, but the vampire with a soul figured he most likely didn't *want* to know.
Just as Angel was about to go stark-raving-mad with the silence, except for the scratching of pen on paper, Gunn waltzed in, looking like he had just seen something that he didn't expect to see. Angel was the first to react. "Finally see the Wizard of Oz, Gunn?" he asked.
"What? No," Gunn shook his head. "You know that childe of yours, Spike?" Angel's expression became serious, remembering the converstation he had had with Buffy a while back. Angel nodded, and Gunn continued, "well, you're not going to believe this, but I think I just saw him check into a motel."
"He's HERE?" Cordelia looked absolutely mortified at the idea of the bleached vampire being in the same vacinity as her. "Why? I thought he was in Sunnyhell with Buffy."
"I don't think that's the case anymore," Gunn explained, sitting down. "He had a duffel bag that was packed with stuff, and looked pissed off enough to shatter buildings." Gunn shifted a bit, and grabbed a cup of coffee.
"Are you sure it was Spike?" Angel questioned. "There *are* a lot of guys with bleached blond hair in L.A."
"This is him, right?" Gunn held up a picture that Angel drew a while back, and Wesely commented on Angel's artistic ability. It was quite good. Angel nodded, his brow furrowing. "This is the guy I saw going into that hotel just inside town."
"Let's not go look for him," Cordelia suggested. "We don't want the chipped 'big bad' after us on his little PMS trip."
"I agree with Cordelia," Angel agreed, then thought about it. "About not going after him. If he wants to come in contact with me, then he will. We shouldn't provoke him, especially since we don't know if that chip that the Initiative put in is working anymore." The group nodded, and returned to the ultra-exciting paperwork.
Spike woke up feeling mightly refreshed, automatically yawning, even though he was a vampire, and didn't need to do such a thing. (I can't believe what I'm considering,) Spike thought grimly, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. The thought came to him while he stretched, and he was actually considering seeing Angel. (Should I really go see my ponce of a sire? He's probably all mushy with that cheerleader.) Spike decided he would go, and might as well confront the inevitable.
He got up, put on his duster, and walked up to a phone booth, opening up the phone book. "Knowing Peaches, it's probably nothing terribly original," Spike murmered, flipping through the 'A' section. Spike laughed out loud when he read the name. "Cor! 'Angel's demon agency'?! Peaches ain't never gonna live *this* one down!" He copied the address down in pen on his palm, still laughing. "And I'm off to see the Grand Poofster of Los Angeles."
The agency wasn't too far from where he was, so taking the Desoto was pointless. Spike took a deep breath of un-needed fresh air, and began to walk down the street to where Angel's demon agency was located.
Angel was half-done the stack of papers that was in the 'IN' box on his desk. Cordelia was done, and happily making jokes about Angel's old-style handwriting. Wesley was un-reachable, being delved into the world of the current research book he was reading, and Gunn was throwing darts at a picture of the last demon they fought. Cordelia threw a fit when Fred placed a stack of more papers for the ex-cheerleader to finish, and Angel chuckled.
The doorbell rang, and Angel jumped up first, beating Cordelia to the punch. He grinned to himself, and opened the door. His mouth dropped wide open.
"Spike?"
* * *
Author's notes: Haha, left you hanging! I'm debating whether to do this pairing of the story by vote. S/B or S/A. Personally, I'm leaning towards S/A, because I want to do something different. Don't get me wrong, I like S/B to uh...death, but it's been overdone, and I want to do something different. But don't worry, it's not going to be anything *bad* like that. I'm going to be using the song in the next few chapters, or maybe just one, I dunno. Review please!
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant enemy owns all.
Synopsis: Buffy's pushed Spike too far, and the chip's history, kiddies. Spoilers [if that's what you wanna call 'em] up till recently, not counting the stolen kisses between B n' S. 1 has happened, and that would be the one after "Once more, with feeling" episode. This takes place near the end of "Smashed". In his angered state, Spike leaves Sunnydale for a while, and in Los Angeles, he meets up with the grand Poofster...err, I mean, Angel, and they have a little talk.... Oh, and this ~ ~ ~ means a flashbacky sequence.
* * *
William the Bloody, aka Spike, tore into Los Angeles in his Desoto, swerving into the parking lot for a cheap motel. Spike wasn't too picky about where he stayed, just as long as the blinds were sufficient enough for him. Slowly, he got out of his Desoto, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder. going into the main office of the hotel. "Pet, do you have a room vacant for a wandering man?"
"Oh, yes," the woman nodded, blushing. "Here you go. That'll be 76 dollars for the day, sir." She extended out her hand, her palm holding the small, once-gold-tinted key.
"Thank you, miss," Spike murmered, pulling out the money from his duster. He took the key and trudged upstairs with his duffel bag. After opening the door, Spike's face was creased with a small smile. The suite wasn't so bad, it was quite cozy. The victorian vampire tossed his duffel bag [which had taken some abuse during his abrupt road trip] onto the bed, and quickly shut the drapes. "Now, for a day's good sleep. I bloody well need it." He took off his duster, throwing it on the chair some feet away from him. Spike eased into the bed, aftere kicking off his boots, covering himself slightly with the blanket. As he fell 'asleep', the Victorian Vampire from 18th century England dreamt of destroying the blond Slayer from Sunnydale named Buffy Summers. In a slow method of torture, using his old favourite tool--road spikes.
Angel sighed as he looked at the insanely high stack of papers that was on his desk. Today had been officially dubbed 'stop procrastinating and get your lazy asses to work' day, declared by Cordelia. How did he manage to do this to himself? Leave all the paperwork until he couldn't handle it anymore? Cordelia was busy with her own stack of work, as was Wesley and Fred was attempting to get rid of the virus that had infiltrated her laptop. Gunn was. . .well, Angel didn't know where Gunn was, but the vampire with a soul figured he most likely didn't *want* to know.
Just as Angel was about to go stark-raving-mad with the silence, except for the scratching of pen on paper, Gunn waltzed in, looking like he had just seen something that he didn't expect to see. Angel was the first to react. "Finally see the Wizard of Oz, Gunn?" he asked.
"What? No," Gunn shook his head. "You know that childe of yours, Spike?" Angel's expression became serious, remembering the converstation he had had with Buffy a while back. Angel nodded, and Gunn continued, "well, you're not going to believe this, but I think I just saw him check into a motel."
"He's HERE?" Cordelia looked absolutely mortified at the idea of the bleached vampire being in the same vacinity as her. "Why? I thought he was in Sunnyhell with Buffy."
"I don't think that's the case anymore," Gunn explained, sitting down. "He had a duffel bag that was packed with stuff, and looked pissed off enough to shatter buildings." Gunn shifted a bit, and grabbed a cup of coffee.
"Are you sure it was Spike?" Angel questioned. "There *are* a lot of guys with bleached blond hair in L.A."
"This is him, right?" Gunn held up a picture that Angel drew a while back, and Wesely commented on Angel's artistic ability. It was quite good. Angel nodded, his brow furrowing. "This is the guy I saw going into that hotel just inside town."
"Let's not go look for him," Cordelia suggested. "We don't want the chipped 'big bad' after us on his little PMS trip."
"I agree with Cordelia," Angel agreed, then thought about it. "About not going after him. If he wants to come in contact with me, then he will. We shouldn't provoke him, especially since we don't know if that chip that the Initiative put in is working anymore." The group nodded, and returned to the ultra-exciting paperwork.
Spike woke up feeling mightly refreshed, automatically yawning, even though he was a vampire, and didn't need to do such a thing. (I can't believe what I'm considering,) Spike thought grimly, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. The thought came to him while he stretched, and he was actually considering seeing Angel. (Should I really go see my ponce of a sire? He's probably all mushy with that cheerleader.) Spike decided he would go, and might as well confront the inevitable.
He got up, put on his duster, and walked up to a phone booth, opening up the phone book. "Knowing Peaches, it's probably nothing terribly original," Spike murmered, flipping through the 'A' section. Spike laughed out loud when he read the name. "Cor! 'Angel's demon agency'?! Peaches ain't never gonna live *this* one down!" He copied the address down in pen on his palm, still laughing. "And I'm off to see the Grand Poofster of Los Angeles."
The agency wasn't too far from where he was, so taking the Desoto was pointless. Spike took a deep breath of un-needed fresh air, and began to walk down the street to where Angel's demon agency was located.
Angel was half-done the stack of papers that was in the 'IN' box on his desk. Cordelia was done, and happily making jokes about Angel's old-style handwriting. Wesley was un-reachable, being delved into the world of the current research book he was reading, and Gunn was throwing darts at a picture of the last demon they fought. Cordelia threw a fit when Fred placed a stack of more papers for the ex-cheerleader to finish, and Angel chuckled.
The doorbell rang, and Angel jumped up first, beating Cordelia to the punch. He grinned to himself, and opened the door. His mouth dropped wide open.
"Spike?"
* * *
Author's notes: Haha, left you hanging! I'm debating whether to do this pairing of the story by vote. S/B or S/A. Personally, I'm leaning towards S/A, because I want to do something different. Don't get me wrong, I like S/B to uh...death, but it's been overdone, and I want to do something different. But don't worry, it's not going to be anything *bad* like that. I'm going to be using the song in the next few chapters, or maybe just one, I dunno. Review please!
