Cordy was fretting. It was 8.45 and there was still no sign of Angel.
Wesley paced. It was 8.53 and Angel had not yet returned.
Gunn snored. Right now he didn't care what time it was, and the only Angel returning was the one in his nightmares. The one that drunkenly sang 'Stairway to Heaven' out of tune and of sync with his platinum blonde partner-in-song-killing as they staggered through the basement entrance to the Hyperion. But it was the fact that both of them were in vamp face that really weirded him out, until he realised he was no longer sleeping.
His sleep fogged brain finally managed to catch up on what was being said.
Blonde: yur riiite! She'sh rule prutty.
Angel: Handsh offf. Cora'sh mine. All mine. I luvv 'er, so 'andsh off.
A finger waggled in the blonde vampire's general direction, as if the finger's owner couldn't quite figure out which face it was supposed to waggle at.
Gunn couldn't help but smirk at this little confession that he'd suspected months ago, and at the shocked looks on his partners' faces. Some people were so blind.
Blonde: 'S'alright. Not gunna. Ravva me a Shlayer, anywho, er how. Way.
Angel started laughing, and Gunn could see the joke. Vampire in love with a Slayer and all. He'd learnt quite a bit about vamps since hooking up with this crew.
The blonde didn't see the funny side, however, and flung himself bodily at his drinking companion. Cordy shrieked, fearing for soon to be broken furniture, equipment and bodies. She needn't have worried, though.
Both vamps had passed out before they had rolled two feet. Gunn looked over at the still astonished Wesley. "Let me guess. Now we gotta haul their dead weight asses upstairs, so as not to scare people away."
Wesley considered the matter the way he always did and eventually came to a conclusion. "I suppose so. Better put them on different floors though. I don't think either one will be much for company when they awaken."
"You got that right, English."
Cordelia remained dumbfounded. He loved her?
* * * * * * *
The two vampires stared at each other across the table, sometime around sunset. They were surrounded by the inky darkness of the Hyperion's kitchen when every source of light had been removed. Even the smallest amount of light hurt right now, or the slightest whisper. These are the aftereffects of multi-dozen bottles of good whiskey, tequila and several other only half remembered varieties of alcohol.
One of them finally decided to test the limits of vampiric endurance. "Why are you here Spike? And don't give me any crap about redemption or helping the helpless."
"Same reason you are, Peaches. Her. Buffy. She hates me, everythin' I am. I. I don't hate her, let it go at that."
Angel frowned. The idea that his childe actually .... not hated Buffy grated against his being. But there wasn't very much he could do about it. Not anything that wouldn't have a dusty ending anyway. Besides it almost hurt too much to think, let alone fight. So he let that part rest. For now. "So why here?"
Spike thought it over for a long while before finally answering. "Because I can't go back to what I was. 'S'not who I am anymore. Her fault of course. But I feel that I want to thank her at the same time."
"So why here?"
"Two reasons. First: lack of choice. Underworld hates my guts, you know what that's like. This is the only place I can be without continually looking over my shoulder."
"And the other?"
"So she knows where I am, doesn't have to go looking for me once she reads what I gave her. She knows you'll get rid o' me if I step out o' line." Spike didn't mention the change in personality he'd noticed in his sire, his apathy. That would come later when he knew more. Wouldn't do for him to have to tell the Slayer her ex had gone evil again.
Silence reigned in the darkness as Angel considered his options. Finally he came to the only conclusion he could. *I must be insane.*
"Fuck it up and I'll dust you myself."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, sire."
Both vampires knew it would be a long time before they trusted each other.
"Did you hear about Joyce?"
Wesley paced. It was 8.53 and Angel had not yet returned.
Gunn snored. Right now he didn't care what time it was, and the only Angel returning was the one in his nightmares. The one that drunkenly sang 'Stairway to Heaven' out of tune and of sync with his platinum blonde partner-in-song-killing as they staggered through the basement entrance to the Hyperion. But it was the fact that both of them were in vamp face that really weirded him out, until he realised he was no longer sleeping.
His sleep fogged brain finally managed to catch up on what was being said.
Blonde: yur riiite! She'sh rule prutty.
Angel: Handsh offf. Cora'sh mine. All mine. I luvv 'er, so 'andsh off.
A finger waggled in the blonde vampire's general direction, as if the finger's owner couldn't quite figure out which face it was supposed to waggle at.
Gunn couldn't help but smirk at this little confession that he'd suspected months ago, and at the shocked looks on his partners' faces. Some people were so blind.
Blonde: 'S'alright. Not gunna. Ravva me a Shlayer, anywho, er how. Way.
Angel started laughing, and Gunn could see the joke. Vampire in love with a Slayer and all. He'd learnt quite a bit about vamps since hooking up with this crew.
The blonde didn't see the funny side, however, and flung himself bodily at his drinking companion. Cordy shrieked, fearing for soon to be broken furniture, equipment and bodies. She needn't have worried, though.
Both vamps had passed out before they had rolled two feet. Gunn looked over at the still astonished Wesley. "Let me guess. Now we gotta haul their dead weight asses upstairs, so as not to scare people away."
Wesley considered the matter the way he always did and eventually came to a conclusion. "I suppose so. Better put them on different floors though. I don't think either one will be much for company when they awaken."
"You got that right, English."
Cordelia remained dumbfounded. He loved her?
* * * * * * *
The two vampires stared at each other across the table, sometime around sunset. They were surrounded by the inky darkness of the Hyperion's kitchen when every source of light had been removed. Even the smallest amount of light hurt right now, or the slightest whisper. These are the aftereffects of multi-dozen bottles of good whiskey, tequila and several other only half remembered varieties of alcohol.
One of them finally decided to test the limits of vampiric endurance. "Why are you here Spike? And don't give me any crap about redemption or helping the helpless."
"Same reason you are, Peaches. Her. Buffy. She hates me, everythin' I am. I. I don't hate her, let it go at that."
Angel frowned. The idea that his childe actually .... not hated Buffy grated against his being. But there wasn't very much he could do about it. Not anything that wouldn't have a dusty ending anyway. Besides it almost hurt too much to think, let alone fight. So he let that part rest. For now. "So why here?"
Spike thought it over for a long while before finally answering. "Because I can't go back to what I was. 'S'not who I am anymore. Her fault of course. But I feel that I want to thank her at the same time."
"So why here?"
"Two reasons. First: lack of choice. Underworld hates my guts, you know what that's like. This is the only place I can be without continually looking over my shoulder."
"And the other?"
"So she knows where I am, doesn't have to go looking for me once she reads what I gave her. She knows you'll get rid o' me if I step out o' line." Spike didn't mention the change in personality he'd noticed in his sire, his apathy. That would come later when he knew more. Wouldn't do for him to have to tell the Slayer her ex had gone evil again.
Silence reigned in the darkness as Angel considered his options. Finally he came to the only conclusion he could. *I must be insane.*
"Fuck it up and I'll dust you myself."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, sire."
Both vampires knew it would be a long time before they trusted each other.
"Did you hear about Joyce?"