And Then There Were Three
Chapter Thirteen: Alcohol Shares

Y'know, I think pain and misery was created to up the sales of alcohol. Think about it, how often do you see someone happy gettin' drunk alone? You never see anyone drowning their happies, do you?

I lean back in the backseat of my trusty DeSoto – only thing in my life that's stood by me. Only one I can trust. I gulp back the last of the whiskey and toss the bottle out the half open window. I reach for the next bottle. Bugger. None left. Ah, well. I clamber out of the car and sway a little. Got to love the way it feels to be stone cold pissed. Everything floats away, no matter how much you rant about how crappy your life is, you can't seem to really give a damn. Just what I need right now; to not give a damn. Hopefully I'll be three, or maybe four, sheets to the wind by sunrise. Only need a few more bottles of Jack Daniel's to get there. Shouldn't be too hard to find a decent amount of alcohol, this is LA after all.

Haven't got a clue why I came here. Why does everyone come to LA? Buffy came here after she sent Soul Boy to hell. Know I weren't there, but I got the whole story from Anya who got it from Xander while he – yeah, well, you don't need to hear that, and to be perfectly honest, I don't want to think 'bout it. And then, the great Poof came here to set up his own little business. Three cheers for the entrepreneur.

Huh. Now here I am. Apparently, LA is where all the lost souls come, if I had a soul that would probably mean something to me, otherwise, it's just another reason to hate this world. To think I decided to save it, decided to work with the Slayer to kick Angelus into touch and prevent this steaming pile of Fyarl demon crap being sucked into a place where demons were the top dogs and humans were trampled underfoot in the rush to torture 'em.

Now, I'm not one for torture, never really saw the point of it, 'less I was after some info out of 'em or they had upset me. I remember a time when I tortured this vampire for two weeks for callin' Dru a "nutty tart." Those were the days. Never really got off on it though, the screams were s'pposed to do it for me – they did for Drusilla, she kept tellin' me to make the "walls hum with the pretty red music" – the screams just got on my nerves, that's why I finished him off. Dru sulked, but she got over it.

That's the problem with gettin' drunk, you forget what you were talkin' 'bout. Where was I? Oh yeah, I hate this world. Hate it 'cause it's stupid and has dumb little humans, sunrise and crap telly pop shows. Mainly I hate it 'cause you have to have a soul to be worthwhile. Did it ever cross the Slayer's mind that I was better than Angel? 'Course not! Spike don't have a soul, Angel does. Never mind that Angel went off on one and tried to kill 'er and 'er friends. Ok, so I tried to do her in and all, but then I fell in love with her. And no one can say I didn't help her, tried to look after the Bit and I fucked up royally. But I did try. Would Angelus do that? No.

I wander along the street and find a nice little bar. Company along with the beer might drown out all the internal ranting I've got goin' on. So I order me up a nice cocktail and slouch on the stool and sip it. It's disgustin' and I much rather a beer or whiskey, but if this'll get me drunk enough to forget that Tara and Anya were about to leave me, I'll hold mynose and swallow. Worst thing is I miss 'em and I can't hate 'em for walking away. I mean, they've got a chance to be with the people they love and I know that if Buffy had come to me and said she wanted me, all of me, I'd go too. Don't blame 'em at all. It's not fair though, I treasured those two far more than Red and Harris ever did and yet they waltz off back into the arms of the people they ran away from. Still, can't blame 'em for wanting to be happy.

I'm starving so I get up, slam a bill on the counter and go back to the car to get one of the bags of blood I'd shoved in my bag as I walked past the fridge. Once I've downed that, I feel a little better. I think about goin' back to the bar, but I want good alcohol, not a sex on the bleedin' beach. There must be a 24 hour store somewhere in this bloody town. I slam the door of my car a little too hard and I sway back. Then I shove my hands in my pockets and stalk down the street to the glowing beacon of a 24 hour store. Get some whiskey and maybe some food. I glance up at the sky, noting the clouded appearance of the black sky. I shrug; least if it rains, I'll know it can't get any worse.

"Spike?"

Had to say it, didn't I? Had to say it couldn't get any worse if it rained. I glance through the window of the shop. It's raining and yet here it is, the day, my entire life, gettin' worse by the second. I scowl at the very much altered version of Cordelia Chase. I'm not even sure if that's her, I mean, I remember a very different girl. Vain and confident, this one was a little different, shorter hair for one. There's a girl beside her, long brown hair. She smiles shyly, remindin' me of Tara. She must think I'm an old friend of Cordelia's.

"Cordelia?" I ask, wondering if my voice is slurred.

"Yeah," she says and the gap between her eyebrows creases slightly. She sounds like her name is immaterial compared to me bein' here. "What are you - "

"Cordy? What about the – Spike?"

Oh fantastic. There he stands in all his brooding glory, clutching a bag of Oreo cookies like his unlife depends on it. Turned into quite the little domestic, ain't he? And they say I'm housebroken?

"Peaches," I smirk. "Long time, no see. Missed me?"

"No," he says and frowns. "What are you doing here?"

"Tryin' to get pissed in peace," I shrug. "Still saving people?"

"Yes," he answers. "Cordy, Fred, why don't you go back to the hotel? Wes and Gunn are probably wondering where you are."

"Angel -"

"Cordelia," he cuts in, not looking at me. "I'll deal with this."

Cordelia looks at the both of us, then takes the other girl – who I assume is Fred – and walks out of the shop. As they pass, Fred smiles at me.

"It was nice to meet you," she says.

"Uh, yeah," I say and watch them leave. "So, still keepin' your pet humans? When you gonna give into your instincts an' eat 'em?"

"They're my friends," he tells me, placing the cookies on the shelf by the cereal – shock, horror, must be the most bad ass thing Soul Boy's done since goin' psycho in Sunny D.

"You can't be friends with humans," I tell him bitterly.

I don't know why, but his expression softens a little. He looks… sorry for me. I'll teach him to feel soddin' sorry for me!

"Why are you here, Spike?" he asks, a little gentler this time.

"None of your bloody business," I retort, fists clenching at my sides.

"Have you still got the chip?" he asks.

"Bugger off," I mutter and search the shelves for a decent sized bottle of the demon drink I could shove in my pocket.

"Where are you staying?" he asks, following me up the aisle.

"As far away from you as I can get," I tell him.

"What happened in Sunnydale?" he seems to pale a little, if a vampire can. "Is it Buffy? Has anything happened -"

"Nothin's wrong with the Slayer," I answer. "So don't go off in a sulk."

"I don't know why I'm trying to help you," he mutters.

"Help me?" I whirl around. "I didn't ask for help, Peaches. So, bugger off and let me drink in peace."

"Fine," he snaps. "Do what you want, but if you try to hurt anyone, I'll dust you before you can blink."

"Like to see you try," I smirk and he grabs the lapels of my duster, pushing me up against the pasta.

"No, you don't," he says and pushes me back harder into the shelf as he lets go and walks out of the shop.

Wanker. Have I mentioned I hate this world?