And Then There Were Three
Chapter Fourteen: La-La Land

Mmmm. Nice table, good table, all comfy. I reach blindly for the bottle in front of me. My fingers skim it and I drag it along the bar towards me. I tilt it and pour it into my mouth, only spilling a little in my eyes. Haven't thought about Glinda and Sunshine for the past hour or four. Oh bugger, just have. Oh wow, what's that? There's something green and white bobbing in front of me. I lash out weakly with my arm, forgetting I had it under my head. My forehead connects with the bar top and I groan. Oh, bloody hell. I hear a low muttering, but I'm too busy tryin' not to toss my cookies – oh, Angelus with cookies, image to treasure – so I don't hear 'em properly. I rest my forehead flat against the bar and my nose squashes a little. I feel hands under my arms, yanking me up and dragging me backwards off my stool.

"Get the fffuckin' 'ell offf me," I protest, thrashing wildly about.

Whoever it is doesn't answer, just drags me across the floor and up the steps.

"Oh, you can't do that to him. People are bound to wonder what you're doing if you move him like that, " I hear a distinctly English voice sigh, then feel hands close around my ankles and lift them so they aren't trailing along the floor anymore.

I struggle to focus on the figure that bobs in and out of my vision above my head. Brooding profile, tortured brown eyes and poncy gelled hair. Oh, buggerin', soddin', bloody hell.

"Get off me!" I shout and kick my legs.

I feel my foot connect with a jaw and a jolt of pain through my head that causes my hands to fly to my skull and my back to arch violently. I hardly feel my feet drop to the floor with a thump.

"Ow!" I hear that English voice cry. "He kicked me! Bloody hell!"

I hear Angel's sigh, the type of sigh that says "However much I don't want to, I have to do this 'cause I'm the hero." Go ahead and blow your trumpet, you poof. Then the world swirls sickeningly and shapes fade and focus. Then I get a view of the wide expanse of black leather and heels appear clicking in and out of my view. Hands hold my calves so I don't tumble from the height I'm hung from. Bloody hell, I'm over the poof's shoulder. I hear the English voice protesting and I can picture Angel's features set in hard lines.

"Put me down, you wanker," I say, and pummel his back with my fists.

Then I see the posh flooring of the inside of some place. The world whirls again as I am tossed onto a green couch. I think about struggling up, but this is too comfortable. Maybe just forty winks.

"We helped your friend Harmony, remember?"

Harmony? Harmony's here? Oh, God, no. And that's Peaches voice. Angel and Harm? What have I done to deserve this? Ok, apart from being a vicious killer for over a hundred years. And why do I feel like I'm being watched and what is that smell?

"Yeah, but she was a ditz and even she turned on us! He's like a total psycho! Remember he tortured you?"

"He has a chip, Cordy," I hear Angel say. "Remember? You were there at the… funeral. You saw. So did you, Wes."

"I know, but what's he doing here? What if he doesn't have the chip anymore?" her voice is gentler and I wonder what funer – oh. Buffy's.

Yeah, she was there and so was Angel and that weedy guy with glasses.

"Hello, Spike," Cordelia had said.

I merely grunted in return, then I saw the hand and I lifted my head to look up into a face that was torn apart by grief. They'd had the funeral at night so no one would know she was gone and so Angel could come. Don't think they thought about me coming. I didn't want to fight him, not there, not then, so I just reached out and shook his hand. I thought he understood what I felt more than anyone, even if he couldn't understand why I felt it.

"I'm sorry, Dawn," Angel had said and reached out to pull her into a hug. I had my arm around her shoulders, but when he reached for her, she pulled away from me. She wrapped her arms around him. I guessed she thought that if he had been there that night, we wouldn't've been there that night by an open grave, he would have saved her when I couldn't.

"Yes, Dawn, we're very sorry," it was an English voice that I didn't recognise that came from a tall man with brown hair and glasses. He looked saddened and I wanted to ask how he knew her but it seemed inappropriate, as inappropriate as being drunk at her funeral is, which was the only reason – besides trying not to upset Bit – that I was sober that night. And I remember thinking that the only reason Cordelia, Angel and all the other Scoobies were being nice to me was out of respect for the dead.

"Thank you, Wesley," Dawn said quietly as she pulled away from Angel. She returned to my arms and I stroked her hair as Xander stood beside me and rubbed her back gently to reassure her.

"Who're you?" I asked the Englishman.

"Wesley Wyndhym-Pryce," he said and offered his hand, I shook it, wondering how he would've acted when confronted with the infamous William the Bloody if he hadn't been at a funeral. "I was Buffy's Watcher for a while. She was a good Slayer… and a lovely person..."

Hate being hungover. Don't seem to have any control over my memories and I always end up with the ones about that night, that tower, that summer afterwards, that funeral and that grief.

"Cordelia has got a point, Angel. If we can be sure he's no threat," I hear the Englishman say. "Then I have no objection to him staying here. You had better call them, but shouldn't we check if he's safe?"

I open my eyes and notice Wesley glance at the shy brown haired girl – Fred? – as he says that last part.

"How?" Angel asks.

"He looks harmless enough," Fred says and leans over me. "You think we should get him something?"

Harmless? I'll show 'em harmless. I roll over and suddenly there's only air beneath me and I cold tiled floor comes up to meet me.

"Bloody hell," I mutter as I press my hands into the floor and push myself up onto my knees. Then I reach for the side of the round couch thing I just fell off, to haul myself to my feet. I sway a little and Angel grabs my elbow. I yank it away and whack him around the head.

"I'm thinking that whatever this chip is, it's gone," a black guy says and I see him reach for a stake that's tucked in his waistband.

"No," Angel says, punching me in the face so hard I fall backwards on my arse onto the couch thing. "He could always hit demons. C'mere, Gunn."

The black man saunters forward and stands before me.

"Spike," Angel taps the side of my face. "Hit him, go on."

"Er, Angel," Gunn says. "You never mentioned that, man."

"It's the only way to find out if it still works," Angel says, still tapping my face.

"Get off!" I protest and push his hand away. "I'm goin'."

"No, you're not," Angel says, holding my shoulders so I can't get up. "Hit Gunn."

"Don't want to," I say.

"Provoke him Gunn," Angel says, stepping back.

"How?"

"Hit him," Angel shrugs.

Gunn answers with a shrug of his own and a thump to my face. I react and my arm snaps out to connect with his jaw. He reels back and I clutch my hand as I am punished by that bastard chip.

"I think we can safely say he's got the chip," Gunn mutters.

"Could've just asked," I say. "And I kicked him and it hurt," I point to the dark purple bruise on Wesley's jaw.

"Ah, yes," he says. "It did hurt him."

"Here," a mug of warm blood is pressed into my hands and I look up at that pretty girl. Didn't realise she'd been gone while the boxing match went on.

"Thanks," I tell her.

"Fred, that's mine," Angel protests.

"You've had some already," she says. "He looked hungry. Is he going to stay?"

"No," I answer and get up, slurping the last of the blood.

"Yes," Angel says, looking at Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia. "He does have the chip, and we do have a job to do."

"Fine," Cordelia says. "I suppose he is helpless."

"Am not!" I protest.

"And as long as he isn't a threat," Wesley says mildly and goes back to the counter, where he picks up a book. "I'll be in my office."

"Should we call them?" Gunn asks.

"Who?" I ask.

"Could we have some privacy?" Angel asks them.

"Oh, this is family moment, right?" Cordelia says and takes Fred's arm, looks at Gunn and off they toddle.

"Family?" I hear Fred ask.

"Spike," Angel says, pushing me into the seat again and sitting beside me. "We had a call - "

There's a cry and I look up sharply. A baby? I look at Angel incredulously and he fidgets uncomfortably.

"Connor, my son," he explains as he runs towards the stairs and after the sound.

Oh. So that's what that smell was.

It's very surreal; I'm tellin' you. Angel cradling this little baby, cooing to it occasionally while he talks to me. Who'd've thought that Darla the Bitch Queen from Hell would dust herself for something that she once referred to as "chocolate." She always had a thing about babies, I remember Angelus would bring her one – or two, depending on how pissed off she was – if he had upset her, it was the only way to get back into her good books. Things she did to 'em made even me shudder, and she gave her unlife for a baby? That just makes it even more serene, it could only happen to Angel. Funny lookin' li'l thing, but look at it's dad.

"So, before you ran off to play the doting father, you said you had a call," I say.

"Yes, from Sunnydale," he says, staring intently at his child.

I stiffen in my seat. Oh, no. Something's happened. It can't be the Slayer; otherwise, Angel'd be ripping his shirt in anguish. It must be Tara… Or Anya. But then why would they call Angel? He only met 'em a coupla times, not like he'd care if anything happened to 'em. Unlike me.

"So?" I prompt.

"It was from Tara," he says and finally looks at me.

"Oh," I answer quietly.

"Did you sleep with Buffy?" he asks suddenly. His voice sounds calm but his jaw clenches and his fingers bunch in the loose folds of the kid's blanket.

I wonder why he has to ask, all he has to do is take a good long sniff. Then I realise I've hardly been near the Slayer in weeks, let alone touched her. If I smell of anyone, it's Glinda, Sunshine and Bit. Not to mention all that alcohol.

"Why do you ask?" I answer quietly.

"Because Anya said you had slept with her."

"Huh," I snort. "Knew I couldn't trust her," but even as I say it, I know it isn't true.

"Tara called but Anya asked if it was possible for a vampire to be killed by too many orgasms, when I asked what she meant, she said she thought you'd gone off with Buffy."

"Then why'd they ring you?"

"Just in case you hadn't and I saw you in LA. Did you? Did you sleep with Buffy?"

"No," I answer truthfully. "I didn't sleep with her. I shagged her, I screwed her, fucked her and had sex with her, but I never slept with her. Only time we ever slept was when she was too exhausted to move, rest of the time she got out the bed before she could catch her breath. Didn't mean anything to her, so don't worry, you haven't been replaced," I sigh and mumble/ "And you never will."

"How did it start?" he whispers and I can almost hear his teeth grinding together.

"Does it matter?" I ask. "All you need to know is we never made love, no matter how much I wanted to, it was always just sex. She hurt me, I hurt her. It's over, end of."

"I can't believe she'd sleep with you," he murmurs. "Cordy!"

Cordelia bustles into the foyer with a wide, false grin.

"Yes?"

"Take Connor," he hands her the baby and she frowns at us before making those sickening baby noises as she walks away.

"She'll retard it, doin' that," I tell him.

"Shut up, Spike," he says. "Is that why you're here? Because you and Buffy broke up?"

"Me and Buffy never broke up," I answer. "We had sex, then we stopped. And no, it has nothing to do with that. Didn't they tell you when they called?"

"They said they didn't know."

I don't want to tell him, he's not Tara, he won't give me any advice or listen as well as she does. And he isn't Anya, who can cheer you up with just one glance at her and a few happy words that you know are true.

But for some reason, I spill the whole sorry tale.

Huh, must still be drunk.