Lost

Portalkeeper87

A/N: So sorry this is taking so long! School is evil! Homework, papers, practice, clubs, SAT's, etc…all EVIL!! Sorry about the rant. Might not update for a while, at least until November. Thanks for the reviews and threatening e-mails!!

Chapter 10—Key to Getting Home

"It's a great big tower," Drusilla remarked, staring vacantly at the apartment building. Angel's apartment. Since when did he get an apartment? No clue. But Spike had found the address. Amid the shredded remains of Angel's coat. He found not only the address, but also a wallet with an obviously fake ID.

"Now what?" Spike demanded. Not happy. Guess he didn't like surprises. He impatiently tapped a shovel against the asphalt.

"We wait for Daddy to fly down the window, sail up to the moon…"

"Wasn't talkin' to you, ducks."

"Listen." I could hear something coming, something going down the stairs, heavy steps echoing on the cement steps. Something big, heavy, and presumably with hair-gel poisoning. "He's coming."

Angel emerged from the entrance then, looking extremely miffed. He was wearing a blue flannel shirt that clashed terribly with a usual ensemble of black. What kind of guy wore only one set of clothes every day? And owned ugly worn pajama tops when his only jacket was…misplaced? Especially pajama tops that smelled like hair gel.

"Daddy's not happy," Dru cooed, stroking Miss Edith's burnt face. She glided away from Spike, straight into Angel's path. "Not happy at all."

Angel growled low in his throat. "Alexis, what are you doing hanging out with scum like these?"

I grinned. "We've brought you a present, stupid hair-gel freak."

And then Drusilla squealed with delight. Threw her doll into the night, pulling out shredded bits of leather and tossing them into the air. They fell toward the Earth like black snowflakes, raining onto all of us. Filling the atmosphere with a heavy stench of hair gel.

"My jacket!" Angle cried, clutching pieces of leather in his outstretched hands. "Noooo!"

Spike grinned mischievously. WHAM! The shovel knocked Angel out cold. Spike tied him up and dragged his body back toward the Factory.

"Soddin' Poofter," he muttered. "Got a bloody dent in my favorite shovel."

And sure enough, there was an Angel-head-shaped dent. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could swear I saw the outline of his gelled hair on the dented shovel. Must be very strong hair gel.