Thank You for all of the encouragement guys! You are the best. Okay, you know the drill. I don't own the guys, but I wish I did. If I did own them, they would be forever doing parodies of Steven Speilberg's greatest works. Except Spike. I would have him dress up like Spiderman and jump around my room. Anyway... On with the show.
::Dalliance of the Eagles- On Time::

Angel turned over in his sleep and hit the alarm clock, to make the insistent beeping stop. After struggling to find the right button long enough, he finally woke up and ripped the cord from the wall. He settled into his mattress face first and buried his head in his pillow. Dreams were haunting him again. They weren't like his dreams with Darla. No, these were full of blood and screaming... and Spike. Angel growled into his pillow, then turned over on his back. He had no intentions of getting out of bed, but for some reason he felt that he needed to get downstairs.

After trying, in vain, to lift his head from its place in his pillow, Angel resorted to just rolling out of the bed. He landed on hands and knees, hoping to heaven above that nobody would barge in and ask what was making all the noise. How was he supposed to explain that, after sleeping all day, he was still too tired to actually pick himself up out of bed and walk like a normal non-human being? And what was he supposed to do now? Crawl downstairs? Well, he could call Spike... Or not.

Angel gathered his strength and pushed himself up onto his feet. He straightened his boxer shorts and walked over to his closet, grabbing the most comfortable pair of pants he could reach. There was no need to dress up, so he yanked a tee shirt out of his top drawer and pulled it over his head and down over his chest. Silk was nice, he thought, but sometimes there is just no substitute for an old cotton tee shirt.

After walking into the bathroom and splashing cold water on his face, to wake himself up, Angel headed out into the hall and toward the stairs. He stopped at the head of the stairs and listened, for a moment. A quiet murmur was starting to resonate in the lobby and Angel suddenly wanted to be a part of it. He took the stairs two at a time and smiled when he saw Wesley and Spike discussing something.

"If I heard correctly, and I'm sure I did, it was an anachronism and that's what he had planned for it to be." Wesley stated his view and settled back into his swivel chair, behind the desk.

"It wasn't so much an anachronism, as a prolepsis. An anachronism gives the feel that the writer did it on purpose, you know, to be profound or something, but a prolepsis is more of a screw up. I don't think that Shakespeare even realized the mistake, until one of his close friends said, 'Hey, Shake... Why did you say the clock struck twelve, when they didn't have clocks in ancient Rome?' and the old boy answered 'Oh, it was... an anachronism' just so he wouldn't look stupid." Spike took a drag off of the cigarette that was hanging from his fingertips and sighed out a puff of smoke.

Angel could hardly believe the calm and intelligent way Spike was handling himself, in his conversation with Wesley. It was interesting, the changes that Spike had gone through since they had talked last. Albeit, the circumstance were a lot different than they had been, but still...

"You have an amazing way of simplifying the most complex matters." Wesley shook his head in disagreement with Spike's last statement. "Nonetheless, I don't think that's right, Spike."

Spike pointed his cigarette at Wesley and smirked. "I'm not sure you are thinking, at all, Wes. Just cause he was British, doesn't mean he was infallible. Lots of British guys make mistakes."

Angel snuck up behind Spike's stooping form and whispered in his ear. "Do you?"

Spike threw his elbow back into Angel's gut, making the older vampire wince and double over, slightly. "Yeah, like keeping my back turned toward the stairs. Don't do that sneaking thing. I hate it."

Angel nodded his apology and rubbed his aching belly. "You didn't have to hit me."

"Well, you know, it's the one night I decide to stay here and hang out, so's you don't worry yourself into a state. I guess I should expect something horrible and unexpected, don't you?" Spike shrugged and grinned over at Wesley, who seemed to get the joke that Angel was so obviously missing.

"What's up, Spike?" Angel asked, now almost fully drained of his will to move, talk, listen, or stand. On that note, he took a couple of steps backwards and collapsed on the couch.

Spike shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing, Sire. What's up with you? You look like you just aged a couple of hundred years. You're not turning into a bat, are you? Cause all though you've got all that lovely hair, I'm pretty sure it won't make up for pointy ears. You would look horrible with pointy ears."

Angel sent a harsh glance over at his childe and sighed. "I'm not going to get pointy ears."

"Oh, that's right. You are going to become human and live out your mortal days, in peace and harmony." Spike leaned back, resting his elbows on the counter. His cigarette had burned down to the butt and he absentmindedly flicked it behind the counter, so it landed at Wesley's feet.

Wesley stared at the cigarette butt and sighed silently. "Although, he put it about as gently, as a freight train, Spike's right Angel." Wesley looked up at the darker man curiously. "Is something the matter."

Angel threw his head back into his seat; eyes open, staring ahead blankly. "I'm having dreams again, Wes."

"Is it Darla?" Wesley's interest was peaked. He remembered how Angel had been altered, during the time Darla haunted his dreams.

Spike looked in between the two men, confused. He knew that he had to be missing something. Six weeks was not enough time to catch up on the happenings around this place.

Angel grunted a sort of laugh. "No, it's Spike."

Wesley and Spike, both stared at Angel expectantly. Wesley was first to speak up, though. "Are... ahem... the dreams like they were with... Darla?"

Angel's head snapped up and he sent a pointed glance at the overly curious man, behind the counter. "No, but if they were do you think I'd tell you?"

Wesley nodded, in an accepting way. "Point taken."

Spike narrowed his gaze at both men and harumph-ed. "Angelus, what are you bloody fools prattling on about? What dreams with Darla?"

"We'll talk about it later, Will." Angel's voice was stern, having that no nonsense quality that made Spike's blood boil.

"Well, then what was your dream last night about? If I was in it, maybe I can help you make sense of whatever it was."

Angel shook his head. If Spike insisted on helping him, this could end up in being more trouble than it was worth. "It's just a dream, Spike. Nothing more."

"It's never just a dream, Angelus. You know it and I know it. If it has to do with your Childer or your Sire, it's not just a dream. Now, you had better tell me what has gotten you upset, all of the sudden." Spike walked over to where Angel was lounging and put on the best obstinate look he could muster. "Well?"

Angel looked Spike over levelly and almost growled. "Torture, death, blood, dust, you."

"And?" Spike quirked a brow. Apparently, he wasn't satisfied that this was all that had Angel in a snit.

"And? Does there have to be more?" Angel pushed himself up out of his seat and made his way toward his office.

"That's not all, Angelus." Spike called after his Sire. "You would protect me and I know it. You make that promise, with your eyes every time you look at any of us. Something else has you spooked."

Angel answered his childe by slamming his office door.

Spike shook his head and ran his fingers through the peroxide colored locks. "Something else. Well, I'm very much the bored one. You wanna' go get smashed and paint the town red?" Spike looked over at Wesley, with a grin.

Wesley chuckled to himself and got up out of his seat. "I could use a drink." Wesley picked his coat up off the counter and slipped it on. "Just one thing, Spike. If the town is going to be painted red, can we try to make sure it's not our blood."

Spike laughed and nodded. "Well, this is LA. Anything can happen. I won't promise anything, but I'll try not to get into trouble."

"Do you ever have to try?" Wesley asked mirthlessly, as they made their way to the door.

"Not really." Spike answered, while he slipped on his coat and out into the night air.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After drinking his fill, Spike glanced around the bar, in search of Wesley. The man had told Spike that he was going to the bathroom over ten minutes ago and Spike was pretty sure that it didn't take that long to do your business, unless you were a woman. Spike laughed at the alcohol-induced image of Wesley putting on makeup in the men's room and then groaned. He would probably get a hang over this time around. It wasn't impossible for a vampire to get drunk or have a hangover; it was difficult, but not impossible. Spike welcomed the floating sensation he had, as he got off of his stool and laid a bill on the counter.

He walked back toward the bathrooms and listened for Wesley's voice. After a moment, he heard the British tones, slightly slurred by the alcohol he had been drinking. Angel was going to be pissed. Ha! Pissed that he was pissed! Gods, Spike thought, How much did I drink? He made his way in the direction of Wesley's slightly altered voice and smiled when he saw the man, sitting in a booth in the back corner, arm wrapped around a beautiful little blonde woman.

Spike put on a serious face and glided over to their table. "Excuse me." The woman looked up at him and he couldn't help but smile. Good taste, Wes, was all his mind could come up with. "Umm... This man is needed."

"I know." She breathed. "I need him."

Spike's muddled mind was trying to process what the woman was saying. All he needed was to find something to say, so he could get Wesley back to the Hotel, before Angel decided to come looking for them and they would be home free. Seeing as how the truth was strange enough, Spike decided to have some fun. "He's a doctor and there is a little girl who needs him to do surgery tomorrow. I have to get him sober so she can give her a new heart."

"Well, I'm not so needy." She almost whispered. She was stroking Wesley's chest and he seemed perfectly content to let her do so, as long as she wanted. "I just want a spleen."

What?! Warning bells went off in Spike's head. Even to a drunken vampire, that comment sounded strange. He grabbed the small woman's collar and hauled her up out of her seat. "What do you mean by that?"

"Eep!" She squealed. "I was just... joking. You said that she needed a heart... I was joking!" Spike dropped the woman on the edge of the table and she reached for her, now tender neck. "I'm getting out of here. Guys in LA are just too weird." The woman mumbled all the way out the door.

Wesley was giving Spike a confused glance. "What was that about?" Wesley waved at the bench across from him, inviting Spike to take it.

"She said she wanted a spleen. Does that sound like a joke to you?" Spike took the proffered seat and sighed into his hands.

"Well, it may seem like a joke to those who aren't forced into a business where chasing spleen eating monsters is part of the job description." Wesley offered agreeably. "She was pretty though, wasn't she?"

Spike nodded with a small smile. "Sorry about ruining your night. You could have had her number if you had wanted, and I went and screwed it up."

Wesley waved off the apology and laughed. "No apologies necessary. You were concerned about my spleen. It happens."

Spike sat looking at the man in front of him, his jaw unhinged. "How drunk are you, Wes?"

"I refuse to acknowledge that question." Wesley swung his legs around, until he was slipping out of his chair and standing on the floor. "See my motor skills are tip top."

Spike decided to humor the man and nodded. "Yeah, and you can say a whole two words without slurring!" Spike said with a smile.

Wesley started for the front of the bar where, he was pretty sure, he would find a door. "Well, I'm sober enough to know that you are patronizing me. Stop it." Wesley grabbed for Spike's, sleeve as he swayed on his feet. "Maybe I am slightly tipsy."

Spike nodded in agreement, but said nothing. He seemed to be walking fine and he didn't mind giving Wesley a hand for a couple of yards. "Just hold on to my arm. I can get us a cab."

"I can walk!" Wesley stated indignantly.

"You can fall and break your neck and then Angel can whip me until *I* can't walk." Spike shook his head. "No, I'm getting you a cab."

"Us a cab?" Wesley asked.

"No, you a cab. I think I'll take a walk and clear my head. Maybe see what's going down at the docks. You know, get myself good and mangled before I get home, so Angel will have pity on me and decide not to kill me, for getting one of his pet humans drunk." Spike grinned at the confused looked etched on Wesley's face. "Or maybe I'll just walk home. Dunno' which I wanna' do. Guess I'll see how I feel once I start walkin'."

It seemed that while Spike and Wesley had been inside the bar, the rain had started falling. Spike made Wesley wait on the curb, while he tried hailing a cab. None would stop and he just ended up frustrated and wet. "Wes, looks like we're going to have to walk it."

Spike took a few steps backwards, until he was back on the sidewalk, and was looking down at Wesley's trembling form. The man had taken a seat on the piece of curb he had claimed and was fighting to keep down his alcohol. "I think I'll just sleep here tonight."

Spike rolled his eyes and pulled Wesley up by the arm. "Nope. I gotcha' drunk, I'm not lettin' you freeze too."

"You didn't get me drunk. I got me." Wesley was cut off by a scream. Both of the men turned toward the alley and groaned. "I don't feel like saving anyone." Wesley stated tiredly.

"Then don't. Have a seat and I'll be right back." Spike let go of his friend's arm and crept down the alleyway, where they had heard the scream. All he could see was shadows and darkness and... a dead woman. "Damn." Spike headed over to the lifeless body and crouched down to get a better look. "Well, I guess she wasn't a spleen eating monster." The pretty little blonde, that Spike had wrongfully assaulted, was lying there, stomach split open, entrails missing. "But it looks like someone is."

Spike got up from the ground and made his way back to Wesley. "You're girlfriend's dead." He stated, devoid of emotion.

"Another one?" Wesley shook his head incredulously. He looked back up at Spike, hopefully. "Do you think this one'll come back to life."

Spike shrugged as an answer, but in all honesty he was pretty sure this girl was as dead as dead could get. "We better get home. Angel will wanna' hear about it. Damn."

"He's going to be mad at you." Wesley nodded to emphasize his point. "You went out after saying you wouldn't and you got in trouble again."

Spike chose not to acknowledge the statement and yanked Wesley down the sidewalk. "It's funny. Other guys get drunk and they just get stupid. You get drunk and you just automatically state the obvious."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind." Spike said on a sigh. "Let's go, Wes. I gotta figure out how to tell Angel about our night on the town." Spike's grip on Wesley was shaken free, when the younger man ran for the bushes and proceeded in throwing up. Spike shook his head. "Damn."

TBC

Ditto on what I said last chapter about reviews.

(The subtitle for this chapter was called 'On Time', which happens to be a poem by the wonderfully talented John Milton. I felt like being ironic and that's why this chapter is named, as such.)