Is It Forever Yet?
Angel had been right. Spike hated when Angel was right, but he had to tip his hat to the wanker on this one. They'd gone into the battle knowing that when Wolfram and Hart let their full fury loose on them, none of them would survive. If only survive was taken literally.
Of course Wesley and Gunn had got off easy, dying before the nasty buggers could really get their talons of whatever they called hands into them. Lorne had the best idea of all; get the hell out of Dodge. Illaryia had also gotten off rather easy, especially when faced with the chance to gain back her power on the winning side. That just left Spike and Angel. In the end it was always he and his grandsire.
"Glutton for punishment, I tell you..." Spike sighed from where he was sitting on a black Italian leather couch, directly opposite of Angel. There wasn't a scratch on either of them. In fact, they looked as healthy as any vampire could ever hope to look. Somewhere off in the distance some kind of soft rock elevator music wafted faintly into the simple waiting room.
"Well, sure, maybe you are," Angel mused with a shrug, finally looking away from an Escher poster that hung behind Spike's head. It was the one with the old man looking into a crystal ball, which reflected the room back at the viewer, "but I'm the hero here."
"Yeh? Well I say piss off," the blonde vampire grumbled his eyes falling on the no smoking sign, which he would have defied, had he any cigarettes or his lighter. He settled, instead, to picking at a bit of frayed leather on the arm of his sofa. "You gave up the right of hero and your prize when you got us into this mess of a valiant plan. Don't think I don't know about the contract you signed givin' up your great Sanshu Prophacy. Well, let me tell you, the other vampire with a soul, meaning me, "
Angel glared pointedly at Spike and his emphasis on grating that Spike was now free to win the Sanshu. The younger vampire merely paid no mind, ignoring Angel's look.
"...didn't sign anything. I can still get to be human."
"You, human? You'd hate it. You depend too much on immortality, one fight or even a heavy run and you'd be clutching your side and gasping for air right before your weak poet-heart gave out. Besides, it wouldn't make Buffy love you."
Spike didn't give Angel the benefit of an answer to that, the question of Buffy loving him. He knew that she didn't. He knew she cared about him in some way, but it'd never be how she loved Angel. So instead he continued his grousing bicker with his grandsire, and pretended to be bored by examining the chipped black polish on his fingernails.
"Don't see whut's so great about you anyway, makes her all star-crossed over you an' all that. You're just a great big poufter anyhow."
Angel's head snapped up defensively, but didn't leave his seat on his own couch, "I am not. I've had many women Darla, Buffy, movie stars, I could've had Cordy and... and...Nina... and hey! HEY! I even have a son!"
"Oh yeh?" Spike snickered his eyes narrowing at the challenge, Angel was so easy to get riled up, "First off Connor had to be some divine inter-bloody- vention so that doesn't count as real proof. And as for mine? Proof, case in point France, 1892."
"That was only one time!" Angel blurted before he looked furtively away, "And you've got to admit it wasn't THAT bad."
"Pfft! Says you," Spike growled giving Angel an incredulous and disgusted look, "You weren't the one not consenting."
"You consented. You were so blinded by Dru you'd have done anything she asked," the dark-haired vampire smirked cruelly.
It was Spike's turn to be on defense now, he sat up straighter and jutted his chin out, "Fine, that may well be, but it shows my devotion I give to a woman... and... and I thought I'd be in complete control."
"You honestly thought that?" Angel snickered, "Spike, have you ever been in complete control of anything?"
Spike smirked cockily, "My hatred for you."
"Well the feeling's mutual," Angel said sounding a wit weary.
"Good." Spike said seemingly thinking he'd won this particular argument.
Angel, on the other hand, wasn't about to let Spike gloat. He stretched his arms and pillowed his head on his hands, "You liked it."
Spike shot a dagger sharp sneer and roared, "I did not!"
"Did too, that's why you liked it when Dru or even Buffy beat you until you were bloody." Angel badgered.
"Oh, Rub off!"
They fell silent staring at one another with a seething annoyance plastered on their features. Spike tapped his fingers on the armrest of the couch while Angel rolled his head, trying to pop the tension in his neck. Finally Angel glanced at his watch, and broke the looming quiet.
"So... is it forever yet?"
Without skipping a beat, Spike answered, "Quarter to, I'd feature."
The brooding vampire sighed again then looked at Spike seriously, "You know, when I read Dante's Inferno, I thought the whole idea was ridiculous, but now---"
Spike raised a scarred brow, "Now it's not half as funny is it?"
"Not hardly."
They got quiet again. It lasted for a few minutes then it was Spike who spoke first, "You know whut I miss?"
Angel put his head in his hands and groused, "If you say strippers and booze, I'm gonna scream."
"No." Spike said pointedly then reconsidered, "Though yeh, that too... but the ability to get up and punch you in the face."
"I miss it too. Only I miss being able to hit you... not the, you, punching me part."
"Well for lack of a better word, duh." Spike snarked rolling his eyes and letting his head falls back slack against the back of the soft black leathers, "Cor, I could use a smoke and a good stiff drink."
"I'd settle for the use of my legs."
Spike lifted his head and nodded in agreement, "Hell, if either of us could get out of our bloody seats, how much you wanna make a bet that door's not even locked?"
Angel looked longingly at the door about fifty feet away from them and sighed, "Probably not."
Spike sniffed and looked deep in thought for a moment, "You wanna hear some poetry? I remember Mr. Manalow-lover you are say you actually liked it once."
"Not really in the mood... you want to play twenty questions?" Angel suggested hopefully.
"Again?"
They both searched their brains for something to cut through the uncomfortable tension between them. Spike raised both brows and asked conversationally, "So how did dog girl take you givin' her the brush off to play the selfless ponce?"
"Her name is Nina." Angel snarled a bit defensively.
Spike smirked at his reaction goading, "And you didn't answer the question."
"Shut up William, or need I remind you about the bet where you won that sheep—"
Spike's eye narrowed with quiet rage, "I really hate you, Angel."
"My God I hate you too, Spike."
The silence was deafening for an instant before Spike spoke again.
"So is it forever yet?"
fin
Angel had been right. Spike hated when Angel was right, but he had to tip his hat to the wanker on this one. They'd gone into the battle knowing that when Wolfram and Hart let their full fury loose on them, none of them would survive. If only survive was taken literally.
Of course Wesley and Gunn had got off easy, dying before the nasty buggers could really get their talons of whatever they called hands into them. Lorne had the best idea of all; get the hell out of Dodge. Illaryia had also gotten off rather easy, especially when faced with the chance to gain back her power on the winning side. That just left Spike and Angel. In the end it was always he and his grandsire.
"Glutton for punishment, I tell you..." Spike sighed from where he was sitting on a black Italian leather couch, directly opposite of Angel. There wasn't a scratch on either of them. In fact, they looked as healthy as any vampire could ever hope to look. Somewhere off in the distance some kind of soft rock elevator music wafted faintly into the simple waiting room.
"Well, sure, maybe you are," Angel mused with a shrug, finally looking away from an Escher poster that hung behind Spike's head. It was the one with the old man looking into a crystal ball, which reflected the room back at the viewer, "but I'm the hero here."
"Yeh? Well I say piss off," the blonde vampire grumbled his eyes falling on the no smoking sign, which he would have defied, had he any cigarettes or his lighter. He settled, instead, to picking at a bit of frayed leather on the arm of his sofa. "You gave up the right of hero and your prize when you got us into this mess of a valiant plan. Don't think I don't know about the contract you signed givin' up your great Sanshu Prophacy. Well, let me tell you, the other vampire with a soul, meaning me, "
Angel glared pointedly at Spike and his emphasis on grating that Spike was now free to win the Sanshu. The younger vampire merely paid no mind, ignoring Angel's look.
"...didn't sign anything. I can still get to be human."
"You, human? You'd hate it. You depend too much on immortality, one fight or even a heavy run and you'd be clutching your side and gasping for air right before your weak poet-heart gave out. Besides, it wouldn't make Buffy love you."
Spike didn't give Angel the benefit of an answer to that, the question of Buffy loving him. He knew that she didn't. He knew she cared about him in some way, but it'd never be how she loved Angel. So instead he continued his grousing bicker with his grandsire, and pretended to be bored by examining the chipped black polish on his fingernails.
"Don't see whut's so great about you anyway, makes her all star-crossed over you an' all that. You're just a great big poufter anyhow."
Angel's head snapped up defensively, but didn't leave his seat on his own couch, "I am not. I've had many women Darla, Buffy, movie stars, I could've had Cordy and... and...Nina... and hey! HEY! I even have a son!"
"Oh yeh?" Spike snickered his eyes narrowing at the challenge, Angel was so easy to get riled up, "First off Connor had to be some divine inter-bloody- vention so that doesn't count as real proof. And as for mine? Proof, case in point France, 1892."
"That was only one time!" Angel blurted before he looked furtively away, "And you've got to admit it wasn't THAT bad."
"Pfft! Says you," Spike growled giving Angel an incredulous and disgusted look, "You weren't the one not consenting."
"You consented. You were so blinded by Dru you'd have done anything she asked," the dark-haired vampire smirked cruelly.
It was Spike's turn to be on defense now, he sat up straighter and jutted his chin out, "Fine, that may well be, but it shows my devotion I give to a woman... and... and I thought I'd be in complete control."
"You honestly thought that?" Angel snickered, "Spike, have you ever been in complete control of anything?"
Spike smirked cockily, "My hatred for you."
"Well the feeling's mutual," Angel said sounding a wit weary.
"Good." Spike said seemingly thinking he'd won this particular argument.
Angel, on the other hand, wasn't about to let Spike gloat. He stretched his arms and pillowed his head on his hands, "You liked it."
Spike shot a dagger sharp sneer and roared, "I did not!"
"Did too, that's why you liked it when Dru or even Buffy beat you until you were bloody." Angel badgered.
"Oh, Rub off!"
They fell silent staring at one another with a seething annoyance plastered on their features. Spike tapped his fingers on the armrest of the couch while Angel rolled his head, trying to pop the tension in his neck. Finally Angel glanced at his watch, and broke the looming quiet.
"So... is it forever yet?"
Without skipping a beat, Spike answered, "Quarter to, I'd feature."
The brooding vampire sighed again then looked at Spike seriously, "You know, when I read Dante's Inferno, I thought the whole idea was ridiculous, but now---"
Spike raised a scarred brow, "Now it's not half as funny is it?"
"Not hardly."
They got quiet again. It lasted for a few minutes then it was Spike who spoke first, "You know whut I miss?"
Angel put his head in his hands and groused, "If you say strippers and booze, I'm gonna scream."
"No." Spike said pointedly then reconsidered, "Though yeh, that too... but the ability to get up and punch you in the face."
"I miss it too. Only I miss being able to hit you... not the, you, punching me part."
"Well for lack of a better word, duh." Spike snarked rolling his eyes and letting his head falls back slack against the back of the soft black leathers, "Cor, I could use a smoke and a good stiff drink."
"I'd settle for the use of my legs."
Spike lifted his head and nodded in agreement, "Hell, if either of us could get out of our bloody seats, how much you wanna make a bet that door's not even locked?"
Angel looked longingly at the door about fifty feet away from them and sighed, "Probably not."
Spike sniffed and looked deep in thought for a moment, "You wanna hear some poetry? I remember Mr. Manalow-lover you are say you actually liked it once."
"Not really in the mood... you want to play twenty questions?" Angel suggested hopefully.
"Again?"
They both searched their brains for something to cut through the uncomfortable tension between them. Spike raised both brows and asked conversationally, "So how did dog girl take you givin' her the brush off to play the selfless ponce?"
"Her name is Nina." Angel snarled a bit defensively.
Spike smirked at his reaction goading, "And you didn't answer the question."
"Shut up William, or need I remind you about the bet where you won that sheep—"
Spike's eye narrowed with quiet rage, "I really hate you, Angel."
"My God I hate you too, Spike."
The silence was deafening for an instant before Spike spoke again.
"So is it forever yet?"
fin