TITLE: From L.A. With Love

AUTHOR: Eloise

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Honestly. I also do not own James Bond. Still wish I did.

SPOILERS: through episode 4.2 – Ground State

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter 7 of 8. Title mangled by me and nicked from Ian Fleming. I've been snowed under with work stuff lately, and this chapter proved quite tricky. Reminding me why I should never write Buffy characters.

Chapter 7: A View to a Thrill

'Want me to make him talk, Boss?'

This was Faith. She had Wesley's arms crossed behind his back and twisted as high as they would go without actually breaking. Though Wesley feared that was more by carelessness than actual design. He believed that Faith would have no qualms about breaking him piece by piece.

'Now, now, Faith, be gentle. We wouldn't want to spoil that pretty face.' Willow stood in front of him, arms folded across a leather-encased cleavage that defied gravity.

'Doesn't have to be the face. I could start anywhere.' She slid her fingers along his arm and squeezed his injured finger firmly. He saw stars, great white hot supernovas that radiated pain and drew a high-pitched strangled sound from lips he had sworn would not open.

'Huh. He screams like a girl.' Buffy was leaning against the desk, watching the proceedings with ill-concealed boredom.'

'Faith, let him be. Don't want my toys broken.' Willow leaned forward and pulled Faith to her, her fingernails snagging in the dark curls. 'If you're a good girl, maybe I'll let you play with Xander later.'

Faith let go of his arms and he dropped his palms onto the floor, breathing heavily, as the Willow drew Faith's head back carefully, and nipped her neck with her teeth. Faith arched against her, a little growl of pleasure rumbling in her throat. It occurred to Wesley that under other circumstances his current vantage point was the stuff of most male fantasies. The being on his knees in pain part of the situation, however, was making the fantasy a little more masochistic than he liked.

Willow paused and looked down at him, the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. 'Like to watch, don't you, Wesley?'

Faith groaned in frustration. 'Come on, Will, let me play with him. Xander's no fun anymore. He keeps breaking.' She threw a mutinous glare at Buffy. 'And I can't even play with Spike now.'

Buffy leaned back and swung her legs casually. 'Oops. My bad.'

Willow released Faith and shoved her away gently, turning to face Buffy. 'Yes, I seem to remember someone getting careless.'

'Oh, Boss, not fair. You know he had outside help.' Buffy didn't seem particularly worried.

Faith slid a booted toe under his chin and jerked his head up quickly. 'And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?'

'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've no bloody clue what you're talking about.' Wesley decided that outraged disavowal was his best defence.

Willow laughed; a soft whispered chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

'Oh, isn't he sweet when he's pretending to be innocent.' Again she leaned down and ran a fingernail down his cheek, the nail grazing his stubble, but not enough to break the skin. 'Think again, pretty boy. Not in the mood for lies. Don't want to get angry with you. Yet.' Her fingers trailed over to this ear, then she grasped the hair above it between her thumb and forefinger and twisted sharply.

He had forgotten how incredibly painful that could be. His father's favourite method of gaining his attention when he had caught him daydreaming, it made him jump now and produce a tiny squeak of pain.

'There now, got your attention. Now then, Mr Pryce. Where exactly is Angel?'

Wesley sighed and tried to rub some feeling into his numbed wrists. Things had deteriorated quite considerably when he had been unable to answer Willow's questions. They had fallen into a bit of a pattern; Willow would ask him a question, he would have no idea as to the answer, and Faith and Buffy would take it in turns to hit him. Hard. While the other one held him. It hurt. A lot.

From what he could gather, in between the general torture and more specific hitting, Willow was the head of the splinter group PERVE. They were the group that initially had captured Angel, but he had been removed from their safekeeping a few weeks ago. By a SPURT operative that they insisted on believing was him. No amount of refutation and cajoling would persuade them otherwise.

Wesley's thoughts turned to Lilah, and he couldn't help feeling a little wry admiration for the brilliance of her plan. She had set him up perfectly and he had walked right into the trap. Left the matchbook there on purpose, so that if he did survive the black widow, he would end up following the 'lead' to Sunnydale. And straight into Pussy Willow's thus far fairly painful clutches. And far away from wherever it was SPURT had Angel hidden.

He leaned back against the wall of his cell, and hissed involuntarily as his kidneys protested at the stretch in his midriff. Buffy had been fairly clinical in her blows, hitting him hard and fast, deriving no discernible pleasure from her activities. She had a job to do, and she did it to the best of her abilities. He could respect that.

Faith, on the other hand, had clearly revelled in her torture. She had been determined to make him scream, taken it as a personal challenge, reminding him rather forcibly of the night they had spent together three years ago. Every blow had been accompanied by sneering jibes and taunts, carefully calculated to break him. He had refused to be broken. Mentally, of course. Physically, he felt as if an amateur juggler had been practising with his internal organs, and had dropped them repeatedly.

He closed his eyes and had almost slipped into a blissfully painless doze when he heard it. A quiet sound from the other side of the wall. He pressed his head against the plaster surface. A definite groan this time.

'Hello?'

'Spike? Is that you?' The muffled voice sounded desperately hopeful.

'No, I'm terribly sorry. I'm Peregrine Wyndham.'

'Pryce! I knew you'd come.'

Wesley sighed and wondered why Giles had bothered with the pseudonym, as apparently everyone he met knew exactly who he was. Even disembodied voices in adjoining dungeons, it seemed.

'And you would be…?' He was aware of how incredibly pompous he sounded, but the proper etiquette of introducing oneself to a fellow prisoner in the underground lair of a clearly criminal but disturbingly erotic evil genius currently eluded him.

'Uh… it's Xander. Xander Harris? We worked together a while back, before the… thing in L.A.' Even through the partition wall Wesley could hear the uncertainty in the other's voice.

'Oh, yes. The firefighter.'

There was a soft sound from Xander, which might have been a whimper.

'They make me do it. If I don't go on stage, Faith gets to play with me.'

Wesley felt a wave of sympathy for the poor fellow. He was all too aware of the sorts of games Faith liked to indulge in. Burned in his memory in more than one sense of the word.

'But you're here now.' He spoke as if Wesley was the second coming. 'No matter how bad things got, we always knew you'd come. Angel said you'd come.'

'You were with Angel?' Wesley tried unsuccessfully to sound casually disinterested.

'We were a trio. Me, Spike and Angel. Had the best strip routine outside of Vegas.' Xander sounded a little wistful. 'Until Angel got kidnapped and Spike managed to escape. At least he showed some initiative. I just cowered in my cell.' Wesley could hear the self disgust in his voice.

'Come now, Xander. You can't beat yourself up over it.'

'No, I let Faith do that.'

'Bout time you put a stop to that, then, Xan?' The new voice, carrying from the corridor outside surprised them both.

'Spike? That you?'

Wesley had not actually met the other vampire. But had read the details of William the Bloody's career with as much interest as that of Angelus. His curiosity had been piqued when he had sneaked into his father's library to read through his watcher diaries. The Vienna orphanage massacre had immediately captured his attention. Hardly daring to believe that his father was capable of failure. He had been so absorbed in the tale that he had not noticed his father's presence in the library until a heavy hand had fallen on his shoulder and a painful reminder of the forbidden status of these books was duly delivered.

But he had never forgotten the vampire who had outwitted his father, and Spike lore had become an almost hobby of his. The last he had heard the vampire with the chip had been working with Buffy and her friends in Sunnydale. He wondered how this down the rabbit hole version would compare to the demon he had read so much of in his youth.

'Who were you expecting, James bleeding Bond?' Spike sounded slightly exasperated, and Wesley couldn't prevent the sudden and worryingly manic giggle that escaped him.

'Come on, Xander, we haven't got all day. If Pussy and her girls find out I'm here, we're kitty litter.'

Wesley heard a key turn in the lock and the cell door swung open to reveal a slight figure dressed in black. The darkness of his clothing only served to emphasise the pale blonde of his bleached hair. Spike gazed at him coolly, then cocked his head to one side.

'Pryce. Got to say I'm surprised. After what went down in L.A. I didn't think you'd be looking to find Angel. But live and let live, and all that.' He jerked his head impatiently. 'You coming, or what?'

Wesley slid off the bed and followed the other man out the door of the cell. He wondered again if there was anyone in this bloody mirrorverse who didn't know what had happened in L.A. He was beginning to think it was probably required reading for entrance into college. "What happened in L.A. between Angel and Wesley 101 – the basics". Maybe he could get a copy of the syllabus.

In the dimly lit corridor he saw Xander slumped against the wall, his arm curved protectively around his midriff. Spike went to him; carefully wrapping an arm around his side and running his fingers over his ribs.

'Broken again?' His voice was now roughly tender, and Xander leaned into the gentle touch, his body sagging a little. He managed to shake his head.

'Just bruised this time. She had a new toy to play with.' Xander looked over at Wesley, with unexpected empathy.

'You okay, Pryce?' Spike turned his gaze briefly to Wesley, who waved away the sympathy with the bandaged hand.

'As Xander says, just bruised. Although I have a feeling she has more sinister plans for me.'

'All the more reason for us to get out of here. Are you good to walk, Xan?'

A brief nod, and Xander pulled himself upright, still clinging to Spike's shoulder for dear life.

Spike supported him with one arm and then looked down at his feet, clearing his throat nervously.

'Er… what about dancing?'

He should never have agreed to this. It would never work. It was all a horrible, terrible mistake and he should just go back to his cell and wait for Faith to come and torture him some more. It couldn't be any worse than this.

He glanced over at the others, who were putting the finishing touches to their costumes. All three of them were dressed in black tuxedos and Spike was biting his tongue in concentration as he tied the bow tie under Xander's chin.

'Are you sure about this, Spike? I really am the most dreadful dancer.'

'You couldn't be any worse than Angel, honestly.' Spike adjusted the tie expertly and ran a hand over his own slicked back hair. 'Nothing to it, Pryce. Just follow my lead and try and stay in time with the beat.'

The mention of Angel prompted him to boldness. 'What happened to Angel? He was here with you before, yes?'

Spike fixed him with a look, as if weighing something in his mind. Finally he gave a small shrug and answered.

'They came for him. That English guy with all the issues.' A pause. 'The one that had the big history with Angel.' He glanced up expectantly.

Wesley had no clue who Spike was talking about. 'This Englishman, does he have a name?'

The look Spike threw him was of disgusted disbelief.

'Fine, Pryce. You want to play it that way, that's fine with me.' He went back to fiddling with Xander's bow tie.

Wesley sighed inwardly. He was never going to find out what had happened in L.A. if he got this reaction each time he tried for information. He adjusted his own tie and eyed himself in the mirror. Xander appeared behind him, a conciliatory smile on his lips.

'Got to lose the glasses, Pryce. They don't really fit the secret agent look.' He leaned in and removed the spectacles carefully. A huge dizzying wave of terror suddenly engulfed Wesley.

the slick of blood sliding through his fingers and the smell of dark wet earth cradling his cheek

'Pryce! Hey, Wesley!'

The voices seemed far away, rough with panic and unplanned solicitude. Wesley opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the floor of the dressing room, curled against the wall. His glasses lay discarded on the floor, one lens now cracked beyond repair.

'You okay? You zoned out on us there for a minute.' Xander offered him his hand and Wesley took it gratefully, pulling himself to a standing position.

'I'm fine. Really.' He brushed his hand over his lapels, obscurely embarrassed by the unaccustomed concern. 'We're all ready, then?' he said, determined to deflect their attention away from him.

'As we'll ever be.' Spike slipped a small snub-nosed gun into the waistband of his trousers. Wesley remembered the forcible removal of his own Walther PPK earlier in the evening.

'You wouldn't happen to have another of those, would you?' he asked.

Spike reached over to the dressing table and opened a drawer, fishing out two identical guns.

'Props.' He sounded apologetic. 'That's the best I can do. You'll just have to look convincing.'

Wesley slid the gun into the holster at his waistband and pulled his jacket across. He truly wasn't sure he could do this. Spike had explained the routine, and he vaguely remembered watching the show in the sixth form common room at school. But if their escape plan depended on an accurate performance of the strip routine, then he should prepare himself for a life of captivity.

'Once upon a time...'

The lights were blinding, the heat almost unbearable, and the raw scent of pheromones in the room was positively feral. These were women who knew exactly what they wanted.

'There were three beautiful boys who went to the Police Academy, and they were each assigned very hazardous duties…'

Wesley swung his hips in what he hoped was a teasingly seductive manner, and pulled his fake gun out of his holster. There was a frighteningly animalistic howl of pleasure and the crowd surged closer to the stage.

'But I took them away from all that, and now they work for me. My name is Charlie…'

On cue, the music began and Spike gyrated to the centre of the stage, pulling the bow tie from his neck and tossing it into the undulating mass. There were screams as the garment was ripped in two.

Wesley swallowed and began to undo his own tie. He shouldn't really have worried about the whole dancing scenario. They weren't exactly fussy about the routine. All the crowd really wanted was naked Spike, Xander and Wesley. And they didn't much care how they got that way.

Spike was the most convincing of the three of them. He actually seemed to be enjoying the attention, and was playing to the crowd, sliding his jacket off his shoulders slowly, then trailing the garment across the stage. Xander was performing the routine mechanically, his eyes glazed as if blanking out the actual experience. But at least he looked semi-professional. Wesley was aware that he looked completely ridiculous. He had managed to remove his tie and jacket, and was now working on his trousers. Unfortunately he had forgotten about his shoes.

One trouser leg was now completely entangled around his oxford brogue, hampering his progress considerably. Spike removed his own trousers effortlessly and flung them into the crowd, then threw Wesley a look of sheer exasperation. Wesley lip-read his instruction as 'Shoes off, you bloody idiot,' and returned a hapless 'What do you think I'm trying to do!' just as several spectators decided on some impromptu audience participation. Wesley landed on his backside with a bump and was currently being hauled to the edge of the stage by the hem of his trouser leg.

'Help me!'

His plea went unheard, but the utter desperation in his face must have been obvious, as Spike frowned in frustration and pulled his gun, firing a couple of rounds into the air.

The effect was immediate and profound. The initial hush that came over the audience at the sound of gunfire was quickly abandoned in favour of outraged disapproval. The doors at the top of the auditorium opened and several leather cat-suited female security personnel entered the room, carrying what appeared to be laser guns. They raised their weapons and aimed towards the stage.

Wesley managed to fish the cigarette case out of his trouser pocket and deflect the laser beam that was directed at him. The beam ricocheted off the highly polished surface and connected instead with the huge chandelier in the centre of the ornate ceiling. There was an almighty crash as a several hundred kilos of brass and crystal landed directly on top of the security guards.

'Nice one, mate!' Spike seemed to be in his element, dressed only in shirt and boxers, alternating between firing his gun at the few remaining security guards and punching anyone that got past the bullets. Even Xander seemed to have woken up, and was swinging his fists at the now less than enthusiastic crowd. The auditorium was in disarray. Most of the male waiters had taken advantage of the attack and were now whacking security guards over the head with their trays.

Wesley struggled with his recalcitrant trousers and finally managed to pull them up around his waist. He buttoned them quickly and turned to see Spike firing a discarded laser gun with gleeful abandon.

'Best fun I've had in ages,' he mouthed, and tossed Wesley the pistol he'd been using. Then he jerked his head and motioned for him to move closer.

'Angel's in L.A. I was going to go rescue him, but I had to come back for Xander first. You know how it is…' he smiled knowingly at Wesley and pulled a card out of his shirt pocket. 'They're holding him here.'

Wesley took the proffered card and placed it in his own pocket. 'Thank you. What about you?'

Spike waved his hand at the scene of wanton destruction around them and grinned. 'Think we've got unfinished business here. Some old scores to settle.'

Buffy and Faith. Fair enough. Wesley grabbed his jacket and held his hand out to Xander, who gave it a friendly slap.

'Good luck, Pryce. And be careful.' Wesley read something in the dark eyes that he didn't quite understand, but this wasn't the time for deep and meaningful exchanges.

'Cover me,' he yelled above the whine of the laser beams. The others nodded and he jumped off the stage and ran out of a door at the side of the auditorium.

He was in a corridor, some sort of emergency exit, he presumed. All he had to do was find a door to the alleyway behind the casino and he would home free. He rounded a corner and realized there was another proviso for domicile liberty. That he would not run face first into Pussy Willow.

'Mr Pryce. You're leaving so soon? Just when the fun's beginning.'

She was putting up a convincing display of bravado, but he could tell the revolt in the auditorium had shaken her. He summoned up all his courage and pulled out the gun Spike had given him.

'Step away from the door, Pussy.' He kept his voice low, in an effort to hide the tremble he knew was there.

She curled her lip in a sneer. 'Oh my, what a big gun you've got. You've got me shaking in my boots.'

She slapped the gun out of his hand and it skittered to the floor several feet away.

'You men are all the same. Hiding your impotence behind pathetic phallic symbols.' She took a step towards him, her breath suddenly on his cheek. 'Just so you know, I'm not impressed. Haven't been for some time.'

He wasn't sure what made him do it. Perhaps it was the last shred of his sanity going for the big finish before it left the building completely. He seized her hair firmly and pulled back, forcing her to lean away from him. Then slid his other arm under her leather clad waist and held her steady.

'Oh, do be quiet, Pussy,' he admonished, planting his mouth over her protestations and kissing her firmly. When he pulled back, she was silent for a few moments, her cheeks almost as red as her hair.

'How dare you… I didn't… I mean… that wasn't… you shouldn't… you think you're very clever, don't you?' she finally finished, and she couldn't prevent her hand fluttering up to her lips.

Wesley pushed the emergency exit open and stepped into the cool night air. She made no effort to stop him. He turned to her, kissed his hand, and mimed blowing it to her.

'Actually, yes.'

He turned and headed back towards the parking lot. Wondering what the hell he was going to find in L.A., then comforting himself with the thought that whatever it was it couldn't possibly be any stranger than anything he had already endured.

On consideration, it was more of a prayer than a thought, really.