LOS ANGELES
"You like that, don't you, Pet?" Spike taunted Illyria as she continued to beat on him. She punched him, and then he went flying, landing across the room, face down. He heard her heels clicking against the floor, and he started to rise up off of the floor but Illyria had pressed a foot down on his back, increasing the pressure until Spike was certain he heard something snap.
"Cracked a rib, Luv," Spike lifted his head higher off the floor. The next thing he knew, she had yanked him up by his duster, and held him directly over her head.
"You speak to me as if I am your play toy," she said. "You've got these thoughts wrong. You are my toy, my puppet."
"Actually, that was Angel. Funny thing, really," Spike started to explain, but Angel entered the room at that moment, looking at documents in his hand, Wesley at his side.
"How are things progressing?" Wes asked Illyria, who, in turn, let go of Spike.
Illyria clapped her hands twice, "He's fun. Like a puppy," she analyzed, recalling those furry critters she had seen on that thing called a television. Spike growled at her comparison, only further delighting Illyria. "He growls, bites, tries to fight back but can be easily tossed around. I want to keep him," she said with glee.
"Oh, balls. Terminator thinks I'm hers," Spike grumbled. Mentioning his all of a sudden thirst, he exited the room.
"So, how is Gunn doing?" Wes asked Angel, not so much as out of concern as curiosity. Gunn was now out of the hospital, but Wes and he avoided each other whenever they could.
"Still feels guilty as h-e double hockey sticks," Lorne answered as he came into the room. He took off his sunglasses and placed them in the breast pocked of his shirt. "Honeycakes has been catatonic lately, ever since he got back. Who could blame him? Poor guy."
"Um, Angel?" Harmony called into the room from where she stood in the doorway. "Willow's on the phone. She wants to speak to Fred. Should I tell her she's dead?"
"No, I'll take the call," Angel walked back to his office.
Gunn sat at his desk, playing with a pen, his eyes on the framed photo that sat on his desk, of him, Fred, Wes and Cordelia the night they'd gone out to see the play.
Cordy was dead. Fred was too, and it was his fault. If he hadn't been so obsessed with obtaining all the regulation codes and laws, this wouldn't have happened.
The phone rang, and its shrill jarred Gunn out of his thoughts. A moment later, he saw that the call had been transferred over to his office. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Mr. Gunn? Um, hi. It's Connor Conceitti. I got the flowers and card, and I wanted to say thanks."
"Hey bro, it's the least I could do. Anything you need, I'm your man. I'm just curious as to why you didn't press charges."
"Well, you were really nice, and you were sober. I wasn't lying on my deathbed in the hospital or anything. And I'm not mad. But listen, about that favor you mentioned in the card? Well, I'd like to cash my I.O.U. in."
Gunn listened as Connor explained his request.
HOPE IT DIDN'T SOUND SISSY WITH CONNOR THANKING HIM FOR THE FLOWERS.
"You like that, don't you, Pet?" Spike taunted Illyria as she continued to beat on him. She punched him, and then he went flying, landing across the room, face down. He heard her heels clicking against the floor, and he started to rise up off of the floor but Illyria had pressed a foot down on his back, increasing the pressure until Spike was certain he heard something snap.
"Cracked a rib, Luv," Spike lifted his head higher off the floor. The next thing he knew, she had yanked him up by his duster, and held him directly over her head.
"You speak to me as if I am your play toy," she said. "You've got these thoughts wrong. You are my toy, my puppet."
"Actually, that was Angel. Funny thing, really," Spike started to explain, but Angel entered the room at that moment, looking at documents in his hand, Wesley at his side.
"How are things progressing?" Wes asked Illyria, who, in turn, let go of Spike.
Illyria clapped her hands twice, "He's fun. Like a puppy," she analyzed, recalling those furry critters she had seen on that thing called a television. Spike growled at her comparison, only further delighting Illyria. "He growls, bites, tries to fight back but can be easily tossed around. I want to keep him," she said with glee.
"Oh, balls. Terminator thinks I'm hers," Spike grumbled. Mentioning his all of a sudden thirst, he exited the room.
"So, how is Gunn doing?" Wes asked Angel, not so much as out of concern as curiosity. Gunn was now out of the hospital, but Wes and he avoided each other whenever they could.
"Still feels guilty as h-e double hockey sticks," Lorne answered as he came into the room. He took off his sunglasses and placed them in the breast pocked of his shirt. "Honeycakes has been catatonic lately, ever since he got back. Who could blame him? Poor guy."
"Um, Angel?" Harmony called into the room from where she stood in the doorway. "Willow's on the phone. She wants to speak to Fred. Should I tell her she's dead?"
"No, I'll take the call," Angel walked back to his office.
Gunn sat at his desk, playing with a pen, his eyes on the framed photo that sat on his desk, of him, Fred, Wes and Cordelia the night they'd gone out to see the play.
Cordy was dead. Fred was too, and it was his fault. If he hadn't been so obsessed with obtaining all the regulation codes and laws, this wouldn't have happened.
The phone rang, and its shrill jarred Gunn out of his thoughts. A moment later, he saw that the call had been transferred over to his office. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Mr. Gunn? Um, hi. It's Connor Conceitti. I got the flowers and card, and I wanted to say thanks."
"Hey bro, it's the least I could do. Anything you need, I'm your man. I'm just curious as to why you didn't press charges."
"Well, you were really nice, and you were sober. I wasn't lying on my deathbed in the hospital or anything. And I'm not mad. But listen, about that favor you mentioned in the card? Well, I'd like to cash my I.O.U. in."
Gunn listened as Connor explained his request.
HOPE IT DIDN'T SOUND SISSY WITH CONNOR THANKING HIM FOR THE FLOWERS.