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(A/N): Woohoo! I got reviews! Keep 'em coming please!!! Man, I loved "You're Welcome." It pretty much haunted me for a few days, filling my head with ideas... This story definitely has spoilers so for those who don't wanna be spoiled, don't read! You can still review though. Just say "hi" or whatever. Oh yeah, and if I put Doyle or Lindsey, you know the deal. Lindsey's using Doyle's name. Personally I'm a little put off with putting Doyle's name. Too sad.
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Chapter 3: A Champion Reluctant
A few blocks away from the hospital, Spike was sitting alone at the table next to the kitchen area. His eyes were fixed on the floor, lost in his own thoughts as the humming of the microwave stops abruptly, settling on a loud 'Beep' that only slightly riles the vampire out of his reverie. Sighing, Spike stood up from his chair and moved slowly towards the microwave. Gingerly, he took out the mug of freshly nuked blood, careful not to burst the stitches that were currently keeping his arms together.
'Damned vampire super-healing is taking its bloody time to kick in.' Spike mumbled as he searched the cupboard for the bendy straws that Fred had sheepishly given him. 'That was embarrassing. Did she have to make them multi-colored?' Spike found the straws and picked a neon-green one, throwing it in his mug, causing a gentle 'plunk' sound to break the deafening silence. For a little while he just stared at the mug of blood, lost in thought. He absentmindedly started scratching the stitches, hidden under the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. 'Small price to for redemption, I guess' Spike thought, sullenly. Ever since the man Spike knew as "Doyle" told him he would have to take old Grandpa's place as "Champion", Spike did a lot of...reflecting. Not brooding! R-E-F-L-E-C-T-I-N- G. He wasn't that much like Angel, yet.
'Dammit. I'm Spike. Big Bad, either as a Blonde or Brunette. Handsome, intelligent, undead bachelor. I'm too damn cool to be stuck in the roll of "Straight-and-Narrow-Stick-Up-My-Ass Captain!!!!! Shot down in my bad-ass prime... Forced to leave my bitchin', "Aloofitude" behind. Now I gotta care!' Spike's face contorted in disgust at the thought. 'God, this sucks. Yea, kicking evil ass, always a plus but being all Night In Shining Armorish? Ugh! I'm sick just thinking about it.'
Sighing, Spike walked over to the TV and started to comb through the stack of video games he...commandeered... the last time he went window-shopping. 'There's another thing I'll 'ave to stop doing if I wanna be an apt champion... stealing.' Spike thought, glumly. He was, undeniably, too old to be a child of the computer generation but that didn't stop him from getting ever Nintendo game system ever made, including the small, purple Nintendo Gamecube that sat below his TV in a small section of the TV stand... He only got Nintendo caused he loved Mario... He finally decided to play Return of the King but couldn't stop the shudder of horror and humiliation at the memory of Andrew's heartfelt blather.
"He's alive Frodo. He's alive." Andrew's voice was stuck in his head and a low growl escaped when he remembered Angel smirking. 'Nobody else may have seen it but I know Angel's moods better than anyone else does. Compared to his other sullen dispositions he was giggling like a bleeding schoolgirl.' After loading the disk into the system, he plopped down on the couch, waiting for the credits to end. After careful consideration he decided to play as Legolas, seeing as 'The twin knives are bloody brilliant. They do deal out the most carnage.' Although he was enthralled with the game, he still noticed the presence of 'Tattoo Boy', himself.
"Bloody hell." Spike sighed, continuing to press buttons without looking up at his intruder. "Really should knock on a bloke's door... especially one that's got no qualms about killing trespassers." Spike heard the smirk in Lindsey's voice. "Come on." Lindsey sat on the couch beside Spike. "Is that any way to talk to your benefactor? Just a little concerned about you. You haven't been out in the field lately." Spike rolled his eyes. "In case you haven't been keeping up with the sports pages, I got my bloody hands hacked off by that deranged slayer you sent me after." Spike took the time off his game to point at "Doyle", accusingly.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but, hey, your good old buddies at Wolfram & Hart managed to reattach them just fine, huh? You can sit around here and play video games." Spike didn't miss Doyle's sarcastic tone but he couldn't find it in himself to care. "Rehab, mate. Working out the digits."
Spike wiggled his fingers in Doyle's face, using ever bit of control not to just flip him off, being the prick he is. Grinning to himself, he put down the controller and walked toward the refrigerator. "You got no idea how rotten this feels."
"Amazingly enough, I do. Yeah. Got my hand cut off a few years back. Line of duty. So believe me when I tell you, I can feel your pain." Spike looked back at him, eyebrow slightly raised. 'That's an interesting tidbit to remember.' Spike thought. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. "Well, half of it, anyway. I'll give you that." He opened the beer. "Don't forget you got a job to do." Lindsey pressed on. Spike sat back on the couch and sipped his beer. "The powers that be are counting on their champion." Spike stopped in mid-swig of his beer, still unsure of being the PTB's 'champion'. Hesitantly, Spike started playing the game again. 'Champion, yeah right. It takes a certain amount of finesse and self-righteousness to be one of those. Like Angel.' Doyle stopped spike's train of thought. "So are all the other helpless people..." Annoyed, Spike interrupted Doyle. "I don't need a pep talk, Doyle. I already plan on going out. You just get one of your visions to tell me when and where."
Spike more heard than saw the rather less-than-wholesome grin he gave Spike. "That's what like..." Doyle was interrupted when his cell phone rang. "That's what I like to hear." He got up and stood, walking a few feet away. Spike breathed a sigh of relief, not wanting to hear tattoo boy's yammering any longer. 'That's what he likes to hear... What a ponce! As if I'm some sorta puppy he can order around. If he's not careful he'll lose that other hand.' Spike mused darkly as he pictured Doyle's face on the Ghost King he just skewered with Legolas' twin knives. 'Hahaha, you Lone Ranger! Kinda hard to play the old "gee-tar" without your strumming hand, init?!' Spike's hands became more frantic as he sliced into the Ghost King with Doyle's head on the body. Unfortunately he never noticed the minions behind Leggy's back. "Oh Bleeding Hell, Sodding, No good Son of a Poofter! Grrrr!"
He threw the controls down and started rattling the TV and Gamecube. He didn't even notice when Lindsey put away his phone. He didn't stop abusing the TV until Lindsey groaned and held his head, leaving Spike to stare on as Lindsey had another vision. Gingerly, Lindsey got up and sat back on the couch, looking up into Spike's expectant face.
"Well, let's 'ave it, Midnight Cowboy. What damsel-in-distress will I be saving then be charming with my manliness and charisma?" Spike puffed out his chest and Doyle laughed, causing Spike to glare at him. "Actually, there's no damsel, just a possessed ex-seer of the PTB. I think you know her: Sunnydale valley-girl came here to make it Big but ended up as Angel's snarky secretary? Cordelia's back and she's eeeeeeeevil. Playing Angel like a chump ta cause chaos and wreak havoc...and...kick puppies! Ya know, all types a' evil-doer antics."
Spike rolled his eyes and grabbed his duster. "Whatever you say, mate. I'll check it out." Spike grabbed Lindsey by the arm and escorted him out. When they were in the hall Spike let go of Lindsey forearm and straightened out his jacket by the lapels. "You do that, champ." Lindsey turned around and left, leaving Spike to go to Wolfram & Hart to play the part of Forlorn, Nancy-Boy Good-doer.
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R&R Please
Next chapter: A Champion Realized: This is where the story begins to take a turn into the wacky... Yay!
(A/N): Woohoo! I got reviews! Keep 'em coming please!!! Man, I loved "You're Welcome." It pretty much haunted me for a few days, filling my head with ideas... This story definitely has spoilers so for those who don't wanna be spoiled, don't read! You can still review though. Just say "hi" or whatever. Oh yeah, and if I put Doyle or Lindsey, you know the deal. Lindsey's using Doyle's name. Personally I'm a little put off with putting Doyle's name. Too sad.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 3: A Champion Reluctant
A few blocks away from the hospital, Spike was sitting alone at the table next to the kitchen area. His eyes were fixed on the floor, lost in his own thoughts as the humming of the microwave stops abruptly, settling on a loud 'Beep' that only slightly riles the vampire out of his reverie. Sighing, Spike stood up from his chair and moved slowly towards the microwave. Gingerly, he took out the mug of freshly nuked blood, careful not to burst the stitches that were currently keeping his arms together.
'Damned vampire super-healing is taking its bloody time to kick in.' Spike mumbled as he searched the cupboard for the bendy straws that Fred had sheepishly given him. 'That was embarrassing. Did she have to make them multi-colored?' Spike found the straws and picked a neon-green one, throwing it in his mug, causing a gentle 'plunk' sound to break the deafening silence. For a little while he just stared at the mug of blood, lost in thought. He absentmindedly started scratching the stitches, hidden under the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. 'Small price to for redemption, I guess' Spike thought, sullenly. Ever since the man Spike knew as "Doyle" told him he would have to take old Grandpa's place as "Champion", Spike did a lot of...reflecting. Not brooding! R-E-F-L-E-C-T-I-N- G. He wasn't that much like Angel, yet.
'Dammit. I'm Spike. Big Bad, either as a Blonde or Brunette. Handsome, intelligent, undead bachelor. I'm too damn cool to be stuck in the roll of "Straight-and-Narrow-Stick-Up-My-Ass Captain!!!!! Shot down in my bad-ass prime... Forced to leave my bitchin', "Aloofitude" behind. Now I gotta care!' Spike's face contorted in disgust at the thought. 'God, this sucks. Yea, kicking evil ass, always a plus but being all Night In Shining Armorish? Ugh! I'm sick just thinking about it.'
Sighing, Spike walked over to the TV and started to comb through the stack of video games he...commandeered... the last time he went window-shopping. 'There's another thing I'll 'ave to stop doing if I wanna be an apt champion... stealing.' Spike thought, glumly. He was, undeniably, too old to be a child of the computer generation but that didn't stop him from getting ever Nintendo game system ever made, including the small, purple Nintendo Gamecube that sat below his TV in a small section of the TV stand... He only got Nintendo caused he loved Mario... He finally decided to play Return of the King but couldn't stop the shudder of horror and humiliation at the memory of Andrew's heartfelt blather.
"He's alive Frodo. He's alive." Andrew's voice was stuck in his head and a low growl escaped when he remembered Angel smirking. 'Nobody else may have seen it but I know Angel's moods better than anyone else does. Compared to his other sullen dispositions he was giggling like a bleeding schoolgirl.' After loading the disk into the system, he plopped down on the couch, waiting for the credits to end. After careful consideration he decided to play as Legolas, seeing as 'The twin knives are bloody brilliant. They do deal out the most carnage.' Although he was enthralled with the game, he still noticed the presence of 'Tattoo Boy', himself.
"Bloody hell." Spike sighed, continuing to press buttons without looking up at his intruder. "Really should knock on a bloke's door... especially one that's got no qualms about killing trespassers." Spike heard the smirk in Lindsey's voice. "Come on." Lindsey sat on the couch beside Spike. "Is that any way to talk to your benefactor? Just a little concerned about you. You haven't been out in the field lately." Spike rolled his eyes. "In case you haven't been keeping up with the sports pages, I got my bloody hands hacked off by that deranged slayer you sent me after." Spike took the time off his game to point at "Doyle", accusingly.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but, hey, your good old buddies at Wolfram & Hart managed to reattach them just fine, huh? You can sit around here and play video games." Spike didn't miss Doyle's sarcastic tone but he couldn't find it in himself to care. "Rehab, mate. Working out the digits."
Spike wiggled his fingers in Doyle's face, using ever bit of control not to just flip him off, being the prick he is. Grinning to himself, he put down the controller and walked toward the refrigerator. "You got no idea how rotten this feels."
"Amazingly enough, I do. Yeah. Got my hand cut off a few years back. Line of duty. So believe me when I tell you, I can feel your pain." Spike looked back at him, eyebrow slightly raised. 'That's an interesting tidbit to remember.' Spike thought. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. "Well, half of it, anyway. I'll give you that." He opened the beer. "Don't forget you got a job to do." Lindsey pressed on. Spike sat back on the couch and sipped his beer. "The powers that be are counting on their champion." Spike stopped in mid-swig of his beer, still unsure of being the PTB's 'champion'. Hesitantly, Spike started playing the game again. 'Champion, yeah right. It takes a certain amount of finesse and self-righteousness to be one of those. Like Angel.' Doyle stopped spike's train of thought. "So are all the other helpless people..." Annoyed, Spike interrupted Doyle. "I don't need a pep talk, Doyle. I already plan on going out. You just get one of your visions to tell me when and where."
Spike more heard than saw the rather less-than-wholesome grin he gave Spike. "That's what like..." Doyle was interrupted when his cell phone rang. "That's what I like to hear." He got up and stood, walking a few feet away. Spike breathed a sigh of relief, not wanting to hear tattoo boy's yammering any longer. 'That's what he likes to hear... What a ponce! As if I'm some sorta puppy he can order around. If he's not careful he'll lose that other hand.' Spike mused darkly as he pictured Doyle's face on the Ghost King he just skewered with Legolas' twin knives. 'Hahaha, you Lone Ranger! Kinda hard to play the old "gee-tar" without your strumming hand, init?!' Spike's hands became more frantic as he sliced into the Ghost King with Doyle's head on the body. Unfortunately he never noticed the minions behind Leggy's back. "Oh Bleeding Hell, Sodding, No good Son of a Poofter! Grrrr!"
He threw the controls down and started rattling the TV and Gamecube. He didn't even notice when Lindsey put away his phone. He didn't stop abusing the TV until Lindsey groaned and held his head, leaving Spike to stare on as Lindsey had another vision. Gingerly, Lindsey got up and sat back on the couch, looking up into Spike's expectant face.
"Well, let's 'ave it, Midnight Cowboy. What damsel-in-distress will I be saving then be charming with my manliness and charisma?" Spike puffed out his chest and Doyle laughed, causing Spike to glare at him. "Actually, there's no damsel, just a possessed ex-seer of the PTB. I think you know her: Sunnydale valley-girl came here to make it Big but ended up as Angel's snarky secretary? Cordelia's back and she's eeeeeeeevil. Playing Angel like a chump ta cause chaos and wreak havoc...and...kick puppies! Ya know, all types a' evil-doer antics."
Spike rolled his eyes and grabbed his duster. "Whatever you say, mate. I'll check it out." Spike grabbed Lindsey by the arm and escorted him out. When they were in the hall Spike let go of Lindsey forearm and straightened out his jacket by the lapels. "You do that, champ." Lindsey turned around and left, leaving Spike to go to Wolfram & Hart to play the part of Forlorn, Nancy-Boy Good-doer.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
R&R Please
Next chapter: A Champion Realized: This is where the story begins to take a turn into the wacky... Yay!