Chapter Two
Spike's POV
When I get bored, I get destructive. It comes with the territory, y'know? I'm a vampire, and as such, it's my instinct to cause carnage and ruin wherever I happen to go. Kills me to just sit around and watch Detective Peaches and his insipid droogs laugh over coffee and donuts and a mug o' warm blood. Makes me wanna go grrrrr and fly at 'em all fists an' fangs and malicious intent…
"Spike, stop tapping your foot. There's going to be a hole in the floor and then we'll never get any clients and if I don't get paid, you're going down, Blood Breath!"
That Cordelia certainly knows how to control her oxygen intake if she can put that many words into one bloody sentence without taking a single breath. I'm glad my mind knows no limits…
"Can I have a donut?" I sighed, bringing my leg underneath me as to remove the temptation. Not that I cared that I was annoying the silly bint, but the mick was shooting the poof this look that screamed "stake him now", and I'm pretty sure Angel likes both of them more than he likes me.
Speaking of the poof, will you look at that hair? I'm almost ashamed to call him my sire. Well, he's not REALLY my sire, but he did train me and I guess that's what counts these days and ages. Dru really couldn't gimme the time of day - she was too busy lookin' at all those soddin' stars. She had better conversations with them than she did with me for God's sake.
Stupid Dru and her dark hair and her Dark Queen eyes and her stupid Miss. Edith. I hope she's alone right now. Alone and sad and cryin' with no one left to torture her.
Oh, baby…why did you leave me?
"No, Spike."
"Why not?"
"The last thing we need is Mr. I Have ADHD So I'm Going To Kill You All For Fun And Play In Your Blood on a sugar high," said Cordelia, pointedly closing the pink box of delicious donuts so they were out of sight. "And just so you know, they were jelly-filled."
"I like custard," I pouted, slouching down in my seat and folding my arms over my chest. You see, this works. You can't tell me it doesn't. Peaches is going to give in any second…
"God, what are you? Five?"
Just give it another mo'…he's lookin' real sympathetic and soulful…
"Cordelia…"
OI! Here it comes!
"Yes, Angel?"
"Can I have a donut?"
Despite how rash and impulsive I am, I maintained enough self-control at that moment to not launch myself off the sofa and rip his throat out. Instead, I sulked more. I've become good at sulking since Dru left…well, I've always been good at sulking, but I've gotten even better.
I watched as my ridiculously good-hearted sire picked out the only custard donut and shoved it into his mouth, keeping eye contact with me the whole bleedin' time.
Doyle snorted, but had the decency to hide his laughter behind his hand. I have the feelin' the man drinks like a fish. Maybe one day before I nobly and savagely tear my fangs into his neck and drain him of all his life force, we can go drinking together. That could be a good spot of fun, right there.
For some reason, the poof never ceases to surprise me. After the initial bite and the ridicule that followed, he gave me his slobbery leftovers, which consisted of pretty much all of the donut and 100% of the nummy custard filling. After a right good glare at Mr. I Have Froofy Hair, I greedily inhaled the treat; and for Cordelia's benefit only, I noisily and disgustingly sucked all of the remaining sweetness from my fingers.
"Ew."
I flashed her a smile.
"Jus' for you, Milady."
She wrinkled her nose in apparent revulsion, but you just know I'd charmed her knickers off.
There's a problem with custard-filled donuts: they aren't exactly what vampires consider a meal. This was confirmed when my stomach gave an absurd rumble – like thunder, really. My stomach's just like a big beastie that doesn't know its place and really doesn't want to know and wouldn't care if it did know. Just like me.
"M' hungry," I announced, giving my sire the most demanding look I could muster, which was pretty bloody demanding. Being a master vampire makes it most important to acquire a line of authoritative facial expressions – I think I'm most accomplished in this area.
"You just ate a donut," the mick pointed out.
Authority fled from my face to be replaced by childish indignance. I can't help this. I'm rash and impulsive and I've been told that I'm an eternal teenager, but I've killed anyone who's been stupid enough to tell me that to my face.
"M' a vampire!" I reminded him…and despite all of my thoughts about being a vampire, this suddenly brought me to a revelation: I. Am. A. Vampire. "Hey, wait a second…yeah." And with that, I got up and turned a mouthful of fangs on the fair Cordelia, who screamed and threw a fistful of pens at me.
I couldn't believe that he was about to eat Cordelia. Not that I had started to trust him or anything – he's a brutal killer, but he had just been sitting there like a bored kid hungry for a donut. Then he was about to sink his fangs into her tan, pretty little neck and who could blame him? All that luscious, sweet, red, warm blood just pumping beneath that perfectly maintained, soft, smooth skin…
Wait a second. BAD ANGEL.
Note to self: do not think about friends as if they were tasty morsels.
"Angel, if he's goin' ta go all kill-happy on us, I don' think it's a smart idea ta keep 'im around…" Doyle said as gently as he could. And I knew just what he was implying.
Stake Spike. Get rid of the problem. I couldn't do that.
"I can't do that."
I couldn't. I just couldn't. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't…wouldn't.
Most importantly, I wouldn't.
I won't.
I can't.
We were downstairs, in my apartment. Spike was on my bed, manacled around the ankles, bare-chested and beaten and unconscious. His lips were dry, cracked, and bloody and there was a purple bruise on his pretty cheek. My childe. My beautiful, bruised boy.
He's caught in a tangle of burgundy sheets – freshly changed after the earlier blood-spilling hijinks. With a sigh, I settle myself next to him and smooth them out and out of old habit, tuck him in. I'm not really in the mood to care if I'm staining more sheets. I'm staining them. Not him. I made him bloody. He bloodies the sheets. It's the way it's meant to be: the chain and tradition of sire and childe that has been followed for centuries. Sire beats childe. Childe bloodies sheets. Sire doesn't care because he's gone soft…
Stupid soul.
"Angel, he tried to eat me." Cordelia just couldn't seem to stress that enough.
"That means he likes you," I told her and it sounded, even to me, like I was talking to a dimwitted child. "He didn't mean anything by it."
"Angel!" This time, she smacked my arm. Hard. It actually kind of hurt. "I know that he's your…childe, or whatever. But you can't risk our lives this way. He's evil, Angel. He's not like you. He doesn't have a soul. And furthermore, you don't pay me enough to let that little bastard suck on my neck!"
It was true enough. I couldn't let him hurt Cordelia. Or Doyle. They were my friends. But I couldn't let him go off hunting people, either. That would be taking quite a few steps back. I would be destroying the mission if I housed a murderous, ravenous vampire.
But he had to stay. He needed to stay. I needed him to stay.
So stay he will. I just won't let him feed off of humans. He's my childe, he'll do as I say. He'll know his place by the time I'm through.
Aww…he's mumbling in his sleep.
How cute.
TBC…REVIEW!!!!!