A/N: ::gasp:: A dramatic turn of events ensues!

Little Devil, Little Angel

Chapter Five - Playing With Fire


"You shouldn't do that." Angel crossed his arms uneasily. "It's wrong."

Angelus smirked and flicked the lighter again, delighting in his reward of flame. He strutted over to his soulful companion, moving more gracefully than anyone ever should in his little leather pants.

"Then why aren't you stopping me?"

Angel cocked his head to the side, eyes dazedly hooked on the tiny blaze of fire that spurted from the lighter. "Because it's pretty."

"You set Mommy on fire once. Dru, too." Ever since Spike's story, Angelus had become accustomed to fondly referring to his former paramour as 'Mommy'.

Angel nodded his head guiltily. "I did."

Angelus gave Angel's hand an affectionate pat. "It's okay. I told you to do it."

The two little boys settled down on the floor of the dilapidated hotel room, their sharp little eyes roaming around in the dark.

"Will's gonna be mad that you stole his lighter," Angel informed his twin.

"He's going to be mad that you didn't stop me."

"Wes is going to be mad that we wandered off. We should go back downstairs."

Angelus merely snorted in response, shaking his head at his twin's need to please. The fire was pretty, Angel had said so himself. If they went back downstairs, they wouldn't be allowed to play with the fire anymore. This is why Angelus thought Angel was stupid. Clearly, it would be more fun to play with their boy's fire now and get in trouble later; if trouble happened along. Trouble was fun. Angelus liked trouble. He also liked the really pretty flame.

"Your fashionably evil burgundy button down's on fire," Angel calmly informed his accomplice.

Wide eyes stared at the burning shirt.

"You should probably scream now," Angel added.

Angelus screamed.


Angelus liked fire and Angelus liked trouble.

What Angelus did not like was the trouble fire caused to his personal being.

Thus Angelus wailed. Long and hard.

"Shhh."

Gentle hands wrapped a wet washcloth around the burned area of his forearm.

"S'not that bad, tidbit. Could be a lot worse."

Angelus continued to wail.

"Vampires are allergic to fire," Angel said from the floor, tugging on Spike's pantleg. Angelus was on the counter getting all of the attention. It wasn't fair.

"They most certainly are," Spike replied absently.

"I guess that's why Angelus shouldn't have stolen your lighter, huh?"

Spike looked down for a moment, quirking an eyebrow at the good version of his mini-sire. "Among other things."

"He shouldn't have stolen your lighter because it was yours."

"Very good."

"And stealing is wrong."

Spike smirked. "Yeah, but 's fun." Angelus choked on a sob, regaining his childe's attention. "Don't worry, Bitty Sire. This burn should heal up right quick. You're a strong, evil, little boy, yeah?"

Angelus nodded his head vigorously, trying to wipe away his infinite amount of tears.

That's when Lorne sauntered in, carrying a ice cube tray littered with vertical popsicle sticks.

"Treats for my little sweetcheeks," he grinned. Then noticing the crying little Angelus, added, "And my little...evilcheeks." He knelt next to Angel, who tentatively grabbed the end of a popsicle stick. He was surprised to find a crimson block of ice at the end.

"I like to call them bloodsicles," Lorne said thoughtfully. "Give it a lick."

The good little soldier popped the block into his mouth and smiled appreciatively at his green friend.

"Ah. We have a winner." He straightened and held the tray out to the sobbing Angelus. "And one for my heinous little burn victim?" A shaky little hand grasped the end of the wooden stick. Before an inevitable spill, Spike snatched the crude interpretation of a popsicle up and held it to Angelus's little mouth. The little boy went tight-lipped.

"C'mon, tidbit. In comes the innocent, little infant. Mummy's already dead. Time to finish off the offspring." Seeing as that didn't work, Spike added, "Vroom vroom," and wouldn't you know it, the gates opened.

And the crying stopped.

Spike blinked, turned to Lorne, and said, "You're a bloody genius."

Lorne beamed. "Don't I know it."

"I mean really...you're a bloody clever one."

Lorne smiled. "I know."

"No, you don't get it. You're so soddin' smar-"

Blood in its solid form was surprisingly tasty.

"I know, sugar." Lorne felt a tug on his pantleg and looked down to see little Angel looking pitifully up at him, messy red lips and all. "Hey, Angelcakes," the green songster smiled, ruffling the tyke's hair.

"Hi, Lorne!" Angel smiled, but Lorne wasn't paying attention anymore. "I told him playing with fire was bad."

"That's great, 'Cakes."

Angel frowned.

"Then I saved the world from radioactively enlarged turtles who were hellbent on world domination."

"Hmm? Fabulous."

"Then I-"

"Are you okay here, Spike? I need to get going. It's Sinatra night at Caritas. All Sinatra. All the time."

Angel pouted as the two adults conversed. Nobody was paying attention to him and he was the GOOD one. Why did he always get the short end of the stick? Whatever that meant anyway. He was the ANGEL of Angel Investigations. The hero. The CHAMPION.

His little hand reached carefully into Spike's duster and enclosed around the lighter.

He'd set Mommy on fire once. Dru, too.

He stared quizzically down at the lighter in his little palm.

Stealing was bad. But it was fun. That's what Will had said.

"Angel?"

His little arms swivelled around his back.

"Yes, Will?"

"Fetch the first aid kit from the kitchen, will you?"

Angelus got all the attention. The tables needed turning....or something.

And Angel would turn those tables. Angel would get the attention. Angel would be ::gasp:: bad.

Just as soon as he fetched the first aid kit.


TBC...

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