Fireworks in November
Set early season 5 Angel with Spike still incorporeal and looking for ways to irritate Angel. Spike POV.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, but Joss doesn't mind us playing with them. The story has no commercial purpose.
"Hey, what y'all doing for Thanksgiving?"
Fred has this uncanny knack of sounding cheerful at an unreasonably early hour. Even after a characteristically dull meeting with Angel. Not that I don't like her, 'cos I do. She's the only one of this crowd that's actually put herself out to try and get me my body back. And I've always been a sucker for a pretty face.
The early morning meeting came to an end when Angel got called away a few minutes ago. The others are gathering their things and getting ready to go back to their phone calls or experiments or … whatever. And if I sound bitter, I probably am. Didn't really expect thanks for saving the world. I mean, I know that's not how it works, but I had expected something different to being trapped in LA, without a body, and with Angel for company. Still, it annoys the hell out of him, so there are some benefits.
Gunn's response to Fred is a mumbled "Nothing in particular," and Lorne's talking about some party or other he's been invited to.
"It's just, you see, I thought I'd do Thanksgiving this year. You know, at my place? It won't be up to my Mom's standard, but I can do dinner. So, who's interested?"
This time, Gunn replies instantly and with enthusiasm, while Lorne sounds plain grateful. Wes' acceptance sounds a little more subdued, but I don't think Fred notices that.
"Great, I've still got to invite Angel and Knox, and a couple of others. How about Harmony? I should invite her too, shouldn't I?"
The enthusiasm level from the others seems to drop a notch at that, but they try not to let on. I could persuade myself that it's Angel's potential brooding presence that made the difference, but I know it's a combination of Knox and Harmony that did it.
"How about you, Spike?" she asks, noticing that I hadn't responded.
"Thought the invite was limited to, you know, people who can actually eat."
"I'm sorry," she apologises. "I didn't think. Of course you don't want to be reminded …"
"Don't be sorry, Pet. I'd love to come. Even if it's only to watch Angel reminding himself that he's not allowed to enjoy himself."
"You sure?" She peers at me as if trying to read the truth on my face.
"Course I am," I reassure her.
"Good. I'll get back to you with details. It's still weeks away."
"Yeah," I agree.
And then, I'm alone, the others all scurrying off to their own parts of this infernal lair. So, do I go and spy on Angel or should I go and irritate one of the others? I make a decision to go and see Wes. There was something in the way he agreed to go that told me it was entirely for Fred's sake. Of course, he loves her, and he'd do just about anything for her, but going to spend Thanksgiving with her shouldn't be that much of a chore – especially before he realised Knox was going to be there. The man is … intriguing. I don't know what it is about him. He certainly doesn't match the popular impression of him back in Sunnydale – you know, a junior Giles without the balls. Doesn't mesh with how the rest of Angel's gang see him – or what I've seen so far. So, I'm curious.
I walk into Wes' office, through the wall. That's one little trick I'm going to miss if Fred does actually manage to sort me out.
Wes is sitting, apparently staring into space. I know I'm not exactly advertising my presence, but I'm surprised he doesn't notice me until I sit down opposite him.
"Oh, Spike. What can I do for you?"
Now I know that he's a tad distracted. That's way too polite a tone for him to use on me. I mean, he's got all Angel's prejudice to work from.
"Nothing. Just wondering what's got you so thoughtful."
"What? Nothing. Well, …"
"Yes?"
"Spike, you've spent a few years in the US, yes?"
"Y…es," I reply, not having any idea where this is going.
"So, do you, you know, celebrate Thanksgiving?"
"Not as such, no. I mean, I've always enjoyed a party, and if I'm invited …"
"But, left to yourself, you wouldn't bother."
"Well, that's true of more than Thanksgiving."
"Ok, but, when you go to Fred's, will it mean something to you?"
"Apart from the obvious, you mean. As a … what the Americans call 'a holiday'?"
"Exactly."
"Not a thing. I think with festivals like that, you sort of had to be brought up with them."
He smiles at me. "Good. I thought maybe it was just me. Angel seems to be into Thanksgiving, well, as much as he's into anything."
"Well, first, he's Irish, and they're a funny lot. Then again, it gives him another reason to brood, so it's right up his street."
The smile loses its warmth just a bit, but it doesn't turn very cold.
"There's always Christmas," I offer.
"Yes."
Now, there're any number of answers he could have given to my suggestion, but a one word 'yes' sounds like there's a lot more to it than you'd think.
"Spike?"
"Wes."
"Did you, … go away to school?"
"Board, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Yeah."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Hated every bloody minute."
"Oh."
"You?"
"Yes, on the whole." He smiles at that, but it's not directed at me.
He pauses again, apparently lost in thought for a moment.
"It wasn't perfect or anything, but …"
"Yeah?"
"It was the one place where I could … be good enough, even if it was only academically."
"The opposite for me," I admit. "I mean, the actual school work was ok. It was the rest of it. Before I got the fangs, let's just say I wasn't so good at standing up for myself."
"Oh, it was the same for me, but there were … compensations."
I'm not at all sure where all this is going, but I'm going to stay quiet and see.
"Christmas? That was always spent at home."
"Oh, and you didn't get on with them?"
"I couldn't even say that, exactly. Just that my father made it clear that I didn't measure up to what he expected of a son."
"So, Christmas isn't full of good memories."
"No."
"Is there another one? Another time of year that was good?"
He thinks about it for a moment, then whispers, "Yes."
He seems lost in a memory for a moment, then he elaborates. "Guy Fawkes."
Not sure what I expected, but still. Not my favourite time of year. Still feel a chill remembering that night at school, standing in the headmaster's office, the light of a bonfire in the village the only illumination visible from the window. Hearing the words, knowing that I had to be strong, but feeling like the whole world had ended. It's an awful way to hear your father's dead. I was twelve, and the headmaster wasn't someone who had any warmth in him. After he gave the news in stark terms he lectured me on the fact that I was a man and I shouldn't need to cry. Always avoided Bonfire night after. Stayed inside, at least, when I had the choice.
"So, what makes Bonfire night so special?" I ask, more to avoid him looking at my face than anything else. I can't take the chance that he can read what I'm feeling. Always been my downfall, my face. Can see what I'm thinking as if there were words printed on my forehead. Human face, that is. The other one - that's built for a more limited range of emotions.
"In the village close to school, they always had a party on the common. The whole thing – fireworks, and a bonfire they spent weeks building. The older boys at school, we were given passes so we could attend. There was food too – better than at school. Sausages, roasted chestnuts, baked potatoes, toffee apples."
His eyes actually seem to glaze over as he speaks.
"Still seems sort of tame," I admit.
That brings him around a bit.
"Yes, I suppose it does. But, in my last year, there was more."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes. One of the village girls, Sarah. Such a pretty little thing. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a lovely smile. I think half the sixth form fancied themselves in love. Anyway, Hargreaves, the biggest bully in the school, he'd taken a shine to her too. We walked to the common that night listening to him telling us what he had planned for her. It was sickening, but no one dared to say anything about it. Especially not me."
"So, what happened?"
"Well, once we were there, Sarah made a point of not letting Hargreaves get within three feet of her. I didn't dare say anything – I mean, it all sounded too farfetched to be true, but if you knew Hargreaves, then it was all too believable. She approached me early on and started chatting to me, so I made a point of staying close to her and keeping her in view of the adults, at least until Hargreaves gave up on the evening and went back to school in a fury. Then, she pulled me into the shadows and kissed me. I was seventeen, went to an all boys school, and didn't get much freedom when I wasn't at school. Believe me, I thought I was in love."
"I'm sure you did."
"Got me beaten up the next day, of course."
"I wouldn't have expected any different."
"And that got Hargreaves expelled. It seems that the other boys were fed up with him too, so someone left some … evidence. My father wouldn't have done it for me personally, but the family name was important to him, and he demanded action. And after that, it was almost like I was some sort of hero."
"They do fireworks here, you know," I remind him, changing the subject.
"Yes, in July. Bonfire night should be cold and clear, with autumn leaves underfoot. You should want to get closer to the bonfire to keep warm," Wes elaborates.
"Dru always loved fireworks," I mutter, under my breath. Wes looks up as though surprised that I spoke. What I don't add is that I used to try not to be in England that time of year if I could help it. "Bloody stupid thing for a vampire to like, given the inflammability factor, but there you go. She wasn't generally known for her reasoned, sane approach to life."
"No, she wasn't," Wes agrees rather absent-mindedly. "It'd be lovely to have a real bonfire party – you know, the whole thing, but I just don't have the time to arrange it. I've got to leave in a few minutes – there's a ritual I have to attend in Chicago tonight for one of our clients. It has to be started on All Hallow's Eve, and it's repeated on the next four nights. I won't get back until the fifth. I could ask someone to do it for me, but it needs someone who understands."
"I suppose I could organise it."
It's my voice, but I'm still surprised to hear it. I'm about to back-pedal on that when Wes pulls another smile on me.
"Would you? I mean, can you? With the not …"
"Well, I'd need some help – someone to get the ball rolling. But I can put all the bits together."
"I can get you some help," he offers. "I'll leave instructions for Harmony. I'm sure the company has enough contacts to get everything done. I'll pay for it … I'll leave Harmony suitable authorisation to spend money, and I can send out invitations by email."
He's looking at me with such a hopeful expression that I'd have to be more evil than I remember to say anything other than, "I'll do it." So, that's what I say.
Wes glances at his watch, and sighs deeply.
"I've got to go, Spike. I'll speak to Harmony on the way out. If you're sure."
"I am," I answer, sounding more sure than I feel. Still, what else have I got to do? Haunting a building full of evil lawyers isn't all it's cracked up to be. Maybe this will be my chance to get some sort of positive memory out of the fifth of November.
"You can use this office if you want, while I'm away. Just keep out of my files and it'll be fine."
"Not like I can actually touch anything. And I can speak to Harm if you don't have time."
"Might be better if I get it sorted before I leave," he disagrees.
"What? Don't you trust my innate sex appeal to persuade Harm to help me?"
"I'm not sure what sort of sex appeal you have when you can't actually touch anything."
"Tou-bloody-ché," I mutter.
"I'm sorry," he apologises.
"No problem, it's not your fault."
"I know, but …"
"Yeah."
The fifth of November is as clear as I could wish it. I've actually quite enjoyed setting it all up. Of course, it's always fun to spend someone else's money. I've got some Pyro Demons doing the bonfire, complete with a Guy designed to my personal specifications. There's a group of fire imps doing the fireworks, and I found a one man catering operation who knows what he's doing with good old British bangers. No frankfurters in the buns at this bash.
I go around, checking that everything is looking good.
When I get to the pile of debris that's going to be the bonfire in a short while, I ask the leader of the group if I can see the Guy.
He looks puzzled for a moment. "Oh, you mean the effigy you're going to put on the fire?"
"That's it, Mate. Where is it? The Guy." He shrugs his shoulders in a gesture that on a human would mean, 'The customer's always right, but sometimes he's a raving loony'. Honestly, doesn't anyone in this country know the background? Guy Fawkes was discovered on his way to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605, and that narrow escape is celebrated every year with fireworks and a ritual burning of an effigy known as the Guy.
"I can assure you, it's been made precisely to your instructions. It's in the van."
He takes me so I can see it, and he's right. It's perfect. It's so bloody perfect, I can't help but rub my hands together in glee. Of course, without the actual friction that should involve, it's sort of an empty gesture.
One more look around, and I can see the other contributor to the evening. This one is here at my invitation, and he's agreed to do it as a personal favour. Not sure what I can do for him with the whole 'no body' thing, but he's assuming that I'm in with Wolfram and Hart and that's good enough for him. He's just setting up, and I remind him that I'm expecting people to arrive soon.
"No problem – five minutes and you'll start to feel the effect."
"You sure? It's a warm night."
"Certain. I could do this anywhere, even in full sunlight. In the dark, it'll be easy."
I leave him to his business, aware that I'm not going to know if he's succeeded unless someone tells me.
The spot is good too. Harmony suggested it – it's a bit of beach and it's quite a way out of LA, but fortunately, not so far that I get pulled back to Wolfram and Hart. I suspect it's close to my limit, but I'm not planning on trying to get any further away tonight, so it should be ok. The area is quite secluded – lower than the road by about fifty feet, but with a reasonable area off road to park cars and vans.
I hear a small explosion, and the bonfire roars into life. Of course, getting Pyrodemons to do the job means it's pretty spectacular. They're even going to put the Guy on later. I know, it's traditional to have him on at the start, but then the others wouldn't see him, and I want the bonfire underway before they get here.
Wes arrives first. I spot his car and walk up to meet him. By the look of him, he's come straight from the airport, still, what do they call it? Business casual. Short sleeved shirt. As we walk down the beach, his face illuminated by the bonfire, I can see that he approves. As we get closer, he starts to rub his arms.
"Is it my imagination, or is it getting unseasonably cool?" he asks, looking puzzled.
"It's only unseasonably cool if you're in California. In England, it'd be about right."
He looks at me. "You arranged for it to be cold?"
"Yeah. Didn't seem right coming to a Bonfire party in shirt sleeves."
"Maybe you should have mentioned this surprise," he offers, arms wrapped around himself.
"Well, I could have, but then it wouldn't have been a surprise. So I got Harm to get some coats. They're over there. Should be one in your size."
His expression as he pulls on the coat and moves towards the blaze is distracted, distant. Maybe he's remembering something, or then again, it could mean I've done something wrong, but as the others start to arrive then, I don't have time to wonder any further.
It's a select group. Gunn with some friend called Anne, Fred, Lorne with a human-looking girl I'm fairly sure is anything but, Knox, Harm, and, of course Angel. I decide to keep out of the way and just watch them. Wes seems to be enjoying himself - in fact there's a boyishness in his manner that's refreshing to see. It's as if, for this one evening, he's managed to put down all those worries that weigh on him. The fireworks, of course, are spectacular. It takes someone with fire in their veins to really put on a good show, and fire imps are the best. There's a fair bit of stamping of feet to keep them warm, and Fred seems to be eating her own weight in sausages. Even Angel has some of the special mulled wine with his blood. Of course, I can't eat anything, and I can't feel the heat from the bonfire or the cold of the air. But I can see the fireworks, and I can see Wes really enjoying himself. And, you know? That's worth a lot. That's one bloke that's got too much of the grown up about him. I think, somewhere along the line, with all of that parental disapproval, that he just forgot how to enjoy himself.
When it's time for the Guy to be placed on the fire – at the end of some very long poles - the Pyro Demons make sure that everyone gets a good look. Fred giggles, and Gunn looks from Angel to me where I'm lurking and back again as if waiting for some reaction. Wes just looks at me and shakes his head. But there is a ghost of a smile there. He walks towards me, leaving his friends behind for now.
"I wondered why the Guy wasn't on the fire when it was lit," he says when he comes closer.
"Sorry," I say, not really meaning it. "I just couldn't resist the idea. I mean, I can't hit Angel now, so I've got to find another way to irritate him."
"And your relationship has to have violence involved in some way, has it?"
"Always has," I admit. "Hard to see it changing now."
"It looks as though you succeeded – in irritating him."
He looks at me sternly, but his expression quickly melts into one of those genuine smiles he uses so rarely.
"I'm pulling your leg, Spike. I'm not sure Angel sees the joke, but I do understand why you'd do it."
"I was just worried that all that hair gel might explode. Is hair gel explosive?"
"I've got no idea," he laughs. "So, why did you do it?"
"Make the Guy look like Angel?"
"No, organise the party."
"Well, you know, happy memories and all that. It's a very British festival."
"Really?" he asks. He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and holds it out for me to read. Without saying a word, he holds it there until I've finished, and then he walks away. It was a copy of an email from Angel to Wesley.
Wes,
I'll be glad to come to your firework party on the 5th. At least I know that's one place I can go without Spike turning up – he always avoided Bonfire Night. You've no idea how much trouble it caused, because Dru loved fireworks.
Angel