Chapter 10. Part 1.
It'd been a few hours since Angel's latest tiff. Normally he would chock it up to moody soulfullness, but Spike had a sinking feeling that wasn't the problem.
Something wasn't right with the poofter. Angel never bared his fangs in front of his group of pansies. Or stood with his weight on his right foot. He tended to keep his arms free when he walked, not in his pockets or clasped behind him for fear of the need for a quick offence. Also, he was humming. As if there wasn't a world full of people he sinned and needed to atone to. As if it was a good day. Angel never had good days. He had okay days and horrible days. Never good days. And Barry whatever is not acceptable humming material for a blood-sucking vampire.
It could've been just him. Maybe he hates him. Maybe he wants to 'break-up' whatever they had. Maybe he wasn't good enough.
Or maybe it was just a William-induced over active analytic view that was bringing these doubts to his head. No, not doubts, thoughts. He wouldn't doubt Angel. Angel was his stone. Always constant, always there. Even trapped in Sunnydale, he knew he could always turn to Angel for help.
Whatever it was, Spike didn't like it. The ponce took it upon himself to criticize every thing and make decisions for the whole group, without consulting anyone.
If things kept up this way, there was going to be a confrontation. He tried the sensitive patient approach, which only got him walked all over, now he was going to do this the William the Bloody way. Not gonna sit back and let his sire control him. He was William the Bloody; scrounge of Europe and slayer of slayers, who didn't take no shit from nobody.
Spike finished another shot of vodka and turned off the record player (stolen of course) blasting Sex Pistols loudly. What happened to music? It used to be raw, rock n roll, sex, drugs, and booze. Now its 'I'm so sad I'm going to go kill myself'. He blames it on Nirvana.
"Sodding pansies if you ask me," he muttered to himself as he pulled on his worn Doc Martins and headed for the conference room. First time in days they had a meeting. Guess things settled down, less apocalypses, more time to argue and tear the team apart. He hadn't seen more than two of them white hats in one room yet.
Spike sang softly under his breath as he strutted into the room and sat noisily in the farthest chair. "I've seen you in the mirror when the story began. Yeah I fell in love with you, I love your mortal sin..." He leaned back and threw his feet on the table, crossing his ankles and smirking cheekily at the occupants.
"So, where's the nancy boy?"
"He's not here yet."
"Yeah, good thing too. I'm gonna tear him to pieces the next time I see him." Gunn began pacing again. His fists were clenched firm at his side and his jaw muscles were tight. If Dawn were here, she would tell him to "take a chill pill."
"Anyone got some chow? I'm starving."
The room looked at him oddly. "You're a vampire."
"Well gee golly gosh, really? I know what I am Weasley. Sorry to break it to you, Peaches isn't the model vampire. I can eat what I want."
"But it has no nutritional value to you. There's no blood in it.
"Bloody hell. I just want a pissing bag of chips. It's fun. It tastes good. Now move it along, hungry vampire here."
"Fine. Go down the hall to the vending machine."
"Costs seventy-five, love." Fred pulled another quarter from her pocket and sent him on his way. Agreeable girl. How'd she get stuck with a prick like Wesley?
Hot Cheetos successfully retrieved, he returned to the room, to find Angel had arrived. Gunn and Angel stood face to face, the room brimming with male testosterone. Wes and Fred seemed unsure of what to do and stood off to the side watching nervously.
"I'm the boss, what I say goes."
"You gave kids to an evil demon for dinner!"
"I didn't give them to him, I made an agreement with him. It was a necessary executive decision."
Spike took his place exactly as he was before and popped a handful of cheetos in his mouth. The loud crunching wasn't essential, but he liked the effect.
"Shut up Spike!" Gunn and Angel yelled loudly at once. His response was another loud crack.
"It was my case, and my decision! You did not have the right to take my case!"
"I have the right to do whatever I want, end of discussion." Angel shouldered past Gunn. He busied himself with organizing piles of paper on his desk.
"How does it feel Angel? Having the blood of three innocent helpless kids on your soul? Or lack thereof?"
"Gunn, stop it." Fred, always the peacemaker, stepped in. "Come on, let's go."
"Listen to her. It'll save me the time of shoving some balls up your ass."
"What did you say?"
"I said you have no balls. Do you need me to repeat it again?" Ooh, that was good. Gunn looked as if he was ready to throw a punch.
"Angel, that was uncalled for."
"No it wasn't. The decision had to be made. You would have taken the easy way out like always."
"You killed them."
"No, the demon did, not me. He would have killed all of us if I didn't."
"Then we could have stopped him." Gunn gritted from clenched teeth. He had to admire the guys self control.
"You obviously never have faced a Gonclaczk, have you? Ever seen one in your little picture books Wes? Nasty things. Like destruction and mayhem. Oh, and did I mention, incinerating flesh in the blink of an eye??"
"So you sacrificed them to save your sorry ass? Doesn't sound like a champion to me."
They were once again nose-to-nose. Gunn was obviously fuming mad. But Angel seemed more amused than anything. "We could never have taken him. Trust me."
"Trust you. Right. No one here trusts you."
"That may be so, but I'm in control and I can easily throw you out on your asses. You've never had it so good before here."
"We could manage."
"Like to test that?" No one responded, just shifted uncomfortably and diverted their eyes.
Spike rather enjoyed watching the white hats fight, but now the team was falling apart before his eyes and for some reason he felt compelled to stop the self-destruct.
"Oh, get off it. Who are you fooling? Alone you're just weak, powerless humans, unable to find a sodding vampire in the middle of a sodding cemetery," he stood and started pacing, lighting a cigarette in the process. "Think you could stop an apocalypse alone, Charley? Or how about you Angelus? You're just as bad as the rest of them. Depending on their trust and compassion, letting emotions get in the way. None of you could survive without each other, so stop the bloody arguing and do something good and jolly."
Everyone stared at him in silence.
"That was my case!"
"I did what I had to."
"They didn't need to die. We could have done..."
Spike sighed and scratched his scarred eyebrow. Fred shot him a helpless look as he huffed out of the room
Chapter 10. Part 2.
Okay, that was it. He was going to have this out with him once and for all. Not gonna stand for it no more. This was the last straw.
Spike paced circles around the brown leather armchair in the middle of his room. He cursed occasionally and hurled the nearest objects at the wall. The latest unfortunate was a Tiffany lamp with pretty pink stained glass. Something nibblet would love.
Cutting off the only supply of alcohol within a ten-mile radius was absolutely unacceptable! He could not believe his sire would do that. And for what? A brand new shiny playroom? Not worth it. Not even close.
The old training room was plenty big enough. No need to tear down the bar, just to accommodate his greatness. Besides, no room was bug enough for the poof's hairstyle. Like the bloody Eiffel Tower it was.
He was not gonna allow this atrocity to occur.
Spike polished off his Black Death vodka and went over his speech in his head. Going to tell the tosser what's what and who's who. Tell him that he cannot take away the bar and that the latest power trip has to end. Tell him he needs to show more respect to him and reciprocate some more feelings or the deal's off.
God, he sounded like such a nancy-boy. Couldn't say all that. Not unless he was runnin for Miss America. He could say that he better not demolish the booze or there will be some serious pain in his future.
Nah, too Terminator. I'll be back. That wouldn't do either.
"Fuck," he swore. When did this relationship thing become so bloody complicated? All he wanted was a nice fuck now and then, maybe a thank you and a kiss on the cheek. No, scratch that. All he wanted was Buffy. But that's out of the question now. Heard from the poof the other day that she hooked up with the Immortal. Guess she moved on without him.
He pushed all soulful broodiness aside and concentrated on the task ahead: confronting Angel. Shouldn't be too hard, done it plenty of times in the past, why would no be any different?
He slid into his duster and was about to take a swig of beer, when he remembered it was empty. Can't do this dry. Spike pulled out a small wooden box from under the couch and lifted the lid open. After some debate he selected which to use.
The lines laid out on the table, he snorted both and carefully hid the box again. Not enough to have much effect on Vampire healing, but it'll get him by. Just a little confidence booster.
Feeling a little better, he purposefully strode out of the room. Angel wasn't in his room or his office. Checked both twice. Where would a crazy egotistical souled vampire hide?
"Harmony! Have you seen tall, dark, and broody-yet-slightly-off-his-rocker?" He caught her as she hurried by. "Confused metro sexual?"
"Oh, you mean Angel."
"No, the gingerbread man. Yes, Harm, do you know where he is?"
"Har, har. Well, last time I saw him he was in the weapons room. No, actually the last time I saw him was yesterday in his office—or was it the bathroom?—I don't remember, it might have been in the hallway outside the lab but—"
"Harmony, for bloodys sake, where is he?"
"Check the weapon's room."
Spike sighed heavily and refrained from knocking the bint on her ass. Intolerable. Why did Angel—no maybe it was Wes—ever hire her? Wasn't like she was particularly good at her job or anything.
Angel was where she said he was. Standing in the middle of the red and brown, lavishly decorated room, staring at the cabinet full of instruments of which to cause pain.
"Angel, we need to talk, right now. And by we, I mean I talk, you listen. Now who the hell do you think you are? The emperor of France? What makes you think you can take the bar away in place of a stupid, sodding training room. We already have one, or don't you remember? Down the hall? Looks kinda like a fishbowl? Now, I don't see anything wrong with—"
"Gear up, we got a mission," Angel interrupted and tossed a dagger at Spike, who caught it easily.
"Oh no, we're gonna suss this out right here. I'm not gonna let you change the subject."
"That's great. Let's go." He brushed right passed him and got into the elevator at the end of the hall, swinging a heavy axe in his hands.
He looked distastefully at the small dagger Angel had given him as he chased after him. "Oi, hold up Peaches. What am I supposed to do with the likes of this? Kill a butterfly?"
"It'll come in handy, don't worry."
"Yeah, right." The elevator began it's descent. Spike eyed his sire out of the corner of his eye. Standing tall and proud, in control.
"And don't think I forgot about our talk either. As soon as this is done, we're gonna have this out."
"Okay. I agree, we should talk."
"Good. So what's the big emergency? Damsel in distress? Lost dog?"
"You'll see."
They had taken the Jag across town, through some suburbs and into the city limits. There was minimal conversating in the car, partly due to the high-strung tension, and partly due to the loud music Spike had chosen.
The Buzzcocks blasted loud enough to the shake the speakers. Angel tried to persuade him to take interest in the classics, like Bach or maybe another one of those old guys with poofy wigs that he honestly didn't give a damn about. Angel was particularly sour about the current song, Orgasm addict, but didn't complain much.
The car slid to a halt. They got out in front of a small, one-story flat. The area around it was desolate, with only small shrubs poking up from the ground. The windows were shuttered, and it seemed to Spike that the place hadn't been occupied in years.
"I don't see anything Angel." His sire wasn't surveying the area, scenting the air, or showing any sign of alertness.
He casually waltzed by him. "Don't worry, you will."
"Cut the crap Angelus. Why the fuck are we out here?" He ignored him and kept staring off into the distance, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Arrogant bastard. Won't even look at him.
Spike roughly shoved Angel backwards onto the car. "Answer me."
Angel charged Spike and held him still by the lapels of his duster. "If you would shut your yap for two goddamn seconds, you'd hear the gang of vampires noisily approaching behind you."
True enough, if he concentrated, voices and bawdy laughter could be heard coming closer. Spike growled and pushed his sire off of him. "Watch the leather, Peaches."
"Shut up. They're coming."
"I know they're coming, I'm not stupid."
"Shhhhhh," Angel scolded as he pulled Spike to his side, backs against the Jaguar.
Spike listened carefully, but heard nothing. A few crickets in the grass, sewers under the street, some Macarena music in the background, but no gang of vampires.
"I can't hear them," he whispered in Angel's ear.
"Relax." He was avoiding something. Deliberately leaving out an important detail. He could tell. Didn't know how. Always had the ability to pick out liars from the bunch. Even as a poet. Spike scowled at his sire and moved to light up a cig, but it was swatted out of his grasp.
"Oi!"
"Be quiet! It'll give us away."
"You're being louder than me."
"Am not."
"Yes you are."
"Be quiet."
"You too."
"I am"
"No, you're not, you just talked."
"Spike, shut the hell up."
"Fine, but I won't be happy with it."
"I don't care."
"Good."
"Good."
A minute of silence passed between them. Spike still couldn't detect any gang of vampires. He tried sensing them, but all he got was Angel. Wonder if you were too close to a vampire, you'd get feedback. Have to try that sometime.
"I don't know where they are." He glanced to his left to address Angel. He was gone. "Angel? Angel, where the fuck'd you go?"
A large fist crashed into his jaw, throwing his head to the side. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth. Sodding tongue. Always gets into the way.
He leaned against the roof of the car, trying to regain some sense. A cold hand grabbed onto the back of his neck and slammed his head onto the roof violently.
Before his assailant could break his nose in even more places, Spike caught the edge of the door and locked his elbows. Haha, didn't think of that did he?
Spike threw his head back and heard the satisfying crack of the other man's nose and a few teeth. He spun around, fists held up, ready to attack.
Bloody hell was the only thought that ran through his mind as a group of at least a dozen vampires charged him, fists bashing in his skull. He tried to get a few down, but every time one went down, another took his place. This can't be good.
He called out for Angel a few times, but got no reply. If he had a few seconds to worry about the sod, he would've, but he was too busy trying to stay on his feet. If he stumbled or fell, it was all over.
The dagger! What did he do with the dagger? Talking to Angel, tossing it in the car, getting yelled at, accidentally tearing leather interior, putting in his belt. Bingo! Spike made an attempt to punch with one fist and quickly fumble with the dagger with the other hand.
He slashed out wildly, hoping to slice open some guts, or maybe decapitate some fuckers. What the hell was Peaches thinking with this dinky thing? It was as big as his pinky for Christ's sake. Couldn't even hope to stab a mouse with it.
Two or three vamps went down with the assist of the dagger, but he lost it inside another's chest. The remaining ten backed away to regroup, giving Spike a chance to catch his breath (figuratively speaking).
With the clearer view, he could see Angel leaning against the would-be-white picket fence, arms crossed across his chest and cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Angel. Some assistance." He just smiled and waved cheekily at him.
What the hell was going on? Couldn't his sire see that these vampires were not normal? They were more organized than other vampires he'd come across. Much more focused. They definitely had a plan, and he had a dreadful feeling it involved him and some sharp instruments.
The group surged forward again, this time succeeding to knock him on his ass within seconds. Fists and feet were flying, all pummeling on him. He rolled up in the tightest ball he could to try and protect himself, but it didn't do much good to soften the blows.
Once he was good and still, they finally let up. He could feel his cool blood trickle down his nose and drip on the ground. Those buggers sure pack a punch. He took a mental inventory of his injuries (so far): cracked ribs, broken nose, bunch of bruises, cut on head, probably a concussion.
They grabbed his arms and hefted his body up, which hung uselessly underneath him. He forced himself to open his eyes and find his sire beating the shit out of his captors. But no, Angel was still just standing there smugly, chuckling humorlessly.
"Nice doin' business with you boys." He stepped forward and shook hands with a few of the vampires.
"Pleasure's all ours, Angelus."