The Symphony Hall

Pre-Bebop, pre-Julia. Twenty-year-olds Spike and Vicious are low-time gang members for a group called the Red Dragons, but when an opportunity makes itself clear, their lives are changed. Rated R for cussing and adult situations. Eventual SLASH.

Radishface

~ 4 ~

"Guys'll do anything for sex. Girls'll do anything for comfort."

"What?"

"Something I heard."

A smile. "I thought so. That doesn't sound like anything you could make up."

A friendly punch. "Watch it."

Vicious watched this exchanged out of the corner of his eye as he stood outside, appropriately out of sight. Spike had just come of the bar, the tinted glass of the door obscuring his vision so that he couldn't get a good look at Spike's expression as the door was half-open, Spike talking to somebody in the doorway.

"So."

"Yeah."

"What happened to your arm, man? What'd you do now?"

Spike laughed. "I got shot."

More laughter. Vicious wondered what was so hilarious.

"Tried to hotwire Mitchell's car again?"

"That piece of shit? You must be fucking out of your mind."

"Yeah. Nothing's ever good enough for fucking Spiegel."

It was a pun on words, Vicious thought. Fucking the adjective, or fucking the verb? Did he even know the difference? Did Spike know the difference?

"So. You need to go now?"

"Yeah. I've got a date waiting for me."

"She hot?"

It was then that Spike caught his eye through the tinted glass door, that he gave a grin of acknowledgement. He couldn't wave, since his free hand was holding a bottle and his other hand was bandaged, but it was enough, at least. Vicious felt himself looking back as he leaned against the wall outside, one hand in his pocket.

"Sure." Spike answered, turning back around, and gave a little purr under his breath. "But what's better? Hot or slutty?"

Vicious looked away.

The other person gave another chuckle. "I don't know. Hot, slutty. How about both?"

"You don't get both."

"You don't want a chick with brains?"

Spike snorted. "What's the use?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Anyway."

"Anyway."

Vicious felt his vision darken, become blotched with red. He wanted to ask himself who Spike was talking to. He wanted to know what it was like to go in the bar, watch sports on the grainy television, sneak his foot up some unsuspecting girl's calves, nudge elbows with the people sitting next to him. He wanted to do all that, he wanted to take a girl home and fuck her, see Spike's expression as he fucked her, Spike watching casually from the other end of the room, maybe smoking a cigarette, as Vicious watched him as well, holding the girl's hands above her head, ramming into her, peering at Spike through slitted eyes, sweaty bangs plastered against his face.

Spike had invited him along earlier that day.

"You sure you don't want to come?" Spike had asked him, while brushing his teeth that morning. Vicious had still been there, had been smoking a cigarette in Spike's apartment, had tried to be casual about it.

"No." He'd said.

"It's just going to be me and some other guys." Spike said through a mouthful of toothpaste. "Don't be shy." He chuckled. "Or do you have errands today?"

Vicious nodded. He didn't like the way Spike phrased that, errands. It was like he was an errand boy, like a paperboy, like a grocery boy. Let's go do chores for our fucking mother. Let's go and buy some chicken at the market for mother. No, it wasn't like that, but Spike made it sound that way.

Vicious didn't say anything, and Spike shrugged, his shoulders a smooth, feline movement in the mirror, as Vicious watched.

"Suit yourself."

He had spit into the sink, had gargled with mouthwash, had spit that out too. And Vicious had stood outside much like he was doing now, pretending not to observe, but observing anyway.

"You have an appointment with Nyugen this morning."

"Hell if I go." Spike had come out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, stifling a yawn at the same time. "I wanna sleep."

"I already called him." Vicious said. "He'll be expecting you at eleven."

"What time is it now?" Spike trudged into the kitchen, and Vicious followed him.

"About ten."

"I have an hour, then." Spike grabbed a mug from the cupboard and looked at the bubbling coffee in the coffeemaker. "Coffee?" He mock-exclaimed. "For me?"

"I thought you would need it." Vicious shrugged, not enjoying the scrutiny from Spike. "After all... that."

"Sure." Spike poured himself a cup with his left hand. "So, what's the appointment for?"

"Your arm, idiot."

"Oh, that." Spike snickered, and swung his right arm around. Vicious watched expectantly. "I'm fine, really--ow."

"Are you all right?" He said. His voice was quiet, subdued, almost, as Spike dramatically clutched at his right hand, making faces and sticking his tongue out while the coffee balanced on the edge of the counter precariously.

"I'm just kidding." Spike laughed, and the pain was nothing.

"So."

"So."

Vicious looked up, and Spike was looking at him now, his sleeves rolled up so that the bandages going down his right arm were all visible, a crooked grin on his face.

"Who was that?" Vicious asked, before he could stop himself. No, he didn't want to know. He couldn't want to know, because what use would that be to him?

Spike shrugged, and the grin subsided, and Vicious felt a pang of something. "I don't know. Somebody I met."

"Drinking buddies now?" He found himself asking, then wondered why he was being so absurd.

"No." Spike shook his head. "So." He shuffled his feet, looked mildly uncomfortable. Vicious thought he looked like a schoolboy, not a gangster, not somebody who could shoot somebody full of bullets and then run away feeling pleased with it.

"Who'd you want me to meet?" They began walking to the parking lot, where Vicious had parked his car. The sun was setting, painting the sky a mirage of oranges and reds and yellows and Vicious wondered where Spike had been the whole day, why he hadn't seen Spike for over five hours, and then he remembered, he had dropped him off at Nyugen's this morning and then he had gone out to run his errands for mother.

"A friend."

"You have friends?" Spike blinked, mock-incredulous. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"It's figurative." He opened the door to the driver's seat, and Spike got in next to him.

"Who is he?"

"She."

"She?" Spike raised his eyebrows as Vicious started the engine, shifted the car into reverse. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

It was just him, Vicious told himself, when he heard the surprise in Spiegel's voice.

It was just him, Vicious told himself, when he heard the confusion and the tinge of loneliness. It was just him. He was the one who was thinking those things, all the time, always, maybe forever.

And then he laughed at the thought of her being his girlfriend.

"What's her name?" Came Spike's voice, distantly, and Vicious stopped as they approached the stoplight, as a group of students walked past, two girls, three boys, arm-in-arm, laughing with each other and not sparing anybody else a second glance.

He glanced over at Spike out of the corner of his eye, let a hint of a smile appear on his lips.

"Seat belt."

Spike looked slightly exasperated. "Who is she?"

"Oh." Vicious said. "She's providing Wolfe with all the provisions. Guns, bullets, small bombs. Her name's Annie."

~

Annie had taken to Spike right away, more than she had done with Vicious the first time he had met her, which was only a week ago. She hadn't liked his silence, his seemingly brooding personality. He hadn't really cared for her easy smiles, her teasing sarcasm.

Spike had left in a good mood, one hand in his pocket where he had shoved a box of bullets for his gun, and Vicious had left Annie in that little shop, a seemingly innocent general store, a box labeled "Instant Noodles No. 6" which actually contained hand grenades, behind the cashier's counter. She was reluctant to talk about Wolfe when Spike asked, and they had ended up conversing for twenty minutes on the basketball game from a week ago.

Spike walked ahead of him like a happy boy at Christmas, his present from Santa Claus tucked away in his pocket, one that he didn't actually deserve.

Vicious felt the same way as he walked behind him, watched the sun finally go down as the sky darkened and the street lamps turned on, as somebody walked by on the other side of the chain fence and he found that he didn't care at all, because it was only five hours, only five hours, and there were twenty four in the day.

~

Please C&C!!! The more reviews I get, the faster I churn out the chapters. I suppose that being so review-hungry is bad for my stomach-brain… but there's incentive behind it. ^_^;;

What shall happen? Hmm. Introduction to more people we know, I guess. That "opportunity" I mention in the summary will manifest… in more ways than one. XD

Vicious is going into a little bit of denial. Either that or he isn't recognizing everything fully . . .