Blood Bonds

by Sage Darkwoods

Disclaimer: The characters in this story that were created by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy belong to them and them alone. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

Author's Note: Special thanks to Arkaidy, who kicked my butt into gear yet again over much coffee and really good sandwiches.

Chapter 5: Drinks

Spike and Cassie had settled into a booth in Liquide, and Cassie had gone to the bar herself to get the drinks. Coming back with a Cape Codder and a lowball of Jack Daniels, she found Spike had tossed his jacket over to her side of the booth, and had stretched out like a cat, a contented look on his face. She raised an eyebrow at this, and he replied that he had longer legs, so it was only fair.

She took a moment to look around the bar. The last time she was there, she was conscious for all of five minutes. The bar itself had a stainless steel countertop, and curved around in a free-flow manner. There were matching round steel tables with tall stools, sprouting up here and there like mushrooms across the floor. The walls were lined with high-backed booths, like the one Spike and herself were sitting in, also with curved edges. Near the back of the room a dj was spinning a remix of Papercut by Linkin Park. The music wasn't too loud, so it was possible to hold a conversation without shouting. Some couples and a few lone dancers were gyrating to the music on a plexiglass floor. Koi were swimming beneath it. The dj was running an impressive light show, with blue and white lights reflecting off the steel and chrome accents of the room. The effect created was that of being underwater, which gave credit to its name. Cassie felt slightly underdressed in her Rolling Stones concert shirt and blue jeans. At least I have company in that department, she thought, glancing at the lounging Spike. Besides the black leather duster, he sported a tight black t-shirt and black jeans.

"So, that whole crying bit was an act?" he asked, taking the drink.

"You saw that?" Cassie winced at the question. "Your kind can see through walls?"

"'Our kind' can see through windows," he corrected. "You didn't notice the huge pane of glass along the one wall?"

"They're not soundproof either, I take it."

"Not a lick," he answered, grinning. "So, was it?"

"A little, yeah," she admitted. "I mean, everything was true, but I'm not horribly broken up about it. I was, but that was almost eight years ago. I've learned to cope with it, and to look forward."

"Living in the past isn't the best way to live," Spike agreed, and sipped his whiskey.

Cassie stared at him. "Oh, not you, too."

"Not me what?"

"You're having a flashback, aren't you?" she asked, pointing a finger at him. "You have that faraway look in you eyes, like you're remembering a tragic event, or a lost love."

"I do not!"

"You do!" she crowed. "I thought it was just Nick. He gets those all the time. Does Angel do this too? And Harmony?"

Spike took another swig of the whiskey, letting it roll across his tongue before he would answer. "Angel is Broody Boy most of the time," he said. "He thinks about the people he's killed, his bloody curse, the people he wants to save, the fact that he's head of an evil law firm… whatever he thinks about, it's usually dark. Wouldn't want to go into his head, really. So bloody dark you'd trip over something. Now Harmony," he continued, smirking, "She's not exactly what I would call a thinker."

"I figured that," Cassie said, smirking. "But she must think of something. A few hundred years has got to have some memories attached to it."

"Hundred – What makes you think that?"

"Peter told me he was turned fifty years ago, and that Harmony was really old."

Spike nearly spit out his drink, he was laughing so hard. "Harmony has enough memories to remember her high school prom! Fifty sodding years! He was feeding you a line to get into your pants, luv!"

She chuckled. "If he thought fifty years was enough to impress me, he's stupider than I gave him credit for."

Spike considered this a moment. "How old is Nick?"

"Well, from the stories I've heard, and heard ad nauseam I dare add, he's about 800 years old. Doing the math… 776 this year."

"Cor… No kidding? I thought Angel was an old codger. This Nick must be rife with tragic moments."

"Constant flashbacks," she said, nodding. "I often wonder if he hears me sometimes when I talk about my work."

"To tell the truth, luv, I'm not so sure it's always flashbacks at that point. Not every guy gets their jollies hearing about science stuff." He drank the rest of the contents of the glass. "Another round? We'll put it on the company tab."

She nodded. "That's a generous boss you have."

"He doesn't know he's paying yet." Spike waved down a server, who came back quickly with their order. The perky brunette giggled and lingered longer than a server should.

"And you admonished me about my eyelash batting."

"Can't blame the poor girl. She likes what she sees." Spike grinned and put his hands behind his head, leaning back.

Cassie shook her head. "God, you're cocky."

"Cocky would be the operative word," he leered.

"Do you ever think about anything else but sex?" Cassie asked, sipping her drink.

The blond put on a pensive face and pretended to ponder. "Yes. I think about booze."

Cassie rolled her eyes and finished off her first drink. In the past twenty-four hours, she had been in the company of four vampires and a demon, had been in possible mortal peril once, and had been in the hospital ward of an "evil" law firm. Aunt Nat was going to kill her, unless something or someone here did it first. She looked across the table at her drinking partner.

"Why did you bring me out?"

Spike lit a cigarette and looked over his cupped hands at her. The acrid smell of the burning sulphur hit her nose quickly, then was gone. "Why not? Seemed a good idea. It's no fun being cooped up in a law firm with a bunch of walking stiffs – in some cases, literally."

Cassie stifled a giggle. "Are you one of those walking stiffs?" she said, knowing full well he'll take the joke.

"Only when I'm around good-looking women like you," he replied, giving her a half smile. He took the joke. "Why are you here?"

"I got sick of wandering around that building," she admitted. "Well, there were places I wanted to look in, but either the door was locked or otherwise barred. I couldn't get anywhere besides the med ward, the lobby and the hallways in between."

"Magical wards," Spike explained, taking another puff. "Secrets all over the place. Only those with either the password or a specific bloody fingerprint can get in. Nothing useful, either, most of the time." He took a swig of his jack. "So, don't bother about snooping around, won't get you anywhere." He narrowed his eyes a bit and continued. "To be truthful luv, I'm not sure I can trust you."

"You can't trust me?" Cassie scoffed. "I think it's more likely the other way around."

"Think so?"

"Yeah. You're a vampire. You took me out drinking, and after knowing what happened the last time I did this, you're hoping I'll fall for the same trick twice."

"Listen, missy," he started, leaning forward in his seat and pointing his cigarette at her. "I invited you out because you were bored out of your tree, and I'm trying to figure out your game. S'your fault if you're daft enough to come along." He flagged down the waitress for another round.

"I'm not having anymore, thanks," Cassie said frostily.

"Then I'll drink yours, too," he retorted. "I need more alcohol in my system to deal with this conversation."

"Gee, thanks."

"Not what I meant, duck," Spike sighed. "Thing is, I don't trust scientist types. Never have."

"Not even, what's her name again? Fred?"

"Don't you mention her name so flip like that," he snarled, causing Cassie to wince. "You never knew her. Got no right." Obviously this was still a touchy subject. "I don't trust scientists," he repeated. "They poke their noses in where they don't belong, prodding at things they shouldn't and making a mess of it. And you show up with your fancy thesis and vials full of blood, and swivel your hips into the damn lab by giving Angel those big brown eyes of yours, and next you'll be poking at all our brains! Well I won't be a soddin' guinea pig again!" With that last shout, he stood up and stormed to the bar.

Cassie sat back, bewildered at what just transpired. Spike had been subjected to scientific testing before, probably against his will judging by the outburst. Now she just felt badly about the whole thing. He had been nice enough to take her out, and not make her lunch (so far), and she had poked at his brain, so to speak, until he blew up. To think, she couldn't manage to hold a conversation without something going wrong. She needed to make amends with the pissed off vampire, before he decided to fix it in a way she probably wouldn't like.

She walked up to the bar, where he was busy downing tequila shots. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," she started tentatively. "I'll tell you exactly why I'm here, and what I'm doing. Maybe that will help you trust me, or at least not hate me."

"Couldn't hate you, duck," he grunted. "Not yet anyway. You haven't tried to turn me into a supersoldier puppy dog."

Cassie blinked at that, but let it slide. If he wanted to elaborate, he would. Instead, he swallowed another shot. She told him about the UCLA professor, and why she wanted a cure for vampirism. To do this, she needed samples of vampire blood. "Long story short, I really needed a lab, and quick. That blood in the vial is liable to spoil, if it hasn't already."

"Needn't worry about that one, luv. It broke." Another shot downed.

"How? Did I drop my bag when I was passed out?"

"Not quite. I was searching through that bag – for ID – when Harm startled me and I dropped it. Silly git of a woman." Spike paused long enough in his drinking to pull a battered pack of cigarettes out of his back jeans pocket. Cassie felt her eyes linger a bit too long on his backside, and averted her eyes a little too late. Spike smirked, catching the glance. "Like what you see, do you?"

"You're incorrigible," she sighed, and took a seat in the vacant stool next to him. She glanced at the dozen or so empty shot glasses scattered in front of him. "Where's the salt shaker?"

He blinked. "I thought you weren't drinking anymore."

"I changed my mind," she said, shrugging. "Besides, this is tequila. It's not so much drinking as pouring liquid fire down your throat. So where's the salt?"

He raised a scarred eyebrow and passed her the shaker. Cassie made a mental note to ask him where he got the scar later. "I like a woman who can recognize good booze." He handed her a shot glass filled with the amber liquor. "What shall we toast to?"

Cassie thought a moment, then remembered back to her undergrad days, and the campus pub. "To evil," she said, raising the glass.

"Very well, to evil." Cassie had forgotten exactly how much tequila burned on the way down. Spike chuckled as she choked a bit. "I thought you could handle this."

"Didn't say I could," she corrected. "Are you coming back to the booth, or will you be staying here working on getting a hangover?"

"Gimme a minute," he said, signalling the bartender. She left him at the bar, and took the opportunity to use the ladies' room. It was nice in there, too, with the décor meshing with the rest of the bar. When she returned, Spike had resumed lounging, this time with a half dozen shots and another glass of whiskey. "Just in time, before I make these soldiers disappear," he greeted her, holding out a glass.

"What's this?" she said as she took it.

"Tequila sunrise," he replied smirking. "I like the irony. You'll like the tequila." She sniffed it gingerly. "Not going to drug you, pet," he said. "If I wanted to eat you, I'd have done it by now."

"Well, that's…decent." She took a sip. He was right. It was good. A thought struck her. "How long have you and Angel known each other?"

"Since London, 1880," he said, taking a last drag of his cigarette and stubbing it out in the chrome ashtray. "He was more fun then. Scourge of Europe and the like. He also had this Irish accent. He used to lure in the pretties with his charm, and drink them dry before they could even think. We'd take entire families, him and me and Dru and Darla. Those were the good times." The look in his eyes was wistful, as though he was remembering a Sunday picnic instead of wholesale slaughter.

Cassie wondered briefly whether she might have been better off with Peter. He was just stupid. This guy was a cold-blooded serial killer. Way to pick 'em, Acacia, she chided herself. She was startled out of her thoughts by Spike asking her about Nick.

"Where to begin," she sighed. "He's old, like I told you. He's originally French, I think. He had a 'family,' like you did. Jeanette and LaCroix aren't what I'd call family, though…"

"Hang on a tick," Spike interrupted, shot glass halfway to his mouth. "LaCroix? Lucius?"

"Lucien now, yeah. Why, do you know him?"

"Come on! Who hasn't heard of Lucius? He's one of the oldest ones! And the oldest one who hasn't gone all batty and ugly like the others." Spike chuckled. "Met him once, in Florence in the early 1900s. He was doing a poetry reading. He was great. I got shivers listening to him read Baudelaire."

Cassie raised an eyebrow. "Shivers? Really?"

"Well, yeah." He blinked. "Don't think I'm a bleeding ponce; he's good, alright?" She started to giggle. "Stop bloody laughing! I'm not a sodding faggot!" This statement only aggravated the situation, and Cassie laughed harder. "Fine, whatever," he grumbled, throwing his hands in the air. "Think what you want; a bloke can have some culture in his life."

"What else did you think of him?" Cassie asked after she managed to calm herself.

"He has great hair for a sadistic know-it-all ponce," Spike replied, glowering. "Bloody git tried to tell me that I had no style, no panache in killing. Showed him, then."

"How?" Cassie's interest was piqued.

"That's about the time I started to torture my victims, with railroad spikes. That's how I got my name, really."

Cassie gulped. Just what she needed to hear. "S-so he agreed with your… methods, afterwards?"

"Actually, he called me an artless buffoon and left soon after with some dark-haired French woman," he grumbled. "Should've stuck around and seen what I wanted to do, which was take my railroad spike and shove it up his ass."

She grinned. "Good. Finally someone else who hates LaCroix as much as me."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Did he call you an artless buffoon, too?"

"No; he threatened to kill me on more than one occasion, as well as calling me and Aunt Nat a slew of names, and saying our efforts are fruitless." She took another sip of the drink. So far, no passing out or blurred vision.

"I hate to agree with him, but he may have a point." Spike picked up another shot. "I really hate to agree with the git."

"Tell you what," Cassie offered. "Let's not talk about that jerkwad anymore. It's ruining my buzz. Let's just have fun."

"I like your way of thinking." He slammed back the shot. "I say, we both get right sloshed on old bossman's tab. It's just a short stumble back to the office, anyway."

They toasted to evil once more, and drank until just before the bar closed. Spike had considerably more than her; it was easier, since he had that whole vampire healing factor going for him. Cassie, however, was shorter and a girl, so less than a quarter of what Spike drank was enough to get her stumbling drunk. As Spike promised, it was a short stumble, which seemed longer since Cassie was no longer capable of walking in a straight line. Spike had slung an arm around her waist to keep her going. They managed to go through the revolving doors on the third time around. The elevator was a treat as well; the motion made butterflies dance in Cassie's stomach, and she had a feeling they wanted out. He helped her back to the med centre, since that's the closest thing she had to a room there.

"Thanks for a fun time," she said, sitting carefully at the edge of the bed. Her stomach was still jumping, and her head swimming. "I haven't had that much to drink since my second year at university, after exams."

"You looked like you needed it," he said, words slurring slightly. "'Sides, you're cute, and I don't like to drink alone."

"That was almost a compliment," she chided, giggling. "A girl could get her head turned like that."

"Anytime you wanna get out, let me know," he said, leering. "You know, out of the building, out of your clothes…"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "You've had too much to drink. So have I. Goodnight, Spike."

"Night, Cass." He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Cassie to her thoughts. He had been hitting on her all night. How much of that had been serious, and how much was him flirting for the sake of something to do? Was he flirting to get her guard to drop?

"Dammit," she said aloud as she started to undress. "He was probably playing me. As usual, Miss Acacia Harvey, you're an idiot." She looked for her pyjamas, and then remembered the rest of her clothes were still back at the hotel. She swore again as she saw the frilly pink nightie laid out carefully on the bed. She put it on, rather than remain naked in a strange building with stranger inhabitants and possibly security cameras. A few minutes after her head hit the pillow, she drifted to sleep, filled with dreams of a certain platinum-haired vampire with amazing blue eyes.