Title: The Marriage Proposal
Author: Edel
Summary: see other chapter…
Distribution: my site,my update group,my B/A group (links on author page). If you want it on your site, just ask!
Spoilers: None, AU.
Chapter 2
Angel stared at the piece of paper clasped in his hand. He raised his eyes to look at Wesley Wyndam Pryce sitting behind his desk, and glanced down at the sheet again.
"What is this supposed to be?" Angel asked angrily.
Wesley cleared his throat, and remained calm. His former guardian Rupert had displayed the same short temper on occasion to the successful lawyer, who was also his personal lawyer and friend at Wolfram & Hart.
"That is your guardian's will," Wesley replied simply.
"I'm aware of that," Angel spat out. "But what is this attached to it?"
"I presume you speak of the condition?" Wesley questioned, picking up his own copy of the late entrepreneur's will. He proceeded to read aloud the will.
"I, Rupert Giles, entrust my empire, consisting of a chain of bookstores and a law firm, to Liam Angelus O'Connor on the event of my death. He will only receive ownership if he is married by his birthday following the occurrence of my death, and this marriage must last at least three years-"
"Etc., etc," Angel cut him off. "But why is there this condition?"
Wesley leaned back in his leather chair.
"Well..." he pondered aloud. "He always wanted to see you married before you became too old. He feared that you would never settle down, and he and your parents always wanted that for you."
Angel briefly sat down for a moment. Giles and his father had been best friends since college when his father left Ireland for Oxford. Giles also introduced his father to his mother.
"When is your next birthday?" Wesley inquired, sorting through some files.
"November 8th," Angel groaned. Wesley's eyes shot up from the paperwork.
"Today is October 2nd. That leaves you only a month to find a wife."
"I'm well aware of that," Angel said. He looked at his watch. It was after 4pm. "Is that all?"
"Yes. If I need you, I'll not hesitate to call," Wesley absentmindedly answered. Angel rolled his eyes as he left the lawyer's office. Sometimes Wesley was entirely too proper with his phrasing. A lot like Giles, he reminded himself, as he stepped into his car and drove to his apartment to prepare for the night ahead.
A sharp knock sounded on his front door shortly after 9pm. Angel answered it, and walked back into the spacious living area, followed by Spike.
"You ready to go?" Spike asked, as Angel stood by the enormous window, glancing out onto the street below.
"In a minute," he inattentively answered.
Spike bent to pick up a few papers strewn messily on the glass coffee table, and skimmed over them with avid interest. His eyes widened as he re-read carefully over one of the papers.
"Holy shit! Is this what I think it is?" he asked Angel.
"Have you the British flag permanently lodged in your ass?' Spike opened his mouth to retort, when he saw the familiar cheeky smirk on his friend's face. His lips too took on a cheeky grin, as Angel turned, his expression serious. He sighed.
"Know anyone who'd make a great wife, and would be willing to marry me in less than a month for three years?" Spike chuckled.
"I could start rattling off the long list of your one-time bed-mates, but we'll miss the party." Angel shook his head.
"No, I wouldn't want to spend three years of my life with any of them. One night was more than enough." This raised a laugh from a Spike. "No, I want someone new, fresh."
"Yeah, but that's a hell of a lot easier said than done. Give me one reason why someone would marry a complete stranger?" Spike asked. "Granted, a good-looking stranger, with a stud for a best friend."
Angel laughed at his remark, and then turned serious again.
"I'll give them five million reasons," he said softly, a slow smile erupting on his lips. Spike was quiet for a moment.
"Well, that's a lot of reasons," he agreed, "but what chick would be so desperate as to marry some random guy for money?"
Buffy Summers sighed, and looked at herself in the mirror. She tossed away another potential outfit. Glancing in her closet, she already knew that she hadn't a new outfit. Hell, she couldn't afford to buy new clothes in months. She groaned.
She wanted to wear something special. Tonight, her and her roommates, Willow, Faith, Anya and Cordelia were finally throwing their house-warming, or rather, apartment-warming, party after moving in July. That had been when she was happy and in fashion, and blissfully unaware of the traumas yet to arrive. A couple of weeks later, doctors found yet another tumour in her mother's brain.
She sighed again, feeling as if the weight of the world rested on her weary shoulders. Everything had seemed okay after she had gotten the first one, which paled in comparison to the size of the current threat, removed last year. Things had just returned to normal, when they were struck with the tragic news.
All of her remaining college funds went to paying hospital bills, and Buffy had to sell a lot of her personal belongings. Unfortunately, when the girls were moving into their new apartment, which was a palace when contrasted with their first apartment, they all had to pay three months of rent in advance. The landlord was untouched by her pleas, and said it would be going against the contract to return her money.
She only had a couple more weeks left here, before she would move back in with her mother. She had wanted to move back in with mother as soon as she found out the devastating revelation, but Joyce had refused, saying she deserved at least a few more months of freedom before she had to endure living with her, as she jokingly told her.
Finally, she selected a black mini, and a daring burgundy silk top that accented her golden skin. She applied a small amount of make-up, and brushed her straight hair until it shone. She nodded at herself in the mirror.
"Let's rock 'n roll," she murmured, and left her room, loud music assaulting her ears.
By the time Spike and Angel reached the apartment complex where the party was taking place, it was after half nine. Climbing the stairs to reach the party on the top floor, Spike leaned in to talk to Angel, so as not to be heard by the many people chatting, or in a few couple's cases, making out along the corridors.
"Just to let you know," Spike spoke quietly as they reached the top floor of the impressive building and approached the apartment, where loud music drifted out from, "Cordelia is the brunette who can be quite snobby, Faith is also a brunette, who is up for anything, and I mean anything,' he raised his eyebrows suggestively at Angel.
"The redhead," he continued, as they slowed to a standstill behind the enormous crowd trying to enter the apartment, "well, you already kind of know of Willow."
Angel stopped in surprise.
"Willow lives here? As in Oz's Willow?" he asked, referring to an old friend of theirs.
The three of them, and another guy named Devon, had formed a band called Dingoes Ate My Baby in highschool. They split the band up after they each went their separates after highschool: Spike, back to England, Oz, to university in Los Angeles, where he currently resided each weekday, studying to become a physician. Angel attended UC Sunnydale, and Devon... well, they last they had heard, he was travelling the country with some 'hot dominatrix'.
"One and the same," Spike nodded. "Oz said she was lonely staying at their apartment when he was in LA five days out of every week, and she didn't want to go back to living with her controlling parents."
"And the two blondes," Spike added, as they stepped over the threshold of the apartment. He looked around the large living room, which was swarming with partygoers. "Let me see if I can point them out too."
Angel nodded absentmindedly, his attention riveted on the stunning blonde with sparkling emerald green eyes walking their way. Her gaze landed on him for a brief moment, before she began conversing with a slightly taller blonde.
"Ah!" Spike's voice broke through his reverie.
"See those two birds over there?" he asked him, pointing out the two blondes gossiping only a few steps from them. "That's Buffy and Anya.'
His eyes took on a glint Angel had seen shine in the peroxide blonde's eyes before; it usually meant his was about to close in on prey.
"Personally, I'm gonna see if I can get anywhere with Buffy,' he said with a lewd grin on his lips.
"I'd bet she'd be a stunner between the sheets." Angel chuckled.
"Well," Angel began, wanting to draw Spike's attention to the beautiful blonde in burgundy and black, "I think I'd prefer... Darla."
"Really, well," Spike stopped. "What?"
Angel looked at the blonde who had toyed with him several times in the past, who now stood before him.
"Darla," he greeted, his voice stripped of any emotion. She smiled.
"Hello Angelus," she purred. Angel's gaze briefly hardened.
"Don't call me that," he advised her in a deadly soft voice. She remained silent for a moment.
"Okay... Angel," she amended. "Tell me, how are you?"
"Much better now that there's no blonde whore in the picture," Spike interrupted. Darla switched her gaze to the other man. Her gaze narrowed.
"Well, what about you?" she questioned innocently. Spike clenched his fists, but said nothing. It was no secret that Spike loathed Darla for trying to sabotage Angel and his close friendship. She in turn, despised him just as much.
Darla returned her gaze to Angel. "I guess I'll talk to you in a while?" she said, heading towards the kitchen were all the alcohol was on offer.
"I don't know why you put up with her bullshit," Spike said, shaking his head as they sank in one of the sofas.
"Well, let's just say I'm just buttering her up so I can use her and I'll be the one ditching her at the end of the night," Angel murmured with a smirk. Spike grinned.
"Revenge. What a sweet thing it is," Spike declared as he stood to steal a plastic cup of beer from a tray carried by some passer-by.
Buffy sighed, and took another gulp of her punch. It burned as it slid down her throat, and she realized too late that it was heavily spiked. She cursed inwardly. That had been her third glass of punch she'd downed in five minutes. Buffy and alcohol were a disastrous combination.
Looks like I'm in for an interesting evening, she thought, as her brain slowly succumbed to the power of alcohol.
Spike looked up as the petite blonde collapsed onto the sofa beside him. He looked around the room to see if Angel could see what position he was now in, and saw him depart the room with Darla, a cup of beer in hand. Spike rolled his eyes, but deep inside he was worried.
Angel was just setting himself up for Darla to trample all over him again. Angel was a big boy, who knew how to act, but not when he was heavily under the influence of alcohol, like now. But still Spike refused to budge. Memories of the last time he tried to stop Angel from doing something drastic and stupid when he was drunk were still fresh in his mind; he had sported a black eye for days.
Spike turned his attention back to the blonde seated beside him. "Hello love," he started, extending his hand.
"Name's Spike." An eyebrow rose in amusement.
"Interesting name," she said.
He noticed that her speech was somewhat slurred, a sure sign she was tipsy and on the way to being quite drunk.
"I'm Buffy," she announced, shaking his outstretched hand.
"I know," he murmured.
"Oh?"
"Drink?" Spike asked, spying someone walking in their direction with a tray of alcoholic beverages.
"I shouldn't," she began.
She paused.
"But I will," she finished, a slow, feline-like smile appearing on her red lips. Spike grinned, and rose to take two cups off the tray.
"Ah! Vodka," Spike declared, settling on the sofa closer to Buffy.
"My favourite," he murmured, as he watched as Buffy downed half of the cup in one go.
"Careful!" he exclaimed, as she coughed, choking as the strong alcohol burnt its way down her throat. "It's not healthy for a person to drink that much vodka in one go, you know." She looked at him, grinning cheekily.
"I take it you're speaking from experience?"
"Cheeky," Spike said, grinning back.
An hour later, Spike was half-drunk, but compared to Buffy, he was stone cold sober. She was giggling from when he cursed, "Bloody hell!" several minutes ago, when she leaned over and caused him to tip his alcohol onto the floor. He smiled at her.
They had shared an interesting conversation on many different topics, until about ten minutes ago, when the skill of talking properly departed her. In that short time however, he had found out about her mother's illness and sympathised, having lost his own mother several years back from cancer.
Suddenly, his thoughts drifted back to the beautiful blonde who was now straddling him and rubbing herself against him suggestively.
"Want a tour of my bedroom?" she murmured, a seductive smile on her lips.
He didn't need to be asked twice, although as they neared her bedroom, a small part of him protested against the idea, knowing he would never act like this in a sober mood. His thoughts drifted back to Dru, as the door closed behind them.
Several hours later, Angel groaned as he awoke. He managed to slip on his boxers, and grabbing the rest of his clothes, dashed out of the room and into the nearest bathroom, where he then emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
Somehow, he found the brainpower to properly dress himself. When he exited the bathroom, he felt the remaining alcohol in his system take over his skill to walk. He crashed into a nearby table as he made his way over to one of the sofas that hadn't anyone passed out on it.
"Nice... nice," he murmured. "Don't spin on me, and we'll be great..." he passed out, the rest of his sentence forgotten.
Spike cracked open an eye, and groaned.
"Ugh, my head," he groaned softly as he sat up in the bed.
Thankfully, the last of the alcohol in his system seemed to be evaporating. He pulled on his clothes, and glanced over his shoulder at the blonde in the bed, snoring softly. A small smile briefly appeared on his lips, before he exited the room.
He made his way for the front door, stepping over the many bodies passed out on the floor. He stopped as he saw a familiar dark head.
"Angel," he said, shaking his friend awake.
"Wh-what?" Angel murmured, looking around him madly.
"C'mon," Spike said, pulling him up into a sitting position on the sofa. "Time to go home."
Angel groaned as Spike somehow found the strength to support him out of the apartment complex, and into his own car. He drove him home, and brought him to his door.
"I'll ring you when I get back home," he told Angel.
Angel nodded, shutting his door. Spike smiled, and whistled a forgotten tune as he took the lift down to the ground floor. He stepped into his rental car, and took one last glance around the area, before heading for his hotel to retrieve his items, and then, onto LAX, and home... to Drusilla.
TBC... the more reviews, the faster I'll update! ;)