A/N I stole a line from a movie, but it's just because it's such a brilliantly crafted line that I had to have it. So, just as a completely unnecessary precaution, I'm pointing out that don't own it.
Thanks again to SakuraSyaoran4eva. If I had any money I would start paying her just to be able to give her a pay-rise,
Angel stood in the middle of his apartment not really knowing what to do. His stepfather was dropping by and, to greatly understate it, Angel didn't like his stepfather much or at all for that matter. It wasn't just because he felt the arrogant Quentin Travers was wrong for his mother, but mainly because he was twofaced and very bigoted.
Sighing, Angel went to the kitchen, grabbed a teabag and then went to empty the kettle of the coffee he'd made for Spike. There was nothing in the pot. Angel frowned for a moment but shrugged it off before washing the pot out and then putting the water on to boil.
Dropping the teabag into the cup, he climbed up the cold ladder to his room, almost collapsed into the brown squishy chair and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly. He really didn't want to have this meeting with his stepfather, but the bastard had rung once he'd gotten into town so Angel couldn't use an excuse to get him not to come.
Angel grabbed the book off the table next to the chair and then put his feet on the end of his bed. He had to try and relax before Quentin got there otherwise he'd loose his head, and that could only end badly. It was an interesting book, and it sucked him in to the point where he didn't hear the door open, or notice the man standing in his apartment until he'd been there for roughly seven minutes.
"Good book, Liam?"
Angel looked at Quentin blankly before replying with a short and cutting, "Yes."
"It's not another Vampire Romance story is it?" Quentin said mockingly. He knew that Angel found Vampires and all supernatural creatures fascinating. Being the man that he was, Quentin didn't hold with such nonsense.
"So what if it is? I'm the one reading it, not you." He nodded at the stove. "Tea." Angel watched Quentin go into the kitchen and smiled. If the man had something to occupy his mouth and hands, then his side of the conversation would involve much less talking and more focusing on other things, which Angel didn't mind so much.
"Why are you here anyway?" Angel asked, looking down on his stepfather from his high perch.
"It's your brother."
"Which one of the four?"
"William." Replied Quentin, who had a thing for using everyone's full name rather then their nicknames. William 'Ford' Angelus, nicknamed after being conceived and born in a Ford car, was nineteen years old and the middle child of the six Angelus kids.
Angel straightened up. Anything to do with Ford would instantly get the interest of anyone in the family. Ford was sick, and his health was a constant concern for everyone.
"He's taken a turn for the worst and your mother got a call last night from one of his friends. Apparently he believes that as he's dying soon it gives him the right to shoot someone." His face twisted into a scowl. "Someone at a gay bar."
Quentin's tone made it apparent he felt anyone who swung that way deserved to be shot, Ford included.
"Come on, Quinn," Angel smirked as his stepfather winced at the nickname. "We both know that's not the reason why you're here. Mum gave you a job to do and now you're pawning it off on me."
A slightly frightening smile spread across Quentin's face. "He beat his friend up, sent her to hospital, and now no one can find him. You know him much better. Besides," He smirked coldly, "I don't want to risk being shot at."
Peaches looked at her master's face and huffed angrily at Quentin from her pile of blankets in the corner.
Spike sat in a chair on one side of Tara's bed. It was good the hospital was close to The Fruit Bowl otherwise there could have been a lot of damage, and luckily the bullet had missed everything important. According to the doctors she would be awake soon as she was now just sleeping from the drugs they'd given her.
Willow was in the chair on the other side of Tara's bed with Spike's jacket draped over her to keep her warm while she slept. Spike, on the other hand, flicked through the channels on the small television. On one channel he heard "Spi-"and then flicked reflectively.
Startled, Spike fumbled with the remote for a second and then turned back. "-ospital. Sources say that Spike has cancelled photo shoots for the next few days, and hasn't had any scheduled for three days. He obviously isn't tired from working, so a conference was held by his agent Ethan Rayne."
Spike gawked at the screen as the news desk switched to a recording of a conference with Rayne standing behind a standing podium that had about seven microphones attached to it.
"I will only be saying a statement and not answering any questions. I also will not be repeating myself." Rayne took his red-orange tinted sunglasses off slowly, and in a seemingly distressed act rubbed the bridge of his nose. To anyone it would have looked genuine, but Spike knew better.
"Spike has been busying himself with some 'extra activities'." Rayne continued. Spike's eyes narrowed at the tone used too highlight the last two words. "I do not approve of these new…" He seemed to search for the right word, but the model knew everything he said and did was scripted. "Hobbies, but he ignored my warnings."
There was an outbreak of murmurs and loud questions from the press, but Rayne held up a hand to silence them. "I am aware there was a phone call made by a hospital volunteer, stating that Spike was seen walking into a hospital yesterday and hasn't left. As to whether this is connected to the way he had been conducting himself, I have to say 'no comment'. Thank you."
Spike growled in his throat. 'No comment', in media-land meant a very definite 'yes', and Rayne knew that fact all too well. He grabbed the remote and changed the channel almost violently, but the show he changed it to really wasn't much better. It was a panel of people talking about the 'Spiked Scandal', as the subtitle explained.
"He's had a history of these things, hasn't he?"
"Yes, I've done some digging and found that he has had problems with drugs when he was a teen."
Instead of throwing the remote at the screen like he wanted to, Spike turned it off and walked to the window. He opened it, leaned out and was greeted by the sight of dozens of people from the press surrounding the entrance of the U-shaped hospital.
"Fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole!" He thumped his fist on the wall as he pulled his head in.
Willow woke with a snort and paid a bit of attention to the jacket before turning her attention onto Tara. She left the jacket over the back of the seat as she stood as to get a better view of her fallen waitress. "Has she woken up yet?"
"Huh?" Spike turned, blinking as he remembered he wasn't the only one in the room with something to worry about. "Oh, right. No she hasn't, but they say she will soon." He grabbed his jacket and went to leave, but stopped at the door. "I'll be on my mobile, not at home if you want to contact me." Before Willow could ask what he was on about he had left.
Spike almost jogged down the halls of the hospital. He planned everything out in his head as he rushed down the halls. First off, he had to get to the ambulance bay, but he didn't know whether there would be any press on the bottom floor, so he had to do it quickly. Then he would bribe the ambulance driv… He bumped into someone coming out of a room.
"Oi, watch where you're going, Wanker." Spike looked up, spotted Angel towering over him and immediately got defensive. "Oh, it's you. Why're you here?" He demanded.
"Visiting a friend of a friend. How about you?"
"Same here. A friend of a friend." Spike shifted his feet as his plan changed. "Look, there's heaps of press outside and I need a way to get out. You didn't happen to park near to the building, did you?"
Angel looked at Spike scrutinisingly and noticed that the eyeliner that he usually wore was smudged and the bags under the model's eyes were clearly visible. All in all, it was a very vulnerable look that Angel found he couldn't resist. Although Spike's face was set into one of indifference, like it didn't matter what the answer was, his eyes seemed to beg for a 'yes'.
He nodded. "Yeah, it's parked close, but I can't take you home."
"Fine with me, Mate."
They managed to get out through the ambulance bay, slip around the edges of the press and get into the car before they were swamped. The car had blacked out windows, so Spike took comfort in knowing that they wouldn't get any decent photos.
"Never would've picked you to have a ride like this."
"It's not mine. It's my stepfather's." said Angel, in a tone that suggested that the conversation should end now. Spike picked up on that attitude since the tension between them was still fairly thick from their argument on the rooftop. However, Spike was never one to go by those tones.
"Was it a divorce or a death?"
"That's none of your business, Spike." His knuckles gripped the steering wheel slightly tighter then normal. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before speaking again. "I need to go and find my brother. I have a fair idea where he's gone, but I think…" He trailed off, not really wanting to ask Spike for help.
"Can I come along?" Spike asked, deliberately rescuing Angel but at the same time making sure his voice sounded innocent. Out of the corner of his eye Spike saw Angel nod, but other then that made no other sign of acknowledgement, which was very annoying.
Spike turned the radio on and then quickly turned it off when he heard the station it was turned to. He made a face at the radio and heard Angel sigh in annoyance. The eye-roll was almost audible.
The rave was in full flow when Spike and Angel arrived. Angel immediately went to the shadows around the door and Spike gave him a 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing' look. Angel shrugged and even with his muscled bulk seemed to shrink in the unfamiliar setting.
Spike shook his head, wanting to make a smart-arse comment at the artist, but knew he wouldn't be heard over the thumping music. He waved to Angel in a dismissive way, feeling no embarrassment about being older then pretty much everyone else there.
'Photo' he mouthed to Angel. He got a nod in return and watched Angel search through the inside pockets of his jacket until a small photo was produced. Spike snatched it up and went in search through the huge crowd.
Angel watched Spike mingle with the 'ravers' and noticed that the bleached blonde didn't really walk, he strode. It was a cocky stride that drew attention to him and reflected confidence in every move. Though it was very convincing, it seemed fake to Angel.
Looking around, Angel noticed several people around the doors and windows smoking. He pulled a smoke out of his pocket and had to set it back into its normal shape before lighting up. He saw smoking as a sign of weakness, but he hated himself for thinking that, as it was just another thing Quentin had said that'd stuck.
When Spike appeared at his elbow, holding a boy up by the back collar of his shirt, Angel jumped and quickly dropped the cigarette. Spike's eyes flickered to it but didn't comment instead he just smirked. Angel flushed with embarrassment and held the door open for Spike and Ford.
"Found this. He's pretty out of it though, so he'll need to sleep it off. In the morning he'll need some care, but I'll leave that to you." He held Ford as if offering a gift basket and Angel blinked, completely clueless.
"Care for him how?"
Spike rolled his eyes and dragged the almost lifeless Ford to the car. "I'd better hang around then. I'll stay the night and then look after him in the morning. Simple."
Angel got the feeling that Spike didn't want to go to his own home. He had no idea why but he also got the feeling that Spike would neither mention it nor explain.
It occurred to Spike that Angel must live fairly far under a rock to not have heard about his drug use. He smiled. It was a nice thought that there was someone out there who would judge him for him, and not on who the media decided to portray him as.