Long, red hair cascading on her exposed shoulders, feline green eyes perfectly eyelined, sensual, ruby glossy lips, satin pale pink skin. And voluptuous. Spike almost choked with the smoke of his cigarette at the thought of the word voluptuous, definitely not how I remembered you, pet.
She gave him an analyzing stare, and Spike saw recognition in her eyes. "So Angelus and Spike want to pick a fight with-", she suddenly stopped and shot her gaze at Angel, her eyes widening in surprise. What's going on here? And Spike noticed his grandsire recognized her too. "You got a soul", she snapped at Angel, and before either men could answer, Rose slapped her hand on Spike's chest. Ok, didn't see that one coming, and this bloke ain't gonna complain. "And so you do", she finished in awe. Both men stared at each other, rather puzzled, then back at her, "yeah, we do, and by the way, my name's Angel now". Her moment of shock and surprise left her features as fast as they had arrived, and she was again half-smiling. Mischievously, Spike noted. "All right then, name's Scarlett", she countered as she turned around, facing the bar once more. "Henry, I'm taking this," pointing at the bottle of Jack Daniels, "and I'm gonna need two extra glasses." She picked them up, and signaled them with her head to follow.
She moved between the crowd confidently towards a set of stairs, "less crowdy up there," she shouted. So she's now called Scarlett, rather fitting if you ask me, Spike couldn't help checking her out, from top to bottom and back again. He smirked to himself at the sight of a tribal tattoo on her lower back. She was a completely different person from the one he remembered. And to think at one point I thought of her as dull and boring, he scoffed. She led them to a table, placed the bottle and glasses, sat on a chair and propped her feet and crossed them on top of the edge of the table, much like a gangster from a Western movie. "So, what can I do for you?" she blurted as she poured whisky on all three glasses, picked one and drank it all. Spike liked that. A lot. Angel did most of the talking, explaining why they were in London, plus the story of his soul and his curse, always so bleeding boring. She merely listened, and from time to time she would eye Spike, who was absorbed in his own thoughts, staring at her, and trying so hard to not be obvious. Not minding or caring about anything his grandsire was saying. Spike had only one thing in his mind, well, maybe two, he admitted smiling to himself. He was growing desperate to ask her that same question he had been asking himself for so long. Why? Why didn't you off me, luv? he asked her in his mind. Of course he wasn't gonna be able to ask her, not while Angel was around. His brain was racing with anticipation so badly that he missed half of what Angel was saying, which for Spike was new information and rather relevant. "What'd you just say?", he snapped at the older vampire. "I said she looks quite familiar, I know I saw her before, but just cannot place when and where." So he knew her too, fancy that. But Spike was not fancying it. Not at all. Scarlett stared at the blond vampire, studying him, and he saw something in her slightly narrowed eyes, a glimmer. She knows. She knows I didn't tell him we have a sort of past history. And the sole thought of the secrecy felt so damn good.
Spike, as well as Angel, was astonished when she told them she rose from the grave already ensouled. And with that revelation, he realized she crashed Angel's exclusive party long before Spike did. She had been the second, not him. Ok, I can deal with that, he told himself while gulping his whisky and glancing at her cleavage, yeah, I can definitely deal with that. For the next hour Scarlett told them tiny bits and pieces of her life story and some anecdotes as a vampire, so when she got to the part of her last couple of years as the Slayer, Scarlett purposely omitted his name and sparing his life. But Spike could tell that Angel was analyzing that part of the tale, he knew Spike all too well and his obsession with Slayers. When she finally mentioned how she died, it all clicked in Angel's head, only that Spike couldn't figure out what was that last piece of the puzzle his grandsire just solved. He briefly felt Angel's eyes set on him like razors, and Spike decided to ignore him. Like I sodding care what you think. "You said New York, 1987, right?", Angel asked her, and before she could confirm, he added "I was living in NYC too and now I remember why I know you."
What followed was something Spike was not really prepared for. It turned out that back then, when part of his gang was fighting the Slayer, a couple of his men were fighting some homeless guy. Said homeless had been Angel in his most unmemorable of times. So when Rose -Scarlett- collapsed, Angel saw the whole scene and went to her aid. Absolutely wounded and bloody, just like her, he had checked on her, not realizing some of the blood from his injures had dropped in her mouth. He had thought her dead, so he had run away when the other vampires were coming after him.
Bloody hell, he's her sire, unbelievable, the sod is her sire! Not fair. He didn't like it, it bothered him big time. He glanced back at her and she was still surprised at the revelation, and so was Angel. And after a while, she realized they were out of booze, and left to get another bottle. "So that tale she told about a showdown"... Here it comes... "it was you, wasn't it?" Spike nodded, staring at his almost empty glass, "yup, that was me, and I take you figured out it was my gang who killed her." "Pretty much, but I still don't understand why didn't you spill all the information about her. Guilt, maybe?" Judgemental much? "Not guilt, I had my own reasons. And before you ask, that's none of your bloody business."
Scarlett returned with a bottle a vodka, and Spike lashed out at it and filled his and her glasses. He knew Angel had his share of booze for one night, and hopefully would leave soon. And so he did, not before giving her their address and phone numbers. "I'm staying, night ain't over for me yet," Spike announced signaling the vodka, a small tone of defiance in his voice. Finally he's gone, now to discuss important subjects.
He crossed his arms and leaned back on his chair, staring at her, how she was emptying her glass like it was water, and when she looked up at him, this time he didn't look away. "What?", she challenged him, with that same fiery look she had given him two decades ago. So much fire in those eyes, he thought while tilting his head and replying, "you know what I want to know." She smiled mischievously "No, I don't." "Ok then, I'll be blunt. Why didn't you off me?" And with that, she stood up and walked away.