19.
A/N: This chapter contains excerpts from “Walk on the Wild Side” by Lou Reed and “Anarchy in the UK” by the Sex Pistols.
It seemed everyone had a place in this brave pink world. Spike served both as office jewelry and silent observer and it was a toss up as to which role was worse. No, that wasn’t right; being a pretty bit of stuff on display was nothing compared to not being heard and believed. Not even being seen. Invisibility never rankled so much in Spike’s long and checkered career.
As much as he prided himself on his lone wolf status, Spike came to the begrudging admission that lone wolf was far too solitary for his temperament. Funny, it never came up before. Decades of living on the edge, reviled by human society and rebelling against demon society had never felt as empty as this. Drusilla was high octane maintenance but at least she was good company.
Unable to keep the stress inside anymore, Spike came to the conclusion that he needed to break through the pink haze of Harm-o-blivion and there was only one candidate for what he had in mind. With renewed purpose, Spike strode down a hallway toward his selected ally.
“Lorne, we need to talk.”
Lorne looked up from his desk to see Spike framed in the doorway. This was a first. Spike hadn’t visited Lorne’s office before.
“Spike! Golly, what a pleasant surprise.” Lorne’s hospitality gene activated instantly. “Welcome to my world. Come on in and set a spell. We haven’t had a chin wag in ages.” Lorne opened the mini refrigerator beside his desk. “I’ve got a presumptive little merlot with your name on it.”
Spike glanced nervously down the corridor and then spoke with urgency. “You need to come with me, Lorne. Right now. And no questions.”
“Right now?” Lorne glanced at his daybook to check his schedule.
“Yeah.” Spike took hold of Lorne’s forearm in an iron grip and yanked him to standing. “Now.”
“Okay, now works for me.” Before Lorne realized it he was trotting swiftly at Spike’s side to the freight elevator, through the parking garage and into a sewer opening. As a gentlemen of intrigue, Lorne’s interest was piqued, but as the tense minutes ticked silently by he began to detect the disturbing whiff of abduction.
Ten minutes later Spike pushed Lorne through a sewer exit into an alley. A battered and leaflet plastered rear entrance to a darkened hallway was the next signpost on Lorne’s impromptu journey. By the odor of the place it was a bar and from the mystery stains on the leatherette booth seating Lorne eventually sat down upon, a low rent one. The activation of a sparkling disco ball and the appearance of an abnormally buxom woman in close proximity to a shiny and well used pole connected the rest of the dots for Lorne.
This was not a Wolfram and Hart establishment.
A waitress wandered over to take their orders. In the shadowy depths of the booth Lorne’s unusual pallor and prominent horns didn’t even get a second glance. The only green that registered was the color of money. Before Lorne could inquire about the possibility of a refreshing Seabreeze, Spike ordered beer. The room filled with the rhythmic sounds of a hypnotic dance mix. The gathered audience watched as the dancer went through her practiced and limber routine. Spike sat motionless, staring at his beer and scratching a corner of the label.
The undulating pole dancer held Lorne’s rapt attention. The throbbing bass line and blinding spotlights on her glistening skin made it impossible not to look. Lorne bobbed his head in time to the engrossing music. “Pretty girl. Good muscle tone,” he observed. His gaze followed her erotic contortions. “And apparently undeterred by gravity–how convenient.” Lorne pointed an easy grin at his morose companion. Abduction came with a floor show but precious little conversation. Spike seemed anxious to speak privately but now appeared unable to find any words. It didn’t matter, Lorne was a patient demon. Sometimes anonymous strip bars made for funky little oases in the sandstorms of life.
Finally, Spike began to mumble. “Everyone thinks I’m nuts. I’m not nuts, Lorne. Something has happened. You have to believe me.”
Lorne had heard a few things from Fred. The skinny was that Spike was losing it. Now, apparently, was Lorne’s turn to experience Spike’s revolving delusions up close and personal.
“Of course you’re not nuts…who would say that? Certainly not me.” Lorne chuckled nervously. Despite a placating smile his peripheral vision was working overtime. Where were those beers? Lorne gratefully took his drink from the waitress when it finally arrived. A spectacular hands free pole drop complete with sporadic audience hooting indicated the end of the dance routine. The dancer walked off the stage to swiftly dwindling applause. Lorne was persistent with his clapping as athleticism should never go unappreciated no matter what the venue.
A lull in the volume of the room gave Spike his chance. He didn’t want to draw too much attention so he began in a low speak-singing voice:
“Holly came from Miami FLA,/ Hitchhiked her way across the USA…”
Lorne swallowed his swig of beer. A prolonged gurgled cough signaled the struggle to free his trachea of the unwanted liquid. Despite this distress, Spike’s subdued voice filtered into the deepest recesses of Lorne’s cranium. Unbidden images stampeded his thoughts. Bravery…heroism…and Harmony, happy as a clam and covered in post-its, taking dictation from Angel in an office completely devoid of unicorns and synergy. There was also a pissed off dragon nosing in at the periphery but that was hardly the feature presentation.
Lorne recognized the familiar stink of mystical manipulation.
“…Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side…”
A nearby wolf whistle drowned out Spike’s voice as another thong clad dancer took to the pole. Spike stopped singing and waited. There was no immediate response.
“Lorne?”
“Holy crap! My mother told me there’d be days like this.” Lorne pinched the bridge of his nose trying to lessen his cranial strain.
“And?” Spike hoped he’d been successful.
“And I thought the prospect of being measured for leather britches by Mistress Otilla was bad…”
“Would you bloody focus? This is important–“
“And my virtue isn’t? Did you happen to catch the tongue on that viper? I like my skin where it is, thanks. On me.”
“Right,” Spike lost his patience and launched into a snarling version of an old favorite. “I am an antichrist/ I am an anarchist/ Don’t know what I want/ But I know how to get it–“
“Okay! Uncle! Uncle!” Lorne raised his hands in helpless surrender. “You’re right. Something’s definitely happened.”
Spike took a few moments to let his relief register. It was a sweet moment but brief. “I’ve pretty much eliminated the pod people angle. What do you think?”
“Spike, I need a minute to unfreak myself. Despite this sophisticated and ridiculously gorgeous exterior, my innards are freakified in the extremis.” Lorne puzzled the incongruities he just experienced. “Give a guy some warning why don’t you? For the love of Liza Minelli, how can Angel and Harmony both be CEO? I mean, Harmony’s truly competent, but Angel? The guy has serious people, or demon, or– Heck, the guy has serious issues, period. Have you caught his telephone etiquette? I’ve seen executioners with more tact.”
“Angel is supposed to be the CEO. Harmony’s gone and mucked it up. She’s–” Spike took a deep breath. “Ah, bloody hell, I haven’t the foggiest idea what’s happened.”
“Oh lordy, I’m getting dizzy and I can feel the crow’s feet creeping up my temples.” Lorne closed his eyes and smoothed the skin at his temples with his finger tips. “This is going to play havoc with my complexion, I just know it is. And where the hell is Rod Serling when some helpful exposition is in order?”
“The thing of it is, I can’t figure out how Harmony managed it.”
“Whatever this is, Harmony did not do it.” Lorne held up his hand to quash Spike’s next statement. “Listen to me. I’ve spent a great deal of time with Harmony. The gal gets fidgety and starts singing. Mostly dreck from the Wang Chung school of musical mayhem that was the eighties but do I complain? Honey, I once read a Fyarl with a penchant for Yoko Ono. Now that was painful.”
“Lorne.”
“Yes, yes, I digress. Harmony has an incredibly open and elastic mind. Her obsessions center around finding the perfect pair of shoes and the perfect lipstick shade; strangely difficult, yet engrossing tasks. Believe me, I would have picked up on a yen for the sinister mojo by now. I’ll admit to a bit of a crush, but who wouldn’t? She’s–“
Spike interrupted quickly. “Devious and cunning. She’s a vampire. Don’t put anything past her.”
“Hello? Devious and cunning? The girl TiVos “Bananas in Pajamas” for crying out loud!” Lorne raised a finger in warning. “Now, that’s not general knowledge, and you didn’t hear it from me, but…” Lorne took a quick glance over his shoulder and then spoke with discretion. “They’re bananas,” he gestured succinctly to make the point clear, “in pajamas! Have you met Harmony? Weren’t you two an item back in the stone age?”
“Yeah, for a microsecond.” Spike shifted uneasily at the memory. “Okay, I’ll admit there’s a possibility that Harmony hasn’t done this–“
“Spell, incantation, or enchantment. Somebody’s definitely got their mojo working,” Lorne confirmed. “Harmony’s got a boat load of talent but conjuring isn’t on board.”
“What do we do? We have got to break it.”
“Hold on there, fella. Just who do you think I am…Endora? I don’t mix it with the mojo.” Lorne played to his strengths–fashionista and truth teller. Tinkering beyond that was just asking for trouble. “Besides, who’s to say that your reality is better than this one? From your little ditty I saw some deep dark paranoia and a trip to Apocaloozaville, which is something I’d personally like to avoid.”
“Lorne.”
“I just read ’em as I see ’em, Spike.”
“Please…I need her back.”
“Whoa! Hold up, tiny dancer. That train has left the station.” Lorne leaned forward to share some privileged information. “In case you’re not up to speed, Harmony’s got this mad thing for Hamilton. Something about the sinewy expanse of his relentless thighs.” Lorne paused for an audible shudder. “Yeah, be glad you’re not on the receiving end of those choice tidbits.”
“Not Harmony, Lorne,” Spike spoke through clenched teeth. “Buffy!”
“Oh, Buffy…” Lorne nodded through a brief pause before he realized exactly who Spike was referring to. “Ah, new girl in the lobby. Very courteous. Lovely teeth. Used to be a slayer, right?”
“There’s no used to about it, Lorne.”
“But she works for us now. I did a reading on her at the interview. Yes, yes, it’s all coming back to me. She’s a real go-getter. I see a bright future for her. How’s her typing speed? There’s spaces opening up daily in the steno pool, you know. Hey, don’t knock the steno pool, that’s where our illustrious diva launched her empire from after all.”
Spike’s head hit the table with a solemn thump. “This is Harmony’s revenge on me, I swear.”
Lorne’s sigh was equally solemn; heartsick Spike was going to take a while. “I spend a great deal of time with Her Pinkness, Spike, and your name doesn’t come up that often or, to be honest, at all.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Spike stared blankly at the surface of the table. “I’ve been taking notes and investigating and it’s going nowhere. I’m just banging my head against a brick wall.”
From personal experience Lorne knew that misery did not, in fact, love company. Misery made company extremely uncomfortable and anxious for the nearest exit sign. He tried a supportive smile but it wandered of its own accord.
Spike caught the tail end of Lorne’s waxy grin. “And all of you have that same look; that plastic coated, toothy sincerity. It’s enough to make me puke.”
Lorne’s left buttock suddenly went to sleep. He shifted to ease the numbness. “Now Spike, there’s no call for mud slinging.”
“My Buffy’s got that vacant smile,” Spike admitted. “I can’t lose her. Not to that. Not to Wolfram and Hart,” Spike pined. “She doesn’t know it but she needs me to save her.”
“Okay, now we’re getting to it. Speak the truth, Romeo.”
“I love her and I want her back.”
“So why are you here talking to me?”
“I want her back the way she was: cranky and complaining and busting my balls.”
“Ouch. That’s got to be a vampire thing.”
“And with less smiling. She’s practically become a Harmony clone.”
“There are worse role models out there, Spike.” Lorne didn’t see the problem with emulating Harmony. Spell or no spell, she was spectacular. “Although, not everyone can carry off a tiara and your little sweetie–no offense intended–ain’t one of them.”
“There’s a bloody tiara now?”
“No, no…I was just saying.” “
She’s staying at Angel’s and I know he’s taking every opportunity to turn her against me. I’ve seen them in the cafeteria all chummy and chatty. Smug bastard.”
Witnessing this naked emotional devastation tweaked something within Lorne. He was privy to a piece of news that could prove helpful. “Well, on that front I do have some news.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I had the misfortune of being cornered in the gents the other day by Angel–not something I’d recommend, by the way–“
“And? And?”
“All is not well at Casa Angel.”
“What’s he done to her? I’ll rip his head off if he’s–“
“Calm down. It’s not like that.” Lorne quickly got to the point. “Buffy is wearing out her welcome.”
“What?”
“She’s pining for you something fierce and apparently eating Angel out of house and home.”
“Really?” Spike let out a gasp of air.
“On a side note, ‘Hungry-Man’ frozen dinners are apparently not a gender specific item–a salient factoid I did not know–but more to the point, Angel’s getting a heaping helping of lovesick slayer and, well, Dr. Phil he’s not.”
For the first time in days the fog started to lift. “So she’s…”
“Driving Angel bat shit crazy, excuse my French. That little gal has talent, I tell you. I haven’t seen Angel this rattled in…well, ever. Say, where has that little pixie disappeared to?” Lorne craned his neck looking for the waitress. “Does this fine establishment have a menu? I’m getting the munchies. Care to go halfsies on a basket of deep fried zucchini, hmm?”
An astonished grin spread slowly over Spike’s face. The world may well be dangling from a string on Harmony’s pinky finger but Buffy still loved him no matter what Angel’s covert smirks and asides tried to convey.
Zucchini sounded wonderful.