5.
It was practically a given that when Angel settled into a file which required his undivided attention that would be the exact moment he would be interrupted. It was no surprise then, just as Angel began making notes in the margins of a densely annotated file, Spike burst through the double doors with a breezy, confident swagger and a twinkle of well rendered mischief in his expression.
He was late returning from his errand and sported a swelling black eye, scuffed knuckles and a six pack of beer dangling from his fingers. It was the bubbling aura of smugness oozing from every pore in Spike’s body that prompted a fierce glower of dissatisfaction from Angel. He sat back in his chair and tapped his thumbs together to an absent, agitated beat.
“Oh, that was sweet,” Spike exhaled, looking very pleased with himself. He plopped down on the sofa and snapped open the tab on the first can of beer. The television remote was in easy reach and instantly the room filled with useful tips on landing an elusive large mouth bass.
“Jesus, Spike,” Angel spoke up in a dangerous tone of voice that matched his expression. “You were supposed to return that guy to Archduke Sebassis in one piece. You said you could do it properly.”
Spike had practically begged for a sliver of Angel’s hero pie. He was available, willing and had a fairly open schedule. The one time Angel relented and sent him on a solo mission; no, it was more like an errand or a favor, Spike disappeared without a word only to drift back into the office easy as you please with a look of smug arrogance on his battered face.
Angel was resolute; no more crumbs for Spike. This one was a no-brainer. Apparently, Spike couldn’t accomplish a task as simple as knocking on a door and making sure the demon in question passed across the threshold back into the Archduke’s compound.
Spike took immediate offense. “Hey! Hold on to your prostate, Gramps. It’s done. Everything is fine and dandy at the house of horns.” He settled into a boneless sprawl and some rejuvenating channel surfing.
Angel’s nightmare scenario of a mountain of paper work concerning the return of damaged property faded almost as soon as it materialized. “Oh,” he managed.
“Yeah, Ferdinand’s back in the bosom of his family.”
“Ferdinand? His name…was Ferdinand?”
“Well, near as I can figure with that orthodox dialect. It started with an F and I think there were some Ds.” Spike cast a withering glance at Angel. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even talk to him.” It often amazed Spike that with the soul, Angel’s grasp on propriety had dwindled to abysmal levels. No one would have ever accused Angelus of being a neglectful host.
“Well…I…um…” Angel hadn’t even thought to speak to the demon. Harmony had a firm grip on things.
“Typical,” Spike pronounced and turned his attention back to the television. His thumb attacked the channel button with restless rapidity. “Bit of a conspiracy nutter though, but an interesting conversationalist…for a condiment.” Spike glanced up from the television. “D’you get porn on this?”
“No.”
“I think we’ll need to adjust your cable package then.” Spike resumed flipping the channels at a swift pace. In the absence of sweaty, writhing flesh, he opted for a cartoon channel and the amusements of Bikini Bottom and SpongeBob.
“Will I regret asking you why you’re all banged up and getting dirt on my furniture?”
“Oh that.” Spike made a show of sweeping his palm down over a crusty smudge on his coat sleeve. Unidentified flakes floated onto Angel’s upholstery. “I ran into a bit of a scuffle with some leprechauns–testy little buggers they are. I’d forgotten how easily they take offense, but then again, being Irish must have something to do with it.”
“Stop talking crap, Spike,” Angel countered. “Leprechauns don’t exist.”
“Tell that to my shins.”
“You can’t even come up with a believable lie. You’re pathetic.”
“Right. Leprechauns are a figment of my imagination; unlike, say, a vampire puppet who uses a stapler for a microphone…”
“I did no such thing!”
“…while he sings a medley of easy listening hits of the seventies.”
“You’re delusional.”
Spike stared Angel down. “Exhibit A: security surveillance video, office of the CEO, week ago Monday. One of the lads gave me a peek in lieu of a little wager he owed me.”
A tiny muscle wailed at the corner of Angel’s eye. No other reaction was forthcoming. He wasn’t going to justify himself to Spike, not in this unlife. “If you’re going to sit there, keep that volume down. Some of us work around here.”
Spike took a long swig of his beverage and finished it. He then pulled off another and opened it. “You should’ve come with. A little tussle would do you good; get the kinks out.”
“My kinks are just fine where they are.”
“Bollocks. You can’t fool me.” Spike spoke in measured tones. He was no longer trying to get a rise out of Angel but simply stating the truth. “You need a good dose of mayhem. ‘Bout time you and me did this town up right.”
“I’ve stopped listening to you.”
“Or Vegas.” Spike persisted with his train of thought. “Now, that’s just the place to rid you of this nauseating case of ennui you’ve got. What do you say? We could get matching Elvis wigs.” Who in his right mind could pass up such an enticement? Spike was serious. Vegas sounded good even if Angel passed. Spike was a hard working hero. He deserved a weekend of fun and frolic. Maybe Charlie would be interested.
“Are you still here?” Angel did the best impression of a concrete block Spike had ever seen.
A stream of exasperation blew from Spike’s lips. “I’m just saying we could’ve stomped the Blarney Stone out of those little buckled bastards. It could have been fun. You do remember fun, don’t you?”
A hollow sound escaped Angel’s throat. It didn’t have enough conviction to be a grunt.
“You know what they say,” Spike continued, “all work and no play make Angel a duller boy.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Spike. I’ve got a job to do–“
“And a world to save,” Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Been there, done that. At least I get out for a game of pool and a few beers with my mates once in a while.” Angel’s blank stare remained much to Spike’s dismay. “You need to get out of this office and prove that chair is not attached to your bum.”
“Spike.”
“What about that sweet young thing with the howl?” Spike tossed out a possibility. As dull as Angel was, even he deserved a little recreation and Spike thought he detected some interest on the girl’s part. “She looks plenty dateable to me.”
“You don’t get to talk about her.”
“Nina, isn’t it?”
“Spike!”
“I don’t see what the problem is. She’s too cute for words and for some reason I can’t fathom, she likes you.”
“I’m a likeable guy.” Angel blinked reflexively.
“I don’t get it. By all rights, women should be running from you shrieking in terror, but you keep reeling them in. For a bloke with a bloody gypsy curse around his neck and that forehead, you do pretty well by the ladies.”
“We are not having this conversation.”
“What do you figure? Is it the mothering instinct or maybe your pathetic puppy vibe? Girls eat that crap up.”
“I do not have a puppy vibe! I’m just–” Angel stopped speaking. It took all his strength not to throw something at Spike. “I’m not talking about personal matters with you.”
“What is with you? You could have something real with that girl.” Spike emphasized the possibility before adding a contentious afterthought. “At least she’s available.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Seems you’re only motivated to keep me away from my beloved.”
Angel licked his dry lips and fought the urge to smirk while he silently savored his one continuing triumph. “I haven’t kept you and Buffy apart.” It was an unconvincing denial.
“HA! Gotcha!” Spike rocketed from the sofa brandishing an accusing index finger. “I say ‘my beloved’ and you know exactly who I’m talking about!” Finally, Spike succeeded in goading Angel into a misstep. “I’ll have to mention that the next time I speak with her.”
“Speak to her?” Angel’s jaw hung open. “You…you’ve spoken to her? You have her number?” This was uncomfortable and unwelcome news. Angel had a guy tailing Buffy in Rome, but even he hadn’t discovered her unlisted number.
“Of course.” It was a bold-faced lie on Spike’s part but the deer-in-the-headlights look on Angel’s face was priceless. “And there’s no getting around it, you kept us apart.”
“I did no such thing.” Panic seeped into Angel’s words. He didn’t like being on the defensive.
Spike rolled his lips as those words sunk in. “Is that the story you’re sticking to now, Angel? And I quote: ‘Europe, last I heard.’ Real helpful, that. Buffy and I are meant to be together and there’s not one bloody thing you can do about it.”
If Angel hadn’t been floored by the thought of Spike being in contact with Buffy he could have flattened Spike with a few choice comments. Namely, if they were meant to be together, why was she still in Rome and he in L.A.? Instead, Angel ground his teeth together and pointed to the door. “Turn off the television and leave. Now.”
Spike pressed the button on the remote and gathered up his unopened cans of beer. “So I suppose Vegas is a no, then? Give some thought to next weekend. We could all go. It could be a field trip.”
“I’m calling security.” Angel reached for his phone.
Spike turned and headed for the exit. He breezed through the elegant doors and paused at Harmony’s desk, feigning innocence. “What’s up his bloody snout?”
“I have no idea. He’s been a big grouchy bear all day.”
“Harmony!” Angel’s bellow echoed from the intercom.
“Something big is going down and it’s totally hush-hush. Angel has turned into super freak and just look at the state of my hair. This on the job stress is killing me.”
“Harmony, your hair is dead so nothing can effect it. The only thing deader than your hair is the rest of you.”
“Don’t be mean just because you can.”
“I speak the truth, love. Now go see to the boss man. He may want you to pull that Hummer of a beetle out of his arse.”
Harmony squared her shoulders and spoke with all the authority she could muster. “You know, we get on very well here without you and your approximation of a personality.”
“Oooh,” Spike mused. “A come back? I think you’re finally growing a pair, Harm. Congratulations.”
“Go away! Angel said so.” Harmony breezed by Spike with a scowl on her face and hurried back into Angel’s office.
“Have security remove Spike if he’s not out of the foyer in twenty seconds.”
“Yes, sir!” Harmony nodded and returned to her desk. Spike was already gone.
*
On her way back from the photocopying room Harmony caught sight of a woman walking by her desk, aiming for Angel’s office. Unidentified civilians or even Wolfram and Hart employees didn’t just saunter willy-nilly into Angel’s office, not even on the days when Angel was feeling good. On homicidal days–of which this one would be counted–Harmony needed to be particularly vigilant. It didn’t look good when the custodial staff billed double and triple overtime scrubbing suspicious splotches from Angel’s carpet. A competent personal assistant steered her boss well clear of those potential splotch-making individuals so the extra costs were not incurred in the first place.
“Excuse me, Miss?” Harmony hustled double time toward the mysterious visitor. “Do you have– Slayer!” Harmony jumped back in shock when Buffy Summers turned around to face her. It was the Slayer’s darker highlights and angular haircut that were confusing. Harmony duly noted the follicular atrocity and figured the swarthy look must be all the rage in Europe this season.
“Harmony. Why am I not surprised?”
“Slayer, um, Buffy!” Harmony’s eyes widened with fear. “Gosh it’s been…wow…Hello awkward!” She attempted a breezy giggle but it dried to a crisp in her throat. Maybe a compliment would work but it couldn’t be the hair. “Hey, nice boots! Do you have an appointment? Because, like, today’s been a mess and Angel has a really tight sched–“
Buffy repositioned her shoulder bag and continued walking into Angel’s office. Harmony followed her in. Angel sat hunched over his laptop trying to send off an e-mail to his Italian private investigator.
“Harmony, I click the damn button and nothing happens. What–” Angel looked up and his agitated expression froze before evaporating into something less lethal. “Buffy.” With a smooth reach of his hand he closed the laptop.
“Yeah, um, the Slayer’s here and she doesn’t have an appointment.” Harmony stated the incredibly obvious and waited for some direction from her boss.
“I can see that, Harmony.”
“She barged right by me too.”
“It’s fine, Harmony. You can go to lunch early.”
“Hey, thanks!” That unexpected perk put a wide smile on Harmony’s face. She left the office without another word.