AUTHOR’S NOTE: This was written at 2 in the morning especially for the people who replied. I hope it’s coherent and you enjoy it. Spike's POV, then Methos'.
I knew this would happen. I had a feeling I would become some sort of slave to the pouf’s fancies. The only reason I accepted this gig was because of the wad of cash he shoved in my hand. Bought m’self some smokes, some Jack and I’m going to get right pissed while they’re gushing about missing each other and rutting all over the house. Oh, right, making love. Those two… I should have put it together way back when. I find a refrigerator and fill it with the basics for human survival I was sent to buy. I also unload the blood and nuke some up.
First bag explodes. That’s when I hear a crashing noise upstairs. Sure didn’t waste any time, did they? Like dogs in heat. I don’t clean up; just remember to put it in a container. I heat up a super extra large mug, and chug it down. It’s not like I need it really: Sire’s blood is better than anything. The gnawing hunger has finally let me be. I should thank ‘im, but I won’t.
I pull out the last items in my bag and head for a functioning bathroom. When I get out, I’ll be myself again. I don’t like the idea of curly, froofy hair, makes me think of how I got my first nickname.
My hair’s cut, and the treatment is seeping into my scalp. I can feel the chemicals rushing in. I had to put some music on, because those horny sons of bitches haven’t stopped and I don’t fancy havin’ to jack off, not since Buffy… Guess I’m a masochistic bastard.
‘Been real pathetic the last month. Spent all my cash on getting back from effin’ Africa and most of the rest of my time sleeping in a cave and staring at the water.
I could have gone back to Sunnydale, but there’s nothing for me there anymore. I’m nothing to anyone there, except for a class A annoyance. Sod all of them. I fucking tried. Say what you will but I fucking did. They had no idea how hard it was for me. Physically, mentally… They couldn’t have cared less. ‘Cept maybe the nibblet but there’s no way we can be friends now, not after what I did, what I could have done, what I should have done given my nature. So they can all suck me. I’ll mooch off old pops and head out.
I rinse the bleach out of my hair and imagine how good it looks. Ah, yeah. I’m getting back to Spike.
The building shakes as I look for a comfortable room and I see men rushing up the stairs out of the corner of my eye. This doesn’t look good. I catch one that was lagging behind and throw him down the stairs. Broke his neck. Not entirely human, I see. He doesn’t get up. I take the stairs three by three and catch up, pulling down another. That one sets off the chip. Blinding pain. Blinding- from pulling on some bloke’s shirt! Luckily, he’s hurt from the fall and I get to have a chat with him. I straddle him, trapping him.
I think he just wet himself- ponce. I scrunch my nose. Maybe it’s the whole vampire face thing. Maybe he’s ‘new’. He ends up saying ‘Wolfram and Hart’ before passing out.
Who the hell are they? Where the hell have I heard that name before?
Everything stops and a dark haired woman in a suit comes in the front door with more muscle. Guess maybe the fight’s over. I get out of the way and watch from behind a pillar. I know he’s not dead, at least. I’d know if he was, but it don’t look good. They carry down Adam first and I can see he’s got a bunch of darts stickin’ out of him. He’s covered in blood. Blimey, I’m so jealous right now; about the blood I mean.
Next comes and equally unconscious and blood-drenched Peaches. The woman gives special instructions and delights in the sound his head makes, hitting on each step on the way down. I don’t know weather to enjoy the sound myself, for all the grief he’s caused me, or if I should be angry. To my dismay, I’m angry. Angry in the way that I could crack heads open with my bare hands. This insane panic builds inside me, threatening to boil over. What if I never see my Sire again?
Good fucking riddance you’d think. Yet here I am terrified. I should be put out of my misery. This soul is seriously cramping my style. I thought I was an emotional person before, now, it’s like I’m a bloody bint.
When they clear out, I follow the trail of blood and find the room where it all happened. No more bodies, just blood. The blood’s so fresh I fight the urge to lick it off the wall. I haven’t had human blood in so long I can’t stay.
The last van’s pulling away when I get downstairs. I got about 1 hour till sunrise and I am cutting it awfully close. I get on Adam’s bike, fiddle with wires until it starts and drive off after them. I keep my distance, but they know how to spot a tail. 15 minutes later I am cornered.
Same woman in a suit takes charge. I stay on the bike calmly.
“What do you want.”
“Angel,” I reply. I feel sick, I’m like his bitch now or worse, his knight in shining armor.
“Not gonna happen.”
“I was there first. I get to kill him!” I whine… I was going for rage there, too. Damn!
“Oh, is that what this is all about?”
“No, I want him back so we can buy a house, move to the bloody suburbs and have ourselves a couple of kids. Of course I want to kill him. I want to torture him. I want to start by ripping out his toenails and spilling holy water on the wounds.” I explain, waving my arms.
“Sorry, we’re not killing him. If everything goes according to plan, his son will be doing that,” she says like it’s supposed to make me feel better, touching my arm. I want to rip it off so badly.
‘His son???’ I think. Are they on bloody crack? Penn is dead and good riddance, Diego ran off to join Dracula’s harem (and we haven’t heard from him since) and I am standing right in front of them and they have no idea who I am.
“Stop following us,” she finally says, “or I will put a price on your head so high, you’ll wish you were dead.”
I didn’t even care enough to make a pun. Who is Angel’s son? Did he make another?
I let them turn the corner and flag a taxi. I lie on the back seat and tell him to follow the vans and report where they stop. It’s lame but it may work if they are headed somewhere in the city.
I’ll have to take the sodding tunnels back to the hotel. That should be fun.
Angel is kneeling next to me. I’m still playing sleepy because who knows how many microphones, cameras or two way mirrors are in this place.
This is the real thing. This isn’t some warehouse where I’m tied to a chair and ransomed. This place is fully functional, squeaky clean and probably several levels under ground. These people have the money and the power to maintain this place, which means they have the money and resources for research. I’m going to have to get out of here before they find out what and whom it is they’ve got locked up.
I wonder what happened at the hotel. Did William see or hear anything, or was he still away spending my cash?
