Chapter 4
Scene 1
Wolfram and Hart. Angel’s office.
Gunn has just opened the door for Deth, who walks in carrying a file folder. Angel is sitting at his desk and after closing the door behind her, Gunn walks around to the front of Angel’s desk and half sits/half leans against it. Deth stands in front of them, looking uncharacteristically awkward. Perhaps it is the clothes she’s wearing or the way she has styled her hair. She looks like someone who had dressed in a hurry—a thrown-together-in-a-whirlwind sort of semi-formal. But she had not been particularly rushed—the look was simply not her own and hence gave her an air of reluctance. A moment of silence passes while the scene settles, before the purpose of the meeting re-asserts itself.
Gunn: “How’s our new best friend, Lou? We had you down for three meetings this week.”
Angel: “Negotiations still running smoothly?”
Deth hands Gunn the folder.
Deth: “He pretty much agreed to everything we had time to discuss. Paperwork is all there.”
Gunn: [flipping through the documents] “Damn, girl. We need to hook you up with the U.N. or something, ‘cause you’ve got the gift—world peace, right around the corner. [beat] Never thought he’d give up his HS clients.”
Angel: “HS clients?”
Gunn: “Human sacrifice. Names and locations for the past 3 months, all here.”
He hands a piece of paper to Angel.
Angel: [to Deth] “You think he’s sincere? Giving us real information?”
Deth: “As far as I can tell. He speaks English with me—the whole translator thing’s a bit of a ruse. But everything’s checked out, right?”
They both look at Gunn.
Gunn: “We’re still working on what you gave us last week, but so far everything looks kosher.”
Angel: “It’s still only bits and pieces—scraps. He’s dribbling it out. We need more to see the big picture.”
Gunn: [to Deth] “You’re seeing him tonight, right? Try and push the database access stuff. Having cross referencing ability will give us lot more bang for the buck.”
Deth: “I’ll try. [beat] He’s definitely drawing this out.”
Angel: “You think he’s stalling?”
Deth: [shrugs] “I only get maybe 15 minutes to talk business with him at each meeting—the rest is all…well…socializing. [She says this with a bit of a sneer.] It’s such a waste of time.”
Angel: “Wes says that’s the way we’ve got to play the game with his kind. We’re making progress. Keep at it. In the meantime, Gunn, get your team to investigate what advantage he might be looking for with a delay—maybe there’s something big coming up that he’s trying to keep from us.”
Gunn: “I’m on it.”
He gets up and starts to head out the door. Deth doesn’t move—she shifts her feet and lets out a small, inadvertent sigh. Gunn stops.
Angel: “Was there something else?”
Deth: “It’s just…I’ve been getting a bit of a weird feeling lately.”
Angel: “Feeling. Is that like a vibe?” [hint of sarcasm; he has already mentally moved on to the next topic on his list and is annoyed at the delay.]
Deth: “Every time I go there to meet with him, there are fewer and fewer other demons around. At first they were like parties, then soirees and now it’s like, four guys and some chip and dip. And whenever he’s ready to ‘talk business’, he takes me into this room.”
Angel: [Not really sure where she’s going with this] “You think he’s got surveillance equipment there?”
Gunn: “Or some sort of magic mojo to help influence the negotiations?”
Deth: [frowning, now ready to rant] “Every time I go in there, it looks a bit more like a set from a bad 70’s porn movie, complete with fake zebra-skin couch, lava-lamps and push-button light dimmers and stereo system. I keep expecting a rotating waterbed with leopard skin sheets to pop out from behind the obviously fake bookshelves. Very Austin Powers. And I could SWEAR the other night, he winked at me with one of his peripheral eyes.”
Gunn can’t help but smile and let out a small laugh.
Gunn: “You think that six-eyed, big-eared, scaly-skinned pig-man’s been putting the moves on?”
Deth: “They’re not actually ears—it’s a circulation thing. [beat] But yeah, there’s definitely a courtship vibe. And it’s starting to give me some serious willies.”
Gunn: “No doubt. Ech, that purple wart-covered tongue of his? Wouldn’t care to see that flapping in a suggestive manner.”
Deth: “’Not exactly his tongue.”
Angel: “You sure you’re not imagining it? I think Wes would have mentioned if his species had a history of cross-species dating.”
Gunn: “Then again, Wes hasn’t exactly been in top form lately. I’ll mention it.”
Deth: “They don’t. But believe me, it doesn’t take an empath to see when negotiations are negotiations and when they’re negotiations. I’m worried he’s going to expect something—in payment for his cooperation. Makin’ me feel kind of ho-ish.”
Angel: You’re probably blowing this out of proportion. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. And even if you’re right, just because he expects something doesn’t mean he’s going to get it. Any guy who’s dated knows that.”
Gunn flashes him a that’s-a-totally-inappropriate-thing-to-say-to-a-woman,-dumbass look. Deth frowns, disapprovingly.
Gunn: “We’ve got that alarm button rigged up on your cell phone—he tries anything inappropriate, we’ll be there in a flash.”
Deth: “He won’t…try to force anything, I’m pretty sure. Still, maybe we can explore other ways to do this?”
Angel: “Keep at it—we’re too close to lose this connection now. If you don’t feel threatened, then I don’t see what the problem is. As soon as we get what we want, you’re off the hook.”
Deth: [looking displeased] “Okay. But I have a feeling he’s going to keep dragging his feet and this is already taking up far too much of my time.”
Angel: [annoyed, his short fuse getting shorter by the day] “You got something better to do? Newsflash: those fighting the good fight don’t get paid overtime. You said you wanted to help; this is helping. Everything else can be on hold.”
Deth frowns and looks at the floor, feeling a bit humbled. She nods and heads to the door, which Gunn opens for her, following her out.
She makes her way down the hall. She has a bit of time before she needs to leave, so decides to stop in to see Wesley and ask him about the Llyoobov. On her way to the office, she is pleasantly surprised to see Spike step out of the elevator. Her frown lifts instantly. She waits for him to notice her, but he seems distracted and doesn’t look up. When he is just a few steps away from Angel’s office (his obvious destination), she commits to getting his attention.
Deth: [In a soft voice] “Spike.”
There is still a split second delay before he stops and looks in the direction of her voice. He gives her an acknowledging nod and walks over. By the time he reaches her, his expression has transformed from a distant frown to a pleased smile. He kisses her in greeting; more greedy than a peck. He doesn’t step away, but keeps the distance intimate. His breath has a twinge of whiskey.
Deth: “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Spike: “Had to talk to Lord Vader about something. [He leans in for another tasty kiss.] You coming over later?”
Deth: “Have to work.”
Spike: “You bartending? I could stop in. [Off her look, he steps back a minute and gives her a quick once-over.] You look wrong—you’re going to see him again.”
He stays back, the mood instantly cooled.
Deth: “Sorry.”
Spike: [frowning, obviously annoyed] “Bloody perfect. That’s the third time this week.”
Deth: “Angel says I have to keep working with him until they’ve ironed everything out.”
Spike: [suspicious] “You sure that’s it?”
Deth: [shocked] “What, you think I like spending time in his ode-to-goat-pee house of mildew?”
Spike: “He made his move yet? Layin’ on the ol’ charm?”
Deth: [Surprised that he hit it on the head so precisely] “Well, yeah. Sort of. But it’s not like I’m tempted. [a touch of disbelief] Are you jealous?”
Spike: “Any reason I shouldn’t be?”
Ouch.
Deth: “He’s a Llyoobov demon.” [Stress on the demon.]
Spike: “And you don’t find demons the slightest bit attractive.”
Deth: [busted] “Ok, so maybe he’s not bad looking. But even if I wanted to fool around, which I don’t, I wouldn’t know how it would actually work—I don’t even know what parts are the important ones or what goes where. [Spike raises his eyebrows] Oh god, ech [shiver], I guess I do know—[under her breath to herself] yeah, thanks for that visual. The point is, this is work. Nothing more. They think it’s important—that it might make a difference.”
Spike: [finishing her thought; with an undertone of bitterness/sarcasm] “How can you say no?”
She’s still a bit stunned by his tone—what’s got into him? He’s been drinking, for sure, but why?
Deth: [desperately earnest] “I will.”
But it is unclear if Spike hears, because at that moment, Angel has popped his head out of his office, having heard Spike’s voice in the hall.
Angel: [Impatiently] “Spike, are we doing this?”
Spike turns his head and gives Angel a begrudging nod before turning back to Deth.
Spike: “You working at Harvey’s at all this week?”
Deth: “No. Not ‘till Sunday.”
Spike processes this and before turning away, lets his expression soften slightly. He knows he’s being a bit of a bastard, but he’s been lonely this week; and without distraction, his mind wanders to unpleasant places.
Spike: “Stop by in the morning if you want.”
Deth seems a touch relieved by this and gives him a quick smile and nod.
**
In Angel’s office, sometime later. The meeting is just about over.
Spike: [looking bored] “We done?”
Angel: “You in a hurry?”
Spike: “I’m always in a hurry to get out of this place.”
He gets up to go.
Angel: [with a hint of confrontation] “So I’ve noticed.”
Spike: “You got something to say to me?”
Angel: “Maybe I just get the feeling you’re not taking this all very seriously…[beat]…Lately.”
Spike: [skeptical, disbelieving annoyance.] “Lately. This wouldn’t have anything to do with your recent foray into the art of pimping?”
Angel: “What?” [Honestly not getting it. Half the time he has no idea what Spike is talking about.]
Spike: “Oh, right, I believe they’re calling it [making the quote marks with his hands] “contract negotiations” these days.”
Angel: “Jealous of a Llyoobov demon? God you’re pathetic. Though I guess Dru did leave you for a Chaos demon. Gosh, I still have a good chuckle every time I think about it. Antlers, slime, and yet somehow still more appealing than you.”
Spike: “Laugh it up, Frankenstein. It’s not Deth’s interest that I’m sweating. Just don’t want you lot putting ideas in her head—making her think she’s gonna save the world by shagging someone for a bloody signature on a piece of paper.”
Angel: [defensive] “I don’t tell people what to do. [beat] Okay, so I do. [dismissive] But it’s not going to go that far with Deth and the Llyoobov demon. [thinking about it] Well, unless it would actually save the world, but that’s highly unlikely—the guy just doesn’t seem to have apocalypse potential, you know?”
Spike: “Whatever. I’ll be sure to coach her to ignore you when you get annoying like I do.”
Angel: “See, that’s the problem. Listen, I’m pleased as punch that you’re able to blow off some steam getting your kink on with demon girl—but when it starts interfering with…”
Spike: [incredulous] “With what? Tell me you didn’t fall for Harmony’s little tear-fest. God, you’ve always been a sucker for blondes.”
Angel: “Harmony’s not the issue, but now that you bring it up, it hasn’t exactly helped the work environment around here. The two of you making out in the hallways, goofing off on the job with everything that’s happened lately; Deth walking around with a vampire hickey when I’m trying to enforce a no human blood rule. Tell me, would you pass a random blood screen today? Not exactly sending the right kind of message.”
Spike: “What’s the problem, mate—your little canine doesn’t let you take a nip now and again? [off Angel’s about-to-explode-with-anger look] First, it was only the one time and it’s not as if she didn’t cover it up—can’t help that your perverted mind’s always in the gutter, seeking that sort of shit out. And everything else is just bloody nonsense, like having a bit of fun ‘round the office is gonna cause the walls to come crashing down around us or incite a riot. It’s an escape, you repressed moron. Normal people get that. And what about you and dog girl anyway?”
Angel: “We limit out time together. And we’re discreet, a concept you seem incapable of grasping.”
Spike: “God, you probably shag on a schedule, too. [mocking] Pencil me in for thirty minutes on Tuesdays, love. Oh, but in your case, guess you’d only need five.”
Angel: “Fine, the office stuff is just a minor annoyance. What worries me is you falling into your old pattern and letting that interfere with the job we’re trying to do. You let yourself get distracted by women and you lose sight of what’s important. Saving the world, averting the apocalypse; Any of this sounding familiar?”
Spike: [bitterness and anger growing; eyes narrowed] “Oh, is that what I do?”
Angel: “It’s why you sucked at being evil and why you’ll never be any good as a hero. We’ve got too few people and too much stacked against us; I can’t have you distracting my employees for selfish reasons and I can’t waste the time worrying that you might not be there when things get nasty.”
Spike: “You self-righteous piece of shit. You’re unbelievable, you know that? Maybe my approach is a bit different from yours, but I get the job done just the same. And maybe I do take a bit more pleasure out of life than you do, but it’s what keeps me fighting for this world, regardless of what side of evil I happen to be on at the time. More than I can say for you, point of fact. [letting his mind go] Everything I care about is here. Everyone I care about. You think a little bit of comfort is enough to make me forget that? I’ve given everything to make sure the world keeps going and I’ll do it again; so bloody what if it’s partly for her—to make sure she gets to keep living?”
Angel: [unmoved] “And which she would that be this time?”
Spike’s hand instinctively folds into a fist, the rage overwhelming. But as his emotions swirl, the rage entwines with confusion and he looks at Angel with genuine disbelief.
Spike: “How can you even ask that question?”
Through all his animosity, annoyance, sometimes hatred of his grand-sire, the one tiny shred of emotional common ground he thought they shared, their sole source of mutual understanding was the slayer. They both loved her. They were both denied her. Her feelings notwithstanding, there was a manner of comfort in this kinship. She would always be Buffy. Maybe he was right all along; maybe Angel wasn’t capable of feeling so deeply; maybe he had already forgotten. Stupid, undeserving bastard. Spike’s eyes wander back to Angel’s face, ready to pass judgement; ready to claim the loneliness and superiority of his own misery. But the mask of skepticism, coldness in Angel’s eyes had faded to reveal a glimpse of the empathy beneath. His temporary superiority deflated, Spike abruptly turns to leave. On his way out the door, he mutters:
Spike: “Fuck off.”
Like he needed another bloody reminder. That manipulative bastard. He hates that Angel played him like that. Hates more that he let him. The guy’s dumb as a rock 95% of the time—since the soul anyway—Guess he had let his guard down taking that for granted.
**
Scene 2
A sidewalk, much later that night. Deth is walking briskly, obviously heading somewhere. Well, she’s trying to walk briskly, but her heels keep wobbling as she makes her way over the crevice-filled, uneven pavement of this neglected piece of sidewalk. In frustration, she pulls off her shoes and continues on barefoot, tossing them in the first trash can she comes across as she walks by. She rummages through her bag as she walks, fishing out a pair of beat-up tennis shoes, which she slips on her naked feet while continuing her forward momentum. Just as she is approaching the alley entrance of the bar, her cell phone rings. She takes a deep sigh, obviously expecting and yet dreading the call she’s about to receive. She stops, fishes the phone out of her bag and answers it.
Deth: “Hello.”
Gunn: “Deth? It’s Gunn. [pause] I just got a call from our man Lou’s interpreter.”
Deth: “I couldn’t stay there.”
Gunn: “Yeah, he mentioned you took off in a bit of a rush. What’s up?”
Deth: “Things were just headed toward that line and I wasn’t waiting around for him to cross it.”
Gunn: “He danced around the idea that there might have been some sort of misunderstanding.”
Deth: [sigh] “There was a guy there. A human. Thought he might have been a new servant at first, but as the night progressed, I got the feeling he was supposed to be some kind of…fluffer.” [said with obvious distaste]
Gunn: “Fluffer?”
Deth: “Yeah, or maybe an offering? I sure as hell wasn’t sticking around to find out.”
Gunn: “You lost me.”
Deth: “Oh come on. Don’t you watch porn? A fluffer is someone who…”
Gunn: [interrupting] “I know what a fluffer is. Just don’t get how it applies here.”
Deth: “I think Lou hired this guy to be a fluffer for me—to, you know, get me in the mood or something. The guy looked like a porn star from the 70’s—he was kinda flabby, had a ton of chest hair and a mustache. I’m thinking Lou’s only source of info on human sexuality comes from the adult entertainment industry. God, it was awful.” [shiver]
Gunn: “Did he actually proposition you?”
Deth: “Not in so many words. It was more of an implied thing.”
Gunn: “uh-huh. You sure you’re not just being paranoid?”
Deth: “I feel what I feel and what I was getting from him was a distinct desire to get me on my back. Well, technically, upside down and kinda sideways, but you get the idea. [thinking out loud] It was more that he wanted it done than wanting to do it.”
Gunn: “Listen, according to his interpreter, he feels terrible and is mortified that he might have offended you in some way. He assured me it was all a mix-up. He was so distraught that he offered to do whatever it takes to finish up negotiations on your next visit.”
Deth: “I’m not going back there.”
Gunn: “I hear ya’. But the thing is, it sounded like he’s prepared to give us just about everything we’ve asked for. And then some.”
Deth: [pleading] “Gunn. This doesn’t feel right.”
Gunn: “Sleep on it. I’m sure we can work something out. [adding] Angel’s not likely to let this drop.”
Deth: [shaking her head] “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Gunn: “Check in tomorrow when you get in.”
Deth: “Yeah, ok.”
She closes up the phone and drops it in her bag with a frown. Before going in to the bar, she strips off her blouse, leaving just a red tank top beneath. She stuffs the shirt in her bag and pulls the clip out of her hair. She finds herself muttering under her breath “Could this day get any worse?”
Once inside, she heads straight to a back room and emerges a few minutes later with an envelope in hand, whose contents she is thumbing quickly through. She looks up, satisfied with the amount, pleased that Harvey was able to pay her in cash for a change. But before she gets halfway back towards the door, she sees something that causes her to stop abruptly. Across the room, she sees Spike sprawled on a chair near the pool table. He’s got his hand on a half-empty bottle of something—liquor, not beer—and sitting on his lap, giggling in a most annoying way is some dark-haired, fire-engine red lipped vampire hoochie wearing a terribly inappropriate amount of sparkled eye shadow. The hoochie reaches over and possessively pops the cigarette of out Spike’s mouth, takes a drag and then carefully replaces it. He barely seems to notice. His eyes are dimly pointed at the pool table, where two demons are having an animated discussion about the rules of nine ball, arguing specifically about whether a shot, uncalled, can be counted. After a bit of oddly polite and articulate banter on the subject, completely devoid of snarling or grunting of any kind, the situation is resolved and one of them nods toward the hoochie. She leans over to whisper in Spike’s ear, letting her hand linger on his chest. In response, he looks sluggishly over at her, then hands her the cue, implying that he’s either too tired or two drunk to take his turn and that she should shoot for him. She smiles seductively and snakes off his lap. Once she’s gone, he takes another swig from the bottle, never taking his eyes off her leather-covered ass. Deth stands there, transfixed by the sight. She can’t remember ever having seen his eyes so hazy with alcohol; so distant, detached, clouded. Snapping out of her momentary fixation, she reaches in her bag and pulls out her phone. She dials. We only hear her side of the conversation.
Deth: “Harmony, put Angel on the phone. [pause] I don’t give a shit, put him on. [pause] I’m not going back there. [pause] Too bad. Find someone else. [pause] Fire me if you have to, I’m not going back.”
She hangs up the phone, tosses it in her bag and strolls over to the table where Spike is sitting. The hoochie is now back in place on his lap, his hand firmly planted around her hip. Deth casually drops her bag on the table and looks straight at the hoochie.
Deth: [calm, decisive] “You can go now.”
Spike doesn’t look up, but continues his hazed stare forward.
Hoochie: “Excuse me?”
Deth: “You can go now. You’re here because I wasn’t, but now I am, so you can go.”
Hoochie: [skeptical laugh] “Hardly. Spike’s gonna take me dancing, aren’t ya’ hon?”
Deth lets out a brief sigh and then reaches over, grabs the hoochie’s hair and yanks her off of Spike’s lap in one smooth, almost calm motion.
Deth: [still in a steady voice] “I said, it’s time to go.”
Once she’s standing, Deth shoves her toward the pool table.
Hoochie: [threatening] “Hey!”
But the demons who were playing pool, hold the hoochie back and manage to quickly whisk her away into the background.
Spike still doesn’t look up.
Deth: [pleasant] “Mind if I take a swig?”
Spike: [looking straight ahead; groggy] “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Deth: “Came to pick up my pay.”
Spike: [quieter] “not supposed to be here”
Deth: [guessing why he’s upset, she offers plainly] “I’m not going back. I won’t see him again. ‘told Angel he could fire me if he wants.”
Spike shakes his head and lets out a quick breath. Perhaps amused that that is what she thinks this is about.
Spike: “Do what you like.”
She frowns, a seed of panic now firmly planted in her.
Deth: “Look at me.”
Spike: [he keeps his head down; pleading] “Go home, Deth. [beat] Please.”
He takes hold of the bottle on the table, possessively, but doesn’t actually move it. She stares down at him, desperate for an explanation; wishing she could read him like the others. She gets fragments sometimes, wisps of things; only the most desperate get to her. Now his drunkenness forms a cloud, a buffer, preventing her from getting anything from his words. She reaches over to touch his cheek, hoping to wake him from this stupor. He pulls away and she quickly withdraws her hand.
Spike: “Get away. Go. I don’t want this.”
He pulls the bottle to him and takes a deep swig, still averting her gaze.
Deth: “I’m a good listener—ask anyone around here. If you want to talk.”
Something is swelling in him; he tries to suppress. He tries to shunt the sadness into anger.
Spike: [a hint of malice] “I don’t want to talk, don’t want you to listen, don’t want you here, don’t want y… [he doesn’t finish] If you won’t leave, I will.”
Like tiny shards of glass blowing towards her, grazing her skin. Or sparks off a campfire that burn in a shower of fine stings. That’s what these words bring through the filter of alcohol.
Spike staggers up, dropping the chair behind him. With the bottle in hand, he heads to the door with a weary, unsteady determination. She follows him out, not knowing what else to do, stunned by this sudden eruption. He falls towards the side of the alley and leans against it, his face in anguish.
Deth: “You shouldn’t be out like this. Let me take you home.”
Spike: [slurring slightly] “Don’t you get it? I’m not going anywhere with you. Now sod off and leave me be.”
Deth: “Spike, look at me.”
Spike: “Push off. Find someone else.”
Deth: “Look at me.”
Spike: “I don’t want to.”
Deth: “Look at me.”
He glances towards her and then with a wince, quickly looks away.
Spike: “I can’t.
Are those tears she saw? The shards are getting bigger. Something is brewing, but she can’t seem to stop herself from pushing.
Deth: “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”
Spike: [shaking his head, he steps away from the wall] “I warned you. I told you to go away. Now you’ll have to hear it. [He looks at her through the sides of his anguished eyes] I can’t look at you because if I do, I’ll be reminded again that you’re not her. [tears are flowing] No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, you’ll never be her.”
Deth: [Her expression static, she instinctually responds] “I won’t hurt you.”
He bitterly scoffs. He didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t want to see her tonight. He’d get things under control in a day or so—that’s usually what it takes when he’s feeling like this. But now the floodgates are open and his razor tongue is no longer under his control.
Spike: [ranting] “Who are you, anyway? You’re just a girl. ‘Not that you can help it, but you’re nobody. You’re nothing.”
As they’ve been talking, a few demons come and go on their way to and from the door. Just as Spike finishes this last insult, a burly demon with large, circular horns protruding from the sides of its head brushes past, clipping Spike with his shoulder, muttering:
Horned Demon: “She’s everything, dumbass.”
The collision almost knocks Spike over, his balance shot from all the drinking. He steadies himself against the nearest building, ignoring the demon’s utterance.
Spike: “I can’t forget. It’s everywhere. S’no room. [voice declining to a mutter] S’no room for your bloody coffee maker.”
Deth just stands there, taking the barrage. Without saying a word, she turns to go, unable to look at him; unwilling for the moment to feel his pain. She needs to know how much of it she owns. Spike leans against the wall a moment after she leaves, head swirling. He closes his eyes, frowns deeply and then smashes the bottle angrily against the bricks.
**
Scene 3
The next day, late-morning. Inside Spike’s apartment. He’s lying face down on the bed, fully clothed, his feet still incased in black boots, hanging off the end. The phone rings. After about 10 rings, he reluctantly stirs, sluggishly rolling off the bed. He flips a light on and shuffles to the phone. But when he picks it up, there’s just a dial tone. He shakes his head and puts the phone down, looking totally spent. He walks to the sink and splashes some water on his face. Dripping over the sink, he glances at the French press sitting on the counter, still half full with stale coffee and frowns. As he’s drying his face with a towel, there’s knock at the door. He glances at the clock, 11:30am. He reluctantly walks over to the door, hesitating a moment before opening it. When he does, he finds Deth standing in front of him, her goose-pimpled arms wrapped around herself for warmth. She’s careful not to look him in the face.
Deth: [coldly] “I’m locked out; I need the spare.”
Spike steps away from the door, giving her room to enter. She takes a few stiff steps inside. As she passes him, he notices she smells of salt and sun; that sweet musk of skin that’s been freshly burned and touched with a thin layer of sweat. Amazing that he even remembers the smell—not something a vampire encounters much. There’s also a hint of blood.
Spike: “Your foot’s bleeding.”
Deth: [looking down] “I lost my shoes—stepped on a piece of glass or something.”
He takes a moment to look her over more closely. Her clothes look stiff, her hair uncombed, the seams of her skirt damp. Her face and arms show a hint of pink and her nose is covered in tiny brown freckles.
Spike: “You’ve been out all night. [She nods] Guess you didn’t get my note, then. I waited around ‘till just before light. Luckily, I’d sobered up enough to remember not to turn myself into a heaping pile of dust by stumbling out into the sun.”
His pleasure at seeing her is growing by the minute.
Deth: “Can you get the key?”
Spike: “Yeah, sure.”
He walks over to his duster, strewn across the floor near the bed, pulls a set of keys out of the pocket and works the key off the ring. He hands it to her. She looks at it a moment and then walks into the kitchen.
Deth: [as she’s walking] “What did it say? The note.”
She wants to not care, to stay angry, but she’s curious.
Spike: [Scrunching up his face, thinking about it] “I have no idea. Probably an apology of some sort, though I can’t be sure—memory’s a bit spotty.”
When she gets to the kitchen, she takes the French press and empties the contents into the sink, rinsing it. She tucks it under her arm and turns back towards him. Her plan had been to get the key, pick up the coffee maker and leave. But now her legs don’t seem to be cooperating—she stands in silence for a moment. Spike is watching her closely; curious, afraid, remorseful. She sighs, takes a determined step towards the door, then stops and turns back, looking him directly in the eye, her brow furrowed.
Deth: “What do you want from me?”
Spike: [Taken aback by the directness of the question, he first looks flustered, then sad.] “I don’t know. [pause; resigned] Can I just not know? Would it be all right for me not to know? [She doesn’t answer] I was off my head last night—those things I said to you…”
Deth: “You meant it. Every word.”
Spike: [frowning] “Doesn’t mean you should have heard them. There’s a lot you don’t know. [shakes his head] Makes me crazy sometimes.”
A few more moments pass.
Deth: “I never asked to be her.”
He nods. Point taken. He’s amazed how much she can say with so few words. She turns to leave.
Spike: [Feeling a desperate need for her to stay, even for just a few more minutes.] “Where did you go? Last night.”
Deth: [looking over her shoulder] “The beach.” [She moves to take another step, then stops, staring down at her feet.] “Can I borrow some shoes? Or socks, or…”
Spike: [a cautious smile] “Yeah, sure. ‘should put a bandage on that foot, too.”
She nods. He moves around the apartment, gathering supplies, while she leans against the arm of the couch. He pulls a chair up and sets to work cleaning and covering the cut; she winces occasionally.
Deth: [His tender touch warming her, she relaxes; her rush to leave tempered.] “Would make a more interesting story if I could say it was a shark’s tooth. But I think it was just a piece of glass.”
Spike: “I won’t tell. Shark’s tooth it is. [beat] So you went in. [she nods, he smiles] Impressive.”
She had ended up at the beach last night, her feet propelling her towards it as she’d attempted to walk off her thoughts and cares. Once there, her focus turned to the water; to the escape that was promised under the surface. Yet her fear grew as she approached the crashing waves and she had ended up pacing the wet sand for hours and hours, attempting to stare down the black water, this battle consuming all her conscious thought. It took until daybreak for her cold determination to force her limbs in the right direction; she’d thrown her shoes and bag back towards the dry sand and ran into the crashing waves. Her heart racing, she’d managed to fight her way past the cresting waves to the point where her feet couldn’t touch the bottom. She dove under water, the salt stinging her eyes; of course she had no goggles, so there was nothing to see. She let the current carry her a bit and then charged back out again. She’d never been so scared in her entire life; it took hours for her mind to stop spinning and her blood to calm. She’d sat in the sun, recovering, taking some pleasure in her little triumph.
Deth: “It was very, very cold.”
Now finished with the bandaging, Spike looks at her with weary eyes, not knowing what else to say to keep her here.
Spike: [Eyeing the French press still tucked firmly under Deth’s arm. Trying to be cheerful.] “Should we make you some coffee, then?”
She frowns slightly, not quite ready to release her grasp.
Spike: [more serious] “I like having it here. I like seeing it every morning. Don’t even mind the smell.”
He reaches for it, gingerly.
Deth: [firm] “I deserve more than to be a distraction.”
Spike: “I know. You are. [beat] I’m just a bit damaged, is all. Do you think you can live with that?”
Off his look, she releases her grip, letting him take it. He goes into the kitchen and puts some water on to boil. When he returns, he pulls out a cigarette and goes to light it.
Deth: “You mind not smoking when I’m here? [off his confused look—she had never objected before] Second hand smoke. Cancer. I plan on keeping all the years I’ve got coming.”
He shrugs and puts it away.
Spike: [with a touch of playful distaste] “You plan on getting old, wrinkly and shriveled, then?”
Deth: “Yep. [pause] So I was thinking maybe I could use your shower—wash some of this salt and sand off.”
He can’t help but betray a wide grin. For the first time, she smiles back. She pushes off the edge of the couch and walks with just a slight limp to the bathroom. She strips off her crusty clothes and steps into the shower, after carefully removing the fresh bandage from her foot (to be replaced afterwards). She stands under the stream, her muscles relaxing under the warmth of the steaming water over her naked body. She hadn’t realized how completely exhausted she was until now; she closes her eyes and lets the water pour over her face. The sides of her mouth turn up as she hears the shower curtain being pulled back. Spike takes a moment to absorb the sight of her naked, glistening body before stepping in. She opens her eyes to find him beckoning for the soap. She hands it to him. He turns her around so that her back is towards him. He quickly sets to work lathering her body. He begins at her neck and shoulders, massaging them gently with his soap-covered hands. Then down each arm, all the way to the tips of her fingers. Getting more soap, he then reaches around and starts lathering the front of her neck, then downwards over her collar bone, taking more time than necessary once he reaches her breasts, unable to refrain from kneading them, working her puckering nipples between his soapy fingers until they’re taut. She feels a familiar twinge between her legs every time his fingers slide over the tips. He’s amazed how quickly his horribly hung-over body responds to this stimulation, feeling the familiar tightness before looking down to see his knob standing at abrupt attention. He reluctantly moves his hands away from her soapy (and VERY clean) breasts, down the sides of her abdomen, across her stomach, pausing just to stick a teasing little finger in her belly button. He pulls his hands back around and lathers her lower back; when his hands reach the sides of her hips, he kneels down so he can more efficiently massage the soap into her lower body. He takes his time with her healthy ass, carefully kneading each cheek before slipping a hand between them. As he did with her belly button, he can’t help but slip the tip of one of his soapy fingers into her ass, causing her to gasp lightly. He wiggles it a bit before continuing his downward progression; she moans her pleasure at the intrusion. Saving the best bits for last, he carefully moves his hands down each of her thighs, calves and feet, working his soapy fingers gently into her flesh along the way. She keeps her eyes closed; she thinks how unbelievable it is to be so carefully attended to; she feels the hurt and tension of the past 24 hours slipping away under his expert hands. Once he’s finished her legs, he turns her back around. He teasingly takes his time re-applying the soap to his hands, as she bites her lower lip, waiting to see how he’ll choose to clean her swelling inner lips. He moves his hand over her mound, soaping the hair until it forms a rich lather. Finally, he reaches between her legs and she moves her legs apart slightly to accommodate him. He works his fingers in every crevice, along every surface of her pussy. She starts to moan her approval as she feels the tightness and the slightly different friction of his fingers once they’re coated with her own juices. She grabs his hand when he starts to pull away, but lets go once she realizes his intention of replacing it with his face. He works his tongue along her folds, teasing her entrance, tasting her arousal. She grips his wet hair and moves her pelvis in rhythm with his tongue. Oh god, she wants to come. It had only been a week since they’d last fucked, but with all that had happened it felt like much longer. She decides not to bother holding back and as soon as she feels the familiar shooting tingles indicating the start of her orgasm, she pulls his face tight against her and thrusts against his mouth while she groans loudly. The relief is so great, she can’t stop herself from laughing. He stands up, smiling and in one quick motion, lifts her legs up and around him as he slips his rock-hard cock straight in to her still pulsing hole (she gasps; he grunts). She finds the soap and starts moving her hands over his taught, dripping body, cleaning him gently as he thrusts in and out of her, holding her by the ass. He turns to put her back against the side of the shower, giving him a bit more leverage to thrust more vigorously. She grabs a bottle of shampoo and sets to work lathering first his hair and then her own as he drills into her. He turns them into the stream for a moment to rinse, never stopping his rhythmic motion. They’re both too tired to say much and stick to a more limited vocabulary of grunts and moans and gasps. His mouth gaped open, he emits a low grunt with each thrust. She digs her nails into his back as he stretches her more with his pre-orgasm expansion; this time he doesn’t slow down as it approaches—he is set in the crescendo of his rhythm and just pumps and pumps and pumps until his grunts merge together into a low wail. He can’t believe how sweet the release is when he spurts into her; every contraction sending a shiver of pleasure through his body. He hears himself whisper between breaths as he’s coming “I’m sorry. So sorry.” She wraps her arms tightly around him and closes her eyes, worried by how exquisitely happy she feels, despite everything.
End scene.
***
tbc...