**
Miranda: “You already know the first bit—things were exactly as I said on the phone those first few days. He hadn’t told me anything before I left Sunnydale, so I had no idea what to expect. I arrived at the hotel Friday morning.”
**
Scene: Six months ago. The lobby of the Hyperion. 9am. Miranda walks through the front door, carrying an over-the-shoulder overnight bag. She strolls through the lobby and plops her back on the sofa. Just then, Cordelia comes out of the back office to the front desk, carrying a cup of coffee.
Cordelia: [surprised, but sleepy] “oh. Miranda. I would seriously act more surprised and excited to see you, but I haven’t had my coffee. Give me a minute and I’ll see if I can muster something.”
Miranda: “No need to muster—but I will take a cup of coffee if you’ve got some to spare. I parked my rental on the street outside—is that all right, or is there a lot somewhere?”
Cordelia: [waving it off, while she takes a deep drink from her mug] “That’s fine. Traffic cops don’t seem to make it to this neighborhood much.”
She dives into the back room and comes back out with some coffee; she’s looking more awake by the minute. She hands Miranda the mug and they drink in silence for a moment.
Miranda: “So, uh, how’s business? Rather intense at the moment?”
Cordelia: “No, actually. More like eerily quiet.”
Miranda: [confused] “Oh. I was under the impression...”
Cordelia: [suddenly a look like she’s just figured something out; then conspiratorially] “Oh, yeah, right. Things are much too hot to handle ourselves.” [wink, wink]
Miranda: [not quite getting it; confused frown; decides to change the subject] “So is he...”
Cordelia: “Not up yet. [“knowing” look—smiling] You can go on down and surprise him if you want—it’s not like he locks the door or anything.”
Miranda: [huh—decides to ignore the implication] “Do you have a phone book handy? I should look into booking a room somewhere.”
Cordelia: [genuinely surprised] “Oh, I just assumed you’d be staying downstairs...[suspicious] or upstairs—we’ve got plenty of rooms, if you can handle the 70’s-must-clash décor.”
Miranda: [decides she should say something] “I’m thinking there must be some sort of misunderstanding...” [Cordy interrupts]
Cordelia: “Sure. I get it. It’s a “business trip”” [acts out the quotation marks]
Miranda is about to say something when Angel appears—he must have heard them talking.
Angel: [sounding relieved] “Miranda—you made it.”
He comes over and actually hugs her—she’s a bit taken aback, but doesn’t resist. Is that perfume she smells? Hm. Cordelia is watching them and beaming.
Miranda: [friendly, warm] “Hello, Angel”
Angel: [forgetting about Cordy for a minute] “You look—it’s good to see you looking so...uh...not like you looked the last time I saw you.”
Miranda: “I think there is a compliment in there somewhere.” [Thinks to herself: wish I could say the same—he looks downright haggard and more than usual. What has he told them?]
Cordelia: [giving Angel a ‘try harder—you’re SUCH a loser’ look] “Let me translate for Mcfly here: you look lovely. Ooh, is that a Gucci belt?—it totally sets off those shoes.”
Angel: “That’s pretty much what I meant. Well, except that last part. About the shoes. Not that they aren’t nice, but I’m not one to...I mean, fashion’s not exactly my thing.”
Cordelia: [under her breath] “Yeah, good thing you cleared that up.”
Angel: [to Cordy] “What was that?”
Cordelia: “Nothing. [suddenly thinking about something] So, what happened the last time that she looks so much better now?”
Angel: “uh...right...last time she was...um...[desperately trying to make something up—they’re obviously under the impression that he’s seen her more recently than the whole Glory incident]...not wearing any make-up.”
Miranda and Cordy both give him a disbelieving look, like I can’t BELIEVE he said that.
Cordelia: [to Angel] “Oh my god, you are SO bad at this. [under her breath] Guess we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Miranda: [she decides to lie to see his reaction] “To be fair, I did have a touch of the flu.”
Angel: “Yeah, she was kind of pale and pasty.”
M thinks: Ok, what sort of game are we playing here?
Cordelia: “Ok, Angel, enough talking. Just stand there and look...tall. I’ll grab you some tea.”
As Cordy leaves the room, Miranda shoots Angel a ‘what’s going on look’, but before he has a chance to answer it, Cordy is back with the tea. He is able to whisper “Play along, I’ll explain later. Please.” Miranda gives him a slight frown and then a nod.
Cordelia: “So does this mean we’re doing the ball thingy tonight? [to Angel] You are such a sly one, with your “we’re not going to waste our time on another security gig”, when all along, you were just importing a date. Oh, but you didn’t leave me any time to shop.”
Miranda: “Ball?”
Angel: “uh”
Wesley comes in.
Wesley: “So you decided to take my advice after all. Really, it’s a bit of income and it’ll be good for morale—things we all could use more of. Miranda, so glad you could come down.”
Miranda: “Nice to see you again, Wesley. It would seem that Angel neglected to mention the ‘ball’ aspect of the job—I didn’t bring anything formal.”
Angel: “Oops, I guess we can’t do it then. I’ll just call them up and...”
Miranda: “Don’t be ridiculous. I did bring a credit card and this is LA. Cordelia, let’s go shopping, shall we? Don’t bother with a purse—my treat. [to Angel] And I think you should go back to bed for a bit—you look dreadful.”
Angel: [shrugs] “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He and Miranda exchange a look. She looks concerned, but snaps out of it quickly and goes into ‘chirpy shopping mode’. She and Cordelia head out the door. Just before she reaches the exit, she turns back.
Miranda: [to Angel] “Should I get you something to wear?”
Angel: “I can probably piece something together.”
Cordelia: [turning to Miranda] “Yeah, not so much. He tends to be off by a decade or so.”
Miranda: “We’ll find something”
Scene 4
Present. In the hotel room. She’s continuing the story…
Miranda: “A few minutes alone with Cordelia and it became quite apparent that he had intentionally led them all to believe that he and I had been...well....let’s just say, sneaking around. How they figured this would work with my living in Sunnydale and him in L.A. was not clear, but obviously he was using me as a cover for something. The way Cordelia went on about it—how it was just the perfect thing for him—she was downright giddy in her acceptance of us as a potential ‘couple’—I gathered he had been acting odd for quite some time and they were worried about him. I was able to discern quite a lot from Cordelia—his behavior must have fit quite neatly with someone who was sneaking around with the girlfriend of someone who he despised. They probably thought it quite right for him to be acting strange—him being drawn to someone who was willing to see him, but not break the ties to his enemy whom she was still sleeping with. Whatever it was he was covering had caused him to be guilty, conflicted, inexplicably absent and more broody than usual—and there must have been a hint of a woman, else why would they be so willing to accept his explanation? I’ll admit that I was rather naughty during that day of shopping—making up all sorts of things to tell Cordelia. He asked me to play along and boy did I—figured it served him right for using me in that way. It was hilarious, really—poor girl believed every word. Anyway, the shopping took all day and by dusk, I still hadn’t been able to speak with Angel alone to hear his side of things—for reasons I can’t remember, we ended up having to meet him at the party hall and so I had an hour to kill before the party. That’s when I called you the first time.”
**
Past. Hotel room at the Hyperion. Miranda is sitting on the bed in a bra and slip, making a call on her cell phone. We hear both sides of the conversation:
Ring ring ring.
Spike: [Spike’s voice on the other end, sounding annoyed] “Yeah”
Miranda: [playful] “Is that the way you always answer my phone? S’no wonder no one ever leaves a message.”
Spike: [now pleased, because it’s Miranda] “So it’s your phone now, is it? Bloody thing’s been ringing off the hook since you left—birds just dying to get a piece of me now that you’re out of the picture for a few days.”
Miranda: “Hm, is that so? Well, then I’m glad you answer it the way you do—don’t want to give them any ideas.”
Spike: [confessing] “eh, telemarketers mostly. Too bad you can’t project evil over the phone. I’ve tried roaring at them but they just keep on talking. Only reason I answer the thing is in case it’s you.”
Miranda: “And here I am. [hearing a straw sucking noise] What are you doing?”
Spike: “Having a Miranda slushy”
Miranda: “a what?”
Spike: “Had a bit of an incident with the microwave this morning, so I had to get creative. Bit of ice, couple’a strawberries, bag of your finest, blender and bob’s yer uncle, a Miranda slushy.”
Miranda: “How very California of you. Hm.” [She leans her head back against the headboard and moves her hand across the side of her neck.]
Spike: [guessing what she’s thinking by the sound of her ‘hm’] “Yeah, wish you were here to heat it for me.”
Miranda: [trying to not think about it] “So what have you been up to without me? Been strutting around the house naked, watching porn all day?”
Spike: [laughs] “But that’s what I do when you’re here, love. Shockingly, I’m fully clothed—socks and everything.”
Miranda: [frowning] “That’s rather disappointing. [getting an idea] Since I can’t actually see you, I’ve decided to go on picturing you naked on the couch, if that’s alright.”
Spike: “S’your imagination, pet. Maybe you should include yourself, while you’re at it. If I close my eyes, I can definitely think of some naughty things we could be getting up to right about now. Oh, and for future reference, I always picture you naked.”
Miranda: “God, I’d love to continue that line of thinking, but I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone ‘till a bit later—I’m not exactly in an entirely private space at the moment. You going out?”
Spike: “Thought I’d try to find a poker game or something later.”
Miranda: “ooh, don’t forget to keep an eye out for an orange tabby”
Spike: [rolling his eyes a bit] “I never said I’d share a house with a cat—don’t get along well, cats and vampires.”
Miranda: [pouty voice] “But all creepy old houses have to have at least one cat—I’m sure it’s written in stone somewhere. Besides, cats love me and I want one to keep my feet warm at night.”
Spike: “I’ll mull it over.”
Miranda: [smiling; then a bit more serious] “How are you feeling?”
Spike: “I’m OK. Still not quite up for kicking the slayer’s ass, but uh..."
Miranda: “Spike, you c...”
Spike: “Don’t say it.”
Miranda: [smirking] “Well, whose ass could you kick?”
Spike: “Uh, I’m pretty sure I could kick Xander’s ass.”
Miranda: “Good lord, you really aren’t feeling great, are you? Take care of yourself. Don’t be picking any fights at the club.”
Spike: “I may still be weak, but I’m not stupid, which puts me ahead of 99% of the demons in this town. Don’t worry so much.”
Miranda: [changing the subject] “So what are you going to do until later?”
Spike: “eh. Watch TV—there’s a Xena marathon that’s just started. You ever watch that?”
Miranda: [shaking her head] “I’m surprised you haven’t figured out by now that I pretty much watch anything that has sword play of any kind—movies, television—if there’s someone wielding a sword at some point, I’ve seen it. In fact, I was so blown away the first time I saw an episode of Xena, that I nearly packed my bags and headed to New Zealand—I mean, a woman sword fighter. ON TELEVISION. God, I’ve never even seen another Immortal woman fight. I seriously considered just showing up on the set to help choreograph the fight scenes. But, then I decided to move to Sunnydale and do the antiques thing [sigh].”
Spike: “So the short answer would be ‘yes’, then”
Miranda: “ooh, but why don’t you tape it for me—I’ve missed most of it.”
Spike: [obviously watching it on TV right now] “Please tell me the sidekick is temporary—god, I’ve watched 10 minutes and I want to run her through.”
Miranda: “She gets better. At least her outfit gets skimpier.”
Spike: “I think you should fight in a leather miniskirt and metal bra—THAT I would like to see.”
Miranda: “Tell you what. You make the effort to tape the marathon and I’ll have a little outfit made up.”
Spike: [pictures it for a moment] “Where are the tapes?”
Miranda: “On the shelves in the cabinet. So, who’s Darla?”
Spike: [you can hear him searching for the tapes] “What?”
Miranda: “Darla. Cordelia let something slip when we were shopping today, but then quickly covered.”
Spike: “Shopping? Thought you went to LA to rescue dumbass-in-distress, not to cavort with his mouseketeers.”
Miranda: “That was the plan, but as it happens, things are a little less straightforward than I was expecting—he’s keeping things from them and so far, ‘them’ is my only source of information. So do you know who this Darla is?”
Spike: “Uh, yeah. Spent more time than I’d care to admit with her over the past century. She sired Angel, Angel sired Dru, Dru sired me—so I suppose you could call her my great gran. Quite a piece of work, that one.”
Miranda: “What, so you all hung ‘round together?”
Spike: “For a bit, yeah. Up until Angelus became a big pansy and took off—then we went our separate ways. Well, ‘cept for me ‘n Dru.”
Miranda: “Huh. So were Darla and Angel...like you and Dru?”
Spike: “More or less—but they had an odd sort of relationship. Very much a love-hate thing, if you could even use a word like ‘love’ to describe their sort. But they were always together—long before I arrived on the scene and before Dru, too and then after ‘till he got cursed.”
Miranda: [smiling & crinkling her nose] “Hm. So, did the four of you have like orgies and stuff, when you weren’t off terrorizing Europe?”
Spike: “Bite your tongue, naughty girl. Is your mind always in the gutter? Hated the bastard almost as much back then as I do now. But, you know, we were family.”
Miranda: “What happened to her?”
Spike: “Rumor has it, Angel staked her himself—so much for eternal love and all that.”
Miranda: “But she’s not dead—I’m quite sure Cordelia used the present tense.”
Spike: “News to me—that would be quite a trick”
Miranda: “Well, regardless, she would certainly have the power to mess with his head if she is around.”
Spike: [a bit whiney] “Whatever. Just figure it out and come home. I’m bored.”
Miranda: “I’ll do my best. I have to go now, love, but there is one more thing. On the off chance that one of the, uh, mouseketeers, as you called them, happens to chat with one of the scoobies, you should know that they are under the impression that I’m having an affair with Angel. [to herself] What a ridiculous sounding sentence—how old are we?”
Spike: “WHAT? Why the hell would the bastards think that?”
Miranda: “I’m pretty sure that’s what Angel told them—or at least led them to believe.”
Spike: “I’m gonna kill him. Seriously. I’m hanging up the phone, getting in the car and coming down there to kick his ass.”
Miranda: “Keep your pants on. It’s not that big a deal—once I’ve figured this out, I’ll set everything straight. And besides, as you’ve already admitted you’re not exactly up for kicking anyone’s ass.”
Spike: “Fine. Just get it done—fight whoever you have to fight and take off. You don’t owe him more than that.”
Miranda: “If it were as simple as fighting someone, he probably would’ve just called Buffy. There’s something deeper gong on.”
Spike: “Okay, then play mental games with whoever you need to play mental games with and be done with it.”
Miranda: “Don’t worry—I’ll only do what I have to and that’ll be that. I’ll be home before you know it.”
Spike: [bitter/grumpy] “I already know it.”
Miranda: “I’ll call you later, alright? I love you.”
Spike: [softening] “Yeah, me too.”
They hang up.
[Author's note: I just realized the continuity error here—I forgot that in Crush, Dru told Spike about Darla. Oops. Um, yeah.]