Scene 7
A quiet bar in L.A. Shot of Lindsey sitting at a bar table, sipping on a drink. We see Miranda walk in and look around. Spotting him, she quickly walks over. He stands up to greet her. They kiss on the cheek and she sits down.
Lindsey: “Miranda—looking lovely as ever.”
Miranda: “Thank Sergei at Canale Salon—he did the highlights. Took all bloody afternoon, too.”
Lindsey: “What can I get you?”
Miranda: “Scotch, straight up” [he orders]
Lindsey: “That’s where most of your money came from, right? Scotch.”
Miranda: “Most. My late husband left me a fair share.”
Lindsey: “Sorry I never got to meet him—he must’ve been something.”
Miranda: “I don’t think you two would have hit it off—he hated lawyers.”
Lindsey: “Doesn’t everybody?”
Miranda: “I don’t know. I’m rather fond of them—they always seem to be able to get me what I want.”
Her drink arrives. She takes a deep sip.
Lindsey: “I’m afraid that I brought you here under somewhat false pretenses. I don’t have your earring.”
Miranda: [playfully] “Lindsey. If you wanted to ask me out on a date, you needn’t have gone to all the trouble.”
Lindsey: [smiles] “Not that a date with you isn’t a worthwhile pursuit, but that’s not the reason. When you were in my office the other day—I’d wanted to talk to you about something. Something personal. I wouldn’t normally...[he’s a bit uncomfortable].....we’ve known each other a while—this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a drink, so…would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”
Miranda: “Hm. You’ve certainly gotten my curiosity up—go on then.”
Lindsey: “This man—William—who you got the documents for. He’s a vampire.”
Miranda: “He is.”
Lindsey: “How long have you been together?”
Miranda: “Let’s see. I guess six months or so. We share a house up in Sunnydale.”
Lindsey: “So he actually lives there with you?”
Miranda: “He does.”
Lindsey: “What do you do about the kills? You haven’t contacted us—how do you avoid the police?”
Miranda: “He doesn’t kill. We have an arrangement” [not really wanting to discuss the chip]
Lindsey: “Huh. [He finishes his drink and orders another] Blood?”
Miranda: “A mixture—human blood when we can get it from hospitals and blood banks. Pigs blood if necessary. My blood, what I can spare.”
Lindsey: “And that’s enough?”
Miranda: “It does the job.”
Lindsey: [His drink arrives and he downs it. He suddenly seems almost vulnerable—sad] “He loves you? [she nods] They can love?”
Miranda: [sad/guilty] “Yes. Not so different from us in that regard. [sensing why he’s asking] Of course ‘can’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘will’. Do you love her? [he just shrugs] I don’t know that I’d take the risk if I were mortal—an extra second or two and that’s it.”
Lindsey: “He bites you?”
Miranda: “I have the luxury of knowing he can’t kill me, even if he wanted to.”
Lindsey: “What’s it like?”
Miranda: “Incredible—if you don’t mind a touch of pain. Unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.”
Lindsey: “I don’t think I could trust her. I know I couldn’t trust myself.”
Miranda: [trying to lighten the mood] “On the bright side, you’ve only got your soul to lose and you’re already a lawyer...”
Lindsey: [he laughs at this; his demeanor changes as he gets hold of himself] “Maybe you’re right. Thanks for indulging me.”
Miranda: “Anything for an old friend.”
Lindsey: “Of course, I’m also a bit curious about why someone who is so in love would be fooling around.”
Miranda: [hiding her surprise well—she knew this was too easy] “I knew this wasn’t entirely a social call. That was Darla in your office.”
Lindsey: “The one and only 200 year ex of the gentleman you slept with last night—she’s got a good memory.”
Miranda: [she was about to say that its not that impressive considering she’d been with him just a few nights before—she wonders if Lindsey knows] “Angel. ‘Slept with’ is a bit of an overstatement. It was more of a business deal.”
Lindsey: “Is that right? I thought you’d given that up for antiques.”
Miranda: “You’ve been looking in my file—a girl’s past can come in handy sometimes. Due to the nature of their operation, Angel Investigations often turns up some very interesting pieces. I had interacted with them a bit a few months ago when they were working security at a show I was involved with. I’d heard through some sources that they had something I was interesting in buying. Angel didn’t want to sell—said it was some mystical thinga-ma-gig and that it had to go to some priest or mystic or something. So I tried to negotiate. I can be very persuasive if someone has something I want. I did my best—which was very good, I must say. The bastard toyed with me a bit—just enough to make me feel a fool and then kicked me out. Self-righteous asshole.”
Lindsey: “It’s a good story. Maybe it’s even true. We’re looking into it. Coincidentally, it appears that someone tampered with my computer this morning—perhaps looked at a few files; made some copies.”
Miranda: “Isn’t that a shame. And to think, you’re only trying to make the world a better place.”
Lindsey: “Listen, Miranda. I like you—I’ve always liked you. That’s why I’m giving you some warning. If you’re working with him, we’ll figure it out sooner or later and when we do, we’ll take it all—everything you’ve worked for. If you break your connection to him, we may let it rest at that—because you’re a friend. But if not, expect a call from someone who has the power to take more than your assets.”
Miranda: “I appreciate your frankness, Lindsey, but I think you’ll find you’re blowing this way out of proportion. It was simply a negotiation. [she gets up to go] I, of all people, am not the sort to throw my towel in with the good guys unless there is something in it for me.”
Lindsey: “Nothing is worth the price you’d have to pay to take his side. I trust that you, of all people, know that.”
Miranda: “Good night, Lindsey. Thanks for the drink.”
**
Back at the hotel later that night.
Angel: “So he knows.”
Miranda: “I think he’ll do his best to give me a few days. I expect they’ll freeze my assets by morning as a sort of warning, but beyond that—I suspect we have a bit of time before...”
Angel: “You think they’ll find someone?”
Miranda: “I’m not very high up on the Immortal ladder—won’t be hard for them to find someone suitably safe. My biggest source of hope is that most Immortals don’t like to be told what to do or who to fight—the pot would have to be pretty sweet. ‘Course, resources not exactly a limiting factor for our friends as W&H.”
Angel: “You should leave. Go back to Sunnydale. Wes can go through the files you got from Lindsey’s computer—he’ll figure out what’s going on with Darla. It’s too dangerous for you to stay.”
Miranda: [here we go—Angel the martyr again. Tempting as it was to leave and pretend none of this had ever happened, I knew he wasn’t near ready and so I had to talk him around again.] “Do you always give up so easily? I’d expect a bit more stamina from a professional hero. [That was a bit harsh, so I quickly followed with...] “Or is it that you want me to leave. [putting on my best ‘insecure/needy’ face] Things are going too fast and you’re not sure about us. I could...” [he interrupts]
Angel: [with that desperate/panic look] “No. No, that’s not it at all. Us...uh, things are fine...er good...great. I just...you have so much more to lose than I ever did. I can’t ask you to...”
Miranda: “You didn’t ask, remember? It was my choice.”
Angel: [he nods] “What can we do? Is there any way to get the word out to other Immortals about W&H?”
Miranda: “No. I mean I can contact the few I know, but...unless...”
Angel: “You have an idea?”
Miranda: “Let’s go for a walk.”
**
Present day, Miranda telling the story.
Miranda: “That night, we tracked down my watcher. It wasn’t easy—they’re a slippery bunch, but with Angel’s tracking abilities, we were able to turn the tables and watch him for a bit. He quickly got spooked and headed back to wherever it is they live when they’re not out following Immortals. In this case, he’d set up shop in an abandoned building not far from the Hyperion. It was all rather creepy—I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye for more than a decade (that’s when he must have taken over from the last one), but I’d never spoken to him or to my knowledge been close enough to get a good look at him. I’d never tried to contact any of them before. It seemed wrong. Like we were programmed to ignore their presence. Needless to say, he was very upset when we showed up at his mini-lair-for-one. He had a frightening number of pictures of me lying around and all sorts of computer equipment. I tried not to think too hard about it. He wouldn’t talk to me directly—he seemed to have trouble looking me in the eye. So I let Angel do the negotiating. As I had imagined, they take some oath to not interfere with the lives of their Immortals, or any others for that matter. He would be fired—killed more likely if he helped me in any way. After much abuse, we finally got him to agree to listen for any signs that W&H had tried to contact anyone—as this ‘setting up’ of fights was also considered against the rules and so fell under another sort of category that meant it might be OK for him to look into it. This was all he would promise. Before we left, I asked him his name. I could tell from his demeanor that he wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he did. Alex. He looked at me for just a moment when he said it. I decided I liked him, despite his lack of cooperation. [Author's note: I picture the computer nerdy guy from La Femme Nikita (the tv show) as Alex.] By the time we got back to the hotel, I was exhausted. I called and left a message for Duncan, knowing that he had more contacts than me in the Immortal world. We went to bed and straight to sleep. Well, he went straight to sleep. I waited until I was sure he was out and grabbed my phone and snuck up the stairs and outside.”
Spike: “That’s when you called about the shop.” [M nods]
****
[Author’s note: Keep in mind that sometimes the flashbacks are just memories of either Miranda’s or Spike’s and so she isn’t actually relating the story to Spike in that much detail. Sometimes she skips over certain things, particularly most of the scenes between she and Angel. I guess what I’m saying is that just because I’ve included a written out scene here, doesn’t mean Miranda is telling the story in the same amount of detail to Spike. Along those same lines, there are things that I’ve decided not to write out at all—mostly conversations (among other things) between Angel and Miranda. I just don’t want to take the time, even though they’d probably make their whole relationship more believable. Oh well.]
Begin Flashback.
Miranda is sitting somewhere outside the hotel, leaning back against the building. She dials.
Spike: [voice on the phone] “Miranda?”
Miranda: “How’d you know it was me?”
Spike: “Just hoping, I guess.” [he sounds a bit drunk]
Miranda: “You pissed?” [as in British for ‘drunk’]
Spike: “A bit. Well, more than a bit.”
Miranda: “If I ask you to do something, are you too drunk to remember? It’s important.”
Spike: “No worries—got a hefty tolerance, me—be able to stand in no time. What’s going on?”
Miranda: “There’s been some trouble with my lawyers down here. They’re likely to seal off the shop in the next day or two. I need you to get into the back room and move what you can to a safe place. Maybe your old crypt or something.”
Spike: “Sounds serious.”
Miranda: “It may be.”
Spike: “Yeah, alright. Should I go now?”
Miranda: [desperate to not end the conversation now, even though waiting could be risky] “Nah—there’s still a couple of hours before sunrise, right?”
Spike: [pause] “You cross with me? That why you haven’t called? [not waiting for her to answer] ‘Cause, uh, sorry I was such a wanker last time. It’s just—I get so angry when you’re not here—‘cause you’re not here. There’s nothing to do. I could patrol with Buffy, I guess, but I’m still not feeling great and I hate to get knocked on my ass in front of those idiots. [beat] I miss you.”
Miranda: [tearing up, but trying to hide it in her voice] “I’m not—I was never cross with you, William. Things have just hit the fan in the past few days, so there hasn’t been any time. Maybe you should go patrolling—it’s not like you could be any more pathetic than Xander.”
Spike: “True. [cheered a bit] I got you a present. I wasn’t gonna tell you, but I thought you’d be back by now.”
Miranda: “Yeah? What is it, then?”
Spike: “I’m not going to tell you what it is, just that it’s here waiting for you.”
Flash to Spike, laying down on a couch, half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, with the kitten curled up in a ball sleeping on his stomach—he gently strokes it as he speaks.
Miranda: “I can’t wait.”
Spike: “You sound sad. Don’t let Captain Dismal suck the life out of you—why do all bloody hero types have to be miserable and mope all the time? No wonder people prefer villains in the movies.”
Miranda: “That’s just us, love. Most people still root for the good guys.”
Spike: “Bollocks.”
Miranda: [trying to lighten her tone] “Which reminds me, I am not going with you to see the next Star Wars movie if you insist on cheering loudly every time a Jedi gets offed.”
Spike: “I can probably restrain myself, knowing that it all has to go horribly wrong in the end. If only it could have ended with the middle one—that would have been cool. The bad guys never win. It’s so bloody boring.”
Miranda: “I’m going to have a light sabre one day. I’d be the coolest Immortal around. Light, lethal, pretty colors—that’s the weapon for me.”
Spike: “You are such a nerd. Besides, they don’t let girls have light sabers—haven’t you watched the movies?”
Miranda: “Someone is seriously losing a limb if there aren’t any girl Jedis in this next one—mark my words.”
Spike: “That’s more like it”
Miranda: “What?”
Spike: “You just about lost the ‘mope’ in your voice. You’d better get home quick before it gets terminal.”
Miranda: “I want to. Just a few more days.”
Spike: “You’re gonna need to keep the shop closed for at least 2 days after you get back—I’ve got plans.”
Miranda: “I’d love to hear about them, but I’m not exactly in a private space at the moment. Next time. You should go—move the stuff.”
Spike: “Yeah. One more thing. Listen, I know I haven’t...I mean, I’m not much for saying stuff on the phone...seems stupid for some reason. It’s not that I don’t...I’d just rather...fuck it. I love you. Come home before I lose my mind.”
Miranda: [barely holding it together] “I love you, too. I’ll be home when I can.”
She hangs up and then hugs her knees into her chest and sits like that for a moment. After a while, she sits back and lights a cigarette and takes a couple of puffs before putting it out and getting up to go back to bed. She walks quietly into the room and sits on the bed for a moment.
Angel: “You don’t have to go outside to smoke, you know.”
Miranda: “I thought it would bother you.”
Angel: “Secondhand smoke not exactly a problem for the undead [lame ha]. Honestly, I don’t mind.”
Miranda: [pause] “I don’t think they’ll be able to take the house—I’d forgotten that I paid cash and didn’t involve them much. [seeing the frown descend on his face, she quickly adds] I can sell it, or maybe give it over to Willow and Tara for safe keeping.”
Angel: “I know it’s not easy.”
Miranda: “You’d think for people like us that the longer we lived, the clearer things would become—that we’d figure it all out and everything would be simple.”
Angel: “But it just keeps getting more complicated.”
Miranda: [she’s losing control just a bit] “I think I’d just like to get some sleep now, alright?”
Angel: [he can tell she’s upset] “Not talking is almost always my favored option.”
She smiles a bit at this, then leans in to kiss him softly on the lips. She gets under the covers and drapes herself over his chest as he puts his arms around her—they quickly go to sleep. A few hours pass—it’s daylight. She opens her eyes—the two of them are still in the same position. Initially, she smiles sleepily, but then lifts her head and quickly remembers where she is and the smile disappears. She gently extricates herself from Angel’s arms and slips out of bed. She gets dressed and writes out a quick note, which she leaves on her pillow. It simply reads “There’s something I have to do. Be back soon. M".
****
Scene 8
Early morning, St. Michael’s church (the one Miranda visited last time where her husband and daughter are buried). Miranda, looking tired and morose pulls open the big front doors. We see the inside of the church—it’s medium sized and decorated in the old style with wooden pews and sculptures. There are a couple of beautiful wooden sculptures of angels on either side of the pulpit. We see Miranda’s eyes move around the room, taking in the memories that come from the sights, sounds and smells of the place. A soft voice speaks to her—she turns to see a young-ish looking priest watching her.
Priest: “I’m afraid mass doesn’t start for another couple of hours. If that’s what you’ve come for.”
Miranda: “Actually, I was hoping to see Father Dunn—is he still alive?”
Priest: [a bit surprised] “Yes, though he’s mostly retired now. He keeps insisting that his work isn’t quite finished yet, so he stays around and does what he can. I can only hope I have such commitment when I’m his age.”
Miranda: “So he’s here, then? In his chambers?”
Priest: [he nods] “He may not be awake yet. Shall I go and see?”
Miranda: “Yes, thank you. [as he begins to walk off] Even if he isn’t up, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to miss a visit from an old friend.”
The priest just looks puzzled for a moment—this woman is younger than he is—hardly could be considered an ‘old friend’. Still, he does as she asks. After a few minutes, he reappears.
Priest: “He’ll see you now.”
He starts to tell her where to go, but she marches off without listening—she knows the way. She pushes the door, which had been open a crack and steps into a small room, closing the door behind her. It is sparsely decorated and only has a small bed, a desk and a few bookshelves and one comfortable looking chair. Father Dunn is sitting in the chair—He looks as if he’s just got out of bed. He looks up when he hears her enter, but it is obvious from his expression that he must be mostly blind, as he doesn’t focus on her. Miranda looks mildly shocked at the sight of him—he’s aged so much.
Father Dunn: “It is you, Miranda, isn’t it? I’m afraid the years have taken my sight.”
Miranda: “Yes. [beat] Everything looks just the same. Except for you, of course.”
Father Dunn: “And I suspect you don’t look a day older than when I last saw you—the funeral, was it?”
Miranda: “I wasn’t at the funeral, remember. Has your memory gone as well?”
Father Dunn: “Could’ve sworn I saw you there, in the shadows, perhaps?”
Miranda: “Your memory is playing tricks on you. Best not to listen.”
Father Dunn: “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting.”
Miranda: [rolls her eyes] “Yeah, well, I should beat you senseless—or worse. I can’t believe you’d been tracking me with the bloody necklace—one of your Vatican buddies paid me a visit not too long ago.”
Father Dunn: “And you helped him?”
Miranda: “That’s not the point. It was a violation.”
Father Dunn: “ah. But you’re not here to chastise me.”
Miranda: [sigh] “No, what’s done is done. You provided Cal immeasurable comfort towards the end—the kind I couldn’t provide.”
Father Dunn: “Wouldn’t provide.”
Miranda: “I can’t very well preach something I don’t believe—not even for comfort’s sake; perhaps especially not.”
Father Dunn: “And yet you’re here now. Why?”
Miranda: “Maybe I’ve seen some things...things that make me wonder if there could be some truth in it.”
Father Dunn: “What things?”
Miranda: “More tangible evil. I don’t know, maybe I’m ready to believe that there are sides to be taken. [anticipating his thoughts] Nothing more.”
Father Dunn: “With tangible evil comes tangible good.”
Miranda: “Maybe. I don’t know what I believe anymore. [her voice is cracking a bit] I mean, everyone wants to think that they’re a part of something—that they are here for a purpose. I’ve met some recently who know. But what about the rest of us? Maybe we just see what we want to see—hear what we want to hear. We seek out some destiny that makes us feel important when really we should just mind our own business and get back to our own lives and not try to be what we’re clearly not.”
Father Dunn: “Sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of something.”
Miranda: [upset, she walks over to the chair and sits on the floor next to it. She takes his wrinkled old hand in hers and looks up into his blind eyes, pleading] “How do you know when it’s time? How do you know if it’s real?”
Father Dunn: “Tell me.”
Miranda: “I’ve gotten myself into something—something I don’t think I can go through with. [tears are flowing now] I was happy—I had a life. Things seemed honest for once. But then there was this man—someone who’d been a friend to me. He asked for my help. He’s a good man, or trying to be, who was falling apart. Like so many others, he saw something in me that wasn’t quite there. I knew that by being that person, I could help him. He just needs a little push is all—something to give him that little bit of strength he can’t quite muster. Sounds simple, but it’s not. In truth, it requires me to give up everything.”
Father Dunn: “If you’re asking whether you should sacrifice your own happiness for that of this man, I can only respond by saying that you are equally deserving of happiness.”
Miranda: “It’s more than that. He has evil inside him—very strong and very powerful. His recent troubles have brought it to the surface and unleashed, this evil could do enormous damage to the world. There are forces at work to banish the good in him and unleash the evil to fuel something bigger than any of us. He is strong, but they might be stronger and I can help him. But the only way I know how—the only path that’s clear and familiar is to be...with him.”
Father Dunn: [Taking this all in, he sits in silence for a time.] “I see. He will come to love you, no doubt. Could you love him?”
Miranda: “I love another. The pain of his loss swamps everything.”
Father Dunn: “Try and put that out of your mind for the moment. Could you love him?”
Miranda: “I have a certain affection for him, but love? [she shakes her head] Unlikely—it would take something big, something unexpected.”
Father Dunn closes his eyes tightly, as if meditating. Miranda sits quietly for a while.
Miranda: “It can’t be right, can it? It’s dishonest. This can’t be what I’m supposed to do. It’s ridiculous—what was I thinking? Let him solve his own bloody problems” [she starts to get up, but FD’s hand grabs her arm, showing more strength than she’d expect from a feeble old man; she turns to him with pain in her eyes, pleading] “It hurts too much. I can’t.”
Father Dunn: “Let me show you something.” [He puts his hands on either side of her head. She experiences a “vision”: She’s outside, laying on her side in the grass. It’s a beautiful summer day and she can feel the warmth of the sun. There’s a stream a few yards away—she can hear the water flowing. She has an overwhelming feeling of contentment and happiness. She feels something and looks down and sees her large, pregnant belly. She hears a voice behind her: “let’s show mommy the fossil you found”; she turns to see a little girl, maybe 3 years old, proudly holding a small rock—she covers her eyes from the sun and looks upward to see the man who spoke. It’s Angel. The priest removes his hands and it’s over. Miranda looks overwhelmed and confused and stumbles to her feet.] “Only you can know for certain if it’s time.”
Still with a look of bewilderment on her face, Miranda hastily leaves—this whole experience has freaked her out and she just wants to have a cigarette to calm her nerves. After she’s gone, a pained look descends on the priest’s face. Soon there are tears in his eyes. Looking upwards, he speaks.
Father Dunn: “It isn’t true. I can feel it. [getting angrier/more upset] What you had me show her—it’s a lie. [shaking his head] Oh, Miranda. I’m so sorry.”
[Author’s note: obviously Miranda doesn’t know this last bit, as it took place when she wasn’t present.]