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Real Definition of Assumption
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“Don’t see why I have to do this,” Spike paced around his apartment, one hand held the phone to his ear while the other took a mug of blood out of the microwave.
For some odd reasons, Spike had grown to like the apartment Doyle - Lindsey - had chosen for him. It felt nice to have something of his, not living in abandon factories, deserted crypts or under the great ponce’s roof. The fact that Lindsey had bought the apartment instead of renting it was the one good thing he’d done, in Spike’s point of view. Of course, now that Lindsey was missing, it could have been difficult for Spike to continue staying there, but an accidental rescue of a rich man’s son and the reward solved the problems.
“Because I missed you.” Angel’s voice flowed from the other end of the phone. “And you still have my Viper.”
Spike chuckled, “My Viper, mate.” He took a sip of the blood, grimacing at the taste.
“Our Viper.”
“I can live with that.”
“So? What do you say? Come over tomorrow and we’ll have dinner.”
Downing all of the pig’s blood, Spike grabbed a beer from the fridge as he set the mug in the sink. “When?” The beer didn’t do much to erase the horrid taste from his mouth, but the second bottle should do the trick.
“Umm, five-ish?”
The delight in Angel’s voice made Spike smile at how easy it was to make Angel happy; he liked hearing that enthusiasm in Angel’s voice. Not that he’d ever tell anyone. “Err, you’re forgetting something called the sun.”
“You have ‘my’ Viper, Spike.”
“So? Thought it was ‘our’ Viper.”
“Wolfram & Hart made all my cars’ windows sunlight proof.” Angel sighed; Spike could be so dense sometimes. “You have underground parking and so do I. Just get in the Viper and drive over.”
“You have it all figured out, huh? Ponce.”
“I’ll see you at five, Spike.”
“I thought you said five-ish!”
“Goodnight.”
“Poof.” With an affectionate – but if anyone had asked him, Spike would describe it as annoyed – shake of his head, Spike clicked off the phone and sat down to enjoy another round with the X-Box.
There was no bleeding way in hell that he was going to drive to Wolfram & Hart at rush hour. But Spike didn’t see any need to tell Angel that, he could figure it out himself.
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Angel paced in his office. It was 5:03 and Spike wasn’t there yet. Maybe Spike was still in bed. He dialed the familiar set of numbers and waited for the phone to be picked up.
“Yeah?”
“Spike? Were you sleeping?” Angel frowned, even though he was pleased that he had guessed what Spike was doing, it still annoyed him.
“Yeah, damn X-Box was pissing me off. Had to kick its ass.” Spike yawned and glanced at the clock. 5:04.
“Whatever, get over here.”
“Yeah yeah.”
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The clock on the wall read 5:29 and Spike still wasn’t there.
Angel picked up his phone again. “Are you here yet?”
“Jesus, Peaches! How old are you, five?”
“Well?”
“No!” Spike hung up before Angel could get another word in.
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5:47.
“Spike...”
“Fuck off.” Spike growled into the phone.
It was then that Angel realized that it was rush hour and Spike hated waiting.
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6:03.
“What the hell is that noise?” Angel cringed as he strained to make out the clamor in the background. It sounded like a…siren?
“Cops.”
“What?”
“A bit busy right now. Ta ta!”
“Spike? Spike!” Irritation from waiting for Spike dissipated into worry. Angel tried calling back, but Spike’s cell phone went straight to voicemail.
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“Spike? Are you okay? Where are you?”
After twenty minutes of calling, Spike finally answered.
“My apartment.” Spike's tone was tense and the words were almost spat out.
“Stay there!” Angel didn’t dare to ask what happened with the cops. He should have just gone over there in the first place, at least then they wouldn’t have wasted an hour and Spike wouldn’t be mad at him.
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“Spike?” Opening the door with his key, Angel stepped into the living room and called out tentatively.
“In here.”
In eight large steps, Angel rushed into the bedroom only to find Spike wrapped up comfortably in his comforter and looking like he hadn’t even left the bed.
“Have you even gotten out of the bed today?” Anger bubbled inside of Angel. Spike had lied to him!
“No.” Stretching leisurely, Spike ignored the annoyance in Angel’s voice.
“You lied to me!”
“No I didn’t.” Spike grinned cheekily.
“Yes you did…you…” He trailed off as he thought back to their conversation, Spike didn’t lie to him. He just assumed…Wait! The siren! “What was the siren huh? And the cops?” Angel glared.
“TV.” Pointing to the television placed across from the bed, Spike shifted to make room for Angel. “Cops is a show.”
“You…I…You…”
Spike watched the numerous emotions as they played out across the older vampire’s face. Angel actually looked flushed and Spike wondered if any blood vessels had burst to create that effect. “Not my fault if you like to jump your fat ass into conclusions.”
“I don’t give a damn! Make it up to me!” Angel actually pouted and stomped his foot on the floor.
The amusement of watching the older vampire behaving like a child quickly transformed to desire as Spike focused on the pouty lips and puppy eyes. “Well, luv. I am still in bed…”
~ END ~