New wee little fic.
Sep. 25th, 2003 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
angelchickenI drabbled again. I meant for it to be 100 words, but, well, that didn't work so well. So instead it is 1000 words. On the noozle. Whee! Warning! It has SPOILERS for "Angel" Season 5 beyond the Spike is going to be on Angel nonspoiler, so if you are spoiler pure don't read it!
Rated PG-13ish 'cause there are a few not so nice words, but that's it. Spike and Angel (though not Spike/Angel).
The light was blinding.
The scream was deafening.
And he still had no problem realizing who had suddenly materialized into his office.
“*What* are you doing here?”
“Oh God. This is worse.”
“Answer me, boy.”
Spike looked around, taking in the plush accommodations, the bright sunlight streaming in the windows and the glowering vampire in the immaculately cut Armani suit (black, of course).
“What could I have *possibly* done to deserve this?” Spike continued, head turning wildly, as if looking for answers in the walls or furniture; possibly the ether.
“Don’t test me, Spike,” Angel spat out, the name bitter on his tongue. “I have no problem kicking your ass.”
That stopped Spike. He finally glanced directly at Angel, a small, amused smile on his lips.
“You’re going to kick my ass?”
“You think I can’t?”
“Fairly certain.”
Angel grabbed for the smaller vamp, but Spike ducked back, neatly avoiding his grasp, and continued.
“But if you would like to go after my *incorporeal* ass, you’re welcome to try. Could use a good laugh.”
“What?”
“Sorry. Been a while since I’ve seen you. Forgot I need to use the little words. I am a ghost. I have no body, and therefore, no ass to kick. Better?”
“How do you know you have no body?” Angel asked, advancing on the spirit of his long lost pain in the, well, everything.
“Gosh, Angel. I’m not sure. I guess it’s just one of those things you miss. Like hair gel. Or, you know, corporeal form.” He ineffectually batted Angel’s hand away from his shoulder, and when that failed took a large step back, directly into a stream of sunlight.
“Shut up,” Angel muttered, turning away from Spike in an agitated pace. “Eve must have known. Wolfram and Hart must have known. That is why they were so damn helpful. Damn it! Where were you?”
Angel’s abrupt question roused Spike from his staring out the window while standing, awed, in the seemingly harmless sun. He turned back to Angel with an indifferent “Hmm?”
“Christ, you never get less annoying. Where were you? Before you appeared in my office?”
Spike paused, then quickly answered: “No where. I don’t know where I was.”
“You will never be a good liar. Were you in Hell? Heaven? The World of Perpetual Mondays?” Angel badgered.
“Does it matter? I’m here now, for some bloody unknown reason. Why do you care where I was?”
“It matters, Spike. It may be a key to how the amulet is used and if it is still active. Was it that bad? Or good? Compared to here?”
“What are you planning on doing if you know? Hoovering me back to the great unknown as fast as your vamp speed will let you?” Spike was obviously desperately trying to avoid the question, which pretty much gave Angel the answer. If Spike had been anywhere good he would never stop hearing it.
“You were in Hell.”
Spike froze. Went for a cigarette he didn’t have and wouldn’t have been able to smoke in any case. He cursed under his breath, or what passed for breath in a vampire ghost, and looked back at Angel, accepting his defeat in this particular battle.
“Yes. I was in Hell. Happy now.”
“Will,” Angel started, immediately and visibly raising Spike’s hackles. “Spike,” he tried, “I’ve been there. I know Hell. I know what it’s like.”
“No. You don’t,” Spike replied. He sounded weary and almost but not quite frightened. Resigned to the fight he knew his words would cause.
“Of course I do. Centuries amidst the Hellfire after Acathla was opened? I know you remember.”
“Yes. Right. Of course. Burning misery and torment. Angel saves the world *after* he tries to end it and the reward is misery beyond comprehension. Okay. Your Hell was worse than mine. You win.”
“Now what are you talking about?”
“Hell. Where you were with the fire and the brimstone? Wailing and screaming and ‘Oh God! Half a millennia without Vidal Sassoon, the horror!’”
“That isn’t where you were?”
“No.”
“Then you weren’t in Hell.”
“Think what you like, Angelus.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Spike?”
“You’re the Great Mousse Detective. Figure it out.”
Spike had forgotten that a pissed off towering Vamp in game face could actually be quite intimidating. Especially when he was seriously intruding in your personal zone. Fortunately the vamp in question was Angel, so he smirked.
“Yes, you are alpha male and very scary at that. But glowering isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
Angel calmed. Took a deep breath, turned and walked to his desk. When he turned back he was dangling the amulet from its chain. His tone, when he spoke, was deceptively light.
“Opening the amulet brought you to this plane. Maybe closing it will send you back. And if that doesn’t work, maybe I can crush it. With my fist. Or the heel of my shoe. And if that doesn’t work, then maybe I can ask Fred if she can take a crack at it, what with all the chemicals and technology she has access to.”
He smirked when he noticed Spike had paled at the threat (odd, as he was without body and shouldn’t have any circulation. And he was a vampire).
“Where the hell were you Spike?”
“It’s not important.”
“Fred is just a phone call away. And I just want you to get out.”
“Angel, let it alone.”
“We’ve already established you weren’t in Hell. Where else could you be?” Angel speculated, a mocking look of inquiry on his face.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Spike burst out, furious at letting himself be baited.
“Where *were* you!” Angel yelled back, tired of playing stupid games.
“I was in Hell, you pompous, overbearing *Bastard*!”
“Why would you think that? How do you know?” Angel asked, angry and tired with Spike and his mind fucks.
Spike paused. Swallowed. Looked at Angel with pure venom before he quietly bit out:
“Because I was alone.”
Rated PG-13ish 'cause there are a few not so nice words, but that's it. Spike and Angel (though not Spike/Angel).
The light was blinding.
The scream was deafening.
And he still had no problem realizing who had suddenly materialized into his office.
“*What* are you doing here?”
“Oh God. This is worse.”
“Answer me, boy.”
Spike looked around, taking in the plush accommodations, the bright sunlight streaming in the windows and the glowering vampire in the immaculately cut Armani suit (black, of course).
“What could I have *possibly* done to deserve this?” Spike continued, head turning wildly, as if looking for answers in the walls or furniture; possibly the ether.
“Don’t test me, Spike,” Angel spat out, the name bitter on his tongue. “I have no problem kicking your ass.”
That stopped Spike. He finally glanced directly at Angel, a small, amused smile on his lips.
“You’re going to kick my ass?”
“You think I can’t?”
“Fairly certain.”
Angel grabbed for the smaller vamp, but Spike ducked back, neatly avoiding his grasp, and continued.
“But if you would like to go after my *incorporeal* ass, you’re welcome to try. Could use a good laugh.”
“What?”
“Sorry. Been a while since I’ve seen you. Forgot I need to use the little words. I am a ghost. I have no body, and therefore, no ass to kick. Better?”
“How do you know you have no body?” Angel asked, advancing on the spirit of his long lost pain in the, well, everything.
“Gosh, Angel. I’m not sure. I guess it’s just one of those things you miss. Like hair gel. Or, you know, corporeal form.” He ineffectually batted Angel’s hand away from his shoulder, and when that failed took a large step back, directly into a stream of sunlight.
“Shut up,” Angel muttered, turning away from Spike in an agitated pace. “Eve must have known. Wolfram and Hart must have known. That is why they were so damn helpful. Damn it! Where were you?”
Angel’s abrupt question roused Spike from his staring out the window while standing, awed, in the seemingly harmless sun. He turned back to Angel with an indifferent “Hmm?”
“Christ, you never get less annoying. Where were you? Before you appeared in my office?”
Spike paused, then quickly answered: “No where. I don’t know where I was.”
“You will never be a good liar. Were you in Hell? Heaven? The World of Perpetual Mondays?” Angel badgered.
“Does it matter? I’m here now, for some bloody unknown reason. Why do you care where I was?”
“It matters, Spike. It may be a key to how the amulet is used and if it is still active. Was it that bad? Or good? Compared to here?”
“What are you planning on doing if you know? Hoovering me back to the great unknown as fast as your vamp speed will let you?” Spike was obviously desperately trying to avoid the question, which pretty much gave Angel the answer. If Spike had been anywhere good he would never stop hearing it.
“You were in Hell.”
Spike froze. Went for a cigarette he didn’t have and wouldn’t have been able to smoke in any case. He cursed under his breath, or what passed for breath in a vampire ghost, and looked back at Angel, accepting his defeat in this particular battle.
“Yes. I was in Hell. Happy now.”
“Will,” Angel started, immediately and visibly raising Spike’s hackles. “Spike,” he tried, “I’ve been there. I know Hell. I know what it’s like.”
“No. You don’t,” Spike replied. He sounded weary and almost but not quite frightened. Resigned to the fight he knew his words would cause.
“Of course I do. Centuries amidst the Hellfire after Acathla was opened? I know you remember.”
“Yes. Right. Of course. Burning misery and torment. Angel saves the world *after* he tries to end it and the reward is misery beyond comprehension. Okay. Your Hell was worse than mine. You win.”
“Now what are you talking about?”
“Hell. Where you were with the fire and the brimstone? Wailing and screaming and ‘Oh God! Half a millennia without Vidal Sassoon, the horror!’”
“That isn’t where you were?”
“No.”
“Then you weren’t in Hell.”
“Think what you like, Angelus.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Spike?”
“You’re the Great Mousse Detective. Figure it out.”
Spike had forgotten that a pissed off towering Vamp in game face could actually be quite intimidating. Especially when he was seriously intruding in your personal zone. Fortunately the vamp in question was Angel, so he smirked.
“Yes, you are alpha male and very scary at that. But glowering isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
Angel calmed. Took a deep breath, turned and walked to his desk. When he turned back he was dangling the amulet from its chain. His tone, when he spoke, was deceptively light.
“Opening the amulet brought you to this plane. Maybe closing it will send you back. And if that doesn’t work, maybe I can crush it. With my fist. Or the heel of my shoe. And if that doesn’t work, then maybe I can ask Fred if she can take a crack at it, what with all the chemicals and technology she has access to.”
He smirked when he noticed Spike had paled at the threat (odd, as he was without body and shouldn’t have any circulation. And he was a vampire).
“Where the hell were you Spike?”
“It’s not important.”
“Fred is just a phone call away. And I just want you to get out.”
“Angel, let it alone.”
“We’ve already established you weren’t in Hell. Where else could you be?” Angel speculated, a mocking look of inquiry on his face.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Spike burst out, furious at letting himself be baited.
“Where *were* you!” Angel yelled back, tired of playing stupid games.
“I was in Hell, you pompous, overbearing *Bastard*!”
“Why would you think that? How do you know?” Angel asked, angry and tired with Spike and his mind fucks.
Spike paused. Swallowed. Looked at Angel with pure venom before he quietly bit out:
“Because I was alone.”
