Author: Judy/Beatle Spike
Disclaimer: I own nothing. These pics belong to Ragna.
Summary: Short fic, Spike's POV. On St. Patrick's Day, Spike gets fed up with Drusilla and Angelus and goes to be with Angie.
If I have to listen to Angelus talking with that Irish accent one second longer, I shall go mad. Since it's Saint Patrick's Day, Angelus is "getting back to his roots". Well, he can take his roots and shove them up his arse. And to make everything worse, Dru's following him around like a puppy dog. She's even imitating his accent, and neither of us has the heart to tell her that her Irish accent is horrible.
Dru and Angelus kiss passionately. It makes me sick to see them together like that. I don't own her anymore; I lost her when Angelus returned from being that sniveling wimp Angel. It still hurts, even if I do have Angie.
"How'd you like that one, my little colleen?" asks Angelus in a heavy brogue.
"It was beautiful, my Emerald-Isle love," whispers Drusilla in a horrible copy of his brogue.
I think I'm going to vomit when they kiss again. Then I use the excuse I always use when I want to see her: "I'm goin' out for something to eat. Anyone wanna come?" Of course I know that they won't come; Angelus and Dru are too busy sucking off each other's lips.
Angelus gives me a withering look. He says pointedly, "No," and to emphasize that sentence he kisses Dru to make sure I get the message.
"Then I'll bring you something back that's nice and young."
"Now that I think about it, make her pretty. I'm thinking along the lines of the Slayer?" It's more of an order than a request.
I try to keep my voice cheerful. They mustn't suspect. "And 'ow am I supposed to do that when I'm in this bloody wheelchair?"
"I don't know. Just do it," Angelus snaps.
"All right. But don't blame me if I fail." With that I leave. Neither Dru or Angelus even seem to notice.
Angie greets me, "Gotta cigarette?"
" 'Ey, what 'appened to 'Hello, how are you?' " I answer. "And since when did you start smoking?"
She gives me a devilish grin. "Since I realized that I could smoke without the consequences. When I was human I always wanted to try one, but I was a bit of a chicken."
"You? A chicken? No."
"I was a real wimp before I became a Slayer. I'm not gonna go into that now, though. Maybe another time."
I light my cigarette first, and then toss my Zippo lighter to her.
"Haven't you ever heard of chivalry?"
"What's that, luv?"
"Don't play dumb with me," Angie pretends to be mad. "You know, like holding doors open for a lady, or giving her your coat when she's cold, OR lighting her cigarette for her, and FIRST. Haven't you ever heard of that?"
" 'Nay; I am the very pink of courtesy.' "
" 'Pink for flower,' " she tosses back at me.
All I say in return is, "Here, let me get that for you, ducks." And I light Angie's cigarette for her.
She beams at me. "Thank you. That's all I asked for."
"You're welcome." We lean against her balcony wall, smoking our cigarettes. The stars are out and we watch them move for God knows how long. "It's so beautiful," Angie suddenly says.
"What is, pet?"
"The sky. Usually the lights from town give the sky an orange cast. Tonight, though, it's so clear you can practically see all the way to Pluto."
"Yeah, I suppose. The stars are prettier in England, though."
"Everything's so much sharper there. Less air pollution, you know."
"I always wanted to see England. Maybe you and I could take a trip there someday."
We fall silent once more. We stand there until we finish our cigarettes.
Angie turns to me and says, "Are you hungry, Spike?"
"Ah, you read my mind, luv. What are you in the mood for?"
"I dunno. O-negative?"
"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. I am not going to eat out of a damned blood bag like Angel."
"Who said we were going to do that?"