Like Sid And Johnny Said - I Did it My Way!

Like Sid and Johnny Said I Did It My Way……………

It had been a tough case that was for sure. He had ended up facing seven Koraska demons. Their acid had eaten clean through his brand new leather duster when he had been forced to dive into it in order to save Wesley who promptly fainted. Angel was not in a good mood as he re-entered his apartment. All he wanted was to step in the shower and then fall asleep for a long, long, long, time. He walked into his bathroom and began to remove his clothes. When he was finished he folded each and every item individually and placed them into his laundry basket. He then checked his injuries, none were too serious, before he walked up to the shower. He blamed the following incident on his tired and injured state. He must have been hurt worse than he thought to miss such a distinctive scent. Angel opened the shower door.

To come face to face with a grinning Spike. A grinning Spike holding some kind of black gun. That was when he felt two small pricks in the centre of his chest and a pain unlike any other as he was electrocuted. All he remembered before he passed out was Spike standing over him smirking and he barely heard “This time, ‘mate’, I’m gonna’ do it my way!” before he lost consciousness.

Spike's POV

Christ he’s heavy. The bloody poof probably weighs twice as much me, all this does is make me angrier that it takes me longer to get him to the car. His car. I found the keys in his duster, what was left of it. I cracked up when I saw that, I know how much of a neat freak my sire is and exactly how possessive. I lock him in the boot of the slick Mercedes. I walk around to the front, get in, lower the convertible’s roof. I drop my bag into the passenger seat. It contains barbed wire, toothpicks, blowtorch, enchanted handcuffs, drawing pins, pokers, a dagger, some blood, some bottled holy water, the contents of the Watcher’s tool kit and a walkman with a greatest polka songs ever album. Mental note : stop at a hardware store for nails, sledgehammer and a chainsaw. Oh yeah and Spackle, bloody yanks, It’s called Polyfilla damn their rebellious arses! I’m going to have fun with my sire when he comes to. Oh yeah. Then I pop a CD in the player. Can’t believe the old man’s got one, that’s when I notice his collection. Vivaldi, Puccinni, Mozart, Bach, then it clicks. I set the CD to repeat and gunning the engine roar out into the L.A. morning doing 70. I can’t resist and so I sing along, my own words obviously