Pairing: Duh. Oh, and Doyle/Angel
Rating: Ummm... PG-13? Ish. Kinda. You Decide!
Beta'd by kitty_poker1
Summary: This is a side story to From Out of Nowhere, but you do not need to have read it as this fic works fine all by itself.
Spike and Xander live in their own apartment in LA, fighting the good fight alongside Angel and Doyle.
It's Thanksgiving time and the bois are trying to enjoy the day peacefully with good company and good food. Yeah, like that's gonna work out.
In The Air Tonight
Xander dropped onto the couch and let his body finally relax. The pillows around him were like little cushions of heaven made especially to fit to his body and enfold him in an embrace of pure comfort.
“That? Was exhausting,” he said. “All of it. From start to end. From the beginning to the…opposite of the beginning.” He felt himself spring up and down slightly as Spike joined him on the Holy Couch.
Angel was the next to fall, hurtling his exhausted body into a comfy chair. “Wow,” he said, as quietly as possible. Talking was far too exhausting. And he really was exhausted. “I’m exhausted.”
Spike lifted his head from where it had flopped. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at Angel. “Don’t talk to me about being exhausted,” he ordered, sternly. “You don’t even know the meaning of the word. It was me that had to lug that bloody great thing around the whole of LA, remember?”
Angel responded with a tired flap of his hand.
Spike wasn’t really sure what the flapping meant. Bollocks to it. He didn’t really care. He was far too exhausted.
Doyle crawled over from where he’d dropped to the floor earlier, to lean against Angel’s chair. “Oh, man. That thing was one demon of a turkey. Where did you guys get it, again?” he asked, directing the question to Xander.
“I can’t remember,” Xander answered sleepily as his eyes fought a losing battle and slowly closed. “I can barely remember my own name. What year is it?”
Doyle’s head tipped sideways and landed, with a surprising clunk, on Angel’s knee. “That was the tastiest turkey I’ve ever eaten. And the biggest. Xander, you’re a pro.”
Angel’s head nodded lazily in agreement. He kept nodding, even though no-one was watching him.
Xander opened his eyes and tried to sit up. And when had he keeled over and sprawled across Spike’s lap? His head felt like a bowling ball and it was threatening to roll off at any second. “Really? It was that good?”
“Holy Mary Mother of Christ, yes. Why do you think we ate the entire thing?”
“I thought you were just being polite.”
Doyle shook his head. Well, he tried, but the effort was just too much so he sort of rolled his head on Angel’s knee instead. “No. ‘Was good. Liked.”
“Well, course, it’s all in the preparation,” Spike boasted. That had been his job. That and the, ‘stay out of my kitchen’ part. “See, you got to give your bird a good soaking before you stuff her.” Spike smirked and Xander hit him with a pillow.
Well, Xander would have hit him with a pillow if he’d had the strength. Instead he just thought about hitting him and hoped that Spike would pick up on it through the whole consort thingy.
He did. Spike thought about arching his eyebrow in response.
Xander picked up on that and stifled a sporfle.
“And those potatoes, Xander,” Angel added, lifting his hand and putting his thumb and index finger together in a symbol for absolute perfection.
“Really?” Xander was getting quite excited now. He’d never been much of a cook. Toast was usually about his limit and even then he’d ruined at least six toasters before Spike finally banned him completely. But this year – his and Spike’s first Thanksgiving together – he’d cooked his very first full meal. He’d spent weeks researching, watching the Food Network and buying cook books and magazines. Alton Brown was his new hero!
Spike had been allowed to participate only as far as carrying the turkey home – vampire strength a definite bonus there - and soaking the turkey. Then he had been sent packing so that Xander could attempt the meal himself, still under Spike’s ever watchful eye, of course. But Spike pretended not to watch and Xander pretended that he actually knew all along about turkey giblets and their strange habits.
“You liked my potatoes? Which ones?”
“The roasted ones,” Angel replied.
“Which roasted ones? The herb roasted potatoes or the roasted baby potatoes?”
Angel patted his stomach – gently – to try and help him decide. “I can’t remember.”
“I liked the mashed ones,” Spike interrupted.
“Really?” Xander asked. “The mashed potatoes with buttermilk and dill or the Definitive Mashed Potatoes?”
Spike patted his stomach. “…I can’t remember.”
“I liked the yams,” Doyle announced. “And that other sweet potato thing. What was it?” he asked Xander.
Xander thought about it. “I can’t remember.” He was silent for about half an hour, the energy needed to talk further already sucked away by too much food. “You think I did too many potatoes?” he suddenly said, jolting everyone from their semi-dozes.
“’Course not, luv,” Spike reassured. “It went well with the five different types of stuffing. Reckon the Brussels sprouts might have been a mistake, though,” he added, lifting his backside off the couch and squeezing until an audible puff of sprout gas hit the air and turned it green.
“Oh, man, that is disgusting.” Doyle retched and covered his mouth and nose with his hand.
Angel scrunched up his nose and glared at a giggling Xander. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not encouraging him. I’m challenging him,” Xander clarified with a lift of his buttocks and a similar puff of gas that was a little more sage and onion than it was sprout.
The resulting combined smell was enough to deter any creature from coming close. If only they could bottle it.
Spike added to the mix with a fart that sounded similar to an automatic rifle. It was enough to show Xander who was the king of arses. Or something like that.
Angel heaved himself up from his chair and cracked open a window. “Parade or football?” he asked, not really expecting much of an answer.
“Parade,” said a chorus of voices. Angel was disappointed. It was a little known fact that he had a secret football obsession.
Xander pulled out his most powerful weapon. The puppy eyes. “Please, Angel? My dad always made me watch the football. He always said that a real man wouldn’t watch the parade. So, I’ve never seen it.”
“Parade it is, then,” Spike said, putting his arms around Xander and pulling him close. His lover may be hamming it up for the camera, so to speak, but he had genuinely never been allowed to watch the parade. He hadn’t been allowed to do a lot of things.
Doyle flicked on the TV set as he was the closest one to it and someone had farted on the remote control.
The parade had already started – long ago – and it wasn’t particularly exciting, but nevertheless the four of them were completely, totally and utterly glued to it – until Doyle had a vision.
Doyle slowly raised his hand and kept it held in the air.
Angel frowned and gathered the energy to ask. Xander’s Thanksgiving dinner was sitting heavy in his stomach, so even speech took all his vampiric strength. “Doyle? Did you…want to ask something?”
The arm plus its attached hand dropped back to ground with a large sigh from its owner. “Vision,” Doyle explained.
The room’s other three occupants groaned. “Not now,” Xander complained.
“What did you see?” Angel asked, sitting forward and desperately trying to wake up and disperse the after-dinner snoozies.
“Erm, big demon. Teenage boy. Lotta blood.” Doyle sighed again and scrambled to his feet, grateful when Angel steadied him.
“Do you need something? For your head?” Angel asked
“Like a baseball bat?” Spike joked, wincing when Xander finally managed to hit him for real.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Xander chided.
Doyle quickly popped a handful of little blue pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry. “Right, come on. The demon in question is in the sewers. The quicker we get there and knock its block off, the quicker we can get back here and doze in front of the telly. ‘Cos, I don’t know about the rest of you guys, but I’m fit for absolutely nothing.”
“Do I have to go?” Xander asked. “I could just stay here and…keep an eye on the pumpkin pie.”
Oh, Spike knew exactly what that meant. It meant that Xander would eat the pumpkin pie. All of it. He might be too stuffed to eat another morsel of turkey dinner, but his Xander had what was known as a pudding stomach. It was totally separate from the common dinner stomach and had plenty of room for tarts, cakes, sweet pies, etc.
There was no way that Spike was going to leave him all alone with a defenceless pumpkin pie.
“Pet, if you stay, you do the washing up.”
“And I’m so coming with you.” Xander heaved himself up from the couch and headed over to a cupboard in the corner of the room. He pulled out a large axe for himself and a sword for Spike. A quick, obligatory goodbye was sent to their mystical snake, Isis, via a blown kiss and Xander was ready. “We’re gonna make this quick, right? ‘Cos I could fall asleep right now.”
Spike snatched at Xander’s axe and pulled it away from him. “You can have this back when we meet the demon. Don’t want you running with it. You’re bloody dangerous when you’re half asleep.”
“Hey, I’m sorry about the scissors, okay? It’s not like I aimed for you. And I wasn’t running; I was walking very quickly.”
“No. You were definitely…” Spike paused and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
Doyle waved his hand behind him. “Sorry about that. Turkey does that to me sometimes.”
Spike recoiled in disgust. “Bloody hell! You could have warned a bloke! Your guts are worse than mine!”
Angel had to agree. “Let’s just get going; get some fresh air in the sewer.”
Everybody nodded – even Doyle. It was a great idea.
The walk through the sewers was a quiet one. Going out on a mission was definitely the last thing anyone wanted to do after eating a Thanksgiving meal. Xander had served up the largest turkey in the whole of LA, plus an endless assortment of potatoes, vegetables and stuffings. And every scrap had been consumed, every morsel virtually inhaled.
If only Doyle could have had a vision to let him know that he would be getting a vision. Xander could have easily delayed lunch until after the victim was saved and the Big Bad was slaughtered.
They trudged tiredly though what seemed like endless sewer tunnels, Doyle guiding them from his position at the rear – for obvious reasons. “Not much further,” he called.
Xander stopped and waited for Doyle to catch up. “I feel like I’m gonna burst,” he complained.
“Well, if you are gonna burst, man, do it way over there.” Doyle pointed into the far off distance. “This shirt is new and the last thing I want is Xander-pieces all over it.”
“I’ll be sure to aim myself in Spike’s direction, then.”
“Welcome.” Xander grinned. “What else are friends for?”
The rest of the journey was made in complete silence, no-one quite having the energy to utter even a single syllable. Even Spike and Angel remained quiet as they walked side by side. It made a nice, but freaky, change to not hear them bickering.
As for Doyle and Xander, the silence certainly wasn’t an uncomfortable one, more of a companionable one. In the months that Xander had been in LA, he and Doyle had become solid friends – the best of friends, in fact. It was a good feeling for both of them.
For years Xander had longed for a friend that would make him feel like an equal, a friend that would make him feel like he belonged. Sure, he loved Buffy and Willow with all his heart and he would never swap them for anything, but Doyle was different. Doyle was a guy, which meant he didn’t braid hair or shop for shoes or spend five hours discussing the difference between cheap mascara and the good stuff.
Doyle was fun. Doyle was a mischief maker. Doyle was a joker.
Doyle was just like Jesse.
Yeah, Xander was going to hold on to Doyle with both hands. There was no way he was letting another one slip away.
In the distance, Spike turned around and gave his best version of a comforting smile. It was tempting to assume that Spike had picked up Xander’s feelings through the consort bond, but Xander knew better.
Where Xander was concerned, Spike was an absolute mind-reader. He always knew what Xander wanted, even before Xander knew that he wanted it. Spike’s ability to decipher, intercept, and fix at the speed of light just by looking at his lover’s eyes was nothing short of miraculous.
Xander offered a smile - out of a selection of literally thousands - back that said ‘I’m fine. Brain just rattling.’
Spike nodded and clutched at his stomach as though a whole turkey might burst through at any moment. Bloody sprouts.
“What does this demon look like?” Xander asked, turning back to Doyle.
Doyle stopped and pointed. “Um, like that.”
“Oh, so when you said ‘big demon’ you really meant it, huh?”
“But you didn’t say anything about six arms,” Xander pointed out. Helpfully.
“Didn’t I?” Doyle, who was in a small amount of shock, said. The demon definitely looked bigger in the flesh. “I guess I only saw its…teeth.”
“What teeth…? Oh!” Xander instinctively staggered back and stared up at the huge dripping fangs. “Wow. Shiny.”
A hand against his chest pressed him back further and, as he looked down, Spike pressed the axe into his hands.
“You and Doyle stay back. Jump in only if it looks dire. And if you put yourself at risk…there’ll be no pumpkin pie.”
Xander’s expression was stricken. “Okay. Deal,” he said reluctantly.
Spike narrowed his eyes and checked that Xander’s fingers weren’t crossed. “Right, then.” And with a nod, and a cry of war, he launched himself at the demon.
Spike ducked and rolled, narrowly missing the big club of an arm that swung passed his head. “Sod it. Git’s bloody fast.”
“You’re…” Angel jumped back as a clawed hand swiped at his chest. “…telling me.”
The demon swiped at Angel again, using three of its arms and taking its eyes from Spike for the second time. Big mistake. Spike nipped in under the remaining, temporarily redundant, arms and slashed his sword through the bulk of the demon’s belly.
The demon was not very happy about this turn of events. It roared with pain, irritation and a small amount of embarrassment. Its lips curled further up its face and revealed a second row of shiny pearly whites. “MEEJA MOJA!” And then it lunged.
“Christ Almighty!” Spike shouted as the demon bore down on him and prepared to bite his head off with one single chomp. From the corner of his eye he spotted Angel jumping atop the demon, a blade held high in the air ready to plunge and kill. And from behind him, Spike made out the unmistakable sound of Xander-feet scampering towards him. But before he could shout a warning for his precious lover to stay back and out of harm’s way, he heard Xander’s axe cutting through the air towards the demon’s neck.
“Damn it!” Xander swore and Spike rolled his eyes in fond exasperation as the blunt side of the axe’s blade connected, bounced straight back and clattered to the floor. “Ooops,” Xander added.
But the bungled attack did something. It bought Spike the opportunity for escape. The demon was too busy blinking in surprise and swatting at the annoying vampire on his back to notice that Spike had slipped from his grasp and backed away.
Meanwhile, Angel was busy trying to ride the demon’s shoulders. His arms and legs flailed in the air as he was tossed about in an attempt to dislodge and then garrotte him.
Angel was straining. He kept the blade of his dagger held up and tried desperately to aim for the creature’s brain before it was too late. He could feel it coming now, and Angel knew from experience that it was going to be nasty.
The demon thrashed with fury and Angel finally lost his battle. He farted.
The sound carried through miles of sewer tunnels and sent rats scurrying for their lives.
Spike smiled fondly. It had been a century since he’d heard his Sire drop one.
And then the smell kicked in.
A horrifying, putrefying, paint-stripping stench filled the tunnel and Doyle and Xander struggled for breath.
The demon wasn’t faring too well, either. It stumbled against the wall, retching and dislodging Angel from its shoulders.
Spike saw their window. “Now! Rush him!”
Despite the awful feeling of claustrophobia and of being poisoned, everybody acted immediately. Weirdly, it was Xander that got there first. He picked up his fallen axe from the floor and raised it above his head. “DIE!” The axe fell and the demon lost an arm.
“No! Not the arms!” Spike shouted. But it was too late. The arm lay uselessly on the ground, spilling viscous fluid around their feet.
“EUW!” Xander covered his mouth and stepped back. “Why does everything smell so bad today?”
Angel chose that moment to ease the pressure from his bowels. Again.
Unfortunately, it was all too much for Xander. He bent forward, clutched his knees and vomited all over the demon.
The demon screamed, his skin melting away where Xander’s expulsion had landed.
Spike grimaced at the half-digested turkey dinner and gently led Xander away and towards a rather green looking Doyle. Returning to the fallen demon and Angel, Spike picked up his sword and waited for Angel to compose himself.
Angel let rip one more time and smiled apologetically. “Pardon.”
“Sprouts, was it?” Spike enquired.
“Stuffing,” Angel declared.
“Oh.” Spike nodded in understanding and quickly sliced the sword through the air and cut off the near dead demon’s head. “There, now. All done.”
Angel rubbed at his stomach and wondered. “Maybe.” He glanced around the tunnels and frowned. “Wasn’t there supposed to be a teenage boy down here?”
Xander leant heavily against the sewer wall and pointed behind him with his thumb. “He took off. He was fine.”
“Bloody ungrateful twit,” Spike moaned.
“Hey, you can hardly blame him,” Doyle protested, stepping sideways when it looked like Xander might hurl again. “When Angel farted I nearly ran.”
Xander raised his hand and gave Spike his most pitiful look. “I wish I had run.”
“Poor pet,” Spike cooed. “Come on, luv. Let’s get you back home. Don’t forget we still have pumpkin pie.”
Xander’s eyes lit up at that. “And there’s apple pie, too! And chocolate!”
Doyle laughed and shook his head. “Xander. How can you?”
“What?” Xander looked genuinely perplexed. “I threw up, therefore my stomach is empty. It’s not a natural state for it to be in. I must fix it before it realises. Me and my stomach have a very delicate relationship, you know.”
Spike nodded at the others. “It’s true. If he doesn’t feed it at least five times a day it gets the arse, so to speak.” He slipped an arm around Xander’s waist and began walking them back through the tunnel. “Come on, gits. Hurry up before my boy gets there first and you get nothing.”
Doyle looked Angel up and down. “I’m not sure I can eat anything now.”
“Sorry,” Angel apologised.
“Don’t worry about it. At least now I know the potential risks.”
“Perhaps we can just forget about this?”
Doyle thought about it. He loved Angel with all his heart. And what were a few farts between friends and lovers?
Angel’s emissions had caused Xander to throw up his whole Thanksgiving meal, yet both he and Spike seemed to hold no grudge. And besides, Doyle’s backside was no candy factory. Who was he to judge?
Of course he could forget. He smiled and nodded. “Just warn me and get me to a window next time, deal?”
“Deal,” Angel smiled.
In the distance two fake farting sounds resonated through the tunnels, followed by a hearty English laugh and a burst of giggles.
Angel visibly sagged. “They’re never gonna let me forget this, are they?”
Of course not.
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