Stranger Things Have Happened
Pairing: Spike/Angel (slash)
Rating: don’t know really, probably NC-17
Summary: It’s Christmas 2001. Angel and Spike bury the hatchet.
Spoilers for Buffy Season 6 & Angel Season 3
Many thanks to Marcee, Pam, Evil Willow and Dramatic for their input and for beta-reading.
The moment I
wake up I know something’s wrong. I’m lying in a proper bed. Not mine, though.
I don’t have satin sheets. I open my eyes. Black satin sheets. Satin on naked
skin. Totally camp. Hang on a sec, naked? Nothing wrong with that, except for
one tiny little detail: can’t remember
how I got here. Instead of memories I’ve got a splitting headache and a horrid
taste in my mouth.
That’s right. I’ve
got a hangover. It’s been a while since I could actually afford one.
is wrong. In fact, wrong doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s a naked body
spooned against my back. An arm is slung around my waist, cradling me. Not
necessarily a bad thing, except that the body feels male – wriggle – oh yes,
definitely male. Oh fuck!
must’ve been drunk as a skunk last night! Oh god. I didn’t, did I?
I take a whiff.
Hair gel? Coffee? And that unmistakable… Bollocks!
I stifle the urge
to jump out of bed and run out as fast as I can before my magnificent grandsire
has a chance to stake me for the Gem of Amara cock up. Oh god! I don’t believe I ended up in HIS
bed. But how? All the booze in the whole wide bleedin’ world couldn’t get me
plastered enough for THAT. No broken bones, no pain – apart from the hangover,
that is - and I’m not wearing chains or
I force myself
to lie still. Go away, headache! Better
to sift through recent memories now, before Angel wakes up.
right, I went to L.A. for a few days. Not to see the ponce, of course, but to
give the good old DeSoto a bit of exercise. And, truth be told, to get away
from the Scoobies and their holiday preparations. Christmas turns ordinary
people into scary monsters and super freaks. All that talk about presents and
turkeys and trees and whatnot, and the milling around in malls, the shopping
frenzy and agonizing over festive menus. Enough to drive me nuts. And away.
Also, no one invited me. And let’s be honest…that hurt.
expected me to come, anyway, but it just isn’t the same, is it?
Anyway, as I
was saying, the whole bloomin’ Christmas rigmarole was getting to me. Made me
downright morose one minute and stir crazy the next. Reminded me of my black
princess. We always had a good time at Christmas, Dru and I. She liked the
whole package, the sights, the smells, the flavors. And I liked getting her
I missed her.
I felt lonely.
So, I went for a drive.
And when I saw that
punk girl standing underneath the “You’re leaving Sunnydale” sign, I actually
stopped and told her to hop in. Only goes to show that I’ve really gone soft. I
mean, I’ve eaten my share of hitchhikers, but this one I actually picked up to
give a ride. Um, not the kind you’re thinkin’ about, you perv.
too. Nice outfit, leather, lotsa chains, safety pins dangling from pierced
ears, hair all straggly and green. She had some of them little blinking lights
in it, makin’ her look all Christ-messy. She didn‘t comment on the blackened
windows. She just made chewing gum bubbles and bobbed her head to the rhythm of
my assorted Punk Rock tapes.
She didn’t talk
much. But I think I ranted a bit. We shared my Bourbon and her cookies. When I
finally dropped her off, she held on to the car door for a moment and said, “If
you wanna get laid, wear something blue.” She walked off, appearing more than a
bit tipsy. As I was watching, she turned around. “One good turn… and all that
crap,” she hollered, gave me a cheerful wave and then she was gone. As in
now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t. Gone. Vanished. Into thin air.
Stranger things have happened. Believe me.
How many people
you reckon live in L.A.? Over three and a half million people. So, the chances
of bumping into anyone particular are therefore three and a half million to
If the fates
hate you enough, they’ll unerringly make you run into the one person on this
godforsaken earth whose guts you hate the most. And if you are daft enough, you
don’t just bugger off quietly, but you tap that person on the shoulder.
He turned round
with a start. “Spike!”
yelled as hot cappuccino spilled over the front of my T-shirt, narrowly missing
“What are YOU doing
here?” It was all there: hostility, suspicion, exasperation, and a hefty dose
of mental self-flagellation. He was also being territorial, but I wasn’t
question deserved a standard answer. “What’s it look like?” I asked amiably. I
inspected my T-shirt. Decided I needed to change. Dropped my shopping bags and
began to shrug out of the duster.
enough of Angelus left underneath that soul to make Angel look pretty pissed at
that lack of respect.
When he opened
his mouth to say something, I interrupted him: “Hold this.” I hung the duster
over his arm.
you’re stripping in the middle of a shopping mall,” he said, making a sour
face. He looked around nervously.
“Don’t get your
hopes up.” I pulled the coffee stained T-shirt over my head and rummaged among
my bags until I found the one with the T-shirts. I picked one randomly, tore
off the price tag and put it on. Then I unburdened the poof and put my leather
coat back on.
wearing his usual expensive designer clothes: black pants (not leather,
though), silk shirt, long black coat. He was carrying half a dozen bags. It
looked like Angel and his credit card had joined the general holiday shopping
who’s talking. I wasn’t exactly unencumbered, myself.
If was funny,
really. There we were, two vampires amongst thousands of tasty people, but both
kind of restrained, me technologically, him metaphysically. Both removed from our
own kind. Except perhaps from each other. Granted, we were enemies, but we were
also family. You just got to love the irony of it all.
prezzies for your pet humans?” I asked. You marvel at my civilized tone? Been
chipped for over two years now. Plus, spending too much time among humans.
answer that, probably trying to fathom some sinister meaning behind the small
“Let me ask you
one more time, Spike. What are you doing in L.A.? What are you up to this
time?” His body was tense, ready for a fight. It was nice to know that at least
someone still considered me dangerous.
evil master plan of the year: This Christmas I am going to get Buffy and the
Scoobies royally pissed off.”
Angel raised a
for the children.”
master plan?” he asked, reluctantly drawn into what one might actually call a
conversation. I didn’t know what had gotten into me. I was actually TALKING to
Angel. Last time we’d been vis-à-vis he’d been squirming and writhing in chains
and I’d listened to the music of his screams.
them feel really guilty.” I forced a wicked smile.
He gave me a
“Do you want
yours now?” I asked, still grinning. “Saves me the trouble of having to find
out your new address.”
enough,” I said. “Suit yourself. I can always drink it myself.”
I picked up my
bags, turned around and walked off. I could feel his eyes on me as I threaded
my way through shoppers and fake Santas. For a moment I was tempted to give him
a two-fingered salute.
“…’Tis the season to be jolly, falalalala laa…”
Christmas cheer was beginning to get on my nerves.
I kept on
stopped me in my tracks.
around. He gave me that put upon look he’s so good at. Angel, that is. Not
Angelus. As you can see, I’ve learned to differentiate. Sort of.
“Where are you
staying?” he asked.
“Haven’t decided yet.” I had planned on sleeping in the old DeSoto again, cause
it was cheap and felt homey, but I’d have rather spontaneously combusted than
plenty of empty rooms at the hotel,” he said hesitantly.
Dru had told me
that Angel Investigations was now based at some old hotel. So, I recognized
this for the invitation it was. And jumped at it.
I shrugged, as
if I didn’t care either way. “Thanks, mate,” was all I said.
“So,” I said.
“Where’s the Angelmobile?”
We picked up
our cars from the shopping mall parking lot and I followed him to the Hyperion.
Holy shit, I thought, when I saw it the first time. Pricey. Looks like the poof
stashed some money away in his time…Which yours truly never did, cause – you
know – vampires take whatever they need whenever they need it, unchipped ones
There was a
huge Christmas tree in the lobby, very nicely decorated, too.
I went through
my shopping bags, took out a parcel and shoved it under the tree. Which was a
bit silly, come to think of it, cause I had bought the present to annoy him but
now it looked like a peace offering. What the heck, perhaps it was just that.
I flopped down
casually on the round settee. “So, where is everybody?” I asked.
ex-Watcher?” I interrupted.
“The same. He’s
“So’s mine,“ I
“Yes, but mine
will be back after the holidays.” Angel elaborated. I nodded.
correct me, but it was obvious he didn’t like the moniker. “Cordy went skiing
for the first time in years. She deserved a break.”
“SHE is a
friend and she’s celebrating with her parents.”
“That a she,
“No, HE said
something about going to Vegas.”
“So, they all
scampered off to their families or to have fun, leaving you to brood on your
own?” I said with my trademark smirk, rubbing it in. “Life’s a bitch and then
I’ve never been
able to really get to Angelus, no matter what I said or did, but Angel was a
different matter. He looked hurt. Which should have given me pleasure, but
I dropped the
smirk. “Yeah well,” I said with a sigh, “my lot aren’t keen on having me around
for Christmas, either. So, I’ll do what I did last year. And the year before.
Drink myself into a proper stupor.”
And that’s when
he told me about his kid.
A mortal child.
He showed me
photographs. He couldn’t show me the boy himself, although I think he would
have liked to. He was that proud. But in order to keep the nipper safe, he had given
him to a family, the parents of a friend. I didn’t ask who or where.
It was obvious that the separation made
him deeply unhappy. I mean, you couldn’t even call it brooding anymore.
After a while,
he fetched glasses and a bottle. Old Irish single malt whiskey, which he sipped
reverently and I downed at more than twice the pace. Made a change from my
usual paint stripper.
We spent hours
talking. Why not? Stranger things have happened.
He told me
about Darla and how she had come to an end. Good riddance, if you ask me. When
I said so, he gave me a furious look. But he didn’t hit me like he used to when
he was Angelus.
think of anything to brag about, and I was no way near drunk enough to talk
about Buffy, the 147 days and nights she’d been dead and buried, and how she
treated me like dirt, and how I hated myself for loving her. So, I ended up
talking about old times. Dru and me did this, Dru and me did that.
But while I was
talking, I kept coming back to the same thought.
A mortal child.
Goes to show
that the universe really does have a sense of humor. And a sick one at that. I
mean, Angelus, he always had this thing about families. Stalking them,
controlling them, tearing them apart.
If the gypsy
curse hadn’t given him a soul and all that guilt, we’d probably still be
together: Darla, Angelus, Dru and me - with a few additions, I suppose. Not a
happy family, but HIS. And I’d never be alone. I’d belong.
But now? Darla was
dead. Again. And Dru’s whereabouts were unknown. And he had a child, a real
one, alive with a soul and all.
What did he
need ME for?
Why was he
talking to me, anyway? Why hadn’t he mentioned Marcus and his hot pokers? Why
was he so bloody forgiving? I was beginning to think that staying at the hotel
wasn’t such a bright idea, after all. Come on,
I wasn’t THAT lonely.
I put my empty
glass down and got up.
“Right then,” I said. “Must be off.”
asked. He sounded funny with his voice highly pitched like that. “I thought you
were going to stay.”
gonna work, now, is it? You. Me. For god’s sake, we’re enemies. You didn’t
expect me to sing ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ with you and whatnot, did
“You used to
sing for Dru,” he added, sounding petulant.
getting downright surreal.
“True,” I said,
surprised that he remembered. I didn’t get it. What did he want with me? What
could I possibly give him that he didn’t already have?
I couldn’t put
my finger on it just then.
“If you have no
pressing engagements elsewhere, why don’t you just stay?” he said with just a
hint of pleading. I didn’t think I had ever heard Angel plead before. Or
Angelus. He really wanted me to stay.
yet,” I answered slowly while trying to digest this novel experience. I wasn’t
used to being welcome, and I honestly didn’t know how to deal with it.
in the fridge,” he answered.
“Pig’s blood.” I
made a face. “What about turkey?”
In the end I
sent him off to set the table (which he did, with napkins, candles and all,
would you believe it!) while I made some pasta. A liberal helping of heated
blood on top and - voilá! - you got Spaghetti Sanguini á la Spike. Angel’s
disgust was short-lived. We drank two bottles of pretty decent red wine with
And we talked
some more. Most of which I’ve forgotten.
candles had burned down and the wine was gone, he got another bottle of
having a truly morose moment and talking to him about Joyce’s death and later
Buffy’s. But on the whole the evening got better and better. We even sang ‘The
Twelve Days of Christmas’ together – no mean feat after all that booze, I can
tell you. And boy, is Angel a bad singer!
From then on my
memory gets really patchy. I believe I told him about my feelings for Buffy,
and I think we fought, but were basically too drunk to do much damage. And
then, well, I’m not sure, but I think we made up. We must have, cause neither
of us is dust and I am lying in his bed now, wondering if he’s awake or not.
What I do
vaguely remember is crawling up some stairs on all fours, shedding my clothes
on the way, singing ‘God Save the Queen’.
But I honestly
don’t know how I got into Angel’s bed. Or if anything happened after that. I
sniff again. Doesn’t smell like we had sex. I am not sure whether I should be
relieved, insulted or disappointed.
Oh god, he’s
I can feel his
cock slowly hardening against my thighs. I know he’s not Angelus; still, I
can’t help going all tense.
he mumbles. I expect him to withdraw his arm from my waist, but he leaves it
where it is. In fact, he doesn’t move at all.
Last night?” I ask.
“Don’t you remember?”
drinking way too much. I don’t remember going to bed. Is there something I
I turn over. So
now we’re lying face to face. For someone who is over 200 years old he sure
looks insecure right now. He hesitantly withdraws his arm.
“You crawled in
here, naked I might add, and said, and I quote: ‘For Christ’s sake, Angel, If
you wanna shag, why don’t you just say so!’ End quote.”
He doesn’t get the
accent right, but other than that it sounds like something I might have
actually said. Not necessarily to HIM, though.
“And?” I prompt
“And then you
The way he
looks at me is weird. Like he’s waiting for something. Not anticipation but
apprehension. He’s waiting for the rejection he thinks he deserves. For me to
call him a soddin’ poof and jump out of bed, now that I’m sober again.
And then I get
it. He feels guilty for letting Dru turn me. Which he needn’t be, cause I like
myself just fine. And for doing the things he did as Angelus. Probably thinks
the whole Gem of Amara issue was really about how he treated me when I was stuck in that wheelchair, and about how he
stole Drusilla’s affection. He might be right on that one.
If Angelus were
here I’d fight him with everything I’ve got and one of us would end up dust.
But Angel? I don’t want him to feel guilty on my account.
So I forgive
him in the nicest way I can think of: I kiss him.
A sharp intake
of breath and he goes rigid with surprise. As if he can’t believe this is
happening. Hell, I can hardly believe it myself.
things have happened.
slowly, he begins to respond. His lips part invitingly. I nibble on his lower
lip, teasingly, before our tongues meet. When he fully realizes that I don’t
intend to break it off, the kiss becomes more intense. Almost desperate.
Most likely he
hasn’t been kissed or touched by anyone for quite some time. His sex life is
even more fucked up than mine. Well, of all mornings, I think Christmas morning
is the right time to give Angel a real treat.
I bury one hand
in his hair and pull him into a tight embrace. As our bodies press together his
erection prods me. I grind my thigh against his hardness and he whimpers. I can
feel my own cock harden.
starts to touch me, too. My hair, my back, my ass. Meanwhile, I explore his
body, learn its secrets. I stifle a chuckle as he arches under my touch, as he
moans. He longs for it. Needs it.
Suddenly, he pulls
back, all self conscious and brooding. I can see it in his eyes. He’s
embarrassed. I think he doubts my motives, doubts his own power to attract.
Remembers all the times I’ve called him a poofter or worse.
He’s right, you
know. To question my motives. Sometimes I hate him so much that it chokes me.
And he knows it. But even that’s gotten stale. It’s not his fault the Slayer
always holds him up as a shining example, as the one to measure up to.
Fact is, right
now I want him.
sake, Angel! Unwind! Shag now, brood later!”
I touch his
erection and he bucks. I guess he liked that. I begin to stroke him firmly,
steadily, watching his face. The doubt goes away. And the last vestiges of
coherent thought aren’t far behind. So much for the better. I rub myself
against his body. It is as strong and muscular as I remember it, but this time
it’s me who’s in control.
moans as I coax him onto his back and begin to lick his throat, his collarbone,
chest, his nipples… While I lick and kiss and playfully bite him, working my
way downwards, I never cease the slow rhythm of my hand. I know he’s not gonna
last long. When I take him into my mouth he groans and arches his back.
He shouts my
name when he comes.
just lies there, spent. I am still hard. I want to bury myself in him.
I give him a
cocky grin. He returns the gesture with a goofy smile, then looks at my
hard-on. An unspoken question passes between us.
kitchen,” he suggests.
remember where that is. Doesn’t take me long to get it. I half expect him to go
back to brooding while I’m gone, but when I come back he hasn’t moved. And the
goofy smile is still there.
More kisses and
more licking. It doesn’t take much to get both of us aroused again. This time
he’s more active. This time he tries to find out what I like.
I like his
teeth lightly scraping the insides of my thighs, oh yes, and I like his tongue
licking my shaft and his lips surrounding it, but the moment I like best,
though, is when I finally slide into him. Cool, tight, soft. We stare at each
other, momentarily overwhelmed. “Oh god, Angel,” I breathe, and then I begin to
move. He wraps his legs around me. Soon we are both moaning with pleasure. He
babbles my name, as I jerk him off in synchronicity with my thrusts. He’s not
one for dirty language. Not his style. A shame really. In the end it’s his cry
when he comes that sends me over the edge.
A little nap
and a few encores later, I think I can safely say that there’s not a lot of
Angelus left in him. Just enough.
get up to take a shower. Then I pick up my discarded clothes and begin to
dress. Slowly, cause he’s watching. I hate it, after I’ve made love, when the
person I made love to can’t get away from me fast enough.
Dawn I’d stop by later today and give’er her present,” I answer his unspoken
question. He nods.
He puts on his
poofy dressing gown and disappears into the kitchen to heat us a few mugs of
“What did you
get her?” he asks, while we sip our lunch.
“A gift voucher
for a tattoo.”
“Buffy will go
“Yeah,” I say
with a happy smile. “I expect she will.”
I rinse the
empty mug in the sink, cause Angel’s a pedantic sod and I’m feeling charitable.
“Well then, I’d
better be off.”
“Take care,” is
what he comes up with.
I guess we
really buried the hatchet.
around,” I say, giving him a friendly pat on the back. “Say hi to your pets,” I
add, knowing that he won’t, and then I pull a blanket over my head and dash
my car, I look at the photo I’ve nicked from of his collection. Father and Son.
The little one looks a bit cross, but
Angel’s lopsided grin more than makes up for it. I put it into my pocket. It’ll
join the Scooby photos on my fridge.
I start the DeSoto and drive out of L.A.
Just as I’m
about to get on the highway to Sunnydale, I see her standing under a road sign,
hitchhiking again. I stop and she climbs in. “Hi,” she says cheerfully. “Did
you get laid, all right?”
I step on the
brakes and face her. “What are you?”
obvious?” she asks.
No, not really.
“What do you want from me?”
“A word of
thanks would be nice.”
Realization dawns. “You! You set this up. You put some kind
of love spell on us. What gives you the right to mess with people like that?”
“The hell I
did! Dabbling in the arts of summoning and conjuring? Not this vampire.”
“I don’t need
summons. I go where I’m needed.”
“Get out!” I
“There was no
love spell,” she says. “I only did one little thing.”
“And what was
“I changed the
odds.” And with that she disappears. Like last time. Vanished. Poof!
I start the car
again, change gears and pull onto the highway.
Three and a
half million to one. Well, I guess that did need some fixing.
I light myself
a cigarette. “Yeah, well,” I mumble. “Thanks.”
And with that,
the DeSoto and I roar back to Sunnydale.