*****
DAYS OF OUR UNLIVES: DAMPER
He looks like a petulant child.
He pulls his knees up under his chin, pointedly ignoring the seatbelt I've told him a million times to wear- not so much for his own safety, but to keep him from leaping around in the seat and obscuring my vision when I'm trying to drive. His dark brows are drawn together in a scowl, his lower lip thrust out ever so slightly. He takes another drag of his cigarette and glares at me.
``Heartless, unfeeling son of a bitch.``
``That's a little harsh, don't you think?``
``I can't believe you're doing this to me.``
I turn to him in disbelief. ``You *handcuffed* me to a *lion`s* cage!``
He shrugs. ``Doesn't compare.``
I sigh, struggling to remember that there are no standards of right or wrong in his universe, only Good for Spike and Bad for Spike. ``You can sulk if you want to, I won`t stop you.``
``Can I wait in the car?``
``So you can hotwire it and take it to the nearest bar the minute I turn my back? I don`t think so.`` I pull the car into the parking lot of the Barnes & Noble and his eyes light up.
``Hey, isn`t this one of those bookstores that-``
I turn off the ignition with an emphatic gesture. ``No. More. CD's.``
If possible, his scowl deepens. "Wanker."
"Spike, don`'t start."
"I like the other bookshop better. The one with the cool toys."
I took Spike on an errand with me to Rick`s Magic N` Stuff once. Once. Half a dozen small frog demons were decapitated by an enchanted Leiach dagger before we were ejected by a very irate Rick and forbidden to return. Now we disguise Cordelia in a wig and dark glasses when we need supplies. She thinks of it as an acting gig.
``Well, thanks to you, we`ve been permanently barred from Rick`s.`` And when I say permanently, I mean permanently. A complex uninvite spell and some strategically placed garlic have assured that we won`t be going back anytime soon. I push the car door open. ``Come on.``
He rolls his eyes. ``What of use do you expect to find here? Mythic Taglar Rites in the Comparative Religion section? It`s a bloody corporate chain.``
``We`re not here on business,`` I reply. ``I need some light reading.``
My schedule has changed a lot since Spike moved in. It used to be sleep until early afternoon, go to the office until sunset, prowl and battle evil until dawn, repeat. But I`m more inclined to spend my evenings in these days. And although the hopelessly romantic thing to say would be that his lovable presence keeps me at home, the truth is that the less time I leave him alone, the less likely I am to come home and discover that my most valued possessions have been pawned.
So I stay at home and keep an eye on him. But I need something to read while he`s watching TV. And I`ll be damned if I'm gonna let him follow me around like a bored preschooler while I peruse the shelves. I need to...dispose of him somehow.
*****
He takes me by the elbow and leads me to a section entitled Music and Media. ``Don't. Move.``
I give him a cheerful grin and collapse in a heap of black leather on the floor next to the bookshelf, pulling my legs up underneath me. ``I want a nummy treat.``
``Spike...``
``Can`t guarantee I`ll stay quiet without one...``
``Fine.`` He stalks off to the coffee bar and returns a few moments later with a grande mocha with extra chocolate and a fudge brownie, which he deposits into my hands. ``If you spill anything, I`ll rip your lungs out.``
``Promises, promises.`` I pick up a photo history of rock music and begin to thumb through it.
``Don't get chocolate on the pages.``
``Yeah, yeah.``
``And don't leave the store.``
``Will you shove off already?``
He gives me a smirk and sweeps off, duster trailing behind him like something stupid and poncey. I wonder how long he`s gonna keep up his ``I`m-hurt-and-upset-because-you-chained-me-a-few-feet-away-from-large-predatory-ani mals-and-nearly-cracked-my-skull-so-now-I`m-gonna-sulk" bollocks.
As if dragging me to the bookstore isn`t punishment enough.
*****
``What the sodding hell are you doing?``
I quickly place the book behind my back and affect an innocent expression. Which is rather counterproductive considering the fact that I`m wearing any sort of expression at all is going to be instantly seen as suspicious. ``Nothing.``
Two slow blinks, a smirk, and a disbelieving glance. ``Right.``
``Nothing! Just passing through. Heading towards Comparative Mythology.``
``By way of Horror?`` He skirts around me, trying to see what I've hidden behind my back. ``Is that *Dracula?*``
``No!``
``The hell it`s not! Angelus! You`re not reading *Dracula,* are you?``
``Of course not...``
``You stupid *ponce!*``
``Research purposes,`` I say defensively. ``Professional... matters... very important...dangerous, even... you couldn`t possibly understand.``
``Overblown trash.`` He snatches the book from my hand and stares at the cover in derision. ``Utter bollocks... and he didn`t even *look* like that!``
``I remember,`` I reply, making a grab for the volume. He holds it out of my reach, snickering. ``It's still a good book.``
``The hell it is!``
``This is considered one of the greatest triumphs of Gothic literature!``
``Why? Because Wesley said so?``
``Well...`` I flounder for a better explanation, but the fact remains that if the topic at hand involves literature, tea, or cotton sweaters, I usually defer to Wes as the authority. "Yeah."
``Angel,`` Spike retorts impatiently, flipping through the pages, ``it's total crap. Vampire-bats. Vampire-wolves. Scantily clad, accommodating, beautiful virgins. *These things do not exist.*``
I have stopped listening to his tirade in favor of imagining how he would look with this particular volume shoved in his mouth, when my fantasies are rudely interrupted.
``Excuse me,`` a sarcastic voice says.
We turn to see a small group of teenagers in white makeup and black clothing, staring at us in utmost angst and displeasure because we are blocking their view of the `Vampire: The Masquerade` books. Spike gamefaces briefly and snaps his fangs at them; if possible, they turn a little paler than they already were before fleeing in fear.
``Don`t do that,`` I say, finally snatching the book from him.
He turns to me with an innocent expression. ``What?``
``You can`t just vamp out in public every time some human pisses you off.``
``Sorry,`` he sighs. ``I bloody well hate Goths.`` He nods towards the book in my hands. ``You're not really gonna *buy* that, are you?``
I cut my eyes away evasively. ``No.``
Spike rolls his eyes. ``Wanker,`` he sighs, wandering off again.
*****
I need a sodding cigarette.
I rub my fingers together nervously and chew on my lower lip, hopping from one foot to another. We`ve been here for three bloody hours and I`m niccing *bad.* I pat the pocket of my duster absently. My familiar pack of smokes rests there, taunting me. Laughing at me. Mocking me with their currently unsmoldering state.
``Pet, I`m gonna nip out the back for a-``
``No, you`re not.``
Fucking bastard.
``Angelus, I need a bleedin` smoke!``
He just raises an eyebrow at me. ``We`re leaving soon. The bookstore closes in twenty minutes.``
I can`t. wait. twenty. minutes. Bloody wanker thinks that just because I gave him a concussion he can treat me any way he... this is cruel! This is unnatural! He has no idea...even when he was evil he was still only a social smoker and he DOESN`T BLOODY WELL UNDERSTAND!!!!
Heaving a sigh, I begin to pace around
the periphery of the store. Just because I can`t leave doesn't mean I can`t
figure out a way to have a smoke. There`s got to be
*somewhere-*
Bathroom. Of course. The women`s. `Cause the men`s, for some reason, always smells funny. Darting a glance around to make sure no one sees me, I pull my smokes and lighter from my duster and slip inside.
Deserted. The bookstore`s about to close; no one will find me. Flame to cigarette tip and deep, satisfying drag and ahhhh... nicotine hits my brain and rational thought processes slowly start to return.
Then, I start in surprise when I hear the door swing open.
*****
``Spike,`` I ask with an amazing degree of patience, ``what the hell are we doing in the women's restroom?``
He shrugs. ``*You* followed me in here, ya poouf. I just wanted a nice, peaceful smoke.``
``Why in *here*?`` I press, hovering between profound annoyance and foolish amusement. Such is the perpetual state of my emotional existence with Spike. He is reclining on this hideous looking pink chaise lounge type thing, his blond head resting on a pastel floral pillow. I watch as he lights up another cigarette, and flicks the ashes in the general direction of a potted ficus.
Spike, pink, plants, and floral patterns. Just when I was positive I had seen every horrifying thing that this world had to offer...
``Oh, well, ya ever been in the bloke`s public restroom?`` Is his only reply.
I blink and shake my head. I actually haven`t been in a restroom at all in... 200 plus some years. I mean, *what for?*
He nods as if that explains everything. ``Well, there ya have it, mate. Nasty places. Ladies` is much cleaner. Quieter. `Sides, they got these cozy couch-like things in here. I can kick back, have a smoke, plot world domination....``
*****
Jesus, I was just joking with the world domination comment. I have no idea why Peaches is so edgy tonight. Maybe he`s afraid of getting caught in a women`s restroom. Like this would be the zenith of his embarrassing moments? Pfft. I saw his hairdo late nineteenth century. Now *that* was humiliating.
I wave my cigarette in his general direction. ``C`mon, have a seat. Have a smoke. Mellow the fuck out. Yer makin` me all nervous pacing like that. What is *wrong* with you tonight anyway?``
``What`s wrong with me?!`` he snarls, edging closer. ``What`s wrong with me?`` You know Soulful Angel only repeats himself when he`s downright annoyed. I think he has a daily syllable quota or something.
But my question musta touched a nerve, cause he`s ticking off on his fingers... Apparently he has a list of what`s wrong with him. Probably got it in alphabetical order too, though a hundred bucks says it don`t jive with mine. Mine would start with his stupid taste in literature and end with his short temper. And somewhere in between we would have to make note of his appalling lack of good humor....