Man's Best Friend, 4a

[lettered]

previous parts
PG-13, Angel, Spike, Illyria, Nina, and a puppy

-I had to split this chapter in 2 parts as apparently it was too long. Oddly, I cut a lot of stuff out to try to keep it at posting length.

-I'm officially as of now announcing this as gen. However, there will be an A/S undercurrent throughout.
-If I ever get with this where I want to go, there might be an epilogue that is not gen. With porn.
-I've got a lot mapped out and want to write a lot more, so for now there's a definite TBC at the end.
-references to Faith's history in this fic is stolen from another fic I wrote about her, The Confessional.
-This fic came about from jgracio's prompt, but also from me wondering what mistful's fic, Drop Dead Gorgeous, would look like in Buffyverse. It's a great fic and I recommend it, even if you have nothing to do with the fandom.


Angel didn't like to admit it, but Spike had been right.

The puppy was finally getting easier to manage. It hardly ever whined any more, rarely had accidents, and spent a lot of time in its crate. In fact sometimes it went straight to his crate the second it saw Angel looking at it, which Angel guessed meant it knew its master. He might've thanked Spike, except he caught Spike's eyes once when the dog trotted obediently off to its kennel. Angel figured that meant Spike knew, and decided not to bother. After all, Spike could still be doing something to it.

After all, Spike still talked about training it to rip throats and planned to take it out on patrol and called it Annihilator.

"It's my dog, and you can't," Angel said.

"Dog Girl said it was the office dog. The other office dog," Spike clarified. "Obviously."

"It's just a dog."

"Puppy," Spike corrected. "Can still learn new tricks. Unlike some people we know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Spike had been touching the stuff on Angel's desk again, messing with it just like Angel always told him not to. Now he looked up and leaned in. "Is that? Yeah, think it is. A wrinkle. God, you look . . . every day of your three hundred and seventy-five."

"Go away."

Spike pulled up but remained there. Did that hovering thing Angel hated where he just wouldn't go away, but seemed hesitant about staying. Sort of like a kid who liked to stare at lepers but feared getting leprosy.

"What?" Angel said finally.

Spike relaxed at this, which mostly meant he began touching the things on Angel's desk again. His hand was absently tracing the rim of Nina's pot; Spike was probably not even aware he was doing it, the graceful circles the ugly chewed down finger-nails kept making. "Maybe I meant you should let someone else have some fun, yeah?"

"Fun? Taking it on patrols is going to be fun for it? You'll get it killed." Angel batted Spike's hand away.

Spike shoved his fists into his coat pockets. "In it's nature to fight. Ever heard it's a dog eat demon world out there? Or did you want to protect it from itself? I've got a new name; let's all call it Buffy."

"I'm not protecting it," Angel said, because of the bit about Buffy more than because it was strictly true. "Leave Buffy out of it, and it's not in its nature to fight demons. It's domesticated. It doesn't belong on battlefields."

"It shouldn't be killing things." Hands still in his pockets, Spike rocked onto the balls of his feet. Still standing. Hovering. Waiting.

And annoying. "It should be chasing sticks and cats and chewing bones," Angel said, hoping he didn't sound like he was agreeing.

"It's an innocent."

"Yeah."

Apparently satisfied, Spike settled back on his soles and walked away.

Later that night, he was back to help Angel get the blood from the Slothin spawn, the final ingredient to dispel the dental demon. "Where did you go, anyway?" Angel asked as they walked along the street, following the Slothin's trail.

Spike shrugged. "Miniature golfing?"

"Were not," Angel replied, feeling particularly perspicacious.

"If you taught Obliterator how to go out on patrol with you, maybe you wouldn't miss me so much."

"It's name is Rufus."

"Really."

"I didn't miss you."

"Really."

"And he's not going on patrol." Angel was on a roll here.

"It's not going to last."

"What?" Angel's onslaught of sagacity was pretty much at an end.

"He can't be just a normal dog," Spike said. They turned into an alley. "We're not normal dog owners. Our office gets attacked on a quarterly basis and we have enemies gunning for the things we love."

In one final flash of discernment, Angel pointed out, "It's a dog."

"Puppy."

"Whatever." Reaching a dead end at a chain-link fence, Angel turned to face him. "I don't love it."

"That's patently obvious." Spike reached out for the fence, suddenly sounded bitter. Probably about having to climb up it. "It's ours. Which of course you seem to think means yours. And let's face it. Everything you touch . . ." He jumped down on the other side, and turned to look through the links at Angel, who was still struggling to climb.

On the other side, Angel expected Spike to finish, and turned with his jaw clenched hard, ready for it. But seeing Angel's face, Spike's sneer abruptly vanished. He tilted his head, as if about to ask a question. Instead he turned away, hands in pockets. "Everyone you touch needs some kind of protection," he said finally, when Angel reluctantly deigned to follow. "It's the nature of what we do. Our path and that. Destiny type rubbish."

"My path," Angel corrected, just to regain some measure of his lost vantage of superior wisdom.

"Told you." Spike voice was light, the click of the lighter being turned over and over again in his pocket functioning as punctuation. He looked away. "Possessive."

"I'm supposed to be. It's how I protect them."

"I know." That same light tone. "Even Harris learned how to fight," Spike said finally.

"Harris," Angel repeated.

Spike smirked. "Brown hair, brown eyes, big, dumb, plodding, slow, bad fashion sense, reminds me of someone I know . . ."

"I knew who you were talking about. And I look nothing like him."

"You also snore like him."

"What happened between you and Xander should stay between you and Xander. I don't want to know all the gory details."

"Bollocks," Spike said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, you ask Buffy, she would've preferred to leave him at home. She would've left all her friends at home; that would be why she liked us."

"She never liked you."

Spike shrugged. "Wasn't her friend, it's true. Can't say I didn't try. But then neither were you."

Angel opened his mouth, then closed it. "Xander isn't a dog," he said finally.

Turning to him, Spike stopped, looking extremely startled. "Well bust my buttons." He took out a cigarette and lit it up. "He's not? You sure?"

"You know what I meant."

"With the hair? Those ears. You're really sure he isn't--?"

Angel ignored him and kept walking.

"I'm just saying," Spike said finally, catching up. "Even a dog's gonna a find out sooner or later this isn't exactly Kansas. Though I admit, gingham and ruby red slippers could be your style. I know, I know." He waved his hands expansively. "I didn't think you would ever have style either." He put his cigarette back in his mouth and inhaled, then exhaled with a sigh. "But there are witches, yeah? And they'll kill your little dog, too. So somehow teaching him to go for the jugular doesn't seem like such a crime. Seems like common sense."

"He has a point," Faith said later on the phone.

Angel just stopped himself from asking, what is it? and instead said, "Spike never has a point. Things just come out of his mouth. If you're lucky, you're not standing anywhere nearby and don't have to hear them."

"You wanna leave Muffin defenseless?"

"It has teeth. It'll use them if it can. But if covens of witches or whatever are going to hunt down the damn dog, I'm afraid it knowing a few doggy tricks really isn't going to save it."

"I think Spike was being metaphorical about the witch thing."

Angel felt defensive. "Well, so was I."

"What's the harm in teaching it? When you think about it, Xander--"

"Why does everyone have to keep mentioning Xander Harris? And why do I have to be the one to remind everyone he isn't a dog? I don't even like him."

"Xander, as a natural human caught up in a supernatural situation, functions as the medium through which normal people can relate to us."

"Huh?" Angel asked, not because he didn't understand what Faith was saying, but because it was Faith saying it.

"I have no idea." He could almost hear her shrug over the phone. "That's what Robin says. He and Xander are buddy-buddy."

"So," Angel said carefully. "You and Xander and that whole . . . thing?"

"I let him have sex with us and he got over it." When Faith heard the silence on his end, she laughed. "You know, Xander is a good guy. Doesn't hold a grudge."

"He doesn't," Angel repeated sarcastically.

"Maybe a bit of one against some vampires we know," she ceded. "So. No kung fu, karate chops for Rex? Though actually, roll over and play dead could be handy in a fight, too."

"He's a dog," Angel said, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "He can't karate chop. He can play fetch."

"You want him to live the doggy dream of all dogs. To pant in pastures and shed in the sun. Sort of like you wanted for Buffy?"

"Do you and Spike have telepathy?"

"You always say I'm like Spike," Faith complained, "and then we always establish I'm hotter." There was a pause. "Except for when he does that thing with his tongue. You know, that thing."

"Spike's tongue," Angel began, but that sounded all kinds of wrong. "No, I don't know. The only thing that comes out of there is senseless babble and a lot of BS."

"Yeah, but, like, he does all that with aforementioned tongue. And then he does that thing with it."

Angel refused to think about Spike's tongue.

Faith sighed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I have the wrong things planned. Maybe I need to move to the country and learn how to knit little pinafores."

Angel absolutely refused to think about how Spike's tongue and pinafores could in anyway segue.

"Maybe I'll learn how to clean and hang curtains and bake little buns, so when my little bun in the oven is done she can live the dream of thousands of women by living in an ivory tower."

"Bun?" Angel repeated stupidly. His thoughts were swirling all around. "You--. You're with child?"

"'With child'? How old are you, three hundred and fifty?"

Angel blinked in confusion. "Why does everyone keep aging me before my time? Wait." He struggled to catch up. "You're pregnant?"

"Say it again. Third time'll be a charm."

"Faith, that's--that's wonderful."

There was a long silence. "What do you think?" she said at last. "It won't be able to--it won't have any kind of normal life. I mean, look at Robin."

"You look at Robin every day." He said it quietly, forcefully, because he knew it was one of the most important things in Faith's life.

"But can I--"

"You can."

"Fine, Mister Know It All," she said weakly. "But I meant it. About . . . do I teach it to fight? Do I force it into the life I--we--lead? Or do I try to keep it from all that, try to give it something different? It's who I am, I can't . . . I'm so afraid she's going to be all alone in this world." Faith's voice closed up, small and tight.

Angel didn't know what to offer her. He'd wanted the best for Connor, fumbled through both extremes. It was only when Connor had been alienated completely from Angel that he had not seemed alienated from the rest of the world and everyone in it. Angel had had to give him up to finally give him family. "You'll love her," was all he had to say.

"And teach her all nine food groups."

"Are you sure it's a girl?"

"I just have that feeling. Robin thinks it's a boy." A beat. "Dawn thinks it's an alien."

"Alien pregnancies are never fun."

"And human pregnancies are? Give me a break. Okay, names. I'm thinking Pumpkin."

Angel swallowed. "Um. That's nice."

"For your dog, you idiot."

"It has a name."

"Sure it does. And no taekwondo?"

"I don't know. It's just a dog. I don't know what to do."

"One thing's true, though." Faith waited for him to ask what, got impatient, and ended with her meaningful echo. "You'll love it."

Angel thought that was a stupid thing to say, and cheesy, but she was pregnant so he let it go.

*

In the months following the alley and weeks following Gunn's attacks on various headquarters, Ash Agency tried to coordinate with Rondell's gang and some of the older kids from Anne's shelter, and Faith stayed on after her surprise arrival to help. "Wanna give you a hand with your apocalypse," she said.

"Gunn is not our apocalypse," Angel told her.

"Okay, you know, sometimes apocalypses aren't the mayor of a whole town, or great big demons, or anything like that. Sometimes it's just someone who was close to you and got a bit of bad in them, and then you have to get it out."

"Get it out?" Angel asked. "A little dry cleaning's not gonna do much, here."

"Okay, stab it out and throw him on a dumptruck." Faith handed him a stake. When Angel looked at her, frowning, she rolled her eyes and said, "Story time."

"Huh?"

"There once was a Slayer who fought the root of all evil, big bad, yada yada. You know what? In the end, not as big a deal as running a sword through her boyfriend. Sometimes it's personal. And when it's personal, it's worse."

"Is that all?" Off Faith's look, Angel reiterated, "Is that the end of the story?"

"Yeah." Faith looked uncertain. "Did you want popcorn?"

"Good," Angel said, and walked away.

He left her at the office with Spike, thinking she would like that. She had fun with him, anyway. Since Faith had come into town, Spike had been showing up at the office regularly on time. In fact, by the time Angel got there, Spike was invariably in his desk chair, with Faith sitting on his desk, swinging her legs, or sometimes vice versa. Spike swung his legs, too. Sometimes Angel thought they had ADD or took cocaine or should be cut off completely from the soda pop with the way they couldn't keep still. And couldn't stop finding everything incredibly funny, even when nothing was, because they were always laughing. Except when Angel came into the office, they were always abruptly stopping the laughter and putting their heads close together over one of Spike's stupid projects laid out on his desk.

Once Angel came in and Spike was standing on a chair, speaking loudly. Faith was listening attentively at his feet. Nina was in the kitchen making coffee, and Illyria was just inside her office sharpening a broadsword, but Nina was leaning through the window in the room divider, and Illyria had left her door open. Spike broke off when he saw Angel, and jumped off the chair. "Nothing to hear here," he said, not meeting Angel's eyes.

"Hear, hear," Illyria repeated from the other room, sounding annoyed. "That was awful."

"Well, yeah," Spike agreed cheerfully. He shooed Faith up from his desk so he could sit down to draw on some map or other. "What else was it going to be?"

"How does it end?" Faith asked.

"He dies," Spike said. "That's all; they always do."

"But what about the girl?"

Angel stalked over to the file cabinet and jerked out a folder. "Probably waters his grave with her tears," he said, and went over to his own desk.

"Does she?" Faith wanted to know.

"Might've," Spike said, sounding snotty.

Angel grunted and started scribbling on the file. Spike and Faith started talking shop, best techniques to take out entire nests of vampires they expected had dens in the city. Nina brought them both a cup of coffee. Like they could possibly need caffeine. She brought one for Angel also, but he refused. Nina shrugged and sipped it for herself, then went into her front room. Illyria shut her door.

It would've been very quiet, except that Spike and Faith were very loud. Angel kept trying to scratch louder with his pen to drown them out. It didn't seem to be working.

Angel looked down at the file. Three different ritual sacrifices on the same night in three different parts of the city, same pattern as nearly a month ago. They'd plotted points at which the next sacrifices might occur and coordinated them with the places they thought Gunn might attack. Lining the two different cases up made for an easier patrolling schedule.

Standing quietly, Angel got up to get started on the night's business. Despite the fact that they never did get those partitions, he might as well have been leaving a cubicle, for all that his departure was noteworthy. He felt like he should have a briefcase and an apartment with unfed cats waiting at the end. He put on his coat, did not swirl it, made sure he had some stakes, and left.

Or almost did. Faith turned from her conversation and said, "Hey, wait up." Swiping a stake off Spike's desk, she put it in her hip pocket and came up to Angel. "Where we headed?"

Angel glanced at Spike, who abruptly turned from them to scribble on his maps on his desk. "Thought you were busy," Angel told Faith.

"With what?" she said, frowning. "I got nothing."

Spike was very still for a moment. Then he went back to drawing.

"I was going on patrol," Angel said.

"Yeah, let's get this ske and daddle-way. Oh, hey, Spike," Faith said over her shoulder as she left. "I'm totally going to use that spray can idea. That's some sweet shit right there."

Spike didn't look up. Faith went past, but Angel lingered for a moment in the doorway. He thought about asking Spike to come along, but then didn't. Really, it was more of a two person job.

Or more of a five person and a grenade job, once they got ambushed. Spike really thought they should have invested Nabbit's money in a grenade launcher after that night. Previously, Illyria had been dropping hints about nuclear warheads and things since The Dow had been doing so well. Apparently an investor wasn't an investor without a hand in illicit weapons trade, which was probably why Spike thought he'd have an ally on the whole launcher scheme. But by that time, Illyria had abruptly exchanged her obsession with Bill Gates and Richard Nixon in return for an obsession with Winnifred Burkle, who showed up that night without so much as a howdy, y'all.

Angel and Faith were scoping the Hyperion alone. Gunn was due for another attack soon, so they had to keep watch on all possible places he could hit.

"This isn't right," Faith said, after they'd been searching a while.

"Tell me about it," Angel muttered. He looked around him, at walls thick with memories. Wesley's gutted desk, the spot where Cordy kept the files, the place where Gunn had lain his axe. Upstairs, a room where underneath the peeling paint was the story of a girl humanizing again, coaxed from outside those very walls by those who loved her. And now all she had been was as superficial as that paint, Fred's body brushed over that inhuman thing. This whole hotel a shell itself, crumbling to into dust.

It didn't hurt as much as Connor's burnt out crib, but the feeling was similar in nature.

"Wait, what?" he said, turning to Faith, realizing she couldn't be sharing his thoughts.

"This is just a building. We're looking in the wrong place."

"How would you know?" It was more of an accusation than a question. Angel turned away again. She couldn't know what this place had been for them.

Faith crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I know how to play the game."

"This was a home for Gunn."

"Yeah, well. Here's the church and goddamn steeple, but where are all the people? Gunn's not being sentimental, here. He's trying to hurt, make you hate him. Make you kill him, even." She dropped her arms and walked further away, so that with his back turned he could barely hear the sarcastic mutter under her breath. "Sound familiar to anyone, for three hundred points?"

"Okay," Angel said finally. "Fine. We're done here, then."

"Hold up. Didn't you know any of the people living around here?"

Angel stopped and glared at her.

She held up her hands. "Okay, I gotcha. You couldn't go out on a beautiful day in the neighborhood, anyway. Maybe . . . you guys have a maid service?"

"For what? To shine our weapons? Scrub the pentagram off the floor?"

"There's a pentagram on the floor? Fine. No maid, check. Mail man, then. Mail woman?" Angel continued glaring. "Femail woman? People person?"

"We had a P.O. box," Angel said finally, annoyed.

"Milk man."

"Why would I have a milk man?"

"Dunno. Those delivery boys in their brown uniforms, though, sometimes they get me all fired up for some hot and spicy--"

"Chinese food."

"Not exactly, but if you don't want the TMI--"

"No, Chinese food. Uncle Li's." Angel was already moving, through the hotel, out the door. He might have flicked his coat just a little.

Just enough so that when he and Faith were standing on the dining room floor of Uncle Li's and vampires, big leathery demons, and some kind of scaly dino-looking breed were streaming through the entrance and from the kitchen in the back, forming a loose circle around them both--Spike, Illyria and Nina showed up.

Okay, Angel got it, Faith must've palmed his cell phone and made a call for back-up. But back-up didn't involve gagging Nina and putting her in manacles, usually. Nor did it involve arriving noisily, pushing Nina along and marching behind her, and announcing loudly, "Lookit! A powwow."

Or Illyria saying in a very strange accent, "Oh, goody. I've wanted to change my hair color. Which scalp shall I try on first?"

Actually back-up might very well have involved saying that, had Illyria been talking to the vampires and sundry demons. Instead she was looking straight at Faith. Everyone knew back-up involved big waving swords and running in and shouts of heroic sacrificial glory, not ever saying, "Just don't try Angel's, love. Porcupines'll want it back."

Unless you were Spike. Of course.

Angel rolled his eyes and Gunn walked out from the tight knot of vampires in front of the kitchen. "Take them," he said.

"What're you talking about?" Spike squawked at Gunn, as the vampires narrowed in around the tables, Illyria, and him. "I'm on your side!"

"The werewolf too," Gunn said, ignoring him.

Nina put up a perfunctory struggle and submitted. Illyria and Spike were taken by more force, but there were lots of vampires and the demons with them were strong.

Once they were all secure, Gunn walked up to Spike, who was being held by two huge big leathery demons. "You really thought I'd fall for that?"

"Fall for what?" Spike struggled. "You've got it all wrong. See Angel there? He's a prat. Orders you around, boss, kahuna, Pancho Villa, big dick--personality wise, not physically--why am I even going into this? You know what I mean. Uses you and spits you out. Never respects you."

"Spike," Angel said. Soft, sounding tired.

"I'm tired of all his leadership, saving people bollocks. We're vampires, aren't we? So I've been biding my time putting up with him, waiting for a moment like this, strike a deal, so maybe you and I could work out some kind of--"

"Spike," Angel said again, still gently. "Don't bother."

Spike turned blazing eyes on Angel. "What, don't waste my breath?"

Gunn just smiled. "Astronauts would win." Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he wandered amongst the tables to where Nina was being held. His hand closed on the chain between the manacles and gave a tug. Then he had one of the big, scaly dino-demons tug the chain, and try to cut it with a claw. "The fastenings are good," Gunn said at last, satisfied. He was clinical, business-like, professional, as in the courtroom. The next moment when he turned back to Spike, he was all street. "Just how damn stupid are you?"

"Now, boys," Illyria said, still speaking strangely. "Play nice."

"Had to've known this ploy was a long shot," Gunn continued, now mingling the courtroom show and street into irony that cut like iron. "But you walk right in anyway and incapacitate a third your team while at it."

Spike opened his mouth, closed it. He swallowed. "There was a reason."

"Sure man," Gunn said easily. "Enlighten me."

For just one moment, there was hesitation. "Take her." Spike nodded at Nina. "Take her in exchange."

A strangled sound came from behind Nina's gag, a "Wha?" Her widening, panicking eyes turned on Angel as she abruptly began to struggle, kicking at the demon holding her loosely from behind and forcing them to regroup and hold her close.

"Motherfucker," Faith said under her breath. "Hey bonzo, over here. Take me."

She started to lunge in Nina's direction, but Angel held her back. His face was empty, watching Spike.

"Interesting." Gunn looked from Nina's thrashing to Spike's clenched jaw with appraising eyes. "For which one?"

"Him," Spike grit out, and jerked his head at Angel.

"You'd do it," Gunn said slowly. "You'd do that for . . . him." The last word was thick, coming from behind fangs, behind a face alight with hatred.

"For me," Illyria clarified. "Angel's my favorite."

"What the flying fuck," Faith muttered. "Is she trying to be British?"

"Worse," Angel murmured.

"What?"

But there was no time. Angel stepped up on a pulled out chair, then the table that was between him and Spike, and dove for him. "You sonuvabitch," he shouted. "You traitor sonuvabitch."

The other vampires and demons looked to Gunn, who waved a dismissive hand. He watched with interest as Angel ripped Spike out of the hands of the demons and straddled him, punching him into the floor.

"What!" Spike exploded, rolling away and coming to his feet again. "I was trying to save your sorry arse--"

"In exchange for Nina?" Their arms locked, trying to gain holds on each other's neck. "Just trade yourself, no one would miss you."

"In that case." Spike went down, Angel on top. They both rolled under the table that had previously separated them, under the white tablecloth. "Now!" came a muffled shout.

Angel and Spike, moving now as one now, tipped the table so that it was between them and the closest bunch of demons. Spike pulled something out of his pocket and looked meaningfully at Angel, who nodded.

"He has a grenade," Illyria told her captors helpfully.

"Fire in the hole," Spike added, in a similar tone. He threw the grenade and hunkered down with Angel behind the shield of the table while it blew, then rolled with him to separate and fight the demons scattering in the other direction.

Nina lifted her manacled hands to her hair, pulled out two slender sticks, and brought both hands up on one side of her to stake the vamp holding her on her left. She moved next to get the one on her right, but then she went down in a blur of bodies.

"This was your plan all along?" Faith shouted, running for Nina. "No one tells me anything."

"Istanbul," Spike panted, slugging one of the dino-demons in what passed for its face.

"Okay," Angel said, knocking Spike's demon from behind and pushing a vampire on at him while he dealt with the one on his right. "But did you have to make Illyria talk like Dru?"

In the ash of a the disappearing vampire, Spike's face looked surprised. "Had to let you know what I was doing, didn't I?" Breaking off a chair leg and tossing it at Angel, he said, "Hey, we didn't do it Dog Girl's way. She wanted to wear a Darla name tag."

"I knew what you were doing the second you showed up." Annoyed, Angel staked one vamp straight through to the next. "And don't call her Dog Girl. Next time use Illyria."

"Illyria's not blonde." Spike sounded maddeningly like he was whining, even as he uppercut the demon in front of him.

"Just don't chain Nina up again. Got it?"

"Sure," Spike agreed placidly. "Unless she wants to have hyena monkey hybrid sex with me, then I might not have much of a choice."

"Hyena monkey," Angel began, but couldn't even get it all out. Maybe because he was busy swiping the legs out from under the vampire in front of him. Maybe because it was Spike and he always had to interrupt, or maybe because it was Spike and it was stupid to repeat anything that came out of his mouth.

"Fucking yuck." The fist Spike pulled back from the demon's head was covered in brains. "Yeah, monkey hybrid sex," he repeated in the next beat, sounding jovial again. "All the kids are doing it these days. And you know, I've got a head start, with Dog Girl being a . . . Dog Girl, and all." Spike snickered at himself, throwing a vampire over a broken table in just such a way that he hit a splinter and poofed to dust. Spike really appeared to be having fun.

"Where do you even get this stuff?" Angel kicked another demon. "Where do you even get grenades?"

"Improvement over Turkish dynamite, yeah?" Spike knocked two vampires' heads together and sent them both down. "Knew what I was doing right when we showed up. Oof. Did you?" Spike sounded strangely pleased, around the grunt he released when a demon pinned him to the floor.

Angel tore the demon off. "You thought I forgot?" he demanded, frowning down at Spike. "I didn't know what you were doing when you did it in Istanbul. So really, kinda hard to forget."

"Not it." For a single moment, Spike didn't get off the floor. "I thought you might not trust me," he said, and then he was up and fighting again and Angel lost him in the melee.

part 4b