Violently Happy

Scene 6

Back at the hotel. Angel is just hanging up the phone.

Angel: [To Gunn and Wesley] “They found her—she’s Ok. The doctor did a bit of work on her leg—the bone was exploded from the inside, so she won’t be on her feet anytime soon. I told them to bring her here when they feel comfortable moving her. We can take turns keeping watch until we’re sure Trachys has left town.”

Gunn: “I’m happy to crash upstairs tonight. [looking at his watch] Well, for what’s left of it.”

Wesley: “Fine with me also.”

Angel: “Best to take precautions with Spike here. Make sure you’ve got weapons handy.”

Shouting from the other room.

Spike: [disgusted] “As if I’d drink from any of you lot.”

Gunn: [shouting back] “Don’t do us any favors.”

Spike: “Point being that I wouldn’t want to. [to himself] Idiots.”

He’s hungry and tired and frustrated by being away from Miranda and chained to a chair, and so is on edge.

Angel: “Why don’t you two rest up a bit before Miranda and the others arrive. I’ll keep any eye on Spike.”

They nod and go. Some time passes. We see Angel brooding at his desk—he can see into the room where Spike is confined (Spike is facing the other way and can’t see into Angel’s office). Periodically, Angel glances over towards the room and frowns deeply. He glances at a stake he’d pulled out earlier that is now lying on his desk. More time passes. Angel has pulled out a book and is trying to read—but again, his eyes dart over the top of the book to Spike sitting in the chair and then to the stake. Spike is desperately trying not to fall asleep, but you can tell he’s exhausted. Angel shifts in his chair. He’s agitated and his frown deepens. He stares into space a moment and then tosses the book across his desk, stands up and grabs the stake. He pauses for a moment and watches his hand as he tightens his grip on the stake. He mumbles to himself, “it’s the right thing” and takes the couple of quick steps to the door. Just as he’s turning the corner to enter the room with Spike, Duncan walks through the front door carrying Miranda. Her leg is in a make-shift immobilizing cast. Angel immediately puts the stake down and turns to greet them. Cordelia comes in a moment later, followed by Alex, who is wearing a big baseball cap with a wig underneath and sunglasses (looking very shifty).

Duncan: “Where should I put her?”

Angel: [surprised] “She’s unconscious.”

Duncan: “The doctor gave her something pretty powerful for the pain. Was supposed to have worn off, but she hasn’t come to yet.”

Cordelia: [looking a bit concerned] “She’s really cold. Do we have an electric blanket or something around here?”

Gunn: [coming down the stairs] “I’ve got one back at my place—can swing by and get it if you want.”

Angel: “Thanks.”

He’s a bit mesmerized by the sight of her (she almost looks dead)—he can tell that her heart is beating very slowly. In his distracted state, he just letncanncan stand there with her and forgets to answer his question.

Duncan: [repeating himself] “So where to?”

From the other room.

Spike: “In here. On the couch.” [Frantic to see her—he can sense that something isn’t right.]

Angel: “Downstairs in my room.”

Spike: “Bugger that.”

Angel: [justifying to Duncan] “It’s a smaller, confined space—we can bring a space heater down and it’ll heat up quickly.”

Duncan: [needing to put her somewhere] “Fine.”

Angel points in the direction of the stairs and Duncan leaves.

Spike: [intensely frustrated] “Come on. [under his breath] Bloody bastard.”

After they get Miranda settled downstairs, they work out a sort of ‘schedule’ so that everyone gets a chance to rest. Many hours pass. Cordelia cautiously comes into the room where Spike is to make coffee (the machine is by the door). She thinks he’s asleep. Then comes the sound of his stomach grumbling loudly. She turns to look in his direction and he is watching her.

Cordelia: “Dammit, I knew I should have worn a turtleneck today.”

Spike: “Please, I’ve seen nicer necks on American football players.”

Cordelia: “Somebody’s not in top form this morning. Take it from the master—for an insult to be taken seriously, it’s got to be a bit closer to the truth. [emphasizing her neck with her hands] My neck is Audrey-Hepburn-esq. I could be a neck model. So...”

Suddenly realizing that she’s standing in front of a vampire advertising the tastiness of her neck, she turns back to the coffee machine. Spike is just smirking at her.

Spike: “Though it is true that a hungry vampire is a dangerous vampire. Your boss got a supply of blood stashed somewhere?”

Cordelia: “You know he does. The question is whether or not he’s willing to share with you.”

Spike: “Perhaps you should convince him that it’s a win-win proposition. Assuming it IS his employees’ safety he’s most concerned about.”

Cordelia: “I’ll mention it—AFTER he’s had his tea.” [She turns to leave.]

Spike: [voice shift from snarky/pissy to genuine concern] “Is she OK?”

Cordelia: [frowns, then she turns and shrugs on her way out] “Not awake yet.”

Reluctantly, Angel agrees to give Spike some blood. He walks into the room with a container of blood, with Cordelia and Wesley right behind, carrying mugs of tea and coffee. They’re finishing some conversation about Alex helping them set up surveillance equipment outside the hotel to give them more lead time for possible intruders. Angel walks over to Spike with the container and looks to just pour it into Spike’s mouth.]

Spike: [pulling away.] “Do you have a straw? You’ll spill it otherwise, with those beefy troll hands of yours.”

Angel: “And I thought you were hungry...” [He starts to walk away with it.]

Cordelia: “I think we’ve got straws around here someplace.”

She finds one and hands it to Angel. He puts it in the cup and walks back over to Spike. He takes a sip.

Spike: [disgusted] “ech, it’s ice cold. Cold human blood isn’t so bad, but pig’s blood?”

Angel: “It’s this or nothing.”

Spike: “There’s a microwave right there. Geez, got better treatment from the bloody slayer.”

Angel just ignores him and thrusts the straw back in his face. Spike grumbles, but drinks the rest of it. Duncan comes in, looking worried.

Duncan: “She’s still not awake. I don’t understand it. There should be some improvement by now.”

Wesley: “Is there anything you’re aware of that could slow the healing process?”

Duncan: “Never seen anything like it. Sure, some injuries take longer to heal than others, but we always get better.”

Angel: “And she’s worse.”

Wesley: “Perhaps something supernatural. Might be a good idea to bring in someone who can look for such things.”

Cordelia: “I’ll check the rolodex”

She walks over to the front desk, but leaves the door open behind her.

Spike: [calmly] “Take me to see her.”

Angel: [completely ignoring him] “Duncan, maybe you should call your doctor friend back. Maybe she’s having a reaction to the drug he gave her.”

Duncan: “I’ve already left a message.”

Spike: [trying desperately to stay calm] “I want to see her.”

Angel: [Still ignoring him. Remembering something] “There was a time when she had a stab wound that didn’t heal quickly—it kept bleeding for longer than usual. She was upset—emotional. More upset than I’ve ever seen her.”

Spike: “The Sultan?”

Angel hears and for the first time looks directly at Spike, surprised.

Angel: [Can’t help himself from blurting out] “She told you about that?”

Spike: [icy] “She told me everything.”

This seems to disconcert Angel for a moment.

Wesley: [getting back to the subject] “You think it could be psychological?”

Duncan: “I suppose it’s possible. I’ve heard stories of Immortals putting themselves into a self-induced coma. But why would she do it? She seemed fine just before.”

Spike: [Suddenly looking more agitated. to Angel. Seething.] “You should have killed him.”

Angel: “I did.”

Spike: “You should have killed him when she first asked you to.”

Angel: “That your answer to everything, Spike? Killing?”

Spike: “For her, 'wouldn’t even ask the question. [beat.] [practically snarling] You let him break her. [shaking his head] Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly hate you more.”

Angel: [getting angry—a wee bit defensive, maybe?] “She may have told you some things, but don’t you even pretend to know what went on between us. I did what I had to do and she understood that.”

Spike: “Did she now? I’m very curious to know how it is you recon you know anything at all about what she thought, ‘cause the truth is, you don’t know the first thing about her.”

Angel: “That’s ridiculous.”

Spike: “What’s her favorite color? [Angel stumbles] Red—not fire engine red or burgundy red, but ruby red. What’s her favorite food?”

Angel: “This is stupid—doesn’t mean anything.”

Spike: [He’s been holding so much in this whole trip and now he’s just letting it all out—he’s on a roll; rapid fire] “Chocolate covered strawberries. How did her daughter die? [not even giving Angel time to answer] Murdered by another Immortal. What has she always dreamed of doing since she was a little girl? Fly. What’s the one thing she wants to be sure to live long enough to do? Travel on a space ship. What’s her favorite season? What's her beef with marital arts films? Does she prefer sunrises or sunsets? What’s the first thing she thinks of when she wakes up in the morning, every morning? [he’s done with the list] Admit that you don’t know any of it. Admit that deep down you knew she was only playing the part and that’s why you didn’t think to ask too many questions.”

Angel: “Shut up, Spike. You don’t really want to have this conversation. You think you know what’s best for her? Remember, she left you because she knew you were dragging her down to your level. Back when she was thinking clearly.”

Spike: “She gave you everything and you just took it, didn’t you, you self involved piece_of_shit. You really should have told her, mate. And while we’re on the subject of honesty, why don’t you tell your friends here the real reason you’ve got me tied to a chair.”

Angel: “Enlighten us, please. This ought to be good.”

Spike: “I’m not chained because you’re worried I’ll hurt your little friends here or Buffy or Miranda or anyone else. I’m chained because you’re terrified that I won’t.”

Angel: [this hits a nerve] “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spike: “You’re terrified that I won’t hurt a bloody fly and then what would your dear, precious Buffy think about that?”

Angel: [sarcastic] “Yeah, because Buffy would hate the fact that nobody dies.”

Spike: “She’d wonder why love wasn’t enough to keep you in check, when it’s enough for me. She’d wonder if you’re just weak and stupid or if you never really loved her in the first place.”

Angel punches Spike hard across the face—hard enough, in fact, to knock him out cold. He looks up to find the others looking at him, ever-so-slightly suspiciously.

Angel: [almost defensively] “If he were free, I’d give him an hour, tops, before he’d go for the nearest jugular.”

He walks angrily out of the room and down to check on Miranda.

Scene 7

Days pass. Everything continues as before—Spike is still chained to a chair. Angel refuses to let him see Miranda. Everyone is kind of frozen—not knowing what to do. Angel spends most of his time by her bed.

It’s Cordelia’s turn to give Spike some blood and she comes in to the room carrying a container.

Spike: [in a very low, downtrodden voice] “Don’t bother—not hungry.”

Cordelia: “Hey, I just spent a good 45 seconds in front of the microwave heating this up for you and lord knows I could’ve spent that time...uh...er....just take it already. You should eat.”

She’s actually become the tiniest bit sympathetic to Spike over the past couple of days—her tone is actually more friendly than bitchy.

Spike: [looking at her with deeply pained, pleading eyes] “How is she? No one will tell me.”

Cordelia: [Looking around to be sure they’re alone. She sits on the couch and puts the container of blood on the coffee table. In a softer voice.] “It’s bad. The doctor came. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. Wesley brought some mystical shaman guy in and he couldn’t find anything. [beat] Her heart’s only beating a few times a minute and getting slower. She’s barely breathing. Nobody knows what to do.”

She offers the cup again. He shakes his head. She sits there for a moment. As she’s getting up to go, she spies something on the floor near his feet. It’s a small card. She leans over to pick it up.

Cordelia: [reading] “Psychodelic Seymor’s Divine Demon Pagoda: Commitment rituals, birth rites and feast-day celebrations performed daily. Call now to reserve an alter. Goats, humans or other sacrificial animals not provided.”

She frowns, cluelessly, and puts it down on the table. She turns to leave.

Spike: [pleading] “You have to convince them to let me see her. Talk to Duncan—he knows. Angel’s only making it worse keeping me away.”

She turns to face him.

Cordelia: “He gets more possessive by the hour—he doesn’t want to leave her side, in case...[Her voice trails off and she looks away.]

Spike: “He’s making it worse, I can feel it. Please. Talk to him.”

Cordelia: [She glances back towards him and frowns. Then she squints as if she sees something she can’t quite fathom.] “Are you...crying?”

Spike: [He turns away, embarrassed, but there is a tear or two] “Fuck off.”

Cordelia: [seriously amazed] “Sorry. It’s just...I...I didn’t know vampires could cry.”

Spike: [Annoyed that he’s so exposed] “Yeah, well, maybe there’s a lot you don’t know.”

Cordelia: [She lets this sink in for a moment. Sincere] “Don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I’ll talk to him.” [She leaves.]

**

Finally, Cordelia and Duncan convince Angel to let Spike see Miranda. Angel insists that his hands stay in the irons, but they remove the ones on his ankles and escort him downstairs. At first, Angel tries to wait just outside the door, but again, Duncan talks him into coming upstairs. Spike sits on a chair pulled up next to the bed.

Spike: “So, uh, hate to be the one to tell you, but you don’t look so hot there, sweets. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? Sorry they kept me away so long—hope you didn’t think I’d gone or anything. I guess HE'S been down here most of the time—s’no wonder your heart’s almost stopped. Brings knew meaning to the phrase ‘bored to death’. It’s been no picnic upstairs. Cold pig’s blood through a straw; no smoking. Haven’t gotten a wink of sleep—and I thought airline seats were uncomfortable. You’d think he hated me or something. [beat] That Alex is a piece of work, isn’t he? Lurking about, slinking from room to room. Creepy. I think you should hire him to work in your shop. [He stops the babbling for a moment as he studies her face. In a softer voice] So I think maybe it’s about time for us to hit the road, don’t you think? Saturday’s come and gone, but I promise I’ll call the minute you wake up. The Elvis Impersonators are waiting. [Frowning—it’s hard for him to be upbeat when he can sense how close she is to death. He’s looking more pensive.] I’ve been thinking about things, just like you asked. Have had plenty of time to think, being chained to a chair and all. I was cross at first that you’d even have to ask. But maybe things have changed a bit, what with the whole archangel business. I guess it comes down to this. You told me once that you could never be with me, the way I was before. A few months back, you asked me to help you remember things—remember what's right, how to act. As stupid an idea as that was, it’s been alright, I think. I can see it most of the time—what’s best. I know when we talked about it before, my losing the chip, you suggested we have a list—I don’t kill your friends and other than that, I do what I want. Sounded grand at the time. The thing is, I don’t think that’s good enough. I remember. I can’t let you be with a killer. It’s not right. So now we’re back to the question of the day. Can I give it up? [Thinking about it for a moment] I can say that it doesn’t have the obsessive appeal that it once did—think regardless I’d be more selective now. Don’t like the idea of certain sorts of people dying. Things were simple back then. Now I’m not so sure. [pause] So what do I know? I know that I love you. Yeah, sorry about being so stubborn and not saying it before—guess it was my stupid little way of reminding you how much hurt me. I WAS going to say it—not so good with the long grudges, me—another thing that got missed out on Saturday. [leaning in closer] I love you. I know the pain of not being with you is stronger than any pain I ever got from the bloody chip. So I guess what I’m saying is...I want to be the man you deserve—the man you should be with. Don’t know that I can promise. It’s not going to be easy. I’m kinda hard-wired for evil, you know? But I’ll try. Okay? [Another tear drips down his cheek. Almost to himself] Damn, I hope that’s good enough.”

Cut to upstairs. Angel is pacing around.

Angel: “It’s been two hours.”

Duncan: “I don’t see what the rush is.”

Gunn: [trying to divert attention] “Has Alex been able to put a track on Trachys?”

Duncan: “He hasn’t left town as far as Alex can tell. I’m surprised he hasn’t made another attempt to get to Miranda.”

Gunn: “Maybe he’s not too keen on facing you.”

Duncan: “Maybe.”

Just then, the door to the basement is kicked open. Spike steps through, carrying Miranda in his arms. His left hand is wrapped in a pillowcase that is now soaked in blood—his other hand still has the irons. He must have pulled his left hand through the ring of the iron to get free, crushing some of the bones and taking the skin off in the process. He strides with determination and utter focus across the room towards the front door. As he gets close to the others, he says:

Spike: “She asked me to take her home, so I’m taking her home.”

Angel: “She’s awake? What did she say?”

Spike: [irritated to be questioned, he answers coldly] “She said, “William, take me home.””

Duncan: [pleased] “Oh, thank God.”

Angel: “She’s still barely breathing—you sure she spoke?” [skeptical]

Spike just scowls and walks toward the door.

Angel: “You can’t just walk out of here.”

Spike: “Watch me. [But then, just as he gets to the door, he stops.] I’ll be needing a car of some sort. Volunteers, or shall I steal one?”

Duncan: “I’ll go with you—Trachys is still in town and you’re not in the best shape to protect her.”

Angel: “I’ll drive. Don’t think for a minute I’d let you take her to Sunnydale without a chaperone.”

Cordelia: [wanting to go wherever Duncan goes] “You’ll need a woman’s touch...you know, to do womanly type things. So count me in.”

Angel: [to Gunn] “You think you can hold down the fort for a few days?”

Gunn: “Me and English got it covered.”

Alex: [appearing from nowhere. They all look at him.] “I don’t have anyplace else to go.”

Duncan: “The more the merrier, I guess. [to Alex] We’ll protect you as best we can.”

Cordelia: “So, I’m thinking mini-van?”

Gunn: “My friend Dylan’s got a Volkswagen bus—he lives around the corner. Owes me a favor.”

Angel: “Call him.”

Spike: “Fine, it’s a bloody road trip. Can we go now?”

Cordelia: “Wow. Sunnydale, here we come. This should be interesting...”

Scene 8

They travel to Sunnydale in the Volkswagon bus. It’s a quiet trip—everyone lost in their own thoughts. Spike and Miranda are in the seat furthest back. Duncan and Cordelia are in the next seat up. Alex is alone in the third seat and Angel is front, driving. Miranda is not awake and hasn’t moved. Spike is holding her on his lap, with her legs along the length of the seat. Both his hands are free of the irons now. Duncan had insisted they be removed back at the hotel. Though disapproving (and scowling), Angel did not put up much of a fight—detecting the almost imperceptible improvement in Miranda’s breathing and heartbeat, he couldn’t deny the fact that being with Spike was promoting her recovery. With his uninjured hand, Spike gently strokes her hair—his other arm is wrapped around her shoulder and neck, supporting her head. At one point during the trip, Cordelia silently removes the blood-soaked pillowcase from Spike’s injured hand and puts a proper bandage on it. By the time they get to the house, it’s the middle of the night. They pile out of the van. Angel tries to call Buffy with his cell phone, but keeps getting the answering machine. Spike, carrying Miranda, gets to the door first. He stops.

Spike: [tired, hoarse] “Someone needs to get the key out of my pocket.”

His voice startlingly breaks the mood of silence. He looks back. Awkward glances abound. Soon everyone is looking at Cordy.

Cordelia: “What?”

Duncan: “Womanly things?” [Quoting her excuse for coming along.]

Cordelia: “I don’t see why ‘womanly-type things’ should necessarily involve sticking my hand down Spike’s pants.”

More awkward shifting.

Cordelia: “Fine. But can I point out that you guys are clinically homophobic.”

She steps up to Spike and on his indication, thrusts her hand down his left pocket. She frowns after rummaging a bit (not finding a key).

Spike: “ooh—watch the wandering fingers, luv. [Smirking—enjoying her frustration/disgust at his implication.] Sorry, must be in the other pocket.”

She rolls her eyes, knowing he did that on purpose and goes to the other pocket, emerging with the key.

Cordelia: [as she’s unlocking the door] “And for the record, there was no wandering of any kind.”

She holds the door open and Spike strolls in, followed by Cordelia, Duncan and Alex. When Angel tries to go through, he hits the vampire barrier.

Spike: “Sorry, mate. Shoulda mentioned that got reset since the last time you were here.” [He’s smirking knowingly.]

Cordelia: “Come in, Angel.”

He tries, but is still unable to pass through the door.

Spike: “Oh, right—must’ve slipped my mind. The girls helped her fix it so that only Miranda can do the inviting—seemed extra safe that way. Oops, guess you’ll have to wait ‘til she wakes up.”

Angel: [v. angry at being duped] “Spike. This was your plan the whole time. She never woke up, did she?”

Spike: “I wouldn’t have risked moving her if I didn't know that’s what she wanted. Believe whatever the hell you have to believe. I’m going to bed.”

With that, he heads to the stairs leading to the master bedroom.

Duncan: “I’ll keep an eye on them. I don’t think he’ll try to go anywhere.”

Angel: “Cordelia, you should come with me to Buffy’s.”

Cordelia: “Seems awfully rude to leave Duncan here all by himself. Besides, I’m really tired—it’s been a long few days. [fake yawn—she just wants to stay with D]. Between the two of us, I think we can handle a one-handed Spike.” Ahem.

Duncan: “Go on. I’ll give you my cell number and you can check in.”

He’s quite happy to spend the night with Cordy as well—plus, he’s not convinced they’re in any real danger.

Angel: “Don’t let him take her anywhere.”

Duncan: “We’ll figure out a way to lock them in.”

Angel: [He nods and is about to turn to go. But then he stops.] “Where’s Alex?”

Cordelia: “Oh, right, I completely forgot he was with us. [They look around—he’s nowhere to be seen] Guess he’s off doing his stealthy-stalker thing.”

Angel: “I’ll be back with Buffy.”

Cordelia: “No rush. I mean, can’t wait to see her, but no need to pull her out of bed or anything.”

He just frowns and heads off on foot. Cordy closes the door and looks around.

Cordelia: “This is some place.”

Duncan: “It’s nice—she loves it. Stayed for the night once last year. She seemed more at home here than I’ve ever seen her. Even put a bit of effort in fixing it up. There are four bedrooms upstairs—it goes on quite a ways to the back.”

Cordelia: “Probably would be best for us to stick close, don’t you think? In such a big house.”

Duncan: “Seems sensible.”

Spike comes up from downstairs.

Spike: “Getting a midnight snack.”

Cordy looks at Duncan rather uncomfortably (midnight snack?), but then Spike reaches in the freezer and pulls out two bags of blood. He puts them in the microwave to defrost.

Duncan: [a bit sheepish] “We might rig something of an alarm on that door (indicating the one leading down to master bedroom) once you go back down—had to promise you wouldn’t skip town or anything under my watch.”

Spike: [shrugs] “Don’t plan on leaving just yet—might need to come up and get her some food once she wakes up, though.”

Duncan: “It’s just for tonight, while we’re sleeping.” [He gives a sideways look to Cordelia.]

Spike nods and takes the blood out of the microwave and pours it into a big glass.

Spike: “She’s made up all the rooms upstairs—had a bit of time on her hands after we got back from our trip. Take your pick. [He downs half the glass. Noticing the mood between D & C] There’s some whiskey in the bar if you want a nightcap.”

Duncan gives him a little acknowledging smile.

Duncan: “Thanks.”

Spike: [finishing the glass] “Night then.” [He puts the glass down and disappears downstairs.]

Cordelia: “What’s the plan for the door?”

Duncan: [Thinking for a moment, he shrugs and in a loud-ish voice:] “Alex, you let us know if Spike leaves the basement?”

Cordelia: “But he’s...” [before she can finish]

Alex: [voice only—not seen] “Sure thing.”

Cordelia: “Ok, that’s the tiniest bit creepy.”

Duncan: “Shall we have a drink?”

Cordelia: “Yeah, sure.”

As they head into the living room (where the bar is)...

Cordelia: “So is it true what Miranda says about Immortal men?”

Duncan: “That depends—what did she say?”

Cordelia: “Good things—something about experience if I remember correctly. Hey, do you smell cat litter?”

**

In the master bedroom, a few hours later. Miranda is lying on her back on the bed—the room is dark, lit only by a dim candle. We see her open her eyes—blinking them like someone who’d been asleep for days. She barely manages to lift her head and glances down at her body, which is covered by a blanket. She frowns and looks confused. She manages to push the blanket down a few inches with her good arm, revealing two hands, holding one each of her breasts under her t-shirt—she glances over to the hand that she used to push the blanket and then smiles. Just then, there is movement next to her.

Spike: [sleepy] “You’re awake. Knew you were close.”

He’s lying on his side. He pulls one hand out from under her shirt and props himself up on his elbow.

Miranda: [in a soft whisper—smirking slightly] “Good thing you were protecting my breasts.”

Spike: “You know the left one warmed up faster than the right—it was downright perky almost an hour ago. Like little hot water bottles. I was thinking about naming them. Laverne and Shirley or Thelma and Louise or [short laugh] Seigfried and Roy.”

Miranda: [concerned] “What happened to your hand?”

Spike: “It’s nothing—scraped a bit of skin off is all, getting out of those bloody irons. I had a couple of pints of your finest when we got here and it’s healing properly now. Be good as new soon enough.”

Miranda: “We’re home.”

Spike: “Just like you asked.”

Miranda: [turning her head to face him] “I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me.”

Spike: “No worries, love.”

Miranda: “Did you kill them? ‘Cause that would be Ok if you had to.”

Spike: “Nah. And NO, it wouldn’t. You’re not really on board with the whole heavenly creature thing yet, are you?”

Miranda: [weak smile] “I’m not that kind of angel. [beat] Where is everyone?”

Spike: “We’re sort of under house arrest at the moment. Duncan and Cordelia are going at it upstairs. Alex is lurking about. Angel’s gone off to find Buffy—told him you were the only one who could invite him in. It’s fun to make him angry.”

Miranda: “You’re naughty.”

Spike: “Well if he knew I could invite him in, he’d stand there screaming at me all night, or convince Duncan to threaten me or something. Where’s the fun in that?”

Miranda: “It’s for the best. I’m not much in the mood to see him.”

Spike: [more serious] “I was worried we’d lost you—it was you who went away, wasn’t it? Not something ol’ Lucy did.”

Miranda: “I had a bad dream. You’d think I’d be able to tell the difference by now. [It’s difficult for her to even say.] Angel killed you—in front of me. I saw you disappear into dust. And then there was only him—his voice. I ran inward—found a quiet place and dug in my heels. I imagined a casket made of ice, climbed in and let myself fall asleep in the cold. Didn’t expect it to work so well.”

Spike: [leaning in closer] “Well, I’m not dust. [He kisses her on the forehead] Not yet anyway—it’s going to be tricky dealing with tweedle-dee and tweekle-dum. Best not to think about that just yet. How do you feel?”

Miranda: “You tell me.”

Spike: “You’re breasts feel about normal, but I do think your parts are quite up to speed. Last I checked, anyway.”

Miranda: “I’m tired. Still can’t feel my leg.”

Spike: “From the looks of it, that’s probably for the best.”

Miranda: “I’d love a cup of tea. Maybe something light to eat.”

Spike: “That’ll be a trick without waking the masses.”

Miranda: “Won’t they be up in one of the bedrooms?”

Spike: “Yeah, but Duncan said he was going to set some sort of alarm on the door—Angel’s idea.”

After a moment, there’s a knock at the door to the bedroom. Spike gets out of bed, pulls some pants on and heads up the stairs. He opens the door, but there’s no one there. He’s about to close the door, when he looks down to see a tray with a teapot, some toast and chocolate covered strawberries. He carries it down. Miranda is trying to sit up, which she manages with the help of some pillows.

Spike: “Must be from Alex. Think we’d have heard if the other’s were up.”

He puts the tray down on the bed and sits down next to it.

Miranda: “Blimey. He’s got serious ‘personal assistant’ potential. Look, he’s even put a couple of pain pills under the butter.”

Miranda pours the tea for them both and she nibbles on some toast. Spike feeds her a strawberry.

Miranda: “How long was I out for?”

Spike: “Uh, about three or four days, more or less. Ok, three days, 19 hours and 30 minutes. Not that I was counting.”

Miranda: “God, and you were in that chair the whole time? Did you get anything to eat?”

Spike: “Pig’s blood. Cold.”

Miranda: “Bastard. [pause] So, uh...I guess you had plenty of time to think about...stuff.”

Spike: “We’ve already had this conversation, love. Don’t you remember?”

Miranda: “I believe I was unconscious at the time, so I may need a refresher.”

Spike: [frowning] “Thought you probably heard anyway.”

Miranda: “Sorry. I knew you were there—I heard your voice, but not the details.”

Spike: “But there was a whole speech—I’m not going to repeat it.”

Miranda: [disbelieving] “A speech. Really?”

Spike: “Well, yeah. There was humor and, you know, emotion and drama. [smirking] It was bloody fantastic and you missed it.”

Miranda: “Let’s hear it then.
Spi
Spike: “Sorry—it was a one-off.”

Miranda: [pouting] “Aw, William.”

Spike: “No. It’d sound rehearsed if I tried to repeat it.”

Miranda: “So give me the nutshell version.”

Spike: “Don’t really know if I’m in the mood now.”

She touches his cheek with the back of her hand, gently.

Miranda: [in a more serious voice] “I know you want to play now, love. I do too, but we should have things worked out before the others arrive.”

Spike: [He takes hold of her hand and restlessly moves it around a bit. After a few minutes he sighs. finally…] “I’m happy, M. That’s all there is, really. Don’t know as I’ve ever been just...happy. I love being with you—the things we do. I love you. [She closes her eyes when he says this—it’s been so long.] I can’t imagine anything better than this...and I’ve got a pretty wicked imagination. The thing is, I want to live this life—I’ll try to live this life, but it isn’t the life I was made to live. What if I can’t do it? What if I mess up? I don’t want to hurt you—I don’t want to mess things up for you. I try not to think about it—how easy it would be to walk outside right now and suck the life out of someone like I used to do EVERY bloody DAY—but the thoughts come flooding in. [trying to help her understand] The high you get from the Quickening, yeah—think it's not unlike the feeling I get from hunting, killing. I want to resist it, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Miranda: [smiling] “Open the drawer in the bedside table for me and pull out the little blue bag.”

He does as she asks and hands her the bag (it’s from Tiffany’s). She pulls a box out from the bag—in the process, she realizes that her arm has healed enough for her to use it. She opens the box and takes something from it, which she quickly hides in her hand. She moves the box and the bag aside.

Miranda: “This is for you.” [She opens her hand towards him to reveal a ring. It looks very similar to the one she has, only it’s bigger and more masculine.] “I had it made to match the one you gave me—I should’ve thought to bring it to L.A., but I wasn’t expecting you to agree so quickly to the whole commitment ceremony thing. Guess it worked out. I don’t see a reason to wait any. [S. [She takes the ring between her thumb and index finger and holds it up.] This is me, saying that I know you’re strong enough. The way you were in Europe—the way you’ve been since we’ve been back. You saved me, William, in more ways than one. You know how to do this. I’ve seen it in you. If you know what’s right for me, then you know what’s right for you. And I’ll be there to help. Always. So maybe we’ll mess up once in a while—doesn’t matter. I promise to love you forever. I promise to be with you, no matter what, so long as you try. I believe in you, Spike. With all my heart. Will you take it?”

He looks at it a moment, then takes it and slips it on his ring finger without saying a word. No one has ever said anything like that to him. It makes him feel strong, but in a different way than he’s ever experienced strength before. It’s something other—something foreign. Who knew after 100 years of being dead, you could suddenly experience a completely new emotion. So it’s a challenge. There doesn’t seem to be anything to say about it—too many words already today for his taste. Ok then. With his left hand, he takes her left hand and pulls it up to his lips and kisses it. They look into each other’s eyes for a moment. Then he takes another strawberry and feeds it to her.

Spike: “Let’s have a bath.”

Miranda: “Fantastic.”