His Pet, Part Three (13/?)

wow. sorry it's been so long, and i know i owe comments like BIG STYLE. these 12-hour workdays are kicking my ass. i do have some time off coming up though, so if you get fb-replies to comments you left six months ago... it's me catching up.

long chapter, because i'm all penitent and stuff.


by angstpuppy



TITLE: His Pet, Part Three (13/?)
AUTHORS: pet_23(Pet) as Angel, soulless_lover(emily) as Spike
PAIRING: S/A, S/Other
RATING: NC-17 overall
WARNINGS: slavery, torture, daddy!kink, kitty!kink, belt!kink, noncon
LAME DISCLAIMER: we didn't invent Spike or Angel. or purring vampires. or the term "childe". or any other Jossverse-related thing - we haven't been doing this long enough. don't sue, it's just wrong.
A/N: AU - Destiny occurred before Life of the Party (so Spike was corporeal during LotP), and Mr. Pee Pee (Archduke Sebassis' slave demon) was killed instead of Arthold.
SUMMARY: How far will Angel go to make Sebassis think they're on the same side?
FEEDBACK: love it like firing up the Ford Exposition.

previous parts are here.

artwork for His Pet is here.

Nominated at the Fade To Black Awards! THANK YOU!!!





Spike is dreaming. He's in the Archduke's house, and he's kneeling on a white carpet of deep pile. Sebassis is towering over him, scolding him, striking his thin back with a crop every few seconds, the old demon's rage radiating like waves of heat.

"BAD kitty!" he's shouting. "BAD! Look!" Sebassis points with one taloned hand, and Spike sees a small puddle of come on the pristine carpet, looking grayish against the snowy pile, sticky and unappealing. "Kitties don't DO this!" Sebassis is yelling, but Spike can't understand him. "Bad kitties don't come!" The whip hits him again. "BAD kitty!"

Spike tries to apologize, but is grabbed and held down, flat on his back, exposed and vulnerable, and Arthold is walking towards him with the violet wand, tapping it on his palm like a Victorian schoolmaster does with his rattan cane. Poor Spike can do nothing but tremble, because he knows he can't escape, and Arthold's going to take the wand and...Spike is screaming. Terrified. Thrashing against the tight grip on him. Screaming and screaming and yowling and yowling and....

Angel's eyes pop open at Spike screaming and yowling, and he finds Spike's still asleep...dreaming. Nightmare, Angel figures, rubbing Spike's back, keeping him tight against him as he whispers, purrs and coos. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, it's just a dream, just a dream, Spike, wake up."

Spike howls and thrashes, striking out with his sharp nails, jerking like a fish on a line. "MYOWR! MYOWWRRR!"

"SPIKE, UP!!" Angel roars, keeping his tight firm grip on the boy, pushing his face back every time a nail swipes at him.

Spike's eyes snap open and they stare up at Angel, wide and blue and full of fear. "Mew?" he asks, small and wavery.

"Yes." Angel breathes patiently. "It's me, just me, no one else, just me, and I'm not going to hurt you. Calm down, Spike, calm down for me."

Spike starts to shudder all over, his eyes welling up with tears; he can't remember the dream, only a horrid, lingering feeling of terror and guilt. "Mrrrowwrrrr..." he wails, despairing.

Pulling Spike closer to his chest, Angel threads his fingers in Spike's hair. "I know, baby, I know." A tiny knot of guilt forms in his gut. He did this, he did this to Spike, no one else, and he will make it better, somehow, some way. "I know, baby cat, but it's going to be okay... I'm going to make it okay."

Spike clings to Angel as tightly as he can - his MasterSire seems to be the only solid thing in his stitched-together world. "Mrowr," he sobs, burying his face in Angel's shoulder. "Mrrrowwrrrr..."

"Shhh I know... I know, Spike, I know." Angel says softly, kissing Spike's brow, his cheek, licking the tears away. "I know you're scared, baby, I know it hurts... I'm so sorry."

Spike can hear the concern in Angel's voice, the sweet undertone of something like affection, and it's soothing... however, he can also smell the dried puddle of come behind him, a stiff, starchy spot of accusation on the silk sheet. "Yowwrrr," he whimpers, feeling horribly incriminated. "Yowwwrrrrrrrr..."

"What?" Angel lifts Spike's chin slightly. "What, Spike?"

"Yowwrrrr!" Spike cries, desperately wishing Angel could understand him. God, he feels so awful, so guilty, and his poor sweet MasterSire is just looking at him with such care that it makes him sob harder. Poor MasterSire - he doesn't realize what a horrible, disobedient, worthless DemonKitty he's adopted! Spike meows in despair, because surely a good MasterSire like Angel deserves far better than wretched little him.

Confused, tired, and worried, Angel pulls Spike closer, his fingers threading through the loose growing locks. "Shh, Spike, shhh... it's okay... you're okay, I'm okay, everything is okay. You're a good kitty cat, baby, a good kitty for me, and I'm happy... you should be happy too. You have nothing to be afraid of with me - nothing."

Good kitty... good kitty... Spike hears the words and they simultaneously pacify him and stoke the flames of his guilt into a blaze; he's glad Angel isn't unhappy with him, but he's terribly upset about that, because he should be, dammit. "Yowrr," he sniffles, hoping if he says it enough times, MasterSire will finally understand.

Angel knows he's heard this one before - he can remember hearing it before. Yowrr..yowrr... he thinks, trying to recall. When he punished Spike, he said it, and from the way he's acting, it can't mean he wants to be punished or that he's been bad, because he was sleeping. Angel thinks and thinks - he needs to figure it out. "Spike? Do you feel bad? Are you sad?"

Spike turns around in Angel's arms until he's facing away, with Angel spooned up behind him. "Yowrr," he murmurs, his eyes on the soiled sheet; he nudges Angel's arm a bit, moving his hand toward the stain. "Yowrr..."

Angel peeks and his brows scrunch together. "You're sad because...you..came?"

Spike chews his lip in thought; he understood Angel's question just fine, but how can he clarify his answer so as not to cause more confusion? He isn't exactly sad about coming - hell, that was the most fun and pleasure he can ever remember having...well, remember clearly anyway - and he doesn't associate that with sadness. It's the guilt he feels that's driving him mad, the knowledge that he's a bad kitty, that he's ruined the sheet, one of his MasterSire's belongings - which he's been clearly taught is a no-no - and is generally a... a...

Worthless pet, I told you!

...a worthless pet.

"Spike, look at me," Angel says, tilting Spike's face up towards him. "I don't know yet what yowr means, but you don't have anything to feel sorry for. This sheet, I can wash it, Spike. I know come comes out of sheets - trust me on this. Had lots of practice and I can tell you the exact soap and temperature. You didn't do anything wrong. This kind of mess I don't mind. Well, as long as you're not going around coming on everything you can find just to rile me up so I'll punish you when we know we have a dinner to attend... and I'm just going to be quiet now... but I'm serious, you don't have be upset, not at all."

Spike squirms. Too much wah-wah-wahhing from Angel makes his head spinny. Fortunately, there's a knock at the front door, and Spike doesn't have to figure out what the hell his MasterSire's talking about.

"Yeah, I know, stop talking, Angel, I can't understand you anyway." Angel says tiredly as he lifts the sheet, getting out of bed. He walks to the dresser, pulls out a clean pair of black silk pajamas, slips them on, and opens the bedroom door, strolling to the apartment's front door. "I'm coming," he calls out, then he's unlocking and cracking the door open. "Wes... thank god, come in."

"Good morning," Wes says, a bit too cheerily, trying not to look at Angel's oh-so-pretty naked torso. "I've brought the clothes you asked for..." He holds up a paper shopping bag. "I hope they'll do..."

Angel moves out of the way to let Wesley in. "They'll do fine, I'm sure... I'm pretty good with sizes."

Wes puts the bag down on an end table and starts pulling clothing out. "I wasn't sure what to get, but I thought Spike would like the type of clothes he normally would wear..." He lifts a black t-shirt, black jeans, black pajama pants, dark gray boxer briefs, and two pairs of black socks from the bag and hands the folded garments to Angel. "I tried to get everything he might need... do you think that'll be enough for starters?"

Instantly, Angel finds himself checking labels; he can't help it really. This is his chance, a real chance to get Spike in something that doesn't come from a distributor store, someplace that raves, "Low prices for you and your family!" It makes him shudder just to think about it. "Oh yeah, this should be good," he mutters as he flips through each piece.

Wes doesn't miss Angel's action. "It's all Hugo Boss." He chuckles a little. "Thought you'd want something nice for him, considering."

Angel breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks." Then he looks up and his face holds a tiny bit of embarrassment. "I mean, he can wear whatever he wants, and he does, trust me. You don't know how many times I tried to put him in something that just got ruined or shredded. Sometimes I did the shredding, but he always baited me into it, I swear he did..." He coughs. "Not important. I'm talking too much... just... it's nice to be understood. I keep talking to him because I can't help it, but he doesn't get me, not anything I say, not really. Plus, I think I'm annoying him with it."

Wes tries hard not to laugh. "Now, who'd have ever thought Spike would think you talk too much?"

Angel raises a brow and says stupidly, "He says that?" Then he's sighing, setting the clothes down and heading for the bedroom door, opening it. "Spike? Spike, you up?"

There's a lump in the middle of the bed, covered entirely by the comforter, and at the sound of Angel's voice, it wriggles happily, looking like a quilted Jell-O mold. "Mew?" the lump asks happily, a bit muffled.

"AWW!!" Angel breathes, then smacks his own face. "I.have.to.stop.doing.that. Spike, come on, kitty - I have something fun to try."

The lump works its way down to the end of the bed until Spike finally pokes his head out from under the bedclothes. "Rowr!" Everything from the neck down is still hidden by blanket, but it's pretty obvious he's wiggling his butt - as usual, when Angel's around. "Rowr!"

"Yes, something to try. Now come on, follow Daddy, you want to follow Daddy, don't you, to do something fun, right?"

Spike squirms out from underneath the blanket the rest of the way and hops down to the floor, crawling towards Angel. "Rowr!"

Bending ove,r Angel scratches behind Spike's ear. "Yeah, that's right, now just follow Daddy right out here..." He straightens, then walks out to where the clothes are piled. "Spike, can you sit up here for me?" Angel pats the leather chair.

Spike looks at Wes, then at the chair. He doesn't like the human very much - Spike's still holding that grudge over Wes trying to take the mousie - and he isn't too keen on going too far from Angel. Who knows what else the grubby five-finger-discounting mortal might try to swipe? "Myowr!" Glaring at Wes, Spike nudges closer to Angel's legs, rubbing his face on the elder vampire's PJ pants. Myyyyy MasterSire, Spike thinks, making sure to cover Angel's thigh with his scent as much as possible. Take that, human!

"Yes, kitty cat, I know, now come on, up in the chair - I need you to be higher up." Angel says softly, petting Spike's head with one hand while still patting the chair with the other.

Spike doesn't like this. He doesn't like Wes, he doesn't like Wes being here, and he sure as hell doesn't like him standing so close to Angel. Okay, so he's a few feet away. But that's still too close, dammit. "Myowr!" He rubs a little harder against Angel's leg, working steadily up his thigh. MasterSire has mated with him! He's marked and owned and special, dammit, and he's not about to let some measly mortal encroach on his territory! Maybe he can get Angel to mate with him again, and the human will get the idea and back off. "Rowr rowr," he coaxes, nudging Angel's hip with his nose.

Angel's eyebrows start to raise into his hairline. "Uhm, Spike?" He puts his hands on Spike's shoulders. "Spike? Stop now, come on, this is important and it's going to be fun... remember fun?"

Spike leans up and puts his hands on Angel's thighs, trying to get closer to his face. "Rowr?" He licks Angel's arm, purring appealingly. "Rowr rowr?"

Putting his hands under Spike's arms, Angel ignores the licking and starts to lift Spike. "Okay, I'll put you in the chair."

Spike scrambles around, trying to keep from being lifted. He isn't about to go anywhere Angel isn't going, and it looks like Spike is the only one destined for the chair. "MYOWR!" He throws out both arms and clings to Angel's middle, digging his sharp nails into the elder vampire's back, burying his face in Angel's crotch. "MYOWR!" he says again, loudly but somewhat muffled, for obvious reasons.

Angel smacks his lips together thoughtfully, looking at Wes. "Uhm...I...he...I have no idea what's wrong with him." He pulls at Spike slightly, trying to remove his face from his crotch without grabbing his hair and pulling that way.

"He seems rather..." Wes pauses, trying to come up with a word that doesn't sound dirty. "...excited." Damn.

"He's not," Angel says, horrified. "Really, he's not." God, he can't deal with this - he has to get Spike off his leg. Shoving at the shoulders harder, Angel grits out from between his teeth: "Spike, into the chair.." He pushes Spike towards the chair. "Into the chair."

"MYOWRRR!" Spike clings tighter, accidentally drawing blood with his nails; of course the scent of free-flowing blood just riles him further, and he's starting to get really upset. Why is MasterSire rejecting him so harshly? "Myowwwwwrrrrrrrrr..."

Using all of his strength, Angel rips Spike's arms from around his legs and drops him into the chair, panting. "Jesus, Spike, what's wrong with you?" He runs a hand through his hair, looking down at his naked childe, grabbing the legs now, and pushing them off of him to set them in the chair too. "Now listen," he says patiently, running a hand through his hair. "We are going to try something, you and me, you got it? It's not going to hurt you, I swear."

Spike's embarrassed as hell. MasterSire has forcibly rebuffed him in front of The Annoying Human! Apparently, he's supposed to stay in the chair for some reason, so even though he'd love to run and hide at the moment, he really can't. So naturally, he employs his dignity-recovering desperation measure: he licks his own hand several times and swipes it over his face. A good bath cures everything.

Wes looks a little rattled. "Uh... he really does think he's a cat, doesn't he?"

"Right down to the baths, meows and going into a strange sort of heat...which I would know nothing about. So... yeah... clothes." Angel claps his hands together, standing straight. "Let's start simple...socks... those sound simple." He turns and grabs the pair of socks, holding them up while looking at Spike. "Should be simple. Alright, Spike, hold out your feet." Angel gestures to his feet hoping Spike will catch on.

Spike bats at the socks playfully. "Mwowr?" Bat bat bat bat... Ohhh... MasterSire just wants to play first! No problem... this is fun, anyway. "Rowr!" Bat. Bat.

"Noooo." Angel says slowly, reaching down to hold up one of Spike's feet. "For your feet. See?" Angel holds the sock up to Spike's foot. "Sock is for your feet."

Spike bats at Angel's hand - first a dangly toy, and now MasterSire is holding one of his feet! Who'd have ever thought such a broody old vampire could be so playful? "Rowr! Rowr!"

"Yes. Good, he gets it." Angel unfolds the socks and puts one down so that he can push the tip of the other onto Spike's foot and slowly rolls it down. "Now we just slide the sock on your foot like this..."

Hey... Spike doesn't like this. The thing on his foot is clingy and annoying... like the human in front of him that's watching with such an amused look. "Myowr!" He doesn't like this game - he wants the clingy thing off his foot, and now. So he shakes his foot violently, trying to dislodge the sock. "Myowwwwrrrrr!"

Angel holds the foot firm and gives Spike a look that says Don't even think it. "Spike, this sock is going on - and so is the other one. I'm not fighting with you, and socks are just the beginning." He rolls the sock down the rest of the way, grabs the other, repeats the process, then goes for the t-shirt. "Now we try this."

Spike squirms and kicks both feet out, shaking them frantically. How is he supposed to feel anything with his feet if they're all encased in cloth? The lack of tactile stimulation is going to drive him nuts - and it sort of is already. "Myowwrrr-rrrr-rrrr-rrrrr!" he growls, waving his feet.

Angel ignores this in favor of opening the shirt from the bottom and shoving it over Spike's head in one fast swoop, reaching under to push his arms up through. "Just.one.thing.at.a.time."

Oh, now this, Spike really dislikes. He starts fighting in earnest, striking out with both hands, scratching everything his fingers meet. "MYOOOOWWWWRRRRRR!!!"

Angel grips the hands. "DAMN IT, SPIKE!!" He shoves the arms up and through the shirt, then holds Spike's hands still, putting pressure into the palms. "Stop it."

Spike hisses angrily, startling the hell out of Wes, and gamefaces; working his head down 'til the shirt covers his chin, Spike uses his vampire teeth to chew viciously at the cotton neck of the t-shirt. He may not have his fangs, but his little minor-teeth are plenty sharp in their own right. "Myyrrrrrr..." he growls, gnawing.

"Spike..." Angel says with frustration, letting go of the hands to grip Spike's face. "I.said.STOP!!"

The clothes are making Spike claustrophobic - he wants them off, he wants to feel, he wants to move, and dammit, MasterSire isn't helping. On pure instinct, he lashes out with one hand and slashes Angel's shoulder, growling furiously. "Myowrrr!!"

Hissing, Angel raises his fist, but stops himself, muttering: "I will not hit the boy. I will not hit the boy. I will not hit the boy. He does not know any better. He does not know any better. I will remain calm. I will remain calm." Taking a few unneeded breaths, Angel reaches over for the boxer briefs, cracks his neck, and readies himself. "We're not done, Spike."

Spike claws at the shirt, chewing the collar like a beaver felling a tree. Why the bloody hell is MasterSire putting all this crap on him? Is this a test? Hrm. It occurs to him that this might very well be some sort of test, one to measure his ability to get free of restraints. DemonKitties don't wear anything but their collars - Spike knows this for a fact - so all this junk Angel's hindering him with must be some type of restraining devices for DemonKitties. Yeah, that has to be it - he must have to figure out how to get out of the cloth, just as if MasterSire had put him in a gunny-sack or something. "Myoowwwrrrr...." Chew. Chew. Scratch. Scraaaaaatch.

Angel grabs a leg and arches a brow at Spike. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Then Angel's pulling Spike out of the chair onto the floor and stretching the boxer briefs around his feet, then sliding them up his legs as fast as he can. "I will not have you just going around naked everywhere, Spike. I won't have it. I can't take it. It's not happening." He wrenches the boxer briefs up over Spike's ass, then flips him over and leans back with a satisfied look on his face. "So far just the shirt needs replacing - not so bad."

Spike flips out a little, hissing and growling and yowling in fury; clawing at the shirt, he manages to work it up over his head, but gets stuck somewhere along the way, leaving him writhing on the floor all wrapped up in the mangled t-shirt from the armpits up. His arms are trapped in the garment along with his head, and he looks rather like a caterpillar trying to break free of its cocoon. "MYOWWWWRRRR!" he howls, slicing the fabric with his nails, and eventually rips through the t-shirt. Free, he sits up and gives himself a quick wash, the tattered remains of the pricey tee hanging from his shoulders.

"Like I said, one t-shirt down." Angel says a bit tiredly, reaching up and just ripping off the tattered remains of the t-shirt and tossing them aside. "Wes? I don't think pants are gonna fly, and I'm not stuffing another shirt on him." Angel rubs a hand over his face, sprawling back on the floor, his legs on either side of Spike. "I need a drink."

Wes looks very much like he's trying not to laugh. "Shall I get you something?"

Angel points a finger at Wes. "Stop it, it's not funny - you don't have to do... this." Angel motions at Spike. "And yes, anything that's strong with a kick, I don't care what it is."

Wes makes his way over to the wet bar by the far wall; after a moment, there's the tinkling sound of crystal decanters being moved around, and Wes finally calls out, "Whiskey, sherry, or Drambuie?"

Spike's using the human's current distraction to subtly stalk Angel - as long as the elder vampire keeps lying there with his hand over his eyes like that, a good pounce'll be a cinch.

"Whiskey." Angel answers, rubbing his eyes. "Whiskey sounds perfect."

"Whiskey it is." More clinking and clattering as Wes gets a glass from the cupboard.

Spike creeps slowly forward, his belly low to the ground... slinks up between Angel's spread legs... crouches.... wiggles his ass....

"How much?" Wes asks, pouring liquor into a tumbler.

"Half a glass should be good - just need to smooth out the tension... feel like I've gotten into a huge battle and all I did was dress Spike."

"Certainly." Wes continues pouring, the lip of the decanter touching the rim of the glass with a light "chink" noise.

Spike aims.... springs.... and pounces on Angel, licking his face and arms and chest and just about everything else he can get to, scratching the larger vampire's bare skin a little bit with his nails in his excitement. All that playing and fighting and whatnot got him pretty wound up... and this kitty knows just how to relieve both his own jitters and the tension he can sense rolling off his MasterSire.

"Spike!!" Angel hisses under his breath, his hands coming away from his face to settle on Spike's arms. "No, kitty cat, not now."

"Rowr," Spike says, wriggling, licking. "Rowr!"

"Baby." Angel whispers. "Not now. Wes is here. Wes catching us is very, very bad."

"Mwowr?" Spike asks in confusion, tilting his head. Bad? Playing is bad? Licking is bad? What's bad? His face crumples sadly and his lower lip starts to tremble. Oh god. He's a bad kitty. No wonder MasterSire's been pushing him away and trying to restrain him with various things... he's being punished for ruining the sheet... he just knew he was going to be. "Mrowr," he whimpers, eyes filling.

There's a soft thunk as Wes sets the bottle down on the counter. "Ice?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Angel answers, then grips Spike's face softly. "Shh, no, baby kitty, don't cry... Daddy not mad at you. Just not now. Can you understand? Later, baby cat, Daddy will play later."

Spike licks Angel's hands and face anxiously, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Mrrrr...." He'd thought that since MasterSire had mated with him, he was a special sort of DemonKitty, an especially prized one, but it seems he's only so cherished in private. Maybe, he thinks, he should be happy with that - after all, he's still his MasterSire's pet. But having that human in the house makes him so damned nervous! He just wants to be reassured, and all he's getting is rejection after rejection. Even his cock and ass are hidden, firmly encased in a loathesome pair of cotton boxer briefs. If that doesn't say 'I won't need those anytime soon' then what does?

A few plip-plip-plips of ice dropping into liquid, and Wes is returning, bearing the whiskey. "It is a bit early to be drinking, Angel, though I imagine with your vampire constitution, it might as well be coffee..."

"Exactly," Angel replies, holding his hand out and wiggling his fingers, not taking his eyes off Spike. "And I need it right now." He keeps stroking Spike's face and murmuring little soothing cooing noises at him, hoping beyond all hope it's any kind of comfort to him. He's not afraid of what they are doing together, but he is afraid of being judged for it. He can hear Wes now in his head: 'Angel how dare you take advantage of Spike in such a manner? I will have to see to it that you are not to be trusted with him. You should be ashamed.' No, Angel can't deal with Wesley judging him like that. He can't possibly understand what it's like. To be a vampire, to have a childe. To have a childe who's messed up like this and needs you, needs you to comfort and care for him. He knows he's doing the right thing, and he won't be put in a situation where he's told otherwise.

Wes comes around the sofa, pauses when he sees the underwear-clad Spike astride Angel's prone body, then stands up a little straighter and continues walking. "Here," he says, thrusting the glass into Angel's outstretched hand. "I do hope it's all right."

Spike looks up at the glass, interested. "Mwowr?"

Angel arches a brow at Wes, then takes a sip of the whiskey, breathing a sigh of happiness. "God, yeah, that's good." Angel holds the glass out to Spike. "Smell?"

Spike pulls on Angel's wrist with one hand, trying to bring the glass closer, and spills a bit of it on Angel's front. Hee. Oops. "Rowr," he says, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle, and bends down to lick up the droplets of whiskey. "Prrowr."

Angel laughs and tries to hold the glass while trying to push Spike away all at the same time, looking at Wes. "He really likes to bathe things. I mean a lot."

Wes raises an eyebrow. "I take it he... bathes you often?"

Spike ignores the light pushes of Angel's hand and continues to lap up the spilt liquor, soft pink tongue laving Angel's ribs and one side of his chest.

"Well.." Angel lets out a very unmanly laugh that sort of goes into a moan, but he cuts it off at a particular lick. "Well, I mean, I don't let him go anywhere he shouldn't... but I really shouldn't keep him from having the simple pleasures. It doesn't hurt me to have my hand or my face licked. And he enjoys it a lot, Wes, it comforts him."

"Pardon me for saying so," Wes mutters tightly, "but it doesn't seem to be your hand or your face he's licking at the moment."

Wes is right - Spike's found himself a nice hard MasterSire nipple to wash, and he's doing a very thorough job of it.

"Oh that?" Angel says tremulously, then laughs to cover it up. "He's just nervous."

Wes takes in Spike's sprawled body, gently wriggling hips, and happy purr, and folds his arms. "Good lord - if that's 'nervous', I wonder what 'randy' looks like." He exhales irritably, short and sharp. "For god's sake, Angel, wake up! Spike isn't an innocent, no matter how mentally unstable he might be."

"Listen," Angel says calmly, "It's nothing you have to worry yourself with. I have it under control. Really! So, uh, you can go... I think he's dressed enough for me, and, well, everybody else, and we're good here. I'll bring him to work with me so that he doesn't have to be alone. You can alert all staff to stay away from my office unless otherwise needed. Anything that needs to be brought to me, Harmony or you can bring me. Any meetings I have to attend, I still can - I just have to get a few things so I know Spike won't get out of hand, and everything's peachy, Wes. I have it all under control."

Wes boggles openly. "You're bringing him DOWNSTAIRS?"


TBC...