Title: Hotel California

Writer: Cosmic (cosmic1982@hotmail.com)

Feedback: I love.

Summary: A conversation.

Spoilers: Post-fifth season Buffy, post-second season Angel. Though I      haven't seen either. *sigh*

Rating: PG? I don't know these things.

Pairing: I see it as a free for all. See what you want to see. A/S, A/B, S/B. 's all good.

Disclaimer: Whedon's, I'm just playing. Since they're fun to play with. Very playable. And the title and lyrics is by the Eagles'.

Notes: Challenge in a can gone horribly wrong. Since only one of the words ended up in the fic. Hee. And music influenced me, too. Oh, and much jealousy is felt towards all you Americans who have seen new Buffy and Angel. :)

***

And I was thinking to myself

This could be Heaven or this could be Hell

Then she lit up a candle

And she showed me the way

***

"What in God's name do you think you're doing, boy?"

"I'm cold."

"Spike."

"Stop looking at me like that. I'm just bloody freezing. Don't you heat your

hotel at all?"

"It's not my hotel. And we lost electricity two days ago. I told you when

you got here, sopping wet and shivering."

"Yes, the bad lawyers got it all now. Watch me weep. Boohoo."

"Spike."

"Finefinefine. I'm grateful, is that what you wanna hear? You took me in

from the cold and didn't stake me, and I didn't stake you, either, so I'm

thinking you owe me, too. Oi! Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you've never seen a naked vampire in pale candlelight before. When's

the power coming back on?"

"When Wolfram&Hart give me back my hotel and Cordelia pays the electric

bills."

"Like that's gonna happen."

"Well, she's getting pretty good with those computers. She can actually do

things without calling Willow every five minutes, now."

"I meant the lawyers."

"I know. And it's been a while."

"Since you knew what I meant but tried to make a joke and failed? No, it

hasn't."

"Since I saw a naked vampire in pale candlelight. It must have been, oh,

close to a hundred years since the last time."

"1897, In Paris, if you mean me."

"Of course I mean you, Will."

"Don't call me that."

"It's my right."

"No. It's not."

"Will."

"It's bloody well not, so just stop it."

"I gave you food, I gave you shelter. I even offered you clothes, but you

refused why again?"

"To scare the cheerleader. She screamed. Loudly. Was fun. Until now that you

started choking me. Have you forgotten I don't breathe?"

"It's called a hug, Will."

"Stop. Calling. Me. Will. I'm not a child."

"Is that why you came running to me when things got too rough in Sunnydale?"

"'Too rough'? She died. End of story. And another Slayer is called, oldest

story in the book."

"You're allowed to be sad, you know."

"You're the brooding, soulful one. You go and cry me a river."

"Why are you so angry? At me."

"It's been three days. Three days since she died and you're *fine* and you

were her fucking soul-mate and you're fine."

"You're in love with her."

"I bloody hell am not. She was a whiny little thing, a pathetic Slayer, and

she had bad hair. Very bad hair. Why ö how ö would I have been in love with

her? I don't have a soul, mate. That's you."

"Willow told me."

"Well, Red thinks too much. She's been dreaming, or doing her witchy things

and gotten herself conked on the head."

"Spike."

"You're just gonna stare at me until I say it, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I got all night."

"So do I."

"I don't mind staring at you all night."

"Is that a proposition?"

"No, you wanker. Get back to your side of the table."

"It's my table."

"It's the lawyers' table."

"But it's more mine than yours."

"Come off it already."

"I told you, I got all night. And you get bored easier than a three year

old."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Fine. I loved her. I love her. I fucking love her and she knew it and she

wouldn't let me redeem myself for her. She wouldn't--"

"I know, Will. I know."

-fin-