SquidgeWorld Archive

Spike stepped out into the alley behind Caritas, leaned back against the wall, and lit a cigarette. Normally he'd have stayed inside, but he'd found out that since the back alley was enclosed the door leading into it didn't automatically lock, so he decided to get away from the crowd for a few minutes. He took a deep drag, and sighed as he exhaled the smoke. "Shite," he said quietly.

After that train wreck that had been his affair with Buffy, he'd vacated Sunnydale. Hey, leaving town was a fine old tradition for ex-lovers, wasn't it? After the stress and drama of the last few months he wanted to be distracted, and he figured what could be better for that than tormenting Angel? He'd headed for LA and dropped in on the Angel Detection Agency.

Or tried to. It turned out that since Angel wasn't renting rooms, and he WAS living on the premises, The Powers That Be considered it a private residence. That meant that Spike couldn't enter without an invitation, and no one in Angel's little band felt like issuing an invite.

So, there he was in Los Angeles, no access to anyone he knew, running low on cash, chipped so that he couldn't do any hunting, and bored out of his mind. What to do? Get drunk. He'd heard that there was a neutral ground watering hole called Caritas, so he went there. He hadn't been expecting for it to be a damn karaoke bar.

He was there, and he wasn't leaving till he got good and drunk, but after only two drinks he'd had to come outside. It was having three Britney Spears wannabes in a row that did it. He had to get out, or he'd do something that would make the chip blow his skull apart.

The door to his left opened, startling him. It was opened briskly, and it was traveling toward him at a hazardous rate of speed. "Oy!"

The door halted a few inches from his face and a cheerful voice said, "Oopsies! Didn't flatten anything, did I?"

"Not from lack of tryin'." Spike slithered side-ways, getting out from behind the door, then stepped around it to glare at the new arrival. It was a demon--one of the more obvious ones. Though he was quite humanoid, the green skin and red eyes and horns made his point of origin pretty plain. Spike was a little surprised, though he didn't show it. It was unusual to see a Pylean in this dimension. The high concentration of humans made it very unpleasant for most of them. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"Grabbing a breath of fresh air." He smiled. "Well, as fresh as it gets in LA."

"No, I meant here." He made an impatient gesture at the surrounding area.

"I have to be here--I'm the owner."

Spike blinked. That was unexpected. "What--are you operatin' this place as a dine out place for your people?"

The man wrinkled his nose, but his expression remained pleasant. "My, what a nasty mind you have. No, it's just a nightspot where you can get a decent Mai Tai at a reasonable price, then either sing your heart out, or shake your booty." Spike was staring at him. "I'm the black sheep of my race, all right? I like humans, and not with sauce bearnaise." He offered his hand. "I'm Lorne." Spike considered for a moment, then shrugged and shook hands. It was always a good idea to be on the good side of a bar owner. Lorne's next statement surprised him, though. "And you're Spike."

"How the hell did you know that?"

"Oh, I have Angel and his posse in here all the time. Blond vampire, right size, with an accent and an attitude. You're a fairly frequent topic of conversation. According to them I should be rushing your jeans clad butt off the lot right now."

"Yeah? Why aren't you, then?"

Lorne shrugged. "You haven't caused any trouble here, sweetie. In fact..." He rummaged in his pocket (and he was wearing a yellow suit that practically glowed in the dimness of the alley.) He pulled out a small rectangle of cardboard and offered it. "Bar chit. Have a drink on the house." Spike took the ticket, and Lorne winked at him. "Feel special. I don't give those to just anybody. Come inside in a little while. Thursdays are theme night, and we'll be choosing it in a minute." He went back in.

Spike finished his cigarette, and thought about just going up the alley and climbing the wall, dropping down into the street and taking off. But he glanced down at the drink ticket, flipping it back and forth through his fingers. At last he grunted and went back inside.

The bar crowd had drifted over to the tables before the performance dais. Lorne was onstage, stirring strips of paper in a fish bowl as he said, "Around and around I stir this mess, and what we'll end up with is anyone's guess." He spotted Spike and gave him a grin. "Tell ya what, people--I've been accused of fixing this thing..." There were good natured, sarcastic cat calls. "I know, I know." He gestured at himself. "Who could not trust this face? But in the interest of fairness, I think we ought to let one of you lovely people do the drawing tonight. Is there anyone who's here for the first time?" One or two hands went up. "Anyone also from out of town?" All the hands dropped. "Ah! There's out man!" He pointed.

Everyone turned and looked--at Spike. Spike had been about to pass his chit to the bartender when he found himself the center of attention. Spike straightened in near alarm. "I didn't raise my hand!"

"But you are here for the first time, and you are from out of town. Right?"

"Well..."

"So you're the man." He made a beckoning gesture. "C'mon up."

"Not bloody likely!"

"Oh, he wants to be coaxed. C'mon, everyone." Lorne started applauding--so did the rest of the crowd. People started calling encouragement to Spike.

"Fuck it," muttered Spike, starting for the door.

Lorne raised his voice, "Of course if you're scared..." Spike screeched to a halt and turned, glaring at him. Lorne's smile was almost sweet. "It's all right. Some people just can't handle being up in front of others. Why, we have regulars who still haven't gotten up the nerve to sing, and we don't think any less of them because..."

Spike stalked over and hopped up on the dais. "Scared has nothing to do with it, mate. Annoyance does." He shoved his hand into the bowl and jerked out a strip of paper, then offered it to the host. Lorne folded his hands neatly at his waist and smiled again. "Oh, for--" Spike unfolded the strip of paper and glanced at it. "Moonlight." He did a double take and looked at the paper again. "Moonlight?"

"Ooo, good choice!" Lorne picked up a thin sheaf of papers from several piles on a nearby table, and waved it. "Here we are, people--all our available songs with the theme of moonlight--or at least a mention of it. Same routine as always--we'll draw lots for order. Make your choices, and we'll start in ten minutes." He handed the pile to Spike. "Pass those out, would you?" Not taking his eyes off Lorne, Spike tossed them out into the audience. Lorne didn't even blink. "Not neat, but quick. Thanks."

Without another word Spike went back to the bar and handed over the ticket. "Make it a double--I need it." The bartender pushed the ticket back at him and set a violently reddish-pink drink, topped by a cherry and a paper umbrella before him. "What the fuck is that?"

"House specialty--Mai Tai." Lorne dropped down on the stool next to him. "For being such a good sport."

"I'm a rotten sport. I'm supposed to drink that? It looks like a kiddie-garten used it to rinse their watercolor brushes."

"Taste it."

Spike scowled, then said, "It's alcoholic, right?"

"Very." Spike picked it up and downed half in one gulp. Almost immediately he clutched his head, wincing. "I'm going to guess you don't often have ice in your drinks, otherwise you wouldn't have slammed that."

"Damn! I haven't felt anything like this since I tried to bite Xander Harris an' the damn chip tried to tear me apart."

"Hold still." Lorne reached toward him, and Spike jerked back. "Look, you can sit there and suffer, or you can let me try to help. Your choice." This time Spike didn't move away from Lorne's touch. The demon pressed his fingers to Spike's temples and began to massage slowly. "This usually works, and if it doesn't," he leered impishly, "I get a little bit of a public feel-up."

"It's actually helping," said Spike. "Ta. The pain's going."

Just about then the music started up and someone began crooning, "Moonlight becomes you. I'm thrilled at the siiight, and I could get so romantic tonight..."

Spike rolled his eyes. "It's back again."

Lorne looked toward the dais, studying the singer. "Don't be too hard on him." He squinted. "Lot of pain, there. Someone's left him. Wife, girlfriend..." He blinked. "Boyfriend."

"What are you--some kind of a mind reader?"

"Aura reader."

"Should've known. Don't look at me."

"It's not like that. It only works if you're singing, and unless you're having inner turmoil worthy of grand opera--or soap opera--I won't catch it without trying."

The second singer got up. "The wind blew some luck in my direction, I caught it in my hands today. I finally made a tricky French connection. You winked and gave me your okay..."

"Disco? I'm going to have to beat my head against the bar in a moment," sighed Spike.

"Then pick something you like." Lorne laid a sheet of paper on the bar.

"I'm not singing." Lorne smiled at him. "I didn't draw a number."

"I did it for you. You'd better make your choice quickly--you're number four."

"Well, you might've told me!" Spike snatched up the paper and scanned it quickly. "Shite. Shite. Shite..."

"Your vocabulary is stunning in its simplicity."

Another singer took the microphone, swaying as he sang. "Mister moonlight, come again pleeeease. Here I am on my knees, beggin' if you pleeeeease..."

"Now, him you can snark at," said Lorne. "He just got through dumping a very sweet girl, because she finally slept with him. You know, the next vengeance demon who passes through might just stumble over his name--somehow. Hurry up, cupcake. You're next.

"Wait a mo." Spike pointed at one title. "That one's got 'moon', not 'moonlight'. Is it all right?"

Lorne considered. "If it's there, it's eligible. I mean, we have Blue Moon and Bad Moon Rising, so I guess so."

"Right, then. That isn't absolute crap. I'm for it."

"Outstanding, because it's your turn."

Spike strutted up to the dias, taking the microphone from the last performer. He punched in the proper code on the karaoke machine, then swaggered to the edge of the dais, sneering at them. "All right, you lot. Enough of that sugar-pop crap. Time to rock n' roll." The music started, and Spike began to sing. "One of these nights, one of these crazy old nights. We're gonna find out, pretty mama," he winked at a girl in the front of the crowd, and she giggled, "what turns on your lights. The full moon is callin', the fever is high, and the wicked wind whispers and moans." He looked over and caught Lorne's eyes. He pointed. "You've got your demons, you got desires..." he jerked a thumb toward his chest, "Well, I got a few of my own..."

Spike had started this as a simple 'in your face' gesture, but he found that he was enjoying it. The crowd was getting into the song, singing along with the chorus. "Ooh, loneliness will blind you, in between the wrong and the right. Ooh, comin' right behind you, swear I'm gonna find you one of these nights..."

Lorne was watching him, head cocked to one side, and Spike suddenly wondered what it was that the demon was seeing. What was Spike telling him, without even meaning to tell him? Even as he thought this, Lorne held up his hands in a 'not me' gesture, and turned his back, walking to the bar. Spike felt a wash of relief and finished the song, then tossed the microphone to the next performer as he stepped down. He was gratified at the amount of applause that followed him, and didn't even feel tempted to rip the arms off the people who patted him on the back.

He'd thought he was going to walk straight out, but instead he went to the bar and sat down beside Lorne. Lorne glanced over at him and said, "Nice."

"Ta."

"I sort of thought you were going to leave when you finished."

"Considered it, but then I remembered this." He dropped the drink ticket on the bar again.

The bartender picked it up. "What'll it be?"

"Oh, I dunno. Give me somethin' that has a lot of alcohol in it, an' looks like my natural drink."

"Bloody Mary?"

Lorne grimaced. "That is so cliche. Max, give him a number twenty."

"You got it."

Spike watched as the bartender scooped ice into a shaker, then added vodka, gin, vermouth, tequila, a pinch of salt, and tomato juice. He shook it up and poured it into a tall glass, pushing it toward him. "One Vampire's Kiss."

Spike gave Lorne a sharp look, and the host said cheerfully, "I thought you might like it."

"Would you like a vampire's kiss?"

"Sure! I've tried every drink we make, and this one..." His speech was cut off when Spike grabbed the back of his neck, jerked him forward as he leaned in, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

"You like that vampire's kiss?"

If Spike had been expecting the demon to freak out, get angry, or at least spit and wipe his mouth, he was disappointed. Or rather what happened wasn't disappointing. Lorne licked his lips. "Tastiest thing I've had all night, Sunshine. Oops! Sorry. Tastiest thing I've had all night..." he grinned, and Spike felt an unexpected stab of warmth, "Moonlight."