Date: 2008-03-20 06:35 pm (UTC)
"I know what she is, you ponce," Spike sneered at Wesley. He'd heard all the stories about Cordelia from Angel many, many, many times when he'd been stuck as a ghost and trapped at Wolfram & Hart. With nowhere to go, he'd bugged Angel enough that his gransire had told him more than he'd really wanted to know, but he'd been bored at the time.

"I'll get the demons," he offered, since he wasn't a researcher and he sure as hell wasn't going to sit around answering phones while there were Big Bads to stop. Plus, he was fairly brassed off at the moment -- not really at anyone in particular -- but it was frustrating to see Cordelia act liek that, despite what good old Wes might try to say to make things sound fine and dandy.

Or despite what the cheerleader herself said, he realized as he watched her pop pills like candy. "Not a problem, pet," he answered her when she thanked him for the coffee. "There's more where that came from if you need it."

Spike, protector of damsels in distress at your service.
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Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

February 2014

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