Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Violently Happy	By : marksandspence Category: BtVS Crossovers > Misc - Het - Male/Female Views: 3216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part1a
- 2-Part1b
- 3-Part1c
- 4-Part1d
- 5-Part1e
- 6-Part2a
- 7-Part2b
- 8-Part3a
- 9-Part3b
- 10-Part3c
- 11-Part4a
- 12-Part4b
- 13-Part4c
- 14-Part4d
- 15-Part5a
- 16-Part5b
- 17-Part5c
- 18-Part5d
- 19-Part5e
- 20-Part5f
- 21-Part5g
- 22-Part5h
- 23-Part6a
- 24-Part6b
- 25-Part6c
- 26-Part6d
- 27-Part6e
- 28-p.s. Flight of Fancy
- 16
- 17
- 18
Authors note: I’m going to have to cheat a bit here—I’m being selfish in that the next bit was all very detailed, complicated and drawn out in my head when I conceived it, but now I just don’t feel like spending time developing it because there are more interesting bits I want to get to. So I fear you may read the next couple of pages and have a “Ok, so magic is heroine and Willow is an addict—WTF?” moment, i.e., in trying to save time, I’m going to force the story in a particular direction without fully fleshing out the progression enough for you to really BELIEVE/FEEL it—trust me in that it made perfect sense to me, considering all the stuff that I am about to skim over. So, uh. Yeah.
Present
Miranda: “I did finally get to talk with Angel alone that night, after the ball. He gave me the basic gist of what had been going on. Things were bad on any number of levels. They’d (Angel Investigations) been stretched to the limit trying to do their job, but everywhere they turned was this organization of lawyers called Wolfram & Hart. This group seemed to represent every thug and demon Angel Investigations was trying to protect people from—their resources were limitless. After a few nasty interactions, the lawyers seemed rather hell bent on destroying Angel, or more specifically getting rid of his soul. Their latest attempt involved bringing back Darla and this is where the tide seemed to be turning in their favor. At first Darla came to him in his dreams—reminding him of their past life. It was intoxicating for him. He was able to push it out of his mind for a time, but then came the day when everything was cold and horrible and hopeless. He’d sought her out, thinking it would be the end. But it wasn’t and this confused him more. He tried to go back to the way things were—he tried to fool his friends, his coworkers as best he could. He thought maybe that if he pretended well enough that it would sink in and be true. Someday. But he kept seeing her—it was the only time he could forget for just a moment how bad things were—how he was failing. Every night, he’d swear would be the last, but then he’d find himself walking out the door. His weakness made him hate himself even more and he felt trapped in a cycle that could only lead to one place. Talking with him that night convinced me that he was nearly broken—I’ve been there and I know what it looks like. He didn’t say it, but I could hear his desire to surrender—his desire for the familiar, the simple. He had decided to call me in desperation one night when he’d got back to the hotel after sneaking a few hours with her. I guess he thought I might understand—at least he knew I wouldn’t judge. The others wouldn’t get it. Immortals get so tired of change—it seems to happen so quickly, so completely. The desire for continuity can be overpowering. More than anything, I think he simply wanted someone to confess to. I agreed to help him as best I could.
First imperative seemed to be to stop seeing Darla. We agreed that perhaps if he had a break from that, his head might begin to clear. So those first few nights, I promised to not let him out of my sight. In addition, I suggested we do a bit more investigating of W&H to see whether they might be messing with his mind somehow—some mystical drug or other to weaken his resolve. Conveniently, I happened to be a client of theirs, so I suggested I make an appointment for some made-up reason to get me in the building to poke around. Incidentally, Angel’s colleagues were most disturbed by the fact that I had worked with W&H for years—I told them that most Immortals dealt with them, as we have rather unique financial needs. Anyway, I scheduled an appointment and went in a couple of days later, for the purpose of getting official documents created for my vampire boyfriend—driver’s license, passport, social security card. Seemed a perfect ruse—luckily, I’d brought a picture of you to give them—it wasn’t exactly the right sort, but good enough. They bought the whole thing and I was able to get a bit of information before being discovered—at the very least, I found out where I needed to get the particular information we were after. It would take them a few days to come up with the documents, so I would drop back in to pick up and approve of everything, hence giving me another opportunity to get the rest of the files. Everything was going according to plan. We told Wes, Gunn and Cordy only what they needed to know and continued to act as if we were romantically involved. Angel is the worst actor EVER, though, so I’m not sure how convincing we were in truth. Lucky for us, they seemed primed to believe it.
Over the course of the next few days, I came to realize that Angel’s problem ran much deeper than his desire for Darla. Yes, I had suspected that before, but the depths of his despair and self-loathing were frightening. It was quickly becoming apparent that my stopping him from seeing Darla was only a temporary fix—He had to have the strength to reject her himself, for anything resembling a permanent solution. I spoke with Wesley about Angel—I wanted to know what the real danger was if he, indeed, reverted to his former, soul-less self. You can probably guess how that went. Between the triumph of Wolfram & Hart and their using Angelus for whatever it was they had in mind—likely something resembling an end-of-the-world scenario—and his personal vendettas against the people closest to him, I quickly saw that Angel’s tenuous grip on his soul was anything but a trivial, or even personal issue. It simply couldn’t happen.
As we waited for my next opportunity to visit W&H, I went along with the rest of them as they worked various ‘cases’, if you can call them that. We were actually rather busy, which was probably a good thing. During this time, I observed Angel carefully. His moods, his reactions to things—the way he interacted with the others—the way he watched me. Even then, it wasn’t me who he saw—not really. We talked—I did my best to cheer him, but he kept me at just enough distance to prevent my words from penetrating to any depth. He was keenly aware that I was there as a favor to him. I was temporary. I started to doubt that W&H were drugging him at all. They knew exactly what buttons to press and consequently were able to shake the very foundations of his beliefs.
One night, a couple of days before my meeting at W&H, we were hanging about the hotel after doing a bit of demon exterminating earlier for yet another client who couldn’t pay. Everyone else had left for home and I was having a drink—something I hadn’t done since I’d arrived and it was a brilliant relief. Angel joined me, which was probably a mistake. After he’d had a few sips, he started asking when I was leaving. I told him I didn’t know—I’d stay as long as he needed me to. I don’t think that was what he wanted to hear. He started to look agitated, and then I could tell he was attempting to cover it. He suggested I go to bed—he wanted to do some reading, so he’d stay up here. We’d been here before. Previously, I’d found a way to talk him around in circles until the feeling had passed. This time I walked over to him and slapped him hard across the face. It was that moment—the way he looked at me after I’d hit him. He understood that I knew what he wanted to do and that I wouldn’t let him. That look. It distilled everything. I was hit with a flood of images and memories—the sound of Angel’s voice on the phone that night; the urgency in Cordelia’s grasping at the prospect of our relationship, Wesley’s tales of Angelus, the words of that crazy old priest in Sunnydale—the pictures he’d drawn, and my own words about men “It was too easy”. I knew what I was supposed to do—what I had to do. I felt sick. But in that moment, I could see how it could be done. I was a master at this. It was a game I had played almost my entire life and though more complicated this time, the path was clear to me. God, I was so angry at that moment because I knew it would work.”
Spike: [interrupting her] “That when you first decided to stay?
Miranda: “Decided, no. There was still a chance that it could be temporary—It all depended on him.”
Spike: “Must be about the time your phone calls started to drop off. I remember.”
Scene 5
Flashback (Spike’s memory)—Meanwhile in Sunnydale...
The Bronze. Almost a week after the first phone call. Anya, Buffy, Willow and Tara walk in. They’re scanning the place for a minute, looking for a place to sit. Anya is focused more on the crowd than on available seats.
Buffy: [to Anya; slightly irritated] “Xander said he’d meet us here around midnight and it’s 10:30—I don’t think he would’ve beat us here.”
Anya: [ignoring Buffy’s comment] “Have any of you seen Miranda lately? I wanted her to take me shopping tomorrow, but her shop has been closed all week. She left a message with Xander saying I didn’t need to come into work, but like a typical man, he didn’t think to ask why.”
Willow: “That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to Xander as ‘typical’—definite progress.”
Anya: [focused] “Fine, whatever, but have you seen Miranda?”
Buffy: “Nope. Even missed her weekly dinner-and-a-movie with Dawn on Wednesday.”
Tara: “Isn’t that Spike over there on the couch?”
Willow: [looking over in that direction] “huh. I can only see the back of his head.”
Buffy: “With captain peroxide, that’s all you need.”
Willow: “True.”
Anya is already on the move, heading over there.
Buffy: “Wait, Anya, do we really need to...[she’s already gone. Continuing in a meek voice]...go over there?” [Buffy and the others reluctantly follow]
We see Spike sitting on the couch, beer in hand, leaning back so that the back of his head is resting on the back of the couch—he looks exhausted.
Anya: [frowning when she doesn’t find Miranda on the couch next to him] “Where’s Miranda?”
Spike: [wearily looking over at her] “I’m just fine, Anya, how are you? Sure, you can buy me another drink.”
Anya: [correcting herself] “Hello Spike. [with a forced wave] Where’s Miranda?”
Spike: “Away. Business trip. [The rest of them have caught up] Oh brilliant—it’s the lot of you.”
Anya: “Well, when will she be back?” [Just then the waitress/bartender comes over to deliver another beer for Spike. Spike gives Anya an expectant look, as though he’s holding out information.] Fine.” [She pulls out her wallet and pays for the beer.]
Waitress: [Turning to the women] “What can I get you ladies?”
Buffy: “Oh, we’re not staying. Here. In this spot.”
Anya: “I’ll have a cosmopolitan.”
She sits in a chair that’s kitty corner to the couch. Seeing her sit, Buffy gives Anya an annoyed look. Willow just shrugs and moves to sit down. Resigned, Buffy looks around in frustration and begrudgingly takes a seat. They all order something.
Spike: [He’s maybe a touch tipsy/tired/lonely. Looking around.] “It’s getting to be a party.”
Anya: “Well?”
Spike: “oh, right. Don’t know. A few days, probably.” [Anya frowns at this, then actually looks at Spike for a moment]
Anya: “You look terrible—is it possible to look dead-er?
Willow: “’more dead’. I don’t think ‘dead-er’ is a word”
Buffy: “Really? Dead-er. More dead. Yeah, guess your right. Not that grammar’s ever stopped us before.”
Willow: “But getting back to the original question, can someone look more dead?”
They think about this for a moment.
Tara: “Well, people can look more alive, can’t they? Like when they’re really happy.”
Willow: “Yeah, like when they’re in love or...”
Anya: “If they inherited lots of money.”
Willow: [smiling at her logic] “Exactly, so if people can look more alive, then I definitely think they can look more dead.”
Anya: “And Spike’s not even ‘people’, so he can definitely look ‘more dead’.”
Spike: [Assuming they’re just giving him a hard time for being a leech] “Fine, I’ll buy the next round.”
Buffy: “No, really, you look like death-on-a-cracker.”
Willow: “Now, where did that phrase come from? I mean, whenever I hear it, I get this image of the skeleton-guy in the black robe with the sickle, sitting on a giant saltine.”
Spike: “A few more minutes listening to this and you’ll have me wishing I were ‘more dead’—this what you lot consider a conversation?”
Willow: “You’re awful cranky”
Anya: “Must be the lack of sex.”
Spike: “Yeah, because usually I just sit here and giggle like a schoolboy when you insult me. I’m just tired is all—haven’t slept a wink for days.”
Buffy: [laughing it off] “Noisy neighbors? It’s the birds isn’t it? Springtime can be a bitch—all that chirping and singing.”
Tara: “Ear plugs?”
Spike: “It’s not that.”
Buffy: “Have you tried counting sheep? Or maybe eating sheep in your case.”
Willow: “Or warm milk—do you even drink milk?”
Spike looks mildly irritated and just shakes his head. He’s desperate for sleep, so he pays attention.
Anya: [more serious than the others] “I can’t sleep when Xander’s away either.”
Spike: [a bit hopeful] “Yeah?”
Anya: “He sleeps like a baby, but I just lay there, worrying about him being swept up in a tornado or swallowed by an earthquake or getting burned up in the lava from a volcano.”
Buffy: “Sounds like you’ve been watching WAY too many disaster flicks.”
Anya: [big sigh] “They’re his favorite”
Spike: [shaking his head] “It’s just so bloody quiet. When we were first together, I couldn’t believe the racket—what with the breathing and the heartbeat—thought I’d never get used to it. She’s a bit of a cuddler, too. Used to put a pillow over my head in the beginning trying to drown out the sound so I could get to sleep. You have no idea—s’not the blood lust that keeps vampires and humans from hooking up—it’s the bloody noise. But then I stopped noticing. Don’t know when—just didn’t need the pillow anymore. [brief pause] Now I think I can’t sleep without it.” [shakes his head in disgust/frustration]
Anya: “Ah, so maybe you just need to pay someone who’s alive to sleep with you while Miranda’s away.”
Buffy: “Somehow I don’t think Miranda would be lovin’ that plan.”
Spike: “I’m not going to pay anyone. Besides, I wouldn’t want there to be talking of any kind. Girls always want to chat.” [eye roll from Buffy]
Tara: “Get a wind-up clock.”
Spike: “What?”
Tara: [explaining] “If you get a kitten and it’s a bit too young, it’ll sometimes just cry and cry and never relax enough to get to sleep. They tell you to wrap a small clock in a blanket and put it next to them—they think it’s their mother’s heartbeat and they instantly calm down.”
Spike: [interested] “That really work?”
Tara: [she just shrugs.] “so they say”
Spike: [genuine] “thanks”
Skip ahead to later that night. Spike is coming in the front door of the house—it’s about 3am. Once inside, he plops a bag of groceries on the counter and fishes around in the large pocket of his coat for something.
Spike: “Why mess with a clock when you can kill two birds with one stone and still have a real heartbeat? [laughs to himself] So to speak.”
He pulls out a kitten—an orange tabby (maybe 10 weeks). He’s holding it behind its front legs, letting the back legs dangle. He turns it around so he’s looking at its face.
Spike: “Here’s the deal, cat. I’m not much for your kind. And, I had to risk my hide cheating ol’ Smiley at the club tonight to get my hands on you. I expect you to earn your keep. [it mews at him] Good. We understand each other, then.” [He roughly plops it on the kitchen counter and pulls out some food dishes and food from the bag. It just sits and watches him pour the food and water into bowls. When he’s done, Spike looks at the kitten.] “Go on then. Eat up. I’ll probably just snack on you in the morning anyway.” [It mews at him again. He frowns back at it.]
Skip ahead. Spike carries the kitten down to the bedroom, plops it on the pillow and gets into bed.
Spike: “Now you’re going to sit there and breathe and your little heart is going to beat until I get to sleep, OK? Then you can do whatever you want. [pause] Within reason.”
He turns out the light and lays on his back—his head on the pillow next to the one with the kitten. The kitten is just sitting there, NOT sleeping. It walks around a little, then sits back down, staring at Spike. After a few minutes, Spike opens his eyes in frustration and turns to face the kitten.
Spike: “What? Don’t expect me to stroke you, ‘cause I won’t. [It mews and you can tell my looking at its little ears that it’s shivering—Spike notices this] Aw, not you too? [deep, annoyed sigh] Fine. [mumbled cursing as he gets up and fishes around for something. Skip forward a few minutes. We see the kitten curled up and sleeping on the pillow, which is now covered with one of those small electric heating pads. Spike’s head is a couple of inches away.] That’s better. [sleepy voice] Was going to say the purring’s a bit above-and-beyond, but, uh,...” [and he’s fast asleep]
End flashback
Scene 6
Back to the present: M is continuing the story.
Miranda: “He was the first to speak—only a few seconds had past. His voice was full of defeat “You can’t stop me. If I want to walk out that door, I will. I don’t think it matters anymore. [then a bit softer] You can’t stop me.” He said this not as a challenge or with even a hint of defiance—he was simply stating what he took to be the truth of the situation. I paused for a moment and replied “No I can’t. Not ultimately. But tonight I can and I will. We’ll see about tomorrow.”
Spike: [interrupting again, impatient] “So what, you decided to seduce him?—That’s fucking original, innit? Aren’t you being just a bit melodramatic when it sounds like your big plan was to hope you could out-fuck Darla long enough to break the bloody spell or whatever—mind you, that’d be quite a task as I know from experience that she’s got some serious skills.”
He threw that last bit in just to sting her and she knows it.
Miranda: “This would be a lot easier if you’d stop interrupting”
Spike: [bitter] “Easier for me or for you? ‘Cause I don’t...” [his voice trails off as he thinks twice about what he’s about to say and takes deep breath instead to calm himself] Why didn’t you just say you’d off her? Seems the simplest solution.”
Miranda: “I do still have a policy about that—killing girlfriends and such. More importantly, it wouldn’t’ve solved the bigger issues.”
Spike: [deeply sarcastic] “But surely fucking would.”
Miranda: [cold] “It wasn’t about seduction. Seduction’s nothing—child’s play. The flick of an eye, the flash of a knee, a coy smile at just the right moment—it’s no great skill to know how to make a man want you. It must be like you preying on a street-walker or a bum—where’s the challenge? One thing I learned in my courtesan days is that seduction is merely the beginning—to be truly successful you had to make men want to possess you, or better yet, to love you. And to do that, you had to learn to be just exactly who they wanted you to be. I didn’t sleep with Angel that night. He wasn’t looking for someone to fuck. He already had that, didn’t he? He wasn’t looking for someone to love, either—that obviously hadn’t worked out well for him in the past. He certainly didn’t want anyone’s charity. What he needed was someone to save—someone to rescue. So that night, I started carefully laying the groundwork—planting the seeds. All in preparation for just the right moment when I would make my play. I would only be convincing him of things he’d already imagined—that I’d woken up one day and realized that I was headed down the wrong path—I’d done some things that I wasn’t proud of and needed to make amends. That being with you was making me dangerous and that I was afraid of what I would become if I stayed. I would show him my tattoos—he’d notice that three were very recent. Maybe I’d even tell him the details of it. I’d convince him that although I appeared strong, that I had many moments of weakness and fear, just like him. I’d thought I wasn’t strong enough to make a break from my life, but being with him these past days had made me think it was possible. Maybe together...maybe the two of us...and so on. In the end, I’d be asking for his help. I knew it would work. What I wasn’t so sure of was how important the idea of being with me was to him—to what extent the prospect of love was a necessary part of the deal. At the very least, the idea that I wanted to be with him might be just the touch to relieve him of any remaining skepticism. This, I would play by ear. The moment came the next night. He was going on about my meeting with W&H the next day—what if I didn’t find anything—what if it was all just in his head. What would happen when I was gone? I suggested “What if I stayed?” To which he replied “What, and keep pretending to be my girlfriend? I appreciate the thought, but you’ve got your own life and...” “What if we weren’t pretending?” “What?” I looked him straight in the eye and restated very clearly “What if I wasn’t pretending?” At that point, things could have gone either way. I could have steered it in the direction of coming clean with the others (about our non relationship), but my staying on as part of the group and his friend for the reasons I was about to lay out. But I’d seen that look before—friendship wouldn’t be enough. It’s amazing what you can tell from a single unguarded look. Fine. I was prepared. So I was off—the Big Play. I was fucking brilliant—best performance of my life. Suddenly I was bloody Richard III. Contrary to popular opinion, Angel is not a stupid man. It took some convincing—he was rightly skeptical. But by the end of that night, after hours of talking and silence and one wickedly manipulative kiss, it was a done deal.”
Spike: “So I was right all along, then. Does he know? That you played him?”
Miranda: “No. I suppose he must have suspected, but it was never discussed. You’re the only one who knows.” [Well, except for Father Dunn, but he’s dead, so what does it matter?]
Spike: “get on with it”
Miranda: “Things got quite hectic after that. I overslept and just made it out the door in time to get to my meeting at W&H. I picked up my things from one of the company hacks and then asked if I could pay a visit to a lawyer at the firm called Lindsey, who I’d dealt with for years back before he’d climbed the corporate latter. I’d found out before that he was involved with the Darla plot to get to Angel and so I wanted to have a few minutes in his office. We’d always hit it off, so I knew he’d agree to see me. I had arranged to have him called away when I was with him and everything went as planned. I was able to get access to some pertinent files on his computer in his absence. Just as I’d finished snooping around, a woman appeared in his office looking for him—blonde, stunning, with a wonderfully acid tongue. We were in there together for just a minute before Lindsey returned—he seemed rather disconcerted to see her and hastily escorted her into a side room. He apologized and I took my leave. On my way out the door, I heard him talk to the woman and it suddenly occurred to me that it must have been Darla. On my way back to the hotel, I was struck with a rather disconcerting thought. When I got there, I pulled Cordelia aside.”
Begin flashback
Miranda: “So you know how Angel is always complaining about the smell of the floor cleaner? Is that an Angel thing, or a vampire thing?”
Cordelia: “Uh, I don’t usually take the time to ask random vampires if they’re fond of the lemony fresh pine-sol scent when they make it in the building—usually grabbing for the crossbow.”
Miranda: “No, I mean none of the rest of us can even smell it and yet it keeps him up at night—is the supersensitivity just one of his personal quirks?”
Cordelia: “Oh, that. I’m surprised you have to ask—haven’t you been cohabiting with the undead?”
Miranda: [defensive] “Well, I guess I never really thought about it much—not enough to ask. We’re both English, after all.”
Cordelia: “Definitely a vampire thing.”
Angel: [walking into the room] “What’s a vampire thing?”
Cordelia: “Your nose” [feeling his nose & looking confused] “No, the whole ‘I can tell if you’ve cut yourself shaving when you’re still three blocks away’ thing that you do.”
Angel: “Oh, yeah—pretty standard.”
Miranda: [looking a bit pale] “Does it mostly apply to blood?”
Angel: “Nah, most things. Like I can tell that Cordy made out with a guy who smokes last night.”
Cordelia: “I don’t think so. I would so never kiss a smoker. So gross. [gets a look from Miranda] Oh, right. You smoke, don’t you? Yeah, I would never kiss you.”
Angel: “He smokes.”
Cordelia: “Dammit” [She searches through her purse and pulls out a little piece of paper with a phone number on it and rips it up]
Miranda: “We may have a problem.”
Angel: “What’s up?”
Miranda: “I was in a rush this morning—overslept a bit. So I just threw on some clothes and went out the door to get to W&H in time for my meeting.”
Cordelia: “And you’re worried that your BO left a bad impression on the evil-lawyer guys? Trust me if cleanliness and godliness go together, then BO is unlikely to set off the non-evil alarms at W&H.”
Miranda: “I saw Darla. She came into Lindsey’s office when I was there.”
Angel: [not getting it] “You think she recognized you?”
Miranda: “From where? We’ve never met. Angel, what do I smell like right now?”
Angel: [He inhales slightly, starts to smile and then quickly frowns.] “Oh.”
Cordelia: “What?”
Miranda: “How specific are we talking here? That we’ve been in the same room together—we’ve hugged?...kissed...?”
Angel: “I think we may have a problem.”
Miranda: “Yeah.”
Cordelia: [getting it] “Wow, you guys are just pulling out all the stops. I’ve got a newsflash for you—we all know you two aren’t getting’ it on. It’s Ok.”
Miranda: [ignoring her] “Oh god. If she tells Lindsey and he is suspicious, he’ll be able to tell that I was on his computer. And if he thinks we’re working together...[getting slightly panicked] Angel, they have access to everything of mine. Bank accounts, the deed to my house, the rental agreement for my shop. They could take everything.”
She’s suddenly struck by her lack of preparation—she should have thought of this.
Cordelia: “Hello, you’re starting to freak me out here. Jig—totally up. No need for the big performance.”
Angel: [ignoring Cordy] “Hey, she might not have been paying attention—these things do take a bit of focus. And even if she noticed, she might not tell Lindsey—seems like lately she’s been on the outs with W&H anyway. Besides, it’s only money, right?”
Cordelia: [under her breath] “Spoken like someone who’s never had it.”
Angel: [continuing the thought] “Part of what you’re leaving behind?”
Miranda: [working herself into a slight frenzy.] “They deal with other Immortals—they know where to find them.”
Cordelia: “Listen, we’ve all talked about it—there was a meeting. We agreed that there is just no way two people could be LESS of a real couple than the two of you, I mean...” [She’s talking, but neither of them are listening.]
Angel: [walking over to Miranda and gently putting a hand on her shoulder] “It’ll be Ok. We’ll figure something out. It would’ve happened sooner or later. [She’s obviously upset—this is all happening too soon. She thought she’d have more time to settle into this—to plan, to work things out and protect her assets. She decides not to hide her feelings, as it puts the focus on her again and her need for support. Responding to her look, Angel pulls her into a gentle hug and then kisses her on the forehead] We need a bit of damage control is all—something to buy us some time.”
Cordelia: [watching them and finishing her thought] “...there’s obviously no chemistry whatsoever. [getting confused by their sudden intimacy & frowning] Ok, maybe some, but...”
Miranda takes a deep breath and steps back, ending the hug. Angel keeps hold of her hand.
Angel: [finally acknowledging Cordy] “What was that about a jig?”
Cordelia: “Nothing. I really need to talk to Wesley.”
Miranda: “Right. First thing is to find out if Lindsey knows.” She pulls out her cell phone and a card from her pocket—she dials and gets voice mail. “Lindsey. Miranda here. I was on my way home and discovered with horror that I’d lost an earring. Would you be a dear and have a look ‘round your office for it? [she pulls out one of the earrings she’s wearing and looks at it] It’s a gold drop with a small diamond at the tip. Give me a ring on my cell if you find it. I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s got sentimental value.” [she puts away the phone]
Angel: “But you didn’t lose an earring.”
Cordelia: [smiling] “Ah, the earring trick. Staple of desperation dating—nothing I would ever sink to. You leave a message and if he calls back to say he thinks he may have found it, he’s interested.”
Miranda: “So if Lindsey calls and says he has the earring, we’ll know that he knows something is up. So now we wait.”
Angel: “You should book a room somewhere—one of the downtown hotels.”
Miranda: “Yes. And I should bring a few things there to make it look lived in. I still have some friends at the Plaza who could fudge the check-in date. Cordy, do you have a local bank account?”
Cordelia: “Just barely—Bank of L.A. Why?”
Miranda: “Grab your ID and deposit slips—you’re about to become a kept woman. [turning to Angel] We may be gone a while—I’ll let you know if I hear from Lindsey.”
She and Cordelia hastily head out the door.
****
Writer’s note: this was kind of a cute little scene, but I don’t feeling like writing it out in full. Basically, Miranda and Cordelia go to the bank and Miranda has to convince the bank manager to allow the transfer of $1 million from Miranda’s account to Cordelia’s account at another bank. It’s only a fraction of what she has, but a transfer much larger would be deemed suspicious—in fact, even a million requires approval and the manager needs to be convinced that everything is on the up and up. Normally, it wouldn’t be so much of a big deal, but Miranda insists that the transaction must be completed by the close of business. So they come up with an elaborate story and it works. Then they go to the hotel and book a room—they decide that Cordelia should stay there, at least until they’re sure that W&H either know everything already or aren’t suspicious. Cordelia is, of course, all smiles about all of it. Miranda tells her she can spend the interest while the money is in her account. They return to the hotel. Shortly thereafter, Lindsey calls. He says he thinks he may have found the earring and why doesn’t she drop by W&H this evening and pick it up. Miranda replies that she’s just on her way to an exclusive spa to have her hair done—she was just able to get in because of a cancellation and so absolutely can’t be late. The spa is on the other side of town—she suggests that they meet for a drink after work somewhere in between. Lindsey agrees—they pick a bar and a time. She gets off the phone—oh shit. She quickly makes another call and talks herself into a hair appointment somewhere. They agree that someone will observe the meeting at a distance—it’s still possible that she can talk her way around this. By agreeing to meet her, Lindsey appears to be giving her the benefit of the doubt—she has been a loyal customer for over a century.
- 16
- 17
- 18
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Violently Happy