Conversation Piece
by Moscow Watcher
Characters: Spike, Connor.
Timeline and spoilers: Post-AtF issue 3
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Handsome guys belong to Joss. I suppose he and Bryan Lynch are co-owners of Hell-A.
Beta: Fenderlove. Thank you, Fender!
A/N: I just couldn't stop thinking about the new issue on the comics and what could happen to the characters next; the story has written itself.



"You're nervous," Spike says. He doesn't ask; he states.

Connor steers the car around a demon corpse, glances at the ruins at both sides of San Diego freeway and shrugs.

"What's up?" Spike says. "Till yesterday you were Hell-A's happiest resident. Hello, daredevil childhood, goodbye, boring classes!"

Connor grins. Spike is the only person who digs him. Well, maybe Angel also understands but thinks it's not pedagogically correct to indulge his son. It's so hard to figure him out.

Brakes screech as Connor turns the Viper to LAX exit. He feels that Spike is at the verge of losing his patience. He'd better hurry.

"What do you know about my childhood?" he asks, bidding for time.

Spike shoots him an appreciative glance.

"Nothing in particular. Hell dimension, horrible beasts and vicious demons, bloody brawls all around. Survival quest 24\7".

Spike sounds jealous. Connor smiles as he taxies out the Viper between the debris of the terminal to the open airstrip.

"So?" Spike says.

Connor stops the Viper at the center of the desert strip and looks around. The place is empty. Nobody can overhear them. Good.

"So?" Spike says again. "What's with the big mystery?"

"Do you know about the challenge?"

Spike frowns.

"The challenge? What challenge?"

"Angel's challenge."

"Am I supposed to know? Hey, what is this whole thing about?"

So Connor tells him. He knows Angel will be mad at them both and maybe even stop talking to him. Again. But he doesn't care. All he cares about right now is saving his father. He looks at Spike. not sure about his reaction to the news.

The vampire gets out of the car, lits a cigarette and inhales deeply. Then he punches the hood of the Viper. Connor winces as he sees a fresh dent on the metallic surface. Well, he can always say it was a demon. It even won't be a lie.

"Stubborn, lame-ass wanker!" Spike explodes. "I knew he'd do something stupid!"

"Spike..."

"Destroying this bloody city wasn't enough for him! Now he wants to destroy himself!"

"Spike..."

"I should have kept him there in the bloody mansion, pinned to the wall like a bleeding butterfly! Blue needs a punching bag and I'm tired of..."

"Shut, up, Spike!" Connor screams as he springs out of the car. "Do you want all the Los-Angeles lords to hear you?"

Spike inhales again then throws the butt away.

"Poor sod could hardly stand when I saw him last," he says matter-of factly. "It will be a slaughterhouse five. If he manages to get there at all."

"He won't. I will fight for him. I will be his champion. And I need you to train me. To show me the most vicious blows and the meanest moves you know. That's why we're here. You have to promise me your help."

Something shifts in Spike. Connor can't pin it down but suddenly his vampire friend looks different. Alert. Predatory.

"Why you? Why not somebody else?"

"Because I'm his son."

Spike snorts.

"That's exactly why you shouldn't take his place. Imagine Angel discovering that his wee little Connie died for him."

"First, I'm not his wee little Connie..."

"You'll always be his wee little Connie."

"...and, second, I won't die."

"Exactly. Because it will me who will be Angel's... ugh... сhampion".

"Don't even think of it".

"Uh-huh".

"What?"
 
Spike smirks. Connor hates his smirk.  It's a smirk of a person who is much older, wiser and infinitely more cynical than a snotty teenager. Even if the above-mentioned  teenager happens to have two sets of memories. Even if one of the above-mentioned memory sets is an experience of your regular life in hell since infancy.

"Come on, Spike. We both know you won't double-cross me. It's not in your interests to tell Angel about our conversation".

Spike's smirk becomes wider.

"Poor Angel. He'll be so chagrined to find out at the crucial moment that his wee little Connie fell ill. Or broke a toe. Or got completely drunk in the company of Spike's gorgeous ladies..."

"You're a bastard".

"No agruments."

"I hate you."

"Everybody hates me. Nobody will cry if I fall in the battle. It's a win-win situation".

Connor's throat tightens for a second.

Spike, listen..."

"I'm a bad, rude man. Actually, not a man at all. I'm a demon and I belong with demons. And you belong with your father".

Connor sighs. It turned to be harder than he imagined.

"We'll throw a coin," he says finally.

"OK."

Spike's assent comes too easily. Connor glares at him suspiciously.

"We'll throw MY coin. And invite a third party to judge".

"Spider."

"Lorne."

"But..."

Connor starts climbing into the car to demonstrate that the conversation is over and he won't change his mind.

"Um... could I drive? You ride pop's dragon. I could drive his car a little."

Connor tries to smirk. He wonders if someday he'll be able to smirk like Spike. Maybe he will if he has enough practice. He will learn to drive the car with confident carelessness. To smoke nonchalantly, blowing ringlets of smoke. To swagger. Someday he'll learn all these funny words Spike uses for sex, girls, cars. Someday. But not today. Today he has to think about serious matters.

"Old man will be furious when he finds his Viper is gone," Spike says dreamily as he heads the car back into San Diego freeway. "Greedy jerk".

Connor smiles indulgently.

"Actually, it was him who suggested I take the Viper today".

Spike hits the brakes so hard that Connor barely misses smashing into the windscreen.

"He knew you'd drive it?"

Connor is confused.

"Yes, why?"

Spike barks a laugh.

"Angel, you bastard," he shouts. "I know you can hear me!"

Connor's heart sinks.

"Spike, are you sure?"

But Spike doesn't pay attention to him anymore.

"Don't try to fool me, old bugger! I know your bloody buggy has dozens of bugs in it!"

No answer. Connor darts a furtive glance at Spike. Maybe he's overreacting? Maybe it's a vampire thing, always to be suspicious of everything, always to expect the worst? Maybe in five minutes he and Spike will be laughting about his paranoiac outburst?

"OK, Poof", Spike growls. "I happen to have a tommy-gun here with me. I don't hear from you within the next five seconds, I smash your bleeding Viper into smithereens!"

Connor maintains discreet silence. Spike clicks his tongue in a perfect imitation of the sound of a raising cock.

"Five... four... three... two..."

"Stop it, Spike." Angel's world-weary voice from loud-speakers fills the car. "It's our last functioning vehicle. Come to my place, guys. Pronto. We have to talk."