Title: Seeing Red Author: JR Email addy: Rating: PG-13 Episode spoilers: Nothing really. Just a silly story for fun. Takes place some time before ‘Heroes’ -- Joss, you are a bad, bad man for killing off Doyle! Disclaimer: Angel, et al, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB. All characters are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it. Thanks: As always, to Carrie. Thanks so much for all the work you do! Be advised: This is my first non-W/A in the Buffy fandom. It’s a bit outside my usual angst-fests, and was actually a scene I edited out of one of the aforementioned-type stories. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To say that it had been a rough patch for all of us would have been understating the truth. Not only had one of Doyle’s visions turned up our toughest demonic case to date, we’d also actually had two walk-in clients, too. I guess that old adage about it never raining but rather pouring seems to be true. Fortunately, the walk-in cases were pretty straight forward. Doyle spent six days handling one of them, while -- after much whining and protesting -- Cordelia agreed to look into the other. Of course, their respective workloads kept both of them too busy to help me out with yet another of the endless supply of demons that stop off in L.A. before heading out to Sunnydale. Of course, that also left me on my own to hunt a particularly vicious Kotaka demon that I’d already been tracking for the better part of the past two weeks. Due to their work-related absences, I’d spent almost seven straight days of pulling double-duty -- researching the demon by day and hunting it by night. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t allow myself to rest, though. Not when the information I *did* have stated that Kotaka demons feed on an average of seven to ten humans a day. That meant that roughly a hundred people had died because I hadn’t been able to find the damned thing in all the time I’d been searching for it. Of course, my daily hunts *had* to take place in the maze that was the Los Angeles sewer system. I’d literally spent days crawling around in the malodorous, muck-filled water that, according tothe books, was the Kotaka’s preferred habitat. Once, just once, I’d like to have a few of these real-evil, pureblood demons have a desire to live someplace above-ground -- preferably in a three bedroom, two bath house in the suburbs, or a nice ranch house in the Canyon. Hell, even a high-rise condo would be a refreshing change of pace. Is that really too much to ask? Maybe then I wouldn’t need to come home so often with my clothing ripped to shreds, not to mention looking and smelling like something that had come from either end of a cat. But sewer it was. It may have taken me two weeks, but I did finally catch up with the demon. To its credit, it did put up one hell of a fight. Or, more accurately, I got my ass kicked. It was more luck than skill when I managed to get in a lucky swing with the sword I was using. Of course, my clothes were completely ruined by the orange...stuff that oozed out of the demon. By the time I’d finished the ritual needed to kill the creature permanently, I barely had enough strength to make it home, take a shower and crawl into my waiting bed. From the minute I woke the next morning, I had a feeling in my gut that it was not going to be in my best interest to get out of bed. Granted, maybe that ‘feeling’ had just been the aches and pains of the numerous blows to my kidneys the night before, but I preferred to think it was something more prophetic than that. I almost cried out in agony when I forced myself to move into sitting position. Everything hurt. I was marred by ugly black, yellow and purple bruises from my toes to my head. My ribs were especially painful -- most likely bruised as well -- and one of my eyes remained swollen and sore to the touch, even with my fast-healing vampiric nature at work. The clock next to my bed read four in the afternoon. That was pretty late, even for me. I groaned, knowing that there were a great many things upstairs in the office that really needed my attention. Ordering in my weekly supply of blood was my most immediate priority. In addition to that, though, there were plenty of other smaller details on my list of things I had neglected recently. At the top of that list was paying the stack of assorted bills that were waiting for me on my desk, all of which were now overdue. Since we actually had some money in the bank that week, I really needed to get my checkbook out to start taking care of the more pressing amounts we owed. And lest I forget, I still needed to write up a case file on the demon I fought last night. Before I left Sunnydale, I’d made an agreement with Giles. I was to send him detailed information on the creatures we fought over here in L.A., and he was to do the same on the things they fought in Sunnydale. I knew Rupert was waiting to hear more about this particular case, since they, too, suspected that another Kotaka was feeding and living somewhere in Sunnydale. Pain shot through my entire body as I reluctantly pried myself out of my much-too- comfortable bed. Cursing the Kotaka demon from the night before in several different languages, I forced myself to move -- slowly -- to the bathroom. Even the prolonged, scalding hot shower I took did little to help relieve the huge ache that seemed to encompass my entire body. The foul mood in which I’d gone to bed the night before seemed to have increased exponentially by the time I reentered my bedroom. Reaching for one of the knobs of the closet, I shoved the door open with so much force that I actually ripped it off its hinges. Growling out loud, I seethed at myself for my unintentional show of strength. It required a conscious force of will on my part *not* to just fling the damned thing aside in a fit of rage. But somehow I managed to keep control, not only of my own temper, but of the demon within me as well -- which just happened to be laughing its ass off at my expense. Stupid demons. There was no controlling my temper a second later, though, as I found myself staring into a virtually empty closet. Shit. Just how in hell had I managed to forget? Thanks to the pick up in our caseload, laundry had ceased to be much of a priority in my universe. After all, making sure I had clean underwear seemed pretty damned inconsequential to saving a single human life -- let alone dozens of them. Gnashing my teeth in frustration, I considered my options. It appeared that I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I couldn’t even don some of the ‘cleaner’ dirty cloths out of my hamper. Even in normal circumstances, I hated doing that, but sometimes life required it. Not this time, though. After crawling through the L.A. sewers, I wasn’t even keeping my dirty laundry *in* the wicker receptacle. In fact, there were several plastic garbage bags full of waiting-to-be- repeatedly-washed garments back in the ‘gym’ area of my apartment. The thought alone of opening those bags scared the hell out of me -- and I’m a *vampire* for Christ’s sake. So, there was little else I could do but choose from the three or four ‘why-are-these-still- here?-I-never-wear-them’ selections that waited neatly on their hangers for my attention. Well, for one thing, it became immediately apparent that I was going to be stuck with my black leather pants. Don’t get me wrong, I still really loved the way they felt as they clung to my legs. But sadly, the memories that came with wearing them forced me to leave them hanging right where they were. Until that point of course. By the time that morning rolled around, they were, in fact, my only option. As it was -- as a side-trip to my armoire proved -- I would have to face the day by ‘going commando’. Sighing needlessly, I pulled the pants over my otherwise naked body, and turned my attention to finding a shirt. Hmmm, I guessed that I could rule out the pleated tuxedo shirt that I wore to Buffy’s senior prom. I may have been calling myself a private investigator by that time, but the slew of James Bond jokes that were sure to come from Cordy and Doyle were too much to even bear thinking about. Of the remaining three choices, two were quickly eliminated. One was just simply too small anymore. Hell, I’d probably rip the seams right out of the thing if I tried to pull it on. The other was a novelty shirt with the words ‘Vampires Suck’ written on the front. Buffy had given it to me on my last birthday as a joke. As tacky as it was, I might have actually considered wearing it if Buffy hadn’t have torn off the sleeves and collar before she presented to me. When I asked her about the mutilation of it, she just mumbled something about ‘working out’ and ‘muscle shirt’. Whatever that meant. I guess that left me with only one real choice. It was a silk shirt, one that was a deep red in color. The last time I’d worn it was the night I’d gone with Xander and Willow to this vampire- wannabe club back in Sunnydale. I’d been in the middle of chiding Xander that the human teenagers in the club didn’t know the first thing about how vampires dressed when one of the occupants of the club wandered by in the same shirt, pants and jacket as I was wearing. I do not like to eat crow, *especially* when it’s served by Xander Harris. So, without any options to choose from, I was left with no choice but to put my prejudice of that shirt aside for the day. After I slipped it on, I thought nothing more about it. To be totally honest, the only thing I wanted to do was crawl back in the sanctity of my bed. What an error of judgement on my part that proved to be. The minute I stepped out of the elevator, I found my only two ‘employees’ staring at me like I’d grown a second head. My hand flew up to the shiner around my eye, thinking that it had to be the cause of their scrutiny. After a moment, I figured out that neither of them was even looking at my face. Instead, they both seemed to be focusing on my chest. I didn’t understand it. Sure, I was bruised as hell, but they couldn’t see that through my clothing. Looking down at myself, I saw nothing untoward, so I brought my gaze back to them and asked what was wrong. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Doyle uttered under his breath. “Take it from me,” I countered, overhearing his comment. “It isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” “Nice shiner,” Doyle remarked absently. Before I could reply, the half-demon had already dismissed me entirely, seeking out Cordelia with a quick turn of his head. “Whose day is it?” “Hmmm, I’m not sure anymore,” she answered, leaving me puzzled as to what exactly they were talking about. “I’ll check the spread. Oh, and Angel, you really should put a steak or something on that eye.” After that comment, I was once again ignored. “Ah, would either of you mind telling me what’s going on here?” I questioned in vain. Cordy and Doyle weren’t paying me the slightest bit of attention. Instead, they both moved over to her desk. Opening the middle drawer, Cordy pulled out a manila file folder and opened it in a hurry. “Damn it!” Doyle swore vehemently as he read the contents of the folder over one of her shoulders. “Aha!” Cordy shouted in that ‘I told you so’ tone of hers before her hand once again ventured into the still-opened drawer. Sticking her hand all the way into the back, she pulled out a thick envelope from its depths. To my utter surprise, the envelope happened to contain a thick wad of cash. Only when Cordelia fanned them out and held them up triumphantly did I notice that they were all one dollar bills. Cordy did a little dance after that while Doyle kept cursing in a mix of Gaelic and English. “I don’t suppose there’s an explanation anywhere in my immediate future,” I queried in a sharp tone. “It’s an office pool,” Cordy volunteered. “An office pool?” I parroted. “You know...well, maybe you don’t,” she reconsidered. “Did they have gambling back in the Middle Ages?” “I’m not that old!” I shot back in righteous indignation. “And I do know what an office pool is. I’d just like to know why *I* wasn’t included in it.” “Well,” Doyle began hesitantly. “It really wouldn’t have been fair, you...ah...being the...ah...” I raised a single eyebrow to intimidate him just a tad. It must of have worked because his verbal stumbling became a great deal more noticeable. “...that is...you...ah...kinda...were the...ah... subject of the bet an all.” “*I* was the subject,” I repeated in disbelief. As my anger started to rise, I began glowering to the best of my ability. “What exactly *was* the bet?” “The pool was picking the day you would actually appear in a completely non-black piece of clothing,” Cordelia reported, regally finding her seat in her desk chair. Fondling the bills as she counted them, my ‘assistant’ continued her explanation. “We disallowed printed shirts, pretty much since the few of those you have lean way toward the somber. Oh, and we gave you a break and excluded your bathrobe and boxers, too.” “How generous of you,” I chided sarcastically, but Doyle was already sputtering. “How could ya do it to me, man?” he implored. “Ya couldna held out two more days? Thursday was my day, ya know. I coulda used that cash for a tip I have on the ponies this comin’ weekend. Silver Dancer her name is, and she’s running fifteen to one in the third race!” he groaned over his loss. “Oh, that’s too bad,” Cordelia placated, but there wasn’t a single ounce of remorse in her voice. Reaching under the desk for her bag, she grabbed it and headed for the door. Doyle stayed close behind her, continuing to bemoan his fate. “C’mon Cordy, at least let me borrow back me share. Ya know I’m good for it.” “I don’t think so,” she rebuffed. “Besides, there’s just enough here to buy that cute little skirt I saw at Contempo. I’m taking a long lunch, Angel. See you later!” And with that, they left, leaving me with my jaw hanging open in a combination of shock and outrage. Still reeling from what had just happened, my eyes wandered down to the open file folder the remained on Cordelia’s desk. Picking it up, I scanned the laser-printed spreadsheet it contained. Sure enough, it was marked with months and dates. Some of the spaces were empty, but quite a few were filled with what I gathered to be the appropriate name. Needlessly sighing, I sank heavily into Cordelia’s abandoned chair. I stared at the reviled folder in disbelief for another long moment before I snapped it closed, still undecided whether I was amused or disgusted by the whole thing. In all honesty, I never really minded Cordelia and Doyle’s constant teasing when it came to my preference for more -- how had Cordy put it? -- ‘somber’ clothing. In a way, I actually liked it. Somehow, it made me think I was -- I don’t know -- a part of them; allowing me to feel just a little more human instead of the vampire outcast that I normally regard myself to be. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason I put up with their constant jibs. Even if I wasn’t Doyle’s friend and confidant, there was no way I could miss how much the little half-demon mooned over Cordy. And although she rarely allowed it to show, I was pretty certain that Cordelia returned his interest as well. In an effort to ‘help them along,’ I often played the ‘straight guy’ to their comedic act. By ganging up on me, Cordy and Doyle found themselves on common ground, united in their -- usually quite vocal -- disapproval of my wardrobe. Plus it gave me a much-needed break from their constant bickering with each other. Sometimes I have to wonder whether I’m a warrior for the side of good or a babysitter when Cordelia and Doyle get into one of their endless differences of opinion. I was just about give in and allow a rare smile to cross my face when something on the desk caught my eye. More interested in the contents within, I hadn’t noticed the name written in the tab on the upper-right hand corner of the file. I found myself reading and re-reading the words written in Cordelia’s flowery, girlie script. She had labeled the file: ‘Apocalypse - First Sign.’ A growl escaped my lips as I made a decision on the spot. One of these days, I going to have to enroll that girl in a sensitivity-training course. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ finis All feedback is welcome.