just fic


Title: Aida
Author: MexicanAlibi
Posted: 10-15-2004
Email: cool_slayerchick@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Category: Angst, humour, alternate universe.
Content: C/A
Summary: Alternative universe time - Angelus and Darla get more then they bargained for when they win Cordelia in a poker game.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Just Fic and anyone that feels like asking.
Notes: Useless information time - “Aida” is one of Verdi’s more epic operas. “Aida”, of course, being the name of an Ethiopian slave girl who falls in love with the commander of the Egyptian armies, and as is wont to opera, things end very badly when they both end up being buried alive in a tomb.
Feedback: Please.
Thanks/Dedication:


Prologue

“For the last time, no! Why would I wish Xander was dead?”

Anya pouted, resting both her elbows on the kitchen counter top to lean in closer to Buffy.

“So, you’re adamant then?” she whispered, conspiratorially.


Buffy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a well-manicured hand, a trait she had undoubtedly picked up from Giles. This whole ‘sympathetic ear’ thing was beginning to get old. It had been a few short weeks since Xander had left Anya at the alter, and with no real friends of her own Anya had appeared to have reverted to form, spouting vengeful catchphrases and trying oh-so-desperately to get people to wish something bad. Buffy just supposed it was how Anya was used to dealing with break ups.

She shuddered, ‘And I thought I was unbalanced.’

Anya smiled her trademark salesperson smile, and began picking at a chocolate chip cookie from a plate Buffy had placed in front of her, ever the vigilant hostess.

“Can I at least tempt you with the idea of covering him in warts?”

”…warts?”

”Warts are always funny.”

“No! And also? Ew.”

“What’s ‘ew’?” Dawn asked, flouncing into the kitchen and flopping over the counter. Distractedly, she snatched a cookie off Anya’s plate.

Buffy swatted her hand half-heartedly.
“Anya wants me to wish Xander was covered in warts. Which is ridiculous,” she glared at Anya, “because as much as we love her, we love Xander too. Right?”

Dawn wrinkled her nose, “I thought Anya didn’t have her demony-wish powers anymore?”

“That too.” Buffy admitted.

Anya averted her gaze, staring distractedly at the crumbling biscuit in her hand.
“You guys aren’t even going to pretend to humour me, are you?” she sighed.

“Sorry,” Dawn shoveled a handful of crushed cookie into her mouth, her voice muffled by crumbs, “I don’t do the ‘w’ word. And even if I did, I’d probably only wish for money, or happiness, or Colin Farrell.”

Buffy chose to ignore Dawn, determined to make her point.

“Anya, I understand what you’re going through…”

“No you don’t.”

”Okay, no. I don’t. But I know what it’s like to be in pain - believe me, I do. The past few months have been hard on all of us, especially after the whole Glory thing. There were times - mostly when I was working in the Doublemeat Palace, actually - where I wished that I had never been born.”

Anya hung her head, feeling suddenly tired and unfulfilled. “Then I suppose that will have to do.”

And in a flash of light, the universe was altered.

***

Darla’s lips curled into a smile, as she wrapped her arms around her winnings and dragged them to her end of the table.

“Oh look,” she said, “I win again. Isn’t that something?”

Xander Harris growled dangerously, flashing his fangs as a warning. When his warning went completely ignored, he threw his losing hand of cards on the table and stretched his arms up into the air, trying to work out the tension in his muscles. He took in his surroundings. Normally, Xander made a point of avoiding the former police station - it was damp and smelled funny – and kinda reminded him of the house he grew up in as a child. But of course when you’re a vampire, you don’t want those kind of fuzzy childhood memories following you around.

But of course, it was Darla’s new favourite hangout. It was gross, smelly and had a minor rat-infestation, but for some reason she loved it. Apparently, it had an ocean-view and according to The Master, she “had to have the view”. Xander scoffed, bitterly. Just because Darla was the Master’s favourite, she got whatever she wanted. And Xander didn’t even like playing poker that much.
He liked it much less when he wasn’t even winning.

“You may have won the battle, darlin’ - but you haven’t won the war.”

Darla smiled sweetly, “Technically, I’ve won six battles.” She gathered the cards and began to shovel them again, “I hope you’re ready for round seven…”

“Well, you’re out of luck because I’m out of money. You cleared me out. Looks like you’re going to have to find some other poor bastard to gag with your inexpensive perfume. So sorry.” A flash of a pointy smile in the darkness revealed that, no. He wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

As Xander got up out of his chair to leave, he almost bumped into a brick wall of solid vampire chest - a couple of hired thugs that Darla had taken to bringing with her, everywhere she went. Not that she needed them, of course. They were just another accessory to her, an intimidation tactic - kinda like her crappy perfume.

“Aw, c’mon now Alexander…” she purred, and pulled him forcefully back into his seat, “you must have something left to ante up.”

“I really don’t.” Xander harrumphed.

"Nothing? Nothing at all? No money left, no jewellery of some kind…?"

Reluctantly, Xander racked his brain. It was apparent Darla wasn't going to let him go until she had, pardon the expression, bled him dry. And what the Master's whore wants...

"Not even a crackerjack toy?” she continued, “Or an unwanted human slave?"

Xander's ears pecked up. 'Human slave...?' Now there was an idea.
A plan began to circulate in his mind.

"Oh well," Darla sighed and turned to her gentlemen friends, "looks like we're back to auctioning body parts, boys. Now how does that go...? Oh yes. You lose this next game of poker, Alexander, and I get to saw off your arm. Does that sound fair to you?"

"Now, don't be so hasty there, lady. I think I have one more thing I can ante." He fished into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a wad of folded up documents. Heartedly, he slapped them into the middle of the poker table. "I bet you one slave girl."

Darla poked at the documents with disgust. "The papers are all crumpled and... ew, sticky. What the hell have you been doing with these?"

Xander shrugged, belatedly, "What can I say? Admin was never my strong suit."

Darla tentatively peeled the documents open and browsed through them. She examined the pages carefully, pausing occasionally to mutter things like, "hmm... not a good history of obeying, I see" and "well, she seems healthy at least." When she plopped the documents back into the centre of the table and nodded, Xander let out an unneeded breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. Truth be told, he's been meaning to get rid of the insolent human for a while now -she was useless, at everything. It had been on his 'To-do' list all day: hunting with Willow, poker with Mrs Peroxide, kill annoying human. But now that he thought about it, it did seem to be such a waste. Rarely did you come across a girl with such an inane talent for annoying people, it seemed pointless to rid the world of that talent - especially when he could be sharing it with Darla. His slave could be like, a Trojan Horse of Annoyance! And Darla would have brought it on herself. 'Karma, baby!'

"Well, that seems fair." Darla conceded. Satisfied that she got to play Card Shark, again, she began to enthusiastically deal out the cards. As she arranged her hand to her liking, poker-face in place, she missed Xander's satisfied smirk, "Okay Alexander. I'll see your... " she double-checked the name on the documents, "'Cordelia Chase' with the market value of $40. Sound fair to you?"

"Oh yes," he smiled, "perfectly fair."

***

By the time Darla got home, it was nearly dawn. She swept into the mansion cheerfully and unceremoniously littered the crumpled dollar bills of her poker winnings in a large heap on the dining table, before following them with a severed, bloody arm stump – a souvenir that she had ended up taking from Xander after all. It was a shame, really, that the only person that seemed to be around to appreciate her winning streak was Spike, who didn’t even bother lifting his head from behind the newspaper he was reading.

“Another productive night, pet?” he asked, not sounding remotely interested.

“As it happens, it was. But not for poor Alex, I’m afraid. Where’s Angelus?”

Spike turned a page, “You’re asking the wrong bloke, I’m afraid. I’ve seen him about, skulking and what-have-you, but I haven’t seen him properly for a good long while. Not since he killed some humany slave-type and got himself in a spot of trouble with the Master.”

Darla sniffed, “That was a case of mistaken identity, and you know it. It was the Master’s favourite sex-toy and if I hadn’t pleaded with him, I dare say he would have had my darling boy staked.” Spike blinked a couple of times, clearly confused. “Did you know The Master had Angelus strung up for over thirty hours last week? I think that’s pretty harsh for something that wasn’t even Angelus’ fault.”

Spike wrinkled his forehead, “What? No, I was talking about a few months ago.”

“Oh, that. “ Darla said, appearing to consider it, “Yes. That was Angelus' fault.”

Spike shrugged, going back to his newspaper. “Hey, I’m all for a bloke that goes round killing people, but he takes himself too bloody seriously – snapping necks left, right and centre.” Off Darla’s look, he added, “He just needs to lighten up a bit, is all I’m saying.”

He yawned, lifting his feet onto the dining room table, only to have them shooed off by Darla, as she perched herself in front of him, smiling wickedly.

“Well, William… I have just the idea.”

“If this is going to be a sentence that doesn’t end with ‘…sweeping him up with a dustpan and brush’, I’m not especially interested.”

Darla picked up the severed arm from the dining table and playfully thwapped Spike with it, trying to get his attention.

”Oi!” Spike protested, as the arm ripped the newspaper out of his hands and left the pages scattered randomly on the floor.

“Listen, idiot boy. Angelus may still have that pesky soul, but he’s as evil as you and me. He’s proved it to us time and time again; you’ve seen him kill scores of innocent humans. Ever since he aligned himself with The Master he’s been miserable.”

“Because he’s got a soul, you twit.” This time the arm connected harder, with Spike’s jaw, nearly knocking him off his chair and onto the cold, linoleum floor.

“That doesn’t change what he is.” Darla snarled, “He’s still one of us, he still craves evil like he craves blood. He just needs to get a little practice in…”

Resisting the urge to rub the sore spot where Darla had hit him, Spike feigned interest.
“Practice is what he needs then, is it…?” ‘Because I was going to suggest he needed to get laid!’ he added, mentally.

Darla arose from her makeshift seat on the edge of the table and began to pace.
“I’m expecting a delivery at the crack of dusk tomorrow and seeing as I have a packed schedule, it looks like you’re going to have to sign for it.”

Spike’s eyes widened as he realised what was being said. “You got him a slave-girl, one of his very own?” Darla nodded, “Well, that should go swimmingly, especially seeing as dearest granddaddy is wont to killing them as of late.”

“Like I said,” Darla smiled sweetly, “practice!”

Spike shook his head and began to gather up the crumbled pages of his newspaper. ‘Well,’ he smirked to himself, ‘looks like Grandpappy is going to get laid afterall.’


Part 1

By the time Angel had pulled himself out of bed it was almost dawn again, and Darla was nowhere to be found. Well, there was a shock. Ever since the Master had arisen, Darla was always flying off somewhere or other, too busy for her vampire mate. She was like a career woman - a really sadistic woman that built a career out of sado-masochism, or eating babies, or something. It didn’t really bother Angel that much, because it meant he could spend some quality time alone in the dark without her constant nagging. ‘Angelus, kill something. Angelus, why aren’t you hunting? Angelus, Drusilla’s drooling all over the carpet… blahblahblah…’

Angel sighed, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. A few years ago, Angel could afford the luxury of avoiding the other vampires and, most of the time, he could avoid the humans as well. He could quite happily have spent the rest of his eternal life in the sewers, staving off the hunger with whatever small rodents he caught. Sure, he would still have been a vampire, but at least he could pretend he wasn’t as bad as the others – ‘Hey, look at me!’ he could say, ‘I don’t eat humans!’ But then, as she always did, Darla came and ruined everything. The Master came into power and the vampires took power. Angel couldn’t live in denial anymore. He was one of them.

Crawling into the shower, Angel turned the taps onto full blast and leant against the tiles, bracing his back against the hard spray. There was something wrong. The water was only luke-warm, and that wasn’t nearly good enough. He glared at the plastic dial that controlled the water temperature and, after fiddling with it awkwardly for a minutes, he lost his temper and punched it through the wall.
Technology wasn’t his strong suit.

***

He was hungry.
Spike would be in bed by now. If he listened closely Angel could hear him and Dru, clawing away at each other in bed and making sweet, elbowy love to each other. He tried to tune that out. If he listened even closer, he bet he could hear the muffled cries of an innocent victim in the basement as Darla helped herself to a mid-morning snack before bedtime. He tried to tune that out too.

Silently, he made his way downstairs and wondered where he might be able to get someone to eat at this time of day. Or something. There was something thrilling about human blood that appealed to his demon half, but he couldn’t deny that sometimes he liked to keep his eyes peeled on the floor, away from the humans. ‘Searching for rats. Pathetic.’

As Angel walked into the main hall of the mansion, he paused as a peculiar feeling came over him. Something wasn’t quite right… not right at all. There was someone else, a presence in the immediate vicinity that wasn’t supposed to be there. It took him a few seconds to register where it was coming from.
There was someone in the garden.

There, sat on the bottom step of the stone staircase, was a young woman. Her hands and feet were bound tightly by chains, and the chains were securely attached to a nearby railing, interweaving with the ivy that now dominated most of the neglected garden. Someone had thoughtfully stuck a post-it note on the girl’s forehead by way of explanation, and manoeuvring his way through the shadows, Angel peeled the note off her forehead and read it aloud for the woman’s benefit.

“You forgot to sign for your slave-girl.
Enjoy.
X.”


Angel bit back his amusement. The woman was glaring at him angrily, and he had no doubt the only reason she wasn’t swearing at him was the thin piece of cloth that was tied tightly around her mouth as a makeshift gag.

“Never send a moron to do a vampire’s job.”

Angel turned his head to find Darla standing in the doorway of garden, squinting across what little shards of sunlight had made their way into the garden. She sauntered her way towards him seductively, pressing her body against his.

“Spike was supposed to pick up this little package.”

“But he didn’t.” Angel said, not in the least bit surprised.

“No. And now he’s ruined the surprise… she was supposed to be a gift, for you. My darling boy.”

Angel blinked. A girl? Darla bought him a girl to play with? What the hell would he want with a girl? He shook away the myriad of dirty images that flooded into his mind, quickly followed by a few gorier ones – memories from the last century, from days when Darla used to bring him young girls for his birthday, along with the morning paper. His back tensed – they were memories he didn’t particularly want anymore. If Darla noticed his closed stance, she didn’t seem to particularly care and continued to run cold hands up and down his spine, flirtatiously.

“Just like the good old days!” She smiled, and when Angel didn’t share her initial enthusiasm, she threw herself at him fully, kissing him deeply. Taken aback by the sudden show of affection, Angel let her tongue investigate the back of his tonsils whilst examining her face with half-open eyes. He hadn’t been feeling terribly passionate lately. Over her shoulder, he could see his recent acquisition rolling her eyes at them and scooting further away.

After a moment or two of investigating the roof of Angel’s mouth, Darla unattached herself and affectionately slapped the girl upside the head. She examined the new property from head to toe, taking in the dishevelled brown hair that reached down to her waist, the annoyed eyes and nicely shaped body.

“You want to break her in now, my love? Or would you prefer to wait?”

The girl’s eyes bulged. He could read it across her face, rolling the question around in her mind: ‘Break in? Break in how?’

Angel considered this for a moment and shook his head.

“No. Let’s wait a while. We should probably see how obedient she is first… not to mention that there are other uses for human slaves.” Off Darla’s look, he added, “There are a few things around the mansion that I just don’t feel like doing.”

The girl was incensed. “Mwaht?” was her muffled reply.

Darla, herself, looked more than a little annoyed. Clearly, she expected him to torture the poor girl with an array of dentistry equipment or something, and Angel suspected that, if she nagged him long enough, he’d probably end up doing it just to shut her up.

Darla sighed. “Very well, then. Let’s see how much of a fight she puts up when she’s exhausted.” She turned on the girl, “And you, dear heart, are my new pet. Not to waste time on introductions - I’m your mistress, and you shall treat me as such. This is Angelus, and he will be your Master. You’re to do everything he says. Now with that in mind, before you’re put to work, do you have anything to say for yourself…?”

In a quick move, Darla tugged the makeshift gag out of the slave’s mouth. The slave, sucking in a large breath through bruised lips, regarded her new captures with contempt.

“Finally…!” she howled.

In a split second, Darla realised what a mistake she had made.

***

“… first of all, slave trade? That is so 18th Century! You can’t tell me what to do! I’m an American citizen, okay? I have rights. There’s a little something called the First Amendment…or the Second Amendment, I forget. I think I had food poisoning that day, so I wasn’t in class. Anyway, second of all - vampires? Scary! ‘I like to bite peoples’ necks; just don’t point a piece of wood at me!’ Pfft! Whatever. I mean, who hasn’t been bitten by a vampire before? Which brings me to my next point – you’re dead, okay? Go into the light, already! You’re taking up precious land-space in an already over-populated planet...!”

The girl continued talking as Angel scratched his head. “Darla, what is this?”

“That? That’s… that’s your present.”

“I know. But… why is this?” Angel thought hard, “Darla - have I done something to offend you?”

The girl squawked, and toed Angel with the full force of her bound feet, “Excuse me? Hel-LO? Talking here! You’re being at little rude, aren’t you?”

Angel’s eyes bulged, “I… I think-…”

“You ‘think’? Could have fooled me! You leave me chained out here for like, HOURS, and now you’re expecting me to do some light housework? I’ve got news for you, pal! Not going to happen! It didn’t work with Xander Harris, and it’s certainly not going to work with Mr and Mrs. Queen of the Damned. And by the way, lady - fake tan? Ever hear of it? You look like Casper’s older - way older - skanky cousin.”

Darla straightened her back, threateningly. Turning to Angel, she said, “Honey – I think our new guest needs to learn some manners.” Her face lit up, “I’ll get the soldering iron!”

Before Angel could say anything, she practically skipped back inside the house, pausing only to sidestep Spike as, half naked and rubbing his sleepy eyes, he wandered out into the garden too.

“You do know it’s six in the sodding morning, don’t you? You trying to wake dead, ‘cause you just bloody well did… - ” Upon seeing the girl, he stopped, “’Allo? And who’s this?”

“This,” Angel growled, “is the slave-girl you left chained up in the garden for several hours.”

“That was you?” The girl tried to leap heroically to her feet, only to get dragged comically back onto the steps by the chains holding her hands. Unable to confront him head-on, all she could do was heckle from the staircase. “You suck!”

Spike glowered, squaring his shoulders and moving forward so he could tower over her. “You best watch that tongue of yours, little girl. You have no idea who I am.”

“Let me guess - someone that takes Billy Idol a little too seriously?”

Oh no! Not the ‘B’ word. Vamping out, Spike barely got a couple of steps forward before Angel was standing between him and his new toy. Darla was next to Spike in a second, bearing the soldering iron over her shoulder like a rifle.

”Where do you want this plugging in, Angelus?”

Behind him, Angel could sense the girl’s pulse starting to race. That’s right, sweetie. You pushed the wrong buttons. Now you’re about to get your ass kicked.

Something about this situation didn’t sit quite right with Angel. Normally he couldn’t give two shits what Darla and Spike did to the humans they came across, but this situation seemed different somehow. The girl was supposed to be his property. His. Angel himself had killed countless human slaves in the years since the Master came to power, but no. He didn’t feel like hurting this girl – not yet, at least. And he’d be damned if he let anybody else touch his new toy. He felt the demon inside tugging loose, and he didn’t fight it – deciding, instead, to let his true face show.

Snarling, he moved forward to invade Spike’s personal space, who in turn took a step forward too, ready for a fight.

“Did someone say something about this girl being my present?” Angel didn’t so much ask as he did growl.

Darla was ecstatic to see the violent sadist she fell in love with come back life.
“Yes, my love! She’s all yours, to do with as you like!”

“Then,” Angel said, “you’ll all leave her be. She’s mine. My responsibility.”

Spike snorted in amusement, but nevertheless took a step back and bowing in mock politeness.

“That she is, mate. And seeing as I don’t much feel like waltzing with you in the middle of broad bloody daylight, I’m willing to let her snide remark slide…”

Angel could feel the girl relax behind him. “You mean that Billy Idol thing? Good.” Off Spike’s glare, she hastily added, “Because I didn’t really mean it.”

“…anyway,” Spike continued, “the way I figure it, your new pet’s going to get what’s coming to her one way or another. I might like to keep an eye on you two. Looks like it might be a gay romp.”

With that, Spike turned his back and swaggered back in the house with the walk of a man that has just thought of a really good joke. Darla, looking back and forth between Angel and his new toy like she was watching a particularly violent game of tennis, absently handed the soldering iron to Angel and, with a peck on his cheek, whispered “Just in case you change your mind…” before following Spike indoors.

‘God, I could do without those two…’

A delicate cough turned Angel’s attention back to his new acquisition. She smiled with bright, beauty-queen teeth and jangled the chains impatiently.

“Can I get untied now… boss?”

Angel let his vampiric face fall away, and moved towards the chains, intending to release her.

“Boss?” he asked, uncertain.

“Well, I’m not going to call you ‘Master’.”

The first set of chains fell to her feet in a noisy puddle

“Yes, you will. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because I haven’t poked you with a soldering iron yet, that we’re best friends. We’re not. I’m your Master, and you will do what I tell you.”

She snorted at this. Seeing his annoyed glare, she shrugged – partly as a gesture of goodwill and partly to get some feeling back in her arms. “We’ll see. Boss.”

Angel sighed, suddenly tired again.

“And what am I supposed to call you? Slave?”

“My name’s Cordelia Chase.” The girl beamed proudly, “Back in the day, the Chases were the richest family in Sunnydale. And I mean rich! I tell ya, that name used to really mean something, y'know.”

Finally getting her free, Angel grabbed Cordelia by the wrists and dragged her indoors with unnecessary force.

“Used to.” He agreed.


Part 2

Angel was very close to losing it. Going completely unnoticed, his hands gripped the edge of the tumble-dryer a little too hard, leaving visible dents where his fingers had vented his frustration.

Closing his eyes, through gritted teeth he said, “I’m only going to tell you this one more time…”

Across the basement floor Cordelia Chase, new-found human slave and recently acquired pain in Angel’s ass, couldn’t have paid less attention. She sat perched on the edge of a dusty cupboard, nonchalantly swinging her legs and pretending to smooth out the wrinkles in her battered old sweatpants.

“Take. The damn. Feather duster.”

He punctuated each word by stabbing the duster emphatically in her direction, but Cordelia seemed more interested in the small pink feathers that wilted under his administrations and floated to the basement floor. She rolled her eyes.

“Good.” She said, “You have no idea how tired I am of hearing you say that. I like to pride myself on being a student of the vampire psyche, and make no mistake Boss – I know what kind of dirty sex practices you boys like to…” she shuddered, “Let’s just say, there are certain household objects I will not be touching.”

Angel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She’d been here for little over an hour and already she thought she owned the place!

Cordelia carried on talking, oblivious. “This list includes, but is not limited to, anything with feathers. And anything that can be… y’know, inserted. I mean, ew! God, I shudder to think where that feathery-thing has been!”

Angel stared at her and then stared at the feather duster in his hand, almost as if he was seeing it for the first time. He knew for a fact he hadn’t utilised a household object in that fashion for a good few decades, and despite the myriad of French Maid outfits in her possession, he doubted Darla could pick a feather duster out of a line-up. But what if Spike and Dru…?

Freaked out, he discarded the feather duster over his shoulder and placed his hands, masterfully, on his hips. He couldn’t let the girl play with his mind like that. He had to seize control of the situation.

“That’s fine. I can tear up some bed sheets for you to use instead, but you will be doing some dusting.”

“Bed sheets?!” Cordelia was aghast, “Hel-LO? ‘Dirty sex practices’? What did I just say?”
When Angel whirled around and kicked the wall hard enough to leave a foot-sized cavity in the plaster, Cordelia quickly revised her decision.

“Look, how about a compromise? As you may have noticed, I’m not strictly a fan of cleaning. I mean, ‘Yay! Cleaning!’ Does that sound like me? No!” Off Angel’s look, she hurried it along.

“My point is, I’d be happy to take care of the dusting, given the right material.”

She looked him up and down, critically. Already, Angel didn’t like where this was going. Cordelia, taking in his charcoal grey trousers and tight-fitting shirt, tapped her chin thoughtfully and smiled.

“How about I use one of your shirts?”

“Wh-…? No!” Angel turned a funny colour. For God’s sake, you’re a vampire! Get a grip on the situation!

“Oh, c’mon!” she persisted, “A cotton-polyester blend coupled with the black-on-black look? I’m only suggesting it because I honestly think I’d be doing you a favour.”

“We’re not using my shirts!” he growled, and adding as an afterthought, “You need to learn a little respect.”

One look at her face, her soft features frozen in honest concern, told Angel that for some godforsaken reason, she actually thought she would be doing him a favour. Could it be true? Could this girl be so far removed from reality that she thought she could go around saying whatever she liked, to whoever she liked? Completely unaware of how tactless and annoying she was?

“Likewise, boss.”

Angel hung his head. ‘Apparently so.’
He began to pace furiously from one end of the basement to the next, turning things over in his head. He supposed that, if the worst came to the worst, he could always kill the girl if she began to irritate him too much. Who was she to tell him what he could and couldn’t do? Exactly who was supposed to be the master here, anyway? It seemed to Angel that Cordelia was genuinely having problems with not thinking of herself as superior. Hell, even treating him as an equal seemed to be a bit of a stretch for her!

Killing her was the easy option – Angel was certainly beginning to wonder why her old master hadn’t killed her on sight. If he was anything like Angel, he probably thought that she had too beautiful-a-face to waste like that. In fact, her face was pretty much her only bargaining chip right now.

‘Hm. Maybe Darla had the right idea with that discipline thing…’

Angel seemed to remember leaving the soldering iron outside in the garden, balanced on the edge of a waterless fountain, somewhere near the steps where he had first found the girl. Over on the cupboard at the far end of the basement, Cordelia’s perfect smile faltered slightly, almost as if she sensed his line of thought. Angel looked her up and down, taking in her well worn sweatpants and torn babydoll t-shirt that accentuated her perfectly proportioned figure. Unlike most human slaves that Angel had caught sight of – either down at the Bronze or being lugged around Sunnydale by overly possessive vampire owners – Cordelia wasn’t malnourished. In fact, she was perfectly sized, nicely proportioned and slightly voluptuous – the type of girl that made your mouth water. He’d hurt plenty of girls in the past few months, (mostly under Darla’s watchful eye), but for some reason, he didn’t particularly want to torture this one.

‘She’s just a girl. ’ He thought, “A really, really chatty and annoying girl.”

“Y’know,” Cordelia back-pedalled, “I’m not averse to mopping. Sweeping is my strong-point, but this place could do with a good, hard mop.” Angel would have been more convinced of her enthusiasm if she hadn’t followed it with a nervous laugh.
“Who’s for mopping?” she added cheerily.

Ah, so she could feel fear.

Thank God for that’, Angel thought, ‘I’d hate to actually have to hurt her.’

The reality of what he was thinking made Angel pause, mid-pace, and shake his head in disbelief. What the hell was he thinking, being protective of the itty-bitty human? For most vampires, slaves were meant to be like pets – an interesting hobby, until you get bored of them. It was best not to get too attached.

Still, the definite scent of fear radiating from her body was a good sign. If, for some godforsaken reason, he didn’t really want to physically force her to do something, at least it meant he could scare her into doing it instead.

Angel decided that now was as good a time as any to test this theory, and began to advance on Cordelia, keeping his eyes level with hers and staring her down. There was no mistaking the rapid increase of her heartbeat, the way she was trying to even out her breathing. Angel inhaled deeply, and that only confirmed it. She was afraid.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve always wanted my own training area.”

Cordelia blinked, “That’s… nice. If not irrelevant.”

Angel let his eyes roam across the span of the basement, taking in the damp walls, the heavy layer of dust that covered the cupboards and empty bookshelves, and in particular – the state of a floor that had repeatedly had a thin layer of mud trampled into it. The only thing that ever got any real use was the washing machine and dryer, and even there rust was beginning to show.

“I think if we tidied the basement up a bit… added a punch bag, maybe a gym mat or two… I could be quite satisfied. It’s not asking much.”

Again, Cordelia blinked.

“So, we’re going to mop the basement?” she asked.

Angel shook his head.

“’We…’? No, no. Just you, sweetheart.”

He turned on his heel and began to head towards the staircase, seemingly in no hurry. Halfway up the stairs, he looked down at Cordelia, swallowing back the wave of smugness that hit him when he saw the slight panic on her face.

“Am I right in assuming we have an unspoken agreement here? You dig out that ol’ feather duster and tidy the place up a bit, and I won’t come back here and use you in my dirty sex practices?”

Cordelia visibly gulped.

“You got it, Boss.”

***

First thing’s first… Cordelia would be damned if she was gonna touch that gross feather thingie.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to clean up the basement, (although now that you mention it, she really, really didn’t), but more because, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, Cordelia quite liked that Angel guy.
Okay, maybe ‘like’ was too strong a word, but as vampires go, he was pretty cuddly. Okay granted, he was a tad bit melodramatic and if his clothes were anything to go by, he shouldn’t be allowed to dress himself, but in comparison to working for Xander Harris… hell, as far as Cordelia could see there was no comparison. In fact, the last time Cordelia had refused to do something for Xander…

She winced in memory, her hand instinctively flying to her abdomen. The new guy, Angel, hadn’t hurt her so far, but she could just by looking at him that he was rapidly losing patience.

Cordelia started searching the basement for anything other than a feather duster to start work with. No way was she touching that thing. Xander had a feather duster once, and needless to say, he never used it for housework. Vampires were all perverts. Cordelia shuddered and pushed the memory to the very back of her mind, focusing instead on the task at hand.
When she could find nothing suitable to start the dusting with, Cordelia grabbed a fistful of hair and let out a silent scream of frustration. Apparently, cleaning the basement was now an impossible task.

‘Great! Isn’t that just nifty?’

In a world where humans were hunted, you certainly couldn’t blame a girl was teetering on the edge on insanity. A little trick she had learned in her stint as ‘girl-that-got-her-ass-kicked-up-and-down-Sunnydale-by-every-vampire-she-ever-came-into-contact-with’ was to conjure up memories of a few of her favourite things. It made her a little sad to think of them, but at the same time, they had an immediately calming effect.

That was all she needed. She took a deep breath and tried to centre herself, thinking happy thoughts. She thought back to her Mom and Dad, and their holiday home in Colorado. She thought back to Marie Claire. She thought back to those breast-heaving bimbos on Sunset Beach. She thought back to getting manicures and drinking coffee and hot showers and tabloids with bitchy pictures of Britney’s cellulite and choice quotes from Anna ‘My Brain Hurts’ Nicole Smith.

Opening her eyes, she felt instantly calmer, but still immensely overwhelmed.
Looking around, there didn’t appear to be much in the basement that could help her with cleaning, unless of course you counted the epitome of gross – the feather duster of doom. That and the water flowing through the pipes to the washing machine.

‘Washing machine!’

Cordelia rejoiced inwardly, impressed by her own ingenuity. Where there was a washing machine, there was bound to be washing powder, right? Sure enough, she found a box full of soap suds tucked neatly behind the tumble dryer. She had the water. She now had the soap.

All she needed now to wash the floor was some kind of rag. The ingredients weren’t ideal, but they would have to do, and that Angel guy wouldn’t be able to help but be impressed at the initiative of it, right? He might even stop with the sourpuss routine.

Cordelia searched the floor for a piece of cloth – any piece of cloth, really. A stray sock would do. She just wanted something she could use to scrub the floor with but, sadly, there didn’t appear to be anything. Crap. She didn’t want to piss Angel off. What if he meant what he said, about the sex practice thing? Oh God, what if he made her his sex slave…? For, like, ever?
Cordelia shivered. The thought wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but she wasn’t looking forward to any kind of physical activity involving a feather duster. Not after Xander.

“Oh no!” Cordelia whispered, more to herself than to the empty room, “What if he sells me back to Xander?” It was a perfectly reasonable assumption. Humans got sold back and forth between owners all the time. They were, essentially, property after all.

“Crap!” Cordelia shouted, to the room this time.

If she didn’t want to get sold back to Xander, she realised she’d have to make herself indispensable. That meant she’d have to do all sorts of jobs around the home to keep Angel - her new master – satisfied. It could mean anything from cleaning and gardening to feeding his ego and letting him feed off her. Unfortunately, her new ‘indispensable’ personality started right here in the basement, along with the very impossible task of making sure everything was clean.

Looking from her t-shirt to the washing machine, Cordelia had an idea. And she didn’t particularly like it.

***

Angel sat on the edge of his king-sized bed, clutching a pillow to his chest and staring at the floor, seemingly puzzled.

He’d made a temporary bed for his sla-… Cordelia, on his floor, close enough to his bed so that he could keep an eye on her. A few bed sheets and a blanket later, Angel still couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be the one to sleep on the floor, and let Cordelia have the bed. It was ridiculous. Not only was she the one that was supposed to be serving him, but also? She wasn’t particularly good at it. And she was vulgar and tactless and any intelligent man would have disposed of her by now.

Then why couldn’t Angel stop thinking about her?

‘One pillow or two?’ Cordelia would probably prefer two, and in the long run that would probably lead to less complaining, but Angel couldn’t start basing his decisions on what she wanted. Most slaves didn’t even get one pillow.

‘And most masters,’ Angel reminded himself, ‘don’t feel guilty about locking them in the basement.’

“If you’re gonna keep hugging that pillow, mate, I’d buy it dinner first.”

Angel whipped his head around, and found Spike standing in the doorway, amused.

“I’d just give her the one pillow, if I were you. She’s not a sodding houseguest.”

“I know that.” Angel growled, annoyed that he hadn’t noticed Spike sneak into the room. That damn girl was distracting him, again.

“I think,” Spike smiled, striding confidently over the bed and leaning against one of the four posts, “it’s time we had that talk with you about the facts of life. See, when a Mummy and Daddy love each other very much…”

“Can it, Spike. I know more about the birds and the bees than you know about… well, anything.” When Spike rolled his eyes, Angel added spitefully, “Just ask Dru.”

That shut him up. Spike was irritating as hell and sure knew how to push his buttons, but as far as Angel was concerned, Spike was just one giant, red button with ‘Dru’ written on it. Easy as hell to push.

Spike stood closer to Angel, towering over him and deliberately lowering his voice to as threatening as it would go.

“I’d be careful how many times you play the ‘Dru’ card, mate.”

Angel didn’t have time for this alpha-male bullshit, and told him so.
“I have some business to take care of. Feel free to let the door hit you in the face on your way out.”

Sensing he wanted to get rid of him, Spike catapulted himself onto Angel’s bed and promptly set about myself comfortable. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit up, smiling triumphantly and meeting Angel’s scowl with a saucy wink.

“Business, rrright... that’d be the new bit, then. How’s she settling in?”

Angel ignored him, and deciding that Cordelia could probably do with an extra pillow after all, placed it tenderly at the head of her makeshift mattress. Spike watched him, half-fascinated.

“Y’know, most blokes let their slaves share their beds. It’s more convenient.”

Angel was pretending not to listen, but his straightened spine betrayed him. Sleep with Cordelia in the same bed? The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but he had to admit, the idea certainly had its appeal. Cordelia was human and that means she would be warm, wouldn’t it? And she was nicely shaped, with a feminine scent. He couldn’t imagine having any difficulty sleeping with her lying right next to him. A ghost of a smile flirted with his lips.

He wandered over to his wardrobe and started rooting through the various items of clothing he found. There was one or two of Darla’s outfits that she had taken upon herself to leave there. A couple of red dresses, pointy shoes - seductive outfits, mostly. And of course, a French Maid’s uniform. Great. What was that doing in there?

Spike smiled. So, the Great Poofini was getting attached to his new toy, was he? Interesting…

“I think we should call her ‘Bootsie’.” Spike said.

Angel thought he misheard.

“I’m sorry?”

“The new pet. I like the name ‘Bootsie.’ Can we call her Bootsie?”

Angel growled, throwing one of Darla’s pointy shoes at Spike’s head.

“She already has a name! She’s called Cordelia.”

Spike caught the shoe mid-air and scoffed.

“’Cordelia’? That’s a bit Shakespearian for your tastes, isn’t it?”

”I didn’t name her. Cordelia is the name she was born with.”

Spike shook his head and took another drag off his cigarette.

“’Corrr-dee-lia’,” he tried, rolling the ‘R’s. “Nope. Don’t get it, sorry mate. I just can’t imagine screaming out the name ‘CORDELIA’ mid-coitus.”

”Oh, but you can imagine yourself screaming out ‘Bootsie’?”

Spike lifted both his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Sorry, mate. I just like the name ‘Bootsie’ better. I had a cat called ‘Bootsie’ when I was but a niblet myself.” He smiled fondly, “Besides - screaming out ‘Cordelia! Oh God! YES! FUCK, YES!!’… It’s a bit too much like that Nancy boy acting you get on stage.”

Angel wondered, briefly, what productions of King Lear Spike had been watching.

“Well then, you’re lucky you’re not going to be having any coitus with her then, aren’t you?” He said, simply.

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, in a very ‘hey – if you say so!’ kind of way. It was a gesture used to unsettle people. He was letting Angel know, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to try and bang Cordelia anyway. Just for hoots.

Angel didn’t bother hiding the snarl that made his way past his lips.

Telling himself that it was only Spike, pushing his buttons, he turned his attention back to his wardrobe and tried to find some suitable clothes. So, Cordelia didn’t like the way he dressed, huh? He’d show her. He had excellent taste.

Spike, however, showed no sign of leaving.

“Speaking of the Great Boob-ed one, where is she?” Angel continued to ignore him, “You didn’t bite her did you?”

Angel was silent, so Spike made a point of stubbing out his cigarette on his headboard and flicking it in his general direction. When even that didn’t get a reaction, Spike swung his legs over the side of the bed and proceeded to walk over the fresh set of linen Angel had laid out of the floor for Cordelia.

“Be funny if you did.” he added.

“She’s in the basement, okay? I was just about to go get her.”
Spike stopped, mid-step. Basement. He left his newest, bestest-ever, most prized possession in basement. “By herself?”

“Yes. So what?”

‘Bloody hell, is he going to get pissed.’

Spike shrugged. “And it didn’t occur to you that the basement leads out into the sewers? Your little pet is probably halfway to Los Angeles by now.”

‘She… could escape? Oh God!’

Before Spike could ask what the hell Angel thought he was playing at, he was out the door and halfway down the stairs at an embarrassingly speedy pace.


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