Paul Gadzikowski


Transference "Act II"

"Pardon me?" said Angel.

"You heard me, dammit," said Spike. "What does she like? Flowers, toe-nibbling, what?"


"It must be the Mxyzptlk demons!" Cordelia cried as the door went bumpety-bump-bump in the night.

"We need the door barricaded now!" Wesley shouted.

Now, Wesley was aware of several facts at this point that - pointing up his status as a mere journeyman Watcher and, as well, one who'd been sacked - he had failed to correlate adequately:

First, he and Cordelia were being beseiged by demons.

Next, he and Cordelia were being beseiged in Cordelia's apartment.

Next, resident in Cordelia's apartment (besides Cordelia) was a poltergeist.

Next, this poltergeist wasn't, like most, a malicious spirit. It was friendly and helpful, even enthusiastically so.

Finally, Wesley himself, in attempted self-defense of himself and Cordelia, was occupying the space just inside the front door of Cordelia's apartment.

With startling immediacy in response to Wesley's call for assistance, Wesley saw most of the furniture of Cordelia's living room begin moving directly at him at surprisingly and disconcertingly high speed.


"You've come to me," Angel continued to try to get his mind to accept the concept, "for advice on how to romance a Slayer?"

"Not just any Slayer, mate," Spike said, taking his muddy feet off the desk where Angel was sitting, so he could pace and gesticulate. "There's something special about this one innere? Made you so happy you lost your soul. Figuratively, too, I mean."

"You're here to ..." Angel started again.

"At least I can't make your mistake. No soul in the first place."

"That's a plus, is it?"


Wesley and Cordelia sat silently with their backs to the pile of her furniture sitting in front of the door to the hall. The pile of furniture trembled to the beat of the pounding on the door.

"Dennis was only doing what you asked," said Cordelia defensively into the mostly silent silence. "He's sorry about your glasses, aren't you, Dennis?"

A fork was levitated into view in the living room, where it was bent into the shape of an apologetic smile.

"And we'll replace them. Out of petty cash. Next time we have any petty cash."

Wesley blindly declined to respond.

Cordelia fell silent for, being Cordelia, seven seconds. "So what changed the wizardry heiress' mind about you after she'd decided were no good if you weren't Angel?"

"When I unchained her from the altar," said Wesley reluctantly, "she asked me why I'd come back, and I said it was because I'd sworn to protect her."

"It is pretty rare for a man to keep a promise."

"Not just that. She says, 'You had this confused frown on your face, like I was the one saying something stupid.'"

"And her father's really cut her off? She's got nothing for, say, business investment?"


"Do you want new glasses or not?!"


"It's a disctinct possibility," Angel speculated, "that I could get very upset about this, if I started to believe it."

"Don't make me find out whether the chip in the ol' block will let me beat on an ensouled vampire," Spike threatened casually. "This'd be good for you."

"Good for me?"

"Especially if it tears up your poor broody heart."


"You want to hold on to the soul thing you've got there, right? Happiness undoes the moorings, right? Help me land the love of your life and you'll be miserable enough to hold onto your soul until God himself comes in here with a crowbar."


"Does she kiss as good as me?" Cordelia asked.

"'As well'," said Wesley automatically. Cordelia hit him. "Victoria rather combines the enthusiasm of hiding-in-the-library with the passion of trying-to-get-rid-of-clairvoyance."

"At least you get human contact in your off-hours," Cordelia grumbled.

"Dennis is human. Or was once."

"I meant physical contact. Dennis is a little deficient in that area."

There was a mechanical whirr from somewhere deep in the apartment.

Wesley didn't know whether Cordelia's blush meant Dennis was making an offer or that he was retorting he was already doing his best. Before any more hypotheses could occur to him he said, "How long to you suppose before Angel begins to wonder just how much time it takes us to run to your place for a light bulb?"

"Depends on if he's found something at the office to distract him." ...


There was a knock on the office door.

"He's busy," Spike called.

It was Lindsey.

"What are you doing here?" Angel asked. "Is it Nemesis Day and I forgot to send out any cards?"

"If this is a bad time -" Lindsey said.

"You can only make it worse," Angel waved him in.

"Hey!" Spike argued.

"I was hoping to catch you alone," Lindsey said to Angel, eyeing Spike uncertainly.

"No, no," Angel shrugged resignedly, "we're all enemies here."

"At least we are if you don't scarper ten seconds ago," Spike glared at Lindsey.

Lindsey seemed to conclude that Spike was all bark, because he went to Angel's desk. "I was wondering ..." he said.


"I was wondering if you could see your way clear to relate to me Darla's personal preferences in certain areas."

"You two are working together, right?" said Angel.


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