FicWad

The first coffee-shop they come across is a Starbucks - as bright, neat and characterless as any number of clones around the country. They stop outside and peer through the window.

"Starbucks is evil, right?" says Foreman. "This has to be as good a place as any to start."

Fred looks at him doubtfully. "Well, yes, but as far as I know it's only the normal money-grabbing-soulless-corporation evil, not the actual demonic kind."

"Maybe they mind-control people into wanting their stuff. Maybe that's how they got to be so big."

Fred still looks unconvinced, but nods. "I suppose that's possible. We should probably check it out."

"And the mocha frappuccinos are really good," says Chase, heading for the door.

Foreman grins at Fred. "Maybe not."

They buy frappuccinos all round, and settle into one of the little booths. Chase plays with his straw as Fred surreptitiously takes readings under the table with her tricorder gadget. "So," he says, "how did you come to be in the, er, demon-hunting business?"

She gives him a hurried smile and then looks back down at the screen. "Oh, you know how it goes. Girl gets sucked into interdimensional portal, girl gets rescued by vampire, girl goes to work for vampire. The usual story."

"Right." He pauses. "You know, I never would've said I'd led a sheltered life, but..." He breaks off, and shakes his head.

Foreman grins, and Chase raises an eyebrow at him. "You sure seem to taking all of this in your stride."

Foreman sips his own drink, and shrugs. "I got an uncle lived in California for a while. Place called Sunnydale."

Fred looks up with interest. "Really?"

"Yeah. I stayed with him for a couple of days when I was a kid. Saw some stuff. Thought it was, you know, some bad weed or something. I never went back there and he moved away pretty quick. Said it weren't friendly to our kind. My mom thought he was talking about being black, but... I was never quite so sure."

Chase frowns, thinking. "Sunnydale... isn't that the place where they had the big earthquake last year?"

Fred nods. "Yeah. Technically speaking, it's the place where they had the big Hellmouth collapse, but it more or less accounted to the same thing. Spike was there. In fact, Spike pretty much made it happen. He died doing it, but his incorporeal essence was trapped in an amulet that someone sent in the mail to Angel and he hung around our office as a kind of ghost for a while before someone sent another parcel and he got his body back - although really, we're still kinda trying to figure the logistics of that one out."

Chase puts down his drink. "Spike died?"

Foreman rolls his eyes. "He's a vampire, Chase. Hard to manage that without dying."

"Oh, sure. Well, excuse me for not getting my degree in Fucking Weird Shit. I must have missed class that day."

Fred tucks her gadget back into her bag. "Actually, that was the second time Spike died. He was already a vampire. The first time was back in the nineteenth century."

"Hear that, Chase? You like 'em older, don't you?"

"He died twice?" says Chase, with a fierce 'don't go there' look at Foreman.

"Uh huh. That's not actually as unusual as you might think. Look, guys, I don't think this is our place. I'm not reading any hint of magical activity, and nobody's tried to bite, mind-control or even so much as look funny at anyone else. The only animosity I've seen in the entire place is coming from you two. I think we need to move on."

Chase and Foreman glance around at people buying coffee, reading newspapers or books, chatting with friends or making calls on cell phones. Foreman nods. "Not exactly a hotbed of nefarious activity, is it? Okay then, let's go."

Chase gulps down the rest of his frappuccino, and they head for the exit.

Over the course of the next hour, they check out and dismiss a further three places, getting closer to the address Angel gave Fred. The quality of both the neighbourhood and the coffee seems to go down a little each time.

"She couldn't have got herself bitten in a nice bar?" Foreman mutters, by the time they're on to the fourth. It's called The Blue Mountain, and looks the dingiest of the lot so far. Chase and Fred sit down at a dirty, unwiped table covered in sugar and crumbs, while Foreman goes to the counter and buys the smallest espressos available.

"Now this," says Fred, checking her gadget again, "has real possibilities. I'm picking up something, here. I'm pretty sure there's some residue of - something."

Chase sniffs his coffee suspiciously. "Very scientific, Fred."

She prods him in the knee with the sharp edge of the machine. "You want to take over?"

"Yow. No. Sorry." He rubs his forehead. "I think it's the caffeine overload."

Foreman grins. "Lightweight."

Chase pushes the cup towards him. "Fine, I'm a lightweight. You drink it, then."

Foreman eyes it, but doesn't move. Chase holds out his hand. "Rock, scissors, paper."

Foreman groans, but holds out his own hand. "Paper," he says, then sags as Chase triumphantly cries, "scissors". He picks up the cup and tosses back the dark, thick coffee.

Fred rests her chin on her hand, expression caught somewhere between dismay and amusement. "Oh well. I guess that's one way of testing it."

Chase watches Foreman intently. "So - this venom makes people controllable, is that it? It takes over their will?"

Fred nods, and Chase leans forward to stare directly into Foreman's eyes. "You will do exactly what I tell you," he says in a commanding tone, and then waits.

"The fuck I will," says Foreman, eyeballing him right back.

Chase picks up the empty cup, peering into it in disappointment. "I don't think this is the stuff."

Fred aims the gadget at it, and shakes her head. "No. But this is the place, I'm sure of it."

Chase puts the cup down again. "So what's the plan? What do we do?"

Fred shrugs. "What we always do. Make it up as we go along." She gets up, slides out of the booth and goes over to the counter. The girl serving is very short and very round and, by the look of her expression, very bored.

"Hey," says Fred with her brightest smile.

The girl looks up. It takes a while. "Hi-how-are-you-today," she says in a flat, uninflected voice.

"Good, good," says Fred. "I, uh, actually I was hoping to speak to Joe?"

The girl glances at the clock. "Joe does the night shift. He won't be on until ten." She looks back at Fred again, her little eyes narrowing. "What do you want with him?"

Chase and Foreman exchange looks, and slide out of the booth to go and stand beside Fred.

"Well, we're here to pick up a sample, " she says firmly. "You know, the new batch? It's got to be tested." She angles her bag slightly so that the girl can see the gadget inside.

There's no reaction for a few seconds, and all three of them hold their breath. Eventually, the girl leans forward towards Fred. "I wasn't told about that."

"Yes, well, plans change quickly in our line of business," says Fred. She inclines her head towards Chase. "Dr, uh, Jones has just flown in from Australia to do some very important, um, DNA level cross-referencing on the base formula."

The girl's eyes flick up to the clock again. "Nobody said anything to me. I think you'd better wait for Joe."

Chase steps forward. "We can't do that," he says crisply. "I'm on a deadline here and it's got to be done now. If it's not, then the whole lot might have to be scrapped. You want to be responsible for that?"

The girls eyes them all individually, obviously uncertain. She purses her lips. "You got authority for this?"

Chase draws himself up and gives her his best imperious look. It's pure House. "Of course."

She looks him slowly up and down, rather than jumping to attention. It seems his technique needs work.

"Yeah? Who from?"

His shoulders drop a little. Busted. He sneaks a glance at Fred, who gives him a small 'I got nothing' shrug.

He sighs. Well, it was worth a try. He casts around for a name, just for the sake of saying something. "Vogler," he says, trying not to let the defeat sound in his voice.

The girl's head comes up sharply. "Oh," she says, a new kind of respect suddenly evident in her tone. "Well, why didn't you say so before? Wait here, I'll go and get it for you."

She disappears into the back of the shop, leaving Chase, Foreman and Fred to stare after her.

*

Angel checks his watch for the tenth time and then thumbs the buttons on his wrist for at least the fifteenth. He listens, then drops his arm in frustration. "Gunn's not picking up, and Wesley's line is still busy. What the hell are they doing? Don't they know we have a crisis going on?"

Nina yawns loudly and lies down at the front of the cage, dropping her head on her front paws. Angel glares at her. "Thanks, sweetheart. A little backup here might've been nice."

He resumes pacing up and down, and Nina watches him. Her body is motionless but her eyes track his every move. He sighs. "I wish she wouldn't do that. She's starting to make me a little nervous."

"She's just devoted," says Lorne soothingly.

House contemplates the wolf, his head on one side. "Actually, she looks kinda hungry to me."

Angel stops pacing. "You know, that's a good point. She must need food."

"I'll go," says Lorne. "There must be a butcher's shop around here somewhere." He picks up his hat and puts it on, tugging the brim low to shade his face, then slips out the door.

Angel slams his hand against the wall. "I hate just waiting," he says. "I feel so useless/." He stops, and whirls round to glare at Spike. "Don't say it. Don't even think about saying it." Then he turns the glare on House. "/Or you."

"Say what?" says Spike, with a wide-eyed look. House swallows a small smirk along with a Vicodin.

Spike watches him put the bottle back in his pocket. "Give us one of those, then."

House shakes his head. "Nuh-uh."

"Oh, go on. Vampire constitution, remember. Whatever it is, it's not going to do any damage."

"I'm sure it isn't. But this is my stash. I don't share."

Spike pulls out a cigarette. "Then I guess I'll have to make do with my own vices. So - I suppose that's the story of your life, is it?"

"What?"

"'I don't share.'"

House sits down on a wooden crate at the side of the cage. "Well, I don't think I'm exactly famous for my altruism or caring nature." He shrugs. "I employ people to do that kind of stuff for me."

Spike blows out a perfect smoke ring and grins at Angel. "I've heard that's quite a popular strategy. Why keep a dog and bark yourself, right?" He glances down at Nina. "No offence, pet."

Angel shoots him an angry, indignant look. "Hey. I care."

"Sure you do. The whole power and riches deal with Wolfram & Hart was just done to make the world a better place, right? The whole power and riches and flunkies and sports cars and helicopters and private jets and big office and designer gear and - oh, and penthouse, let's not forget the penthouse - deal. It was a purely selfless decision."

Angel's face darkens and he turns away. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't understand anything about that."

Spike takes another drag on the cigarette and sighs. "Ah, the old 'you can't understand my pain because I won't tell you about it' routine. You learn that from Buffy or was it the other way round?"

Angel takes a step toward him, hands clenching into fists. Spike shakes his head. "We'll have to save the fight until we're back at Wolfram & Hart, or at least until the sun's gone down. I can't take you seriously in that get-up." He stops, and thinks. "Oh, what the hell. If I could take you on when you were a puppet, I can handle a space-suit."

Angel gives him a dangerous smile. "Even two foot high and made of felt, I kicked your ass."

"Oh, please. I totally let you win so that you wouldn't look like such a ponce in front of everyone." He gestures with the cigarette at House. "Now that was altruism."

House gives him a contemplative nod. "Right. Thanks. I'll bear that in mind in case any of my team ever gets turned into a puppet." He pauses. "Does that happen a lot? Because a puppet Chase might actually be kind of cute. You could probably market them."

Spike grins. "Like the full-size version's not cute? Not to mention having the advantage of being anatomically correct."

"Spike," growls Angel.

Spike waves a hand. "Oh, get over it. You got your bits back, there was no harm done." He looks back at House. "His anatomy actually was correct. It was just that it was also detachable."

House blinks, and shifts a little on the crate. Spike's grin widens. "Course, the advantage is that when someone says 'go fuck yourself', you - "

He breaks off as Angel's fist connects with his jaw. He goes down, then rolls over onto his back and lies there, laughing. "Don't worry," he says to House, who's half-standing. "Your professional skills aren't needed." He wipes a small line of blood from his lip and grins. "For us, this is foreplay."

House sinks back down onto his seat. "I had no idea my life was so dull," he says in a wondering tone. "Well, no, that's not true. Obviously I knew - I just didn't know quite how dull."

Spike grabs Angel's foot as it comes in towards his head, and twists. Angel curses, and goes flying. "You should try it," says Spike and then pauses. "Well, no, maybe not. Although - " he stops again, looking at House's cane. "The concept's adaptable."

He climbs to his feet, only to reel back from a punch to the side of the head. He slams into the wall, and a black bullwhip falls from its fastenings. Spike grabs it, and unwinds the coiled leather. "Your boy Chase looks the sort who might need a bit of correction now and then."

He cracks the whip, facing a growling Angel. "Come on, then. Remember Copenhagen? Boot's on the other foot now, huh?"

They circle each other while House moves his crate to a better vantage point. Nina gets up and sniffs the air, a guttural rumble building in her throat.

House settles down again and then leans in towards her. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm not even sorry about missing the soaps today."

She looks at him and then past him, at the door. It begins to open, and Spike quickly jumps back from the shaft of sunlight that darts through.

Lorne's head appears. The collar of his coat is wonky and his hat is askew. "Uh, guys," he starts, then stumbles into the room. He picks himself up, and glares at something behind him. "Hey! How many times do I have to say 'mind the coat'?"

House raises his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness. The light seems oddly alien in the small room.

Nina begins to howl, and Spike and Angel take a step towards each other. "Lorne, what's - " Angel begins, but he trails off and Lorne is pushed forward once again, even more violently. A tall, bulky-looking man appears in the doorway behind him, quickly followed by a second. And a third. Four, five and six are a bit slower, but that seems to be because they're weighted down by a small arsenal of weapons.

The men fan out on either side of the door, wearing identical black suits and impassive expressions. Spike reaches a hand down to help Lorne to his feet, but doesn't take his eyes off them. "What's with the goon squad?"

Lorne brushes himself down. "Yeah, I ran into some new friends here. Seems they were out running an errand, too."

Angel looks over at him. "Errand? What errand? Who for?"

Another figure, even bulkier than the others, steps through into the room. "For me," says Vogler. He smiles widely. "And it looks like they succeeded, doesn't it?"

TBC...