Setting: Post season 4 of Angel, season 7 of Buffy. Spike is brought back by the PTBs only to discover he has no meaning to his life, and no way to support himself, so he turns to his grandsire, Angel, for help. There will be no spoilers for season five of this fic, it goes completely AU after the episodes 'Home' and 'Chosen'. Rated NC-17 eventually for naughty people doing naughty things. So all young children should go back to playing with their legos.

Spike woke up disoriented, not quite knowing where he was. Finding himself stiff and sore, caked with blood, he surmised that he must've had some night. A splitting headache and the not-so-faint smell of alcohol informed him that he'd apparently gone on a drinking binge as well. 

His soul was anxious, wondering if he'd hurt anyone while he was out of it. The demon hoped he had. He told them both to shut the hell up. 

Someone had cleaned. 

The smears and splatters of blood decorating the walls and floor were gone, broken furniture removed. The place reeked of bleach, and not-quite-dry paint. 

A bright ping! sounded in the next room, followed by light footsteps. Female. The sound of high-heeled shoes, clicking on tile. 

"Oh, you're awake. Finally." 

Cordelia.

"'Morning to you too, Princess. How long was I out for?" 

Walking towards him, she held out a mug of blood, the scent of it causing his stomach to rumble. 

"It's three in the afternoon. Breakfast?" 

"Ta, luv." He carefully accepted the mug, trying to ignore the demon, who was clamoring for him to toss it aside and drink from the girl. 

So trusting, she'll never know what hit her... 

Bugger. Off.

"So, first big fight with Angel, huh?" 

"Been fighting him since before you were born." He sipped at the blood, relishing its slow trickle down his throat. 

"Spike?" Her tone was serious now. He looked up into her eyes to see if he could catch some glimpse of what was coming, but they were closed off and cold. 

Is this the part where you tell me to get lost because I beat the undead shit out of your boss? Ah, the kicking to the curb. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

"Yeah?" 

"Next time, take it outside. Cleaning blood off the walls? So not in my job description." 

He was torn between delight that he wasn't getting kicked out, and an insane desire to shake her senseless for getting him all worried. 

"Yeah, well, tell the poof to pick up his own mess next time." 

"Oh! That reminds me. Wait here," she said with a big grin. Good Lord, that girl has a smile and a half.

She disappeared into Angel's office for a few moments, then emerged with two paper shopping bags, one for each hand, weighing her down. 

"He said you didn't have anything." 

"Any what?" 

"Anything. As in not owning more than clothes on your back." 

And thank you, Angel, for announcing to the world that Spike has joined the ranks of the needy.

"Don't need charity, pet." 

"It's not charity; it's clothes and soap and stuff." 

Was she this dumb on purpose?

"You do know the meaning of the word, don't you? Look, I don't need the poof buying me shit. Been doing just fine without him," he grumbled. 

"Yeah, which is why you came here begging for help." 

"Watch it," he growled. "Just wanted to provide for myself the legal way. Doesn't mean I'm incapable." 

"Uh huh. Anyway, your stuff's in here, and if you're lucky, Angel guessed the sizes right. See ya." She placed the bags down on the floor in front of him, scooped her purse off of the front desk, and made a beeline for the front door. 

He'd opened his mouth to ask her where the hell she thought she was going, but before he could get a word out, he heard the distinct sound of a car starting up, and the slight squeal of tires as she drove off . 

Guess she didn't want to play babysit the vampire then. Which was just as well; he didn't fancy being supervised, but it still hurt a bit that she was that eager to get away from him. 

He kept telling himself that he didn't need the poof's charity, but those bags were just sitting there in the middle of the lobby, dead center. He wondered if the bint'd done it on purpose. Regardless, it was an act of pure evil. Evil, taunting shopping bags.

A peek couldn't hurt though. There was a world of difference between looking and taking. 

Bag number one was full of toiletries; thankfully Cordelia hadn't picked out anything flower or fruit-scented. Not that he was going to be using any of the bag's contents. It was almost a pity; the shampoo smelled pretty good. 

And then there was bag number two. 

Knowing it had to be clothes, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know what Cordelia thought he'd look good in. He really wasn't in the mood for a Bitch Queen Eye for the Vampire Guy makeover. 

Two pairs of black jeans just like the ones he was wearing, and two others in a dark navy blue. Three black shirts, one green, one blue. New boots, at the bottom of the bag. He looked down at the pair he was currently sporting. They looked decidedly scruffier than he remembered them being. He looked back in the bag to see if there was anything else lurking at its bottom. Nothing. Which meant no underwear. Either Cordelia hadn't been comfortable buying him undergarments, or the poof had instructed her not to. He hoped it was the latter, because it just couldn't get any funnier than that. 

"I was wondering when you'd get up." Angel's voice sounded from behind him. 

Spike froze, realizing that he was sitting in the eye of the hurricane that was clothing and bath products, feeling very much like the kid who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 ~TBC 

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