TITLE: Zebra Club

AUTHOR: Ragna

writinggoddess@aol.com

RATING: PG

CLASSIFICATION: Spike/Angel

SUMMARY: Spike & Angel end up at one very interesting club one night.

SPOILERS: Set after "You're Welcome" but before "Hole In The World," season 5 A:tS

DISTRIBUTION: Any sites with my fic up; you all have unspoken permission. I write it, you can post it. Everyone else just keep my name on it and let me know.

DISCLAIMER: If you don't recognize it, chances are it's my own creation. If you do, I don't own it. Joss Whedon, Kazui Sandollar, The WB, UPN, et. al. most likely do.

FEEDBACK: Please send it offlist and let me know it's feedback; I do rapid delete on my account due to a lot of spam.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little slice of some Spike/Angel for the masses. And as far as I know, there is no Zebra Club in Los Angeles.



Zebra Club
by Ragna

Spike took yet another drag of a cigarette. "Mate, I swear, you get broodier and broodier every time we go for one of these nighttime strolls. Why not pay the fee and go in and get smashed?"

Angel shrugged, kicking at the litter in front of him. "Why?"

"Getting all metaphorical on me? Blimey," Spike muttered. He inclined his head towards an alley. "Sounds like Hagfish, 'Walking In LA' and a fight. Want to get your blood pumping?"

Angel shook his head. "We're vampires. We don't need to have pumping blood."

"Metaphor, mate." Spike shook his head. "I remember the original. Like this version much better." He looked up at the sign above the club. "Ever heard of a place called The Zebra Club?"

"No."

Spike sighed. "Mate, she's gone. Did us all a grand favor by begging the blokes that be to let her help. Give her some credit." Angel turned and walked away, but Spike reached out and grabbed him before a car hit him. "You may be a vampire, but you'd be in a world of hurt if you'd kept moving. Come on. We're going inside. I'm getting a drink."

Angel started to protest, then deflated and allowed Spike to drag him inside.

***

"Loved her? Blimey." Spike took another drink. "And you got all up in my face for having a thing for Buffy?"

Angel shrugged, slinging back his own shot of tequila. "Hey, who says I can't be hypocritical at times? Do I always have to be...perfect?"

"If you were perfect, mate, you'd never have caught Darla's eye." He raised his half empty shot glass to the ceiling, then pointed it to the floor. "To you, Darla, wherever the bloody hell you are."

Angel kept his mouth shut about Darla and Connor and all the events that had been oh so conveniently erased from everyone's memories. "Yeah. If I wasn't perfect, she'd have left em alone."

"But...you'd never have met...oh, Drusilla or Buffy or any of the blokes you work with now, even the lounge lizard who gives real lizards a run for their money." He finished his shot. "Or me."

"True. I never would have met you." He stared at the bottle of tequila they'd been splitting. It was still mostly full, they were still mostly sober, and as far as Angel could tell, they'd been there quite a few hours. "Hey, Spike."

"Yeah?"

"About how many shots of tequila does it take to get you messed up?"

"Bout twenty?"

"And how many have you had?"

Spike thought about it a moment. "Damn near that many."

"Look at our bottle."

Spike took a good look at the bottle of tequila. "Wonder if the Holy Grail was invented by Jose Cuervo," he muttered, picking up the bottle and taking a giant swig. When finished, he set the bottle down and they both stared.

It was still full.

"All right, mate, even I'll admit this place is giving me the creeps," Spike said, backing away from the bar.

Angel backed away as well. "I saw you drink that much before, Spike, and twenty minutes later you were flat on your ass."

Spike nodded. "Let's get out of here."

"Not until you pay your tab."

The two vampires turned and looked at a scrawny man sitting at the end of the bar by a cash register. He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt. His hair was black and slicked into a ponytail.

"We paid up for the bottle when we got here, mate," Spike said.

"Not that tab. The other tab. Not very often two Champions come waltzing in here." The scrawny guy stood up; it turned out he was tall as well. "See, you two have some fessing up to do. About a lot of things, apparently. The more you fess up, the more taken off your tab. And once your tab reaches a certain level, then out you go."

Angel shook his head. "Look, we were just out--"

"Rescuing those who need rescuing, I know." He gestured to the bottle of tequila. "May as well get back to drinking, boys, because this could be a long night."

"Bugger off," Spike said, heading towards the door. The moment he got to the doorway, however, he hit a brick wall. "What the...?"

"Security. Keeps those we need in in and those we want out out." The scrawny guy shrugged. "Like I said, you may as well keep drinking."

"Who are you, anyway?" Angel asked.

"Call me Crimen," he said. "Means 'guilt' in Latin."

"Guilt?"

"Well, you both feel guilty; that's why you're here. The Zebra Club only attracts those with guilty consciences."

"I knew I should have let you get hit by the car," Spike muttered towards Angel, slamming himself back into the seat at the bar.


END