Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, I say!
Erm. There really is no excuse. Sorry.
Angel was almost asleep when Spike's less-than-dulcet tones shattered the peace in the cheap hotel room.
"Oi, Peaches, I've got it!"
Telling himself sternly that murder was wrong, even if justified, Angel opened his eyes and lifted his head to see his grandchilde standing at the foot of his bed, looking triumphant.
This couldn't be good.
Groaning, Angel sat up slowly, a bit frightened by the all-too-familiar gleam in the blond vampire's eyes.
Illyria was sitting stiffly on what was technically Spike's bed, watching them with her head cocked to the side. The bed mostly went unused, though, as Illyria didn't require much rest and Spike spent most of his time wandering around the small town like a hyper stray. Without the fleas, though.
Oh God, he hoped there weren't fleas...
"You've got what?" he asked irritably, trying to edge away from the other man without making the motion too obvious.
"We've got to be evil again."
Angel stared. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. Except more like a nightmare, because Spike was there.
"I'm going back to sleep," he said.
"This is serious, Angelus," Spike said, arms crossed over his chest, eyes hard. "Just think about it, yeah? Since we've gotten our souls and started fightin' the good fight, have we done anything right?"
Angel's eyes narrowed. "Other than all the lives we've saved, you mean?" he asked acidly.
Spike rolled his eyes. "An' what about those we lost? Everythin's gone wrong, an' you know it. Hell, we even managed to destroy LA, an' that takes real buggering-up."
Angel felt a brood coming on.
"So," Spike said earnestly – and "Spike" and "earnest" were NOT meant to be used together – "what we gotta do is try'n be evil again. An' 'cause we can't do anythin' right, it'll backfire, which means we'll actually be doin' good."
His head hurt. "Spike," he said slowly, "have you completely lost you mind?"
"The white-haired one may be correct," Illyria interrupted calmly. Spike looked briefly startled, then nodded, smiling smugly.
"Hear that, tosser? I'm right."
Angel wondered if Spike's special brand of idiocy was contagious, because truth be told, the moron's plan actually made a kind of twisted sense. It wouldn't work, of course, but it was better than doing nothing. Unless… "I'm not killing anyone," he said definitely.
Spike snorted. "S'not killing I got planned, mate. No, we're goin' for real evil here. We're goin' shoppin'."
"Shopping," Angel repeated blankly. "Spike, shopping isn't evil." He reconsidered. "Well, unless you're with Cordelia."
"Not shoppin' itself that's evil," Spike said impatiently, "but where we're gonna go shoppin'."
Angel eyed him warily, thinking that the way the other vampire's face seemed shrouded in shadows was particularly ominous.
"I'm not going to go evil shopping," Angel decided quickly, remembering how most of Spike's plans tended to pan out. Plus, he wasn't really big on wrongdoing these days. "I'm not going to be evil, I mean."
"Morally ambiguous shopping, then," Spike said, annoyed. "The point is – "
"Exactly where will this morally ambiguous shopping take place?" Angel asked shrewdly, hoping it wouldn't be one of those demon blood'n'guts stores. They always smelled terrible, and he did not need that kind of stench clinging to his clothes.
Spike's grin was reminiscent of William the Bloody's when he was at his worst. Or best. Whatever.
"Think about it, Angel. Evil store…"
Angel growled impatiently.
"Give you a hint: they're big clients of Wolfram and Hart," Spike told him, looking very self-satisfied.
Angel gaped as all the pieces finally clicked together. "No," he murmured, "not even you would be that – "
"S'right, mate," Spike said with a smirk. "We're goin' to Wal-Mart."
"You know," Angel said sourly as he stalked through the hotel halls back to their room, Illyria trailing behind them with her arms full of purchases, "you could've just said you wanted chips and beer."
"Oh, please. Like you'd 'av listened? Wanker."