The shrill, persistent ringing of the telephone cut through Spike’s sleep. Growling, he picked up the receiver and rapidly replaced it, cutting off whoever was calling. He settled back under the covers and was beginning to drift back to sleep when the phone rang again. This time he left the receiver lying beside the telephone. With a contented grunt, he closed his eyes.

The phone rang again. He sat up quickly, eyeing the phone suspiciously. The receiver was definitely off the hook, so why the hell was it ringing? He picked it up carefully.

“Hello?”

“’Ello? Spike! Come sta? ‘Ow are you? Still so ‘andsome, yes?” The booming Italian voice made Spike wince and he moved the phone away from his ear.

“Wha…”

“It’s me! Ilona. Ilona Costa Bianchi. You remember me, huh?”

“I...”

“Sure you do! I hear that The Immortal got you your ‘ead back. Is good, no? So all is peaceful in Los Angeles or at least as peaceful as it ever is! Those Americans – so quick with the violence. Not like we Europeans, huh?”

“I…” Spike began again.

“It was so good to see you in Roma! I’m so sorry your trip was… a bit eventful. You must come back again soon and see how friendly we can be, yes?”

“I…” He gave it one more attempt.

“Va bene.” Ilona barely paused for breath. Spike gave up. “Listen, is good to chat with you, but down to the business. We have a leetle problem. There is a renegade in town. A friend of yours, I’m thinking. She is… ‘ow you say in English… completely bonkers.” Ilona chuckled with delight. “Such a wonderful language! But not so much for the making love, no? For that you need the Italian. Ecco. She is causing… one or two leetle problems ‘ere in Roma. We could just eliminate her naturally, but I know that she is special to you, and to Angelus too, so we think, maybe you like to come over and… sort her out.”

Spike’s befuddled brain struggled to keep up with the woman’s rapid-fire, heavily accented English. “Special? Wha… you mean Buffy?”

Ilona laughed. “No! No! The slayer? Oh, no! She is not a problem, you know, especially now she and the Immortal are innamorati, no?” Spike winced as Ilona went on. “No, this one, she is vampira.

Spike felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach. “Dru.”

“Si. Drusilla. She is being a very naughty girl, so maybe 'er man should come and show 'er the errors of her ways.”

“I’m not… “Spike paused. Rome, huh? “So you want us to…”

“No, no, no!” Ilona interrupted him, “I think maybe we don’t need to bother Angeloos…”

“Angel,” he corrected her automatically.

“Oh, yes, the soul. Filthy gypsies! Pah! We shall speak of them no more. No. Is a small thing, maybe, but it would be a great service to us. And you get the chance to come back to Italia.” Her voice dropped seductively. “And maybe I can show you a leetle of the real Roma… a leetle bit of the Italian amore, huh?”

“Errm… yeah... right… thanks…”

Prego. So, you come soon, yes? Va bene. Ciao, bellissimo. Arrivederci. Kiss, kiss.”

Spike sat for a moment in stunned silence staring at the telephone. “She seems nice,” he said eventually.

*******

“GIT!” Spike followed Angel along the corridor of Wolfram and Hart, duster flapping.

Angel stopped and turned to him with an exasperated sigh. “Spike, I am not letting you take my jet.”

“Company jet! It’s the bloody company jet! And I’m part of this company, for better or worse, so I should get the jet.” He faced up to Angel, jaw set stubbornly.

But Angel had Spike beat in the stubborn department. “No.” He turned away and stalked off into his office with Spike in close attendance.

“So how am I supposed to get to Rome? That Italian bird wants me over there, do a bit of company business for her, so you got no right to stop me.”

Angel sat down at his desk, ignoring the younger vampire and began to read his mail. “If she wants you, she can send her own jet.”

“She can’t.” Spike scowled and perched on the edge of Angel’s desk, arms folded. “Someone hijacked it. Holding it to ransom or something.” He glared down at Angel. “I know what this is. You’re jealous.”

Angel looked up with a pained expression. “I’m what?”

“Jealous! Because she called me, not you. Trusts me, she does, and you don’t like it.”

“She wants you to sort out Drusilla. It’s hardly an international incident.”

“Jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Spike snorted and looked off into the distance. “Are too.”

“Spike…” Angel ran his hand over his face, sighing. “If I loan you the jet will you promise not to come back?”

Spike grinned widely. “That’s the spirit!” He rubbed his hands together. “Where are the keys?”

Angel gave him a long-suffering look. “I’ll arrange things.”

“Just make sure the bar is well stocked. See if you can get some full size versions of those silly little itty bitty bottles. And a decent in-flight movie. Didn’t think much of your choice last time – I mean, Legend?”

“It wasn’t one of mine!” Angel looked away in obvious embarrassment. “Someone must have left it in there.”

“Look mate, you wanna ogle Tom Cruise in shorts, that’s fine by me. Personally, I like something with a bit more plot… and less in the way of unicorns.”

“I…” Angel pressed his lips together and shrugged, determined not to let Spike needle him. “Can you just go? Now. Please?”

“OK.” He stood up. “Anything you want me to do while I’m over there? Bring you something back? Nice leather jacket maybe?”

Angel looked at him for a moment. “One thing,” he said eventually. “When you’re in Rome… are you intending to… will you be… Look, the whole Immortal/ Buffy thing…

“That’s what’s worrying you? No! Over it, remember? Moving on and all that.” He gave Angel his best ‘trust me’ look. “Just going over, sorting out whatever the trouble is with Dru, coming straight home. Honest.”

“Just think it’s not a good idea to face up to the Immortal on your own.”

“I’m not scared of the great poof.” Spike was all bravado.

“No, of course not. Just not the time right now.”

“No. Quite right. I’ll stay clear.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Angel sighed heavily. “Why don’t I believe you? Just go. Try not to cause any more trouble than you have to.” Spike grinned and headed out of the office. “And if you get yourself dusted, don’t come running back to me… again.” Angel called after him. “Oh, and Spike?” Spike turned in the doorway. “Here.” Angel tossed him a flat package.

Spike frowned at it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“A book.” Angel returned to his pile of mail. “Italian for Idiots. Enjoy.”

Segaiolo," Spike muttered, turning away.

Angel frowned. “Was that insulting? That sounded insulting.”

Spike grinned. “Just tellin’ it like it is, mate, just tellin’ it like it is. Ciao.

Angel watched him go. He had half a mind to go with him, to get on the jet and head off for Rome – just to keep an eye on Spike, naturally, make sure he didn’t cause any problems with the Italian branch of his operation. Not at all to make sure he didn’t go after Buffy… The phone rang and he picked it up. With a sigh he settled down to listen to the latest saga of problems he had to address, the latest list of ruffled feathers that needed smoothing, the latest law case that needed fabricating. No escape, then. Half listening, he turned to his laptop and called up an on-line Italian dictionary. What was it Spike had called him? S.E.G...





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