This was written for getyourwordsout's Yahtzee challenge Full House prompt and to the word prompt of "acidic". I also had to write something that fit the bill of happy/fluffy.

I just finished rewatching Angel and I'm still so freaking mad about Cordelia Chase. This was inspired by the fact I wish we had Cordelia snarking at Spike in season five.

Title from Yemi Aladez' "Single and Searching".


hello, i'm talking to you

Cordelia sits in Angel's oversized chair, doing her best not to look uncomfortable. She's unclear when this war sparked between her and Billy Idol's poor wannabe, but she's been quietly enjoying herself. The jelly in her heels, the childish farting cushion on her chair… It's made her laugh harder than she's ever laughed in years.

But she refuses to let those bursts of amusement—the ones she declares to Spike are out of mere pity for the poor, unfunny and disliked vampire—as she stares him down. Her elbows dig uncomfortably into the wood of Angel's stupidly large desk as she rests her chin on the top of her hands. She stares at Spike, doing her best not to look away.

He stares back, lips pursed. A mug sits between them, pushed closer towards Spike.

"It's not spiked," she smiles sweetly.

"That's not funny," he says, eyes narrowing at her. "Do you know how many times I've heard that one in my life? Even the old geezer's gotten quippier than you. Guess being in a coma really made you unfunny."

"Then drink it," she says calmly, accentuating it with a shrug. The fact his brow doesn't so much as twitch is a good sign: it means her practicing her shrugs in the mirror has paid off. "It's just blood."

His eyes narrow almost comically before he nods. "All right!" He inhales heavily and moves, his chair squeaking. In a fit of paranoia, he glances over his shoulder as if she has a whoopee cushion being placed magically from the ceiling onto his seat.

Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he scoots the office chair closer to the desk. Knees hitting beneath the table, he clears his throat once more. Hands wrapping around the mug, he merely holds it, glancing down at it. "Hm. It's properly warmed."

Cordelia rolls her eyes. "I know how to warm blood, doofus."

Spike pulls a face and makes a noise in his throat, no doubt his mockery of her. Lifting the mug towards his face, he takes a sniff… and nods, lips pursed happily. "Hm. Smells like a proper mug of blood."

"Duh!" Cordelia smiles widely, laughing. She slaps her hands against the desk and leans back in Angel's chair. It squeaks. She twists, trying to stop the unstable back from tipping over. "How does he sit in this stupid big ass chair?"

"Beats me," Spike shrugs. As she reaches for the lever of the chair, she hears him slurp.

And spits out the drink.

Angel's papers are saturated in an icky, oozing red. Spike's chin's doing no better, a casualty of red dripping down his neck and onto the wooden table. "Yuck! What the bloody hell is in this thing?"

Cordelia smiles, ignoring the way the chair's back tilts backwards as if it's trying to escape the room. Hands clasped on the table, she watches as Spike purposefully spits on Angel's desk.

"Honey."

"Honey?" Spike wipes his tongue with the back of his hand. "You know I hate honey! It's too sweet!"

"And pure and innocent and blah blah blah." Cordelia rolls her eyes and leans back in the chair. Her hands reach out to grab at the arms to stop herself from falling.

"I'm going to get you," he says, dropping the mug onto the desk. It tips over and spills blood all over the wood and papers and drips down the sides. Neither of them cares—it's Angel's desk, after all. "I'm going to get you and you are going to regret—Cordy, come on." He sighs heavily, shaking his head. He begins to walk around the desk. "This is bloody pathetic. How am I meant to insult you and threaten you if you're not paying attention?"

"I'm paying attention!" She tugs at the lever and the back of the seat falls down further. When she pulls at it again, it shoots up and hits her in the back. "How does he adjust this stupid seat?"

"Well, for one," Spike says, kneeling on the ground and swatting her hand away from the lever, "he's a big, old idiot. Sometimes it happens by mistake for him." As he sets the chair to Cordelia's preferred height (a height that's too short for Angel) and pushes the back ramrod straight (too straight for Angel's liking), Spike sits back on his knees proudly. He's a comical sight with all the blood on his face.

"Thank you," Cordelia says with a smile.

"What… happened?" Angel regards the desk with a furrowed brow. "How—Why? Did you change my chair again, Cordy?"

Cordelia grins as widely as she can before she points to Spike. "The blood was Spike!"

Shaking his head in clear disappointment, Spike stands. He wipes the back of his hand against his chin before wiping his bloodied hand against the edge of the wooden desk. "She put bloody honey in it, mate."

Angel looks at the desk in bewilderment. "My stuff…"

Spike comes to stand beside him and claps him hard on the shoulder, leaving a bloodstain on the sleeve of his business shirt. "Maybe you should lock your door, mate. Anyone can just come in."

"It was locked…"

Spinning in Angel's chair, Cordelia shrugs at him. "Looks like you have a mess on your hands, bub." Pushing out of the chair, she takes quick and purposeful long strides away from the desk. "I think I'll leave you to clean it up."

Before Angel can swoop her into his arms, she runs out the door to find Spike.


notes.

Thanks for reading! You can find me at finnicks at Tumblr.