"Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite

Chapter One"

RATING: PG. (some violence implied)

FEEDBACK: I'm always eager to hear your views so contact me and let me know at tanyajoy74@hotmail.com

DISCLAIMER: Angel and company belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox Television and WB television Network. Any other character belongs to me and this is purely an exercise of love and not for profit.

THANKS: Goes out to Mairoh the Warrior Goddess for her helpful beta. Cheers mate!

 

IN MEMORY OF T.R.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meghan opened her eyes and looked around. She was lying on a bed in a dark room; no it was more than a room. It was large and had echoes. A cave? She thought. Meghan moved and realised that she wasn't alone in the bed. She felt arms encircling her waist and a cool body pressed up tight against her. She shifted her weight as she tried to remember if she had gotten drunk last night or just why in hell there was a stranger here with her. Her movements wakened the person behind her.

"Meghan?"

"Angel?" Meghan turned her head and gazed on her friend. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Angel chuckled as he reached up and brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. "You mean to tell me you've forgotten last night?"

Meghan looked at him worriedly. "What about last night?"

"You know," Angel's voice dropped into a sexy growl. "What we did," he caressed her shoulder.

A look of shock crossed Meghan's face and she sat up. "Uh-oh, you mean we - "

Angel leaned back on one elbow and nodded. Meghan looked down and noticed she was wearing some sort of silky black lingerie that wasn't really doing a great job of covering anything. She moved over to her side of the big bed and slid out.

"Where are you going?" Angel purred.

"Just over here," Meghan moved over to a small table that held an old fashioned lantern on it. She looked about her and fully noticed the surroundings. The lamp showed only the bed, table and one Angel with a contented smug look on his face. Everything else was black. The black kind of black where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your face.

"Where are we?" Meghan asked as she looked about, her voice echoing.

"Who cares. I'm here, you're here," Angel slipped the covers of the bed back in invitation revealing his bare chest and tight black leather trousers. "Let's have some fun."

"Angel, are you well?" Meghan was starting to feel scared.

"I got sick and tired of all that self righteous crap," he leaned back and placed his arms behind his head. "Say hello to the new me."

A quiet chittering noise made it's presence felt in their small pool of light.

Meghan swung around at the sound. "What was that?"

Angel slid his right hand under the pillow and pulled something out that he hid behind his back. He slunk over to Meghan and placed a cool hand on her back making her jump.

"You weren't playing this hard to get last night," he murmured.

"Dammit Angel, I'm serious. I thought I heard something."

The sound echoed again. This time it appeared closer, louder and much scarier.

"There! That noise." Meghan pointed out into the darkness where she thought the eerie sound came from.

Angel reached up, slid a spaghetti strap off her shoulder, and nibbled gently on the curve of her neck. "I'm bored, come back to bed."

Meghan was becoming annoyed at Angel. "Will you listen to yourself? Where are we and what the hell is going on? Aren't you in the least bit interested about those questions?" she snapped at him in irritation.

Angel stepped back from Meghan and looked sadly at her. "It could have been something good," he shrugged. "Oh well."

He let his right hand drop to his side and, while Meghan was protesting at his lack of concern, he plunged the stake he was holding deep into her back.

Meghan felt a sharp agonising pain and looked down to see the tip of a stake protruding from between her breasts. The tip was dripping blood as she reached up to touch it.

"Why?" she whispered horrified.

Angel leant closer to her and grabbed her hair. He morphed into his vampire face.

"Why not," he replied as he wrenched her head to one side and plunged his fangs into her neck.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meghan sat up in bed gasping and reaching up to her chest; she didn't relax until she had made sure that there was nothing poking out. She had always thought the old movie cliché of sitting bolt upright gasping for breath after a nightmare was stupid, but after doing it for the past four nights running she wasn't thinking that anymore. Meghan glanced over to the clock and gazed at the luminous numbers.

Great, it's almost five in the morning. I'll never go back to sleep now. She threw back the covers, stumbled out of bed, and headed for the bathroom.

An exhausted Meghan turned on the light and shuffled over to the sink. The face that peered back at her wasn't looking the best. Her brown straight hair, with the natural red highlights that Meghan knew friends paid a small fortune for, was matted and sweaty from a night spent tossing and turning. Her green eyes were bloodshot and she didn't even want to think about the bags. She was actually looking her 29 years instead of passing for 24 as she usually did. She poked her tongue out at the reflection before rinsing out her mouth with some water. Then grabbing the hairbrush she stomped out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. She could use the extra couple of hours to finalise her report for Angel.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later that day Meghan wandered into Angel's office.

"Good morning," Cordelia called out cheerfully as she typed.

"What's so damn great about it?" Meghan snapped back.

"Well somebody forgot their morning fix of caffeine," Cordelia pouted and turned her back on the computer screen. "Oh wow. You look terrible."

Doyle walked into the main room cradling a cup of coffee. "Are you going on a trip?" he asked staring at the bags under Meghan's eyes.

"Har-de-bloody-har-har," Meghan smothered a yawn and added, "Everybody is a bloody comedian today."

Angel walked into the room and hung up his dark coat. "Hi, Meghan, have you finished that report yet?" he looked over to Meghan, who was slumped in a chair, and stopped startled. "You look -"

"Like crap I know."

"Actually I was going to say tired," he leaned over and peered at Meghan in concern. "Bad night?"

"Oh Angel, call a spade a spade," Cordelia waved her hand about airily. "She looks horrendous. I mean look at those eyes and look there," Cordy pointed at Meghan's forehead. "Is that a wrinkle forming? And the hair, don't get me started on the hair."

Meghan tipped her head back and glared at Cordelia. "I bet you go over really well at the suicide prevention helpline."

"Have you been sleeping okay?" Angel asked in concern.

"Oh I've been having a few nightmares. No biggie," Meghan smothered a yawn. "Well actually it's been the same damn one for four nights running."

"No big deal? Sounds more like you're being stalked, Meghan," Doyle handed her his coffee. "Here I think you need this more than I do."

"What is the dream about?" Angel pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Are you having dreams like Doyle? Maybe that's why it won't go away," Cordelia sounded excited at the thought.

"Hey, there is only room for one person to have those sort of dreams here," Doyle turned to Meghan. "So you can have the job, okay? I hate 'em."

Meghan's eyes flicked towards Angel guiltily. "It's just a lousy dream guys and I don't what to talk about it."

Cordelia perched herself on the corner of her desk. "Oh I sense something juicy here. Who did you dream about?"

Angel stood and gestured to Meghan. "Let's take this downstairs. I'm sure you two," he nodded to Doyle and Cordelia, "Have better things to do."

"Oh no," both protested.

"This is much more interesting," Cordelia added.

Sometimes Angel despaired of Cordelia's lack of sensitivity. "Don't you have some invoices to print or something?"

"Not until you get some more paying customers," Cordelia retorted.

Meghan stood up and handed Doyle back his coffee. She followed Angel into the elevator and they rode it down in silence.

"So," Angel pulled out a chair and indicated Meghan should take it. "Want to tell me what's really going on?"

"Its nothing Angel, just a dream."

"Just a dream that you've had four nights running," he leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "Maybe if you told me we could work out what it means."

Meghan didn't look convinced. Angel leant forwards and adopted his best 'I'm here to help' expression.

Meghan snorted at him. "Okay, if it will get you off my back," she sighed and drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "It starts in a cave and you're there, by the way," she looked up to see his reaction.

"Me? Why me?"

"Gee I dunno, Angel, just you're bad luck I guess," Meghan said sarcastically. "Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted. We're in a cave and I think I hear something. But it's black as sin out there and I can't see anything."

"What am I doing?"

"Um, well," Meghan looked about in embarrassment. "Just sitting around being your usual inscrutable self," she finally replied.

Angle smiled at that comment and looked down briefly.

"Well I'm all 'what's that?' and you can't hear anything. Or at least you act like you can't hear anything," Meghan shrugged and stared at the tabletop.

"Go on," Angel encouraged her.

"Well I sort of do my nut at you for not listening to me and the next thing I know you've pulled out a stake and stabbed me."

Angel pushed himself away from the wall and strode over to Meghan. "Why?"

"Funny I asked you the same question," she shivered and looked up at Angel. "It's safe to say you are no longer on my Christmas card list."

Angel crouched down next to Meghan and held her hands. "Are you okay?"

Meghan shrugged again and tried to avoid Angel's gaze. "That's not the worst bit." She swallowed uncomfortably before continuing. "You went all nasty vampire and bit me."

Angel understood how this might affect Meghan. He too remembered the night he had almost bitten her. "And you've had the exact same dream four nights running?"

Meghan nodded. "You're not thinking I'm doing a Doyle are you?" she looked closely at Angel's face. "Hey, you're not planning on going all bad guy on me?" she asked, half seriously.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Angel pulled a face at his pun. "But I'm still worried."

Meghan frowned. "Well, Sigmund Freud, shouldn't I be on a couch or something while you psychoanalyze my dreams?"

Angel smiled and stood up. "You're right. It's just a dream and probably means nothing. But," he held up a hand, "you will tell me if it doesn't go away?"

Meghan shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Now do you still want my report?"

"Absolutely."

Meghan pulled out a couple of grubby hand written sheets and passed them over. "I didn't get a chance to type them out," she apologised.

"That's all right. Cordelia never types them out properly anyway."

They both bent over the table and proceeded to work their way through the report.

 

è CHAPTER TWO