Chapter Text
They were eight hundred and fifty-five miles out of Pentagram City and Vox still hadn’t said a word to him. And as much as Angel didn’t give a damn about the guy, the silence had gotten old about fifty miles ago.
“So,” he said at last, “seen any good shows lately?”
Vox drove on.
“Oh. Forgot who I was talkin’ to. Ya made any good shows lately?”
Vox’s sour expression didn’t change.
“Cuz I gotta say, I ain’t the only one that wants a version of Smash and Grab! where the contestants get chased by real giant scorpions. Everyone in the studio’d watch.”
Nothing. Not even the crease of a brow.
Fine. You wanna be that way?
He reached for the dashboard radio’s dial.
“We’ll meet again…don’t know whe—”
“Fuck’s sake.” Vox slapped his hand away and snapped the radio off before Alastor’s voice could croon another note.
“Now how about that? And here I thought someone’d hit your Mute button,” Angel said as he settled back into his seat.
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Only if I’m paid ta. Ya got five grand on ya, Vox?”
“Mr. Vox. And I suggest you learn how to do that for free.”
“Eh, free ain’t really my thing.”
Vox’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. He glared at the road ahead as if it had personally offended him and he was about to take a hit out on it.
Angel huffed out a sigh. “Ya know,” he said, leaning back against the seat, “I don’t exactly wanna be here, either.”
“Then pretend you aren’t.”
“Kinda hard to do that with you fumin’ hard enough about it ta blow a circuit or five.” Did he have circuits? “Do ya have circuits?”
“If you want me to leave you by the side of the road, keep talking.”
“And when Val asks ya where his third wheel went?”
“Worth it.”
Though they both knew it wouldn’t be.
Vox sighed. “I drive. You read, or stare out the window, or take a nap, or whatever it is you do when Val isn’t mauling you in the backseat.” He blinked a few times—something he did a lot of when he was thinking. “What do you do when you’re a passenger?”
“Usually this.”
“For I found you, the love of my li—”
Vox slapped his hand away again and snapped the knob to the left with enough force to break it. “So you piss people off until they gag you and toss you in the backseat.”
“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time, sailor.”
Vox shook his head, and the dry chuckle he gave made Angel raise his brow. “Damn, I finally got a laugh outta ya. Who’da thought it?”
Vox snorted. “You really are a little shit, huh?”
“Eh, we all have our vices.” Angel propped his feet up on the dashboard. “So, you wanna tell me why ya let the Radio Demon wreck music for ya?”
“Not really. And no, he didn’t. But he’s an even bigger pain in the ass than you somehow.”
“Oh yeah? Wanna tell me about it?”
Vox rolled his eyes. Actually fucking rolled them!
“Well, suit yourself.” Angel glanced at the GPS. “But it’s a long drive to that dinghy Val calls a yacht. And we both ain’t exactly the silent type, seems like. Me listenin’ to every sob story of every john I blow; you tryin’ to blow half the Pentagram. What? Why that look? Ain’t that what they call advertisin’ these days?”
“Val’s right: you have a mouth on you.”
“You wanna try it out.”
“You want me to throw up?”
“Val’s right: you are a kinky bastard.”
Angel chuckled as Vox’s mouth opened, closed. Angel: 1, Vox: 0.
His shoulders slumped as he sighed. “You aren’t going to shut up, are you?”
“Would you like me to?”
“More than I can possibly say.”
“Well, too bad. Looks like you’ll haveta keep listening.” Angel stretched his upper arms over his head because goddamn was sitting in the same position for hours a great way to put your arms to sleep, not to mention the rest of you. “The way I see it, we got two choices here: hate each other quietly or hate each other out loud like the two miserable fucks we are. Who knows? Might help ya skip the foreplay and get right down to it when Val jumps ya tonight. Oh, c’mon. The walls on that boat are like rice paper. Goddamn, the things I’ve heard….”
Vox’s screen was so red that Angel wondered if it was going to explode. Shit. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about the side of the road. Because the longer Vox stayed quiet, the more likely that would be a possibility. But after a while, the redness faded.
“Why do you do that?” Vox finally asked. “Trying to wind me up,” he went on when Angel stared at him. “We don’t like each other, neither of us want you to be here, and I’m pretty sure you won’t like it when I tell Val you’ve been a snotty little shit all the way down.”
“So yer tellin’ me you’re a stuck-up bastard and a tattletale? What talents don’t ya have?”
“See, there you go again.” Vox glanced over him. The sour, pinched expression he usually wore in Angel’s presence was different, somehow. That irritated little frown pulled into a line; his eyebrows swooped downward. As he looked away, Angel realized the expression was one of curiosity.
Angel uncrossed his arms and turned his gaze back to the road. It was nearly empty now. Either it was just one of those days when the traffic was light, or the drivers all decided to take a different route as soon as they heard the dread TV Demon was on the freeway.
“Is there, like, a signal people have for you? Do they flash their headlights to let people know yer driving their way, like they do with the cops?” The fact Vox didn’t snark back at that, though, could only mean one thing.
“You’re dodging the question.” Yep, and there it was.
“I dunno,” Angel said, slumping back into the leather seat. (Damn, this car’s a beauty. Only the best for Hell’s high-rollers, of course.) “I just do. Somethin’ to make the time pass. I ain’t a real big fan a silence.”
“Mhm. That makes two of us.”
“’Specially not when whoever I’m with gets as riled up as you.” That got a snort of laughter.
“All right,” Vox conceded. “You’re a fan of deals, I take it.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Then I’ll make you one. You leave the fucking radio alone, and we’ll keep this hate-in going until we hit the turnoff.”
“Good idea. You wanna shake on that?”
“You wanna end up as roadkill if I take my hand off this wheel while we’re doing a hundred and five?”
“Now hold on. Don’t be so dramatic. There’s plenty of normal ways to fix that fucked-up face of yours than an asphalt scrub. Maybe.”
That got a chuckle. “But none to fix the mirrors your face breaks when you’re not wearing an entire cosmetics counter.”
“Hm. On second thought, maybe ya should gag me and toss me in the backseat if that’s the best comeback ya got.”
“I bet you say that to all the pretty boys.”
“Nah, just you.”
“Touching.”
And so it continued until they hit the turnoff to the beach. And well after.