FIC-13 Spangel: Interpersonal Communication
Title: Interpersonal Communication
Personal fanfic community: dfasgbaf
Personal fanfic group: DFAS Giles's Bloody Awful Fanfiction
Fandom: ATS
Characters/Relationships: Fred, Spike, and Angel; Angel/Spike.
Rating: FIC-13 for a couple swear words
Genre: M/M slash
Word Count:
Spoilers: General Angel S5.
Summary: Fred overhears a rather...stuck-at-an-impass argument between Spike and Angel as she passes Angel's office, and she decides mediation is definitely required to open two sets of apparently blind eyes.
Disclaimer: The characters Winifred Burkle, Spike, and Angel belong to Joss Whedon and all his industry affiliates. I get no profit from this story. I write it only for guilty pleasure and feel free to do so because Joss has encouraged such activity on more than one occasion.
Feedback: Constructive criticism, both negative and positive, will be accepted with grace and gratitude. Destructive criticism (insults without examples from my work and suggestions for improvement to fortify the insults) will be deleted and will earn a block from journal, community, inbox, or group, whichever and however many are applicable and/or possible. Pure, unadulterated praise is always welcome, of course!
Author's note: Inspired by a recent conflict where I believe both sides were talking at each other instead of listening, making it a lose/lose situation.
Distribution: Archive sites, etc., of which I am a member. Anyone else, please ask. If you're willing to share the archive info with me, I will probably say yes. Thanks for your interest!
Fred breezed through the hallway leading to the lobby toward the stairs to the lab. As she neared Angel's office, angry voices flew in her direction around the double doorframe. Eyes wide, her head turned slowly to gawk at Harmony.
Harmony shrugged. "Don't ask me. They've been going at it for, like, hours." Catching herself, she put her hand to her mouth and giggled. "Oh! I mean--"
Fred rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I know what you mean, Harmony," she cut her off, lips pressed tight in annoyance. She just wanted to know what all the fuss was about. She could tell, now, it was Spike in there having a shouting match with Angel. No surprise there, I suppose.
She tiptoed closer and leaned against the left side of the doorframe, craning her neck to listen, trying to figure out what could have the two in such an uproar.
"You're such a ponce!" Spike ground out in a whiney voice. "That music you insist on listening to is for the frilly cuffs and collars crowd of old. Get with the times, Gramps!"
"If it's so outdated," Angel asked in a dangerously low growl, "why do they still have radio stations that play it, hm? And, why do they still write more of the same style and call it 'modern'? Explain that!"
Spike scoffed. "Didn't say you were the only sick, boring person in the world."
"And, I suppose that noise you listen to is music?" Angel asked.
"You know it!" Spike answered immediately. "My music has guts to it. People speak their mind. Ain't afraid to do so, even if what they say isn't 'proper' or 'politically correct.' It's all about what matters to the people. What their passions are."
"Your 'music,' as you call it, has nothing to do with passion," Angel argued. "It sounds like a bunch of springs getting sprung and, frankly, from what I saw of the dancing you and Dru did to it--well, do I have to say more?" He chuckled, then continued. "Classical music is full of passion: the warm, soulful swell of a cello solo tugging at your heart; the sweet, gentle sound of a flute solo setting you at ease; the wild, tumultuous rise and fall of a movement played by the full orchestra giving you the sensation of intensity--"
"Oh-ho, please....'Movement' is right: bowel movement, as in complete and utter sh--"
"All right, that's it."
At Spike's crude comment and Angel's angry response, Fred had heard enough. The argument was getting nowhere, and it was obvious to her as to why. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped around the doorframe and strode purposefully into the middle of the office where her boss and her friend stood, hands gripping each other's shoulders, squaring off with each other.
They glanced at her but paid her little more attention, and that pissed her right off, so she shoved them apart.
"You two are bein' a couple of horses' heinies, you know that?"
Blinking, they turned to look at her.
"Excuse me?" Angel asked slowly.
She blushed, glancing at her shoes, then up at him. "I'm sorry. That was rude o' me, and might possibly defeat my original purpose o' comin' in here, but I hope not." She glanced nervously between them.
"Out with it, Fred."
She glanced at Spike, smiled shyly, and nodded. "Right. Well, here's how it is. You fellas have been arguin' in here for--well, according to Harmony, a real long time. I hope you don't mind, but I listened in for a spell, and I gotta tell ya, you could argue until you're blue in the face--oh. I guess you two wouldn't turn blue, since you don't require air and all."
"Fred...." Angel urged her on.
"Right. Sorry. Anyhow--" She turned to Spike-- "seems to me, Spike, that you aren't really givin' Angel half a chance to explain his side to you, and that's just not right." Angel smiled triumphantly at Spike over Fred's shoulder, and Spike was about to object, when Fred held a finger up to him. "I'm not finished." She turned to Angel. "You can wipe that grin right off your face, mister--and don't deny it, Angel, because I know you well enough by now to know it was there. I'm tellin' you right now that it doesn't belong because you weren't exactly givin' Spike his due, either."
She backed up so that she could see them both, then. "You two were trying to convince each other that your music was...worth listening to, I guess, right?" They both shrugged and wobbled their heads in pseudo nods. "Okay...I s'pose I'll take those as yesses...." She fidgeted a little, then continued. "Well, when a person is attempting persuasion, the object is to state your opinion, back it up with facts, and then ask your audience for questions and be prepared to respond with more facts to support your opinion." She focused them each with a firm stare before continuing. "You don't convince someone of your opinion with the 'my way or the highway' method. You hear what I'm sayin'?"
Spike spoke up. "But, he won't even give my music a chance! He calls it noise."
"You won't give mine a chance, either!"
"There's nothin' sayin' you have to like each other's music, is there?"
"Well...."
Angel scowled. "He insists on listening to it whether I'm in the same room or not."
"Likewise!" Spike glared at him.
Fred sighed. "Either of you ever heard of personal listening devices?"
They both just stared at her, slack jawed.
Her arms flopped before her in exasperation. "Headphones?"
"OH-oh!" they said in unison.
"Now, there's an idea!" Spike said, smiling, his eyes lit up.
"And, guys?" They both looked at her. "Even if you don't approve of each other's music or understand each other's tastes, y'all have been through a lot together that only you can know and understand. That gives you a bond no one else has with either of ya. You've also accomplished a lot without each other that deserves a lot of credit. Maybe you should think about showin' each other a little more respect and worryin' a little less about what each other thinks about the small stuff?" With that, she walked out of the office to let them chew for a spell on what she'd said.
Personal fanfic community: dfasgbaf
Personal fanfic group: DFAS Giles's Bloody Awful Fanfiction
Fandom: ATS
Characters/Relationships: Fred, Spike, and Angel; Angel/Spike.
Rating: FIC-13 for a couple swear words
Genre: M/M slash
Word Count:
Spoilers: General Angel S5.
Summary: Fred overhears a rather...stuck-at-an-impass argument between Spike and Angel as she passes Angel's office, and she decides mediation is definitely required to open two sets of apparently blind eyes.
Disclaimer: The characters Winifred Burkle, Spike, and Angel belong to Joss Whedon and all his industry affiliates. I get no profit from this story. I write it only for guilty pleasure and feel free to do so because Joss has encouraged such activity on more than one occasion.
Feedback: Constructive criticism, both negative and positive, will be accepted with grace and gratitude. Destructive criticism (insults without examples from my work and suggestions for improvement to fortify the insults) will be deleted and will earn a block from journal, community, inbox, or group, whichever and however many are applicable and/or possible. Pure, unadulterated praise is always welcome, of course!
Author's note: Inspired by a recent conflict where I believe both sides were talking at each other instead of listening, making it a lose/lose situation.
Distribution: Archive sites, etc., of which I am a member. Anyone else, please ask. If you're willing to share the archive info with me, I will probably say yes. Thanks for your interest!
Fred breezed through the hallway leading to the lobby toward the stairs to the lab. As she neared Angel's office, angry voices flew in her direction around the double doorframe. Eyes wide, her head turned slowly to gawk at Harmony.
Harmony shrugged. "Don't ask me. They've been going at it for, like, hours." Catching herself, she put her hand to her mouth and giggled. "Oh! I mean--"
Fred rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I know what you mean, Harmony," she cut her off, lips pressed tight in annoyance. She just wanted to know what all the fuss was about. She could tell, now, it was Spike in there having a shouting match with Angel. No surprise there, I suppose.
She tiptoed closer and leaned against the left side of the doorframe, craning her neck to listen, trying to figure out what could have the two in such an uproar.
"You're such a ponce!" Spike ground out in a whiney voice. "That music you insist on listening to is for the frilly cuffs and collars crowd of old. Get with the times, Gramps!"
"If it's so outdated," Angel asked in a dangerously low growl, "why do they still have radio stations that play it, hm? And, why do they still write more of the same style and call it 'modern'? Explain that!"
Spike scoffed. "Didn't say you were the only sick, boring person in the world."
"And, I suppose that noise you listen to is music?" Angel asked.
"You know it!" Spike answered immediately. "My music has guts to it. People speak their mind. Ain't afraid to do so, even if what they say isn't 'proper' or 'politically correct.' It's all about what matters to the people. What their passions are."
"Your 'music,' as you call it, has nothing to do with passion," Angel argued. "It sounds like a bunch of springs getting sprung and, frankly, from what I saw of the dancing you and Dru did to it--well, do I have to say more?" He chuckled, then continued. "Classical music is full of passion: the warm, soulful swell of a cello solo tugging at your heart; the sweet, gentle sound of a flute solo setting you at ease; the wild, tumultuous rise and fall of a movement played by the full orchestra giving you the sensation of intensity--"
"Oh-ho, please....'Movement' is right: bowel movement, as in complete and utter sh--"
"All right, that's it."
At Spike's crude comment and Angel's angry response, Fred had heard enough. The argument was getting nowhere, and it was obvious to her as to why. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped around the doorframe and strode purposefully into the middle of the office where her boss and her friend stood, hands gripping each other's shoulders, squaring off with each other.
They glanced at her but paid her little more attention, and that pissed her right off, so she shoved them apart.
"You two are bein' a couple of horses' heinies, you know that?"
Blinking, they turned to look at her.
"Excuse me?" Angel asked slowly.
She blushed, glancing at her shoes, then up at him. "I'm sorry. That was rude o' me, and might possibly defeat my original purpose o' comin' in here, but I hope not." She glanced nervously between them.
"Out with it, Fred."
She glanced at Spike, smiled shyly, and nodded. "Right. Well, here's how it is. You fellas have been arguin' in here for--well, according to Harmony, a real long time. I hope you don't mind, but I listened in for a spell, and I gotta tell ya, you could argue until you're blue in the face--oh. I guess you two wouldn't turn blue, since you don't require air and all."
"Fred...." Angel urged her on.
"Right. Sorry. Anyhow--" She turned to Spike-- "seems to me, Spike, that you aren't really givin' Angel half a chance to explain his side to you, and that's just not right." Angel smiled triumphantly at Spike over Fred's shoulder, and Spike was about to object, when Fred held a finger up to him. "I'm not finished." She turned to Angel. "You can wipe that grin right off your face, mister--and don't deny it, Angel, because I know you well enough by now to know it was there. I'm tellin' you right now that it doesn't belong because you weren't exactly givin' Spike his due, either."
She backed up so that she could see them both, then. "You two were trying to convince each other that your music was...worth listening to, I guess, right?" They both shrugged and wobbled their heads in pseudo nods. "Okay...I s'pose I'll take those as yesses...." She fidgeted a little, then continued. "Well, when a person is attempting persuasion, the object is to state your opinion, back it up with facts, and then ask your audience for questions and be prepared to respond with more facts to support your opinion." She focused them each with a firm stare before continuing. "You don't convince someone of your opinion with the 'my way or the highway' method. You hear what I'm sayin'?"
Spike spoke up. "But, he won't even give my music a chance! He calls it noise."
"You won't give mine a chance, either!"
"There's nothin' sayin' you have to like each other's music, is there?"
"Well...."
Angel scowled. "He insists on listening to it whether I'm in the same room or not."
"Likewise!" Spike glared at him.
Fred sighed. "Either of you ever heard of personal listening devices?"
They both just stared at her, slack jawed.
Her arms flopped before her in exasperation. "Headphones?"
"OH-oh!" they said in unison.
"Now, there's an idea!" Spike said, smiling, his eyes lit up.
"And, guys?" They both looked at her. "Even if you don't approve of each other's music or understand each other's tastes, y'all have been through a lot together that only you can know and understand. That gives you a bond no one else has with either of ya. You've also accomplished a lot without each other that deserves a lot of credit. Maybe you should think about showin' each other a little more respect and worryin' a little less about what each other thinks about the small stuff?" With that, she walked out of the office to let them chew for a spell on what she'd said.