AtS/Dr. Who: The Calendar Says Nothing About Architecture or Hair Gel
Title: The Calendar Says Nothing About Architecture or Hair Gel
Crossover: Angel the Series and Dr. Who
Characters: Angel, Spike, the 10th Doctor, Harmony (via intercom) and 4th Doctor (via allusion)
Rating: PG-13. A small sexual innuendo here and there. Because Spike can't behave.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Angel the Series or Dr. Who. Everybody's copyrights are safe from me.
Summary: Angel's desk calendar has not been properly updated to include all of the days events.
Angel's day actually started off just like any other day.
“Spike, get out of my office.”
“Oi, hands off the coat.”
A great, whooshing sound filled Angel's office. Angel and Spike paused in their scuffling to watch a blue box with the word “Police” emblazoned across the top appear out of thin air.
“Haven't seen one of those in years. How'd it get in here?”
“Quiet, Spike.”
They watched silently as a tall, thin man dressed in a rather dapper brown pinstriped suit with incongruously messy hair emerged from the box and stared in what looked like gleeful amazement at the floor to ceiling window overlooking Los Angeles.
“Excuse me, but did you realize that this whole building is completely covered in necrotempered glass? That's just astounding. I mean, truly astounding.”
Angel was having no small amount of trouble coping with this bizarre deviation from his typical morning schedule. He longed to return to his normal activity of throwing Spike out of his office before sitting down at his desk to a steaming cup of coffee and a printer-warm pile of documents ready for his signature. “Who are you? How'd you get in here?”
“I'm the Doctor.”
“Friend of yours, Angel?”
“Shut up, Spike. How'd you get in here?”
“In the TARDIS. I picked up your glazing on my scanners. It's fantastic! Do you know that this type of glass won't even be commonly available on Earth until the Plasmavores invade in 2498? Must have cost a pretty penny. I mean, that the builder could even find a building supply firm that could even get it here and now is just amazing!” The Doctor, apparently unable to convey his excitement through his breakneck speech pattern and his wild gesticulations alone, bounced on his toes as he explained just how amazing the windows really were.
Spike, for reasons he suspected had to do with wanting to feel like he was having a normal conversation with someone who was altogether too enraptured about building materials to actually be normal, felt compelled to offer some form of explanation. “Yeah, well, money's no object for Wolfram & Hart. Right, Angel?” He turned to speak to the silently dumbfounded larger vampire. “I am right. You know that. And you ought to congratulate me on the amount of tact I'm showing by not mentioning the fact that your new boyfriend makes about as much sense as Dru.”
Angel had had enough. “Enough! Everybody just shut up! Who are you?”
“I'm called the Doctor.”
“Doctor what?”
“Just Doctor.”
“Okay, 'Just Doctor', what are you doing here?”
Spike snorted. “Come to borrow some of your hair gel, from the look of it. Are you sure this isn't the new beau, Angel? I mean, it already looks like you're sharing hair care products. Do you style each other's hair to stick straight up after sharing tender morning moments?”
“Stop that!” hissed the Doctor.
“Shut the hell up!” shouted Angel.
“Oooo. Looks like we've got a house full of boys who're feeling just a tiny bit uncomfortable about their masculinity and sexuality,” smirked Spike.
Angel summoned up his energy and tried, once again, to seize control of the situation. He hoped it worked this time. He faced Spike. “Spike, you shut up.” He turned to face the Doctor. “You. Doctor. What are you doing here?”
“Just out exploring a bit. Architecture's really quite fascinating and fun.”
“We're not here to have fun. We're here to work. We're lawyers, not architects.”
“Better not let the State Bar hear you call yourself that,” Spike said warningly. “And did you just slam the whole architectural profession? Wait'll that gets out. You'll lose at least three demon architecture firms and possibly two demon design/build contractors as clients.”
The Doctor snorked into his palm in a failed attempt to make his guffaw sound like a cough. Angel ignored him and turned to Spike. “Spike, I told you to shut up. You're not helping.”
“No, but I'm having fun.”
At the mention of the word “fun”, the Doctor smiled broadly. “Speaking of fun, I'm just off to visit a church in Sedona, Arizona. Built right into the side of a mountain, I'm told. Brilliant.” He looked at Spike. “Want to come along?”
“I tend to stay away from the houses of the holy. Too much risk of going up in flames, but too disrespectful to walk in with a fire extinguisher at the ready. I'll tell you what, though. Whenever you're up for watching a football game --- and I don't mean American football, I mean proper football --- come on by. I'm always up for a game of footie, mate.”
A look of recollection crossed the Doctor's smiling face. “Yeah, that's right. You are. Fantastic!” Stepping back into the door of the blue box, the Doctor turned and waived. “Great. Well. See you soon, then.” The Doctor closed the door, and the TARDIS dematerialized in the midst of a rushing, windy, whooshing sound.
“Well, then, Angel, I'll just be off. You might want to close your mouth now, before your jaw gets stuck in that dropped position.” Spike swirled and strutted out of the office, his leather coat flapping around his legs.
Angel slowly moved to his desk and sat down. He buzzed for Harmony. “Harmony, will you come in here, please? Bring a hard copy of the master calendar, too. There was just this ... thing that happened that isn't on my calendar. Make sure that doesn't happen again.”
“Sure thing, boss. But, you know, that kind of thing is going to keep happening if you keep on using a paper calendar book-thingie instead of just looking on the master calendar on the computer network. Oh, and I've just scheduled you and Spike for a 2 o'clock meeting this afternoon with a big, tall English guy with curly red hair and really long scarf. Weird. It's all sunny and warm and everything and he was wearing a really long scarf. I mean like wrapped around his neck a few times and still dragging on the ground long. He said it might be cold at the soccer game he's going to tonight. Except he called it football at first. Anyway, it's on the master calendar. Make sure you write it down right now in your calendar book-thingie. You want a cup of coffee, too?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.” Angel switched off the intercom and laid his head down on his desk. It was going to be a long and unusual day.
Crossover: Angel the Series and Dr. Who
Characters: Angel, Spike, the 10th Doctor, Harmony (via intercom) and 4th Doctor (via allusion)
Rating: PG-13. A small sexual innuendo here and there. Because Spike can't behave.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Angel the Series or Dr. Who. Everybody's copyrights are safe from me.
Summary: Angel's desk calendar has not been properly updated to include all of the days events.
Angel's day actually started off just like any other day.
“Spike, get out of my office.”
“Oi, hands off the coat.”
A great, whooshing sound filled Angel's office. Angel and Spike paused in their scuffling to watch a blue box with the word “Police” emblazoned across the top appear out of thin air.
“Haven't seen one of those in years. How'd it get in here?”
“Quiet, Spike.”
They watched silently as a tall, thin man dressed in a rather dapper brown pinstriped suit with incongruously messy hair emerged from the box and stared in what looked like gleeful amazement at the floor to ceiling window overlooking Los Angeles.
“Excuse me, but did you realize that this whole building is completely covered in necrotempered glass? That's just astounding. I mean, truly astounding.”
Angel was having no small amount of trouble coping with this bizarre deviation from his typical morning schedule. He longed to return to his normal activity of throwing Spike out of his office before sitting down at his desk to a steaming cup of coffee and a printer-warm pile of documents ready for his signature. “Who are you? How'd you get in here?”
“I'm the Doctor.”
“Friend of yours, Angel?”
“Shut up, Spike. How'd you get in here?”
“In the TARDIS. I picked up your glazing on my scanners. It's fantastic! Do you know that this type of glass won't even be commonly available on Earth until the Plasmavores invade in 2498? Must have cost a pretty penny. I mean, that the builder could even find a building supply firm that could even get it here and now is just amazing!” The Doctor, apparently unable to convey his excitement through his breakneck speech pattern and his wild gesticulations alone, bounced on his toes as he explained just how amazing the windows really were.
Spike, for reasons he suspected had to do with wanting to feel like he was having a normal conversation with someone who was altogether too enraptured about building materials to actually be normal, felt compelled to offer some form of explanation. “Yeah, well, money's no object for Wolfram & Hart. Right, Angel?” He turned to speak to the silently dumbfounded larger vampire. “I am right. You know that. And you ought to congratulate me on the amount of tact I'm showing by not mentioning the fact that your new boyfriend makes about as much sense as Dru.”
Angel had had enough. “Enough! Everybody just shut up! Who are you?”
“I'm called the Doctor.”
“Doctor what?”
“Just Doctor.”
“Okay, 'Just Doctor', what are you doing here?”
Spike snorted. “Come to borrow some of your hair gel, from the look of it. Are you sure this isn't the new beau, Angel? I mean, it already looks like you're sharing hair care products. Do you style each other's hair to stick straight up after sharing tender morning moments?”
“Stop that!” hissed the Doctor.
“Shut the hell up!” shouted Angel.
“Oooo. Looks like we've got a house full of boys who're feeling just a tiny bit uncomfortable about their masculinity and sexuality,” smirked Spike.
Angel summoned up his energy and tried, once again, to seize control of the situation. He hoped it worked this time. He faced Spike. “Spike, you shut up.” He turned to face the Doctor. “You. Doctor. What are you doing here?”
“Just out exploring a bit. Architecture's really quite fascinating and fun.”
“We're not here to have fun. We're here to work. We're lawyers, not architects.”
“Better not let the State Bar hear you call yourself that,” Spike said warningly. “And did you just slam the whole architectural profession? Wait'll that gets out. You'll lose at least three demon architecture firms and possibly two demon design/build contractors as clients.”
The Doctor snorked into his palm in a failed attempt to make his guffaw sound like a cough. Angel ignored him and turned to Spike. “Spike, I told you to shut up. You're not helping.”
“No, but I'm having fun.”
At the mention of the word “fun”, the Doctor smiled broadly. “Speaking of fun, I'm just off to visit a church in Sedona, Arizona. Built right into the side of a mountain, I'm told. Brilliant.” He looked at Spike. “Want to come along?”
“I tend to stay away from the houses of the holy. Too much risk of going up in flames, but too disrespectful to walk in with a fire extinguisher at the ready. I'll tell you what, though. Whenever you're up for watching a football game --- and I don't mean American football, I mean proper football --- come on by. I'm always up for a game of footie, mate.”
A look of recollection crossed the Doctor's smiling face. “Yeah, that's right. You are. Fantastic!” Stepping back into the door of the blue box, the Doctor turned and waived. “Great. Well. See you soon, then.” The Doctor closed the door, and the TARDIS dematerialized in the midst of a rushing, windy, whooshing sound.
“Well, then, Angel, I'll just be off. You might want to close your mouth now, before your jaw gets stuck in that dropped position.” Spike swirled and strutted out of the office, his leather coat flapping around his legs.
Angel slowly moved to his desk and sat down. He buzzed for Harmony. “Harmony, will you come in here, please? Bring a hard copy of the master calendar, too. There was just this ... thing that happened that isn't on my calendar. Make sure that doesn't happen again.”
“Sure thing, boss. But, you know, that kind of thing is going to keep happening if you keep on using a paper calendar book-thingie instead of just looking on the master calendar on the computer network. Oh, and I've just scheduled you and Spike for a 2 o'clock meeting this afternoon with a big, tall English guy with curly red hair and really long scarf. Weird. It's all sunny and warm and everything and he was wearing a really long scarf. I mean like wrapped around his neck a few times and still dragging on the ground long. He said it might be cold at the soccer game he's going to tonight. Except he called it football at first. Anyway, it's on the master calendar. Make sure you write it down right now in your calendar book-thingie. You want a cup of coffee, too?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.” Angel switched off the intercom and laid his head down on his desk. It was going to be a long and unusual day.