It's all AU.

Ianto had left a message in the hotel lobby for Spike before heading towards the cottage in the park, his jacket hooked over his shoulder as he tilted his head back to squint at the brightly-lit sky. No way to tell time here, but he would have a while, he thought, before Spike showed up. Long enough to get things set up.

( Cut for length )

Warning: Blood, lots of blood.

Lane had finally fallen asleep after another long run. Legs aching, he'd showered and fallen into bed naked, dropping quickly off into a deep sleep.

Once he heard the doorknob rattle, though, he was struggling awake among the tangled sheets.

The night, at least, was still quiet, and soothing, as Ianto padded through the park, his shoes in hand, and jacket abandoned somewhere further back, hung off a tree. It wasn't like he'd need to worry about it, not if he couldn't remember this place when he returned home. He scowled, and dropped the shoes at the base of a tree before he threw them, sliding his hands into his pockets instead as he kept on walking.

His knife was back in his pocket, though he had yet to see Jack since the incident in the hotel lobby. That he'd been making himself hard to find by walking all over this place might have had something to do with that, though. He pressed his lips together, shoving the entire tangle away for now.

A whisper-soft sound drew his attention, and Ianto slowed his step, angling for a large tree he could put his back to. Listening for any sound of another person out here with him.

Spike lay on his back on a blanket in a field not far from the town, head pillowed on his arms, gazing up at the stars. Beside him was a coolbox of beer (and juice, because it didn't hurt to be prepared) and a basket with picnic food. And a small bag with a few other supplies.

He'd left a note for Lane to tell him where to find him, but he was prepared to wait. He was perfectly content to gaze up at the sky, taking the occasional sip of beer and listening to the sounds of the night. This was his time and he felt at home.

It was night and Spike was out again, enjoying having the freedom of the town again after so long cooped up inside.

A burst of laughter leaked out from a bar as he passed, and he paused, cocked his head, and then headed inside. He'd missed bars too.

He headed up to the bar and got the bardroid's attention. "Pint of bitter and a pint of blood, mate."

It was shortly after nightfall.

The Doctor was restless, so he walked the streets to burn some energy, singing softly, just barely audible - "And when I look into the sky at night I want to go out and chase the stars
And like the catcher in the rye, I want stay where you are, I want to stay..."

He feel silent and slowed when he felt someone coming near, and glanced over his shoulder.

Lane was enjoying the cool night air, seated on the same bench he'd been at before, when he'd run into The Master. It may or may not have been intentional, last time.
This time it was most intentional.

Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he waited, trying not to imagine his posture with bared throat as that much of an offering to anyone else who happened by.

Lane took a last look around the corridor and knocked with a special code on one of the hotel room doors, waiting and listening for movement inside.

Spike was pacing round and round the bedroom, fed-up and just about ready to hit something. He'd been stuck inside for days, ever since the incident in the warehouse. He hadn't dared tell Lane what had happened, but he hadn't dared set foot outside either, not after only narrowly escaping from the warehouse before Jack, the Doctor and the Master had come back to deal with him. He'd put his coat over his head and made a run for it, dodging into building after building till he got back to the hotel, and he'd been stuck ever since.

He cast a disgruntled look round at the lovely room he and Lane had chosen, that had almost magically appeared for them. Even a huge tub and a massive bed lost their lustre after days of nothing else.

He heard a sound at the door and froze, listening hard, and only relaxing once he was certain it was Lane returning.

Spike was trapped in an empty warehouse. He'd been out for a stroll and, his sense of time being as off as everyone else's in this place, dawn had caught him unawares. His skin had been smoking by the time he'd ducked into the warehouse, and his disgust when he discovered it was completely empty and he had all day to kill had been immense. He'd slept for a bit, but he wasn't that tired, so he'd taken to stomping round and round the interior, pausing occasionally to take out his frustration on a wall or a bit of debris.

Yawning, Lane made his way back toward Spike's room with a tray of coffee cups. His sleep patterns didn't know which way was up anymore, though he seemed to be aligning himself with sleeping during the day lately.
So not that far off normal, then. Breakfast in late afternoon wasn't uncommon back home.

Balancing the tray on one palm, he opened the door and pushed through, careful not to spill any coffee - or blood.

Lane let go of the sitting room door and let it close behind him. He turned and engaged the lock, even as flimsy as it was. Sometimes it was all about intention.

After a breath to steady himself, he turned to Spike, who stood with his back still to him in the center of the room.

"I suppose that's why demons have done such a bang up job taking over humanity? Everything has to adapt, Spike, or it dies. And I'd really rather you stuck around for what time we have together, 'cause I'm not so sure everyone is as benign as this place would like us to believe."

Lane didn't move closer, waiting for a response. "With our without your abilities, I think we're both outpowered, here."

((A place to put more threads, since some people are having trouble with loading large pages))

The Master was sitting at one of the tables savoring a shot of whiskey as he waited for people to show up. He'd traded out of his usual politician's suit, for a longer, more closely tailored knee length jacket, and had actually lost the tie. The white rose remained pinned, of course.

Everything was set up. Tables, large enough for 4 or 5 people to sit comfortably, around the outside of the room. Food and open bar at the far wall from the doors. And still a fairly large space in the middle for dancing. It was going to be interesting to see how many people showed up, because frankly he wasn't sure what the population of the town was. He couldn't help but wonder, given the malleable and mind bending nature of the this place - if more people showed up then could really fit, would the room mysteriously seem bigger? It wasn't a completely absurd idea, here.

As predicted, there were no Doctors with red roses and black converses in sight, yet.

Finally, the Master was ready to post his notice for the party. He pinned it to a large bulletin board easily viewable in the hotel lobby. In careful flowing calligraphy it read,

"All are cordially invited

To an evening of conversation, food, drinking, music, and dancing

In the company of fellow visitors and semi-residents

Located at the hotel ballroom beginning at dusk tomorrow

Dress up is highly encouraged

Less than civilized behavior while in attendance not tolerated

With warm regards,

Koschei (who will be dressed in style) & Theta Sigma (who will probably be late)"

He was trying really hard not to laugh, as he stood back and looked at it. Ok, he laughed. And then wandered off, with a stupidly happy grin on his face.

Spike was sprawled in a chair in a secluded corner of the library. He was so relaxed and engrossed that when someone approached, he wasn't anywhere near quick enough to hide the volume of Victorian poetry he'd been reading.

He looked up at them with a sheepish grin.

Sally left the library with her arms full of books. She didn't really register how dark it was now, still somewhat dazed over the whole Shakespeare business. She wandered in the general direction of the hotel, not hurrying. She could see lights up ahead, and this finally made her realise that she was wandering alone in the dark with her arms full of books. Alone in the dark wasn't a new thing, but the armfull of books wasn't very practical. If anyone did threaten her, she supposed she could throw the complete works of Oscar Wilde at them. Not that anyone necessarily would, she supposed.

She heard footsteps behind her and to her left, and turned, flashing a wide smile, but carefully separating the topmost and heaviest book just in case.

Spike was up on the roof again. Not the hotel roof, because there was pretty much always one Jack or another in residence up there. And not the warehouse roof, because that held bad memories. He'd found another decently high roof, across the other side of the town, of some sort of office building, and he was gazing out over the town, breathing in the cool night air and occasionally swigging from the bottle of vodka dangling from his hand.

( Spoilers up to 2x03 )

( Cut for length and relevance. )

He ended up sitting on a nearby lobby couch, leaning over with his head in his hands as he tried to get his head into a place where he could even deal. Was he back because he'd dared wish he could come back? He'd nearly convinced himself it was all some elaborate dream, reaching for anything that could explain it.

At least he was dressed this time, if you also counted the armored suit under his street clothes.
He heard someone approach and stand in front of him, felt the pull of their presence, but didn't look up yet. He didn't want to know right now-he was still getting his mind around being back here.