William Fic, Chapter 14
Feb. 23rd, 2005 11:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookAnother short interlude of those two frustrating kids acting.... frustrating. I swear, this is how they make me write them. Argh. Previous parts here.
The Center, Part 14
For the return trip, he takes them up and over the rooftops. Easy to spot a hostile approach from any direction, leaping from building to building, all the crowds and traffic left far below. The whole of London spread out beneath them in a brilliant blanket, pinpoints of light like scattered jewels. White smoke rising from the brick towers of chimneys, and life and history everywhere--the curve of the Thames, the Houses of Parliament, the dome of St. Paul's, the glittering new wheel of the London Eye. Ever-changing tapestry, old and new.
It's a view of the city that was only ever his as a vampire.
Buffy keeps up with him easily, Slayer strength compensating for her short legs. She doesn't seem all that interested in the stunning scenery, though--keeps her eyes on her feet to make sure she's got good footing, weaving in and around the wires and chimneys. Sensible, that, especially given all the slick tiles from the rain.
He's not sensible.
A flying leap off a dark skylight he didn't quite see almost sends him skidding, glass cracking behind him and threatening to break, but he recovers. Lands with a solid thump on the peak of an old church and plants a boot solidly on the base of the big spire. Pauses. The night sky is open and clear, with gray clouds moving restlessly in front of the moon, and the wind whips his leather coat back, a black flag. The church spire rising up in front of him like the point of a sword.
Dramatic setting, really. Like something out of a movie poster. It's the sort of place where he really belongs.
But not Buffy.
A soft thump, and then she's scrambling up the steep grade to stand next to him, panting. Her little legs force her to climb the roof in a series of bouncing steps.
"What is it? Do you see something?" She scans the skyline for approaching threats, and then looks at him, curiously. Not much interest, apparently, for taking in the view.
He tries imagining it for a second, just for fun. Buffy in a heroic pose, chin high and proud. He's hugged up against her side, mirroring her, and it's just the two of them against the world. Staring out into the distance like the legendary warriors they both are.
He can't make it fit.
"Spike? Did you see something?" she says again. Worried now. Eyes on his face.
He'd been hopeful when they were back in the pub. Emotion flaring up like a stoked fire when she'd said that she'd defend him, and just for a second, it had been glorious. Fierce, gorgeous Buffy, stubborn-strong and diamond hard. His warrior queen.
But then she'd fallen silent and just sat there, sipping her coffee. Looking every bit as harried and grim-faced as she had in those last few days in Sunnydale. And if there was a larger reminder that being the Slayer wasn't the life she'd ever wanted, he didn't need it. The flare-up of hope inside of him had promptly turned to ash.
A normal life. That was what she wanted.
Seven years of slaying and still she was a tourist in this world. His world. She didn't want to live here. And it was hard to imagine a more dramatic difference between two people than that--wanting to be special as opposed to being special and not wanting it. His instincts might scream at him that they were really the same, but obviously he'd been wrong. Again.
Always bloody wrong.
"No," he says quietly, and steps off the roof in a bounding leap, touching the spire on the way down.
__________
When they arrive at the hotel, there's a package waiting for him at the front desk.
A manila envelope. Just his name scribbled on it, in black pen. Spike. Grinning, he rips the envelope open, even as Buffy grabs for it with a startled cry.
Not terribly likely that the council would try to kill him by letter bomb. Besides, he knows the penmanship.
A small black cell phone slides out, and he hits the speed dial.
"So you're you again," Angel's voice says the instant the line picks up.
"Seems like. And thanks for the new phone, by the way. Was wondering how I'd get a new one out of you." He begins walking toward the lift in long strides, Buffy trailing in his wake.
"Try not to lose this one. Not exactly a picnic for me getting all the right wards arranged. Not that you'd care."
"Got that right," he snorts. "But never mind that, listen up--guess what I saw today?" And then he lays out the story of the pictures at the gallery.
Angel makes a grunting sound. He can almost picture the old man's expression, the hunched over posture, the pulled-in brow. "So what did Buffy say?"
"That I'm full of it and it's a mistake, but she's going to talk to the council anyway." He punches the button for the lift.
"Good. Well, that's that then. How is she?"
The question catches him off guard. Apparently, nobody's worried about an army of Slayers besides him. Figures. He risks a glance at Buffy.
How is she? Well, she's staring straight ahead with a stone face, pretending not to listen to the call. Other than that, he has no damn idea. She's barely talked to him in the last two hours.
"She's fine," he says automatically.
"Funny. Last I saw her, she was pretty upset." A snort. "Over you."
The guilt hits on reflex. He's reminded with the sharpness of a slap why Buffy is even here at all. Fuck.
Psychological torture. Angel's specialty.
A lift comes. People flood into it, flowing around them, but he can't bring himself to move. Decides to wait for the next car. Buffy shoots him a weird look, which he ignores.
It might be Buffy's specialty too, now that he thinks about it. Psychological torture.
"Look, call her yourself if you really want to know," he hears himself saying. Too late for heading that one off at the pass, though--a flood of depression's already setting up shop in his gut, one that's probably going to need a good dose of scotch to drown under. Bitching out Angel won't help, although it never hurts. "And I thought you talked to her already."
"I did. So what did it?"
Huh? Another left-field question. "What did what?"
"The hex, lamebrain."
Oh. Right. What took the hex off. Deepest desire. Nosy bastard. "Well, I think the answer to that one would be none of your damn business."
"Fine. I only came to pick you up out of the gutter. Don't bother to tell me." The sarcasm's pretty thick, and a sigh of exasperation on the other end of the line... and then, finally, something to smile about. "Just out of curiosity..." Angel asks in a tone he probably thinks is casual. "How much of it do you remember?"
Wonderful. The miles of fun he's going to have with this.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he grins meanly, and then hangs up. Let the old boy stew. Buffy's looking at him curiously.
And then her phone rings. Of course.
"No, everything's good," he hears her say, in a sort of false cheery-bright voice. She turns away from him slightly to talk, and things go all hushed. He tries not to listen, but ends up tuning in on her voice anyway. "No, I-I... didn't really see," she whispers. "Something about..."
The hex again. Well, thanks a lot.
"No, we'll be staying here tonight," she says then, quite a bit louder, as if she wants him to hear this part. She listens, then finishes the call with a chatter of "fine, it's fine."
"Staying here tonight?" he repeats as she snaps her phone closed, puts it away. "Don't know if that's really such a good idea." Actually, he's sure that it's not. More than one reason why.
"We're fine here," she says firmly.
"You are. But maybe I should just--"
She gives him a narrowed-eye glare, really pointed, which shuts him up.
"Don't you even trust me to protect you anymore?"
Ouch.
He folds him arms, leans against the back wall in a casual slouch. "Of course I do," he says evenly. And she says nothing, just goes back then to staring at the wall.
More lifts come and go. Well-dressed guests flowing around the two of them, shooting them the occasional odd look. Well, he supposes it's true that Buffy looks like she belongs here while he doesn't. The lady and her leather lad.
Make for a good headline in the Daily Mirror.
"We're staying here," she says again with finality. "I'll talk to the council in the morning and sort all this out. Until then, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Okay?"
"Okay, then. Whatever you want. Fine."
"That's great. So we'll do that. Fine."
An empty lift finally arrives, and they step in. Stand on opposite sides of the elevator in identical crossed-arm poses and wait out the rest of the ride.
The Center, Part 14
For the return trip, he takes them up and over the rooftops. Easy to spot a hostile approach from any direction, leaping from building to building, all the crowds and traffic left far below. The whole of London spread out beneath them in a brilliant blanket, pinpoints of light like scattered jewels. White smoke rising from the brick towers of chimneys, and life and history everywhere--the curve of the Thames, the Houses of Parliament, the dome of St. Paul's, the glittering new wheel of the London Eye. Ever-changing tapestry, old and new.
It's a view of the city that was only ever his as a vampire.
Buffy keeps up with him easily, Slayer strength compensating for her short legs. She doesn't seem all that interested in the stunning scenery, though--keeps her eyes on her feet to make sure she's got good footing, weaving in and around the wires and chimneys. Sensible, that, especially given all the slick tiles from the rain.
He's not sensible.
A flying leap off a dark skylight he didn't quite see almost sends him skidding, glass cracking behind him and threatening to break, but he recovers. Lands with a solid thump on the peak of an old church and plants a boot solidly on the base of the big spire. Pauses. The night sky is open and clear, with gray clouds moving restlessly in front of the moon, and the wind whips his leather coat back, a black flag. The church spire rising up in front of him like the point of a sword.
Dramatic setting, really. Like something out of a movie poster. It's the sort of place where he really belongs.
But not Buffy.
A soft thump, and then she's scrambling up the steep grade to stand next to him, panting. Her little legs force her to climb the roof in a series of bouncing steps.
"What is it? Do you see something?" She scans the skyline for approaching threats, and then looks at him, curiously. Not much interest, apparently, for taking in the view.
He tries imagining it for a second, just for fun. Buffy in a heroic pose, chin high and proud. He's hugged up against her side, mirroring her, and it's just the two of them against the world. Staring out into the distance like the legendary warriors they both are.
He can't make it fit.
"Spike? Did you see something?" she says again. Worried now. Eyes on his face.
He'd been hopeful when they were back in the pub. Emotion flaring up like a stoked fire when she'd said that she'd defend him, and just for a second, it had been glorious. Fierce, gorgeous Buffy, stubborn-strong and diamond hard. His warrior queen.
But then she'd fallen silent and just sat there, sipping her coffee. Looking every bit as harried and grim-faced as she had in those last few days in Sunnydale. And if there was a larger reminder that being the Slayer wasn't the life she'd ever wanted, he didn't need it. The flare-up of hope inside of him had promptly turned to ash.
A normal life. That was what she wanted.
Seven years of slaying and still she was a tourist in this world. His world. She didn't want to live here. And it was hard to imagine a more dramatic difference between two people than that--wanting to be special as opposed to being special and not wanting it. His instincts might scream at him that they were really the same, but obviously he'd been wrong. Again.
Always bloody wrong.
"No," he says quietly, and steps off the roof in a bounding leap, touching the spire on the way down.
__________
When they arrive at the hotel, there's a package waiting for him at the front desk.
A manila envelope. Just his name scribbled on it, in black pen. Spike. Grinning, he rips the envelope open, even as Buffy grabs for it with a startled cry.
Not terribly likely that the council would try to kill him by letter bomb. Besides, he knows the penmanship.
A small black cell phone slides out, and he hits the speed dial.
"So you're you again," Angel's voice says the instant the line picks up.
"Seems like. And thanks for the new phone, by the way. Was wondering how I'd get a new one out of you." He begins walking toward the lift in long strides, Buffy trailing in his wake.
"Try not to lose this one. Not exactly a picnic for me getting all the right wards arranged. Not that you'd care."
"Got that right," he snorts. "But never mind that, listen up--guess what I saw today?" And then he lays out the story of the pictures at the gallery.
Angel makes a grunting sound. He can almost picture the old man's expression, the hunched over posture, the pulled-in brow. "So what did Buffy say?"
"That I'm full of it and it's a mistake, but she's going to talk to the council anyway." He punches the button for the lift.
"Good. Well, that's that then. How is she?"
The question catches him off guard. Apparently, nobody's worried about an army of Slayers besides him. Figures. He risks a glance at Buffy.
How is she? Well, she's staring straight ahead with a stone face, pretending not to listen to the call. Other than that, he has no damn idea. She's barely talked to him in the last two hours.
"She's fine," he says automatically.
"Funny. Last I saw her, she was pretty upset." A snort. "Over you."
The guilt hits on reflex. He's reminded with the sharpness of a slap why Buffy is even here at all. Fuck.
Psychological torture. Angel's specialty.
A lift comes. People flood into it, flowing around them, but he can't bring himself to move. Decides to wait for the next car. Buffy shoots him a weird look, which he ignores.
It might be Buffy's specialty too, now that he thinks about it. Psychological torture.
"Look, call her yourself if you really want to know," he hears himself saying. Too late for heading that one off at the pass, though--a flood of depression's already setting up shop in his gut, one that's probably going to need a good dose of scotch to drown under. Bitching out Angel won't help, although it never hurts. "And I thought you talked to her already."
"I did. So what did it?"
Huh? Another left-field question. "What did what?"
"The hex, lamebrain."
Oh. Right. What took the hex off. Deepest desire. Nosy bastard. "Well, I think the answer to that one would be none of your damn business."
"Fine. I only came to pick you up out of the gutter. Don't bother to tell me." The sarcasm's pretty thick, and a sigh of exasperation on the other end of the line... and then, finally, something to smile about. "Just out of curiosity..." Angel asks in a tone he probably thinks is casual. "How much of it do you remember?"
Wonderful. The miles of fun he's going to have with this.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he grins meanly, and then hangs up. Let the old boy stew. Buffy's looking at him curiously.
And then her phone rings. Of course.
"No, everything's good," he hears her say, in a sort of false cheery-bright voice. She turns away from him slightly to talk, and things go all hushed. He tries not to listen, but ends up tuning in on her voice anyway. "No, I-I... didn't really see," she whispers. "Something about..."
The hex again. Well, thanks a lot.
"No, we'll be staying here tonight," she says then, quite a bit louder, as if she wants him to hear this part. She listens, then finishes the call with a chatter of "fine, it's fine."
"Staying here tonight?" he repeats as she snaps her phone closed, puts it away. "Don't know if that's really such a good idea." Actually, he's sure that it's not. More than one reason why.
"We're fine here," she says firmly.
"You are. But maybe I should just--"
She gives him a narrowed-eye glare, really pointed, which shuts him up.
"Don't you even trust me to protect you anymore?"
Ouch.
He folds him arms, leans against the back wall in a casual slouch. "Of course I do," he says evenly. And she says nothing, just goes back then to staring at the wall.
More lifts come and go. Well-dressed guests flowing around the two of them, shooting them the occasional odd look. Well, he supposes it's true that Buffy looks like she belongs here while he doesn't. The lady and her leather lad.
Make for a good headline in the Daily Mirror.
"We're staying here," she says again with finality. "I'll talk to the council in the morning and sort all this out. Until then, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Okay?"
"Okay, then. Whatever you want. Fine."
"That's great. So we'll do that. Fine."
An empty lift finally arrives, and they step in. Stand on opposite sides of the elevator in identical crossed-arm poses and wait out the rest of the ride.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 12:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 12:21 pm (UTC)Good stuff, as usual.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 12:25 pm (UTC)The night sky is open and clear, with gray clouds moving restlessly in front of the moon, and the wind whips his leather coat back, a black flag. The church spire rising up in front of him like the point of a sword.
Dramatic setting, really. Like something out of a movie poster. It's the sort of place where he really belongs.
is one of the most wonderful images I have ever come across. An incredible word-picture!
And I really, really want Spike to have fun with the kiss... I forgot to mention it a few chapters back, but the idea of a Valentine's card completely cracked me up! ::loves story::
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:32 pm (UTC)And I really, really want Spike to have fun with the kiss
Oh, it's going to come up at least one more time, I think...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 01:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:33 pm (UTC)Thanks so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 01:44 pm (UTC)Yes, Buffy, Rupert really does NOT like Spike - or Angel, heh, go figure.
At least she has some sort of revelation going on.
And Angel - the jerk.
:)
Yes, Spike - RUN! GET OUT!
Buffy's nothing but trouble, get away from her.
:)
Find a nice boy!!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:38 pm (UTC)Heh. We'll see. ; )
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 01:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 02:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 02:53 pm (UTC)Wonderful. The miles of fun he's going to have with this.
LMAO. Great chapter as usual. Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 02:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 03:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:45 pm (UTC)Okay, now I'm getting spoilery for the next part.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:41 pm (UTC)Extremely likely.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-24 01:13 am (UTC)Oh, that's so good. And if only the two poor dears would both stop fretting about this and just be what they are which is beautiful and good enough.
Are Buffy's legs really that short? Not that much shorter that Himself's, surely?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-24 01:46 am (UTC)There may be a little case of slightly distorted perception there, on his part. ; )
As for the two of them stopping with the fretting, I think they'll both be getting a reality check on their inner conceptual universes soon. I'm just toying around with exactly how I'd like to do it...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-24 05:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 09:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-24 02:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 09:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-25 07:01 am (UTC)This is very nicely done - especially when we go to the end and they're basically paralleling each other. In fact I loved how you created parallels between Spike and Buffy & Buffy and Angel (the psychological torture bit) and then we see that each pair is playing off against the other one - Buffy and Spike on the rooftop, Spike on the phone to Angel, Buffy on the phone to Angel, all the while the other one is purposefully being left out and ignored.
I always love Angel in whatever you write - it's like Dad's checking up on them...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 09:15 am (UTC)He does have a "dad" vibe here, doesn't he? I guess that's sort of become my perception of Angel over time, as the father figure. It's so deliciously complicated, the relationships with those three. : )
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-25 01:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 09:16 am (UTC)When there's no room for snark, that is indeed the time to worry.
Thanks!
Long time reader, first time poster.
Date: 2005-03-20 06:54 pm (UTC)rather than smut. You are an excellent writer and I hang on your every word. (I hope
you’re susceptible to flattery.) I’ve read Bad Trip and Bad Euro Trip and was only
disappointed to find Bad Euro Trip unfinished. I'm still reading! Please complete these
stories.
You’ve nailed the characters. I read your stories and know they are the same characters
I’ve come to love.
BtVS and Ats are lost, but your stories rekindle the spark for me!
Re: Long time reader, first time poster.
Date: 2005-03-20 07:31 pm (UTC)