William Fic, Chapter 15
Apr. 14th, 2005 08:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookI keep thinking I'll get this story all done in one big swath - the ending, fait accompli! - but when I actually try to work it that way, it just comes across way too daunting. I get stuck. I tinker. I tinker, tinker, tinker. And yes, I may yet when this is finished go on a rampage of smooth-it-out editing, but for now... I'll be returning to my previous method of little scenes, little pieces. So... here's what happens next. Previous parts here.
The Center, Part 15
A moment before the elevator doors open, a thought occurs to him.
"Haven't thanked you yet... for before," he murmurs, shifting his position against the wall, creak of leather as he moves his arms inside the coat. Hands folded into the hollows under opposite armpits, he feels pulled in on himself, wrapped tight. Probably looks it, too--withdrawn, protective.
She gives him a stiff-shouldered shrug, her face turned away. Green eyes fixed on the lift's controls as if they were a fascinating poem. The meaning of life in buttons.
"I mean, you... thanks for that," he says again. "Didn't have to come here."
She huffs, a quiet sound. "Of course I did."
The doors open.
__________
There's a woman standing there, directly in front of the lift doors.
Overdressed in white lace, crown of roses on her head, mantilla and trailing veil underneath it like a Mexican bride.
His finger's moving toward the buttons to get them out of there before he can even bring himself to think.
Buffy brings him up short. Lost in her own thoughts, she's launched herself forward, pushing off the lift wall, and would have shouldered right past the woman in question if he hadn't made a grab for her, pulled her back.
Now they're both stuck in the lift, trapped there with the woman looking back at them, and he's got to brazen it out.
"You," he says to the woman in a low growl.
Momentarily locked in his arms, Buffy's expression changes from grim to bewildered. She shoots him a glance, then shakes herself free.
He lets his hands fall away, and focuses his attention on the witch.
A column of pure white against the tastefully papered hallway, the sorceress makes a small circuit back and forth in front of the door. Studies him in a careful show, the lace on her headdress swinging as she tips her chin this way and that.
"I see you've managed to figure a few things out," she says, finally.
"No thanks to you," he stalls, and assess the situation. Witch blocking the only way out, and Buffy's in the way of the lift buttons. Not at all his first choice of location for making a stand.
"Oh, I think you should thank me," the witch says with a toss of her head. "Although I've been told by my coven leader that--"
"Excuse me? Who are you?" Buffy's glaring at the unwelcome intruder now, fists out and clenched.
"Careful there, Slayer," he cautions. "The witch who hexed me up, that's her."
The elevator doors start to close. Buffy slaps a hand in between them, shoves them back open.
The witch laughs. Her lips make a funny little pursed smile, and she repeats her studying gaze on Buffy this time, looking her over like a zoo specimen. "Buffy Summers."
"How do you know who I am?"
"How? My dear girl, at one time there wasn't a mystic above the level of the tenth power who didn't know your name. Of course all that's changed now."
"Right," he says abruptly. Not liking the witch's new focus on Buffy. "So sorry, must be going." He tries reaching around Buffy for the controls, but she jostles his arm. Right, of course--Slayer in battle mode. Not so easy to put off. He should know that better than anyone.
Buffy stabs at the DOOR OPEN button as the doors try to close again and holds it stubbornly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that the balance is a fascinating thing, don't you agree?" The witch smirks, lashes fluttering. "And both of you here at once. Such a coincidence."
"Speaking of coincidence..." No choice, apparently, but to talk it out with her. More of the same kind of long-winded pretentious chat that had probably gotten him in trouble with her the first time. Manipulative bitch. "What are you doing here anyway?"
She waves a jeweled hand. "Oh, my coven leader merely suggested that I observe you, and the results of my hex," she says airily.
"Observe? Screwed my memory over and now I've got it back, what's to observe?"
"That's a really good question," Buffy speaks up. "Why did you do it? I mean, you look like a--" She waves her hand to indicate the witch's dress. "--white witch. Aren't you supposed to be playing for Team Good?"
"Aren't you?" She turns toward Buffy again. "Actually, aren't both of you? And yet, such confusion. Loyalties shift and change..."
"Don't know what you're talking about." He's remembering now, some of how she'd prattled on. How demeaning to be a servant of the greater good when all the universe ever seems to do is serve up cosmic jokes, blah, blah, blah...
And what's she going on about this time? His loyalties haven't changed.
"The nexus of all realities," the witch chatters on, eyes on Buffy. "Energy has patterns, you know, eddies and currents... and chaos was once drawn to you like a moth to the flame." Then the witch spins on her heel, index finger extended, and swivels around to point directly at Spike. "Things change."
Sharp lacquered fingernail pointed straight at him, he flinches. "What's your point, Witchypoo?"
"I'll second that." Buffy's frowning now, really frowning, and he's getting the impression her patience is growing short. Not that he blames her. "And can we get out of the elevator now?"
The witch steps back. Smug look on her face like she's won something, and he can't help but pull himself up tall as he steps out of the lift, his black coat swinging in a circle as he pivots around Buffy, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the door to hold it open for her. She marches out, head just under the outstretch of his arm, and never takes her eyes off the witch once.
"What did you expect to see?" Buffy demands. "Did you just want to see him suffer? Because that's not stacking up as a good thing in my book. And believe me, I know witches you don't want to see pissed off. Which you will, if you ever--"
"Now, now." A flapping hand waves away Buffy's threat, but there's some nervousness there too. Warms his heart to see that, it does.
And wait, did Buffy just say she'd call Willow for him?
"Actually, I'm thinking you might want to make with an apology."
"Well, I, um..." The witch is flustered. Now that's unexpected. He would have figured outrage, or more bluster, but not...
"You got in trouble." A wide smile slowly cracks his face. Oh, he's got her number now. "That's what you came here for, didn't you? Something go down at Witch Central? Here to take your lumps?"
The witch's face pales. Her lace-covered head lifts, chin stiffening, and he can almost feel the air begin to crackle.
She's not going to do anything though, not now. He's sure of it. He grins.
"I beg your pardon," she hisses. "My hex was unaccountably rude."
"Have to agree with you. Terribly rude." He stretches his arms out, makes a lazy gesture. Go on.
Buffy is watching them both, her eyes flicking back and forth like a tennis match.
The witch struggles some more, clearly not happy about the situation. "I am... sorry," she finally grates.
He lets it sink in for a moment before answering.
"Apology accepted," he says calmly. "Now piss off."
Oh, she's angry now, no question of it. Head hanging low, white lace like a shroud, and the look on her face is enough to shrivel toads. Not so much the purity-water-earth-air-nature spirit, not at the moment.
"You've learned nothing," she hisses. Almost scary.
"Right. Didn't meet up with you because I wanted to take lessons."
"Of course you didn't." Her lips peel back from her teeth and she all but hisses at him, like a cat. "You're a prisoner of your nature. A spoiler. Just like her."
"Okay, that's it." Buffy shoves herself forward, and the witch backpedals fast. He has to hop quick to insert himself between the two women.
He can deal with being spelled up again himself, but Buffy getting hexed because of him.... he doesn't even want to think about that.
"I came here to observe," the witch insists, her voice a frightened squeak drifting up from somewhere behind his back. Taking shelter from Buffy. Well, Slayer on a tear is something of a frightening sight, he'll give her that. "And I said I'm sorry!"
"Buffy! It's alright," he insists, hands on her shoulders.
"Fine," Buffy snaps to the witch, speaking around him. "Then take a walk."
"Right then, best you push off now, Witch Hazel." He speaks over his own shoulder, not really sure he wants to turn and look. It's a weird situation, Buffy needing to be kept under control so she won't get into a bad situation over him.
He can't quite take his eyes off her.
The three maneuver around in a tight little circle as if choreographed. The witch gets positioned in front of the lift, and under two pairs of wary eyes, she punches the button and waits for a new car to arrive.
Once she's safely inside the machine and selecting her floor, the witch throws him a final aside.
"You never will be free of it, you know," says says quickly, no doubt feeling a flush of relief to be getting away from Buffy, still giving her a cold-eyed glare. "But if it's any consolation, it is an important job. Confounding the universe. Ask her." Then, as the lift doors close, she begins to laugh. The sound echoes up through the shaft as the car descends.
"Well," Spike says after a pause. "Wasn't that interesting."
The Center, Part 15
A moment before the elevator doors open, a thought occurs to him.
"Haven't thanked you yet... for before," he murmurs, shifting his position against the wall, creak of leather as he moves his arms inside the coat. Hands folded into the hollows under opposite armpits, he feels pulled in on himself, wrapped tight. Probably looks it, too--withdrawn, protective.
She gives him a stiff-shouldered shrug, her face turned away. Green eyes fixed on the lift's controls as if they were a fascinating poem. The meaning of life in buttons.
"I mean, you... thanks for that," he says again. "Didn't have to come here."
She huffs, a quiet sound. "Of course I did."
The doors open.
__________
There's a woman standing there, directly in front of the lift doors.
Overdressed in white lace, crown of roses on her head, mantilla and trailing veil underneath it like a Mexican bride.
His finger's moving toward the buttons to get them out of there before he can even bring himself to think.
Buffy brings him up short. Lost in her own thoughts, she's launched herself forward, pushing off the lift wall, and would have shouldered right past the woman in question if he hadn't made a grab for her, pulled her back.
Now they're both stuck in the lift, trapped there with the woman looking back at them, and he's got to brazen it out.
"You," he says to the woman in a low growl.
Momentarily locked in his arms, Buffy's expression changes from grim to bewildered. She shoots him a glance, then shakes herself free.
He lets his hands fall away, and focuses his attention on the witch.
A column of pure white against the tastefully papered hallway, the sorceress makes a small circuit back and forth in front of the door. Studies him in a careful show, the lace on her headdress swinging as she tips her chin this way and that.
"I see you've managed to figure a few things out," she says, finally.
"No thanks to you," he stalls, and assess the situation. Witch blocking the only way out, and Buffy's in the way of the lift buttons. Not at all his first choice of location for making a stand.
"Oh, I think you should thank me," the witch says with a toss of her head. "Although I've been told by my coven leader that--"
"Excuse me? Who are you?" Buffy's glaring at the unwelcome intruder now, fists out and clenched.
"Careful there, Slayer," he cautions. "The witch who hexed me up, that's her."
The elevator doors start to close. Buffy slaps a hand in between them, shoves them back open.
The witch laughs. Her lips make a funny little pursed smile, and she repeats her studying gaze on Buffy this time, looking her over like a zoo specimen. "Buffy Summers."
"How do you know who I am?"
"How? My dear girl, at one time there wasn't a mystic above the level of the tenth power who didn't know your name. Of course all that's changed now."
"Right," he says abruptly. Not liking the witch's new focus on Buffy. "So sorry, must be going." He tries reaching around Buffy for the controls, but she jostles his arm. Right, of course--Slayer in battle mode. Not so easy to put off. He should know that better than anyone.
Buffy stabs at the DOOR OPEN button as the doors try to close again and holds it stubbornly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that the balance is a fascinating thing, don't you agree?" The witch smirks, lashes fluttering. "And both of you here at once. Such a coincidence."
"Speaking of coincidence..." No choice, apparently, but to talk it out with her. More of the same kind of long-winded pretentious chat that had probably gotten him in trouble with her the first time. Manipulative bitch. "What are you doing here anyway?"
She waves a jeweled hand. "Oh, my coven leader merely suggested that I observe you, and the results of my hex," she says airily.
"Observe? Screwed my memory over and now I've got it back, what's to observe?"
"That's a really good question," Buffy speaks up. "Why did you do it? I mean, you look like a--" She waves her hand to indicate the witch's dress. "--white witch. Aren't you supposed to be playing for Team Good?"
"Aren't you?" She turns toward Buffy again. "Actually, aren't both of you? And yet, such confusion. Loyalties shift and change..."
"Don't know what you're talking about." He's remembering now, some of how she'd prattled on. How demeaning to be a servant of the greater good when all the universe ever seems to do is serve up cosmic jokes, blah, blah, blah...
And what's she going on about this time? His loyalties haven't changed.
"The nexus of all realities," the witch chatters on, eyes on Buffy. "Energy has patterns, you know, eddies and currents... and chaos was once drawn to you like a moth to the flame." Then the witch spins on her heel, index finger extended, and swivels around to point directly at Spike. "Things change."
Sharp lacquered fingernail pointed straight at him, he flinches. "What's your point, Witchypoo?"
"I'll second that." Buffy's frowning now, really frowning, and he's getting the impression her patience is growing short. Not that he blames her. "And can we get out of the elevator now?"
The witch steps back. Smug look on her face like she's won something, and he can't help but pull himself up tall as he steps out of the lift, his black coat swinging in a circle as he pivots around Buffy, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the door to hold it open for her. She marches out, head just under the outstretch of his arm, and never takes her eyes off the witch once.
"What did you expect to see?" Buffy demands. "Did you just want to see him suffer? Because that's not stacking up as a good thing in my book. And believe me, I know witches you don't want to see pissed off. Which you will, if you ever--"
"Now, now." A flapping hand waves away Buffy's threat, but there's some nervousness there too. Warms his heart to see that, it does.
And wait, did Buffy just say she'd call Willow for him?
"Actually, I'm thinking you might want to make with an apology."
"Well, I, um..." The witch is flustered. Now that's unexpected. He would have figured outrage, or more bluster, but not...
"You got in trouble." A wide smile slowly cracks his face. Oh, he's got her number now. "That's what you came here for, didn't you? Something go down at Witch Central? Here to take your lumps?"
The witch's face pales. Her lace-covered head lifts, chin stiffening, and he can almost feel the air begin to crackle.
She's not going to do anything though, not now. He's sure of it. He grins.
"I beg your pardon," she hisses. "My hex was unaccountably rude."
"Have to agree with you. Terribly rude." He stretches his arms out, makes a lazy gesture. Go on.
Buffy is watching them both, her eyes flicking back and forth like a tennis match.
The witch struggles some more, clearly not happy about the situation. "I am... sorry," she finally grates.
He lets it sink in for a moment before answering.
"Apology accepted," he says calmly. "Now piss off."
Oh, she's angry now, no question of it. Head hanging low, white lace like a shroud, and the look on her face is enough to shrivel toads. Not so much the purity-water-earth-air-nature spirit, not at the moment.
"You've learned nothing," she hisses. Almost scary.
"Right. Didn't meet up with you because I wanted to take lessons."
"Of course you didn't." Her lips peel back from her teeth and she all but hisses at him, like a cat. "You're a prisoner of your nature. A spoiler. Just like her."
"Okay, that's it." Buffy shoves herself forward, and the witch backpedals fast. He has to hop quick to insert himself between the two women.
He can deal with being spelled up again himself, but Buffy getting hexed because of him.... he doesn't even want to think about that.
"I came here to observe," the witch insists, her voice a frightened squeak drifting up from somewhere behind his back. Taking shelter from Buffy. Well, Slayer on a tear is something of a frightening sight, he'll give her that. "And I said I'm sorry!"
"Buffy! It's alright," he insists, hands on her shoulders.
"Fine," Buffy snaps to the witch, speaking around him. "Then take a walk."
"Right then, best you push off now, Witch Hazel." He speaks over his own shoulder, not really sure he wants to turn and look. It's a weird situation, Buffy needing to be kept under control so she won't get into a bad situation over him.
He can't quite take his eyes off her.
The three maneuver around in a tight little circle as if choreographed. The witch gets positioned in front of the lift, and under two pairs of wary eyes, she punches the button and waits for a new car to arrive.
Once she's safely inside the machine and selecting her floor, the witch throws him a final aside.
"You never will be free of it, you know," says says quickly, no doubt feeling a flush of relief to be getting away from Buffy, still giving her a cold-eyed glare. "But if it's any consolation, it is an important job. Confounding the universe. Ask her." Then, as the lift doors close, she begins to laugh. The sound echoes up through the shaft as the car descends.
"Well," Spike says after a pause. "Wasn't that interesting."