Fic: Perfect Vengeance - Prologue
Mar. 5th, 2005 02:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shipperxThis story was written for Night Owl
The Kink: Time travel, specifically S6 Spike and Buffy in 1880s London.
Three other requests: Spike has "replaced" William, but only he and Buffy know; Buffy acknowledges real feelings for Spike (happily or reluctantly; it's your call); and Cecily eats her heart out when she realizes what she could have had.
Rating preference: Anything the story requires.
Thanks to my betas![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fenchurche , rahirah, and fishsanwitt
Rating: This chapter PG. Eventually NC-17
"Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death…"
Elizabeth Forsythe Harley
`A Woman of Independent Means'
Spike sat at the bar staring into his drink. He lifted the glass and closed one eye to examine the way that light bent and distorted in the colorless liquid, obscuring whatever could be seen through it.
=Metaphorical, that= he thought. =More satisfying if it had blood in it, though.=
Of course, he wasn't 'allowed' to have blood in his gin, not in The Bronze. Might frighten the humans, might disgust them, might show them that he didn't belong.
Not that he gave a fuck what they thought.
He swallowed his drink and fumed. He'd made so many concessions to the humans, and all of them for her-- not that it was appreciated. He was a wolf among sheep but had played at being lap dog, begging for a stroke, a lick, a...
Spike frowned. Somehow, he'd lost his train of thought, but he was fairly certain that it had something to do with being judged unfairly. Or maybe it was simply wanting Buffy to look at him with something other than a 'did you pee on the carpet?' expression.
Sucking the olive off its toothpick, he found that he craved another bloodless martini. This drink would be his... Spike blearily counted until he ran out of fingers. Whatever the number, it wasn't enough. He could still hear Buffy say, "I'm using you. I can't love you. I'm just being weak and selfish, and it's killing me."
And that hadn't been the worst of it. There had been more. She had twisted the knife and said, "I'm sorry, William."
The toothpick snapped between his fingers. He bloody well didn't want her pity. It burned, scalding his throat and eyes.
However, it wasn't until she had left, until the crypt had gone dark and quiet and her words had repeated endlessly in his head, that he had wanted to scream, "Pity me when I'm dust, bitch."
Still, he thought, things could have been worse. He could have believed her.
But he knew that she hadn't been sorry. Oh, she had meant well enough by her words. She could be a disgustingly dutiful bint. She wanted to be the 'good girl', and 'good girls' tried to be kind when they dumped you on your arse. But her apology had rung hollow when she'd walked away without so much as a backwards glance.
Spike shoved his glass across the bar. "Where's the damned refill?"
Where was the gin-induced oblivion that would make him forget her words or how beautiful she had looked in the sunlight? He wanted to erase the memory of her saying, "Tell me that you love me."
As if his love had value.
Hadn't she yelled that nothing he felt was real? Hadn't she told him that she could never be his girl?
"Some things never change," a voice said from behind him.
Spike swiveled on his barstool to find a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman with two heads.
Wait. He closed one eye, reducing it to one head. "Ceshily."
"Halfrek," she corrected.
He shook his head to clear away the more deleterious effects of the alcohol and switched which eye he had open. "Cecily."
She sat on the barstool beside him and signaled the bartender for a drink. "Still wearing your heart on your sleeve, I see. I felt waves of romantic anguish all the way to the bridal shop on the corner."
"And how is that?"
"I’m a—"
Spike waved his hand to stop her. "Know what you are. Question is, how?"
"That is a very long story."
"Oh. Skip it, then. Don't really care." He perked up when he saw the bartender. "Our drinks."
Cecily asked, "Would you like a little professional advice?"
"From you? No."
"It takes time."
"To mend a broken heart," he mocked, then ate his olives off their tiny red toothpick.
Cecily smiled in a way that unnerved him. "That too."
"Never been overburdened with patience, myself."
“Not to be sexist, but this is why most vengeance demons are women." She crossed her legs and ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. "Vengeance takes subtlety and time." She leaned forward, giving a tempting view of cleavage. "To make it really hurt, you need to know when to twist the knife."
"You are a vicious bitch," he said with both disgust and admiration.
Her smile looked cold, malevolent, and flattered. "I'm so glad you noticed." She placed her hand lightly on his arm. "I could offer you my assistance."
Spike shrugged off her touch. "Don't need help." He rose and slapped several bills on the bar. "Leastwise, not from you. Find some other git to kick in the balls."
"But—-"
He no longer listened. "Beneath her. Beneath you. Bloody well full of yourselves, aren't you?" He was halfway to the door before realizing that he wasn't through confronting her. He turned around. "You're not so grand. Look at you. And her... " He pointed to a spot on his forehead between his brows. "She's got this strange divot-thing right here when she frowns; which, by the way, she does all the time.” With the mental dexterity given to the completely plastered, he careened into another thought. “Know what I wish?"
If he had been sober, he would have been suspicious of Halfrek's preening. "No, William, what do you wish?"
"I wish little miss `I'm too good' Buffy Summers would find herself in a place where it doesn't matter what she does, just what everyone thinks she is. And I wish I was there to see it."
Cecily laughed. "That might be accommodated."
Alcohol-soaked synapses fired a microsecond too slow. "What?"
"William, has anyone ever told you that you have perfect timing?"
CHAPTER ONE
The Kink: Time travel, specifically S6 Spike and Buffy in 1880s London.
Three other requests: Spike has "replaced" William, but only he and Buffy know; Buffy acknowledges real feelings for Spike (happily or reluctantly; it's your call); and Cecily eats her heart out when she realizes what she could have had.
Rating preference: Anything the story requires.
Thanks to my betas
fenchurche , rahirah, and fishsanwittRating: This chapter PG. Eventually NC-17
"Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death…"
Elizabeth Forsythe Harley
`A Woman of Independent Means'
PROLOGUE
Spike sat at the bar staring into his drink. He lifted the glass and closed one eye to examine the way that light bent and distorted in the colorless liquid, obscuring whatever could be seen through it.
=Metaphorical, that= he thought. =More satisfying if it had blood in it, though.=
Of course, he wasn't 'allowed' to have blood in his gin, not in The Bronze. Might frighten the humans, might disgust them, might show them that he didn't belong.
Not that he gave a fuck what they thought.
He swallowed his drink and fumed. He'd made so many concessions to the humans, and all of them for her-- not that it was appreciated. He was a wolf among sheep but had played at being lap dog, begging for a stroke, a lick, a...
Spike frowned. Somehow, he'd lost his train of thought, but he was fairly certain that it had something to do with being judged unfairly. Or maybe it was simply wanting Buffy to look at him with something other than a 'did you pee on the carpet?' expression.
Sucking the olive off its toothpick, he found that he craved another bloodless martini. This drink would be his... Spike blearily counted until he ran out of fingers. Whatever the number, it wasn't enough. He could still hear Buffy say, "I'm using you. I can't love you. I'm just being weak and selfish, and it's killing me."
And that hadn't been the worst of it. There had been more. She had twisted the knife and said, "I'm sorry, William."
The toothpick snapped between his fingers. He bloody well didn't want her pity. It burned, scalding his throat and eyes.
However, it wasn't until she had left, until the crypt had gone dark and quiet and her words had repeated endlessly in his head, that he had wanted to scream, "Pity me when I'm dust, bitch."
Still, he thought, things could have been worse. He could have believed her.
But he knew that she hadn't been sorry. Oh, she had meant well enough by her words. She could be a disgustingly dutiful bint. She wanted to be the 'good girl', and 'good girls' tried to be kind when they dumped you on your arse. But her apology had rung hollow when she'd walked away without so much as a backwards glance.
Spike shoved his glass across the bar. "Where's the damned refill?"
Where was the gin-induced oblivion that would make him forget her words or how beautiful she had looked in the sunlight? He wanted to erase the memory of her saying, "Tell me that you love me."
As if his love had value.
Hadn't she yelled that nothing he felt was real? Hadn't she told him that she could never be his girl?
"Some things never change," a voice said from behind him.
Spike swiveled on his barstool to find a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman with two heads.
Wait. He closed one eye, reducing it to one head. "Ceshily."
"Halfrek," she corrected.
He shook his head to clear away the more deleterious effects of the alcohol and switched which eye he had open. "Cecily."
She sat on the barstool beside him and signaled the bartender for a drink. "Still wearing your heart on your sleeve, I see. I felt waves of romantic anguish all the way to the bridal shop on the corner."
"And how is that?"
"I’m a—"
Spike waved his hand to stop her. "Know what you are. Question is, how?"
"That is a very long story."
"Oh. Skip it, then. Don't really care." He perked up when he saw the bartender. "Our drinks."
Cecily asked, "Would you like a little professional advice?"
"From you? No."
"It takes time."
"To mend a broken heart," he mocked, then ate his olives off their tiny red toothpick.
Cecily smiled in a way that unnerved him. "That too."
"Never been overburdened with patience, myself."
“Not to be sexist, but this is why most vengeance demons are women." She crossed her legs and ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. "Vengeance takes subtlety and time." She leaned forward, giving a tempting view of cleavage. "To make it really hurt, you need to know when to twist the knife."
"You are a vicious bitch," he said with both disgust and admiration.
Her smile looked cold, malevolent, and flattered. "I'm so glad you noticed." She placed her hand lightly on his arm. "I could offer you my assistance."
Spike shrugged off her touch. "Don't need help." He rose and slapped several bills on the bar. "Leastwise, not from you. Find some other git to kick in the balls."
"But—-"
He no longer listened. "Beneath her. Beneath you. Bloody well full of yourselves, aren't you?" He was halfway to the door before realizing that he wasn't through confronting her. He turned around. "You're not so grand. Look at you. And her... " He pointed to a spot on his forehead between his brows. "She's got this strange divot-thing right here when she frowns; which, by the way, she does all the time.” With the mental dexterity given to the completely plastered, he careened into another thought. “Know what I wish?"
If he had been sober, he would have been suspicious of Halfrek's preening. "No, William, what do you wish?"
"I wish little miss `I'm too good' Buffy Summers would find herself in a place where it doesn't matter what she does, just what everyone thinks she is. And I wish I was there to see it."
Cecily laughed. "That might be accommodated."
Alcohol-soaked synapses fired a microsecond too slow. "What?"
"William, has anyone ever told you that you have perfect timing?"
CHAPTER ONE
