FIC: Fire and Ice (1 of 4)
Dec. 28th, 2006 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shipperx:
Title: Fire and Ice (1 of 4)
Spoilers: Post-NFA
Genre: Spike-centric AtS, Gen
Rating: Somewhere between PG and R
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine. Never been paid and never will be.
Written For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
noel_of_spike
Summary As Christmas rolls around, Spike finds himself without plans... so he heads to Canada to atone for an old crime, confronts an ex, and faces down a dragon. He'll need whiskey in his egg nog after this.
Author's Note: I tried to finish. I really, reallly did. But, like Spike, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the events around me. I'll post this story in parts over the next few days. Sorry!
I
Leaning against the sofa cushions, Spike closed his eyes and propped his feet against the coffee table. He tried to ignore the fact that the room was polluted by the sound of an over-produced, vaguely Kenny G-like rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”, or the fact that there was a silver foil Christmas tree standing in the corner and synthetic snow on the sill of a window framing a sunny, seventy degree day. He couldn’t imagine how any of this could inspire thoughts of a real Christmas. Then, for reasons unknown, he took a breath and smiled. (When Angel would mock him for breathing so often, Spike would tell him that it was an idiosyncrasy, and the killjoy would simply have to deal with it.) Breathing had its benefits, and Spike took a moment to savor the sweet, spicy scent of gingerbread.
Someone was baking, and some part of Spike’s brain zoomed back, across more than a hundred years, to his boyhood when Christmas had held the hope of fresh snow, bells on sleighs, and chestnuts roasted on fires. Out of everything, though, his favorite had been the gingerbread—a treat his mother had never made because they had a cook for that, but which she had allowed him to buy for a penny at winter fairs.
Spike breathed in the scent again and wallowed in nostalgia before Angel burst into the room with Gunn yapping at his heels.
“Come on,” Gunn said. “A little turkey, some stuffing. It’s not a big deal.”
Angel said nothing. He simply glowered.
Gunn added, “Anne’s willing to buy otter blood.”
Spike asked, “Will it be congealed with little clumpy bits?” Gunn shot him a look of shock and disgust. “What? Like cranberry sauce. It would be festive.”
Angel growled. “Shut up, Spike.”
Spike gave his best I’m-an-asshole smirk, before closing his eyes to continue basking in the scent of baked goods.
Angel said, “I’m not stopping you and Anne…” After a significant pause he added, “And whoever from celebrating Christmas, I’m simply telling you that I won’t be part of it.”
“Bah-humbug,” Spike said without opening his eyes.
Gunn sighed. “You’re missing the point, Angel. Anne wants you to be part of it. When you were head of Wolfram and Hart, you funded this place.”
Spike opened one eye to watch the arguing men. If Charlie was trying to push Angel into the holiday spirit, he had just made a serious misstep. Angel looked as glum as ever, which was exactly what Spike expected.
Angel had been this way for months, ever since that night in the alley. Spike didn’t blame the big lug. Not really. Defeat was a hard thing to swallow, and the battle with Wolfram and Hart had ended in resounding defeat.
Spike remembered the electric tension running through him as he had stood readying himself for battle and resolving that the battle would be epic.
However, if there was one thing Spike had learned in his far-too-many years on the planet, it was to never become so set in your expectations that you couldn’t adjust if things went in an entirely different direction. Things almost always went in an entirely different direction.
So they had stood, ready for the battle to end all battles – for Armageddon, for God’s sake. There had been demons, monsters, and a giant (or had it been a troll?) At any rate, rather than fight, the Army of Darkness had parted, making room for the entrance of one tall, curvaceous woman.
“Lilah.” Angel had growled and looked unhappy at the sound of his own voice saying her name. She, on the other hand, had smiled, and it was a cold, knowing smile that in some way reminded Spike of Darla.
Lilah had told them that Angel and Gunn, being paid employees of Wolfram and Hart, were being placed on indefinite sabbatical with the full termination of their contracts to be executed at the Senior Partners’ discretion. She had also explained that the Circle of the Black Thorn had been replaced, and that the president of the Japanese branch of Wolfram and Hart was relocating to L.A., effective immediately.
Charlie had stumbled and fallen to the ground, his blood mixing with the rain that sluiced over their bodies, and Spike had been left in the singularly odd position of being the one having to point this out.
Spike was good at being the right hand man in the face of a doomed battle, but it had always been the likes of Tara or Willow… Dawn, Xander, the Watcher – either of them – Fred, or even Buffy to keep an eye on humans in mortal danger. Now, only the demons were left. Blue--and her wish to do yet more violence--Angel, and himself. And Angel was steeled for Armageddon, needing to see the fight through to the bitter end and unable to see a life beyond it. Spike had needed to elbow the older vampire, to nudge Angel into realizing that he had one lieutenant left and that the fallen soldier was bleeding his life out on the ground.
Angel never would have left that alley if it had just been him alone. The soul-weary bastard would have gladly died in a kick-ass battle, but an obligation to Charlie had done what no words possibly could. For duty and obligation, Angel could accept defeat. And it had been the very worst kind of defeat. It had been humiliating, and it had been futile. Nothing had been accomplished. Nothing had changed in the big scheme of things… nothing except that good people were dead.
It must be a hard thing to be a leader and to watch your lieutenants die. Since Angel had taken over the cursed lawfirm, Cordelia Chase, sweet little Fred, and the Watcher had all died. And Spike didn’t like to ask questions about what had happened to Drogyn. He suspected that he knew the answer anyway. Dark cults like the Circle had nasty initiation rights, and Angel had gone through all of them. He’d trod through blood and death with an eye towards it leading to… something. Spike had never been certain what the exact goal had been. Atonement? Saving the world? Whatever it was, he figured that it had been noble and, whatever the goal, and it must have been a mirage, because there was nothing there. All sound and fury signifying… well… not very much.
They had taken Gunn to the hospital where the doctors had pronounced him ‘not quite dead yet,’ but it had been close. The man had been in the ICU for days and in rehab for months. And, in case there had ever been any doubt about the matter, it had been quite definitively proved that two vampires and a million year old demon were woefully ill prepared to deal with the red tape involved in the modern American medical system.
When Gunn had become well enough, he had insisted that they call for help, which had turned up as a cute little bit of blonde fluff named Anne, who had hated Spike on first sight.
Acutally, that wasn’t entirely true. It was closer to second sight, though it had taken Spike some time to discover that fact.
Anne had arrived at the hospital, greeted Angel warmly, come into the room, and – with her hand resting lightly on Gunn’s bicep – she had placed a light kiss on Charlie-boy’s forehead. “You had to play big-time hero.”
He had smiled weakly and said, “And now I need you to be mine.”
Angel had told her that they all could use her help, and she had wanted to know who ‘we’ entailed. Angel had introduced her to Blue, who morphed out of her disguise as the guileless Fred. The woman had paled and looked uncertain, but had greeted Illyria cautiously. Then, when she had turned to be introduced to Spike, her gaze had turned to ice. She had reached for the crucifix, which hung around her neck, and started to back away.
Gunn had rushed to explain the bit about vampires and souls, but it hadn’t looked like she was buying… at least not with anyone but Angel.
Typical.
Spike had seen the same sort of reaction before. With Angel there was always the conviction that there was Angelus and then there was the poof. They might share some similarities in appearance – and a poor taste in haircuts – but they were two separate creatures entirely. With Spike there was only Spike – which didn’t bother Spike much because as far as he could tell there was only one him. However, he’d never ceased to marvel that Angel had convinced so many people that the two parts of himself had nothing to do with one another. Spike would laugh about the whole thing if it didn’t piss him off quite so much.
At any rate, Anne’s response to Gunn’s explanation that Spike wasn’t the enemy any more was to keep her distance. She ignored Spike whenever he came around.
After Charlie had been released from the hospital, he’d taken the time to explain to Spike that if Anne continued to be nervous and angry, it was because that she had run across Spike in the bad old days. She had been part of a group of Goth teens, the Sunset Club, who had read too much Anne Rice and listened to too much Marilyn Manson or Evanescence, or whatever such kids had listened to in those days. The group had been headed by Buffy’s friend Chevy…
Wait. No. That wasn’t it, but for the life of him, Spike couldn’t think what it was. Just that it had involved the name of a car… or something.
Buffy’s friend with the automotive name had tried to strike a bargain, some overwrought request about being granted ‘eternal life.’ And, though Buffy had held Drusilla hostage, forcing Spike to release Anne and the others, Spike had honored his bargain with the teen, turning him into a vampire. The git had never even thought about the fact that Buffy was certain to know and that, as was her habit, she’d meet his newly resurrected ass with the pointy end of a stake. Spike and Dru had had a good laugh about that one.
Anyway, Anne held a grudge for all that history, and Spike couldn’t bring himself to entirely blame her, even though her unrelenting distrust had become a source of irritation. Turned out, it was the only thing that Angel had found amusing in the six months since the Watcher’s death.
In the end, since Gunn had hooked up with her, an unvoiced truce had been formed between Anne and Spike. After Charlie’s close call with death, the human had said that he planned to redirect his ‘helping the helpless’ philosophy into slightly less supernatural territory, using his demonically enhanced brain instead of his oh-so-very-mortal body. Charlie had become a pro-bono lawyer, one who defended and worked for Anne’s runaways. And Angel, having found himself kicked out of the penthouse, had accepted the offer of a room above Anne’s shelter.
Spike was less welcome. Anny hadn’t chased him away with a cross and stake, but she had been visibly pleased to hear that Spike had a place of his own (fortunately, Lindsey had paid Spike’s six-month lease in advance.)
Things had remained in this relatively peaceful state until the holidays had begun making people crazy. Now Charlie followed Angel down the hallway begging. “Come on, man. It’s Christmas.”
Angel said, “Vampires don’t ‘do’ Christmas.” And he closed the door in Charlie’s face.
Gunn sighed, and Spike couldn’t stop himself. He said, “Could’ve told you that you were beating your head against a wall.”
Gunn shook his head. “It’s been almost seven months. I thought…”
“What?” Spike asked. “That he’d get over it?”
”No. Not that. Just…”
“Brood a little less?”
Gunn gave a small shrug that Spike took for a ‘yes.’ “Cheer up, Charlie-boy. Even Angel can’t brood forever.” Though Spike didn’t have the heart to tell the man that if they were taking bets, Spike would lay money down on it lasting five years to a decade.
Gunn perked up. “Hey, I might have struck out with one of the soul brothers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hit a homerun with the other one.”
Spike eyed the young man suspiciously. “I don’t deck halls or play Santa.”
“Nah. I’d never ask that of you.” He ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. “Besides, that’s not exactly the gift Anne wants.”
Spike tensed. “What does she want?”
Gunn sank into the battered chair standing opposite the sofa where Spike had made himself comfortable. “The truth is, she’d like you to make yourself more scarce, not hang around as often.” Charlie leaned forward, with his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together. “I’m not talking about forever. Just for the holidays.”
Spike kept carefully still and realized that the scent of gingerbread had disappeared completely. “Right,” he said. He stood, grabbing his coat off the arm of the sofa. “No problem. “
Gunn looked concerned. “It doesn’t have to be right this second. I don’t—“
Spike held up his hand. “Don’t apologize. She’s your girl. I know what it’s like. A guy does what he can for his girl. “
He’d die. Fight for a soul. Die again. Spike knew all about the lengths a guy would go to for love. And with more determination than he’d felt for just about anything for a long time, he ignored the tight, cold knot that formed in his chest and said, “Besides, vampires don’t ‘do’ Christmas, remember?”
Spike closed the metal door behind him, realizing too late that he’d just trapped himself in the shadowed back alley. It was sunny, and the wrong time of day to reach the manhole access to the sewer that was located near the loading dock.
“Bugger.” He leaned his head against the brick wall and searched his pockets for a pack of nicotine gum. He’d thought about taking up smoking again, but had decided against it, not wanting to incur more of Anne’s death glares.
He guessed it didn’t matter now. It didn’t look like keeping the peace posed a problem any more, which left him more time to ponder the other hundred or so concerns he had, one of which entailed finding a place to live.
Lindsey’s pre-paid lease was running out, and, before this turn of events, Spike had briefly considered asking whether he could bunk somewhere in the shelter. He’d even been willing to bunk with Angel if he had to. But now, he had to think of something else, and that was even before he started to examine the more existential conundrum of what to do about the rest of his existence.
It had been a question which bugged him more and more lately, though perhaps he’d never really thought of it in an existential way. He was more pragmatic than that. What he’d really been wondering was what in the hell was he supposed to do.
He wasn’t like Angel, who could indefinitely mourn what had been lost and who could spend lifetimes going over his regrets. Angel had raised brooding to an artform, but that would only drive Spike mad—one time, it had. Literally.
No, Spike couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t handle examining and re-examining things he couldn’t change. He needed something to do.
That was the place where he always pulled up short. Do what exactly? As William he had pursued love all the way to his own death. As Spike, he had focused on twin goals of retaining Dru’s affection and seeking the head of the Slayer. Later, he had concerned himself with other parts of the Slayer and that had turned into what? A desire for redemption? A need to earn Buffy’s respect? All goals felt like quicksilver to him. He could reach to touch them, but he could never hold them in his hand. And in some way – he had never quite figured out how – he had taken on Angel’s causes as his own.
Now, Spike had to face the fact that if Angel had lost direction, then he had lost direction as well. He could hunt random demons – God knows he couldn’t sit still – but was that it? Was that all that was left? The hunt for the sake of the hunt alone?”
“I told you not to involve me in this,” Anne hissed as she pushed a thin, gangly man out of the shelter’s loading dock door.
Spike stepped back, not exactly hiding being a dumpster, but not drawing attention to himself.
The man with Anne looked squirrelly in a way that Spike hadn’t seen since Andrew.
“Chanterelle,” the guy said, “You’ve got to understand.”
“No, I don’t,” she told him. “And my name is Anne. You know that.”
“We took different names, once. We had dreams.”
“Delusions. For God’s sake, I named myself after a mushroom because I thought it sounded pretty.”
He looked hurt. “It was pretty. It is pretty. You simply have to see things through different eyes.”
“Is that what you’re telling the kids in my shelter?” She looked angry. “Did you learn nothing from what happened last time? Playing with the occult is dangerous, Marvin.”
“Diego. I changed it. Officially. It’s Diego, now.” He said it so childishly that Spike expected him to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum.
“Names don’t make a difference,” she said. “You’re still the same person, and it’s still the same game that almost got us killed.”
“It’s a sacred ritual,” he protested. “It’s ‘The Long Night’, the festival of the Winter Solstice. Vampyres gather to celebrate their community.”
Behind the dumpster, Spike snorted.
Marvin kept talking nonsense to Anne. “It’s the traditional night to welcome new members to the coven. It’s a sacred rite of passage.”
It was bollocks.
Anne shook her head. “You’re going to get yourself killed, can’t you see that?”
Marvin protested, “They turned Ford. They can turn me, too.”
“Into what?” she cried.
Marvin stepped away, looking unhappy and mulish. “You won’t go with me?”
Anne crossed her arms and stood her ground. “I won’t go with you, and what’s more, I don’t want you filling my kid’s heads with this… this crap.” She stepped back into the shelter. “Don’t come here again.”
The squirrelly guy walked out of the alley and, in the shadows behind the dumpster, Spike squared his shoulders knowing that he’d found something to do. He intended to make this years “Long Night” one many people would never forget…
Chapter 2
Title: Fire and Ice (1 of 4)
Spoilers: Post-NFA
Genre: Spike-centric AtS, Gen
Rating: Somewhere between PG and R
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine. Never been paid and never will be.
Written For:
noel_of_spikeSummary As Christmas rolls around, Spike finds himself without plans... so he heads to Canada to atone for an old crime, confronts an ex, and faces down a dragon. He'll need whiskey in his egg nog after this.
Author's Note: I tried to finish. I really, reallly did. But, like Spike, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the events around me. I'll post this story in parts over the next few days. Sorry!
I
Leaning against the sofa cushions, Spike closed his eyes and propped his feet against the coffee table. He tried to ignore the fact that the room was polluted by the sound of an over-produced, vaguely Kenny G-like rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”, or the fact that there was a silver foil Christmas tree standing in the corner and synthetic snow on the sill of a window framing a sunny, seventy degree day. He couldn’t imagine how any of this could inspire thoughts of a real Christmas. Then, for reasons unknown, he took a breath and smiled. (When Angel would mock him for breathing so often, Spike would tell him that it was an idiosyncrasy, and the killjoy would simply have to deal with it.) Breathing had its benefits, and Spike took a moment to savor the sweet, spicy scent of gingerbread.
Someone was baking, and some part of Spike’s brain zoomed back, across more than a hundred years, to his boyhood when Christmas had held the hope of fresh snow, bells on sleighs, and chestnuts roasted on fires. Out of everything, though, his favorite had been the gingerbread—a treat his mother had never made because they had a cook for that, but which she had allowed him to buy for a penny at winter fairs.
Spike breathed in the scent again and wallowed in nostalgia before Angel burst into the room with Gunn yapping at his heels.
“Come on,” Gunn said. “A little turkey, some stuffing. It’s not a big deal.”
Angel said nothing. He simply glowered.
Gunn added, “Anne’s willing to buy otter blood.”
Spike asked, “Will it be congealed with little clumpy bits?” Gunn shot him a look of shock and disgust. “What? Like cranberry sauce. It would be festive.”
Angel growled. “Shut up, Spike.”
Spike gave his best I’m-an-asshole smirk, before closing his eyes to continue basking in the scent of baked goods.
Angel said, “I’m not stopping you and Anne…” After a significant pause he added, “And whoever from celebrating Christmas, I’m simply telling you that I won’t be part of it.”
“Bah-humbug,” Spike said without opening his eyes.
Gunn sighed. “You’re missing the point, Angel. Anne wants you to be part of it. When you were head of Wolfram and Hart, you funded this place.”
Spike opened one eye to watch the arguing men. If Charlie was trying to push Angel into the holiday spirit, he had just made a serious misstep. Angel looked as glum as ever, which was exactly what Spike expected.
Angel had been this way for months, ever since that night in the alley. Spike didn’t blame the big lug. Not really. Defeat was a hard thing to swallow, and the battle with Wolfram and Hart had ended in resounding defeat.
Spike remembered the electric tension running through him as he had stood readying himself for battle and resolving that the battle would be epic.
However, if there was one thing Spike had learned in his far-too-many years on the planet, it was to never become so set in your expectations that you couldn’t adjust if things went in an entirely different direction. Things almost always went in an entirely different direction.
So they had stood, ready for the battle to end all battles – for Armageddon, for God’s sake. There had been demons, monsters, and a giant (or had it been a troll?) At any rate, rather than fight, the Army of Darkness had parted, making room for the entrance of one tall, curvaceous woman.
“Lilah.” Angel had growled and looked unhappy at the sound of his own voice saying her name. She, on the other hand, had smiled, and it was a cold, knowing smile that in some way reminded Spike of Darla.
Lilah had told them that Angel and Gunn, being paid employees of Wolfram and Hart, were being placed on indefinite sabbatical with the full termination of their contracts to be executed at the Senior Partners’ discretion. She had also explained that the Circle of the Black Thorn had been replaced, and that the president of the Japanese branch of Wolfram and Hart was relocating to L.A., effective immediately.
Charlie had stumbled and fallen to the ground, his blood mixing with the rain that sluiced over their bodies, and Spike had been left in the singularly odd position of being the one having to point this out.
Spike was good at being the right hand man in the face of a doomed battle, but it had always been the likes of Tara or Willow… Dawn, Xander, the Watcher – either of them – Fred, or even Buffy to keep an eye on humans in mortal danger. Now, only the demons were left. Blue--and her wish to do yet more violence--Angel, and himself. And Angel was steeled for Armageddon, needing to see the fight through to the bitter end and unable to see a life beyond it. Spike had needed to elbow the older vampire, to nudge Angel into realizing that he had one lieutenant left and that the fallen soldier was bleeding his life out on the ground.
Angel never would have left that alley if it had just been him alone. The soul-weary bastard would have gladly died in a kick-ass battle, but an obligation to Charlie had done what no words possibly could. For duty and obligation, Angel could accept defeat. And it had been the very worst kind of defeat. It had been humiliating, and it had been futile. Nothing had been accomplished. Nothing had changed in the big scheme of things… nothing except that good people were dead.
It must be a hard thing to be a leader and to watch your lieutenants die. Since Angel had taken over the cursed lawfirm, Cordelia Chase, sweet little Fred, and the Watcher had all died. And Spike didn’t like to ask questions about what had happened to Drogyn. He suspected that he knew the answer anyway. Dark cults like the Circle had nasty initiation rights, and Angel had gone through all of them. He’d trod through blood and death with an eye towards it leading to… something. Spike had never been certain what the exact goal had been. Atonement? Saving the world? Whatever it was, he figured that it had been noble and, whatever the goal, and it must have been a mirage, because there was nothing there. All sound and fury signifying… well… not very much.
They had taken Gunn to the hospital where the doctors had pronounced him ‘not quite dead yet,’ but it had been close. The man had been in the ICU for days and in rehab for months. And, in case there had ever been any doubt about the matter, it had been quite definitively proved that two vampires and a million year old demon were woefully ill prepared to deal with the red tape involved in the modern American medical system.
When Gunn had become well enough, he had insisted that they call for help, which had turned up as a cute little bit of blonde fluff named Anne, who had hated Spike on first sight.
Acutally, that wasn’t entirely true. It was closer to second sight, though it had taken Spike some time to discover that fact.
Anne had arrived at the hospital, greeted Angel warmly, come into the room, and – with her hand resting lightly on Gunn’s bicep – she had placed a light kiss on Charlie-boy’s forehead. “You had to play big-time hero.”
He had smiled weakly and said, “And now I need you to be mine.”
Angel had told her that they all could use her help, and she had wanted to know who ‘we’ entailed. Angel had introduced her to Blue, who morphed out of her disguise as the guileless Fred. The woman had paled and looked uncertain, but had greeted Illyria cautiously. Then, when she had turned to be introduced to Spike, her gaze had turned to ice. She had reached for the crucifix, which hung around her neck, and started to back away.
Gunn had rushed to explain the bit about vampires and souls, but it hadn’t looked like she was buying… at least not with anyone but Angel.
Typical.
Spike had seen the same sort of reaction before. With Angel there was always the conviction that there was Angelus and then there was the poof. They might share some similarities in appearance – and a poor taste in haircuts – but they were two separate creatures entirely. With Spike there was only Spike – which didn’t bother Spike much because as far as he could tell there was only one him. However, he’d never ceased to marvel that Angel had convinced so many people that the two parts of himself had nothing to do with one another. Spike would laugh about the whole thing if it didn’t piss him off quite so much.
At any rate, Anne’s response to Gunn’s explanation that Spike wasn’t the enemy any more was to keep her distance. She ignored Spike whenever he came around.
After Charlie had been released from the hospital, he’d taken the time to explain to Spike that if Anne continued to be nervous and angry, it was because that she had run across Spike in the bad old days. She had been part of a group of Goth teens, the Sunset Club, who had read too much Anne Rice and listened to too much Marilyn Manson or Evanescence, or whatever such kids had listened to in those days. The group had been headed by Buffy’s friend Chevy…
Wait. No. That wasn’t it, but for the life of him, Spike couldn’t think what it was. Just that it had involved the name of a car… or something.
Buffy’s friend with the automotive name had tried to strike a bargain, some overwrought request about being granted ‘eternal life.’ And, though Buffy had held Drusilla hostage, forcing Spike to release Anne and the others, Spike had honored his bargain with the teen, turning him into a vampire. The git had never even thought about the fact that Buffy was certain to know and that, as was her habit, she’d meet his newly resurrected ass with the pointy end of a stake. Spike and Dru had had a good laugh about that one.
Anyway, Anne held a grudge for all that history, and Spike couldn’t bring himself to entirely blame her, even though her unrelenting distrust had become a source of irritation. Turned out, it was the only thing that Angel had found amusing in the six months since the Watcher’s death.
In the end, since Gunn had hooked up with her, an unvoiced truce had been formed between Anne and Spike. After Charlie’s close call with death, the human had said that he planned to redirect his ‘helping the helpless’ philosophy into slightly less supernatural territory, using his demonically enhanced brain instead of his oh-so-very-mortal body. Charlie had become a pro-bono lawyer, one who defended and worked for Anne’s runaways. And Angel, having found himself kicked out of the penthouse, had accepted the offer of a room above Anne’s shelter.
Spike was less welcome. Anny hadn’t chased him away with a cross and stake, but she had been visibly pleased to hear that Spike had a place of his own (fortunately, Lindsey had paid Spike’s six-month lease in advance.)
Things had remained in this relatively peaceful state until the holidays had begun making people crazy. Now Charlie followed Angel down the hallway begging. “Come on, man. It’s Christmas.”
Angel said, “Vampires don’t ‘do’ Christmas.” And he closed the door in Charlie’s face.
Gunn sighed, and Spike couldn’t stop himself. He said, “Could’ve told you that you were beating your head against a wall.”
Gunn shook his head. “It’s been almost seven months. I thought…”
“What?” Spike asked. “That he’d get over it?”
”No. Not that. Just…”
“Brood a little less?”
Gunn gave a small shrug that Spike took for a ‘yes.’ “Cheer up, Charlie-boy. Even Angel can’t brood forever.” Though Spike didn’t have the heart to tell the man that if they were taking bets, Spike would lay money down on it lasting five years to a decade.
Gunn perked up. “Hey, I might have struck out with one of the soul brothers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hit a homerun with the other one.”
Spike eyed the young man suspiciously. “I don’t deck halls or play Santa.”
“Nah. I’d never ask that of you.” He ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. “Besides, that’s not exactly the gift Anne wants.”
Spike tensed. “What does she want?”
Gunn sank into the battered chair standing opposite the sofa where Spike had made himself comfortable. “The truth is, she’d like you to make yourself more scarce, not hang around as often.” Charlie leaned forward, with his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together. “I’m not talking about forever. Just for the holidays.”
Spike kept carefully still and realized that the scent of gingerbread had disappeared completely. “Right,” he said. He stood, grabbing his coat off the arm of the sofa. “No problem. “
Gunn looked concerned. “It doesn’t have to be right this second. I don’t—“
Spike held up his hand. “Don’t apologize. She’s your girl. I know what it’s like. A guy does what he can for his girl. “
He’d die. Fight for a soul. Die again. Spike knew all about the lengths a guy would go to for love. And with more determination than he’d felt for just about anything for a long time, he ignored the tight, cold knot that formed in his chest and said, “Besides, vampires don’t ‘do’ Christmas, remember?”
Spike closed the metal door behind him, realizing too late that he’d just trapped himself in the shadowed back alley. It was sunny, and the wrong time of day to reach the manhole access to the sewer that was located near the loading dock.
“Bugger.” He leaned his head against the brick wall and searched his pockets for a pack of nicotine gum. He’d thought about taking up smoking again, but had decided against it, not wanting to incur more of Anne’s death glares.
He guessed it didn’t matter now. It didn’t look like keeping the peace posed a problem any more, which left him more time to ponder the other hundred or so concerns he had, one of which entailed finding a place to live.
Lindsey’s pre-paid lease was running out, and, before this turn of events, Spike had briefly considered asking whether he could bunk somewhere in the shelter. He’d even been willing to bunk with Angel if he had to. But now, he had to think of something else, and that was even before he started to examine the more existential conundrum of what to do about the rest of his existence.
It had been a question which bugged him more and more lately, though perhaps he’d never really thought of it in an existential way. He was more pragmatic than that. What he’d really been wondering was what in the hell was he supposed to do.
He wasn’t like Angel, who could indefinitely mourn what had been lost and who could spend lifetimes going over his regrets. Angel had raised brooding to an artform, but that would only drive Spike mad—one time, it had. Literally.
No, Spike couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t handle examining and re-examining things he couldn’t change. He needed something to do.
That was the place where he always pulled up short. Do what exactly? As William he had pursued love all the way to his own death. As Spike, he had focused on twin goals of retaining Dru’s affection and seeking the head of the Slayer. Later, he had concerned himself with other parts of the Slayer and that had turned into what? A desire for redemption? A need to earn Buffy’s respect? All goals felt like quicksilver to him. He could reach to touch them, but he could never hold them in his hand. And in some way – he had never quite figured out how – he had taken on Angel’s causes as his own.
Now, Spike had to face the fact that if Angel had lost direction, then he had lost direction as well. He could hunt random demons – God knows he couldn’t sit still – but was that it? Was that all that was left? The hunt for the sake of the hunt alone?”
“I told you not to involve me in this,” Anne hissed as she pushed a thin, gangly man out of the shelter’s loading dock door.
Spike stepped back, not exactly hiding being a dumpster, but not drawing attention to himself.
The man with Anne looked squirrelly in a way that Spike hadn’t seen since Andrew.
“Chanterelle,” the guy said, “You’ve got to understand.”
“No, I don’t,” she told him. “And my name is Anne. You know that.”
“We took different names, once. We had dreams.”
“Delusions. For God’s sake, I named myself after a mushroom because I thought it sounded pretty.”
He looked hurt. “It was pretty. It is pretty. You simply have to see things through different eyes.”
“Is that what you’re telling the kids in my shelter?” She looked angry. “Did you learn nothing from what happened last time? Playing with the occult is dangerous, Marvin.”
“Diego. I changed it. Officially. It’s Diego, now.” He said it so childishly that Spike expected him to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum.
“Names don’t make a difference,” she said. “You’re still the same person, and it’s still the same game that almost got us killed.”
“It’s a sacred ritual,” he protested. “It’s ‘The Long Night’, the festival of the Winter Solstice. Vampyres gather to celebrate their community.”
Behind the dumpster, Spike snorted.
Marvin kept talking nonsense to Anne. “It’s the traditional night to welcome new members to the coven. It’s a sacred rite of passage.”
It was bollocks.
Anne shook her head. “You’re going to get yourself killed, can’t you see that?”
Marvin protested, “They turned Ford. They can turn me, too.”
“Into what?” she cried.
Marvin stepped away, looking unhappy and mulish. “You won’t go with me?”
Anne crossed her arms and stood her ground. “I won’t go with you, and what’s more, I don’t want you filling my kid’s heads with this… this crap.” She stepped back into the shelter. “Don’t come here again.”
The squirrelly guy walked out of the alley and, in the shadows behind the dumpster, Spike squared his shoulders knowing that he’d found something to do. He intended to make this years “Long Night” one many people would never forget…
Chapter 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 06:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:05 pm (UTC)And I hope Anne redeemed herself a little. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 07:45 am (UTC)got me all sniffly at how Spike was being treated,
really looking forward to the next installment!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 09:48 am (UTC)I liked this line - never become so set in your expectations that you couldn’t adjust if things went in an entirely different direction. Things almost always went in an entirely different direction. It seems to sum up where Spike is, at the moment - kind of deflated and betrayed, looking for something to replace all his lost dreams.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:08 pm (UTC)I liked this line - never become so set in your expectations that you couldn’t adjust if things went in an entirely different direction. Things almost always went in an entirely different direction. It seems to sum up where Spike is, at the moment - kind of deflated and betrayed, looking for something to replace all his lost dreams.
Thanks for the feedback. That's sort of the feeling I was shooting for.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 11:34 am (UTC)Beautiful banner, by the way.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 04:08 pm (UTC)I'm waiting for the next chap!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 04:46 pm (UTC)The very essence of Spike, and the thing that has always made him such a fascinating character - his ability to morph and change, to remake himself as the need demanded. :)
The group had been headed by Buffy’s friend Chevy…
Hee!
I'm really enjoying this. And while I can sympathize with Anne (to a point) I also want to smack her. sigh Poor lonely Spike. Even in a crowd, he's always alone. I'm really looking forward to where to you take him in this story.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-30 01:49 am (UTC)BTW, the banner is gorgeous.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-05 05:45 am (UTC)Sorry about not completing on time. I meant to, I truly did.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-05 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-05 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-30 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 02:09 pm (UTC)I feel badly for poor Spike, though I honestly can't blame Anne. But still! Poor Spike.
Enjoyed the many funny parts; but especially the Diego moment.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-07 07:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-18 07:48 pm (UTC)My heart hurt for Spike as well in his ruminations about how he can rarely measure up to Angel in most people's eyes and yet, in some ways, he has accomplished greater acts than Angel. There is just such great character commentary in this first chapter. Looking forward to the rest.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-20 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 11:52 am (UTC)Just to let you know that I hope to catch up with this fic some time over Christmas.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-20 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-20 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-20 03:53 pm (UTC)