FIC: Seraph (2/?)
Jan. 29th, 2009 02:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snick_backupStory begins here. All parts may be found here.
~~~~~
Spike couldn’t say, even to himself, exactly why he’d come to the Watcher’s. Curiosity, he supposed. A whim. It took all the fun out of killing if you didn’t know what you were killing until you’d already done the deed.
He waited until the Scoobies had wandered resolutely off to whatever riotous kiddy fun was on schedule for the night. Buffy was the last, but finally she left, too, stake in hand, heading towards the nearest cemetary. Spike edged from behind his oak and marched himself across the street. Of the whole sodding lot of them, there was only one he’d have been less thrilled to explain this to than Giles.
The door was actually locked, for once. Spike banged on it. “Oi, Watcher! Need to talk to you.” His vamp hearing picked up a shuffle coming down the stairs, and he gave the door another couple good raps for emphasis.
“Buffy, you needn’t break the-- Spike.” Giles eyed him with aggressive disinterest.
“The Spike’s not broken, but thanks for caring.” Spike slipped inside before Giles could block him. “Need a favor.”
Giles sighed heavily and closed the door behind him. “Another tracking device removed? The use of my couch? My best scotch? I’m afraid the Giles Center for Useless Wastrels closes at sundown.”
“That’s discrimination,” Spike said. He shucked the duster over the back of the couch and headed into the kitchen, because being still would mean talking. “Don’t have any blood left over, do you?”
“You’re interrupting my bedtime so that you can raid my refrigerator.”
“Fridge is a bonus.” Aha. There it was, one last bag. Good thing; just thinking about it had made him hungry again.
Giles stood at the kitchen doorway. “Either state your purpose or leave.”
“Right.” Spike edged past Giles. “Mind if I sit down?” He dropped onto the couch and tore open the bag with a fang. Cold, but he didn’t care just then.
“What I mind is that you are in my flat. Your location herein is secondary.” The disinterest had yielded to an active glare.
“Told you, need a favor.” The blood was disgusting stuff, all cold and syrupy going down his throat, and he still couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Which I shall greatly enjoy refusing you as soon as you tell me what it is.”
Spike squeezed the last few globules from the bag and shook out of vamp face. “Look, I need a spell, all right? Something to tell humans from demons.”
Giles gave a not entirely dignified snort. “You needn’t a spell for that, Spike. I can assure you you are wholly demon.”
“Not for me.” Was there any way of putting this that wasn’t sodding humiliating?
But he’d finally managed to catch the Watcher’s attention. “Then who do you mean? Oh.” The interest faded. “You want to know if the chip will fire when you hit someone.”
“What? No.” Although that didn’t sound like such a bad idea, actually. “Something else.” Giles huffed in impatience, and Spike hastened, “Look, those lab blokes, right? They didn’t just shove a chip up my brain. They gave me a... parasite.”
“You have tapeworms.” Now Giles just looked revolted.
“No!” Spike leapt to his feet and saw Giles calculating the distance to the crossbow. “They gave me a baby!”
The look on the Watcher’s face was almost worth it, Spike reflected. Utter incredulity. Off came the glasses, out came the handkerchief. Wait for it...
“Good Lord.” There it was.
For the barest moment, Spike was enjoying himself.
“Are you certain?”
So much for that.
Spike slumped back onto the couch. “Saw the picture on the little black screen. Humanoid, the doc said, but he couldn’t be more specific. Said it was medicine and the mojo wouldn’t do me any good, but it seems to me you oughta at least be able to tell the species of the thing.”
“I-- yes, I imagine I could. You’re right, the division between demon and human is quite well defined...” His voice trailed off as he begun taking books from the nearest bookshelf. While Giles mumbled to himself Spike stared down at his knuckles. So Giles wasn’t Spike’s fuzzy authority blanket, the way he was the Slayer’s; he could still see the appeal of having someone to dump all the knottiest questions on. Any problem that couldn’t be killed: ‘Here, fix this,’ and it’d be fixed.
“Here it is.” Giles waved a book at him. “An incantation, a candle, I believe I have those herbs... Yes. Just a moment while I gather supplies.”
“Sure I’m not keeping you from beddy-bye?”
Giles looked over at him vaguely. “Certainly not. Easily done, it won’t take any time to prepare.” He wandered upstairs and a few moments later he was back, hands full with oddments he set on the coffee table. “This will be a bit more complicated since the creature in question is contained within another creature--that’s correct, isn’t it?” Giles glanced up, half-startled, as though suddenly certain he’d misheard.
“Yeah, that’s right. I need to strip?”
“No, that’s quite all right. A little plant fiber should make no difference. Although I should be very curious to examine you--” For the first time, Giles really looked at him, eyes searching.
Spike hunched against his gaze. “Not here to satisfy your curiosity.”
“Of course. Quite.” Giles turned back to his preparations. After a few more minutes’ puttering, he lit the candles, smeared a drop of the warmed wax on Spike’s forehead, and muttered a few words to himself that the room’s sudden static said were magick. Another minute, more words, the pungeant stink of burnt herbs, and then Giles held up the candle again. “As I hold the flame to your--ah, to your stomach--it is your stomach?”
“Yeah.”
“Then the flame should turn the color appropriate to the species of the--well. You understand.”
“I understand you’re wantin’ to hold the flame right next to the flammable vampire!”
“Oh, hush, I’m not going to light you on fire. Come, stand here so I can get the proper angle.”
Warily, Spike stood and edged towards Giles until he got the nod to stop, and then Giles held the candle a few inches from Spike and muttered a few last words. For a moment nothing happened, and then the flame spit sparks, flared a brilliant magenta, and snuffed out.
“Well,” was all Giles said.
Spike settled shakily back onto the sofa. “What’s the verdict? Demon, like dear old dad?”
Giles gave him a sharp look. “Human.” He shook his head, rose, and went to the cabinet where the decanter was hidden. He knocked back a finger for himself, and then filled his glass and another and handed the second to Spike. Finally Giles sat at the table, still shaking his head.
Human. Well, that answered the question, didn’t it? Not a face-sucker out of Alien--a bit of a relief, that was, despite what he’s seen on the screen. Not even some near-human thing with violet eyes or a forked tongue or a smidge of telepathy. Just human.
So now he knew.
“Those bloody idiots.”
Spike glanced up to see Giles glowering at his scotch.
“They entrusted the wellbeing of a human embryo to a vampire. Those interfering self-absorbed idiotic arses. What did they think they were doing, using a vampire as a surrogate? You’re violent, you have filthy living habits... It violates every principle of decency, all experience in nature. It’s criminally irresponsible. It’s an abomination.”
“The vampire’s not so pleased about it, either.” Spike slammed the untasted glass on the table and stood. “Just the chip was more than bloody enough, but this--”
“You’ll have it terminated, I assume.”
Spike stiffened against the Watcher’s hard gaze. “Know a bloke in L.A.”
“Of course.” A tight, humorless smile. “It will be the first human life you’ve ended in quite some time.”
“Yeah.” Spike snatched at his duster and shoved his arms into the sleeves. “Appreciate the mojo. Got things to kill now.”
He stalked out the door and down the street, opposite the direction the Slayer had gone--he had no interest in meeting up with her just now. He’d try the cemetaries first; there’d been a rumor at Willy’s of a rising party at Woodridge tonight. If he couldn’t find enough violence there, well, he could always go give Willy some.
And then he’d call Steven Marie and confirm his appointment. ‘Abomination,’ right. He’d get this abomination bloody out of him.
next part
~~~~~
Spike couldn’t say, even to himself, exactly why he’d come to the Watcher’s. Curiosity, he supposed. A whim. It took all the fun out of killing if you didn’t know what you were killing until you’d already done the deed.
He waited until the Scoobies had wandered resolutely off to whatever riotous kiddy fun was on schedule for the night. Buffy was the last, but finally she left, too, stake in hand, heading towards the nearest cemetary. Spike edged from behind his oak and marched himself across the street. Of the whole sodding lot of them, there was only one he’d have been less thrilled to explain this to than Giles.
The door was actually locked, for once. Spike banged on it. “Oi, Watcher! Need to talk to you.” His vamp hearing picked up a shuffle coming down the stairs, and he gave the door another couple good raps for emphasis.
“Buffy, you needn’t break the-- Spike.” Giles eyed him with aggressive disinterest.
“The Spike’s not broken, but thanks for caring.” Spike slipped inside before Giles could block him. “Need a favor.”
Giles sighed heavily and closed the door behind him. “Another tracking device removed? The use of my couch? My best scotch? I’m afraid the Giles Center for Useless Wastrels closes at sundown.”
“That’s discrimination,” Spike said. He shucked the duster over the back of the couch and headed into the kitchen, because being still would mean talking. “Don’t have any blood left over, do you?”
“You’re interrupting my bedtime so that you can raid my refrigerator.”
“Fridge is a bonus.” Aha. There it was, one last bag. Good thing; just thinking about it had made him hungry again.
Giles stood at the kitchen doorway. “Either state your purpose or leave.”
“Right.” Spike edged past Giles. “Mind if I sit down?” He dropped onto the couch and tore open the bag with a fang. Cold, but he didn’t care just then.
“What I mind is that you are in my flat. Your location herein is secondary.” The disinterest had yielded to an active glare.
“Told you, need a favor.” The blood was disgusting stuff, all cold and syrupy going down his throat, and he still couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Which I shall greatly enjoy refusing you as soon as you tell me what it is.”
Spike squeezed the last few globules from the bag and shook out of vamp face. “Look, I need a spell, all right? Something to tell humans from demons.”
Giles gave a not entirely dignified snort. “You needn’t a spell for that, Spike. I can assure you you are wholly demon.”
“Not for me.” Was there any way of putting this that wasn’t sodding humiliating?
But he’d finally managed to catch the Watcher’s attention. “Then who do you mean? Oh.” The interest faded. “You want to know if the chip will fire when you hit someone.”
“What? No.” Although that didn’t sound like such a bad idea, actually. “Something else.” Giles huffed in impatience, and Spike hastened, “Look, those lab blokes, right? They didn’t just shove a chip up my brain. They gave me a... parasite.”
“You have tapeworms.” Now Giles just looked revolted.
“No!” Spike leapt to his feet and saw Giles calculating the distance to the crossbow. “They gave me a baby!”
The look on the Watcher’s face was almost worth it, Spike reflected. Utter incredulity. Off came the glasses, out came the handkerchief. Wait for it...
“Good Lord.” There it was.
For the barest moment, Spike was enjoying himself.
“Are you certain?”
So much for that.
Spike slumped back onto the couch. “Saw the picture on the little black screen. Humanoid, the doc said, but he couldn’t be more specific. Said it was medicine and the mojo wouldn’t do me any good, but it seems to me you oughta at least be able to tell the species of the thing.”
“I-- yes, I imagine I could. You’re right, the division between demon and human is quite well defined...” His voice trailed off as he begun taking books from the nearest bookshelf. While Giles mumbled to himself Spike stared down at his knuckles. So Giles wasn’t Spike’s fuzzy authority blanket, the way he was the Slayer’s; he could still see the appeal of having someone to dump all the knottiest questions on. Any problem that couldn’t be killed: ‘Here, fix this,’ and it’d be fixed.
“Here it is.” Giles waved a book at him. “An incantation, a candle, I believe I have those herbs... Yes. Just a moment while I gather supplies.”
“Sure I’m not keeping you from beddy-bye?”
Giles looked over at him vaguely. “Certainly not. Easily done, it won’t take any time to prepare.” He wandered upstairs and a few moments later he was back, hands full with oddments he set on the coffee table. “This will be a bit more complicated since the creature in question is contained within another creature--that’s correct, isn’t it?” Giles glanced up, half-startled, as though suddenly certain he’d misheard.
“Yeah, that’s right. I need to strip?”
“No, that’s quite all right. A little plant fiber should make no difference. Although I should be very curious to examine you--” For the first time, Giles really looked at him, eyes searching.
Spike hunched against his gaze. “Not here to satisfy your curiosity.”
“Of course. Quite.” Giles turned back to his preparations. After a few more minutes’ puttering, he lit the candles, smeared a drop of the warmed wax on Spike’s forehead, and muttered a few words to himself that the room’s sudden static said were magick. Another minute, more words, the pungeant stink of burnt herbs, and then Giles held up the candle again. “As I hold the flame to your--ah, to your stomach--it is your stomach?”
“Yeah.”
“Then the flame should turn the color appropriate to the species of the--well. You understand.”
“I understand you’re wantin’ to hold the flame right next to the flammable vampire!”
“Oh, hush, I’m not going to light you on fire. Come, stand here so I can get the proper angle.”
Warily, Spike stood and edged towards Giles until he got the nod to stop, and then Giles held the candle a few inches from Spike and muttered a few last words. For a moment nothing happened, and then the flame spit sparks, flared a brilliant magenta, and snuffed out.
“Well,” was all Giles said.
Spike settled shakily back onto the sofa. “What’s the verdict? Demon, like dear old dad?”
Giles gave him a sharp look. “Human.” He shook his head, rose, and went to the cabinet where the decanter was hidden. He knocked back a finger for himself, and then filled his glass and another and handed the second to Spike. Finally Giles sat at the table, still shaking his head.
Human. Well, that answered the question, didn’t it? Not a face-sucker out of Alien--a bit of a relief, that was, despite what he’s seen on the screen. Not even some near-human thing with violet eyes or a forked tongue or a smidge of telepathy. Just human.
So now he knew.
“Those bloody idiots.”
Spike glanced up to see Giles glowering at his scotch.
“They entrusted the wellbeing of a human embryo to a vampire. Those interfering self-absorbed idiotic arses. What did they think they were doing, using a vampire as a surrogate? You’re violent, you have filthy living habits... It violates every principle of decency, all experience in nature. It’s criminally irresponsible. It’s an abomination.”
“The vampire’s not so pleased about it, either.” Spike slammed the untasted glass on the table and stood. “Just the chip was more than bloody enough, but this--”
“You’ll have it terminated, I assume.”
Spike stiffened against the Watcher’s hard gaze. “Know a bloke in L.A.”
“Of course.” A tight, humorless smile. “It will be the first human life you’ve ended in quite some time.”
“Yeah.” Spike snatched at his duster and shoved his arms into the sleeves. “Appreciate the mojo. Got things to kill now.”
He stalked out the door and down the street, opposite the direction the Slayer had gone--he had no interest in meeting up with her just now. He’d try the cemetaries first; there’d been a rumor at Willy’s of a rising party at Woodridge tonight. If he couldn’t find enough violence there, well, he could always go give Willy some.
And then he’d call Steven Marie and confirm his appointment. ‘Abomination,’ right. He’d get this abomination bloody out of him.
next part
