Cracking the Shell - Part One
NOTE: Set after Week 3.1 in the Eyes Only AU. While out on a date with Giles in London, Anya refused to grant a vengeance wish; she was immediately taken by "security" demons from Arashmaharr. This fic recounts what happened a couple of days later.
It was early evening in London, but she hadn’t had time to notice what it was like outside. Dark, she assumed. Inside the expensive block of flats, of course, the corridor lamps gleamed a dim gold. No burnt-out lights were allowed on Sloane Avenue.
She could barely hear the sweet, muted tone of his guitar through the door. She counted the grooves on the door, the chords she could make out, until the two behind her coughed. Of course they wouldn’t appreciate Rupert’s home and music like she did. They had other priorities.
"Come on, come on." Olga brushed down her ceremonial black robe, fingered the dagger at her side.
Tapping her foot, Halfrek said, "Anyanka. We’re on a schedule."
"I know that, thank you." She knocked once, twice, her knuckles scraping just a bit against the wood. She heard the snap of a guitar string, a growled "Bugger." Footsteps–
And he yanked open the door. She distracted herself from her terror, by cataloguing his appearance. He’d changed after work: his favourite blue sweatshirt, his favourite jeans, no shoes. She treasured his smile, the way his eyes lit as soon as he realised who was on his doorstep. "Anya! Darling, I’ve been so worried," he said.
"Rupert. You’re not patrolling tonight, are you?" she asked.
He had seen the others by that time, however. His shoulders went back, his mouth tightened: suddenly Giles, not Rupert. The other vengeance demons took an involuntary step back. Yet he kept his voice warm and soft for her. "No, I’m not. Do you need me?"
You have no idea, she thought. He moved closer, eased his hands onto her shoulders as if she would break at his touch. She said, "Yes, I do. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind – it’s just –"
"Anyanka has been found guilty of dereliction of vengeance duty; she awaits her sentence," Halfrek interrupted. She threw back the hood of her cloak, threw back her head to show off her throat. Her amulet glowed.
"We’re here to take her," Olga fluttered.
Rupert said coldly, "I don’t believe we’ve met – ?"
"Olga, Halfrek, this is Rupert Giles. Rupert, these are my, um escorts," Anya said. When he looked back at her, she answered his real question. "Since I’ve been found guilty, I have to go to Arashmaharr to hear my sentence. But the protocol states I can have one witness in support, and of course –"
"I’ll go. Let me put on my boots and get my keys." He tightened his grip, then glared at Hallie and Olga. "We’ll be right back." He pulled her into his studio flat and shut the door on her escorts. Well, strictly speaking, guards.
"They won’t like that," she said.
And in fact the two started a polite but insistent knocking on the door.
"I don’t bloody care." He tipped up her chin; she hadn’t really known she’d been staring at the floor. Light eyes fixed on hers. "Are you all right?"
She fell forward, resting against him. Only a brief stagger betrayed his still weak ankle, and then he was solid, holding her close. She said into his sweatshirt, "I don’t know if I will be. I don’t know what my punishment is."
"Oh, Anya --"
"But since you were part of my first loss of powers, when you smashed my amulet, I thought you should be part of whatever happens to me this – " she broke off, struggling with tears. Her eyes closed so that she didn’t accidentally see the expression on his face, whatever it was. She was terrified of what he thought. She was terrified, period.
"What can I do?"
She choked, "Nothing foolish or heroic, Rupert. I just want you with me."
"You have me." He led her, still blind, and she found herself sitting on his sofa. Eyes closed, she ran her free hand on the throw they’d found at Peter Jones last week. So soft. She wanted to hide under the velvet she’d bought him.
A millennium had taught her, however, that there was no hiding from vengeance.
"Stay right there," he said, and she felt him move away. She could hear the door open, the knocking stop. He said, no longer pretending to be polite, "Just wait one bloody minute. We’re coming."
The two of them started to say something, but he slammed the door on their protests. She heard his muttered curse as he shifted things. Then his weight came down beside her. She opened her eyes, just to check. Oh, he really was putting on his boots like he said he would. That’s right – Rupert didn’t lie.
"Anyanka!" Halfrek’s trill penetrated through the walls and wood.
"I said, in a bloody minute!" he said, louder than his usual voice. He finished knotting his laces, but stayed hunched over. One hand found hers and wrapped warmly around her fingers. "I’m with you, dear."
"Thank you, Rupert." She couldn’t manage more than a whisper.
Still looking at the floor, he brought her hand to his lips. Warmth sparked as he brushed against her palm. Her need to cry retreated.
They stood up at the same time and fell into their new/old routine. He strode around looking for his keys, which were never where he thought he’d put them; she went to the closet to fetch his coat. He might not need it, she thought as she pulled out his long Barbour, but this was what she always did before they went out. She wanted to take care of him one more time. Just in case.
He took it from her, murmuring a quick thanks. After shrugging into the coat, he clasped her shoulders again. His fingers massaged a painful knot there, and she shivered. "Are we –?" he asked softly.
"Ready."
As soon as they came out of the door, Olga snapped, "That was completely irregular."
More evenly Halfrek said, "I’d hate to have to tell D’Hoffryn about this. Delaying court proceedings might make it worse for Anya."
"Then I shouldn’t mention it, if I were you." Rupert locked his door and pocketed his keys in one series of fluid, furious movements. When he turned to face the escorts, he appeared taller, grimmer. His eyes flashed anger-blue in the dimness. Even Anya felt a small thrill of fear, and she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Not any more. The two demons quailed outright as he said, "The witness is prepared to attend, which is your only concern."
Olga and Hallie gulped. Anya caught hold of his arm, saying, "Let’s go, Rupert." Her free hand went to her amulet.
Matter, time, space shifted. Dimensions folded in on themselves, sliced open –
They were there. The two of them stood at the heart of a large circle of vengeance demons. Halfrek and Olga fell into sentry-position just behind.
Anya cast a quick look at her surroundings. It all seemed horribly familiar. Sentencing took place on a dark, frozen plain, away from Arashmaharr civilisation. It was always at night. Two bonfires marked the most important part of the inner circle, and gusts of wind whipped hissing sparks into the air.
D’Hoffryn stood between the fires. When he saw them all appear, he put away the time-keeper he had been consulting, and said, "You’re a trifle late, Anyanka. You and your witness."
"My fault," Rupert said. "I extend my apologies." He didn’t sound particularly sorry, Anya thought; his stance, and the set of his jaw, made him seem more inclined to start throwing punches or bursts of flame. She didn’t want to get him into trouble, so she tried to push him further away.
"And may I ask who you are?" D’Hoffryn asked.
"I’m her...partner. And if I might ask a question – " He looked at her, but spoke to D’Hoffryn. "Does your procedure require the witness to be separated from the defendant?"
"No," D’Hoffryn answered. "Should you wish to stand beside her, you may."
"I do. I shall." He moved up, a solid wall against the wind and fire. Fingers entwined. He brought her hand to his mouth – another warm kiss against her palm.
It was what she needed to beat back the terror. She said formally, "Blessed be the name of D’Hoffryn. What is your decision, Great One?"
"You have been found guilty of rejecting your vengeance duties. You have broken faith, broken contract – so soon after taking back your powers, too." He shook his head. "What have you to say for yourself, before I pronounce your doom?"
At the last word, Rupert’s grip tightened. She said, "I’ve already told you. I’m guilty."
"A final opportunity to explain your crime," D’Hoffryn said. "Take it or not, as you please."
"Listen, you can beg for forgiveness, remind him of your record! You’ve got a chance here, Anyanka. Use it," Hallie whispered.
A gust of ice sent a shower of green and red flames straight up into the sky. The circle of demons seemed to press forward. D’Hoffryn waited --
And Anyanka broke. "Okay, fine. All I have to say is...vengeance isn’t something I can invest in any more."
Gasps resounded from the audience all around her in the dark. Olga and Halfrek recoiled; they abandoned their places and slunk back into shadows.
It would be doom, then. This was exactly what she’d expected.
With Rupert clutching her hand, however, words she’d been saving since Willow’s breakdown poured out. "No, seriously. After a thousand years, I’ve finally figured out the deal. Oh sure, the power of the Wish, just retribution, blah blah – I’ve lived it, I’ve done the public relations. But you know what? It helps no one, well, except maybe those lower beings who use chaos like crack. If what we were doing was justice, real justice, then I’d still be out there answering the calls. Heck, I’d be marketing our services in every dimension."
D’Hoffryn rumbled a warning, but she spoke louder, faster. "But death and evisceration, ruin and destruction, turning people into goats or trying to end the world – we’re violating the mission statement. Justice? We harm the innocent more than we punish the guilty. I’ve seen the devastation now. It’s...wrong. Evil."
The demons howled at the forbidden word. Several began to move toward her, claws out. She’d heard of a sentencing gone horribly out of control before. The disgraced had been ripped apart by the crowd. D’Hoffryn snapped, "Decorum, please."
Two demons ignored the warning, crawled forward. Rupert raised his free hand. "Oh, I wouldn’t," he said. And then he projected blue fire, drew a barrier of magic in the barren soil between the on-lookers and the inner circle.
"I would have thought someone might have mentioned that your witness was a mage!" Then D’Hoffryn sighed. "Never mind. For what you have said, Anyanka, the punishment is immutable."
"I know."
"Once you tasted humanity, you lost sight of our vital work." D’Hoffryn’s tone was more wounded than accusatory. He walked to her and then took her amulet in his claws. "You deeply disappoint me. You’re not fit to be a demon any more."
Anya tensed. The last time she’d changed, she hadn’t remembered what actually happened after Rupert had smashed her amulet. She’d just found herself back at the start of the girl Cordelia’s wish. Somehow, she was sure that this time would be –
Pain. With a crack, the amulet broke: shattered stone, shattered demon body. Shards of magic ripped through her skin and below, then dissolved into the chill, taking her power with them. She could hear screaming, which might have been echoes of a thousand years of victims but more likely was her own.
Pain, overwhelming, crippling. The only thing keeping her upright was Rupert’s grasp on her hand.
Through the agony, she felt D’Hoffryn’s claws rest on her shoulder and bite into the flesh. More of her broke, and she screamed again.
Space, time, matter shifted. Strong arms went around her, and she opened her eyes.
They were in the corridor outside Rupert’s flat. He cradled her, whispering comfort into her hair. And D’Hoffryn loomed over them.
"Anyanka, you have deeply disappointed me," the vengeance-demon said again.
"I’m sorry," she mumbled. For what, she wasn’t sure.
When D’Hoffryn crouched down to their level, Rupert tightened his grip. "Is there anything else, or may I take care of her now?" he said, his voice all sharp edges and bass.
"Mage, feel lucky that I suffered your interference during the ceremony, and be quiet," D’Hoffryn said. Then, to her: "I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, Anyanka. But before you arrived for sentencing, intercession was made for you. Other powers have claimed you, it seems. And even I acknowledge that you performed brilliantly for over a thousand years. You deserve the parting bonus requested."
"A present for a demon?" she asked.
"Not exactly," D’Hoffryn said. He might have laughed. Then one clawed hand flashed out, he murmured a phrase she couldn’t hear, and the nails ripped once -- over her heart and into flesh. It happened too quickly for protest or scream.
Rupert pulled her back, just a second too late. "What the hell was that?"
"A justice-gift." D’Hoffryn rose to his feet, robes swirling. "You will discover its nature, Anyanka, when it is most required."
And he was gone.
Her hand went to her chest, but came away clean. There was no mark where D’Hoffryn had sliced into her, no wounds anywhere. "There’s no blood. Why isn’t there blood?" she whispered.
"I don’t know. We need to go inside, darling, you’ll be more comfortable," Rupert said. Just a brush of his fingertips against the torn cloth of her dress, and she felt better. He leaned her back against the wall and then stood, fumbling for his keys.
Down the hall, a door opened. Mrs. Taylor, Rupert’s next-door neighbour, popped her head out of her flat. "Hello, Mr. Giles. Is everything all right?"
"Yes, Mrs. Taylor. Just looking after Miss Jenkins, who’s been taken ill," he said. He opened his door.
The elderly woman hesitated, one hand twisted in her pearls. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No, thank you. Rupert’s got everything under control." Anya managed a smile.
"Ah. Well, good night. And don’t make so much noise, please," Mrs. Taylor said. The closing of her door was quite emphatic.
Funny. That was funny, wasn’t it? Eyes closed, Anya chuckled until her newly human self split open; her laugh became a sob before she could stop it. The racking pain only stopped at the touch of gentle hands.
Rupert supported her into his flat, getting her to the sofa. She curled into the cushions and pulled the velvet throw over her. Everything was too sharp, too cold. Maybe the plush would make her feel better.
He shut the door, and then shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. When he threw his keys onto his desk, she noted where they fell. He’d forget, she knew. The simple, familiar act of caring eased the ache for a heartbeat or so.
Moving to the side table, he lit the pillar candles arranged there. Lavender and something else she couldn’t identify wafted through the room. The flicker of light and the scent softened the pain even more.
But then he sat down, his arm going around her. At the Rupert-touch, the Rupert-scent stronger than the candles, she broke again.
"Go ahead and cry," he said, softer than the snapping flames beside them. She buried her head against his sweatshirt and wept. Every trace of salt-water was acid, every breath a knife-point sharper than D’Hoffryn’s claws.
She deserved it, of course.
She couldn’t have said how long she sobbed. Her tears had soaked through his shirt, though. He just rocked her, tiny movements, with his mouth against the top of her head.
When she finally looked up, he blinked away his own emotion. So gently, he caught her last tear with his thumb, and then brushed the moisture off her lashes. He tasted her tears, and she moved closer –
Above them, those annoying people in Flat 804 dropped something heavy on the floor. The thud echoed for a minute in his otherwise silent studio.
And then her stomach rumbled, louder than the annoying people above. Oh yes. She was definitely human again. "I’m sorry, but I’m really hungry," she croaked out.
"Right. We’ll have to take care of that," he said, his own voice uneven.
When he got up from the sofa, she cuddled into the spot he’d vacated. So warm. Her pain was dissolving into velvet comfort. He walked into the tiny kitchen just off the main room; she could hear him moving about, opening cabinets, checking the fridge. Something scraped against the cabinet, and then there was a splash.
Holding a glass of water, Rupert reappeared in the kitchen doorway. He half-smiled at her; it was such a familiar, sheepish look. "You don’t have any food, do you?" she said.
"No. Well, I have tea. Crackers. Cereal. Milk, gone off something fierce. Oh, and a couple of bottles of wine." He came over, put the water into her hand. Then he crouched in front of her, balancing with one hand on her thigh. He rubbed the large muscles there as she gulped down the water. She felt like melting, although she couldn’t say if it was the liquid or his touch which made her so fluid. "Would you be alright if I went to the shops, got some things?"
"You can cook?" He’d always taken her out whenever she’d visited before. It seemed somehow significant that he’d offer.
"I’ve lived alone for many years, Anya, of course I can cook for myself." She raised her eyebrows, and he grinned at her. "I can use the microwave, at least. And I’m a veritable wizard with an omelette."
She put the empty glass on the side table, and then blew out the candles. The room darkened, with just a pool of brightness from the kitchen light and the glare of the Sloane Avenue street-lamps coming through the huge window. She could still see his smile. And she said, "I’ll go with you, Rupert."