Every Day I Write the Book - Part Six
DISCLAIMER: The Clash song "Train in Vain" and the T.S. Eliot poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" cameo.
NOTES AND SUMMARY: When last we saw our heroes, almost-a-Watcher Spike and Giles decided to seek information about Lord Ternis, even though they knew it was a trap of some kind; newly employed Buffy and Anya decided to go shopping (not being told of trap issues); Dawn and Wesley were sent an e-mail. In this part, the evening begins, and the plot threads start pulling together. In a knot.
V.v. special THANKS to Lesley for research help above and beyond the call of duty. Go England!Friday Evening, London/Early Friday Afternoon, Sunnydale
"Your table's ready, if you'll please come with me."
Anya followed the server through the dim light of the restaurant, past fashionistas and other patrons, toward an empty table at the back. And I'm following Anya, Buffy thought. That couldn't be right, could it?
Of course the shopping had been nice, she admitted to herself, as she avoided a pile of garment bags one diner had left in the aisle. Giddy with having money, with the prospect of freedom from fast-food drudgery, Buffy had let Anya tow her around Harvey Nicks (no one said the store's whole name, apparently). The vengeance demon had even managed to find on mega-sale this Stella McCartney rock-chick top that practically had 'Buffy makes Spike moan' written all over it. Actually it had a picture of a horse on it, but still, definite sexy-fun material. Anya had presented the top to her, saying, "This looks like you, don't you think?"
Did that mean Anya thought she was a horse? No.
Yet it seemed-- wrong that it was Anya who knew this great store so well, who had her own personal sales-clerk minion in the Michael Kors boutique, who flashed so very many credit cards, who had led the way up to the Fifth Floor. The once and current vengeance demon wasn't supposed to lead. Buffy was always in charge, Head Scooby of Scoobies, and Anya had been just an auxiliary member on sufferance. Extremely long sufferance, what with the no-manners and the demon-y aspect and the general Anya-ness.
Here in London, though, Buffy couldn't use Scooby evaluations. Being with Giles rather than Xander had set Anya weirdly free; Anya seemed her irritating self, yet so much more than she'd been. She was happier away from Sunnydale. Giles had his own place too, away from Buffy and the Hellmouth, and Buffy almost couldn't recognize him except for that constant Gilesy caring. She had never known how smart, how funny, how much of his own person he was. He'd just been her Watcher.
Of course Giles wasn't her Watcher any more, and her mind skittered away from the nominated replacement. Yet she couldn't help thinking about him. Like the others, he seemed awfully happy in London. After hanging out with his best friend and finding himself a bright and shiny new purpose for good, maybe Spike was going to feel trapped with boring old Buffy. No matter how much he said he loved her.
"Aren't you ever going to sit down?" Anya's voice interrupted a really promising sulk. Buffy sighed. This could be a long evening.
***
"Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky, Like a patient etherised upon a table," Spike declaimed, standing in an exit of the Leicester Square Tube station and blocking the paths of hordes of tourists, theatre-goers, and merry-makers.
Sighing, Giles used his Travelcard and passed through the turnstile. Spike had been swaggering out of control since they'd caught the Tube at Sloane Square. Somehow Giles had forgotten how loud Spike could be in times of crisis. He'd blocked out the traumatic memories, he supposed. Of course Spike would focus when it was critical, but until then--
Dragging Spike away from a young woman who was frankly ogling, Giles said, "There will be no more public quoting of Eliot, or any other poet living or dead. No more singing the back catalogue of the Clash, no more calling attention to yourself in any way. You're going to be a Watcher, Spike, and we're boring and stuffy. Now act like it." The light changed, and Giles pushed Spike out into Charing Cross Road.
The two fought against the crowd, moving into Leicester Square itself: noise, flashing lights obscuring the cloudy twilight, stalls selling crap. Spike swerved to avoid an extremely slow-moving couple, then said over his shoulder, "But I'm nervous, Dad! What if I cock it up?"
The tone of the question might have been sarcastic, but Giles knew what Spike meant. Time to apply tough love. "Then you'll have ruined your unlife, and you'll have to go live in a hole." Spike huffed, and Giles continued, "Just shut it, all right? We need to get to the pub, find some basic information about this Lord Ternis fellow, avoid any and all bloody demon traps, then go home to our women."
Spike was silent for one idyllic moment. He turned to head up toward Lisle Street, then abruptly threw out his arms and started singing, "Did you stand by me? No, not at all. Did you stand by me? No way! You must expla-a-in why this must be..."
Well, the stupid git had asked for it. Giles bellowed "I told you. No. More. Clash!" and booted Spike in his skinny arse. A couple of matrons passing by raised their eyebrows at the scene, and he nodded politely. "Excuse us, ladies."
Spike had fallen on the pavement and just lay there, helplessly laughing. Oh dear Lord, it was going to be a long evening. Giles yanked Spike up by his collar, pushed him on, then started laughing too.
***
"Stop laughing, Wesley, it's not funny."
"It really is, Dawn. Admit it." He pointed to Rule Number Three, which had its own page: 'Should big trouble crop up, Dawn will try to tell her that she gets to be involved. She'll say that Buffy lets her help; she'll call you a horrible person for not understanding she's a young woman now; she'll claim that you can't stop her anyhow. To all of these points, please nod and tell her the answer is No. No. No...' The page continued with 325 repetitions of the word No.
Dawn crossed her arms, stubborn. "I don't care how ha-ha you think it is, I'm going with you. The e-mail just said to be careful, that's all. You're visiting Willow to see if she wants to have lunch and a little chat, right? Distraction? This is no honkin' big scary thing, just lunch with a Scooby."
"A Scooby who's stealing dangerous books and who could be involved in something hugely nasty indeed." Wesley checked his pockets-- cash, keys, a couple of spell ingredients in case he needed his very limited power of magic. Then he looked up. If possible, Dawn looked even more determined. "Come on, Dawn. You read the e-mail too. You know what they want."
She shook her head. "If I might quote from the binder, Wesley... No. No. No."
***
"Good to see you again, mate." Spike shook hands, as it were, with Clement's cousin Jez, proprietor of the Demon Rum-runner, a pub which catered for the less human of London's population. It was a safe haven, warded to allow a variety of species to interact in relative calm. But the key word was 'relative', Giles knew, and he kept a weather eye out for trouble spots. Like the group of Fyarls singing in the corner. God, he really had Fyarl issues.
Spike pulled an envelope from inside his leather jacket. "Clem sent these, Jez-- a letter and some piccies of him and his bird Sophie, taken on holiday in Las Vegas last month."
"Las Vegas?" Jez grunted. "Any luck with the tabbies, then?"
"A bit, I hear, but it was more of a romantic getaway, if you know what I mean."
"Ah, ain't love grand. Bringin' together the normal and the overly-tight-skinned... but no offense intended. Or bringin' together a vamp and a Slayer, or a vengeance demon and a human," Jez added. Giles shrugged; he'd heard this riff a time or two when he and Anya had been in for some demon face-time and a glass. "Now what can I get you blokes? A bit of the human stuff, perhaps a drop of Old Peculiar? Or do you fancy a real Demon Rum-runner Special?"
Giles and Spike took seats at the bar and indicated that a pint of 'human stuff' would be fine. Jez pulled the drinks and set them on the wood with a flourish. Then he rested his sagging elbows on the bar, pulled at one of his floppy ears, and regarded them steadily. "Now then. Seems a bit odd that you didn't bring the better half, Giles, nor you introduce me to yours, Spike. So why don't you just tell ol' Jez why you two geezers are really here."
Spike set his own elbows on either side of his pint and returned Jez's stare. "Got a few questions for you, mate. Heard anything new about Lord Ternis, that Rexos prat?"
***
In the snug in the Demon Rum-runner, a blue clawed hand opened the door a little wider.
"Can you hear anything?" Travers asked. His part was done: he'd arranged with his old friend Reginald to make sure that this Spike creature, of the Line of Aurelius, would be accessible and away from his Slayer. Not that Khan knew more than that this was a way to get rid of the vampire. Like Travers but sadly few others in the "new" Council, he understood the importance of tradition. Demon-coddling, much less demon-hiring, should not be the way of the Watchers. Definitely time to dispose of William the Bloody and that traitor Rupert Giles.
Not that he, Travers, liked associating with demons. Now that he had done what he could and ascertained that the plan was underway, he wanted to go; he was supposed to meet Khan at the Criterion Bar for a drink and an update on what could be done at the institution which he'd served so long, which had treated him so shabbily. "Can you hear anything?" he repeated.
Lord Ternis's claws shot toward his neck. "Not if you keep yapping."
***
Anya would not stop talking, talk talk talk. Buffy pushed her chicken around her plate with a fork and heard about one word in five, as if she were back working the drive-through at the DMP: futures, squawk, home, squawk, love, squawk squawk--
"Okay, what did I just say?" Anya leaned back, sipped some wine, and waited.
See, here was another reason Anya had never been a true Scooby: no consideration for Buffy-pondering time. Playing for delay, Buffy scooped in another bite and made an mmmm noise.
"No, that's not it." Anya set down her wine glass, compressed her lips, then burst out, "I knew this would be a bad idea! I told Rupert that you would just ignore me the whole time when you weren't insulting me. If it wasn't for Spike, this visit would have to go a lot differently."
"What do you mean, 'if it wasn't for Spike'?" The flash-image of two bodies entwined at the Magic Box burned across Buffy's mind, and she gripped her fork a little tighter. "He's taken, you know."
"Oh please. Aren't you past that? He was kind to me, I was kind to him, after we'd had our hearts stomped by you and Xander. And it didn't do one damn thing to ease the pain, anyway." Anya took a breath, trying to turn down the shrillness. "No, I meant that Giles really really likes him and Spike's his friend. And I think Spike's great too. So that's why I let you stay."
"You're saying-- what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you're only welcome in my home because you're with Spike."
Who the hell did this vengeance demon think she was? "Listen, Anyanka, the only reason I put up with YOU is because of Giles. And if he really knew you, he'd be thinking about moving on."
Anya started to retort, then her face crumpled. "I know it, I know it." She choked on a sob, then buried her face in her napkin. "He's so loving, but he never says he loves me. And if that stupid Xander said it all the time and still broke my heart, then what will dear, wonderful Giles do? He wouldn't mean to hurt, of course..."
"Oh, no. Anya, I didn't mean-- No." Buffy could have kicked herself. Of course Anya was annoying and vengeance-y and, well, annoying, but she had her fair share of heartache the past year. And somehow Giles didn't seem to mind that she was Anya.
"It's not like you and Spike. He loves you totally, changed himself for you, even though you treated him like a 'thing' for months and months. You don't have to worry like I do," Anya snuffled into her linen.
"I do too!" Buffy was indignant. Then, more quietly, she said, "I do too. Really. Every man I love leaves me." And she reached for her own napkin.
"Men are jerks, and I've done the millenium to prove it." Anya wiped her eyes. "But Spike won't ever really leave, Buffy. He's... Spike."
"Giles too. He might go, but he comes back. He cares, he cares so much." Buffy blew her nose. The server came by, looked at the now desecrated Fifth Floor restaurant cloths, and made a little notation on her pad. Looked like Buffy'd picked up an unintended souvenir of her London visit, to go with the new shirt.
***
"So visitation of peckish, bad entities, after Ternis creates some portal for Spigos the Gate-seeker?" Spike looked at Giles and rolled his eyes. Giles understood completely; dear Lord, these villains were so unoriginal. Open portal, death will rain down, blah blah. No less frightening the third or fourth time, of course, just uninspired. Spike continued, "Thought that open-sesame only worked on the Hellmouth and what all."
Jez paused, lifted a flipper to ask for time, then went off to take the orders of a party of vampires which had just come in. Giles spun his almost-full pint in his fingers, watching the bubbles rise in the glass, then said, "Spigos. Nasty coincidence."
"Too right. You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Spike pushed his mostly full glass away, spilling a bit. The ale puddled on the wood.
"Willow."
Jez came back at that moment and swabbed at the moisture Spike's glass had left. Under cover of the motion, he said, "Word is, someone killed Spigos's Tollers-- the boys who used to do all the between-- dimension jobbies. He's angry, he's got some entities craving lots of human energy, and he's been sending out the message. Ternis picked up on his magick mobile. And as for your question, Spike--"
"--There's a fissure under the Thames," Giles completed the sentence. At Spike's look, he said, "I'll give you the literature later."
"Yeah, the river. Thing is? Don't know how the crack's to be popped. Ritual of some kind, I reckon." Jez looked up. "But you can ask him yourself."
Giles turned to see Lord Ternis push Travers out of the snug. Spike touched Giles's arm, calling his attention to the new vampire arrivals standing, threat in every movement.
"Right!" Jez shouted. "Safe haven, chappies! Read the bloody signs!"
Lord Ternis shrugged. "We'll compensate you after Spigos comes, publican. As for you, gentlemen, we're going to need your-- deaths, eventually, pain first." He motioned to the vampire minions. "Get them, please."
Jez picked up a wooden cricket bat, sharpened at one end. "Oh, wouldn't recommend it, fellers." Then to Spike and Giles: "What are you sods waiting for, then?"
Spike vaulted over the bar, then dragged Giles over. The two ran into the back passage, where Spike had stayed months before. He said, "I know-- this way," and he pulled Giles down a hidden staircase.
Behind them Giles could hear Jez shout, "Oi, Fyarls! These vamps want to shut down the beer supply!" And as Giles stumbled up yet another flight of steps and into the night air, following Spike's lead into Rupert Street, he had to smile. That should give them some time.
***
"Is it okay if I take some time to myself?" Buffy, now back to Control!Girl, asked Anya.
Anya finished paying the taxi-driver and said, "Sure. I'm just going in to see if the guys are back or have rung or anything." She paused, then added, "And I have chocolate for when you come in. It makes things better."
The taxi pulled away. Buffy smiled at Anya, then looked out at the soft edge of cloud-lightened darkness. She walked through the small strip of public garden which separated the Embankment from Cheyne Walk and its houses, and headed for the river.
There were two bridges, so close. Spike had told her which one was the Albert and which one the Battersea, but he told her so many things that she couldn't keep them all straight. Not just about landscapes, either.
After she crossed the busy street, she leaned on the wall separating land and water. The wind was light but chilly, blowing her hair a bit, and the lights on one bridge twinkled merrily against the grey. It was all so different from Sunnydale, and she felt as if she were teetering on the verge of something, a rope stretched from one state to another. Change could be good, if she just made it to the other side.
"Hey, Slayer," a voice taunted. She turned to see three vamps and another Craz demon approaching her. "We need a little something from you. It's for a surprise."
***
Knock. Knock. Who's there.
Willow took a strangely long time to answer their insistent rapping, and when she did, she looked distracted. But she gave a good approximation of her old perky smile as she said, "Dawnie! Wesley! What a surprise!"
Dawn said, "We came to see if you wanted to have lunch or something? Me and Wesley did. Want to have lunch."
Wesley sighed. He'd never won a fight with a woman, and Dawn Summers had not broken his streak of failure. Still. Surely there was no danger here. "May we come in, Willow?"
"Sure, enter, enter." Wesley thought Willow's smile changed a bit. As if something left.
***
Lord Ternis, his claws now around Travers's wrist, left the pub. He'd lost two minions, and the barkeep looked ready to dust more; a wise leader knew the value of retreat, of setting new strategy.
His remaining three vampires from inside, and the two he'd posted out in the street, formed a group. "All right. You three, head toward Covent Garden. You two, head south toward Trafalgar Square. If you see Spike and the human Giles, remember not to kill but to capture. The killing will be later." They dispersed at his command.
Ternis mused. He'd probably need to contact the witch soon, once the quarry had been found. Not that both targets were equally important, of course. Ternis tightened his grip so that a claw punctured Travers's skin. "Damn! What are you doing?" Travers said, his arrogance barely diminished.
"I'll have the blood of a Watcher one way or another, old man." And Ternis began to drag the now sinking weight of the human toward Piccadilly Circus. Best to cover every angle.
***
"Which way are we going?" Giles panted, struggling to keep up; Spike was the navigator on the crooked Soho streets, finding a path for them.
"Don't know, mate, haven't been a local for a century. Suggestions?"
"What about Covent Garden?"
Spike nodded, and altered their course.