FIC: High Noon, Part 4/5, Anya/Giles
Title: High Noon
Author: houses
Universe: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Anita Blake
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Characters: Anya, Giles and a few old favorites
Pairing: Anya/Giles
Rating: R, hints of smut and graphic violence
Timeline: Slightly before Incubus Dreams in AB, after Yesterday’s Sunrise in an AU BtVS.
Notes: This is the second in a series of fics that begin with Dawn’s wish to Halfrek in Season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In the first fic, Yesterday’s Sunrise, Dawn’s wish created the Anita Blake universe with some devastating consequences. I suggest you read that fic before continuing here, though this features Anya rather than Dawn. The next fic of the series will be Tomorrow’s Sunset, which focuses on Dawn again, thought back in St. Louis.
Word Count: ~13,000
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
One of the universal truths that link all humans is the story. A well-told tale can worm its way into the collective consciousness, lasting far beyond the lives of the creators. These stories become legend, taking on lives of their own, whether to teach or to warn, to warm or to frighten.
Anya was born into a world that survived on stories. Those that could write were few and far between, and the necessary wisdoms were passed from person to person through fables and songs. She knew what it was to hang on every word of a traveling bard, wondering what the lives in the far-off lands the minstrels warbled about were really like, and she learned how to spin a yarn herself.
The Scoobies had never liked her stories. She told them well, she thought to herself in the quiet times, just as vibrant and real as she could. But she would catch Xander looking at her with an expression on his face that said nothing more than ‘a well-bred young lady would never speak in such a fashion!’
Well, he would have thought that if he used those words, anyway.
When Anya was born a well-bred lady would have been one that managed not to die of a childhood disease, or in childbirth, or be raped and pillaged by marauders, or be cursed by the local witch, not one that knew which fork to use and when not to tell a story about a particularly spectacular rainbow set of boils on a prince’s penis.
For what it was worth, Anya had survived her childhood in good health, never had any children of her own, married the marauding pillager and was the village witch, so by those standards she had been very well-bred, indeed.
It had bothered Anya that the Scoobies would rather have heard another ‘One time, at band camp,’ type story instead of her recounting of the defenestrating of the finance minister by his unhinged mistress. Her stories were frankly better because they happened, and real things, true things, were always better.
So she’d held her tongue and smiled a tight little smile whenever they’d chorus, “Anya!” and count the money one more time. Dawn had never minded her stories and the demon thought the Scooby desire to hide her from the truth would do Dawn a disservice one day.
Well, she’d been right, hadn’t she? Look where they all were now.
Then there was Giles. She’d thought once or twice he hadn’t been quite as repulsed as the others. Anya knew that was because he was real, too. He did things the children wouldn’t acknowledge, but she did because she’d seen his face when the Ben/Glory story had come up a year or so later; because she’d really listened when the others had joked about the Band Candy.
And Giles was listening now. When she talked about how she became a demon, he listened. When she rattled on about how the magical mechanics of wishing worked, he listened. And when she told him how very much he mattered, he listened with such a tender expression in his hazel eyes she thought she’d melt into a puddle right at his feet.
Of course, his attention was nothing like Angelus’ riveted stare. He was practically drooling at the particulars. It was rather flattering, if she did say so herself. Here was a creature that could truly appreciate her artistry. So what if he was a bloodthirsty lunatic?
And when she was done, her face smoothly human once again, she listened to the story of the troubled young sorcerer and his talent for demon raising. How he’d lost friends and family, and it was only when he’d finally redeemed himself did a crafty vampire come calling.
She heard how that ambitious young vampire, far more powerful than any of his age should be, was chained in a cross-wrapped coffin by the Master of London, to teach him a lesson in humility. How vampire and servant were routinely slighted and undercut by a court that valued sex over violence, afraid of the magic that the young vampire from Ireland was beginning to wield. How shadows in the Court whispered of a danger from within and a reckoning on the horizon.
All in all, it made for a very compelling story.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
A long time ago, about the first time she ran into Dracula, Anya decided it was not worth her time to get involved in vampire politics. It was messy, violent and not at all conducive to orgasms or making lots of money.
Yet there she was, plotting evil schemes with the Scourge of her previous life-well, not her actual life, no matter how much Buffy inflicted her traumas on all of them. She had to hand it to him, Angelus could scheme, but so could Giles. Her lover was as devious as they came, and there was nothing he wanted more than to insure his continued existence.
Angelus’ political aspirations were well known and the Master of London didn’t take too kindly to them. Because Angelus was the Dragon’s emissary to the court, there was little he could do without upsetting the Council, but that didn’t mean the current Master trusted Angelus.
Of course, no one in their right mind would trust Angelus.
So Angelus, and by extension his human servant, walked a very dangerous line in court politics. It was one of the reasons they kept their residence out of the main court. Angelus could call rats, but on his own, Angelus could call on only a small army, which is why he’d been unwilling to challenge the Master with brute strength. Most of the vampires that resided in the London court were of Belle Morte’s line, but Angelus could call in a few favors if it came down to an out-and-out fight.
It was Giles that presented the perfect solution, with Anya the perfect one to carry it out.
“So, you’re positive this is the right time?” Angelus asked again, for the thousandth time, pacing around the sewer-cavern that served as his lair.
Giles rubbed his eyes and reiterated, as if talking to a child, “Yes, O Mighty Lord and Master.”
When Angelus moved his arm as if to strike Giles, Anya cleared her throat. The vampire hissed in her direction but left his human servant alone for the moment.
Giles looked smug and continued, “It’s the only time the whole court will be relatively public. The Council is finally cracking down on the lack of public appearances and they’ve invited every press member that wanted to show up.”
Angelus frowned and paced the small room. When he reached his coffin, he drummed his fingers on the lid, lost in thought. His coffin was bolted down in the corner, a sleek black lacquered box with Chinese characters etched into one end. When Anya asked about it, he laughed and said he got it to commemorate the good times he had during the Boxer Rebellion in China. Angelus paused and glanced at the door further into the sewers, as if listening to something.
“Ah, the reinforcements.” He swung open the door and motioned for three vampires to enter.
The first two Anya didn’t recognize, but the third had her on her feet and saying, “Spike?”
Both Angelus and Giles gave her a strange look, but the reaction in the bleach-blonde vampire was casually bored. “Oy, who’s the nosy bird?”
“This is Anya. She belongs to me,” Giles said, standing to move toe-to-toe with the other vampire.
“Pretty thing, where’d you dig her up?” Spike leered at Anya, running his tongue over his canines.
The demon rolled her eyes, “I am not a corpse to be dug up, you know.”
“Found yourself a human, did you Rupes? Good for you, old boy,” Spike drawled before flopping into one of the available chairs.
Giles and his vampire exchanged glances. They didn’t want anyone to know about Anya’s true nature and she wasn’t about to debate the subject. But…it was Spike. Irritating, irrational, impatient Spike. Anya had to quash the desire to go give him a hug, just for old time’s sake. He looked almost identical to his Sunnydale incarnation, from his hair to his nails to his punk clothes.
Sure, she’d never actually liked the vampire, but he was another reminder of what was gone. She couldn’t wait to tell Dawn she’d found Spike as well. When he hadn’t been in California and neither Angelus nor Giles had made mention of him, Anya assumed he didn’t exist.
Angelus nodded to the other vampires. “Requiem, Penn. You understand your roles for two nights from now?”
Requiem slid a letter from the pocket of his dark, floor-length cloak. “You were pretty clear. Awfully risky to send letters like that, don’t you think? What if the Master found out?”
“That fool is too busy counting his admirers to notice,” grunted Spike as he lit up a cigarette.
Giles glowered at the younger vampire. It seemed that no matter what changed, Giles still hated Angel and thought Spike was an annoyance. It filled Anya with a warm glow.
“Palace coups are always risky, boys.”
Penn ran his hands down his leather-clad thighs, leaning back in his chair. “I know why Spike’s here, Angelus, but what about Requiem? It’s his line you’re deposing.”
Requiem regarded the other vampire gloomily. Unnaturally pale with long dark hair and a wardrobe that reminded Anya of Dracula on his most melodramatic days, he looked like the quintessential gothic vampire. He narrowed his startlingly blue eyes and answered, “I have my reasons.”
Spike waved his hand lazily in Requiem's direction as he said, “So, what’s this magic bullet you have planned?”
Angelus’s lips twisted up in a cruel smile. “Rupert is going to get in touch with his old friend Chaos with the help of his oh-so-accommodating lady-love.”
Spike flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette. “What’s in it for her? Humans don’t do well playing our little games. They tend to end up dead.”
Everyone looked to Anya for her answer, but she had to think for a moment. In the grand scheme of things, Anya was interested in herself, her Giles, her money and her orgasms-and Dawn, of course. Sure, she had been human once or twice, and despite coming a long way since she made her second debut as a miserable hormone-ridden seventeen year old, she was still who she was. She had showed up at the Scooby meetings not for any grand desire to save the world, but for what she said when Glory was about to destroy reality: if it came down to Anya’s life or death, she was going to survive, whatever it took.
“I guess you could say I have my reasons, too. I want many more orgasms with my Giles, and I want to have them without the fear that Angelus over there is going to do something stupid and get his human servant killed by default.”
“Hey,” interjected the vampire in question.
“Ruthless, I like that in my food,” Penn said, regarding Anya thoughtfully.
When Giles made to move in Penn’s direction, Anya grabbed his arm. He paused and glanced down at her, saying, “She is not food. Not for you, not for anyone.”
Angelus glided over to the pair of them, and wrapped his hands around both of their waists. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think we could come to an accommodation. She is a tasty bit of violence, isn’t she?”
Angelus breathed deeply at the nape of her neck as Giles shrugged the vampire off of them both. Spike let out a guffaw, smoke trailing from his nostrils. Angelus just smiled.
“This is all very fascinating, but can we get to the death and destruction bit? We’ve got a revolt to execute, remember?” Giles said.
Spike answered Angelus’ slow smile with a manic grin of his own. “Bloody excellent. And I do mean bloody.”
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
TBC...only one more part to go!
Author: houses
Universe: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Anita Blake
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Characters: Anya, Giles and a few old favorites
Pairing: Anya/Giles
Rating: R, hints of smut and graphic violence
Timeline: Slightly before Incubus Dreams in AB, after Yesterday’s Sunrise in an AU BtVS.
Notes: This is the second in a series of fics that begin with Dawn’s wish to Halfrek in Season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In the first fic, Yesterday’s Sunrise, Dawn’s wish created the Anita Blake universe with some devastating consequences. I suggest you read that fic before continuing here, though this features Anya rather than Dawn. The next fic of the series will be Tomorrow’s Sunset, which focuses on Dawn again, thought back in St. Louis.
Word Count: ~13,000
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
One of the universal truths that link all humans is the story. A well-told tale can worm its way into the collective consciousness, lasting far beyond the lives of the creators. These stories become legend, taking on lives of their own, whether to teach or to warn, to warm or to frighten.
Anya was born into a world that survived on stories. Those that could write were few and far between, and the necessary wisdoms were passed from person to person through fables and songs. She knew what it was to hang on every word of a traveling bard, wondering what the lives in the far-off lands the minstrels warbled about were really like, and she learned how to spin a yarn herself.
The Scoobies had never liked her stories. She told them well, she thought to herself in the quiet times, just as vibrant and real as she could. But she would catch Xander looking at her with an expression on his face that said nothing more than ‘a well-bred young lady would never speak in such a fashion!’
Well, he would have thought that if he used those words, anyway.
When Anya was born a well-bred lady would have been one that managed not to die of a childhood disease, or in childbirth, or be raped and pillaged by marauders, or be cursed by the local witch, not one that knew which fork to use and when not to tell a story about a particularly spectacular rainbow set of boils on a prince’s penis.
For what it was worth, Anya had survived her childhood in good health, never had any children of her own, married the marauding pillager and was the village witch, so by those standards she had been very well-bred, indeed.
It had bothered Anya that the Scoobies would rather have heard another ‘One time, at band camp,’ type story instead of her recounting of the defenestrating of the finance minister by his unhinged mistress. Her stories were frankly better because they happened, and real things, true things, were always better.
So she’d held her tongue and smiled a tight little smile whenever they’d chorus, “Anya!” and count the money one more time. Dawn had never minded her stories and the demon thought the Scooby desire to hide her from the truth would do Dawn a disservice one day.
Well, she’d been right, hadn’t she? Look where they all were now.
Then there was Giles. She’d thought once or twice he hadn’t been quite as repulsed as the others. Anya knew that was because he was real, too. He did things the children wouldn’t acknowledge, but she did because she’d seen his face when the Ben/Glory story had come up a year or so later; because she’d really listened when the others had joked about the Band Candy.
And Giles was listening now. When she talked about how she became a demon, he listened. When she rattled on about how the magical mechanics of wishing worked, he listened. And when she told him how very much he mattered, he listened with such a tender expression in his hazel eyes she thought she’d melt into a puddle right at his feet.
Of course, his attention was nothing like Angelus’ riveted stare. He was practically drooling at the particulars. It was rather flattering, if she did say so herself. Here was a creature that could truly appreciate her artistry. So what if he was a bloodthirsty lunatic?
And when she was done, her face smoothly human once again, she listened to the story of the troubled young sorcerer and his talent for demon raising. How he’d lost friends and family, and it was only when he’d finally redeemed himself did a crafty vampire come calling.
She heard how that ambitious young vampire, far more powerful than any of his age should be, was chained in a cross-wrapped coffin by the Master of London, to teach him a lesson in humility. How vampire and servant were routinely slighted and undercut by a court that valued sex over violence, afraid of the magic that the young vampire from Ireland was beginning to wield. How shadows in the Court whispered of a danger from within and a reckoning on the horizon.
All in all, it made for a very compelling story.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
A long time ago, about the first time she ran into Dracula, Anya decided it was not worth her time to get involved in vampire politics. It was messy, violent and not at all conducive to orgasms or making lots of money.
Yet there she was, plotting evil schemes with the Scourge of her previous life-well, not her actual life, no matter how much Buffy inflicted her traumas on all of them. She had to hand it to him, Angelus could scheme, but so could Giles. Her lover was as devious as they came, and there was nothing he wanted more than to insure his continued existence.
Angelus’ political aspirations were well known and the Master of London didn’t take too kindly to them. Because Angelus was the Dragon’s emissary to the court, there was little he could do without upsetting the Council, but that didn’t mean the current Master trusted Angelus.
Of course, no one in their right mind would trust Angelus.
So Angelus, and by extension his human servant, walked a very dangerous line in court politics. It was one of the reasons they kept their residence out of the main court. Angelus could call rats, but on his own, Angelus could call on only a small army, which is why he’d been unwilling to challenge the Master with brute strength. Most of the vampires that resided in the London court were of Belle Morte’s line, but Angelus could call in a few favors if it came down to an out-and-out fight.
It was Giles that presented the perfect solution, with Anya the perfect one to carry it out.
“So, you’re positive this is the right time?” Angelus asked again, for the thousandth time, pacing around the sewer-cavern that served as his lair.
Giles rubbed his eyes and reiterated, as if talking to a child, “Yes, O Mighty Lord and Master.”
When Angelus moved his arm as if to strike Giles, Anya cleared her throat. The vampire hissed in her direction but left his human servant alone for the moment.
Giles looked smug and continued, “It’s the only time the whole court will be relatively public. The Council is finally cracking down on the lack of public appearances and they’ve invited every press member that wanted to show up.”
Angelus frowned and paced the small room. When he reached his coffin, he drummed his fingers on the lid, lost in thought. His coffin was bolted down in the corner, a sleek black lacquered box with Chinese characters etched into one end. When Anya asked about it, he laughed and said he got it to commemorate the good times he had during the Boxer Rebellion in China. Angelus paused and glanced at the door further into the sewers, as if listening to something.
“Ah, the reinforcements.” He swung open the door and motioned for three vampires to enter.
The first two Anya didn’t recognize, but the third had her on her feet and saying, “Spike?”
Both Angelus and Giles gave her a strange look, but the reaction in the bleach-blonde vampire was casually bored. “Oy, who’s the nosy bird?”
“This is Anya. She belongs to me,” Giles said, standing to move toe-to-toe with the other vampire.
“Pretty thing, where’d you dig her up?” Spike leered at Anya, running his tongue over his canines.
The demon rolled her eyes, “I am not a corpse to be dug up, you know.”
“Found yourself a human, did you Rupes? Good for you, old boy,” Spike drawled before flopping into one of the available chairs.
Giles and his vampire exchanged glances. They didn’t want anyone to know about Anya’s true nature and she wasn’t about to debate the subject. But…it was Spike. Irritating, irrational, impatient Spike. Anya had to quash the desire to go give him a hug, just for old time’s sake. He looked almost identical to his Sunnydale incarnation, from his hair to his nails to his punk clothes.
Sure, she’d never actually liked the vampire, but he was another reminder of what was gone. She couldn’t wait to tell Dawn she’d found Spike as well. When he hadn’t been in California and neither Angelus nor Giles had made mention of him, Anya assumed he didn’t exist.
Angelus nodded to the other vampires. “Requiem, Penn. You understand your roles for two nights from now?”
Requiem slid a letter from the pocket of his dark, floor-length cloak. “You were pretty clear. Awfully risky to send letters like that, don’t you think? What if the Master found out?”
“That fool is too busy counting his admirers to notice,” grunted Spike as he lit up a cigarette.
Giles glowered at the younger vampire. It seemed that no matter what changed, Giles still hated Angel and thought Spike was an annoyance. It filled Anya with a warm glow.
“Palace coups are always risky, boys.”
Penn ran his hands down his leather-clad thighs, leaning back in his chair. “I know why Spike’s here, Angelus, but what about Requiem? It’s his line you’re deposing.”
Requiem regarded the other vampire gloomily. Unnaturally pale with long dark hair and a wardrobe that reminded Anya of Dracula on his most melodramatic days, he looked like the quintessential gothic vampire. He narrowed his startlingly blue eyes and answered, “I have my reasons.”
Spike waved his hand lazily in Requiem's direction as he said, “So, what’s this magic bullet you have planned?”
Angelus’s lips twisted up in a cruel smile. “Rupert is going to get in touch with his old friend Chaos with the help of his oh-so-accommodating lady-love.”
Spike flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette. “What’s in it for her? Humans don’t do well playing our little games. They tend to end up dead.”
Everyone looked to Anya for her answer, but she had to think for a moment. In the grand scheme of things, Anya was interested in herself, her Giles, her money and her orgasms-and Dawn, of course. Sure, she had been human once or twice, and despite coming a long way since she made her second debut as a miserable hormone-ridden seventeen year old, she was still who she was. She had showed up at the Scooby meetings not for any grand desire to save the world, but for what she said when Glory was about to destroy reality: if it came down to Anya’s life or death, she was going to survive, whatever it took.
“I guess you could say I have my reasons, too. I want many more orgasms with my Giles, and I want to have them without the fear that Angelus over there is going to do something stupid and get his human servant killed by default.”
“Hey,” interjected the vampire in question.
“Ruthless, I like that in my food,” Penn said, regarding Anya thoughtfully.
When Giles made to move in Penn’s direction, Anya grabbed his arm. He paused and glanced down at her, saying, “She is not food. Not for you, not for anyone.”
Angelus glided over to the pair of them, and wrapped his hands around both of their waists. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think we could come to an accommodation. She is a tasty bit of violence, isn’t she?”
Angelus breathed deeply at the nape of her neck as Giles shrugged the vampire off of them both. Spike let out a guffaw, smoke trailing from his nostrils. Angelus just smiled.
“This is all very fascinating, but can we get to the death and destruction bit? We’ve got a revolt to execute, remember?” Giles said.
Spike answered Angelus’ slow smile with a manic grin of his own. “Bloody excellent. And I do mean bloody.”
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
TBC...only one more part to go!