Not quite finished, but still
I have a chapter of my interminable WIP, After the Deluge to post, and another within spitting distance! (I've also written three other things in the last month, so yay me, I say.)
I also have gorgeous artwork from spuffy_noelle to go with it! And an icon! ::points:: Definite yay all round - and many thanks to brutti_ma_buoni for the inspiration for this comm.
Chapter Twenty-four: Dusk
In the end it looked like a weird board meeting. A row of hay bales occupied the centre, a sort of crude table, with Spike perched on his at one end and the Giles brothers on rough stools made from blocks of wood at the other. Buffy and Dawn faced the two witches, while Andrew and Witleof, unable to decide where to take up position, had to be pushed into place on either side of Spike.
There was a silence. Where to start? “Bugger this,” muttered Spike, as he unstoppered a flask and swigged deeply. Buffy glared at him and he shrugged, reclosed the flask and pocketed it. Then he stared at his hands. They could still surprise him: smooth, even nails, no hint of the black polish he had once seen as essential to his very identity; strong, capable fingers with calloused ridges near the palms.
Buffy stared up at the roof. Slivers of light came between the coarsely-planed planks, but with a decidedly blue tone now. The bars of sun across the floor had faded and dusk was clearly on its way.
Dawn stared at her sister, then at Giles, then at her hands. She became interested in minute variations of tone and texture and the raggedness of one cuticle.
Giles, Rupert Giles, stared into nothing, for quite a long time.
Oscar Giles broke the silence with a sniff. “Rupert, is this really the best use of our time? We are all here, where I assume you wanted us. What now?”
Rupert said nothing and stared intently at nothing.
Spike waited, looked at each face in turn, waited some more, then spoke, “Let me guess, Rupes. It’s about a well, yeah?”
Rupert Giles lifted his head. “I suppose I should have guessed you would know something. May I ask how and what?”
“Was here a month or two back - it’s how I knew where to go. Came with our broody friend from LA, looking for a hole and a way of putting something back in it. Found the hole. Didn’t find the way.”
The furrow between Rupert’s eyes deepened. “I feared it might have been something along those lines. Miss H, didn’t you tell me there was a disturbance of some kind a few months ago?”
Startled, the older witch nodded. “There certainly was. It was in March, if I remember rightly. It was, well, the closest I can get to it is some sort of psychic howl. Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah,” said Spike, “That would be it I reckon. We lost one of our team about then, and gained something from here in exchange.”
Oscar Giles’s face changed colour. Not an attractive shade of purple at all. “Gained something?” His eyes bulged a little. “Gained something? Do you have any idea just how stupid, how moronic it is to tamper with the powers here?”
“Yes, kind of think I do, mate. Seen a bit in my time. Wasn’t exactly our choice. Right good lass she was, Fred.”
Buffy looked at him sharply and studied his expression for a moment before returning her attention to Oscar. His brother looked at him too.
“You know something about this place, brother dear? A moment ago you were implying you had no idea about the powers in this area.” Moving swiftly on as his brother choked, Rupert Giles addressed the group. “We are at the heart of a mystical convergence. No, not a Hellmouth, but somewhere of similar power. It seems to be somewhere our old adversary is interested in, and, to my surprise, I admit, somewhere Spike appears to have some knowledge of.”
Spike scowled, “Trying to pretend you didn’t blow Angel off when he asked for help about it, Rupert? Not convincing me very much.”
Dawn looked at both men in turn, astonished by the rising level of antagonism. “Do we need to do this now?” she asked, “Because I kinda think we might have quite important stuff to do too, if your squabble might wait.”
Buffy nodded. Her little sister was the sensible one. How did that happen? “We need to know where we are - all of us need to know. We also need to have the best idea we can of what we’re facing. And if anyone has anything in terms of a plan of action, now might be a good time to mention it.”
Rupert Giles cleared his throat, reached for spectacles and handkerchief, saw Buffy’s glare in time and spoke. “We are, as I said, at a sort of mystical convergence, a place known for centuries as The Deeper Well.”
Buffy fought back the urge to ask “Deeper than what?” and merely nodded encouragement.
“It is a sort of metaphysical storage place, of demons and ancient gods. Glory was here for some time before she managed to infiltrate the body of an American airman serving locally and thus was incarnated into the body of Ben, his son.”
“How in buggery did you learn that, Watcher?” Spike was genuinely astonished.
“The Council had files. I read rather a lot when I was training. I would be interested, I confess, to know how you or Angel knew about it.”
Spike’s eyes yellowed abruptly, as his eyebrow ridges hardened. “Trying it on a bit too much, Watcher,” he growled. “Once more - and I want an answer this time - you tellin’ me you don’t remember telling Angel to piss off?”
“What?!” came from three voices at once. Dawn and Buffy looked startled and confused, but their surprise was nothing compared to the look on Rupert Giles’s face.
“That’s the second time you’ve said this, Spike. Believe me when I say that I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. When did I speak to Angel? Not since he left Sunnydale, I think. Certainly not for a long time, though it’s true I have had reports of his activities more recently.”
Both were standing now, the tension between them almost visible. Spike’s voice was as close to a growl as it had ever been. “You told Angel Willow was in Nepal. You hung up on him. You abandoned Fred without even knowing her name.” He leant forward, gripping the coarse straw of the bales till it crumbled in his fists, his face full vampire by now. Rupert Giles almost mirrored his position for a moment, then sighed and removed his glasses once more.
“Spike, Willow has not been to Nepal. She talked about going to India a couple of months ago, but no more than that. What is this drivelling nonsense?”
There was the faintest of coughs from his side. His brother stood up, an expression close to discomfort on his face. “It’s possible I may be able to explain this, Rupert. If I may?”
The level of astonishment at the table rose another notch. Once he was assured every eye was upon him, Oscar Giles coughed, an artificial, self-conscious little sound which grated on Spike’s nerves. Rupert Giles raised an eyebrow and nodded.
“Last March, Rupert, as I’m sure you recall, you went up to Scotland to investigate a possible base for training of some of the European Slayers. Somewhere in the Trossachs, I think? You were not enthusiastic, I remember - something about shower facilities and insulation or some such nonsense.”
“Get on with it, Oscar. I assume there is a point you wish to make?”
“There was a call, while you were away. I dealt with it on your behalf. There did not seem to be a need to draw it to your attention.”
“What?” Spike and Rupert Giles spoke in tandem.
“Someone rang, from the States. He wanted to speak to Mr Giles. He spoke to me. Why not? As soon as I gathered where he was phoning from, I knew exactly the right course of action. No good ever came from dealing with that company.”
“Step back, brother dear. You need to think very carefully about your answer here. Did you allow your caller to believe he was talking to me?”
“Does it really matter? We both know what Wolfram and Hart represent. Would you really have given support to a vampire telephoning from their Los Angeles base? Even you, Rupert, would surely not have gone so far.”
In the dusk of the barn Spike’s eyes glowed fiery yellow. His fangs, fully-descended, grazed his lower lip, making a thin trickle of blood run down his chin. Soul or not, he was very close to losing it, Buffy could see.
“OK, guys. Enough talky times. Sun’s down, our fiery friend’s out there and we do not have time for grudges, stupid or reasonable. I don’t care which. We need to act. Rupert Giles. You know most about this place. What’s the sitch?”
As she spoke she placed a calming hand on Spike’s arm, gripping him more firmly as he tried to shake her off. “Spike.” Her tone dropped; this was for him alone, “The mission is what matters. You know that. Later there may be space to sort this out. Not now - I can’t afford in-fighting in the team.”
For a moment she thought it would not work, then he shook away the ridges and sharp edges. “Whatever you say, Slayer. Your call as always.” He looked across the makeshift table. “Rupes, looks as if I may owe you an apology, if what that ponce is saying means what I think it means. Him and me, though - we’re gonna need a serious conversation. Later”
Rupert Giles took the lead. “Thank you, Spike. I have a feeling my brother is going to have a less than comfortable time. If, that is, we survive tonight, which is far from guaranteed.” He looked around, at the uncomfortably silent witches, at Dawn, biting her lip, at Witleof, his eyes darting from one person to another, and at the still-standing, still-hostile members of the group. “Sit down, please. I’ll sum this up quickly. We need to get to the Deeper Well. We need to get there now. And when we get there, we will need to act together, as a team. Believe me, I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say the balance of our universe depends on it.
I also have gorgeous artwork from spuffy_noelle to go with it! And an icon! ::points:: Definite yay all round - and many thanks to brutti_ma_buoni for the inspiration for this comm.
Chapter Twenty-four: Dusk
In the end it looked like a weird board meeting. A row of hay bales occupied the centre, a sort of crude table, with Spike perched on his at one end and the Giles brothers on rough stools made from blocks of wood at the other. Buffy and Dawn faced the two witches, while Andrew and Witleof, unable to decide where to take up position, had to be pushed into place on either side of Spike.
There was a silence. Where to start? “Bugger this,” muttered Spike, as he unstoppered a flask and swigged deeply. Buffy glared at him and he shrugged, reclosed the flask and pocketed it. Then he stared at his hands. They could still surprise him: smooth, even nails, no hint of the black polish he had once seen as essential to his very identity; strong, capable fingers with calloused ridges near the palms.
Buffy stared up at the roof. Slivers of light came between the coarsely-planed planks, but with a decidedly blue tone now. The bars of sun across the floor had faded and dusk was clearly on its way.
Dawn stared at her sister, then at Giles, then at her hands. She became interested in minute variations of tone and texture and the raggedness of one cuticle.
Giles, Rupert Giles, stared into nothing, for quite a long time.
Oscar Giles broke the silence with a sniff. “Rupert, is this really the best use of our time? We are all here, where I assume you wanted us. What now?”
Rupert said nothing and stared intently at nothing.
Spike waited, looked at each face in turn, waited some more, then spoke, “Let me guess, Rupes. It’s about a well, yeah?”
Rupert Giles lifted his head. “I suppose I should have guessed you would know something. May I ask how and what?”
“Was here a month or two back - it’s how I knew where to go. Came with our broody friend from LA, looking for a hole and a way of putting something back in it. Found the hole. Didn’t find the way.”
The furrow between Rupert’s eyes deepened. “I feared it might have been something along those lines. Miss H, didn’t you tell me there was a disturbance of some kind a few months ago?”
Startled, the older witch nodded. “There certainly was. It was in March, if I remember rightly. It was, well, the closest I can get to it is some sort of psychic howl. Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah,” said Spike, “That would be it I reckon. We lost one of our team about then, and gained something from here in exchange.”
Oscar Giles’s face changed colour. Not an attractive shade of purple at all. “Gained something?” His eyes bulged a little. “Gained something? Do you have any idea just how stupid, how moronic it is to tamper with the powers here?”
“Yes, kind of think I do, mate. Seen a bit in my time. Wasn’t exactly our choice. Right good lass she was, Fred.”
Buffy looked at him sharply and studied his expression for a moment before returning her attention to Oscar. His brother looked at him too.
“You know something about this place, brother dear? A moment ago you were implying you had no idea about the powers in this area.” Moving swiftly on as his brother choked, Rupert Giles addressed the group. “We are at the heart of a mystical convergence. No, not a Hellmouth, but somewhere of similar power. It seems to be somewhere our old adversary is interested in, and, to my surprise, I admit, somewhere Spike appears to have some knowledge of.”
Spike scowled, “Trying to pretend you didn’t blow Angel off when he asked for help about it, Rupert? Not convincing me very much.”
Dawn looked at both men in turn, astonished by the rising level of antagonism. “Do we need to do this now?” she asked, “Because I kinda think we might have quite important stuff to do too, if your squabble might wait.”
Buffy nodded. Her little sister was the sensible one. How did that happen? “We need to know where we are - all of us need to know. We also need to have the best idea we can of what we’re facing. And if anyone has anything in terms of a plan of action, now might be a good time to mention it.”
Rupert Giles cleared his throat, reached for spectacles and handkerchief, saw Buffy’s glare in time and spoke. “We are, as I said, at a sort of mystical convergence, a place known for centuries as The Deeper Well.”
Buffy fought back the urge to ask “Deeper than what?” and merely nodded encouragement.
“It is a sort of metaphysical storage place, of demons and ancient gods. Glory was here for some time before she managed to infiltrate the body of an American airman serving locally and thus was incarnated into the body of Ben, his son.”
“How in buggery did you learn that, Watcher?” Spike was genuinely astonished.
“The Council had files. I read rather a lot when I was training. I would be interested, I confess, to know how you or Angel knew about it.”
Spike’s eyes yellowed abruptly, as his eyebrow ridges hardened. “Trying it on a bit too much, Watcher,” he growled. “Once more - and I want an answer this time - you tellin’ me you don’t remember telling Angel to piss off?”
“What?!” came from three voices at once. Dawn and Buffy looked startled and confused, but their surprise was nothing compared to the look on Rupert Giles’s face.
“That’s the second time you’ve said this, Spike. Believe me when I say that I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. When did I speak to Angel? Not since he left Sunnydale, I think. Certainly not for a long time, though it’s true I have had reports of his activities more recently.”
Both were standing now, the tension between them almost visible. Spike’s voice was as close to a growl as it had ever been. “You told Angel Willow was in Nepal. You hung up on him. You abandoned Fred without even knowing her name.” He leant forward, gripping the coarse straw of the bales till it crumbled in his fists, his face full vampire by now. Rupert Giles almost mirrored his position for a moment, then sighed and removed his glasses once more.
“Spike, Willow has not been to Nepal. She talked about going to India a couple of months ago, but no more than that. What is this drivelling nonsense?”
There was the faintest of coughs from his side. His brother stood up, an expression close to discomfort on his face. “It’s possible I may be able to explain this, Rupert. If I may?”
The level of astonishment at the table rose another notch. Once he was assured every eye was upon him, Oscar Giles coughed, an artificial, self-conscious little sound which grated on Spike’s nerves. Rupert Giles raised an eyebrow and nodded.
“Last March, Rupert, as I’m sure you recall, you went up to Scotland to investigate a possible base for training of some of the European Slayers. Somewhere in the Trossachs, I think? You were not enthusiastic, I remember - something about shower facilities and insulation or some such nonsense.”
“Get on with it, Oscar. I assume there is a point you wish to make?”
“There was a call, while you were away. I dealt with it on your behalf. There did not seem to be a need to draw it to your attention.”
“What?” Spike and Rupert Giles spoke in tandem.
“Someone rang, from the States. He wanted to speak to Mr Giles. He spoke to me. Why not? As soon as I gathered where he was phoning from, I knew exactly the right course of action. No good ever came from dealing with that company.”
“Step back, brother dear. You need to think very carefully about your answer here. Did you allow your caller to believe he was talking to me?”
“Does it really matter? We both know what Wolfram and Hart represent. Would you really have given support to a vampire telephoning from their Los Angeles base? Even you, Rupert, would surely not have gone so far.”
In the dusk of the barn Spike’s eyes glowed fiery yellow. His fangs, fully-descended, grazed his lower lip, making a thin trickle of blood run down his chin. Soul or not, he was very close to losing it, Buffy could see.
“OK, guys. Enough talky times. Sun’s down, our fiery friend’s out there and we do not have time for grudges, stupid or reasonable. I don’t care which. We need to act. Rupert Giles. You know most about this place. What’s the sitch?”
As she spoke she placed a calming hand on Spike’s arm, gripping him more firmly as he tried to shake her off. “Spike.” Her tone dropped; this was for him alone, “The mission is what matters. You know that. Later there may be space to sort this out. Not now - I can’t afford in-fighting in the team.”
For a moment she thought it would not work, then he shook away the ridges and sharp edges. “Whatever you say, Slayer. Your call as always.” He looked across the makeshift table. “Rupes, looks as if I may owe you an apology, if what that ponce is saying means what I think it means. Him and me, though - we’re gonna need a serious conversation. Later”
Rupert Giles took the lead. “Thank you, Spike. I have a feeling my brother is going to have a less than comfortable time. If, that is, we survive tonight, which is far from guaranteed.” He looked around, at the uncomfortably silent witches, at Dawn, biting her lip, at Witleof, his eyes darting from one person to another, and at the still-standing, still-hostile members of the group. “Sit down, please. I’ll sum this up quickly. We need to get to the Deeper Well. We need to get there now. And when we get there, we will need to act together, as a team. Believe me, I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say the balance of our universe depends on it.