!fanfic! BtVS Giles/Oz WIP: Worst Case Scenario, Part Three
Title: Worst Case Scenario
Genre: Romace/Angst
Pairings: Giles/Oz, Vamp!Xander/Vamp!Willow,
Rating: R/NC-17 for sex, torture, blood, death, gore etc.
Setting: Set in the Wish!Verse, before Cordy turns up and spoils things :P
Genre: Angst and Darkfic.
Wordcount: 1,323
Part: 3 of ?
Previous Parts here or here.
Worst Case Scenario - Part Three
“He’s hiding something,” Xander urged, pacing back and forth on the stage of the Bronze. Tiny shards of daylight were trying to fight their way through the old nightclub’s boarded-up windows, casting shifting shadows on the walls.
“And what do you suppose this librarian is concealing?” The Master reclined in a swinging chair nearby, watching his faithful servant working himself into a panic.
“I don’t know,” Xander replied immediately, a hoarse growl creeping into the end of his statement.
He kicked a battered microphone stand, sending it flying across the dancefloor. It skidded to a halt at Willow’s feet, and she pouted at her lover as she stepped over it to approach him.
“Watch it,” she whined, coming to sit on the edge of the stage.
“Sorry,” Xander said quickly. He was in no mood to be put off his thoughts. “But Giles has got me so damn mad.” He turned to the Master, punctuating his pleas with his hands as he tried to explain his fears. “I worked with this guy for a long time when I was human. And he is smart. The volumes of demonology, lore and fable that this guy has could fill all Hell. And Oz, well, he’s the techno-guy. With the internet at their fingertips, they have all the information in the world.” He jumped down from the stage, frantically approaching his master. “What if they discover the meaning of the sword? If they figure out how to use it, if they learn how to destroy it…”
The Master considered him for a moment, taken by his surprisingly pleading eyes.
“Are you afraid, Xander?”
Xander looked carefully at him, then shook his head. “No. Just tense. Worried maybe.”
The Master nodded then rose from his seat. “Then we have no choice but to act,” he said.
Willow jumped up, approaching him eagerly. “We get to play?” She asked.
“Oh yes,” her master replied. “We’ll assemble the best” - he placed a hand on Willow’s shoulder - “take back the sword of Caelestis” - he placed his other hand at the nape of Xander’s neck, stroking lightly - “and we’ll murder them all.”
“Ow,” Amy said for the thousandth time. She had rolled down her long socks to inspect the bruises on her legs, daubing at the more severe ones with a painfully cold compress. Nancy was pressing a similar compress to her shoulder, trying to calm her with light conversation.
“It’s not so bad,” she kept saying, until Amy finally snapped and replied “Sure, except I just got blasted into a staircase by a magic sword.”
“At least it didn’t incinerate you from the inside out,” Nancy replied, her jovial tone only slightly marred.
Amy shuddered at the thought. “Swords can do that?” She asked, pondering how much there was of the magical world left to learn.
“I’ve read about it,” Nancy replied as she moved to Giles’s desk for more first aid supplies. “And we had this sceptre once, that Giles got sent by a friend of his, and it burned his entire hand off.”
Amy was about to point out that Mr. Giles clearly had both of his hands, but Nancy didn’t pause for breath as she continued trying to distract her patient.
“It was a joke of course. His hand came back in an hour, then this warlock turned up and he’d been watching the whole thing, laughing his ass off. Some guy named Ethan. Cute, in a British kinda way, but a real bastard. Giles beat the hell out of him.”
Amy just nodded, wishing and praying that Mr. Giles was going to come back soon and tell her what the hell was going on.
“What class are you missing by being here?” Giles said as he and Oz entered his apartment.
“I’m not sure. I think it involves rulers.”
“Maths?” Giles asked as he began to root through his bookshelves.
“No,” Oz replied, trying hard to remember where he was supposed to be. It was difficult to tell these days - every class seemed to blur into the next until the night arrived and responsibility began. He shut the door of Giles’s apartment and joined him at the bookshelves. “It might be French.”
Giles crouched down to rifle through some large tomes on the floor. “French doesn’t involve rulers.”
“Underlining,” Oz corrected, pulling out a large book with a knight in armour on the cover.
“How silly of me not to think of underlining,” Giles replied sardonically.
Oz hung the book down in front of him.
“Ah,” Giles said with a smile. He rose to his feet again, opening the dusty book and flicking through the pages. Oz watched Giles for a moment, then leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Looks promising,” Giles said triumphantly, shoving the book under one arm and pulling Oz closer with the other. He kissed Oz’s temple tenderly, then said “This might be the answer” close to his ear.
Oz pulled away to look him in the eye. “I thought you said translation didn’t mean-”
“It’s not translation,” Giles cut him off, starting to smile. “This,” he lifted the book up again, “is legend. If we know the legend, we know the rituals. And if we know the rituals the vampires don’t stand a chance.”
On most nights Giles preferred to patrol as soon as the Sun had set, but tonight he and the children worked in the library as the skies darkened outside. Amy, recovering as best she could from her ordeal, had offered to help with research until Giles could give her a decent explanation of what was going on and how safe she could expect to be in the coming weeks.
Giles didn’t like to think of what he might have to tell all of them if the rituals didn’t work. How was he to describe to these children, not even two full decades old, what further horrors awaited them in this already horrid world? If they were not successful, he knew what he had to do.
“Run.”
He could picture himself saying it.
“Take Oz’s van and get out of here, all of you.”
They’d agree; they’d have no choice but to agree. He wouldn’t let them stay here and fight, even if he had to. And he would have to, if it ever came down to the end of Sunnydale, to the end of the world. Because, Slayer or not, he was a Watcher. This battle, this struggle for a better world, was what he was put on this earth to do.
He was both destined and trapped, given a purpose but made a slave. He’d given up on trying to rebel years ago, accepting and obeying. He was a bloody good slave; no one could take that away from him.
Amy sat with a large textbook spread out over her lap, wary of every little noise she could hear outside the library. They were quiet in their research, with only a few lights on so as not to draw attention to unseemly visitors. Apparently the school was free to enter for the dead. The textbook was gibberish to Amy as her panic levels fluctuated. She had offered to help, proved herself useless, and now she was stuck in a library in the middle of the night and her mightiest protector was a middle-aged British librarian who was chewing on his glasses and staring off into space.
Mr. Giles looked totally lost in thought, taken over by his own mind. The others were all too immersed in their research to notice it, but Amy watched him for at least a whole minute in stunned silence. He was just stood there thinking, totally rapt. A thousand ideas swirling in his cloudy green eyes. Unbreakable concentration.
Even when the bricks came crashing in through the skylight and shards of glass started raining down on them all, it still took him ages to come to his senses.
Genre: Romace/Angst
Pairings: Giles/Oz, Vamp!Xander/Vamp!Willow,
Rating: R/NC-17 for sex, torture, blood, death, gore etc.
Setting: Set in the Wish!Verse, before Cordy turns up and spoils things :P
Genre: Angst and Darkfic.
Wordcount: 1,323
Part: 3 of ?
Previous Parts here or here.
Worst Case Scenario - Part Three
“He’s hiding something,” Xander urged, pacing back and forth on the stage of the Bronze. Tiny shards of daylight were trying to fight their way through the old nightclub’s boarded-up windows, casting shifting shadows on the walls.
“And what do you suppose this librarian is concealing?” The Master reclined in a swinging chair nearby, watching his faithful servant working himself into a panic.
“I don’t know,” Xander replied immediately, a hoarse growl creeping into the end of his statement.
He kicked a battered microphone stand, sending it flying across the dancefloor. It skidded to a halt at Willow’s feet, and she pouted at her lover as she stepped over it to approach him.
“Watch it,” she whined, coming to sit on the edge of the stage.
“Sorry,” Xander said quickly. He was in no mood to be put off his thoughts. “But Giles has got me so damn mad.” He turned to the Master, punctuating his pleas with his hands as he tried to explain his fears. “I worked with this guy for a long time when I was human. And he is smart. The volumes of demonology, lore and fable that this guy has could fill all Hell. And Oz, well, he’s the techno-guy. With the internet at their fingertips, they have all the information in the world.” He jumped down from the stage, frantically approaching his master. “What if they discover the meaning of the sword? If they figure out how to use it, if they learn how to destroy it…”
The Master considered him for a moment, taken by his surprisingly pleading eyes.
“Are you afraid, Xander?”
Xander looked carefully at him, then shook his head. “No. Just tense. Worried maybe.”
The Master nodded then rose from his seat. “Then we have no choice but to act,” he said.
Willow jumped up, approaching him eagerly. “We get to play?” She asked.
“Oh yes,” her master replied. “We’ll assemble the best” - he placed a hand on Willow’s shoulder - “take back the sword of Caelestis” - he placed his other hand at the nape of Xander’s neck, stroking lightly - “and we’ll murder them all.”
“Ow,” Amy said for the thousandth time. She had rolled down her long socks to inspect the bruises on her legs, daubing at the more severe ones with a painfully cold compress. Nancy was pressing a similar compress to her shoulder, trying to calm her with light conversation.
“It’s not so bad,” she kept saying, until Amy finally snapped and replied “Sure, except I just got blasted into a staircase by a magic sword.”
“At least it didn’t incinerate you from the inside out,” Nancy replied, her jovial tone only slightly marred.
Amy shuddered at the thought. “Swords can do that?” She asked, pondering how much there was of the magical world left to learn.
“I’ve read about it,” Nancy replied as she moved to Giles’s desk for more first aid supplies. “And we had this sceptre once, that Giles got sent by a friend of his, and it burned his entire hand off.”
Amy was about to point out that Mr. Giles clearly had both of his hands, but Nancy didn’t pause for breath as she continued trying to distract her patient.
“It was a joke of course. His hand came back in an hour, then this warlock turned up and he’d been watching the whole thing, laughing his ass off. Some guy named Ethan. Cute, in a British kinda way, but a real bastard. Giles beat the hell out of him.”
Amy just nodded, wishing and praying that Mr. Giles was going to come back soon and tell her what the hell was going on.
“What class are you missing by being here?” Giles said as he and Oz entered his apartment.
“I’m not sure. I think it involves rulers.”
“Maths?” Giles asked as he began to root through his bookshelves.
“No,” Oz replied, trying hard to remember where he was supposed to be. It was difficult to tell these days - every class seemed to blur into the next until the night arrived and responsibility began. He shut the door of Giles’s apartment and joined him at the bookshelves. “It might be French.”
Giles crouched down to rifle through some large tomes on the floor. “French doesn’t involve rulers.”
“Underlining,” Oz corrected, pulling out a large book with a knight in armour on the cover.
“How silly of me not to think of underlining,” Giles replied sardonically.
Oz hung the book down in front of him.
“Ah,” Giles said with a smile. He rose to his feet again, opening the dusty book and flicking through the pages. Oz watched Giles for a moment, then leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Looks promising,” Giles said triumphantly, shoving the book under one arm and pulling Oz closer with the other. He kissed Oz’s temple tenderly, then said “This might be the answer” close to his ear.
Oz pulled away to look him in the eye. “I thought you said translation didn’t mean-”
“It’s not translation,” Giles cut him off, starting to smile. “This,” he lifted the book up again, “is legend. If we know the legend, we know the rituals. And if we know the rituals the vampires don’t stand a chance.”
On most nights Giles preferred to patrol as soon as the Sun had set, but tonight he and the children worked in the library as the skies darkened outside. Amy, recovering as best she could from her ordeal, had offered to help with research until Giles could give her a decent explanation of what was going on and how safe she could expect to be in the coming weeks.
Giles didn’t like to think of what he might have to tell all of them if the rituals didn’t work. How was he to describe to these children, not even two full decades old, what further horrors awaited them in this already horrid world? If they were not successful, he knew what he had to do.
“Run.”
He could picture himself saying it.
“Take Oz’s van and get out of here, all of you.”
They’d agree; they’d have no choice but to agree. He wouldn’t let them stay here and fight, even if he had to. And he would have to, if it ever came down to the end of Sunnydale, to the end of the world. Because, Slayer or not, he was a Watcher. This battle, this struggle for a better world, was what he was put on this earth to do.
He was both destined and trapped, given a purpose but made a slave. He’d given up on trying to rebel years ago, accepting and obeying. He was a bloody good slave; no one could take that away from him.
Amy sat with a large textbook spread out over her lap, wary of every little noise she could hear outside the library. They were quiet in their research, with only a few lights on so as not to draw attention to unseemly visitors. Apparently the school was free to enter for the dead. The textbook was gibberish to Amy as her panic levels fluctuated. She had offered to help, proved herself useless, and now she was stuck in a library in the middle of the night and her mightiest protector was a middle-aged British librarian who was chewing on his glasses and staring off into space.
Mr. Giles looked totally lost in thought, taken over by his own mind. The others were all too immersed in their research to notice it, but Amy watched him for at least a whole minute in stunned silence. He was just stood there thinking, totally rapt. A thousand ideas swirling in his cloudy green eyes. Unbreakable concentration.
Even when the bricks came crashing in through the skylight and shards of glass started raining down on them all, it still took him ages to come to his senses.