For Rbfvid: Harmlyria
This is a mod challenge from Nekid Spike, written for rbfvid who requested: Spike/Illyria(?) in AU, where Illyria had awakened in Harmony's body, not Fred's.
It starts out sad and ends up silly!
Harmony shouldn’t even have been in the lab. She almost never went there, but then she was, and she poked the stupid sarcophagus, saying, “Are there any jewels inside?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Spike said, when Angel looked so guiltily uncomfortable. Spike supposed he was the closest to her, fellow vampire, ex-lover. Everyone felt bad, sure, but there was this sort of unspoken assumption that it wouldn’t kill her - vampires just didn’t get sick, much less expire.
Harmony was scared. Of course she was scared. “Don’t leave me,” she said, gripping Spike’s fingers tightly. “Fred’s going to figure this out, right?”
“Sure she is, lambchop. Fred’s scary smart and all her focus is on you.”
Harmony breathed, wetly, and nodded. Her eyes were wide and fevered. “Do I look okay?”
“Gorgeous,” Spike said. He tucked a sweaty lock behind her ear. “Love how your tits are heaving.”
The inappropriate comment got the smile he hoped for. “Stop it,” she said, weakly slapping him. Harmony was always easy to flatter. He supposed that was what got them together in the first place - god help him, she was an easy-mode girlfriend for an exhausted rebounding idiot.
Holding a sports bottle full of blood for her and bringing over this and that teddy bear didn’t seem like an entirely adequate way to make it up to her, but he did what he could, and tried to keep the snarky back-talk down.
Her eyes closed, her chest sank with her last breath, and Spike was alone, looking down at her. Would she turn to dust?
Then her eyes snapped open.
***
So… things happened. The grief of Harmony’s passing was subsumed by dealing with the powerful, frightening entity that took over her body. A duty that fell, Spike felt, rather heavily on himself.
Spike stormed into Angel’s office. “I’ve had enough of babysitting the goddess.”
Angel kept his eyes on his papers. “Make an appointment.”
Spike flicked the top paper across the desk, forcing Angel to look up at him. “You could do more.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Angel spread his hands.
“You could try acting a little broken up. She was your bleedin’ secretary.”
“Harmony was a special person,” Angel said. “We all regret her loss.”
“No you bloody don’t. If your temp knew the expense accounts as well as she did, you wouldn’t miss her.”
“Jeez, Spike. You barely had time for her when she was still here.”
“I suppose.” Spike wrapped his coat more tightly around himself. “She didn’t have a soul, but she chose to work for the good guys. I have feelings about that, yeah? Think it’s more noble than turning good just when your conscience makes it hurt not to.”
Angel coughed and looked to the side. “It was a little too easy to dismiss her,” he said. “Because she, well, she cultivated that persona.”
“We all have our personas,” Spike said, and fished a cigarette out of his pocket.
“Not in the office,” Angel said, and got up to fetch the paper Spike had flicked away.
“Berk.”
“Delinquent.”
Spike looked longingly down at his cigarette, then back at Angel. “No dispensation for the grieving?”
“Not after two weeks, no.”
Spike nodded and headed toward the door, just as it burst open.
Harmony - or rather, Illyria - stalked in, her head raised in a haughty attitude, like a crown was balanced on her blonde head, heavy enough to require a perfectly straight spine to support it. Blue highlights gave her pale blonde hair a glowing appearance and swirls dipped down into her décolletage, straining against the confines of leather armor.
Spike took his unlit cigarette from his lips. “’Ello, Blue.”
“You amuse me,” she said, her wide eyes inspecting Spike like an interesting insect on a pin-point. “You campaign for the tender remembrance of a creature you treated with disdain.”
“So you were eavesdropping. Again. It’s rude, you know, even for a god.”
Illyria came very close to Spike, tilting her head. “If this shell’s memories were my own, I would want vengeance upon you.” Spike flinched backward involuntarily as Illyria raised a finger. She touched his cheek. “As it is, I am merely amused.”
Spike turned away from the touch with a shiver. “Just so long as you keep those thoughts nice and separate, Blue, we’ll get along.”
“I do not wish to ‘get along’ with my inferiors.”
“Please, love, not in front of the poof.” Spike cut his eyes toward Angel.
Illyria raised one eyebrow and turned on her heel.
Spike sighed, watching Harmony’s shapely rear swaying out of sight in an outfit she would never have dreamed of wearing, not with the most vociferous promises of reciprocal fantasy dress-up.
“Spike?”
He turned to see Angel looking expectantly at him. “Hrm?”
“I have work to do.”
“So?”
Spike chuckled at Angel’s exasperated expression. It was so easy to get him. “Right, I’ll be off.”
Spike got a few paces out of the office when Illyria blocked his path. She was frowning, blue lips pursed. Spike sighed dramatically. “What?”
“The shell’s memories… she would be pleased, at your remembrance.”
Spike relaxed from a clenched stance he hadn’t realized he’d assumed. “Thanks, Blue. It means a lot, hearing that.”
The blue drained out of her like water drying on sand. She seemed to grow rounder as she grew warmer in color. Suddenly, Harmony was in front of him, just Harmony in a pink floral dress. “Blondie-bear, you’re the best.” She gave him a squeezing hug.
Spike stiffened. Her scent was completely wrong. The feeling was right, but the scent was wrong. It made his skin crawl. She let go of him. Still looking like Harmony, Illyria’s expression returned to her usual stoic set. “This does not please you?”
“It’s… let’s not do that, yeah?”
“But you often employed costumes and assumed identities in copulation.”
Spike winced and tried to make a loud enough noise to cover the end of her sentence. He held out his hands. “Not a conversation topic for corridors, pet. Do you remember our conversation about boundaries?”
She tilted her head. “I recall you speaking some nonsense while I was enjoying the sounds you make falling into things.”
“Right, see, that right there is disrespectful, love.”
“I am a god king of the primordium.”
“So you have never neglected to mention.”
“And I am in possession of the slayer costume, still.”
“Exac… wait, what?”
If Spike didn’t know better, he was sure he caught a glint of something mischievous in Illyria’s cold blue eyes. Her color drained back to godly, the pink, ruffled dress falling back into hard armor. She nodded. “You will follow.”
Spike straightened, watching her strut purposefully toward the stairs. “The cheek! I bloody well won’t follow like a well-trained puppy. I… hell, who am I kidding? Oi! Wait up!”
It starts out sad and ends up silly!
Harmony shouldn’t even have been in the lab. She almost never went there, but then she was, and she poked the stupid sarcophagus, saying, “Are there any jewels inside?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Spike said, when Angel looked so guiltily uncomfortable. Spike supposed he was the closest to her, fellow vampire, ex-lover. Everyone felt bad, sure, but there was this sort of unspoken assumption that it wouldn’t kill her - vampires just didn’t get sick, much less expire.
Harmony was scared. Of course she was scared. “Don’t leave me,” she said, gripping Spike’s fingers tightly. “Fred’s going to figure this out, right?”
“Sure she is, lambchop. Fred’s scary smart and all her focus is on you.”
Harmony breathed, wetly, and nodded. Her eyes were wide and fevered. “Do I look okay?”
“Gorgeous,” Spike said. He tucked a sweaty lock behind her ear. “Love how your tits are heaving.”
The inappropriate comment got the smile he hoped for. “Stop it,” she said, weakly slapping him. Harmony was always easy to flatter. He supposed that was what got them together in the first place - god help him, she was an easy-mode girlfriend for an exhausted rebounding idiot.
Holding a sports bottle full of blood for her and bringing over this and that teddy bear didn’t seem like an entirely adequate way to make it up to her, but he did what he could, and tried to keep the snarky back-talk down.
Her eyes closed, her chest sank with her last breath, and Spike was alone, looking down at her. Would she turn to dust?
Then her eyes snapped open.
***
So… things happened. The grief of Harmony’s passing was subsumed by dealing with the powerful, frightening entity that took over her body. A duty that fell, Spike felt, rather heavily on himself.
Spike stormed into Angel’s office. “I’ve had enough of babysitting the goddess.”
Angel kept his eyes on his papers. “Make an appointment.”
Spike flicked the top paper across the desk, forcing Angel to look up at him. “You could do more.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Angel spread his hands.
“You could try acting a little broken up. She was your bleedin’ secretary.”
“Harmony was a special person,” Angel said. “We all regret her loss.”
“No you bloody don’t. If your temp knew the expense accounts as well as she did, you wouldn’t miss her.”
“Jeez, Spike. You barely had time for her when she was still here.”
“I suppose.” Spike wrapped his coat more tightly around himself. “She didn’t have a soul, but she chose to work for the good guys. I have feelings about that, yeah? Think it’s more noble than turning good just when your conscience makes it hurt not to.”
Angel coughed and looked to the side. “It was a little too easy to dismiss her,” he said. “Because she, well, she cultivated that persona.”
“We all have our personas,” Spike said, and fished a cigarette out of his pocket.
“Not in the office,” Angel said, and got up to fetch the paper Spike had flicked away.
“Berk.”
“Delinquent.”
Spike looked longingly down at his cigarette, then back at Angel. “No dispensation for the grieving?”
“Not after two weeks, no.”
Spike nodded and headed toward the door, just as it burst open.
Harmony - or rather, Illyria - stalked in, her head raised in a haughty attitude, like a crown was balanced on her blonde head, heavy enough to require a perfectly straight spine to support it. Blue highlights gave her pale blonde hair a glowing appearance and swirls dipped down into her décolletage, straining against the confines of leather armor.
Spike took his unlit cigarette from his lips. “’Ello, Blue.”
“You amuse me,” she said, her wide eyes inspecting Spike like an interesting insect on a pin-point. “You campaign for the tender remembrance of a creature you treated with disdain.”
“So you were eavesdropping. Again. It’s rude, you know, even for a god.”
Illyria came very close to Spike, tilting her head. “If this shell’s memories were my own, I would want vengeance upon you.” Spike flinched backward involuntarily as Illyria raised a finger. She touched his cheek. “As it is, I am merely amused.”
Spike turned away from the touch with a shiver. “Just so long as you keep those thoughts nice and separate, Blue, we’ll get along.”
“I do not wish to ‘get along’ with my inferiors.”
“Please, love, not in front of the poof.” Spike cut his eyes toward Angel.
Illyria raised one eyebrow and turned on her heel.
Spike sighed, watching Harmony’s shapely rear swaying out of sight in an outfit she would never have dreamed of wearing, not with the most vociferous promises of reciprocal fantasy dress-up.
“Spike?”
He turned to see Angel looking expectantly at him. “Hrm?”
“I have work to do.”
“So?”
Spike chuckled at Angel’s exasperated expression. It was so easy to get him. “Right, I’ll be off.”
Spike got a few paces out of the office when Illyria blocked his path. She was frowning, blue lips pursed. Spike sighed dramatically. “What?”
“The shell’s memories… she would be pleased, at your remembrance.”
Spike relaxed from a clenched stance he hadn’t realized he’d assumed. “Thanks, Blue. It means a lot, hearing that.”
The blue drained out of her like water drying on sand. She seemed to grow rounder as she grew warmer in color. Suddenly, Harmony was in front of him, just Harmony in a pink floral dress. “Blondie-bear, you’re the best.” She gave him a squeezing hug.
Spike stiffened. Her scent was completely wrong. The feeling was right, but the scent was wrong. It made his skin crawl. She let go of him. Still looking like Harmony, Illyria’s expression returned to her usual stoic set. “This does not please you?”
“It’s… let’s not do that, yeah?”
“But you often employed costumes and assumed identities in copulation.”
Spike winced and tried to make a loud enough noise to cover the end of her sentence. He held out his hands. “Not a conversation topic for corridors, pet. Do you remember our conversation about boundaries?”
She tilted her head. “I recall you speaking some nonsense while I was enjoying the sounds you make falling into things.”
“Right, see, that right there is disrespectful, love.”
“I am a god king of the primordium.”
“So you have never neglected to mention.”
“And I am in possession of the slayer costume, still.”
“Exac… wait, what?”
If Spike didn’t know better, he was sure he caught a glint of something mischievous in Illyria’s cold blue eyes. Her color drained back to godly, the pink, ruffled dress falling back into hard armor. She nodded. “You will follow.”
Spike straightened, watching her strut purposefully toward the stairs. “The cheek! I bloody well won’t follow like a well-trained puppy. I… hell, who am I kidding? Oi! Wait up!”