(no subject)
This is an untitled short Buffyverse bit that I did as a what-if: What if (a) it was Angel not Spike who got a ship in his head in S4 and (b) what if that chip did more harm than good?
Never mind that a Buffy with any sense would stake Angelus the moment he turned. Never mind that we've already seen the magic trick of Angel going bad and getting into the revenge thing.
"Morning, flat tits," was how he greeted her, cheerily, as she crossed the threshold of Giles's door. He was still hog-tied to a ladder-back chair, but the muscle cramps of forced inactivity didn't seem to impair his toothy smile.
Buffy stopped, three steps into the house. She could have lived without his saying that in front of Xander and Anya and poor, twitching Giles. You know, she could have lived without him saying that at all, lived a long time in fact, lived to be a blue-haired, cane-walking Slayer without her monster ex badmouthing her private body parts publically. But this was Angelus. What should she expect.
Hoping the icky silence hadn't been too long, she asked him, "How are you this fine, sunny day? Feeling cooped up? Should mummy take you for a walk?" They sneered death at each other across the room while Giles regrouped the thread of conversation.
"Yes, well, I was just saying to Xander," Giles gestured with his teacup, so tired he didn't notice that he was swilling lukewarm tea in an arc in front of him. "We've got to be considering what to do with this... here."
Xander raised an objecting finger, but Buffy was faster. "He's as dangerous as the day he killed Ms. Calendar. We're not letting him go."
"No, of course not," said Giles, his brows furrowing with anger. With an emphatic nod, Xander put his arm around Anya and raised his finger to interject. Giles continued, "But he can't hurt people. He can't even kick a cat."
"He doesn't have to," interrupted Buffy, "he could convince the cat it wanted to kick itself. Or induce a cat-riot and have all the cats kicking each other's asses. I'm not letting him leave this house."
"So he can kill Giles?" asked Anya, brushing Xander's upraised finger out of her face.
"Thank you, no." Giles took a seat on the couch, massaging his forehead.
Anya sat beside him. "I was just saying."
"I do believe," intoned Xander, raising his finger once more as if it were a valiant candle in darkness, "that I made the Aha! gesture quite clearly."
"Let the village idiot speak!" Angelus pealed laughter. They all stopped to stare at him. He recovered himself, giggling and swallowing it, in the face of their collective repugnance. "Oh, go on, boy. I'd like to hear your grand plan."
"Grand? No." Xander gathered his cool. "It's as simple as a village idiot. We wait till Willow gets back from that witch-retreat thing, and bam, she curses him again. Problem solved."
Wheels were turning behind Buffy's eyes, even as her lips pursed to reject the idea. Angelus just stared his cool, superior stare, acquisitive black crow's eyes in a ghost's white face. "I like your idea," said Anya, nodding. "Good thing you're my boyfriend."
"It's a possibility," was all Giles would allow. "Although that means I shall be hosting the most dangerous vampire I know in my living room for -- what, two more nights?"
"Till Monday," supplied Buffy.
"Don't bother, it won't work." Angelus lolled his head about his shoulders. "Whatever it was those military types did to me, it pretty much guaranteed I'll never have a soul again."
It wasn't true; but then, lying was both fun and profitable, if your currency happened to be that pained look on Buffy's face. Not to mention the slow burn that was consuming Xander. A smirk twisted gray lips up over those unnaturally elongated canines.
"We can take our chances on Monday," decreed Giles, standing up to pace.
"It's big of you, to let them operate on your turf like this."
"You shut up." Buffy stared at her ex-boyfriend with as cordial a loathing as she could manage. "Xander, Anya, I need intelligence on these army guys. Who's seen them, what they were doing, where they were going, what kind of gum they chew. Anything you can dig up." She ushered them to the door, sparing one backwards glance of death at Angelus.
Three living, breathing young people stepped out into the fine California sunshine and said their goodbyes. Xander started out of the courtyard, then turned back to face the Slayer. "Buffy..." He hunched his shoulders like he was waiting to be smacked. "I, uh, I like your...." He cupped his hands in front of him. "You know."
Buffy said, "Thank you, Xander," and watched him realize she meant it. He waved off the moment with a grin and a thumbs up, just in time for Anya to bash him with her bag as she thundered past. Xander chased her, double-stepping with his long legs, swooping around her like a sparrow at its nest.
"I meant in the aesthetic sense!" he wailed, and they turned the corner and were gone.
Buffy crossed her arms and forced herself to turn around. She imagined the horrible things that could be happening right behind that door. He could have gotten free, and be force-feeding Giles tea cookies. He could be digging through Giles's wardrobe, finding -- something awful, in a really tweedy way. But even if he was still shackled and helpless, she had to go back through that door and deal with her ex-human, ex-evil, ex-ex-evil, ex-hellbound, ex-evil, re-evil, inexplicably Gandhi-loving ex-boyfriend.
And Giles had already said no staking. Damn.
END
(probably mid-2002, I'm not sure)
Never mind that a Buffy with any sense would stake Angelus the moment he turned. Never mind that we've already seen the magic trick of Angel going bad and getting into the revenge thing.
"Morning, flat tits," was how he greeted her, cheerily, as she crossed the threshold of Giles's door. He was still hog-tied to a ladder-back chair, but the muscle cramps of forced inactivity didn't seem to impair his toothy smile.
Buffy stopped, three steps into the house. She could have lived without his saying that in front of Xander and Anya and poor, twitching Giles. You know, she could have lived without him saying that at all, lived a long time in fact, lived to be a blue-haired, cane-walking Slayer without her monster ex badmouthing her private body parts publically. But this was Angelus. What should she expect.
Hoping the icky silence hadn't been too long, she asked him, "How are you this fine, sunny day? Feeling cooped up? Should mummy take you for a walk?" They sneered death at each other across the room while Giles regrouped the thread of conversation.
"Yes, well, I was just saying to Xander," Giles gestured with his teacup, so tired he didn't notice that he was swilling lukewarm tea in an arc in front of him. "We've got to be considering what to do with this... here."
Xander raised an objecting finger, but Buffy was faster. "He's as dangerous as the day he killed Ms. Calendar. We're not letting him go."
"No, of course not," said Giles, his brows furrowing with anger. With an emphatic nod, Xander put his arm around Anya and raised his finger to interject. Giles continued, "But he can't hurt people. He can't even kick a cat."
"He doesn't have to," interrupted Buffy, "he could convince the cat it wanted to kick itself. Or induce a cat-riot and have all the cats kicking each other's asses. I'm not letting him leave this house."
"So he can kill Giles?" asked Anya, brushing Xander's upraised finger out of her face.
"Thank you, no." Giles took a seat on the couch, massaging his forehead.
Anya sat beside him. "I was just saying."
"I do believe," intoned Xander, raising his finger once more as if it were a valiant candle in darkness, "that I made the Aha! gesture quite clearly."
"Let the village idiot speak!" Angelus pealed laughter. They all stopped to stare at him. He recovered himself, giggling and swallowing it, in the face of their collective repugnance. "Oh, go on, boy. I'd like to hear your grand plan."
"Grand? No." Xander gathered his cool. "It's as simple as a village idiot. We wait till Willow gets back from that witch-retreat thing, and bam, she curses him again. Problem solved."
Wheels were turning behind Buffy's eyes, even as her lips pursed to reject the idea. Angelus just stared his cool, superior stare, acquisitive black crow's eyes in a ghost's white face. "I like your idea," said Anya, nodding. "Good thing you're my boyfriend."
"It's a possibility," was all Giles would allow. "Although that means I shall be hosting the most dangerous vampire I know in my living room for -- what, two more nights?"
"Till Monday," supplied Buffy.
"Don't bother, it won't work." Angelus lolled his head about his shoulders. "Whatever it was those military types did to me, it pretty much guaranteed I'll never have a soul again."
It wasn't true; but then, lying was both fun and profitable, if your currency happened to be that pained look on Buffy's face. Not to mention the slow burn that was consuming Xander. A smirk twisted gray lips up over those unnaturally elongated canines.
"We can take our chances on Monday," decreed Giles, standing up to pace.
"It's big of you, to let them operate on your turf like this."
"You shut up." Buffy stared at her ex-boyfriend with as cordial a loathing as she could manage. "Xander, Anya, I need intelligence on these army guys. Who's seen them, what they were doing, where they were going, what kind of gum they chew. Anything you can dig up." She ushered them to the door, sparing one backwards glance of death at Angelus.
Three living, breathing young people stepped out into the fine California sunshine and said their goodbyes. Xander started out of the courtyard, then turned back to face the Slayer. "Buffy..." He hunched his shoulders like he was waiting to be smacked. "I, uh, I like your...." He cupped his hands in front of him. "You know."
Buffy said, "Thank you, Xander," and watched him realize she meant it. He waved off the moment with a grin and a thumbs up, just in time for Anya to bash him with her bag as she thundered past. Xander chased her, double-stepping with his long legs, swooping around her like a sparrow at its nest.
"I meant in the aesthetic sense!" he wailed, and they turned the corner and were gone.
Buffy crossed her arms and forced herself to turn around. She imagined the horrible things that could be happening right behind that door. He could have gotten free, and be force-feeding Giles tea cookies. He could be digging through Giles's wardrobe, finding -- something awful, in a really tweedy way. But even if he was still shackled and helpless, she had to go back through that door and deal with her ex-human, ex-evil, ex-ex-evil, ex-hellbound, ex-evil, re-evil, inexplicably Gandhi-loving ex-boyfriend.
And Giles had already said no staking. Damn.
END
(probably mid-2002, I'm not sure)