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My Immortal. Chapter 4
Since I'm going away on holiday on Friday, you get this now. I could keep tweaking it I suppose, but my dear beta, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh, says that it reads well enough, so I'll trust her judgment! Previous parts here. Oh and feedback will be treasured more than a nekkid Spike! :)
Title: My Immortal
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Word count: 4400 words approx.
Setting: Spring 2004.
Chapter 4
Jack: I have died so many times. Been dragged back into life, like being hauled over broken glass.
~
Buffy: Everything here is... hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch... this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that... knowing what I've lost...
Sunday 4th April, 5.15 am
Buffy didn’t relish being woken by the phone - especially not when it was still dark outside. Head fuzzy with sleep she finally managed to switch on the light and answer the increasingly insistent bleeping.
“Bella?” she asked, having glanced at the phone as she picked it up, and then had an earful of semi-broken English that she slowly managed to unravel.
Bella - very recently called Slayer, who’d only just been granted lone patrol status - had in her zealousness checked every demon bar in her entire district, and overheard some weirdly dressed demons discuss what might be a ritual sacrifice. She’d followed them until they got in a car and drove off, leaving her stranded - so she’d called Buffy.
“OK...” Buffy replied, head slowly clearing, “but where did they go?”
Bella, who was a very conscientious and studious girl, explained that she recognised the symbols on the demons’ robes, and maybe if they called Mr Wells he’d be able to do a locator spell of some sort?
Groaning at the ‘Mr Wells’ Buffy had to concede that this was a good idea.
“Listen - you call Andrew and tell him everything you just told me, and I’ll get to you and we’ll go deal with this together, OK?”
Bella’s relief was obvious, and, after getting her location, Buffy said goodbye. Grumbling under her breath about the unsociable hours that demons kept, she pulled on some jeans, a warm top and her most sensible boots, before gathering her hair in a ponytail and choosing a coat. Quickly she scribbled a note for Dawn, then grabbed the Scythe, her helmet and keys.
As always she smiled when she saw her pale blue moped - Rome was huge, and it was quite simply not possible to run everywhere the way she had in Sunnydale. The moped was the perfect solution - and also far cuter and smaller than a car.
The cool pre-dawn air woke her very effectively, and she only got lost once which was probably a new record. Feeling happy and alert she grinned to Bella as she drew up beside her, and soon they were on their way to their destination. Buffy would have to remember to tell Andrew thanks - he was good at his job when he didn’t get distracted.
Parking the moped a little way off they silently tiptoed towards the warehouse (why always empty warehouses, she wondered) and quickly found a side door. Putting her hand on it, she realised that it was slightly ajar. Either these were some of the sloppiest demons she’d ever come across, or something was up... then she heard a voice, and, frowning, gently pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted her made her gasp. In the middle of the mostly empty room - beside an altar covered in a dark cloth and cluttered with candles, mystical artifacts and a large knife - stood The Immortal, looking impossibly rakish in what was apparently his standard outfit of black trousers and white shirt, although this time the sleeves were rolled up. He had his hand around the neck of a corpulent spotted demon, and a gun aimed at a group of horned, thuggish red-skinned demons, fitting the description Bella had given.
“That’s it,” he said, voice low and dangerous as the red demons slowly lined up against the wall. “You try to move as much as an inch and I blow you to pieces!”
Then he turned his head as her boots scraped on the floor, and his face suddenly lit up. “Buffy - excellent! I was just wondering whether I had to call for back-up.”
She blinked. “I’m back-up?”
He grinned at her, and then tightened the grip on the demon in his hand, who had attempted to speak.
“You don’t get to talk, creep! Although you would be able to confirm that this was my town first. But seriously - Buffy, do you think you could take care of...”
He nodded towards a dark corner, and Buffy suddenly realised that there was a sniffling sound. She and Bella ran across the floor and saw a young girl - maybe 7 or 8 years old - dressed up in some ceremonial robe and chained to the wall. Quelling her sudden bright fury and disgust Buffy quickly broke the chains, before helping the girl up. Bella began comforting her, the torrent of Italian too fast for Buffy to follow, but the girl gratefully clung to the other Slayer. Thinking fast, Buffy caught Bella’s attention.
“Can you ride a moped?”
“Si, si, of course, but I am too young...”
“Doesn’t matter. Only two can fit on, and as you know my Italian is... not so much.” She dug out her keys. “Here - take her back to Slayer headquarters, get Andrew to find out where she lives etcetera. I’ll stay here - I’m sure The Immortal could use a hand.”
Bella nodded and quickly escorted the girl out. Buffy followed them with her eyes, then looked up and saw The Immortal smiling at her grimly.
“Thank you. I hate it when children are involved.” The vehemence in his voice was so sharp, that without asking she knew that this was a personal matter to him.
One of the demons used the momentary distraction to make a run for it, but The Immortal’s head swivelled and without hesitation he fired. The bullet caught the creature in the back, and it collapsed screaming.
“I said don’t move!” he repeated, scanning the four demons still left. His eyes were cold and angry, and he looked... old. It was a look she knew far too well, and something clutched at her heart. Slowly he turned his gaze on the demon still grasped in his left hand, the sneer on his face deepening.
“And as for you...” He looked the demon over, and slowly shook his head. “If your grandfather could see you now, he would spin in his mausoleum. To think that he once thought you might amount to something... Instead you’ve dragged your family name through the mud in ways he - thankfully - couldn’t have imagined!”
The demon tried speaking, but The Immortal wasn’t finished. “You know what the joke is? This was supposed to be my holiday - a little time off. No death and blood and pain and all the usual fucked-up mess. And then I get a phonecall, informing me that the grand-spawn of one of my oldest friends is about to have himself a little human sacrifice! And for what? To get money to pay back the loansharks, because he squandered the family fortune. Trust me, you have no idea the amount of pain I want to inflict on you!”
The demon rasped something that sounded like “loyrrrrs...” and The Immortal suddenly laughed joylessly and released his grip, causing the demon to collapse on the floor, gasping for air.
“Oh I know who your lawyers are, but they’re not the reason I’m going to let you go.”
Buffy looked at him sharply. He was going to let the creep go?
Smiling a smile as predatory as any she’d seen on a vampire, The Immortal looked down on the creature at his feet.
“You have no money, and therefore your lawyers couldn’t care less what happens to you. Gotta love Wolfram & Hart! And, if my source is correct, your loanshark is going to crucify you - possibly literally. Would ask for a ringside seat if I had the time.”
Taking a deep breath he lifted his face and cast a withering glance over the remaining demons by the wall. “You can leave. If I ever see you in this town again you’ll share your friend’s fate, understood?”
The demons nodded and scrambled for the exit as fast as their legs could carry them. With one last disgusted look The Immortal turned his back on the demon still on the floor and put away his gun, catching Buffy’s eyes as he did so.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate magic?” He shuddered. “And although it is very nice to see you again I wish it’d been under different circumstances. Despite your job description I can’t help thinking that less violence and more flowers-and-chocolate is the way to go.”
She stared at him silently. She’d spent most of Saturday turning the situation over in her head, trying to work out whether to call him or not - re-reading all the info Andrew had dug up, before he’d read The Immortal’s book and turned into a born-again worshipping moron. Because despite the fun and the charm - and the glimpses of a far different man beneath the facade - there were stories that told of something far darker. Looking at him now she could suddenly see the origin of these stories, and there was no doubting his ruthlessness. But... despite their somewhat differing methods they seemed to be on the same side.
Her head busy trying to sort through all this new information, she noticed the movement too late. She called out, but the demon had already grabbed the knife from the altar, face twisted with fury, and in a single, too-fast-to-follow motion he had stabbed it through The Immortal’s back.
As the blade came through his chest he looked down, face distorting in pain.
“Oh crap!”
Briefly he caught her eyes - torment and alarm staring back at her - and then he collapsed on the floor, revealing the demon behind him, hand still clutching the now-bloody knife.
Buffy reacted without thinking, and before the other had time to move the Scythe sliced through its neck. Then she fell to her knees beside The Immortal, turning him over on his back, desperately looking to see how bad the damage was - and realised that it was much too late.
His eyes were open and empty, his shirt soaked in blood. Swiftly she undid the buttons, but seeing the wound it was clear that the blade had gone straight through his heart. Almost choking she sat back on her heels, trying to understand what had happened. Wasn’t the whole point of being immortal that he couldn’t die? She remembered fighting Spike when he had the Gem of Armarra, how he had laughed off fatal injuries... so how? Was this what he’d meant when he’d told her that she’d not been completely wrong? Although vampires were immortal until killed...
Swallowing against the lump in her throat she wondered if maybe she was cursed - anyone coming into contact with her was doomed to badness and a horrible death? He’d been... he’d been so full of life, so - vibrant. Despite being deeply conflicted about him, she was sure that the world was a worse place without him.
Slowly she reached out to close his eyes, grateful that at least she could do that much - having a body to bury was a luxury.
Then abruptly he gasped, flailing hands reaching up and grabbing her arm.
She almost cried out in alarm; but, as she looked into his eyes, two-and-a-half years suddenly crumbled into nothing.
Momentary pure wild terror - vertigo at life itself. Sudden rush of air into the lungs, desperate attempts at orientation...
It couldn’t be...
Then his face contorted in agony, his fingers digging into her arms, before he laughed unsteadily... and the wound closed itself before her widening eyes.
“Christ I hate being stabbed through the chest! All that blood, and my clothes get ruined every time.”
He tried to sit up and she helped stabilise him, turning him so he could lean against the altar.
“Where did-” he waved an unsteady hand, and she nodded towards the body on the floor next to him.
“I decapitated him,” she answered, and a wide grin broke out on The Immortal’s face. “I should have started hanging out with Slayers a long time ago - most people just freak out over the death thing and when I wake up things are even worse than before.”
She looked at him, not meeting his smile, and unable to stop herself reached out and touched his chest - perfectly perfect again, as if never marred. “Is... is that how it works?”
Sombre again, he nodded. “That’s how it works.” She could almost touch the pain in his eyes, and taking a slow, deep breath she finally asked: “Do you lose it every time?”
He frowned, studying her unsurely. “Lose what?”
“Heaven.” Incredible that the word was still so hard to say.
For a moment he just stared at her, the pain on his face as sudden and acute as if she’d slapped him, then he looked away. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no sitting around on clouds playing the harp. There’s just... nothing.”
Bewildered she shook her head. “But there is a heaven. I know, because I went there.”
This got his attention. “You... what?”
“I died, this one time. OK, I’ve died twice, but the second time was a lot more permanent - I was dead for like five months and... I think I was in heaven. I don’t know what else to call it... No clouds or anything like that, but I was... happy. Completely.”
He stared at her silently for a long while, and she couldn’t begin to guess at what thoughts passed through his head. Finally he asked, “But how - how did you come back to life?”
“My friends did a spell. The world needed a Slayer - and they missed me - so they brought me back.” It was less painful to remember now, and yet... “They didn’t really think it through. I... woke up in my coffin.”
She saw the dawning horror on his face as he took in the implications. “Oh my god... That’s... I’ve never done that. I mean I’ve been buried plenty of times - collapsing houses, and trenches, an avalanche once... but at least I was prepared for it, more or less.”
He hesitated for a moment, the slowly asked: “How did you cope - with being back?”
She smiled a little as she shook her head. “I didn’t. Well I was quite good at keeping up a front, but it was so, so hard to keep going, and I did some... very self-destructive things. For a long time I just wanted to die again. I didn’t... I didn’t understand why I was alive. When I died I - I was ready for it. My life to save the world; seemed a good trade. And that was supposed to be it...”
The Immortal was staring at her, like he’d never seen her before. “I never - I never thought anyone else...” he swallowed, then suddenly looked around at the dirty bloody space they were sitting in, the early morning sun now falling through grimy windows.
“Let’s get out of here. You wanna come back to my place? Best breakfast in town.”
She nodded readily and gave him a hand up. He seemed more steady on his feet now, studying the dead body on the floor.
“I think I’ll just quietly let his family know where he is, and they can do what they want - unless it’ll interfere with your clean-up operation?”
She blinked. “My what?”
“Clean-up. You don’t have a team of some sort for getting rid of bodies?”
Mutely she shook her head, and he looked surprised, but then shrugged. “Anyway - thank you for offing him. Couldn’t do myself, being a family friend and all that. To be honest they might even be pleased that he was killed by a Slayer - backwards demon logic and all that.”
He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face, before changing the subject. “Come on, my car’s parked round the back.”
She nodded and, after picking up the Scythe, fell into step with him as they walked across the half-empty space, tall craters looming in the corners, but after a short moment he shot her a sideways glance.
“Sorry about prying - and do tell me to go to hell if I’m overstepping some boundaries - but how did you die the first time? I mean... it’s not a question I’ve ever been able to ask before.”
“Vampire,” she replied, and to her surprise a wide grin broke out on his face.
“Really? My best death ever was by vampire. Or vampires, rather. Sure it hurts like hell when they first bite, but my god the pay-off is worth it. Threesome of the century, definitely. Possibly of the millennium. ”
She was staring at him, wide-eyed, desperately telling herself, over and over, ‘Don’t think about Angel, don’t think about Angel, don’t think about Angel...’
Then his voice trailed off, and he studied her, puzzled.
“Wait - how did you come back from that?”
Doing her best to appear calm, she kept her eyes fixed on the door they were now nearing. “He only took a bite and then drowned me. One of my friends brought me back with CPR.”
“Oh.” He pulled a sympathetic face. “Drowning sucks! Seriously unpleasant way to die - all that water in your lungs...”
“Ruined my Prom dress too,” she cut in, relishing the opportunity to just be able to talk, without worrying about being thought a freak. They’d reached the door, but instead of opening it he stopped and turned to her, eyes widening.
“Your Prom dress? How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
Slowly he shook his head, an expression she couldn’t read crossing his face.
“Of course, Slayers are called young... like that one you brought with you.” His eyes grew distant. “Too young - too young by far to fight. You can’t come back from that.”
She studied him silently, wondering what lay behind his words. He was old, no doubt about it, so did he see youngsters as epitomes of innocence? But then he slowly continued.
“I ran away from home to join the army when I was around that age. Talked my best friend into coming with me. It was supposed to be an adventure, a chance to pay back the bastards who-”
He stopped himself abruptly, but she could guess at what had happened. She’d not thought about the fact that he might have been a child once, not really given much thought to who he was, only focussing on what. It struck her as very shallow all of a sudden. Silently she wondered what had happened to his home - or his family. Because there was a tragedy there, she'd bet her life on it.
Taking a deep, slow breath, he whispered, “He didn’t make it back...”
Instinctively she reached out and took his hand, and he clasped it gratefully, searching her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t normally do this at all - and I never do it here. But then I’ve never met someone quite like you before!”
She smiled back lopsidedly. “Definitely ditto.”
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment, something indefinable being settled without words.
Slowly he nodded. “Guess we could both do with a friend... But let’s get a move-on, there’s freshly made pastries waiting for us! Or there will be, as soon as I give Francesca a call.”
Pulling out his cellphone he shot her a dazzling smile, and then opened the door, the sudden brightness of sun and smile almost overwhelming.
***
Buffy rapidly decided that café breakfasts were a very poor and second-rate way of starting the day, compared to breakfasts served in The Immortal’s garden.
It was like something out of a Merchant Ivory film - a genre she was now very familiar with thanks to Dawn and Andrew’s Anglophilia - and she half-expected some prim English couple to arrive, apologising for their lateness and complaining about the dreadful heat of the Italian climate.
The drive back had been uneventful, the conversation easy and touching on a wide variety of unimportant subjects, but as she drained her coffee cup Buffy eyed up the man across from her. He was once more immaculately dressed in a bright white shirt - the only hint of the morning’s actions his hair which was still a little ruffled, if in a very dashing way. She dearly wished she’d chosen a more flattering outfit herself, but it was too late now - and he didn’t seem to mind in the least. So she tilted her head, determined to get an answer - because she was more curious than ever.
“Earlier...”
“Hm?” he replied, blue eyes smiling back.
“You said... that this was holiday. Away from... bad things...”
He carefully put down the cup he was holding and momentarily lowered his eyes.
“Ah. Now that’s the problem with liking smart people... although I’d probably have told you anyway. What with you being you.”
She leaned forward, trying to ignore the warm fuzzy feelings that his words invoked. “It has to do with the ‘I wasn’t wrong’ thing, yes?”
He shot her a sly, rather smug, look. “That worked, did it?”
She nodded impatiently. “What did you mean?”
He sat still for a moment, then caught her eyes. “How would you describe this place? Fairytale? Too good to be true?”
She looked around at the idyllic surroundings, the immaculate lawn and the spring flowers wafting in the early morning breeze, and nodded again. A shrewd look in his eyes, he rested his chin on folded up hands. “It is that way because I made it that way. Let me think of a way to describe it in 21st Century language...” His eyes narrowed. “Essentially it’s a centuries-long carefully controlled exercise in image management.”
“A what now?”
He grinned at her, leaning forward into her personal space - the table was quite small, and she had a feeling it was so on purpose. “As I said, it’s all real, but the whole... aura is carefully tailored. What’s a good example? Oh yes - tell people that you’ve spent a long time in Tibet, and they will presume you’re a spiritual sort of person. I’ve never claimed to be spiritual - because quite frankly that would be preposterous - but I still have that reputation, and it does wonders for my influence! If you can control the initial input, moulding the result is easy.”
She nodded slowly, beginning to see the possibilities. “Like... two movie stars being snapped by the paparazzi, and suddenly everyone thinks they’re a couple.”
He laughed. “Exactly! And the best thing? It works in reverse too. Someone sceptical trying to ‘find the truth’ will discover mostly hear-say and rumours and dismiss the whole thing without realising the kernel of truth hidden at the center. It’s simple when you know how.”
“That’s very clever,” she said slowly, turning it over in her head, wondering if there was any way she could use this in the way all the new Slayers saw her. He grinned. “It is, isn’t it? A perfectly perfect little slice of fairy tale made real.”
But then she again remembered what he’d said, and frowned. “But why? You said it was a holiday...”
“That is the best description, yes.”
“So... you have a different life somewhere else?”
He nodded slowly. “Yup. Mr double-life, that’s me.” He stopped for a moment, eyes darkening. “Triple, actually.”
“So...” she looked at him expectantly, and his eyebrows rose in almost comical fashion.
“Oh I’m not telling you about my other identities! To be honest, I’ve never actually told anyone that I have a different life - although some guessed, I’m sure - so you’re a huge exception already.”
She watched him incredulously, as he leaned back in his chair, smiling.
“So... that’s it? That’s all I’m getting?”
“That’s it. First of all, my other life is all very secret, and second...” he hesitated momentarily, “I come here to get away from it. I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Also, it’s dangerous - even for you.”
There was no laughter in his eyes anymore and she tilted her head. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
“No. I...” the smile and the charm suddenly reappeared with a vengeance, “I thought that maybe you’d like to join me in my little fairy tale? See I could be Prince Charming, you could be Princess Buffy, and we could pretend that every story has a happily ever after, that the good guys never do terrible things and the bad guys are never cute, that people never die or leave us behind, that we never have make to impossible choices...”
She suddenly swallowed, but didn’t look away. Somehow - and the serendipity of the situation was almost impossible - this man understood her; her life, her pain, her fears. It was far, far different from anything she’d ever experienced, and not at all what she’d expected from this unlikeliest of corners.
He chuckled a little, adding, “Of course, since this is a 21st Century fairy tale, the prince and princess both have busy lives and careers. But I figure we could have a lot of fun together nonetheless. What do you say?”
And there was that twinkle in his eyes again. She knew that if she didn’t get out instantly she’d probably be unable to deny him anything... and really, was there any reason at all for getting out?
But before she could reply, her phone began ringing.
It turned out to be Dawn, wondering just how long it could take to stop one measly little sacrifice, and being rather grumpy because Sundays were sister-bonding days, but if Buffy had somewhere else she’d rather be, then fine, it wasn’t like Dawn had cancelled a really hot date for Buffy’s sake or anything!
Buffy looked apologetically at The Immortal when she’d hung up.
“I’m gonna have to run...”
He held up his hands, an easy smile on his lips. “No worries. But if you’re up for some fun just call - anytime. My schedule is... flexible. As am I.”
He winked, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
It wasn’t a date. It was - it was more like having that (male) gay best friend she’d been imagining. Except he wasn’t gay...
“I’ll call. As soon as I know when I have some time. Tomorrow night might be free...”
She got up, holding out her hand and he took it - grinning widely.
“Trust me. We’ll be spectacular!”
And she didn’t doubt him at all.
Chapter 5
kathyh, says that it reads well enough, so I'll trust her judgment! Previous parts here. Oh and feedback will be treasured more than a nekkid Spike! :)Title: My Immortal
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Word count: 4400 words approx.
Setting: Spring 2004.
Chapter 4
Jack: I have died so many times. Been dragged back into life, like being hauled over broken glass.
~
Buffy: Everything here is... hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch... this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that... knowing what I've lost...
Sunday 4th April, 5.15 am
Buffy didn’t relish being woken by the phone - especially not when it was still dark outside. Head fuzzy with sleep she finally managed to switch on the light and answer the increasingly insistent bleeping.
“Bella?” she asked, having glanced at the phone as she picked it up, and then had an earful of semi-broken English that she slowly managed to unravel.
Bella - very recently called Slayer, who’d only just been granted lone patrol status - had in her zealousness checked every demon bar in her entire district, and overheard some weirdly dressed demons discuss what might be a ritual sacrifice. She’d followed them until they got in a car and drove off, leaving her stranded - so she’d called Buffy.
“OK...” Buffy replied, head slowly clearing, “but where did they go?”
Bella, who was a very conscientious and studious girl, explained that she recognised the symbols on the demons’ robes, and maybe if they called Mr Wells he’d be able to do a locator spell of some sort?
Groaning at the ‘Mr Wells’ Buffy had to concede that this was a good idea.
“Listen - you call Andrew and tell him everything you just told me, and I’ll get to you and we’ll go deal with this together, OK?”
Bella’s relief was obvious, and, after getting her location, Buffy said goodbye. Grumbling under her breath about the unsociable hours that demons kept, she pulled on some jeans, a warm top and her most sensible boots, before gathering her hair in a ponytail and choosing a coat. Quickly she scribbled a note for Dawn, then grabbed the Scythe, her helmet and keys.
As always she smiled when she saw her pale blue moped - Rome was huge, and it was quite simply not possible to run everywhere the way she had in Sunnydale. The moped was the perfect solution - and also far cuter and smaller than a car.
The cool pre-dawn air woke her very effectively, and she only got lost once which was probably a new record. Feeling happy and alert she grinned to Bella as she drew up beside her, and soon they were on their way to their destination. Buffy would have to remember to tell Andrew thanks - he was good at his job when he didn’t get distracted.
Parking the moped a little way off they silently tiptoed towards the warehouse (why always empty warehouses, she wondered) and quickly found a side door. Putting her hand on it, she realised that it was slightly ajar. Either these were some of the sloppiest demons she’d ever come across, or something was up... then she heard a voice, and, frowning, gently pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted her made her gasp. In the middle of the mostly empty room - beside an altar covered in a dark cloth and cluttered with candles, mystical artifacts and a large knife - stood The Immortal, looking impossibly rakish in what was apparently his standard outfit of black trousers and white shirt, although this time the sleeves were rolled up. He had his hand around the neck of a corpulent spotted demon, and a gun aimed at a group of horned, thuggish red-skinned demons, fitting the description Bella had given.
“That’s it,” he said, voice low and dangerous as the red demons slowly lined up against the wall. “You try to move as much as an inch and I blow you to pieces!”
Then he turned his head as her boots scraped on the floor, and his face suddenly lit up. “Buffy - excellent! I was just wondering whether I had to call for back-up.”
She blinked. “I’m back-up?”
He grinned at her, and then tightened the grip on the demon in his hand, who had attempted to speak.
“You don’t get to talk, creep! Although you would be able to confirm that this was my town first. But seriously - Buffy, do you think you could take care of...”
He nodded towards a dark corner, and Buffy suddenly realised that there was a sniffling sound. She and Bella ran across the floor and saw a young girl - maybe 7 or 8 years old - dressed up in some ceremonial robe and chained to the wall. Quelling her sudden bright fury and disgust Buffy quickly broke the chains, before helping the girl up. Bella began comforting her, the torrent of Italian too fast for Buffy to follow, but the girl gratefully clung to the other Slayer. Thinking fast, Buffy caught Bella’s attention.
“Can you ride a moped?”
“Si, si, of course, but I am too young...”
“Doesn’t matter. Only two can fit on, and as you know my Italian is... not so much.” She dug out her keys. “Here - take her back to Slayer headquarters, get Andrew to find out where she lives etcetera. I’ll stay here - I’m sure The Immortal could use a hand.”
Bella nodded and quickly escorted the girl out. Buffy followed them with her eyes, then looked up and saw The Immortal smiling at her grimly.
“Thank you. I hate it when children are involved.” The vehemence in his voice was so sharp, that without asking she knew that this was a personal matter to him.
One of the demons used the momentary distraction to make a run for it, but The Immortal’s head swivelled and without hesitation he fired. The bullet caught the creature in the back, and it collapsed screaming.
“I said don’t move!” he repeated, scanning the four demons still left. His eyes were cold and angry, and he looked... old. It was a look she knew far too well, and something clutched at her heart. Slowly he turned his gaze on the demon still grasped in his left hand, the sneer on his face deepening.
“And as for you...” He looked the demon over, and slowly shook his head. “If your grandfather could see you now, he would spin in his mausoleum. To think that he once thought you might amount to something... Instead you’ve dragged your family name through the mud in ways he - thankfully - couldn’t have imagined!”
The demon tried speaking, but The Immortal wasn’t finished. “You know what the joke is? This was supposed to be my holiday - a little time off. No death and blood and pain and all the usual fucked-up mess. And then I get a phonecall, informing me that the grand-spawn of one of my oldest friends is about to have himself a little human sacrifice! And for what? To get money to pay back the loansharks, because he squandered the family fortune. Trust me, you have no idea the amount of pain I want to inflict on you!”
The demon rasped something that sounded like “loyrrrrs...” and The Immortal suddenly laughed joylessly and released his grip, causing the demon to collapse on the floor, gasping for air.
“Oh I know who your lawyers are, but they’re not the reason I’m going to let you go.”
Buffy looked at him sharply. He was going to let the creep go?
Smiling a smile as predatory as any she’d seen on a vampire, The Immortal looked down on the creature at his feet.
“You have no money, and therefore your lawyers couldn’t care less what happens to you. Gotta love Wolfram & Hart! And, if my source is correct, your loanshark is going to crucify you - possibly literally. Would ask for a ringside seat if I had the time.”
Taking a deep breath he lifted his face and cast a withering glance over the remaining demons by the wall. “You can leave. If I ever see you in this town again you’ll share your friend’s fate, understood?”
The demons nodded and scrambled for the exit as fast as their legs could carry them. With one last disgusted look The Immortal turned his back on the demon still on the floor and put away his gun, catching Buffy’s eyes as he did so.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate magic?” He shuddered. “And although it is very nice to see you again I wish it’d been under different circumstances. Despite your job description I can’t help thinking that less violence and more flowers-and-chocolate is the way to go.”
She stared at him silently. She’d spent most of Saturday turning the situation over in her head, trying to work out whether to call him or not - re-reading all the info Andrew had dug up, before he’d read The Immortal’s book and turned into a born-again worshipping moron. Because despite the fun and the charm - and the glimpses of a far different man beneath the facade - there were stories that told of something far darker. Looking at him now she could suddenly see the origin of these stories, and there was no doubting his ruthlessness. But... despite their somewhat differing methods they seemed to be on the same side.
Her head busy trying to sort through all this new information, she noticed the movement too late. She called out, but the demon had already grabbed the knife from the altar, face twisted with fury, and in a single, too-fast-to-follow motion he had stabbed it through The Immortal’s back.
As the blade came through his chest he looked down, face distorting in pain.
“Oh crap!”
Briefly he caught her eyes - torment and alarm staring back at her - and then he collapsed on the floor, revealing the demon behind him, hand still clutching the now-bloody knife.
Buffy reacted without thinking, and before the other had time to move the Scythe sliced through its neck. Then she fell to her knees beside The Immortal, turning him over on his back, desperately looking to see how bad the damage was - and realised that it was much too late.
His eyes were open and empty, his shirt soaked in blood. Swiftly she undid the buttons, but seeing the wound it was clear that the blade had gone straight through his heart. Almost choking she sat back on her heels, trying to understand what had happened. Wasn’t the whole point of being immortal that he couldn’t die? She remembered fighting Spike when he had the Gem of Armarra, how he had laughed off fatal injuries... so how? Was this what he’d meant when he’d told her that she’d not been completely wrong? Although vampires were immortal until killed...
Swallowing against the lump in her throat she wondered if maybe she was cursed - anyone coming into contact with her was doomed to badness and a horrible death? He’d been... he’d been so full of life, so - vibrant. Despite being deeply conflicted about him, she was sure that the world was a worse place without him.
Slowly she reached out to close his eyes, grateful that at least she could do that much - having a body to bury was a luxury.
Then abruptly he gasped, flailing hands reaching up and grabbing her arm.
She almost cried out in alarm; but, as she looked into his eyes, two-and-a-half years suddenly crumbled into nothing.
Momentary pure wild terror - vertigo at life itself. Sudden rush of air into the lungs, desperate attempts at orientation...
It couldn’t be...
Then his face contorted in agony, his fingers digging into her arms, before he laughed unsteadily... and the wound closed itself before her widening eyes.
“Christ I hate being stabbed through the chest! All that blood, and my clothes get ruined every time.”
He tried to sit up and she helped stabilise him, turning him so he could lean against the altar.
“Where did-” he waved an unsteady hand, and she nodded towards the body on the floor next to him.
“I decapitated him,” she answered, and a wide grin broke out on The Immortal’s face. “I should have started hanging out with Slayers a long time ago - most people just freak out over the death thing and when I wake up things are even worse than before.”
She looked at him, not meeting his smile, and unable to stop herself reached out and touched his chest - perfectly perfect again, as if never marred. “Is... is that how it works?”
Sombre again, he nodded. “That’s how it works.” She could almost touch the pain in his eyes, and taking a slow, deep breath she finally asked: “Do you lose it every time?”
He frowned, studying her unsurely. “Lose what?”
“Heaven.” Incredible that the word was still so hard to say.
For a moment he just stared at her, the pain on his face as sudden and acute as if she’d slapped him, then he looked away. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no sitting around on clouds playing the harp. There’s just... nothing.”
Bewildered she shook her head. “But there is a heaven. I know, because I went there.”
This got his attention. “You... what?”
“I died, this one time. OK, I’ve died twice, but the second time was a lot more permanent - I was dead for like five months and... I think I was in heaven. I don’t know what else to call it... No clouds or anything like that, but I was... happy. Completely.”
He stared at her silently for a long while, and she couldn’t begin to guess at what thoughts passed through his head. Finally he asked, “But how - how did you come back to life?”
“My friends did a spell. The world needed a Slayer - and they missed me - so they brought me back.” It was less painful to remember now, and yet... “They didn’t really think it through. I... woke up in my coffin.”
She saw the dawning horror on his face as he took in the implications. “Oh my god... That’s... I’ve never done that. I mean I’ve been buried plenty of times - collapsing houses, and trenches, an avalanche once... but at least I was prepared for it, more or less.”
He hesitated for a moment, the slowly asked: “How did you cope - with being back?”
She smiled a little as she shook her head. “I didn’t. Well I was quite good at keeping up a front, but it was so, so hard to keep going, and I did some... very self-destructive things. For a long time I just wanted to die again. I didn’t... I didn’t understand why I was alive. When I died I - I was ready for it. My life to save the world; seemed a good trade. And that was supposed to be it...”
The Immortal was staring at her, like he’d never seen her before. “I never - I never thought anyone else...” he swallowed, then suddenly looked around at the dirty bloody space they were sitting in, the early morning sun now falling through grimy windows.
“Let’s get out of here. You wanna come back to my place? Best breakfast in town.”
She nodded readily and gave him a hand up. He seemed more steady on his feet now, studying the dead body on the floor.
“I think I’ll just quietly let his family know where he is, and they can do what they want - unless it’ll interfere with your clean-up operation?”
She blinked. “My what?”
“Clean-up. You don’t have a team of some sort for getting rid of bodies?”
Mutely she shook her head, and he looked surprised, but then shrugged. “Anyway - thank you for offing him. Couldn’t do myself, being a family friend and all that. To be honest they might even be pleased that he was killed by a Slayer - backwards demon logic and all that.”
He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face, before changing the subject. “Come on, my car’s parked round the back.”
She nodded and, after picking up the Scythe, fell into step with him as they walked across the half-empty space, tall craters looming in the corners, but after a short moment he shot her a sideways glance.
“Sorry about prying - and do tell me to go to hell if I’m overstepping some boundaries - but how did you die the first time? I mean... it’s not a question I’ve ever been able to ask before.”
“Vampire,” she replied, and to her surprise a wide grin broke out on his face.
“Really? My best death ever was by vampire. Or vampires, rather. Sure it hurts like hell when they first bite, but my god the pay-off is worth it. Threesome of the century, definitely. Possibly of the millennium. ”
She was staring at him, wide-eyed, desperately telling herself, over and over, ‘Don’t think about Angel, don’t think about Angel, don’t think about Angel...’
Then his voice trailed off, and he studied her, puzzled.
“Wait - how did you come back from that?”
Doing her best to appear calm, she kept her eyes fixed on the door they were now nearing. “He only took a bite and then drowned me. One of my friends brought me back with CPR.”
“Oh.” He pulled a sympathetic face. “Drowning sucks! Seriously unpleasant way to die - all that water in your lungs...”
“Ruined my Prom dress too,” she cut in, relishing the opportunity to just be able to talk, without worrying about being thought a freak. They’d reached the door, but instead of opening it he stopped and turned to her, eyes widening.
“Your Prom dress? How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
Slowly he shook his head, an expression she couldn’t read crossing his face.
“Of course, Slayers are called young... like that one you brought with you.” His eyes grew distant. “Too young - too young by far to fight. You can’t come back from that.”
She studied him silently, wondering what lay behind his words. He was old, no doubt about it, so did he see youngsters as epitomes of innocence? But then he slowly continued.
“I ran away from home to join the army when I was around that age. Talked my best friend into coming with me. It was supposed to be an adventure, a chance to pay back the bastards who-”
He stopped himself abruptly, but she could guess at what had happened. She’d not thought about the fact that he might have been a child once, not really given much thought to who he was, only focussing on what. It struck her as very shallow all of a sudden. Silently she wondered what had happened to his home - or his family. Because there was a tragedy there, she'd bet her life on it.
Taking a deep, slow breath, he whispered, “He didn’t make it back...”
Instinctively she reached out and took his hand, and he clasped it gratefully, searching her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t normally do this at all - and I never do it here. But then I’ve never met someone quite like you before!”
She smiled back lopsidedly. “Definitely ditto.”
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment, something indefinable being settled without words.
Slowly he nodded. “Guess we could both do with a friend... But let’s get a move-on, there’s freshly made pastries waiting for us! Or there will be, as soon as I give Francesca a call.”
Pulling out his cellphone he shot her a dazzling smile, and then opened the door, the sudden brightness of sun and smile almost overwhelming.
Buffy rapidly decided that café breakfasts were a very poor and second-rate way of starting the day, compared to breakfasts served in The Immortal’s garden.
It was like something out of a Merchant Ivory film - a genre she was now very familiar with thanks to Dawn and Andrew’s Anglophilia - and she half-expected some prim English couple to arrive, apologising for their lateness and complaining about the dreadful heat of the Italian climate.
The drive back had been uneventful, the conversation easy and touching on a wide variety of unimportant subjects, but as she drained her coffee cup Buffy eyed up the man across from her. He was once more immaculately dressed in a bright white shirt - the only hint of the morning’s actions his hair which was still a little ruffled, if in a very dashing way. She dearly wished she’d chosen a more flattering outfit herself, but it was too late now - and he didn’t seem to mind in the least. So she tilted her head, determined to get an answer - because she was more curious than ever.
“Earlier...”
“Hm?” he replied, blue eyes smiling back.
“You said... that this was holiday. Away from... bad things...”
He carefully put down the cup he was holding and momentarily lowered his eyes.
“Ah. Now that’s the problem with liking smart people... although I’d probably have told you anyway. What with you being you.”
She leaned forward, trying to ignore the warm fuzzy feelings that his words invoked. “It has to do with the ‘I wasn’t wrong’ thing, yes?”
He shot her a sly, rather smug, look. “That worked, did it?”
She nodded impatiently. “What did you mean?”
He sat still for a moment, then caught her eyes. “How would you describe this place? Fairytale? Too good to be true?”
She looked around at the idyllic surroundings, the immaculate lawn and the spring flowers wafting in the early morning breeze, and nodded again. A shrewd look in his eyes, he rested his chin on folded up hands. “It is that way because I made it that way. Let me think of a way to describe it in 21st Century language...” His eyes narrowed. “Essentially it’s a centuries-long carefully controlled exercise in image management.”
“A what now?”
He grinned at her, leaning forward into her personal space - the table was quite small, and she had a feeling it was so on purpose. “As I said, it’s all real, but the whole... aura is carefully tailored. What’s a good example? Oh yes - tell people that you’ve spent a long time in Tibet, and they will presume you’re a spiritual sort of person. I’ve never claimed to be spiritual - because quite frankly that would be preposterous - but I still have that reputation, and it does wonders for my influence! If you can control the initial input, moulding the result is easy.”
She nodded slowly, beginning to see the possibilities. “Like... two movie stars being snapped by the paparazzi, and suddenly everyone thinks they’re a couple.”
He laughed. “Exactly! And the best thing? It works in reverse too. Someone sceptical trying to ‘find the truth’ will discover mostly hear-say and rumours and dismiss the whole thing without realising the kernel of truth hidden at the center. It’s simple when you know how.”
“That’s very clever,” she said slowly, turning it over in her head, wondering if there was any way she could use this in the way all the new Slayers saw her. He grinned. “It is, isn’t it? A perfectly perfect little slice of fairy tale made real.”
But then she again remembered what he’d said, and frowned. “But why? You said it was a holiday...”
“That is the best description, yes.”
“So... you have a different life somewhere else?”
He nodded slowly. “Yup. Mr double-life, that’s me.” He stopped for a moment, eyes darkening. “Triple, actually.”
“So...” she looked at him expectantly, and his eyebrows rose in almost comical fashion.
“Oh I’m not telling you about my other identities! To be honest, I’ve never actually told anyone that I have a different life - although some guessed, I’m sure - so you’re a huge exception already.”
She watched him incredulously, as he leaned back in his chair, smiling.
“So... that’s it? That’s all I’m getting?”
“That’s it. First of all, my other life is all very secret, and second...” he hesitated momentarily, “I come here to get away from it. I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Also, it’s dangerous - even for you.”
There was no laughter in his eyes anymore and she tilted her head. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
“No. I...” the smile and the charm suddenly reappeared with a vengeance, “I thought that maybe you’d like to join me in my little fairy tale? See I could be Prince Charming, you could be Princess Buffy, and we could pretend that every story has a happily ever after, that the good guys never do terrible things and the bad guys are never cute, that people never die or leave us behind, that we never have make to impossible choices...”
She suddenly swallowed, but didn’t look away. Somehow - and the serendipity of the situation was almost impossible - this man understood her; her life, her pain, her fears. It was far, far different from anything she’d ever experienced, and not at all what she’d expected from this unlikeliest of corners.
He chuckled a little, adding, “Of course, since this is a 21st Century fairy tale, the prince and princess both have busy lives and careers. But I figure we could have a lot of fun together nonetheless. What do you say?”
And there was that twinkle in his eyes again. She knew that if she didn’t get out instantly she’d probably be unable to deny him anything... and really, was there any reason at all for getting out?
But before she could reply, her phone began ringing.
It turned out to be Dawn, wondering just how long it could take to stop one measly little sacrifice, and being rather grumpy because Sundays were sister-bonding days, but if Buffy had somewhere else she’d rather be, then fine, it wasn’t like Dawn had cancelled a really hot date for Buffy’s sake or anything!
Buffy looked apologetically at The Immortal when she’d hung up.
“I’m gonna have to run...”
He held up his hands, an easy smile on his lips. “No worries. But if you’re up for some fun just call - anytime. My schedule is... flexible. As am I.”
He winked, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
It wasn’t a date. It was - it was more like having that (male) gay best friend she’d been imagining. Except he wasn’t gay...
“I’ll call. As soon as I know when I have some time. Tomorrow night might be free...”
She got up, holding out her hand and he took it - grinning widely.
“Trust me. We’ll be spectacular!”
And she didn’t doubt him at all.
Chapter 5
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grabbed the Scythe
What, she just uses it on a regular basis? That is way too intense to be walking down the street with!
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Can Buffy drive a moped better than she can drive a car? Do we assume Buffy got reasonably okay at driving cars at some point and it was just never discussed? It seems like Riley would've taught her to drive.
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She remembered fighting Spike when he had the Gem of Armarra, how he had laughed off fatal injuries... so how?
Again, love the comparisons you're drawing. She's clever and so are you.
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“Do you lose it every time?”
He frowned, studying her unsurely. “Lose what?”
“Heaven.” Incredible that the word was still so hard to say.
Aww. Buffy. I mean. It's hard for her to speak about emotions in general, I think. But yeah, that especially.
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You know, it's so stupid of me, but I really didn't think of them connecting about the death/resurrection stuff so quickly. But the way you laid it out worked really well.
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I very unashamedly adore Andrew.
What, she just uses it on a regular basis? That is way too intense to be walking down the street with!
Well, it's the middle of the night/very early morning. And she likes it. :)
Can Buffy drive a moped better than she can drive a car? Do we assume Buffy got reasonably okay at driving cars at some point and it was just never discussed? It seems like Riley would've taught her to drive.
Better on a moped, yes. Still not great, but it's Rome...
Again, love the comparisons you're drawing. She's clever and so are you.
*blushes*
Aww. Buffy. I mean. It's hard for her to speak about emotions in general, I think. But yeah, that especially.
Which is why Jack is so important - he can drag this sort of stuff out of her. And vice versa.
You know, it's so stupid of me, but I really didn't think of them connecting about the death/resurrection stuff so quickly. But the way you laid it out worked really well.
I needed to establish that bond, so I could get the relationship moving along - I've got a fairly tight time-limit (self-imposed, but even so), and having them circle each other for chapters on end just gets boring. And this way I can delve into all kinds of issues... :)
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Andrew is amazing and we all know it.
I think I ultimately ship Buffy/Spike more than Buffy/Angel because Spike is that way, too. He can drag things out of her. Angel and Buffy are both clams. Buffy gets worse as she gets older, too. (I also think that's why it can work when you bring the three together - Spike is a really important counterbalance to the two of them.)
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Shiny and deadly. Much like her. :)
Andrew is amazing and we all know it.
\o/ Some people don't like him. I try to love them even so.
I think I ultimately ship Buffy/Spike more than Buffy/Angel because Spike is that way, too. He can drag things out of her. Angel and Buffy are both clams. Buffy gets worse as she gets older, too. (I also think that's why it can work when you bring the three together - Spike is a really important counterbalance to the two of them.)
Thisthisthisthisthis.
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