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My Immortal. Chapter 10.
Would you believe it, another chapter! So, so sorry it’s been so long coming, and that it's so long. But it kinda grew... 1) I had lots of stuff to set up before the next chapter and 2) Jack. Would. Not. Stop. Brooding. (Fans of introspective!Jack should have a field day with this one. To the rest of you I can only offer my humble apologies. I promise that the next chapter will have a lot more action!) If only you knew how much I cut out. Which reminds me that my dear beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh deserves a medal for her stellar work. (Any mistakes are mine, btw, I kept editing until I could bear it no longer. *glares at chapter and idiotic, unhelpful muse*)
Previous chapters here.
ETA: How could I forget?kateydidnt made some fanart! :)
Summary: Captain Jack is The Immortal.
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Word count: 7000 words approx.
Chapter 10
Jack: What do you do? Observe and profile the species and then transfer them to long term storage?
[Alice lifts her gun and shoots the alien]
Jack (shocked and angry): Why?
Alice: It was a threat to the Empire.
~
Andrew: Most nights they never leave the house, just curl up on the couch and snuggle.
Angel: There's snuggling?
Andrew: For starters.
~
Spike: How many you got on her?
Angel: Uh, just the one. But he got spotted. Called me from the hospital after he regained consciousness.
Evening, Tuesday 13th April (cont.)
‘What’s the worst that could happen’ had clearly not been the thing to say, Jack reflected 10 minutes into Buffy’s lecture. Although on the plus-side it had made her forget about Baxter - for the time being at least... And her never-ending stream of cautionary tales was good entertainment to go with the dinner, as always served in the rather medieval dining room with its long table, ornate tapestries and chandeliers.
If he was honest he found her paranoia rather sweet, but he supposed it was only to be expected after 7 years on a hellmouth. As far as he’d been able to understand, her job had - apart from the regular slaying - consisted of foiling creatures hellbent on opening said hellmouth and destroying the world. In such circumstances, where everything hinged on being ahead of the bad guys and stopping them before something happened, her attitude was perfectly reasonable.
But having lived on the rift for so long, he’d unwittingly adopted a different outlook... There was no way of predicting what the rift would spit out - nothing to do except be perpetually prepared for anything. And no matter how much it might, at times, seem as if it was out to get him, he knew that it was nothing more than a tear in reality; no more capable of malice than the fork he held in his hand.
As the main course was brought through he tried to cut in - to point out that saving the world together could be fun - but after taking one bite she waved her hand and said, “Oh! And my High School graduation. Did I ever tell you about that?”, so he silently tucked into his dinner, deciding to wait until she ran out of stories... Which might take a while, but at least it gave him plenty of time to contemplate how to deal with the unfortunate problem of Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter.
The whole thing was very frustrating - he wanted Buffy to stay, obviously, but he rather resented the way she had decided that somehow he was accountable to her for something he’d done at around the time of her grandparents’ birth. He’d only known her for a fortnight and their ‘relationship’ would - at the most - last two months, so quite frankly he didn’t feel that she had any claim on his past or future.
Also, he reflected, this was exactly why Torchwood had an unspoken rule of never prying into employees’ past once hired - raking up what had been inevitably led to badness. Especially in their line of work.
But he forced his thoughts to focus on how to keep her - he didn’t want their time cut short, particularly not for something as stupid as this. Company was easy to find - a certain pilot in a red beret sprang to mind - but Buffy was so much more than that. She didn’t just stop him being alone; she stopped him being lonely.
It was a good while before she remembered her initial reason for coming round, and she stopped talking, unsure how to continue. She suddenly - bizarrely - reminded him of Tosh during her first few weeks, so desperately awkward, and he took a deep breath, hoping his newly thought-up strategy would work.
“Look - Buffy. About Baxter... we’ve been doing it all wrong. You keep focussing on the ending, without knowing the beginning.”
She looked confused. “But... I read...”
“You read the diary of a man who was at best peripheral to events, and who was probably grown in a library. Seriously, in the future people like him will be replaced by robots - except the robots will have more of an imagination!”
The words flowed easily, spurred by the memory of a tryst with a particularly forthcoming library-android, and it took him several seconds to realise what he’d said... But even as cold worry shot through him she laughed, and he quirked an eyebrow as if the whole thing had been nothing but a joke.
He had to be more careful - this whole double life was complicated and slipping became increasingly more likely the longer time went on.
“Anyway... the joke is, that really I was the one to kick-start the whole thing. Because I had to play good samaritan. Happened to come across old Baldassare bleeding to death and decided that I could probably make a difference - not that I knew who he was. If I had...” He stopped, twirling his fork absentmindedly.
“Well... I might just have walked past. Oh and that was Baxter’s first assassination attempt by the way, as I discovered later.” He sighed. “If he’d just been more thorough everyone would have been happy.”
He stopped as he saw her frowning.
“You mean-” she began, stopped, then started again. “I thought the demons were, like, your friends.”
“The Diretto Clan? God no. Never had anything to do with them before - nasty bunch, hated humans and responsible for untold massacres down the ages. I’m open-minded, but, as I said, I’m not fond of bigots.”
“But-” she looked confused, “But they threw you a big party and... everything...”
“Well, could hardly say no, could I? And I figured maybe I could help them widen their horizons a little.” He smiled, although really it was more of a grimace. “Of course then Baxter went and trampled all over that idea.”
Sighing, he took a sip of his water. “Can’t argue with his main targets - he’d done his homework and took out the five top clan leaders within seconds. Must have felt like Christmas for a demon hunter to have all his marks gathered in one place. If only he hadn’t hurt Venus...
He trailed off momentarily, before pulling himself together and doing his best to tell the story as straightforwardly as possible - starting with the bizarre party with its long, dull speeches, oddly beautiful music, and the effort involved in remembering what cutlery to use. Then the way the peace had shattered when an arrow pierced Baldassare’s throat, swiftly followed by other arrows finding their targets - and Jack, shocked, but immediately focussing on the attacker, getting ready to leap after him when an arrow flew past him and Venus cried out...
Leaving him, as so often before, with a bleeding girl in his arms, trying his best to calm the chaos around him.
The demons - torn between going after Baxter and working out who was calling the shots - had been on the brink of descending into a furious mob, and he’d done the only thing he could think of: As publicly as possible had made his vengeance personal. If there was anything these demons understood it was revenge.
After that, the actual kidnapping of Baxter had been simplicity itself, the problem of course being what to do with him, and what the man in question wanted...
He shook his head.
“Figured he deserved better than to be torn to pieces - what he did was stupid, but also undoubtedly brave. I was quite impressed to be honest, until...” He paused, feeling the familiar grip of anger settle in his voice and features, “-until he told me that shooting Venus hadn’t been an accident. He’d done it on purpose, and was pissed off that he’d not killed her outright. It was at that point that I had to really seriously hold myself back from blowing his brains out there and then. There are some people you do not hurt - and Venus was one of those.”
The memory of his showdown with Baxter flashed in front of his eyes - Baxter staring him down, coldly superior and disdainful, and himself, holding the gun to the other man’s head, shaking with fury.
Years - decades - worth of pent-up frustration brought into singular focus, the bodies of hundreds, maybe thousands, of executed aliens dancing at the back of his mind... Himself included: The memory of staring down Alice’s gun still burned into his mind, her face so calm and impersonal - protecting the Empire from the alien threat.
There had only ever been ‘us’ and ‘them’ - and ‘they’ were, without exception, executed. For no other reason than that they were not human, not from Earth, and therefore had no rights...
But Venus was not alien, she had been born on Earth (as had her ancestors, stretching back to hazy prehistory), had as much of a claim to the planet as any human. And to have her taunted and despised and nearly killed for just looking different, went against every fibre of his being.
In that moment he had seen everything Torchwood believed and practised wrapped up in Baxter and his contemptuous, scornful attitude. And to have someone look at him that way - the look that said ‘You are Other, you do not belong here’ - to have someone with a mindset like that in his house, in his one refuge on this blasted planet - was a nightmare become reality.
Except... this time Jack was the one in charge, the one calling the shots, the one with the power - and Baxter the one to pay.
He was so lost in the past that he almost missed Buffy’s question, and had to ask her to repeat it.
“I just wondered...” she looked hesitant, “what was she like?”
“Who? Venus? Um...” he thought for a moment, wondering how to sum her up, and, as often before, wishing that he’d been able to pronounce her real name - it had been far more fitting than the tacked-on human name with all its unfortunate connotations.
“Well beautiful, obviously. Sweet - and I mean the most sweet-natured person I have ever met - and just... delicate. Helpless. I’m guessing this was how they liked their women - deferential and needing protection. Maybe they were trying to make up for something!”
He shot her a significant look, and she couldn’t help smiling. He smiled back, remembering that no matter how different his Slayer might be from his timid little demonette, they clearly shared some tastes:
“That kimono you picked out on our first morning after was hers by the way - her skin was that exact shade of blue.”
He saw the moment the realisation hit - the instant the past became reality for her. All these people living in linear time - the past was so distant to them, rarely understood as nothing more than a different place....
But he pretended that he didn’t notice her reaction and continued.
“Bought it for our big costume party. She decided to dress up as a geisha, and really it was perfect - she was a bit like a porcelain statue herself. The party was a brilliant thing actually, because she happened to meet her future husband there - name of Ambrogio, would you believe it - and for the next few months we had this fantastic Romeo and Juliet thing going on, where we’d smuggle him into the house in disguise so no one would cotton onto what was happening. God they were so cute - he was an Ano-Movic demon, and practically worshipped the ground she walked on, the Diretto clan being as close to royalty as you could get around here back then.”
He stopped at the puzzled look on Buffy’s face.
“What?”
“I thought... I mean, I figured that she - that you... well...” she fidgeted and he shook his head lightly. Once again all the things between the lines had been taken at face value - which had of course been the intention at the time.
“Have you ever been given another person?” he asked, and she clearly didn’t know how to respond.
“A person who believed it their duty - their single purpose in life - to do, to be, anything you wanted, anything at all...” He tried to suppress a shudder.
“Submission is a fun game, but when its real... it’s... kinda scary.”
Tending Venus after she’d been hurt... Trying to explain that she hadn’t ‘failed’ him because she’d been shot and that he wouldn’t punish her because of it; that, as a matter of fact, he wanted to look after her; that she wasn’t disrespecting him... If her father hadn’t been killed already he’d have been tempted to off him himself for raising a child to have such a warped self-worth.
Instead he’d taken it all out on Baxter...
Anyway, what had he been saying?
“Um, also, she was barely more than a child and I’m... not. Can’t tell you how happy I was when she found her Romeo and I could send them off into the sunset.”
There was a pause, broken by the servants removing their plates, and Buffy seemed to turn things over in her mind, not speaking until after the doors were once more closed and they were alone.
But finally she looked up, that same determined look in her eyes as there had been when she first walked through the door.
“And Baxter?”
Burying his head in his hands, Jack momentarily wished himself back in Torchwood - his own little kingdom where no one questioned him and everyone valued their secrets. This... thing that they had wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d thought there’d been some unspoken ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ rule between them, and now she’d gone and trampled all over it. He sighed and looked up, chin resting heavily on his hands.
“Buffy... I can’t do this. The thing with Baxter... I made it personal. And I know that doing that was a mistake, but it was eighty years ago and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But did you kill him?”
He briefly closed his eyes and manfully resisted the temptation to bang his head against the table. His admiration for Spike and Angel had grown significantly in the space of the last hour - but, if they could deal with her, then so could he. Well he could try at least... he didn’t have an evil alter-ego to blame his sins on, and if she couldn’t accept him for who he was - well that would be it.
Taking a deep breath he caught her eyes, doing his utmost to keep his emotions under control.
“Why is this so important to you? I told you was a soldier. Killing people to make the world a safer place was my job.”
It still was, he supposed, although he was trying, trying so very hard, to make things better... to save something from all the destruction. Part of him wanted to tell her about Flatholm, about how the wealth around her was being put to good use. Although of course he couldn’t... he dearly hoped that she understood that he didn’t just keep silent about the bad stuff, but the good stuff too.
There was an uncomfortably long pause, wherein she didn’t meet his eyes, and he really couldn’t begin to guess at what was going on in her head. Except that she was attaching entirely too much weight to one stupid incident, and if he didn’t do something he’d lose her.
“As I said, if it’s your friends - or your Giles - that’s the problem, let’s invite them to see for themselves.” A thought struck him.
“Actually - why not start immediately? Vittore!”
The servant appeared on silent feet, and Jack instructed him to fetch all his letter-writing paraphernalia - including his official seal - and he saw Buffy’s eyes take on a slightly panicked look. But Jack knew that there were two ways of dealing with stuffy Englishmen - either be as outrageous as possible, or be so flawlessly proper that they could find no point of attack. Jack had a feeling that proper was the way to go in the case of Mr Giles.
Moments later he was dredging up the excruciatingly polite language that invitations had once been couched in, the ancient ink pen scratching against the thick paper in a most satisfying way. He only faltered momentarily when he needed to work out when May Bank Holiday fell and nearly reached for his wrist strap - as always feeling bereft and naked when realising he wasn’t wearing it.
But before long he could write ‘With Regards, The Immortal’, slip the letter into the envelope and then seal it - the smell of the melting wax making him feel as if the last century hadn’t happened at all.
Once the wax had set he handed over the letter to Vittore, telling him to have it sent off to Mr Rupert Giles, head of the Council of Watchers, as soon as possible.
“So... what now?” Buffy asked, still looking somewhat blindsided, and he shrugged.
“Wait for a reply. Any man that can write may answer a letter.”
At the frown on her face he elaborated. “Shakespeare - Rome and Juliet to be exact. Now, do you want the rest of the invitations to be similarly intimidating, or should I just send out an e-mail?”
“Um... I... I don’t know...”
He walked round the table, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me, the computer is in the library.”
She still looked like she thought he was insane.
“Look - give yourself a little while to think things through. If you want to leave, we can have a fabulous row in front of all your friends, say all sorts of unforgivable things, and you can storm out and never come back. What do you say?”
***
She looked at him, standing in front of her, as tall and handsome and charming as ever, waiting for her reply, her decision.
What to do?
He’d told her to back off many times before of course - drawing clear lines around what he was and wasn’t willing to share of himself - but she’d never challenged him until tonight.
And he had responded by giving her a simple choice between accepting his boundaries or leaving.
She knew that Giles would see this as clear proof of a dark conscience, but Giles didn’t know The Immortal...
The question of course being: Did she?
***
“I... I don’t know. I...” she hesitated momentarily, studying him with an intensity that almost made his smile falter.
“I think that you’re manipulative and secretive and arrogant and dangerous, and I think you killed Baxter.”
The smile faded from his face. Oh, he really should have known this was what to expect when dating a hero. He sighed, defeated.
“Fair enough.”
“But...” she paused, then reached up and held her hand to his cheek as she searched his eyes, and his breath suddenly caught.
“I also think that you’re brave, and unselfish, and generous, and that you try your best to do what’s right. And I know that it doesn’t make any sense...”
She shook her head, determination in her features. “But a lot of things in my life don’t make sense. So, yes, I’d like my friends to meet you, ‘cause otherwise they’ll never get it.”
***
The rest of the evening was tentative - they walked on eggshells, testing where they were now and backing continually further away from the edge they’d stood on.
Jack didn’t know exactly how she’d made her decision, but he suddenly understood her vampires with frightening clarity. To get that kind of validation and support from someone like her... He’d forgotten what it felt like. It had been so long since he’d travelled with the Doctor.
She left shortly before midnight, and after watching the lights of her moped disappearing down the street Jack slowly closed the door, for a moment letting his head rest against the solid warmth of the old wood - so very different from the metal of Torchwood’s rolldoor...
What would she say if he told her everything? It was so very tempting to confess his sins to her, to seek some sort of absolution... But it wasn’t fair to burden her with his pain, nor to make her a temporary Doctor-substitute...
Torchwood was his - his inheritance, his problem, his responsibility - and there was no changing that.
Then, as if on cue, his Torchwood phone rang, shrill and loud in the empty hallway, and he had to focus on the best way of dealing with a Hoix.
Wednesday 14th of April.
It only took only a few seconds for Buffy’s door to be opened after Jack knocked, but when he saw who was on the other side he had to suppress a groan.
“I’m sorry, but do you live here?”
The innocent outburst (really, there had to be limits to the boy’s crush) made Andrew pale and wordlessly open the door further so Jack could walk through.
To be confronted with piles of boxes and a Buffy who looked at him with exasperation in her eyes.
“He- well never mind what he did. But I had to let him crash. Temporarily.”
Andrew swallowed nervously, opening his mouth and then thankfully seeming to think better of it.
Jack turned back to Buffy, raising an eyebrow.
“Well normally I’ve no problems with bachelors moving in with my girlfriends - seriously, great potential - but in this case...”
Andrew began turning pink, and Buffy came up to Jack, smiling a little too brightly. “We’re going out tonight, yeah? You had theatre tickets you said.”
He could clearly read the despair in her eyes, the loud, unspoken ’Get me the hell out of here!’, but turning the situation over in his mind he slowly shook his head. The situation did have potential...
“You know what - screw the play, it’s all in Italian anyway. I was thinking that maybe we could stay in tonight? Watch some TV, get a takeaway - all that normal stuff that couples usually do and that I always miss out on. Try some domesticity for a change.”
He hung up his jacket and then steered her towards the sofa, whispering “Trust me” in her ear, and she - reluctantly - followed his lead.
It took a while before she began cottoning on, but he was a master of the slow build when he wanted to.
They had some pizza courtesy of Dawn, and then he helped the young lady in question with her homework before she disappeared out on a date with her boyfriend. (She was bright - very, very bright - and had an extraordinarily wicked sense of humour. He needed to spend a lot more time with her.)
But finally he could concentrate on Buffy and the TV, gently settling her further and further into his embrace, before finally leaning in to kiss her. Closing eyes she complied with alacrity.
Andrew, already deeply uncomfortable, finally fled to his room, and Jack grinned against Buffy’s lips.
“Don’t stop”, she muttered, and he kissed her again... If there was a downside to this arrangement, he couldn’t see it.
***
Although it started out as a way of discomfiting Andrew, staying in soon became a pleasant habit - the mundane nature of their evenings (if anything to do with kissing and undressing Buffy could ever be termed ‘mundane’) a welcome antidote to the hectic lives they were both trying to hide from. Jack began wondering why he’d not thought to spend more time in her flat before - it was small and cosy, as far removed from the Hub or the opulence of his mansion as could be.
He felt like shouting ‘Honey I’m home!’ as he walked through the door after a long day of working, and half-expected her to appear in the kitchen doorway wearing a pinny and asking how his day had been.
Not that he would have told her anything beyond ‘busy’ - which would have been a bit of an understatement.
Thursday - the day after Andrew moved in - Tosh’s de-radiation machine arrived and work began to consume Jack’s life in earnest. The machine was clever and brilliant, and for the first day required endless calls with Tosh as he refined and adapted and had fun messing around; and after that his days were filled with sorting and labelling endless pieces of machinery and technology. The nights - after coming home from Buffy’s - he spent writing rudimentary user manuals for the people who would be getting the various equipment - long lists of do’s and don’t’s, and lots of notes on Ettian science and basic space travel... In some ways it felt like being back at school.
Everything was going well... even the rift was quiet, Suzie’s reports so dull that they almost made him fall asleep.
Monday 19th of April, Buffy’s flat.
“Andrew - more coffee!”
And, by the magic of unwelcome house guests, a little later a cup was brought in and carefully placed on one of the cubes that served as coffee tables.
“Oh, and by the way-”
Andrew froze and looked up - clever boy that he was, he knew that tone.
“-you might consider trying to find something for cleaning upholstery. Afraid the sofa got a little... stained last night.”
Jack’s smirk left no doubt in Andrew’s mind what Jack meant, and the young man shot him a dirty and rebellious look before vanishing.
Everything considered, Andrew’s stay wasn’t entirely bad, Jack reflected. There was someone to boss around and do all the boring stuff, although he could tell that Andrew was reaching breaking point - he half expected his coffee to be laced with arsenic, or to be delivered via tossing the mug towards his head.
Which was, all in all, far preferable to having the kid staring at him puppy-like and adoring. Also Buffy was beginning to become rather inured to his outrageous comments and ‘public’ making out, which was an added bonus.
As he took a sip of the coffee (not brilliant, but quite decent for an American and not poisoned as far as he could tell) his phone rang - the Immortal one, not Torchwood.
Retrieving it from his jacket pocket he glanced at the screen. But the caller id told him nothing, so he flicked the mobile open and said ‘Hello’ with as much charm as could be crammed into those two syllables.
Shooting Buffy a wide grin, she didn’t roll her eyes as expected (and what was wrong with being as friendly as possible?) - instead she was staring at him with a decidedly odd look on her face.
Shrugging he concentrated on the phone again.
For a second there was no sound, then a hesitant voice said, “Is that The Immortal?” and Jack smirked.
“The one and only! Tell me, how can I be of service Mysterious Stranger?”
“I... My name is Bryant, I’m the P.I. who’s-”
Jack nodded sharply. “Oh yes, I remember you. What’s the problem?”
He’d seen the man hanging around, of course - noticed him skulking in corners or hiding in plain sight wherever they went. A little like a human CCTV camera, although less annoying than Andrew, and pretty harmless. (Still, Jack had made absolutely sure their shadow hadn’t been following them when they went flying.)
“Listen - I need to talk to you. As soon as possible.”
There was a nervousness in the other’s voice that didn’t bode well. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“O...kay. See you as soon as I’m done here.”
He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to Buffy, already thinking of ways to explain away the conversation, but she was still staring at him, that same incredulous look on her face.
“You have ‘My Immortal’ as your ring tone?”
He chuckled, trying his best to appear aloof, and jumped over the sofa before falling back down into it (he was rich and could afford to buy her a new one, if necessary. It was wonderful how many arguments that settled).
“Well it was either that or ‘I’m Too Sexy’, but I thought that might be a bit too much...”
She rolled her eyes, and he winked, then asked if she wanted to watch a film.
(The explanation for the ring tone was actually very mundane... Juggling two identities - with attendant phones - it had made sense to choose ring tones that would immediately identify who he had to be when he answered.)
But Buffy ignored his question and studied him, clearly trying to work something out.
“Actually... was that song written about you?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Not as far as I know. Also I have better things to do with my time than hang out with pop stars and the like, and have no need to have emo singers write songs about me.”
He settled back into the sofa and tried to focus on the TV, needing to get away from the topic. Because whenever he started to think too deeply about the song, it inevitably freaked him out.
He still remembered the first time he’d heard it, just a few months previously. It had been a cold, grey January day, and he and Suzie had been checking out an odd disturbance in north Cardiff. After some asking around, and taking a few readings, they came to the conclusion that it was all probably down to teenage antics, and drove back, annoyed at a wasted morning.
He’d turned on the radio in a futile attempt at stopping Suzie’s grumbling, just in time for a new track to start. Suzie had made a groaning sound and muttered something about whether the world was actually worth saving, given that the next generation was only interested in playing stupid pranks and then listening to emo crap like this and feeling sorry for themselves.
He’d started listening, eyebrow quirked, but as he took in the words he’d felt incredulity take hold. Back in the Hub he’d looked up the lyrics, feeling increasingly spooked - the song was an almost perfect fit for his own conflicted feelings for the Doctor...
As he for the umpteenth time contemplated the paranoia inducing lyrics (‘There's just too much that time cannot erase’ and ‘Now I'm bound by the life you left behind’ especially apt), he realised that Buffy had gone very still.
“What?”
She shifted. “I know this is a total non sequitur, but... you never told me what happened to Venus. Did you lose touch or...?”
The look on his face obviously told more than he intended, and there was no way to avoid the sudden sympathy in her eyes.
“No. We didn’t lose touch. She wrote me letters - long, long letters about their children, their home, their friends, her porcelain collection... I tried my best to reply now and again...”
His voice trailed off, wanting to keep the happiness he’d read about vivid in his mind, but Buffy of course pressed on.
“So what happened?”
He held onto her more tightly, tucking her head under his chin to avoid her eyes.
“The war. They’d settled in Dresden, because it was so pretty, and... she refused to leave.”
Buffy fell silent, but Jack’s thoughts were once more lost to memories. He remembered making increasingly desperate pleas, as months and years ticked by - even resorting to reminding Venus of her childhood stories about how humans were monsters... All to no avail.
Then the war had descended, dark and bloody and inevitable, destroying so much more than one little family. And now there was nothing left of Venus except his memories, a bundle of letters and the prejudiced ranting of an old Watcher.
Buffy had been wrong that night he thought, as he dropped a kiss on her head - there was no way of jinxing her friends’ visit. She was envisaging countless nightmare scenarios, not knowing that the worst thing of all was knowing the future - and be powerless to stop it.
Later.
When Jack emerged from Buffy’s flat, still in contemplative mode, he found the detective was waiting for him, nervousness betraying itself in swift, jittery movements.
Pretending not to notice him - and dearly wishing he could postpone the talk - Jack kept walking down the street, the detective casually catching up with him after a few hundred yards. They walked in silence for a while before Jack spotted a bench down a side street, covered from the streetlights by a large tree, and motioned towards it. The other shifted uncomfortably.
“Can’t we find somewhere less... public? What if someone comes?”
“We’ll do like in the movies and make out!”
Jack grinned, but the other just shot him a look as if he was insane.
“It’ll be fine, c’mon!”
Sitting himself down he waited, and after a moment Bryant followed suit. Jack studied him - mid-thirties he reckoned, with a New York accent, but Mediterranean colouring, and a little on the pudgy side. Jack briefly wondered what his story was.
“Go on, just spit it out - what’s bothering you?”
Bryant looked around, pulled his coat closer, then finally spoke.
“I found out who I’m working for.”
There was a pause, Jack waiting silently, then he continued.
“His name is Angel.”
For a moment Jack could only stare, then he leaned back, taking in the implications.
“Oh.”
Bryant pulled a face that was somewhere between apologetic and dismayed.
“And no offence, but... he’s a lot scarier than you!”
Despite himself, Jack chuckled. “None taken, trust me!”
The detective studied him warily, his eyes shrewd.
“You know him.”
Jack shrugged. “Suppose you could say that. He’s my self-proclaimed archnemesis - or at least he was, back when he was evil. Although...” he dragged a hand across his face, tired, “Buffy is his ex, and he is the jealous type...”
Bryant looked as if he was going to faint.
“Oh my god. I... I’m going to be crucified. I don’t know how the hell you define ‘evil’, but after what I read... ”
He let the sentence hang, shaking his head. “And I thought coming here would be a chance to start over...”
Jack barely heard him, lost in thought as he tried to work out what to do now. This was awkward - very awkward - and he didn’t like it. What exactly would Angel do if he found out that he and Buffy were dating? Turning the problem over in his mind, he realised that there was very little Angel could do... except maybe take out his frustration on the detective who’d been keeping him in the dark.
He refocussed on Bryant, the man still babbling away in fully fledged self pity and despondency. “What am I gonna do? There’s nowhere to run to! I’m a dead man walking!”
Jack sighed - people were always so overawed by Angelus.
“Calm down, OK? Just... give me tomorrow and I’ll take care of everything, as long as you promise not to talk. I got you into this, I’ll get you out.”
Bryant stared at him, wide eyed and incredulous. “Get me out? How? It’s Wolfram & Hart!”
Smiling brightly, Jack got up. “And I’m The Immortal. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
The man nodded, glum and resigned.
“It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
Jack patted him on the back reassuringly. “Good man.”
Although, as he walked away Jack couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of guilt at the half-white lie - there were limits to how ‘fine’ the guy would be after meeting Buffy’s fists, but it couldn’t be helped...
Sure there might be other ways of dealing with the issue, but centurylong habits were hard to get rid of, and Jack wasn’t in the mood to think of anything original. This would work, and that’s what mattered.
Wednesday 21st of April, mid afternoon.
Richard Bryant, P.I., woke up, and at first all he was able to ascertain was that his head hurt like hell.
Then his other senses slowly made him aware that he wasn’t in his flat. Cracking an eye open he took in the hospital room, the bandages on his body and the large bouquet on the table next to him.
Ignoring the pain in his head he rang for a nurse, wanting an explanation - whenever he tried to think of the evening before all he encountered was fuzziness.
Moments later a middle aged nurse appeared, who - for just a moment - reminded him far too forcefully of his Mama. She gently informed him that a young woman had attacked him the previous night and seemed somewhat taken aback when he just nodded and said he’d been expecting it. He wasn’t overly worried - this could mean a nice chunk of compensation. (Money that his ex-wife couldn’t lay her hands on, he thought with grim satisfaction.)
“So... it’s Tuesday, right? I need-”
The nurse cut in, somewhat overbearing. “No, it’s Wednesday today. 21st of April.”
He stared at her, his throbbing head forgotten as he tried to take on board what she’d said.
“The last thing... the last thing I remember is... Monday the 29th of March.”
Looking very maternal and comforting, the nurse smiled. “Ah. Short term memory loss is not unheard of after getting a bump on the head, please don’t worry.”
Another patient required her attention and she walked off, leaving Bryant to contemplate three lost weeks, idly tracing the mass of flowers next to him with his eyes. Then suddenly he froze, as the mystery of it hit him.
Calling back the nurse, he asked, voice tight, who had brought him the bouquet. He knew well enough that no one was around who would send him flowers - not to mention the fact that no one knew that he was even here.
The nurse hesitated. “I... it wasn’t my shift. I will ask.”
“Do,” he replied grimly, eyeing the bunch with worry.
After a long moment she returned, looking puzzled and uncertain. “We- we have no records of anyone bringing them.”
“And yet they are here.”
She threw her hands up in wordless surrender at the inexplicable, then bent forward to take a closer look at the flowers. “Wait! There is a card here...”
Bryant took it cautiously, half-expecting it to blow up in his hands. He felt as if there ought to be ominous background music playing, although that was due to too much TV watching, he knew that. Real life tended to err on the side of the mundane and dull.
The envelope only bore his name, and inside there was a tasteful cream coloured card. He opened it and read.
Mr Bryant
Sorry about the headache and the memory loss, afraid that couldn’t be helped. Hope your recovery will be swift.
And by the way it might interest your employer to know that a man known as ‘The Immortal’ has been seen in the vicinity of Buffy’s flat.
A friend.
He stared at the message for a long time, then looked back up at the flowers with a sinking feeling. What the hell had happened? There was a part of him who’d been expecting something to go wrong ever since he took the job, but this...
Studying the card again he thought that he should probably call up his mysterious employer sooner rather than later. The name - or title - made something twinge in his head - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made him very uneasy. It all sounded very casual, but somehow he knew that nothing about the situation was casual... His eyes narrowed. He’d bet his life that the innocent-looking information was a code for something else.
Having located his phone he called up the number that had been programmed in ever since he took the job. The phone rang a few times, and then an unmistakably American voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“Um... this is Bryant. The PI on Buffy Summers? Calling from hospital - got spotted last night, only just woke up.”
“What?”
Well that had gotten him some attention at least.
“Just, um, thought you might want to know that I saw a guy known as The Immortal near her flat...”
“When?”
The voice was urgent now, and Bryant swallowed, thinking fast.
“A couple of days ago... Took a while to find out who he was, and then she-.”
There was a pause, then a soft, “Yeah. I understand. Thanks.”
And his mysterious client hung up, apparently not needing any more info - which only confirmed his suspicion of secret codes.
Bryant sighed and leaned back in the bed. Part of him wanted to delve into the mystery he had apparently become part of - he felt as if he was staring at one of those weird pictures made up of squiggles and blobs that, if only you managed to focus right, dissolved themselves and became a 3D image... But nothing happened - the clues refused to gel together in any meaningful way. Answers that he felt were just out of the corner of his eye stubbornly stayed there, and finally he gave up.
Before falling asleep again, he briefly wondered what Buffy had become involved in, and what the consequences of his call might be.
***
In Rome’s Slayer headquarters the girl in question was in the midst of a training session with her fellow slayers, focussing on the importance of holding back on their powers when dealing with ordinary people.
In a hire shop on the other side of town Andrew was, with some help from Dawn, trying on a tux, doing his best to look suave and nonchalant.
To the south of Rome, in the glorious sunshine outside the spaceships’s shields, Jack whistled happily as he with great care wrapped up a motley collection of items, including the navigation system, pieces of the outer hull, and a few fragments of the broken engine.
And in LA two vampires boarded a plane, meaning to rescue a fair maiden, when really they ought to have known better.
Chapter 11.
kathyh deserves a medal for her stellar work. (Any mistakes are mine, btw, I kept editing until I could bear it no longer. *glares at chapter and idiotic, unhelpful muse*)Previous chapters here.
ETA: How could I forget?
kateydidnt made some fanart! :)
Summary: Captain Jack is The Immortal.
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Word count: 7000 words approx.
Chapter 10
Jack: What do you do? Observe and profile the species and then transfer them to long term storage?
[Alice lifts her gun and shoots the alien]
Jack (shocked and angry): Why?
Alice: It was a threat to the Empire.
~
Andrew: Most nights they never leave the house, just curl up on the couch and snuggle.
Angel: There's snuggling?
Andrew: For starters.
~
Spike: How many you got on her?
Angel: Uh, just the one. But he got spotted. Called me from the hospital after he regained consciousness.
Evening, Tuesday 13th April (cont.)
‘What’s the worst that could happen’ had clearly not been the thing to say, Jack reflected 10 minutes into Buffy’s lecture. Although on the plus-side it had made her forget about Baxter - for the time being at least... And her never-ending stream of cautionary tales was good entertainment to go with the dinner, as always served in the rather medieval dining room with its long table, ornate tapestries and chandeliers.
If he was honest he found her paranoia rather sweet, but he supposed it was only to be expected after 7 years on a hellmouth. As far as he’d been able to understand, her job had - apart from the regular slaying - consisted of foiling creatures hellbent on opening said hellmouth and destroying the world. In such circumstances, where everything hinged on being ahead of the bad guys and stopping them before something happened, her attitude was perfectly reasonable.
But having lived on the rift for so long, he’d unwittingly adopted a different outlook... There was no way of predicting what the rift would spit out - nothing to do except be perpetually prepared for anything. And no matter how much it might, at times, seem as if it was out to get him, he knew that it was nothing more than a tear in reality; no more capable of malice than the fork he held in his hand.
As the main course was brought through he tried to cut in - to point out that saving the world together could be fun - but after taking one bite she waved her hand and said, “Oh! And my High School graduation. Did I ever tell you about that?”, so he silently tucked into his dinner, deciding to wait until she ran out of stories... Which might take a while, but at least it gave him plenty of time to contemplate how to deal with the unfortunate problem of Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter.
The whole thing was very frustrating - he wanted Buffy to stay, obviously, but he rather resented the way she had decided that somehow he was accountable to her for something he’d done at around the time of her grandparents’ birth. He’d only known her for a fortnight and their ‘relationship’ would - at the most - last two months, so quite frankly he didn’t feel that she had any claim on his past or future.
Also, he reflected, this was exactly why Torchwood had an unspoken rule of never prying into employees’ past once hired - raking up what had been inevitably led to badness. Especially in their line of work.
But he forced his thoughts to focus on how to keep her - he didn’t want their time cut short, particularly not for something as stupid as this. Company was easy to find - a certain pilot in a red beret sprang to mind - but Buffy was so much more than that. She didn’t just stop him being alone; she stopped him being lonely.
It was a good while before she remembered her initial reason for coming round, and she stopped talking, unsure how to continue. She suddenly - bizarrely - reminded him of Tosh during her first few weeks, so desperately awkward, and he took a deep breath, hoping his newly thought-up strategy would work.
“Look - Buffy. About Baxter... we’ve been doing it all wrong. You keep focussing on the ending, without knowing the beginning.”
She looked confused. “But... I read...”
“You read the diary of a man who was at best peripheral to events, and who was probably grown in a library. Seriously, in the future people like him will be replaced by robots - except the robots will have more of an imagination!”
The words flowed easily, spurred by the memory of a tryst with a particularly forthcoming library-android, and it took him several seconds to realise what he’d said... But even as cold worry shot through him she laughed, and he quirked an eyebrow as if the whole thing had been nothing but a joke.
He had to be more careful - this whole double life was complicated and slipping became increasingly more likely the longer time went on.
“Anyway... the joke is, that really I was the one to kick-start the whole thing. Because I had to play good samaritan. Happened to come across old Baldassare bleeding to death and decided that I could probably make a difference - not that I knew who he was. If I had...” He stopped, twirling his fork absentmindedly.
“Well... I might just have walked past. Oh and that was Baxter’s first assassination attempt by the way, as I discovered later.” He sighed. “If he’d just been more thorough everyone would have been happy.”
He stopped as he saw her frowning.
“You mean-” she began, stopped, then started again. “I thought the demons were, like, your friends.”
“The Diretto Clan? God no. Never had anything to do with them before - nasty bunch, hated humans and responsible for untold massacres down the ages. I’m open-minded, but, as I said, I’m not fond of bigots.”
“But-” she looked confused, “But they threw you a big party and... everything...”
“Well, could hardly say no, could I? And I figured maybe I could help them widen their horizons a little.” He smiled, although really it was more of a grimace. “Of course then Baxter went and trampled all over that idea.”
Sighing, he took a sip of his water. “Can’t argue with his main targets - he’d done his homework and took out the five top clan leaders within seconds. Must have felt like Christmas for a demon hunter to have all his marks gathered in one place. If only he hadn’t hurt Venus...
He trailed off momentarily, before pulling himself together and doing his best to tell the story as straightforwardly as possible - starting with the bizarre party with its long, dull speeches, oddly beautiful music, and the effort involved in remembering what cutlery to use. Then the way the peace had shattered when an arrow pierced Baldassare’s throat, swiftly followed by other arrows finding their targets - and Jack, shocked, but immediately focussing on the attacker, getting ready to leap after him when an arrow flew past him and Venus cried out...
Leaving him, as so often before, with a bleeding girl in his arms, trying his best to calm the chaos around him.
The demons - torn between going after Baxter and working out who was calling the shots - had been on the brink of descending into a furious mob, and he’d done the only thing he could think of: As publicly as possible had made his vengeance personal. If there was anything these demons understood it was revenge.
After that, the actual kidnapping of Baxter had been simplicity itself, the problem of course being what to do with him, and what the man in question wanted...
He shook his head.
“Figured he deserved better than to be torn to pieces - what he did was stupid, but also undoubtedly brave. I was quite impressed to be honest, until...” He paused, feeling the familiar grip of anger settle in his voice and features, “-until he told me that shooting Venus hadn’t been an accident. He’d done it on purpose, and was pissed off that he’d not killed her outright. It was at that point that I had to really seriously hold myself back from blowing his brains out there and then. There are some people you do not hurt - and Venus was one of those.”
The memory of his showdown with Baxter flashed in front of his eyes - Baxter staring him down, coldly superior and disdainful, and himself, holding the gun to the other man’s head, shaking with fury.
Years - decades - worth of pent-up frustration brought into singular focus, the bodies of hundreds, maybe thousands, of executed aliens dancing at the back of his mind... Himself included: The memory of staring down Alice’s gun still burned into his mind, her face so calm and impersonal - protecting the Empire from the alien threat.
There had only ever been ‘us’ and ‘them’ - and ‘they’ were, without exception, executed. For no other reason than that they were not human, not from Earth, and therefore had no rights...
But Venus was not alien, she had been born on Earth (as had her ancestors, stretching back to hazy prehistory), had as much of a claim to the planet as any human. And to have her taunted and despised and nearly killed for just looking different, went against every fibre of his being.
In that moment he had seen everything Torchwood believed and practised wrapped up in Baxter and his contemptuous, scornful attitude. And to have someone look at him that way - the look that said ‘You are Other, you do not belong here’ - to have someone with a mindset like that in his house, in his one refuge on this blasted planet - was a nightmare become reality.
Except... this time Jack was the one in charge, the one calling the shots, the one with the power - and Baxter the one to pay.
He was so lost in the past that he almost missed Buffy’s question, and had to ask her to repeat it.
“I just wondered...” she looked hesitant, “what was she like?”
“Who? Venus? Um...” he thought for a moment, wondering how to sum her up, and, as often before, wishing that he’d been able to pronounce her real name - it had been far more fitting than the tacked-on human name with all its unfortunate connotations.
“Well beautiful, obviously. Sweet - and I mean the most sweet-natured person I have ever met - and just... delicate. Helpless. I’m guessing this was how they liked their women - deferential and needing protection. Maybe they were trying to make up for something!”
He shot her a significant look, and she couldn’t help smiling. He smiled back, remembering that no matter how different his Slayer might be from his timid little demonette, they clearly shared some tastes:
“That kimono you picked out on our first morning after was hers by the way - her skin was that exact shade of blue.”
He saw the moment the realisation hit - the instant the past became reality for her. All these people living in linear time - the past was so distant to them, rarely understood as nothing more than a different place....
But he pretended that he didn’t notice her reaction and continued.
“Bought it for our big costume party. She decided to dress up as a geisha, and really it was perfect - she was a bit like a porcelain statue herself. The party was a brilliant thing actually, because she happened to meet her future husband there - name of Ambrogio, would you believe it - and for the next few months we had this fantastic Romeo and Juliet thing going on, where we’d smuggle him into the house in disguise so no one would cotton onto what was happening. God they were so cute - he was an Ano-Movic demon, and practically worshipped the ground she walked on, the Diretto clan being as close to royalty as you could get around here back then.”
He stopped at the puzzled look on Buffy’s face.
“What?”
“I thought... I mean, I figured that she - that you... well...” she fidgeted and he shook his head lightly. Once again all the things between the lines had been taken at face value - which had of course been the intention at the time.
“Have you ever been given another person?” he asked, and she clearly didn’t know how to respond.
“A person who believed it their duty - their single purpose in life - to do, to be, anything you wanted, anything at all...” He tried to suppress a shudder.
“Submission is a fun game, but when its real... it’s... kinda scary.”
Tending Venus after she’d been hurt... Trying to explain that she hadn’t ‘failed’ him because she’d been shot and that he wouldn’t punish her because of it; that, as a matter of fact, he wanted to look after her; that she wasn’t disrespecting him... If her father hadn’t been killed already he’d have been tempted to off him himself for raising a child to have such a warped self-worth.
Instead he’d taken it all out on Baxter...
Anyway, what had he been saying?
“Um, also, she was barely more than a child and I’m... not. Can’t tell you how happy I was when she found her Romeo and I could send them off into the sunset.”
There was a pause, broken by the servants removing their plates, and Buffy seemed to turn things over in her mind, not speaking until after the doors were once more closed and they were alone.
But finally she looked up, that same determined look in her eyes as there had been when she first walked through the door.
“And Baxter?”
Burying his head in his hands, Jack momentarily wished himself back in Torchwood - his own little kingdom where no one questioned him and everyone valued their secrets. This... thing that they had wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d thought there’d been some unspoken ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ rule between them, and now she’d gone and trampled all over it. He sighed and looked up, chin resting heavily on his hands.
“Buffy... I can’t do this. The thing with Baxter... I made it personal. And I know that doing that was a mistake, but it was eighty years ago and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But did you kill him?”
He briefly closed his eyes and manfully resisted the temptation to bang his head against the table. His admiration for Spike and Angel had grown significantly in the space of the last hour - but, if they could deal with her, then so could he. Well he could try at least... he didn’t have an evil alter-ego to blame his sins on, and if she couldn’t accept him for who he was - well that would be it.
Taking a deep breath he caught her eyes, doing his utmost to keep his emotions under control.
“Why is this so important to you? I told you was a soldier. Killing people to make the world a safer place was my job.”
It still was, he supposed, although he was trying, trying so very hard, to make things better... to save something from all the destruction. Part of him wanted to tell her about Flatholm, about how the wealth around her was being put to good use. Although of course he couldn’t... he dearly hoped that she understood that he didn’t just keep silent about the bad stuff, but the good stuff too.
There was an uncomfortably long pause, wherein she didn’t meet his eyes, and he really couldn’t begin to guess at what was going on in her head. Except that she was attaching entirely too much weight to one stupid incident, and if he didn’t do something he’d lose her.
“As I said, if it’s your friends - or your Giles - that’s the problem, let’s invite them to see for themselves.” A thought struck him.
“Actually - why not start immediately? Vittore!”
The servant appeared on silent feet, and Jack instructed him to fetch all his letter-writing paraphernalia - including his official seal - and he saw Buffy’s eyes take on a slightly panicked look. But Jack knew that there were two ways of dealing with stuffy Englishmen - either be as outrageous as possible, or be so flawlessly proper that they could find no point of attack. Jack had a feeling that proper was the way to go in the case of Mr Giles.
Moments later he was dredging up the excruciatingly polite language that invitations had once been couched in, the ancient ink pen scratching against the thick paper in a most satisfying way. He only faltered momentarily when he needed to work out when May Bank Holiday fell and nearly reached for his wrist strap - as always feeling bereft and naked when realising he wasn’t wearing it.
But before long he could write ‘With Regards, The Immortal’, slip the letter into the envelope and then seal it - the smell of the melting wax making him feel as if the last century hadn’t happened at all.
Once the wax had set he handed over the letter to Vittore, telling him to have it sent off to Mr Rupert Giles, head of the Council of Watchers, as soon as possible.
“So... what now?” Buffy asked, still looking somewhat blindsided, and he shrugged.
“Wait for a reply. Any man that can write may answer a letter.”
At the frown on her face he elaborated. “Shakespeare - Rome and Juliet to be exact. Now, do you want the rest of the invitations to be similarly intimidating, or should I just send out an e-mail?”
“Um... I... I don’t know...”
He walked round the table, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me, the computer is in the library.”
She still looked like she thought he was insane.
“Look - give yourself a little while to think things through. If you want to leave, we can have a fabulous row in front of all your friends, say all sorts of unforgivable things, and you can storm out and never come back. What do you say?”
She looked at him, standing in front of her, as tall and handsome and charming as ever, waiting for her reply, her decision.
What to do?
He’d told her to back off many times before of course - drawing clear lines around what he was and wasn’t willing to share of himself - but she’d never challenged him until tonight.
And he had responded by giving her a simple choice between accepting his boundaries or leaving.
She knew that Giles would see this as clear proof of a dark conscience, but Giles didn’t know The Immortal...
The question of course being: Did she?
“I... I don’t know. I...” she hesitated momentarily, studying him with an intensity that almost made his smile falter.
“I think that you’re manipulative and secretive and arrogant and dangerous, and I think you killed Baxter.”
The smile faded from his face. Oh, he really should have known this was what to expect when dating a hero. He sighed, defeated.
“Fair enough.”
“But...” she paused, then reached up and held her hand to his cheek as she searched his eyes, and his breath suddenly caught.
“I also think that you’re brave, and unselfish, and generous, and that you try your best to do what’s right. And I know that it doesn’t make any sense...”
She shook her head, determination in her features. “But a lot of things in my life don’t make sense. So, yes, I’d like my friends to meet you, ‘cause otherwise they’ll never get it.”
The rest of the evening was tentative - they walked on eggshells, testing where they were now and backing continually further away from the edge they’d stood on.
Jack didn’t know exactly how she’d made her decision, but he suddenly understood her vampires with frightening clarity. To get that kind of validation and support from someone like her... He’d forgotten what it felt like. It had been so long since he’d travelled with the Doctor.
She left shortly before midnight, and after watching the lights of her moped disappearing down the street Jack slowly closed the door, for a moment letting his head rest against the solid warmth of the old wood - so very different from the metal of Torchwood’s rolldoor...
What would she say if he told her everything? It was so very tempting to confess his sins to her, to seek some sort of absolution... But it wasn’t fair to burden her with his pain, nor to make her a temporary Doctor-substitute...
Torchwood was his - his inheritance, his problem, his responsibility - and there was no changing that.
Then, as if on cue, his Torchwood phone rang, shrill and loud in the empty hallway, and he had to focus on the best way of dealing with a Hoix.
Wednesday 14th of April.
It only took only a few seconds for Buffy’s door to be opened after Jack knocked, but when he saw who was on the other side he had to suppress a groan.
“I’m sorry, but do you live here?”
The innocent outburst (really, there had to be limits to the boy’s crush) made Andrew pale and wordlessly open the door further so Jack could walk through.
To be confronted with piles of boxes and a Buffy who looked at him with exasperation in her eyes.
“He- well never mind what he did. But I had to let him crash. Temporarily.”
Andrew swallowed nervously, opening his mouth and then thankfully seeming to think better of it.
Jack turned back to Buffy, raising an eyebrow.
“Well normally I’ve no problems with bachelors moving in with my girlfriends - seriously, great potential - but in this case...”
Andrew began turning pink, and Buffy came up to Jack, smiling a little too brightly. “We’re going out tonight, yeah? You had theatre tickets you said.”
He could clearly read the despair in her eyes, the loud, unspoken ’Get me the hell out of here!’, but turning the situation over in his mind he slowly shook his head. The situation did have potential...
“You know what - screw the play, it’s all in Italian anyway. I was thinking that maybe we could stay in tonight? Watch some TV, get a takeaway - all that normal stuff that couples usually do and that I always miss out on. Try some domesticity for a change.”
He hung up his jacket and then steered her towards the sofa, whispering “Trust me” in her ear, and she - reluctantly - followed his lead.
It took a while before she began cottoning on, but he was a master of the slow build when he wanted to.
They had some pizza courtesy of Dawn, and then he helped the young lady in question with her homework before she disappeared out on a date with her boyfriend. (She was bright - very, very bright - and had an extraordinarily wicked sense of humour. He needed to spend a lot more time with her.)
But finally he could concentrate on Buffy and the TV, gently settling her further and further into his embrace, before finally leaning in to kiss her. Closing eyes she complied with alacrity.
Andrew, already deeply uncomfortable, finally fled to his room, and Jack grinned against Buffy’s lips.
“Don’t stop”, she muttered, and he kissed her again... If there was a downside to this arrangement, he couldn’t see it.
Although it started out as a way of discomfiting Andrew, staying in soon became a pleasant habit - the mundane nature of their evenings (if anything to do with kissing and undressing Buffy could ever be termed ‘mundane’) a welcome antidote to the hectic lives they were both trying to hide from. Jack began wondering why he’d not thought to spend more time in her flat before - it was small and cosy, as far removed from the Hub or the opulence of his mansion as could be.
He felt like shouting ‘Honey I’m home!’ as he walked through the door after a long day of working, and half-expected her to appear in the kitchen doorway wearing a pinny and asking how his day had been.
Not that he would have told her anything beyond ‘busy’ - which would have been a bit of an understatement.
Thursday - the day after Andrew moved in - Tosh’s de-radiation machine arrived and work began to consume Jack’s life in earnest. The machine was clever and brilliant, and for the first day required endless calls with Tosh as he refined and adapted and had fun messing around; and after that his days were filled with sorting and labelling endless pieces of machinery and technology. The nights - after coming home from Buffy’s - he spent writing rudimentary user manuals for the people who would be getting the various equipment - long lists of do’s and don’t’s, and lots of notes on Ettian science and basic space travel... In some ways it felt like being back at school.
Everything was going well... even the rift was quiet, Suzie’s reports so dull that they almost made him fall asleep.
Monday 19th of April, Buffy’s flat.
“Andrew - more coffee!”
And, by the magic of unwelcome house guests, a little later a cup was brought in and carefully placed on one of the cubes that served as coffee tables.
“Oh, and by the way-”
Andrew froze and looked up - clever boy that he was, he knew that tone.
“-you might consider trying to find something for cleaning upholstery. Afraid the sofa got a little... stained last night.”
Jack’s smirk left no doubt in Andrew’s mind what Jack meant, and the young man shot him a dirty and rebellious look before vanishing.
Everything considered, Andrew’s stay wasn’t entirely bad, Jack reflected. There was someone to boss around and do all the boring stuff, although he could tell that Andrew was reaching breaking point - he half expected his coffee to be laced with arsenic, or to be delivered via tossing the mug towards his head.
Which was, all in all, far preferable to having the kid staring at him puppy-like and adoring. Also Buffy was beginning to become rather inured to his outrageous comments and ‘public’ making out, which was an added bonus.
As he took a sip of the coffee (not brilliant, but quite decent for an American and not poisoned as far as he could tell) his phone rang - the Immortal one, not Torchwood.
Retrieving it from his jacket pocket he glanced at the screen. But the caller id told him nothing, so he flicked the mobile open and said ‘Hello’ with as much charm as could be crammed into those two syllables.
Shooting Buffy a wide grin, she didn’t roll her eyes as expected (and what was wrong with being as friendly as possible?) - instead she was staring at him with a decidedly odd look on her face.
Shrugging he concentrated on the phone again.
For a second there was no sound, then a hesitant voice said, “Is that The Immortal?” and Jack smirked.
“The one and only! Tell me, how can I be of service Mysterious Stranger?”
“I... My name is Bryant, I’m the P.I. who’s-”
Jack nodded sharply. “Oh yes, I remember you. What’s the problem?”
He’d seen the man hanging around, of course - noticed him skulking in corners or hiding in plain sight wherever they went. A little like a human CCTV camera, although less annoying than Andrew, and pretty harmless. (Still, Jack had made absolutely sure their shadow hadn’t been following them when they went flying.)
“Listen - I need to talk to you. As soon as possible.”
There was a nervousness in the other’s voice that didn’t bode well. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“O...kay. See you as soon as I’m done here.”
He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to Buffy, already thinking of ways to explain away the conversation, but she was still staring at him, that same incredulous look on her face.
“You have ‘My Immortal’ as your ring tone?”
He chuckled, trying his best to appear aloof, and jumped over the sofa before falling back down into it (he was rich and could afford to buy her a new one, if necessary. It was wonderful how many arguments that settled).
“Well it was either that or ‘I’m Too Sexy’, but I thought that might be a bit too much...”
She rolled her eyes, and he winked, then asked if she wanted to watch a film.
(The explanation for the ring tone was actually very mundane... Juggling two identities - with attendant phones - it had made sense to choose ring tones that would immediately identify who he had to be when he answered.)
But Buffy ignored his question and studied him, clearly trying to work something out.
“Actually... was that song written about you?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Not as far as I know. Also I have better things to do with my time than hang out with pop stars and the like, and have no need to have emo singers write songs about me.”
He settled back into the sofa and tried to focus on the TV, needing to get away from the topic. Because whenever he started to think too deeply about the song, it inevitably freaked him out.
He still remembered the first time he’d heard it, just a few months previously. It had been a cold, grey January day, and he and Suzie had been checking out an odd disturbance in north Cardiff. After some asking around, and taking a few readings, they came to the conclusion that it was all probably down to teenage antics, and drove back, annoyed at a wasted morning.
He’d turned on the radio in a futile attempt at stopping Suzie’s grumbling, just in time for a new track to start. Suzie had made a groaning sound and muttered something about whether the world was actually worth saving, given that the next generation was only interested in playing stupid pranks and then listening to emo crap like this and feeling sorry for themselves.
He’d started listening, eyebrow quirked, but as he took in the words he’d felt incredulity take hold. Back in the Hub he’d looked up the lyrics, feeling increasingly spooked - the song was an almost perfect fit for his own conflicted feelings for the Doctor...
As he for the umpteenth time contemplated the paranoia inducing lyrics (‘There's just too much that time cannot erase’ and ‘Now I'm bound by the life you left behind’ especially apt), he realised that Buffy had gone very still.
“What?”
She shifted. “I know this is a total non sequitur, but... you never told me what happened to Venus. Did you lose touch or...?”
The look on his face obviously told more than he intended, and there was no way to avoid the sudden sympathy in her eyes.
“No. We didn’t lose touch. She wrote me letters - long, long letters about their children, their home, their friends, her porcelain collection... I tried my best to reply now and again...”
His voice trailed off, wanting to keep the happiness he’d read about vivid in his mind, but Buffy of course pressed on.
“So what happened?”
He held onto her more tightly, tucking her head under his chin to avoid her eyes.
“The war. They’d settled in Dresden, because it was so pretty, and... she refused to leave.”
Buffy fell silent, but Jack’s thoughts were once more lost to memories. He remembered making increasingly desperate pleas, as months and years ticked by - even resorting to reminding Venus of her childhood stories about how humans were monsters... All to no avail.
Then the war had descended, dark and bloody and inevitable, destroying so much more than one little family. And now there was nothing left of Venus except his memories, a bundle of letters and the prejudiced ranting of an old Watcher.
Buffy had been wrong that night he thought, as he dropped a kiss on her head - there was no way of jinxing her friends’ visit. She was envisaging countless nightmare scenarios, not knowing that the worst thing of all was knowing the future - and be powerless to stop it.
Later.
When Jack emerged from Buffy’s flat, still in contemplative mode, he found the detective was waiting for him, nervousness betraying itself in swift, jittery movements.
Pretending not to notice him - and dearly wishing he could postpone the talk - Jack kept walking down the street, the detective casually catching up with him after a few hundred yards. They walked in silence for a while before Jack spotted a bench down a side street, covered from the streetlights by a large tree, and motioned towards it. The other shifted uncomfortably.
“Can’t we find somewhere less... public? What if someone comes?”
“We’ll do like in the movies and make out!”
Jack grinned, but the other just shot him a look as if he was insane.
“It’ll be fine, c’mon!”
Sitting himself down he waited, and after a moment Bryant followed suit. Jack studied him - mid-thirties he reckoned, with a New York accent, but Mediterranean colouring, and a little on the pudgy side. Jack briefly wondered what his story was.
“Go on, just spit it out - what’s bothering you?”
Bryant looked around, pulled his coat closer, then finally spoke.
“I found out who I’m working for.”
There was a pause, Jack waiting silently, then he continued.
“His name is Angel.”
For a moment Jack could only stare, then he leaned back, taking in the implications.
“Oh.”
Bryant pulled a face that was somewhere between apologetic and dismayed.
“And no offence, but... he’s a lot scarier than you!”
Despite himself, Jack chuckled. “None taken, trust me!”
The detective studied him warily, his eyes shrewd.
“You know him.”
Jack shrugged. “Suppose you could say that. He’s my self-proclaimed archnemesis - or at least he was, back when he was evil. Although...” he dragged a hand across his face, tired, “Buffy is his ex, and he is the jealous type...”
Bryant looked as if he was going to faint.
“Oh my god. I... I’m going to be crucified. I don’t know how the hell you define ‘evil’, but after what I read... ”
He let the sentence hang, shaking his head. “And I thought coming here would be a chance to start over...”
Jack barely heard him, lost in thought as he tried to work out what to do now. This was awkward - very awkward - and he didn’t like it. What exactly would Angel do if he found out that he and Buffy were dating? Turning the problem over in his mind, he realised that there was very little Angel could do... except maybe take out his frustration on the detective who’d been keeping him in the dark.
He refocussed on Bryant, the man still babbling away in fully fledged self pity and despondency. “What am I gonna do? There’s nowhere to run to! I’m a dead man walking!”
Jack sighed - people were always so overawed by Angelus.
“Calm down, OK? Just... give me tomorrow and I’ll take care of everything, as long as you promise not to talk. I got you into this, I’ll get you out.”
Bryant stared at him, wide eyed and incredulous. “Get me out? How? It’s Wolfram & Hart!”
Smiling brightly, Jack got up. “And I’m The Immortal. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
The man nodded, glum and resigned.
“It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
Jack patted him on the back reassuringly. “Good man.”
Although, as he walked away Jack couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of guilt at the half-white lie - there were limits to how ‘fine’ the guy would be after meeting Buffy’s fists, but it couldn’t be helped...
Sure there might be other ways of dealing with the issue, but centurylong habits were hard to get rid of, and Jack wasn’t in the mood to think of anything original. This would work, and that’s what mattered.
Wednesday 21st of April, mid afternoon.
Richard Bryant, P.I., woke up, and at first all he was able to ascertain was that his head hurt like hell.
Then his other senses slowly made him aware that he wasn’t in his flat. Cracking an eye open he took in the hospital room, the bandages on his body and the large bouquet on the table next to him.
Ignoring the pain in his head he rang for a nurse, wanting an explanation - whenever he tried to think of the evening before all he encountered was fuzziness.
Moments later a middle aged nurse appeared, who - for just a moment - reminded him far too forcefully of his Mama. She gently informed him that a young woman had attacked him the previous night and seemed somewhat taken aback when he just nodded and said he’d been expecting it. He wasn’t overly worried - this could mean a nice chunk of compensation. (Money that his ex-wife couldn’t lay her hands on, he thought with grim satisfaction.)
“So... it’s Tuesday, right? I need-”
The nurse cut in, somewhat overbearing. “No, it’s Wednesday today. 21st of April.”
He stared at her, his throbbing head forgotten as he tried to take on board what she’d said.
“The last thing... the last thing I remember is... Monday the 29th of March.”
Looking very maternal and comforting, the nurse smiled. “Ah. Short term memory loss is not unheard of after getting a bump on the head, please don’t worry.”
Another patient required her attention and she walked off, leaving Bryant to contemplate three lost weeks, idly tracing the mass of flowers next to him with his eyes. Then suddenly he froze, as the mystery of it hit him.
Calling back the nurse, he asked, voice tight, who had brought him the bouquet. He knew well enough that no one was around who would send him flowers - not to mention the fact that no one knew that he was even here.
The nurse hesitated. “I... it wasn’t my shift. I will ask.”
“Do,” he replied grimly, eyeing the bunch with worry.
After a long moment she returned, looking puzzled and uncertain. “We- we have no records of anyone bringing them.”
“And yet they are here.”
She threw her hands up in wordless surrender at the inexplicable, then bent forward to take a closer look at the flowers. “Wait! There is a card here...”
Bryant took it cautiously, half-expecting it to blow up in his hands. He felt as if there ought to be ominous background music playing, although that was due to too much TV watching, he knew that. Real life tended to err on the side of the mundane and dull.
The envelope only bore his name, and inside there was a tasteful cream coloured card. He opened it and read.
Mr Bryant
Sorry about the headache and the memory loss, afraid that couldn’t be helped. Hope your recovery will be swift.
And by the way it might interest your employer to know that a man known as ‘The Immortal’ has been seen in the vicinity of Buffy’s flat.
A friend.
He stared at the message for a long time, then looked back up at the flowers with a sinking feeling. What the hell had happened? There was a part of him who’d been expecting something to go wrong ever since he took the job, but this...
Studying the card again he thought that he should probably call up his mysterious employer sooner rather than later. The name - or title - made something twinge in his head - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made him very uneasy. It all sounded very casual, but somehow he knew that nothing about the situation was casual... His eyes narrowed. He’d bet his life that the innocent-looking information was a code for something else.
Having located his phone he called up the number that had been programmed in ever since he took the job. The phone rang a few times, and then an unmistakably American voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“Um... this is Bryant. The PI on Buffy Summers? Calling from hospital - got spotted last night, only just woke up.”
“What?”
Well that had gotten him some attention at least.
“Just, um, thought you might want to know that I saw a guy known as The Immortal near her flat...”
“When?”
The voice was urgent now, and Bryant swallowed, thinking fast.
“A couple of days ago... Took a while to find out who he was, and then she-.”
There was a pause, then a soft, “Yeah. I understand. Thanks.”
And his mysterious client hung up, apparently not needing any more info - which only confirmed his suspicion of secret codes.
Bryant sighed and leaned back in the bed. Part of him wanted to delve into the mystery he had apparently become part of - he felt as if he was staring at one of those weird pictures made up of squiggles and blobs that, if only you managed to focus right, dissolved themselves and became a 3D image... But nothing happened - the clues refused to gel together in any meaningful way. Answers that he felt were just out of the corner of his eye stubbornly stayed there, and finally he gave up.
Before falling asleep again, he briefly wondered what Buffy had become involved in, and what the consequences of his call might be.
In Rome’s Slayer headquarters the girl in question was in the midst of a training session with her fellow slayers, focussing on the importance of holding back on their powers when dealing with ordinary people.
In a hire shop on the other side of town Andrew was, with some help from Dawn, trying on a tux, doing his best to look suave and nonchalant.
To the south of Rome, in the glorious sunshine outside the spaceships’s shields, Jack whistled happily as he with great care wrapped up a motley collection of items, including the navigation system, pieces of the outer hull, and a few fragments of the broken engine.
And in LA two vampires boarded a plane, meaning to rescue a fair maiden, when really they ought to have known better.
Chapter 11.
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Haaa. Yeah she'll do that.
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And no matter how much it might, at times, seem as if it was out to get him, he knew that it was nothing more than a tear in reality; no more capable of malice than the fork he held in his hand.
That's a really interesting difference.
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he rather resented the way she had decided that somehow he was accountable to her for something he’d done at around the time of her grandparents’ birth. He’d only known her for a fortnight and their ‘relationship’ would - at the most - last two months, so quite frankly he didn’t feel that she had any claim on his past or future.
That makes sense, but does Buffy know that their 'relationship' will be so limited?
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She knew that Giles would see this as clear proof of a dark conscience, but Giles didn’t know The Immortal...
The question of course being: Did she?
Man, she is NOT used to not getting her way and people not being accountable to her.
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“I think that you’re manipulative and secretive and arrogant and dangerous, and I think you killed Baxter.”
The smile faded from his face. Oh, he really should have known this was what to expect when dating a hero. He sighed, defeated.
“Fair enough.”
“But...” she paused, then reached up and held her hand to his cheek as she searched his eyes, and his breath suddenly caught.
“I also think that you’re brave, and unselfish, and generous, and that you try your best to do what’s right. And I know that it doesn’t make any sense...”
She shook her head, determination in her features. “But a lot of things in my life don’t make sense. So, yes, I’d like my friends to meet you, ‘cause otherwise they’ll never get it.”
I LOVE this. I love Buffy dealing with this complexity. She's so used to good or evil.
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To get that kind of validation and support from someone like her... He’d forgotten what it felt like. It had been so long since he’d travelled with the Doctor.
Wow. I may not totally get what the Doctor meant to Jack just from the Doctor Who side of things, eh?
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(She was bright - very, very bright - and had an extraordinarily wicked sense of humour. He needed to spend a lot more time with her.)
Cute. As long as he didn't mean .. like that. Hah.
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(The explanation for the ring tone was actually very mundane... Juggling two identities - with attendant phones - it had made sense to choose ring tones that would immediately identify who he had to be when he answered.)
That is clever but the thought of either of them listening to Evanescence strikes me as so funny.
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“Suppose you could say that. He’s my self-proclaimed archnemesis - or at least he was, back when he was evil. Although...” he dragged a hand across his face, tired, “Buffy is his ex, and he is the jealous type...”
Love it. It reminds me of Dr. Horrible. DUDE. You're NOT. My NEMESIS.
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In Rome’s Slayer headquarters the girl in question was in the midst of a training session
Muahaha. I see what you did there.
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And in LA two vampires boarded a plane, meaning to rescue a fair maiden, when really they ought to have known better.
YUH HUH.
With how your story is set up I'm doubting that Angel and Spike flew as far under the radar as they'd thought.
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Buffy has learned that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong...
That's a really interesting difference.
I love stuff like that - parallels, differences.
That makes sense, but does Buffy know that their 'relationship' will be so limited?
Pretty much, yes. He's told her he's only there for a few months.
Man, she is NOT used to not getting her way and people not being accountable to her.
Indeed. It's a whole new learning curve...
I LOVE this. I love Buffy dealing with this complexity. She's so used to good or evil.
Well, there are a lot of shades of grey in the Buffy 'verse also, but she's used to dividing it up, as that makes it easier. (This is why Spike confused her so, for example. He didn't make sense.)
Cute. As long as he didn't mean .. like that. Hah.
He wouldn't mind, but no. I don't think so. :)
That is clever but the thought of either of them listening to Evanescence strikes me as so funny.
I've listened to that song FAR too much, it fits entirely too well... /o\
Love it. It reminds me of Dr. Horrible. DUDE. You're NOT. My NEMESIS.
LOL. Nice one. :D
Muahaha. I see what you did there.
*grins*
With how your story is set up I'm doubting that Angel and Spike flew as far under the radar as they'd thought.
Writing TGiQ from the Immortal's side was A PAIN IN THE NECK OMG.
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There ARE, but I think Buffy was pretty bad at dealing with them on an emotional level. She certainly could see that Spike wasn't just plain evil anymore by the end of S6, but I think her personal feelings for him were sort of easily resolved by him getting a soul in S7. Without that, she would've had to do a lot more sifting through the grey. Remember her insisting that Spike couldn't love, couldn't feel, was a monster, was evil inside. In my opinion, that was about her own feelings about herself (sort of a mirror to Faith punching her own face repeatedly, screaming "you're nothing, you're disgusting, murderous bitch,"), but it was also about a crucial inability to reconcile the idea that, by the time Spike is seeking out his own soul, he may not even need one anymore. I'm not sure she ever got that. Most of the grey area is still something she sorts through fairly easily (take, for instance, Clem).
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I adore talking/reading/thinking about these things.
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Re. needing a soul, then this post beautifully illustrates the catch-22 quality to the whole thing. Short and to the point.
Re. the Buffy/Spike dynamic in S6, you need to read this post by
(Om nom nom meta. Meta is my lifeblood. When I start writing meta, it means I'm properly hooked...)
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Meta is definitely my lifeblood as well. I blame my English degree.
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