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The Summer After. Prequel. To be read AFTER the main story!
More fic! Mainly I'm just trying to get stuff out of the way, so I can concentrate on writing the sequel to 'The Summer After'. So here comes the prequel. Written before the main story, it's been sat in a folder languishing because it is hugely spoilerish. Completely ruins the surprise actually. So if anyone wants to read (or hasn't yet finished) the main story, it can be found here.
I've also put up a background picture - a lot of people seem to be re-doing their layouts, so I wanted to pretty-fy mine too! :)
Anyway, this is quite a short piece, only about 2000 words. Set one or two days before the events of 'The Summer After'. Many, many thanks to my excellent beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh who did a truly wonderful job! :)
The Summer After. Prequel.
It was a beautiful summer evening. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon a while ago, the shadows were lengthening and Roger Wyndam-Pryce sat in his office translating an ancient text while his wife did the washing-up in the kitchen. He was absent-mindedly debating with himself whether he should ask her to make coffee or tea, when there was a knock at the door.
His wife, knowing full well that he didn’t want to be disturbed when he was working, went to answer it. He could hear her exchange some words with whoever was at the door, and a moment later she tentatively opened the door to the study.
“I know you don’t want to be disturbed Dear, but there are two American gentlemen and a young lady at the door, wanting to talk to us. They say it is about Wesley.”
Roger sighed. He had been expecting this day for years now. Foolish young men who failed spectacularly at their allotted task, bringing shame on the family, and who then went to work for a vampire - a vampire of all things - pretending they were demon-fighters or investigators or some such nonsense, were bound to end up on the wrong side of the law. The only mercy was that the whole thing was taking place in America, so hopefully he would be able to hush it up.
“Show them into the sitting room Myrtle,” he said, and noted with irritation that she was still holding a tea towel in her hand. The woman sometimes showed no sense of proper behaviour!
A little while later he was shaking hands with the young lady who had introduced herself as Miss Burkle. A most attractive woman he thought approvingly, wearing a plain, black dress and smiling shyly. He looked up to greet her companions and couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him - in his own sitting room! - stood the two most notorious vampires of all time.
Faltering for a moment due to the shock, he rapidly pulled himself together. He was still a good fighter, but he knew that he could not take them both at the same time. He looked at Angelus and said stiffly.
“If you spare my wife, I shall not resist.”
The vampire sighed and looked pained.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce we are not here to kill anyone. We need to talk to you and your wife. Feel free to bring out as many crosses and stakes as you like if that will make you more comfortable. But please listen to us.”
Myrtle was looking from one to the other trying to understand.
“Roger dearest, what is the matter?”
He turned to her, his momentary fear turning to cold anger.
“It very simple, darling. You let the two most dangerous vampires on record into our home!”
Myrtle looked as though she was about to faint, but the blond vampire reached out a hand to support her and sat her down in an armchair. When she looked at him with obvious confusion he smiled reassuringly:
“We also happen to be the only two souled vampires in the world, fighting on the side of good. I am sorry if we frightened you Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, that was never our intention.”
She nodded, but could obviously not think of anything to say. Roger turned back to his visitors.
“Well, why don’t we all sit down, and you can tell me what is so very urgent that you have come all the way from America to tell me!”
The vampires and Miss Burkle having seated themselves on the sofa, Roger stiffly sat down in his favourite armchair, warily eyeing his visitors. Unaccountably, Angelus turned to Myrtle instead of the head of the household and began to speak:
“As you might have guessed, I am Angel. Your son worked for me since he was thrown out of The Council. I am sorry that I am going to be the one to tell you this, but... Wesley’s dead.”
***
Spike watched the woman closely. Her heartbeat was erratic, and living with the old ogre had obviously taken its toll. How she would react to the news of her son’s death was anyone’s guess. To his surprise she didn’t seem as shocked as her husband. She was fighting back the tears, but she didn’t appear too surprised.
“He... he called a few weeks ago and said that a big battle was coming. I asked him to be careful, but...” she started sobbing.
Her husband, almost more astounded at her words than those of the vampire, turned to her.
“Wesley called and you didn’t tell me?”
In between sobs, she stammered.
“He just said that - that he loved us, and hopefully everything would go well - he would give me a call when it was all over. But - but - every day that went by had me more worried. Mr. Angel - how did he die?”
Angel looked at her and recognised the pain in her face.
My son is gone! I can’t get him back!
He spoke to her gently, ignoring her husband, who was thankfully quiet.
“He was killed by a very powerful sorcerer named Cyvus Vail. We - my team and myself - were trying to stop an apocalypse.”
He thought for a moment, then continued.
“Your son was the most loyal, the most honest man I have known. He never shied away from the hard decisions and he was a brave and cunning fighter in battle and in life. He died a hero, Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce. You should be very proud.”
She smiled gratefully, but her husband wasn’t impressed.
“When you say ‘trying’ would that imply that you failed, Mr. Angel?”
Angel felt the air pressure change as the vampire to his left and the goddess to his right abruptly turned their heads. Knowing that he had to stall them before their impulses made them attack, he shot Spike a glance and put a hand on Illyria’s arm, making her momentarily stop. He knew how to get to the man across from him. Smiling pleasantly, as though discussing the decor of the house, he began.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, as I suppose you know I spent a hundred-and-fifty years perfecting the art of destroying a human being. The artistry thrilled me. In the end this caused me to be cursed with a soul. And I recoiled from my former behaviour. But if I had met you say - two hundred years ago, I would have greeted you as a fellow craftsman.”
Looking steadily at the man across from him, he continued.
“I preyed upon the weak and damaged, but the two are not the same. Wesley was damaged - by you, the person who should have loved him no matter what, because that is what it means to be a father. But... he was not weak! Your abuse was a test of fire, and he came out stronger. You despised him, because he was never good enough - or so you thought. As a matter of fact he was better than you ever imagined. I cannot tell you everything that has happened in the last few years, but I want you to know that Wesley was the backbone that held things together when I failed. Who wasn’t loyal to me, like you presume, but always to the greater good. He was ready to do - and did - anything when he thought he was right.”
Angel stopped for a moment to think. He desperately wanted to get through to this man the level of his son’s commitment. He stole my son. He killed you. He...
Angel realised that Roger had thought him finished and was replying, the coldness of his voice barely disguising the anger.
“You dare compare yourself to me? You presume to know what it is to have a child? The arrogance you possess might only be surpassed by the foolishness that my failure of a son was capable of! He wasted his life-”
His rant was cut off by the sudden failure of all light sources. As the room was plunged into darkness the young woman across from him rose in a chilling, fluid motion, her features changing, and she seemed to glow from within. Her eyes - now icy blue - unblinkingly fastened on the elderly man, and she started to speak, her voice deep and shivering with anger.
“Mortal man, more worthless the smallest worm - how dare you look down upon what is above you! In your life you have achieved nothing, except to father a son who won the favour of ME - Illyria - a God older than you can fathom. I - Illyria - who despise the feelings and lives of this useless race of men, grieved for your son, and adorned his grave with the broken and mutilated body of his killer. I will never forget him and so he will be remembered when the last of your species is dust!”
Roger was for once completely overwhelmed and unable to utter a single syllable. Wesley had some months ago sent a letter mentioning an Old One, named Illyria, and asked if his father might look up any information. He had done so, but never passed on what little he had found out knowing that The Council was not talking to W&H. Suddenly he saw the request in a new light. Tearing his eyes from the blue wraith in front of him he looked at Angel, who suddenly seemed like an ocean of sanity.
“Is...’ he croaked out.
Angel nodded and answered coldly.
“Yes, this is indeed Illyria, one of the Elder Gods. Did you not hear of a disturbance at the Deeper Well? She came forth as was predestined, and took as her body the woman Wesley loved. Sir, you did not know your son.”
Roger tried to swallow. His eyes were drawn back to the goddess in front of him. She however had turned her head and was now looking at the vampires.
“I wish to kill this man. Would this have incurred Wesley’s anger? He killed him himself.”
Spike answered, quietly.
“When Wesley killed his father, there was a reason. This time there is no reason except your feelings and the man’s blindness.”
Illyria swivelled her head around and looked at Roger again.
“I would kill you if it were not for Wesley’s memory. If you ever dishonour him again, my vengeance shall be swift.”
With these words she walked out, the lights turning themselves on again as she did so.
***
Roger dimly became aware of his surroundings and the whimpers from his wife’s direction. He ignored her and focussed on Angel, trying to organise his thoughts into a coherent question.
The vampires, however, were also getting up. Spike went to Myrtle’s side and talked to her, too softly for Roger to hear.
Angel was silently studying Roger and after a while spoke again. “We are on our way to see Rupert Giles. We will tell him of Wesley’s death and make sure that the events of his life are written down for all generations of Watchers and Slayers to study. As you witnessed, an Elder God found him worthy of the highest praise. He died trying to stop an apocalypse - the apocalypse of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart, which is a far greater thing than you could imagine. I lost all my people except Spike and Illyria.”
He stopped briefly, then added.
“We came here because of Wesley, not for your sake. If you wish to learn who your son was, I suggest you ask Mr. Giles to lend you the book about him once it is written. Good evening, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”
Turning to Myrtle, demeanour changing, he said quietly. “Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, I am sorry for your loss.”
With these words he joined Spike at the door and left.
Roger Wyndam-Pryce was standing in the middle of his sitting room, feeling that his entire world and all its absolutes had collapsed in one fell swoop. He gathered his wife into his arms and let her cry for their son. Their son, who had earned the respect of a goddess...
A strange feeling began to overwhelm him, a feeling he had decided to banish many years ago - regret.
The End
There are two FitBs set after the main story: A silly drabble and a short stand alone A Round of Kick The Riley.
The 'verse is continued in Maybe Someday. (Spike/Buffy)
I've also put up a background picture - a lot of people seem to be re-doing their layouts, so I wanted to pretty-fy mine too! :)
Anyway, this is quite a short piece, only about 2000 words. Set one or two days before the events of 'The Summer After'. Many, many thanks to my excellent beta
kathyh who did a truly wonderful job! :)The Summer After. Prequel.
It was a beautiful summer evening. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon a while ago, the shadows were lengthening and Roger Wyndam-Pryce sat in his office translating an ancient text while his wife did the washing-up in the kitchen. He was absent-mindedly debating with himself whether he should ask her to make coffee or tea, when there was a knock at the door.
His wife, knowing full well that he didn’t want to be disturbed when he was working, went to answer it. He could hear her exchange some words with whoever was at the door, and a moment later she tentatively opened the door to the study.
“I know you don’t want to be disturbed Dear, but there are two American gentlemen and a young lady at the door, wanting to talk to us. They say it is about Wesley.”
Roger sighed. He had been expecting this day for years now. Foolish young men who failed spectacularly at their allotted task, bringing shame on the family, and who then went to work for a vampire - a vampire of all things - pretending they were demon-fighters or investigators or some such nonsense, were bound to end up on the wrong side of the law. The only mercy was that the whole thing was taking place in America, so hopefully he would be able to hush it up.
“Show them into the sitting room Myrtle,” he said, and noted with irritation that she was still holding a tea towel in her hand. The woman sometimes showed no sense of proper behaviour!
A little while later he was shaking hands with the young lady who had introduced herself as Miss Burkle. A most attractive woman he thought approvingly, wearing a plain, black dress and smiling shyly. He looked up to greet her companions and couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him - in his own sitting room! - stood the two most notorious vampires of all time.
Faltering for a moment due to the shock, he rapidly pulled himself together. He was still a good fighter, but he knew that he could not take them both at the same time. He looked at Angelus and said stiffly.
“If you spare my wife, I shall not resist.”
The vampire sighed and looked pained.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce we are not here to kill anyone. We need to talk to you and your wife. Feel free to bring out as many crosses and stakes as you like if that will make you more comfortable. But please listen to us.”
Myrtle was looking from one to the other trying to understand.
“Roger dearest, what is the matter?”
He turned to her, his momentary fear turning to cold anger.
“It very simple, darling. You let the two most dangerous vampires on record into our home!”
Myrtle looked as though she was about to faint, but the blond vampire reached out a hand to support her and sat her down in an armchair. When she looked at him with obvious confusion he smiled reassuringly:
“We also happen to be the only two souled vampires in the world, fighting on the side of good. I am sorry if we frightened you Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, that was never our intention.”
She nodded, but could obviously not think of anything to say. Roger turned back to his visitors.
“Well, why don’t we all sit down, and you can tell me what is so very urgent that you have come all the way from America to tell me!”
The vampires and Miss Burkle having seated themselves on the sofa, Roger stiffly sat down in his favourite armchair, warily eyeing his visitors. Unaccountably, Angelus turned to Myrtle instead of the head of the household and began to speak:
“As you might have guessed, I am Angel. Your son worked for me since he was thrown out of The Council. I am sorry that I am going to be the one to tell you this, but... Wesley’s dead.”
Spike watched the woman closely. Her heartbeat was erratic, and living with the old ogre had obviously taken its toll. How she would react to the news of her son’s death was anyone’s guess. To his surprise she didn’t seem as shocked as her husband. She was fighting back the tears, but she didn’t appear too surprised.
“He... he called a few weeks ago and said that a big battle was coming. I asked him to be careful, but...” she started sobbing.
Her husband, almost more astounded at her words than those of the vampire, turned to her.
“Wesley called and you didn’t tell me?”
In between sobs, she stammered.
“He just said that - that he loved us, and hopefully everything would go well - he would give me a call when it was all over. But - but - every day that went by had me more worried. Mr. Angel - how did he die?”
Angel looked at her and recognised the pain in her face.
My son is gone! I can’t get him back!
He spoke to her gently, ignoring her husband, who was thankfully quiet.
“He was killed by a very powerful sorcerer named Cyvus Vail. We - my team and myself - were trying to stop an apocalypse.”
He thought for a moment, then continued.
“Your son was the most loyal, the most honest man I have known. He never shied away from the hard decisions and he was a brave and cunning fighter in battle and in life. He died a hero, Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce. You should be very proud.”
She smiled gratefully, but her husband wasn’t impressed.
“When you say ‘trying’ would that imply that you failed, Mr. Angel?”
Angel felt the air pressure change as the vampire to his left and the goddess to his right abruptly turned their heads. Knowing that he had to stall them before their impulses made them attack, he shot Spike a glance and put a hand on Illyria’s arm, making her momentarily stop. He knew how to get to the man across from him. Smiling pleasantly, as though discussing the decor of the house, he began.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, as I suppose you know I spent a hundred-and-fifty years perfecting the art of destroying a human being. The artistry thrilled me. In the end this caused me to be cursed with a soul. And I recoiled from my former behaviour. But if I had met you say - two hundred years ago, I would have greeted you as a fellow craftsman.”
Looking steadily at the man across from him, he continued.
“I preyed upon the weak and damaged, but the two are not the same. Wesley was damaged - by you, the person who should have loved him no matter what, because that is what it means to be a father. But... he was not weak! Your abuse was a test of fire, and he came out stronger. You despised him, because he was never good enough - or so you thought. As a matter of fact he was better than you ever imagined. I cannot tell you everything that has happened in the last few years, but I want you to know that Wesley was the backbone that held things together when I failed. Who wasn’t loyal to me, like you presume, but always to the greater good. He was ready to do - and did - anything when he thought he was right.”
Angel stopped for a moment to think. He desperately wanted to get through to this man the level of his son’s commitment. He stole my son. He killed you. He...
Angel realised that Roger had thought him finished and was replying, the coldness of his voice barely disguising the anger.
“You dare compare yourself to me? You presume to know what it is to have a child? The arrogance you possess might only be surpassed by the foolishness that my failure of a son was capable of! He wasted his life-”
His rant was cut off by the sudden failure of all light sources. As the room was plunged into darkness the young woman across from him rose in a chilling, fluid motion, her features changing, and she seemed to glow from within. Her eyes - now icy blue - unblinkingly fastened on the elderly man, and she started to speak, her voice deep and shivering with anger.
“Mortal man, more worthless the smallest worm - how dare you look down upon what is above you! In your life you have achieved nothing, except to father a son who won the favour of ME - Illyria - a God older than you can fathom. I - Illyria - who despise the feelings and lives of this useless race of men, grieved for your son, and adorned his grave with the broken and mutilated body of his killer. I will never forget him and so he will be remembered when the last of your species is dust!”
Roger was for once completely overwhelmed and unable to utter a single syllable. Wesley had some months ago sent a letter mentioning an Old One, named Illyria, and asked if his father might look up any information. He had done so, but never passed on what little he had found out knowing that The Council was not talking to W&H. Suddenly he saw the request in a new light. Tearing his eyes from the blue wraith in front of him he looked at Angel, who suddenly seemed like an ocean of sanity.
“Is...’ he croaked out.
Angel nodded and answered coldly.
“Yes, this is indeed Illyria, one of the Elder Gods. Did you not hear of a disturbance at the Deeper Well? She came forth as was predestined, and took as her body the woman Wesley loved. Sir, you did not know your son.”
Roger tried to swallow. His eyes were drawn back to the goddess in front of him. She however had turned her head and was now looking at the vampires.
“I wish to kill this man. Would this have incurred Wesley’s anger? He killed him himself.”
Spike answered, quietly.
“When Wesley killed his father, there was a reason. This time there is no reason except your feelings and the man’s blindness.”
Illyria swivelled her head around and looked at Roger again.
“I would kill you if it were not for Wesley’s memory. If you ever dishonour him again, my vengeance shall be swift.”
With these words she walked out, the lights turning themselves on again as she did so.
Roger dimly became aware of his surroundings and the whimpers from his wife’s direction. He ignored her and focussed on Angel, trying to organise his thoughts into a coherent question.
The vampires, however, were also getting up. Spike went to Myrtle’s side and talked to her, too softly for Roger to hear.
Angel was silently studying Roger and after a while spoke again. “We are on our way to see Rupert Giles. We will tell him of Wesley’s death and make sure that the events of his life are written down for all generations of Watchers and Slayers to study. As you witnessed, an Elder God found him worthy of the highest praise. He died trying to stop an apocalypse - the apocalypse of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart, which is a far greater thing than you could imagine. I lost all my people except Spike and Illyria.”
He stopped briefly, then added.
“We came here because of Wesley, not for your sake. If you wish to learn who your son was, I suggest you ask Mr. Giles to lend you the book about him once it is written. Good evening, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”
Turning to Myrtle, demeanour changing, he said quietly. “Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, I am sorry for your loss.”
With these words he joined Spike at the door and left.
Roger Wyndam-Pryce was standing in the middle of his sitting room, feeling that his entire world and all its absolutes had collapsed in one fell swoop. He gathered his wife into his arms and let her cry for their son. Their son, who had earned the respect of a goddess...
A strange feeling began to overwhelm him, a feeling he had decided to banish many years ago - regret.
There are two FitBs set after the main story: A silly drabble and a short stand alone A Round of Kick The Riley.
The 'verse is continued in Maybe Someday. (Spike/Buffy)
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::pumps fist in air::
I am so glad that you wrote this. I love Illyria smacking down Roger. It could not have happened to a nicer person. And the fact they were so solicitious to Wesley's mom...well, that just worked beautifully.
I am really looking forward to the sequel. I was a bit surprised that at the end of "The Summer After" their mission was to get Giles to write Wesley's story - I was prepared for a bit more angst, but putting these two bits together and knowing that the story will be bookended by a sequel is perfect. The story felt like it needed more
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And Roger seemed to embody all the worst things about the CoW - I enjoyed writing this very, very much! *eivl grin* And I thought his wife would probably be quite downtrodden. Wesley never said anything about his mother being nasty, so I thought she was probably a victim too.
And the sequel is Spuffy. Angsty Spuffy I think. At least not happy-ever-after-Spuffy. I didn't really want to write Spuffy, but I obviously have an overactive imagination, coupled with wanting to work through all the issues... I think it's going to be long! *sigh*
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I - Illyria - who despise the feelings and lives of this useless race of men, grieved for your son, and adorned his grave with the broken and mutilated body of his killer.
This was probably my favorite line because it's just so very Illyria. :)
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And Wesley's father so needed to be shown how wrong he was! The sequel is currently 4 chapters long, but there are at least more 4 more written out in my head already! I could really do with some sort of time-stopping device.
And Illyria is pure joy to write!
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And Illyria is easy - in small doses anyway. ;)
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I so LOVED this! ::swings you round the room::
And the bit where Angel is contemplating how to go on and Illyria takes over with the room dimming and the electricity humming - I was lost for words at the brilliance!!!
Just one final thing - is it possible that Wesley not be dead though? ::sniffle::
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Uh.. eh...thank you (is dizzy)
And that Illyria scene was what started the whole story off, if I remember correctly... I got this image in my mind and thought 'Cool... I wanna write that down'! ;) And I also liked the idea of Angel and Spike being the ones to impart the news of Wesley's death. None of their other friends had family really. ::sniffles with you::
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I like how you set this up; Angel, Spike, and Illyria are less telling Roger about his son's death than about his life. Wes clearly tried desperately to prove himself worthy to his father; and Angel wanted Roger to know he more than succeeded. I'm glad you had Wes's mom in touch with him though. I do realize he's a fictional character, but I'm still glad to know someone loved him!
And Spike *would* try to comfort Wes' mom. Very in character!
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What a lovely way to put it, but it's true. Roger was obviously such a bastard that he really needed to be taught a lesson. And it seemed logical that his wife would be as downbeat as possible. I can't see him as anything other that 'the king' of his own castle.
And Spike just has a thing for broken women...
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You have such a way with words... but I like that idea. Especially in using the Council to tell his story.
He was such a wonderful character, and I think it hurt everyone when he died. *sniffle*
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And this fic was pure self-indulgence - knocking Roger W-P senseless would have been satisfying too, but I couldn't work it in! *g* And having Spike and Angel being overly polite worked surprisingly well.
You seem to have read almost everything of mine by now! If you want more, there's links to everything on the side of my LJ (in case you haven't noticed - I never actually check other people's links which is very bad of me I'm sure). Oh - except for my Spike/Dawn stories which are flocked and filtered. But to summarise briefly: Post-'The Gift' AU where Buffy was never resurrected and Dawn and Spike find solace in each other's arms. Very lyrical, but also incredibly disturbing and my only foray into NC-17. I'm still very puzzled as to why I have this kink.
And now I'll go away and hide I think. Sorry about being unable to shut up - feedback just goes straight to my head.
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But I know what you mean - it squicks out half my flist, so I keep it hidden. *g*
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Really? That's... I'm stunned.
Terrific story.
Thank you! Oh and thank you for *all* your feedback - it's like a huge box of chocolates or something!
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I blew through this story and loved every minute. Perhaps a bit more than I should have, but as I said before, I have some Giles issues (my Roger issues are even more intense, but we'll save those for another day). It was so nice to see him called out on his actions.
As usual your Spike and Angel (and Illyria) voices were fantastic. I am looking forward to reading the next story in the series.
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I hope your recovery goes well! ::sends healing vibes::
I blew through this story and loved every minute.
Squee! Thank you. :)
It was so nice to see him called out on his actions.
See I *like* Giles, and understand where he came from, but that doesn't mean he wasn't blind.
As usual your Spike and Angel (and Illyria) voices were fantastic.
::is thrilled:: This was only my second ever fic, so I worry that it's a little wobbly, even if the sentiment is good.
I am looking forward to reading the next story in the series.
I hope you like - lots of Spuffy and lots of Spike & Angel! :) And thank you SO MUCH for reading!!!!
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Thank you! :)
I love how solicitous Spike and Angel are to Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce.
They both - Spike especially - have a thing for mothers, I think. And they know she needs some tenderness.
They're a marked contrast to her own husband. What a trial it must be to be married to Roger.
He really is one of the nasties characters in the whole 'verse. Poor woman.
His disdain at her carrying the tea towel to the front door gave me an angry little stomach churn
I'm so glad you picked that out, because I put that in very deliberately - he strikes me as someone who is *always* proper, and who cares entirely too much about how other people see them.
then finding out she'd known about the coming fight and Wes' probable demise made me even angrier for her.
I could totally see Wes calling her - just in case - and her not daring to tell. *hugs her*
Illyria putting that arrogant ass in his place was wonderful.
Fic-writing is a very cathartic thing. *Adored* writing this and very glad you enjoyed it too. :)