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My Immortal. Chapter 9.
I know this has taken forever (sorry about that), but at least it's long...
Lots of thank you's to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh for her help! (Previous parts here.)
Pairing: Buffy/Jack
Rating: PG-13
Setting: 2004 (post-Chosen/pre-S1 of TW)
Spoilers: S2 of TW (eventually)
Wordcount: 7100 words.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Feedback: Oh yes please, that would be *wonderful*!
Chapter 9
Jack: You're carving up a sentient creature! And you've got to stop.
~
Wesley: It's not Council policy to cure vampires. [...] Not under any circumstances, and yes, I did try to convince them.
Buffy: Try again.
Wesley: Buffy, they're very firm. We're talking about laws that have existed longer than civilisation.
~
Gwen: He was murdered?
Toshiko: Yes.
Gwen: And you covered it up?
Toshiko: That's my job.
Monday April 12th.
The weekend had been taken up with sisterly and Slayer-y things - including patrol Sunday night - and Buffy felt resentful at the persistent knocking on her door at early-o’clock on Monday morning. Dragging herself out of bed she opened the door, only to find some sort of time warp vision outside.
On closer inspection the vision turned out to be The Immortal, looking as though he’d stepped right out of a history book in an old-fashioned pilot’s uniform - dark blue pants, big leather jacket with fur lining and a flying cap perched on top of his head.
“Wow!” was all she could manage, and he laughed, delighted.
“And a good morning to you too, ma’am. Sorry about the short notice, but would you care to join me for a little spin in the fabulous flying machine I have managed to borrow?”
She blinked, dimly recalling him mentioning something about taking her out flying. “Uh - yeah, sure. Just... need some clothes and... um, breakfast...”
“By all means,” he replied, stepping through the door and simultaneously pulling her close. “You want some help undressing?”
After giving in to a swift kiss, she stepped away smartly. “Maybe later? I mean, you seem to be in a hurry.”
Letting his eyes linger, he smiled and removed the cap. “Not that much of a hurry...”
They were interrupted by Dawn, glaring at them with ill concealed disgust. “Oh my God. Seriously - you have a mansion to... frolic in! Is it so much to ask that you keep your hands off her here?”
So she got dressed rather quickly after all.
***
Buffy wasn’t quite sure what she’d imagined - maybe some kind of private learjet belonging to one of his equally loaded friends (did he have rich friends that weren’t demons? And did demons have planes?) - but as a dull, grey military base came into view she discarded that train of thought.
Although, in hindsight, the Jeep had been a dead giveaway.
They drove up to the entrance checkpoint and The Immortal smiled at the surly guard, flashed some sort of identification in his face, and they were waved through. She couldn’t help following the documents with her eyes as he shoved them back in his shirt pocket, and he shot her a shrewd glance.
“If you like you can have a look. But be warned - they’re fake!”
Rolling her eyes she declined - she really ought to have known that it wouldn’t be that easy to find out who he was. His name ought to be Mr Enigma or something.
Following the road until they reached a parking lot, The Immortal deftly parked the car, before getting out and holding Buffy’s door for her. As she stepped out she looked up and saw a stunningly handsome young soldier swiftly walking towards them. He was dressed in fatigues, with a very fetching red cap on his head, and Buffy thought to herself that she’d forgotten just how appealing the whole military look could be.
Turning to The Immortal she realised that some invisible switch had clearly been flipped.
“Hel-lo,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling widely, and the soldier faltered a little.
“Captain Jenkins?” he asked, and The Immortal nodded happily, shaking the cautiously proffered hand and holding it for far too long. “The very same. And who might you be, Lieutenant?”
“Mancini. Ermanno Mancini.”
“Well it’s very nice to meet you Ermanno - can I call you that?”
The soldier nodded, tentatively smiling back, and The Immortal happily continued, his focus fixed on the soldier with such intensity that Buffy felt like asking the poor guy if he wanted to borrow some sunglasses.
“This is Miss Summers,” The Immortal made a superficial gesture in her direction, but continued before Ermanno could shake her hand, “-am I correct in thinking that you’ll be showing us the ropes? Please, lead the way.”
There followed an intense instruction session, with entirely too much focus on things that could go wrong, and what buttons to press in which scenario and how to strap into a horrible harness and how an ejector seat worked, The Immortal of course deciding that he needed everything demonstrating in as hands-on a way as possible, since he was ‘a little rusty’.
There was also a lot of male - verging on geeky - bonding going on, as the two of them discussed ridiculously complicated technical things to do with flying, the terminology so full of numbers and shortenings that it sounded like another language.
Despite parts of her certainly experiencing twinges of jealousy, she nonetheless felt a certain fascination observing The Immortal ‘in full flirt’. It was a little like being an anthropologist or something - her lessons on human behaviour with Professor Walsh slowly coming back to her. She’d been too dazzled at their own first meeting to actually notice how he’d done the dazzling, but watching him now she could recognise certain similarities - voice, looks, gestures; that pure, undiluted interest that made you feel like the most special person in the world. Also she could see how his flirting with the various waiters they’d met was different - one nothing more than a reflex, and the other calculated to be as grating and crude as possible.
But Ermanno clearly warranted special attention from The Immortal’s point of view (he’d mentioned liking men in uniform, she really shouldn’t have been surprised), so she bit her tongue and tried her best to pretend that she was happy being third wheel. Especially since Ermanno was quite obviously not immune to ‘Captain Jenkin’s’ charms, considering the careful encouragement he was returning.
However she couldn’t help feel a little sorry for the young man, since she was reasonably sure that The Immortal wouldn’t actually cheat right in front of her, so - despite everything - he didn’t actually stand a chance... Hopefully he wouldn’t be too disappointed.
Finally, after Buffy had done her best not to die of boredom, Ermanno seemed satisfied that they were ready to go, and The Immortal beckoned Buffy forwards to a fast and dangerous looking plane.
“Did I ever tell you that you are the perfect girlfriend?” he asked as he helped her in, voice not far above a murmur, and she shook her head. “Don’t think so. But you could certainly make a habit of it if you like.”
He chuckled. “Well you are! Most people in this day and age are so damn... possessive, which is very tiring. Flirting never hurt anyone...” He pulled a face, checking her harness. “Well I say that, had a hell of a time during the world wars when sodomy was still illegal.”
“You fought in the world wars?” she asked, and he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Where d’you think I got the outfit? As I said, used to be a soldier, and figured that when there was a good cause to fight for, my presence might be helpful given my... talents.”
Before she could ask further question he continued, clearly not wishing to dwell on the subject.
“Anyway, thanks to your kind non-intervention I didn’t just get to know the very gorgeous Lieutenant Mancini, I also got us the best plane on the whole base. Win-win all around! You comfortable?”
She nodded, and he grinned. “Great!”
Slipping into his own seat with an ease that eloquently belied his claims of ‘rustiness’, he started flicking switches and pressing buttons, before saying “Houston - do you copy?” into his communication thing and causing her to giggle in a very un-Slayer-like fashion.
Then, in what seemed to be no time at all to her suddenly nervous mind, they were actually ready for takeoff, and she had to do her best to tell herself that she’d been through apocalypses and this couldn’t possibly be more scary. Especially since her boyfriend appeared to use it as an excuse to show off.
And all of a sudden they were in the air... actually flying in a tiny little vessel; far, far different from the enormous monster that had brought her across from America.
But looking out, she understood what he had meant - driving was nothing like it.
It was as if all the problems that followed her around had been left behind on the ground... All the never-ending concerns she could trace back to that first fateful day when three Potentials had walked through her front door, invading her life as if it was their right. They didn’t need physical protection anymore, but trying to provide remote guidance to so many was draining in a way she’d not foreseen.
Yet, up here the world seemed smaller, more manageable. She could get lost in the extraordinary view, and her devoted pilot easily followed her every suggestion; diving down to study rivers and fields and then swooping back up to the clouds, leaving the earth far, far below.
It was incredible and breathtaking, and it made her feel... free.
***
For the duration of the flight Jack happily listened to the exclamations emanating from the other seat - but most of all he listened to the silences; the awestruck quiet at the beauty and wonder spread out beneath them.
Even so there was a part of him that was aching at the limited nature of their little adventure. He wished he could show her the stars, the endless worlds out there gleaming with wonder, of which he himself had only seen the merest fraction. This little plane - for all the advances of the last century - felt hopelessly slow and primitive, especially compared to the craft he was dismantling, which could tear up light years like dry grass.
Still - there was something fitting about showing her some of the marvels of her own planet, given who and what she was. Grant her an opportunity to see it anew, and hopefully help her feel that the sacrifices were all worth it - something he often had trouble remembering himself, being stuck against his will.
Watching the patchwork greenness below, he couldn’t help but feeling a familiar stab of pain... Earth was beautiful; Earth was special - but it wasn’t home.
***
It wasn’t until they were back in the car, heading towards Rome once more, that Buffy tried to formulate her thoughts and impressions. The Immortal listened quietly, then nodded.
“Amazing, I know. It...” he searched for the words, “It gives a wonderful illusion of freedom.”
She frowned. “Illusion?”
“Where is there to go?”
The look he shot her was strange, coded in a way she couldn’t decipher at all. Pondering possible meanings she guessed he meant that he couldn’t run from himself, except there seemed to be something else to it. But as she was about to ask, he suddenly uttered a loud exclamation and waved towards the glove compartment.
“I can’t believe I forgot - I got the dibs on Marco. There’s a folder in there with all the relevant information.”
She pulled out a nondescript folder, eyes widening as she flicked through the papers inside. Wage slips, e-mails, bank statements, a couple of speeding fines (ha! She’d said he was a dangerous driver), old school reports - everything she could possibly want. Still...
“How - how did you get all this?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
She could feel her eyebrows raising themselves at this statement - something she had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say, judging by the sudden guarded look in his eyes, and his swift follow-up ramble.
“He seems a nice kid by the way. Works in his brother’s garage; nice, stable job. Took the car round there Saturday and had it checked up - boy knows his stuff, and his brother said he was sensible enough, despite his posturing. Should be just enough of a bad boy for Dawn to feel that she’s rebelling... do teenagers do that anymore? Or do they all just say ‘whatever’, and ignore people? ‘Fraid that keeping up with youthful trends is something I’m not always on top of. Getting old I suppose.”
“Well... uh... thank you,” she said, a little lamely. What sort of power did he have? And how? Why? Looked at in a sinister light his ability to manipulate the system was deeply worrying - and yet on the other hand he had apparently fought in wars for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.
He made no sense. But then, he didn’t really have to... He was quite simply her very own cross between Prince Charming and a Fairy Godmother.
Tuesday 13th April.
Buffy woke to rain beating against her windows, but it made no dent in the happy mood in the flat. Dawn, still thrilled at Buffy’s sudden change of heart re. Marco, even brought her breakfast in bed, which made Buffy think that possibly she should let her little sister have her own way a lot more.
After showering and dressing, she was ready to greet the day properly. A little part of her, somewhere inside, was still flying - happily floating above all her work and responsibilities. It was like a fairy tale corner, where she kept her Perfect Boyfriend who could make anything better just by waving his magic wand...
As she contemplated the appropriateness of her analogy, Dawn cheerily handed her the morning’s post, before breezing out the door, humming.
Glancing at the bundle in her hand, Buffy noticed a large envelope with English stamps in amongst the bills, and sighed. Tossing the bills on the kitchen table, she cautiously opened the mysterious envelope - for a few unnerving seconds expecting paparazzi style photos of her watery adventures to spill out, in addition to a letter threatening blackmail... or possibly a stern note from Giles.
It turned out that there was a letter from Giles, along with a plastic folder with papers. With sinking heart she picked up the letter, Giles’s spidery writing as difficult to read as always. She knew that he had mastered the art of e-mailing (as her ever-increasing load of reports from the world of Slaying testified to), so why bother writing?
Only one way to find out... Sitting down at the table she began reading.
London, Council of Watchers, 12th of April, 2004
My dear Buffy
First of all I must apologise for my misjudged phone call last Friday. I fear that I upset you, which was far from my intention - I am all too acutely aware of past missteps on my part. However, I feel that I would fail in my duties if I did not point out to you the precariousness of your current situation. Having no right to meddle in your private life, I nevertheless hope that you will read the document I am enclosing, since it is one of the only direct reports of The Immortal’s actions in existence. It consists of extracts from the diaries of a highly regarded Watcher by the name of Strantham who retired to Rome during the Twenties for the sake of studying rare texts at the Vatican. I assure you that you can trust his word most explicitly, and am sure you will understand why your involvement with the person in question is making me uneasy.
Affectionately yours,
Rupert Giles
She stared at the letter for a long moment, then slowly pulled out the sheaves of paper - obviously photocopied from the original - but Strantham had very clear handwriting so reading wouldn’t be a problem. She hesitated momentarily, but curiosity swiftly won out. What could have rattled Giles? What kind of skeletons did The Immortal have in his cupboard?
Rome, Sunday 27th of May, the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Twenty Three.
According to rumours The Immortal has returned to Rome. My sources came to me unbidden to relay this information (disturbing my Sunday reflections), intimating that the demon community is in high spirits. I sincerely hope we shall have no unpleasantness, although as far as I can ascertain the creature is, like most of society these days, only interested in dancing and frivolity.
11th of June.
...and as regards The Immortal, the stories would appear to hold true. He seems to float upon society like a bubble, keeping the most dreadful company and yet somehow managing to be held in high esteem by otherwise level-headed personages. It is probably nothing more than a simple glamour, but people are sadly all too easily swayed by nothing more than a pretty face and a reputation for notoriety.
15th of June.
Today has brought good tidings. None other than Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter has arrived in town - to what end is unclear, but I believe that is always the case. After all, a demon hunter as distinguished as he does well not to disclose what quarry he is hunting. I have sent him a dinner invitation, feeling a duty to my fellow countryman, and also I must profess myself curious. I sincerely hope he will honour me with his company.
19th of June.
What a truly fascinating evening. I do not believe that Daniel Holtz himself could have told stories of such bravery and audacity. Mr Baxter is however not one to put himself forward as a hero, modestly downplaying his extraordinary adventures. He has the dashing looks and physical prowess of a star of the silver screen, but I found him a thoroughly earnest man, wholeheartedly dedicated to eradicating the forces of darkness all around us, without expecting or wishing for any thanks or adulation. I have heard that he was highly decorated for his efforts during the war, and this I do not doubt.
I shall now commit to paper the tales he told me, and I sincerely hope that they will be studied by future generations, since both Watchers and Slayers could benefit greatly from this man’s boldness, fortitude and quiet determination...
22nd of June.
Unsettling news this morning - it would appear that The Immortal has saved the life of Baldassare the Unflinching, head of the Diretto Clan. Any details are hard to come by, unfortunately, but I know that it is rumoured that Baldassare was one of the instigators of the Massacre at Manziana of 1871, which would not be surprising - the clan is notorious for its hatred of humans, existing in uneasy peace with humankind only thanks to Wolfram & Hart. I have repeatedly asked the Council to step in, but so far my efforts have gone unheeded - I fear we need another massacre before anyone takes notice.
23rd of June.
More information has emerged. Out of gratitude for the preserving of his life, Baldassare will throw a lavish party in The Immortal’s honour a week tomorrow, and also bequeath to him his youngest and most beautiful daughter, who, so I am told, goes by the name of ‘Venus’. (I must note that I do not see how the words ‘beautiful’ and ‘demon’ are compatible.)
2nd of July.
I do not know how best to chronicle the disturbing events of the past twenty four hours, but I know an attempt must be made. Just as I was about to depart for bed last night, a messenger knocked on the door, relaying a deeply troubling story. Having spent the night attempting to establish the course of events, these are the facts I have been able to verify:
During the festivities for The Immortal, Baxter attacked the demon party, killing at least five and injuring many more, including The Immortal’s new consort. The Immortal is furious, and has issued a statement demanding that Baxter apologise and offer contrition - or face the consequences. Baxter’s reply was, of course, a blank refusal. I fear the worst - the Diretto clan are baying for blood and will undoubtedly take revenge on the residents of Rome. All they’ve needed was a provocation and unfortunately Mr Baxter has given it to them. I wish I could say that I am surprised, but having had the privilege of Mr Baxter’s company, I know that he would always strike out with boldness against any foe, rather than wait.
3rd of July.
Baxter has disappeared, and that is all I have been able to ascertain. No one knows exactly how or when. But my sources all agree that this is only what is to be expected from crossing The Immortal, and that Baxter brought it on himself - I even heard a story that The Immortal cuckolded Angelus when the vampire declared enmity, but I find it hard to give any credibility to such a tale. However the situation is grim and I am deeply worried at this turn of events; the loss of Baxter would be a grievous blow to the fight against the dark forces in this world.
6th of July.
The twists and turns that life throws at us is a never ceasing source of disbelief to me lately. It has now been three days since Baxter’s disappearance, and, having carefully considered what steps to take, I have sadly failed to decide upon the best course of action. And a short while ago another hurdle was thrown in my path. Mrs. Hodkinson came to my study, looking flustered (I would have said blushing if I hadn’t known her to be a most phlegmatic personage) informing me that I had a visitor. Unsettled I hastened to the lobby where I found an immaculately dressed man waiting for me, and never, I am sure, has the description ‘devilishly handsome’ been more accurate. Upon seeing me he extended a hand, smiling.
“Mr Strantham I presume? I’m The Immortal, as I'm sure you know. Afraid I’ve come to ask a favour, since from what I can gather you’re the local expert on magicks.”
I shook his hand as if in a daze, only belatedly realising what I was doing. I fear that I was somewhat perplexed by his American accent - I had presumed that he was of Italian origin, an unfortunate conclusion due to inadequate investigation. As swiftly as possible I disengaged myself, asking with as much calm as I could muster what this favour could be.
“Well, I’m sure you’re aware of recent... developments, and the fact that my girl - Venus - was injured. I’ve done everything I can medically - and trust me, that’s more than you can imagine - but she’s not getting any better. I’m thinking that maybe this has something to do with it.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a dart (of the sort used in crossbows), only this one had been very carefully marked with magickal symbols, easily visible through the remnants of dried blood still adhering to it.
“I was wondering if maybe you could work out what the problem is, and make some sort of counter curse or whatever. Afraid magick is not my thing.”
For a moment I could not believe his arrogance - his sheer audacity in daring to come to my house with a request such as this.
“I am afraid that it is against Council policy to aid any demonic being,” I answered frostily, trying to restrain myself from bodily ejecting him from the premises.
“I thought it might be,” he replied lightly, “but as far as I am aware you are retired, and I’m very good at keeping things quiet. Surely there’s something I could offer you in return? Name it, and you’ll get it.”
What sort of fool did he take me for? Yet, I knew immediately what my reply would be.
“I wish for an assurance of Baxter’s well-being and his immediate return.”
The easy smile faded from his face instantly, his eyes and the lines of his face hardening.
“Afraid the xenophobic bastard known as Baxter is... how shall I put it? Inconvenienced. Forever.”
“Have you no honour?” I gasped, unsettled at such contempt and insolence. “The man of whom you speak is a hero!”
“Heroes,” he replied, sneering, “tend to have the decency to apologise - to feel some tiny smidgen of remorse - when they hurt the innocent. Although I don’t suppose my girl counts; after all, not only is she not human, she isn’t even British!”
His eyes narrowed, holding nothing but disdain. “You English with your precious Empire... Take my word for it, it’s all downhill from here. And you have so very far to fall...”
He turned to leave, but the gall of the man forced me to call after him.
“I could have you arrested for murder!”
Stopping at my words, he doubled back, eyes glinting dangerously.
“Tell you what - you find Baxter’s body and I’ll walk down to the police station myself!”
Then he laughed, as though he had told a good jest, and proceeded to stride out of the door, not looking back.
I am not sure what to make of him - his self-confidence is clearly not a smoke screen, and I have no doubts that he is capable of murder. But I fear that he is also too clever to leave any evidence. I shall write to the Council asking for assistance in discovering Baxter’s whereabouts - or his body, as I fear the case might be.
The diary extracts ended there, but Giles had added a note.
Baxter was never seen or heard of since, nor was his body ever discovered, despite intensive searches of every kind - it would appear that the man quite simply disappeared off the face of the earth. I sincerely hope you can see why this report disturbs me greatly, and not hold it against me that I brought it to your attention.
Rupert Giles
Buffy sat for a long while in silence. If Giles had hoped to shock or surprise her, he had failed... The story wasn’t just plausible, she could almost see it play out - remembered clearly that first morning in the warehouse when she’d seen The Immortal coiled up with anger, his finger a whisper away from pulling the trigger and ending the life of a creature who had tried to hurt a girl... The fact that the girl had been human and the criminal a demon had been wholly incidental - species, she knew, would make no difference to his reactions. He seemed to view the world from a very different perspective than anyone else she had ever met. And have a different sort of power...
She’d known he was dangerous - she wasn’t stupid - but she’d ignored it, because... well, because he wasn’t evil (quite probably a genuine white hat, from the hints he dropped), and she was used to danger. If she was perfectly honest, it was probably the thrill of that veiled darkness that had pulled her in.
Why did she have such an appalling taste in men?
But in this case the darkness was supposed to stay hidden - not to have a giant flashlight shone at it. Despite her continual attempts at getting him to talk, she was quite happy with him being secretive, because then she could easily project her fairy tale onto him. But fairy tale princes didn’t go around killing people, no matter the circumstances - they only went after wicked witches and dragons.
Tiredly she reached for her phone. Better see him as soon as possible - before making up her mind, she wanted his side of the story. There could be unknown factors... Not that she could see how.
Why did Giles have to be so pedantic?
Evening.
She pulled up outside the Immortal’s mansion as gracefully as she could - which wasn’t very, unfortunately. She could be graceful when decapitating, but not when driving... Although she told herself that tonight it might be because the roads were still wet.
After parking and locking the moped, she determinedly walked up to the imposing front door. She could do this - more than anything she had an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. Finding out that her boyfriend had something dark in his past (and/or present) was par for the course, and, despite the disappointment, at least she knew how to deal with this sort of situation.
Taking a deep breath she pressed the bell.
Her hand was still on the button when the door opened, and the footman smiled widely when he saw her.
“Miss Summers. Welcome. Please - allow me to take your coat.”
She happily allowed herself to be divested of her coat, and was then informed that ‘His Benevolence’ was to be found in the main living room.
Walking through the house she could smell the enticing early signs of dinner and heard someone sing off key somewhere upstairs, before smiling to a girl carrying a pile of towels that reached above her head, and - as always - shook her head at the row of nude sketches prominently displayed in the hallway.
But as she came to the door she had been aiming for, she realised that she might have to fight for her man. He was deep in what looked like a drawn-out argument, and for once he seemed to have met his match. He was sitting in the largest sofa, his chin resting on his hands, and a girl was standing in front of him, the glow from the newly lit fire dancing across her back. She was wearing a shiny pink dress, shiny pink plastic sandals, a sparkly plastic tiara with matching wand, and a pair of wings (slightly askew) on her back. She looked to be around 4, but Buffy could recognise the look of stubborn determination on her face, and wondered what they could be arguing about - and why The Immortal was even bothering.
She watched them for a moment, leaning against the door frame, being in no hurry to interrupt. She’d not really seen The Immortal interact with children before, but it was clear that he adored them - he had that knack of not talking down, and was obviously negotiating with an equal. Smiling at the situation, she thought to herself that maybe she was insane, coming to quiz him about possible murder... .
After a minute however he appeared to fold, and the girl, head held high, listed off her conditions. He nodded sombrely, and then they were interrupted by a piercing yell from somewhere else in the house.
“Mariiiiiiina!”
Ah, Buffy thought, Francesca’s granddaughter - the artist behind the fridge art.
The girl rolled her eyes, before making for the door, but was called back sharply by The Immortal, who was holding out his hand with an air of expectation.
Pulling a face the girl untangled herself from the wings and handed them over with an evil look, and The Immortal offered a very serious ‘grazie’ in return.
Not even bothering to shoot Buffy a glance the child disappeared, her shoes making a happy clacking sound on the floor as she ran past, and The Immortal looked up, smiling.
“I think I might have bankrupted myself, and possibly sold her soul to Disney... that child drives a hard bargain! But, it was worth it - no more fairies! I know it’s overkill, but quite frankly I don’t care.”
The smile barely hiding clear distaste he tossed the wings into the fire, watching them burn with an intensity that was rather unnerving.
Buffy walked up to him, thrown at this bizarre turn of events.
“You... have a fairy phobia?” she asked carefully, thinking that this might just outdo Anya’s bunny thing.
He shook his head. “Not a phobia. A very rational, fact based and serious fear.” As he caught her eyes, she could glimpse an almost invisible shudder.
“Fairies are real? And... evil?” she queried - sceptical, but unsettled.
“I don’t know what they are,” he replied earnestly, “but if you ever glimpse one - and it’s never more than a glimpse; something out of the corner of your eye, something you can’t really see - just... just run. Buffy - promise me you won’t fight. It’ll be the last thing you ever do, trust me.”
She nodded, and - still looking tense - he turned back to the fire where the metal wires glowed in the heat. She was on the cusp of asking him what had happened, when he turned round and threw himself back into the sofa, beckoning her to sit with him.
“But - you wanted to talk. Ominous words those, coming from a woman.”
She smiled lightly and settled into his embrace, wondering how to broach the subject. And desperately hoping that there was some sort of logical explanation for the whole thing because she didn’t want to stop dating him. Really, really didn’t want to stop.
“Did I mention Giles to you?”
“Briefly, but I think I got the basics. Fatherfigure-y Head of the Council?”
She nodded, swallowing. “He... he’s not very keen on me dating you, and sent me this diary by an old Watcher called Strantham...”
It took a moment, but then she saw things join up. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him - surprise, worry, regret, guilt, denial... But what she got was a drolly lifted eyebrow and slight annoyance mixed with resignation.
“This is about Baxter, isn’t it?” He smiled wryly. “Eighty years gone, and finally his ghost comes back to haunt me. Typical. Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter, Scourge of the demon world and all-round great hero and protector... Go on, what do you want to know?”
No point in beating around the bush: “Did you kill him?”
The Immortal’s eyes narrowed, and there was a pregnant pause before he replied.
“Define ‘kill’.”
She didn’t deign the question with an answer, and he sighed. “I didn’t murder him, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I didn’t let any of the Diretto Clan have their merry way with him either, although god knows I was tempted.”
“So... he just went ‘poof’?”
The Immortal grinned. “That’s a good term. I like it. Yes that’s it exactly. He ‘went poof’.”
“This isn’t funny.” She slapped his hand away, as it began to explore, clearly trying to distract her. Well he didn’t know Buffy Summers when she wanted answers. “Was it you?”
No hesitation this time. “Yes.”
That was something at least. “So... what did you do? If you didn’t kill him...”
He looked as though he was carefully considering his answer, and she wondered if she could trust anything he said.
“Well... if you wanted to be melodramatic I suppose you could say that it was a fate worse than death.”
She knew that he hadn’t meant what the words implied, but still her immediate reaction must have shown on her face, because he took one look at her and burst out laughing - that infectious, no-holds-barred laughter that she adored. She’d never met anyone who laughed so wholeheartedly.
And it was just wrong - they were having a serious discussion about serious things and giggling fits most definitely weren’t part of the script. This relationship just refused to behave the way relationships should.
Her dismay only increased his merriment, and it took a good while before he managed to catch his breath again.
“Oh Buffy, I like how your mind works! You know, that particular course of action never crossed my mind, even though he was a good looking guy.” He chuckled a little more, wiping his eyes. “I wonder what he’d have said... Given that he already thought that I was nothing but a foul, disgusting pervert. Never understood me at all.”
“But you understood him?” Keep him talking, that was the key - he often got carried away and said more than he meant to.
“He wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. Knew the type inside out - a classic product of his upbringing and culture... the quintessential Englishman I suppose you could say. Honest and polite to a fault of course, but born into the ruling class of an Empire that by then spanned a quarter of the globe. People like that make for dangerous vigilantes - especially when they operate alone and think they can do whatever they want.”
His eyes narrowed, studying her. “I know I’m stating the obvious, but doing a job like that - operating outside the government and the law - you need other people beside you. Not to mention rules and regulations.”
She blinked, feeling like she’d fallen into a parallel universe. “Rules. And Regulations. Right. Next you’re going to tell me that the best way of battling the forces of darkness is through focus-groups.”
He chuckled, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that was hard to miss. “C’mon, you have untold hordes of super-powered hormone bombs on your hands, don’t tell me you aren’t keeping them on a tight leash!”
His words brought up her perpetual worries - those that she came to him to forget... But that’s what she got for needing answers.
“Guess I just have problems seeing you as the rules-and-regulations type.”
He smirked. “Hey - if there are no rules, you can’t break them!”
Smirk fading, he continued. “And Baxter made me break my own rule of never getting involved in anything while I’m here... But I couldn’t let it go - and not just for my own sake. The Diretto clan are W&H clients, the whole thing could have imploded in a very nasty way. So... I took care of it.”
“And did what?”
He smiled, and lightly replied. “Like I said - I made him ‘go poof’.”
Oh great, now they were going in circles. She glared at him, willing him to talk. “Listen - I need more.”
He sat up and studied her, before shaking his head; stubbornness and quiet anger in his eyes. “No. He was a dangerous, narrow-minded man who killed anyone who looked different, no matter who they were. I’m not sorry I got rid of him, and I’d do it again. And yes, I have... issues, and I might have taken them out on him. I can forgive just about anything except bigotry.”
For a long moment she just looked at him, trying to get her thoughts in order. He cared what she thought - didn’t want her to think him something he wasn’t - and yet he didn’t seek or need her approval. She could take him or leave him, but he wouldn’t bend as much an inch to accomodate her.
And it was maddening. Why wouldn’t he talk? Was it because he knew she’d disapprove, or was it just because he liked keeping secrets? How was she supposed to make an informed choice when he wouldn’t give her the relevant facts? What could he possibly have done? People didn’t just vanish-
“Oh!” She refocussed on him, sharply. “Did you... did you send him to a parallel dimension? Like... like the Land of Trolls or the World without Shrimp?”
Slowly a wide grin spread across his face, and there was pure admiration in his eyes when he spoke. “Oh you are good, Miss Summers. Very, very good!”
The compliment filled her with a warm glow - despite all his secrecy he seemed to genuinely appreciate it when she figured things out. Then he smiled wistfully, in the way that always made him look old, even as it softened his features.
“If only things were different...” he continued, quietly and resignedly, before falling silent, gently letting his hands trail through her hair, a strange melancholy longing in his eyes.
“Different how?” she asked, feeling even more off-kilter than usual, their argument momentarily forgotten.
“The things I could do once...” he started, then shook his head; avoiding her gaze. “I lost so much.”
She didn’t have the first clue what he was on about, but before she could ask he took a breath and very obviously pulled away from the subject.
“Listen - if you want to leave just say so, but don’t do it because of Baxter, he’s not worth it. Seriously he’s nothing compared to-” he stopped, smiled tightly.
“Your ex-Watcher has a point I suppose. Despite saving the world on a far too regular basis, I’m not really in your league, hero-wise... Too many - far, far too many compromises.”
There was a bitterness in his words that was more affecting than all his previous justifications, but as she opened her mouth to speak - not entirely sure what to say - he swiftly added. “Oh, and I didn’t shove him into a different world by the way, mostly because it’s way too unpredictable - he could have ended up in... uh, the world of the slaughtering rat people, or the home of the universe's most comfortable couch, there’s no way of telling. But it was plan B, so you weren’t far off the mark.”
For a moment silence fell, and she couldn’t help feeling somewhat of a hypocrite - hadn’t she gone after Faith, intending to kill her? And not just for the cure, but for vengeance... Really, if she was honest, maybe her sharp reaction was due to understanding him too well...
Misunderstanding her silence, The Immortal gently put a finger under her chin, lifting her face.
“I mean it - you owe me nothing. Guess I’m just selfishly hoping that you think I’m too gorgeous to walk out on.”
The moment was broken by a polite knock at the door, a servant announcing that dinner was served.
The Immortal got up and held out his hand, and she hesitated. Looking up at him, letting her mind run through everything that had happened, she kept coming back to the same question.
“Who are you?”
He tilted his head, and for a single second she thought he might actually tell her. Then he smiled. “I’m just a guy.”
“Right,” she replied, wryly, trying her best not to roll her eyes. “That’s what I’ll tell Giles.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes, and reaching out he grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.
“Well why don’t you ask your Mr Giles to come visit? He could meet me in person, make up his own mind.” He thought for a moment. “It’ll be May Bank Holiday in a couple of weeks - I’m sure he can get away then. Everyone does.”
“Invite him here?” He couldn’t be serious.
“Absolutely. Get your friends to come too, if you like. It could be like a reunion or something. I’d like to meet them, and you can show me off.”
Moments before he’d been saying that he wasn’t good enough for her, and now he acted like he was some sort of trophy boyfriend - clearly his self-confidence never wavered for long. Then he grinned, showing off those fateful dimples, and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Go on! What’s the worst that could happen?”
Chapter 10
Lots of thank you's to
kathyh for her help! (Previous parts here.)Pairing: Buffy/Jack
Rating: PG-13
Setting: 2004 (post-Chosen/pre-S1 of TW)
Spoilers: S2 of TW (eventually)
Wordcount: 7100 words.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Feedback: Oh yes please, that would be *wonderful*!
Jack: You're carving up a sentient creature! And you've got to stop.
~
Wesley: It's not Council policy to cure vampires. [...] Not under any circumstances, and yes, I did try to convince them.
Buffy: Try again.
Wesley: Buffy, they're very firm. We're talking about laws that have existed longer than civilisation.
~
Gwen: He was murdered?
Toshiko: Yes.
Gwen: And you covered it up?
Toshiko: That's my job.
Monday April 12th.
The weekend had been taken up with sisterly and Slayer-y things - including patrol Sunday night - and Buffy felt resentful at the persistent knocking on her door at early-o’clock on Monday morning. Dragging herself out of bed she opened the door, only to find some sort of time warp vision outside.
On closer inspection the vision turned out to be The Immortal, looking as though he’d stepped right out of a history book in an old-fashioned pilot’s uniform - dark blue pants, big leather jacket with fur lining and a flying cap perched on top of his head.
“Wow!” was all she could manage, and he laughed, delighted.
“And a good morning to you too, ma’am. Sorry about the short notice, but would you care to join me for a little spin in the fabulous flying machine I have managed to borrow?”
She blinked, dimly recalling him mentioning something about taking her out flying. “Uh - yeah, sure. Just... need some clothes and... um, breakfast...”
“By all means,” he replied, stepping through the door and simultaneously pulling her close. “You want some help undressing?”
After giving in to a swift kiss, she stepped away smartly. “Maybe later? I mean, you seem to be in a hurry.”
Letting his eyes linger, he smiled and removed the cap. “Not that much of a hurry...”
They were interrupted by Dawn, glaring at them with ill concealed disgust. “Oh my God. Seriously - you have a mansion to... frolic in! Is it so much to ask that you keep your hands off her here?”
So she got dressed rather quickly after all.
Buffy wasn’t quite sure what she’d imagined - maybe some kind of private learjet belonging to one of his equally loaded friends (did he have rich friends that weren’t demons? And did demons have planes?) - but as a dull, grey military base came into view she discarded that train of thought.
Although, in hindsight, the Jeep had been a dead giveaway.
They drove up to the entrance checkpoint and The Immortal smiled at the surly guard, flashed some sort of identification in his face, and they were waved through. She couldn’t help following the documents with her eyes as he shoved them back in his shirt pocket, and he shot her a shrewd glance.
“If you like you can have a look. But be warned - they’re fake!”
Rolling her eyes she declined - she really ought to have known that it wouldn’t be that easy to find out who he was. His name ought to be Mr Enigma or something.
Following the road until they reached a parking lot, The Immortal deftly parked the car, before getting out and holding Buffy’s door for her. As she stepped out she looked up and saw a stunningly handsome young soldier swiftly walking towards them. He was dressed in fatigues, with a very fetching red cap on his head, and Buffy thought to herself that she’d forgotten just how appealing the whole military look could be.
Turning to The Immortal she realised that some invisible switch had clearly been flipped.
“Hel-lo,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling widely, and the soldier faltered a little.
“Captain Jenkins?” he asked, and The Immortal nodded happily, shaking the cautiously proffered hand and holding it for far too long. “The very same. And who might you be, Lieutenant?”
“Mancini. Ermanno Mancini.”
“Well it’s very nice to meet you Ermanno - can I call you that?”
The soldier nodded, tentatively smiling back, and The Immortal happily continued, his focus fixed on the soldier with such intensity that Buffy felt like asking the poor guy if he wanted to borrow some sunglasses.
“This is Miss Summers,” The Immortal made a superficial gesture in her direction, but continued before Ermanno could shake her hand, “-am I correct in thinking that you’ll be showing us the ropes? Please, lead the way.”
There followed an intense instruction session, with entirely too much focus on things that could go wrong, and what buttons to press in which scenario and how to strap into a horrible harness and how an ejector seat worked, The Immortal of course deciding that he needed everything demonstrating in as hands-on a way as possible, since he was ‘a little rusty’.
There was also a lot of male - verging on geeky - bonding going on, as the two of them discussed ridiculously complicated technical things to do with flying, the terminology so full of numbers and shortenings that it sounded like another language.
Despite parts of her certainly experiencing twinges of jealousy, she nonetheless felt a certain fascination observing The Immortal ‘in full flirt’. It was a little like being an anthropologist or something - her lessons on human behaviour with Professor Walsh slowly coming back to her. She’d been too dazzled at their own first meeting to actually notice how he’d done the dazzling, but watching him now she could recognise certain similarities - voice, looks, gestures; that pure, undiluted interest that made you feel like the most special person in the world. Also she could see how his flirting with the various waiters they’d met was different - one nothing more than a reflex, and the other calculated to be as grating and crude as possible.
But Ermanno clearly warranted special attention from The Immortal’s point of view (he’d mentioned liking men in uniform, she really shouldn’t have been surprised), so she bit her tongue and tried her best to pretend that she was happy being third wheel. Especially since Ermanno was quite obviously not immune to ‘Captain Jenkin’s’ charms, considering the careful encouragement he was returning.
However she couldn’t help feel a little sorry for the young man, since she was reasonably sure that The Immortal wouldn’t actually cheat right in front of her, so - despite everything - he didn’t actually stand a chance... Hopefully he wouldn’t be too disappointed.
Finally, after Buffy had done her best not to die of boredom, Ermanno seemed satisfied that they were ready to go, and The Immortal beckoned Buffy forwards to a fast and dangerous looking plane.
“Did I ever tell you that you are the perfect girlfriend?” he asked as he helped her in, voice not far above a murmur, and she shook her head. “Don’t think so. But you could certainly make a habit of it if you like.”
He chuckled. “Well you are! Most people in this day and age are so damn... possessive, which is very tiring. Flirting never hurt anyone...” He pulled a face, checking her harness. “Well I say that, had a hell of a time during the world wars when sodomy was still illegal.”
“You fought in the world wars?” she asked, and he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Where d’you think I got the outfit? As I said, used to be a soldier, and figured that when there was a good cause to fight for, my presence might be helpful given my... talents.”
Before she could ask further question he continued, clearly not wishing to dwell on the subject.
“Anyway, thanks to your kind non-intervention I didn’t just get to know the very gorgeous Lieutenant Mancini, I also got us the best plane on the whole base. Win-win all around! You comfortable?”
She nodded, and he grinned. “Great!”
Slipping into his own seat with an ease that eloquently belied his claims of ‘rustiness’, he started flicking switches and pressing buttons, before saying “Houston - do you copy?” into his communication thing and causing her to giggle in a very un-Slayer-like fashion.
Then, in what seemed to be no time at all to her suddenly nervous mind, they were actually ready for takeoff, and she had to do her best to tell herself that she’d been through apocalypses and this couldn’t possibly be more scary. Especially since her boyfriend appeared to use it as an excuse to show off.
And all of a sudden they were in the air... actually flying in a tiny little vessel; far, far different from the enormous monster that had brought her across from America.
But looking out, she understood what he had meant - driving was nothing like it.
It was as if all the problems that followed her around had been left behind on the ground... All the never-ending concerns she could trace back to that first fateful day when three Potentials had walked through her front door, invading her life as if it was their right. They didn’t need physical protection anymore, but trying to provide remote guidance to so many was draining in a way she’d not foreseen.
Yet, up here the world seemed smaller, more manageable. She could get lost in the extraordinary view, and her devoted pilot easily followed her every suggestion; diving down to study rivers and fields and then swooping back up to the clouds, leaving the earth far, far below.
It was incredible and breathtaking, and it made her feel... free.
For the duration of the flight Jack happily listened to the exclamations emanating from the other seat - but most of all he listened to the silences; the awestruck quiet at the beauty and wonder spread out beneath them.
Even so there was a part of him that was aching at the limited nature of their little adventure. He wished he could show her the stars, the endless worlds out there gleaming with wonder, of which he himself had only seen the merest fraction. This little plane - for all the advances of the last century - felt hopelessly slow and primitive, especially compared to the craft he was dismantling, which could tear up light years like dry grass.
Still - there was something fitting about showing her some of the marvels of her own planet, given who and what she was. Grant her an opportunity to see it anew, and hopefully help her feel that the sacrifices were all worth it - something he often had trouble remembering himself, being stuck against his will.
Watching the patchwork greenness below, he couldn’t help but feeling a familiar stab of pain... Earth was beautiful; Earth was special - but it wasn’t home.
It wasn’t until they were back in the car, heading towards Rome once more, that Buffy tried to formulate her thoughts and impressions. The Immortal listened quietly, then nodded.
“Amazing, I know. It...” he searched for the words, “It gives a wonderful illusion of freedom.”
She frowned. “Illusion?”
“Where is there to go?”
The look he shot her was strange, coded in a way she couldn’t decipher at all. Pondering possible meanings she guessed he meant that he couldn’t run from himself, except there seemed to be something else to it. But as she was about to ask, he suddenly uttered a loud exclamation and waved towards the glove compartment.
“I can’t believe I forgot - I got the dibs on Marco. There’s a folder in there with all the relevant information.”
She pulled out a nondescript folder, eyes widening as she flicked through the papers inside. Wage slips, e-mails, bank statements, a couple of speeding fines (ha! She’d said he was a dangerous driver), old school reports - everything she could possibly want. Still...
“How - how did you get all this?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
She could feel her eyebrows raising themselves at this statement - something she had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say, judging by the sudden guarded look in his eyes, and his swift follow-up ramble.
“He seems a nice kid by the way. Works in his brother’s garage; nice, stable job. Took the car round there Saturday and had it checked up - boy knows his stuff, and his brother said he was sensible enough, despite his posturing. Should be just enough of a bad boy for Dawn to feel that she’s rebelling... do teenagers do that anymore? Or do they all just say ‘whatever’, and ignore people? ‘Fraid that keeping up with youthful trends is something I’m not always on top of. Getting old I suppose.”
“Well... uh... thank you,” she said, a little lamely. What sort of power did he have? And how? Why? Looked at in a sinister light his ability to manipulate the system was deeply worrying - and yet on the other hand he had apparently fought in wars for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.
He made no sense. But then, he didn’t really have to... He was quite simply her very own cross between Prince Charming and a Fairy Godmother.
Tuesday 13th April.
Buffy woke to rain beating against her windows, but it made no dent in the happy mood in the flat. Dawn, still thrilled at Buffy’s sudden change of heart re. Marco, even brought her breakfast in bed, which made Buffy think that possibly she should let her little sister have her own way a lot more.
After showering and dressing, she was ready to greet the day properly. A little part of her, somewhere inside, was still flying - happily floating above all her work and responsibilities. It was like a fairy tale corner, where she kept her Perfect Boyfriend who could make anything better just by waving his magic wand...
As she contemplated the appropriateness of her analogy, Dawn cheerily handed her the morning’s post, before breezing out the door, humming.
Glancing at the bundle in her hand, Buffy noticed a large envelope with English stamps in amongst the bills, and sighed. Tossing the bills on the kitchen table, she cautiously opened the mysterious envelope - for a few unnerving seconds expecting paparazzi style photos of her watery adventures to spill out, in addition to a letter threatening blackmail... or possibly a stern note from Giles.
It turned out that there was a letter from Giles, along with a plastic folder with papers. With sinking heart she picked up the letter, Giles’s spidery writing as difficult to read as always. She knew that he had mastered the art of e-mailing (as her ever-increasing load of reports from the world of Slaying testified to), so why bother writing?
Only one way to find out... Sitting down at the table she began reading.
London, Council of Watchers, 12th of April, 2004
My dear Buffy
First of all I must apologise for my misjudged phone call last Friday. I fear that I upset you, which was far from my intention - I am all too acutely aware of past missteps on my part. However, I feel that I would fail in my duties if I did not point out to you the precariousness of your current situation. Having no right to meddle in your private life, I nevertheless hope that you will read the document I am enclosing, since it is one of the only direct reports of The Immortal’s actions in existence. It consists of extracts from the diaries of a highly regarded Watcher by the name of Strantham who retired to Rome during the Twenties for the sake of studying rare texts at the Vatican. I assure you that you can trust his word most explicitly, and am sure you will understand why your involvement with the person in question is making me uneasy.
Affectionately yours,
Rupert Giles
She stared at the letter for a long moment, then slowly pulled out the sheaves of paper - obviously photocopied from the original - but Strantham had very clear handwriting so reading wouldn’t be a problem. She hesitated momentarily, but curiosity swiftly won out. What could have rattled Giles? What kind of skeletons did The Immortal have in his cupboard?
Rome, Sunday 27th of May, the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Twenty Three.
According to rumours The Immortal has returned to Rome. My sources came to me unbidden to relay this information (disturbing my Sunday reflections), intimating that the demon community is in high spirits. I sincerely hope we shall have no unpleasantness, although as far as I can ascertain the creature is, like most of society these days, only interested in dancing and frivolity.
11th of June.
...and as regards The Immortal, the stories would appear to hold true. He seems to float upon society like a bubble, keeping the most dreadful company and yet somehow managing to be held in high esteem by otherwise level-headed personages. It is probably nothing more than a simple glamour, but people are sadly all too easily swayed by nothing more than a pretty face and a reputation for notoriety.
15th of June.
Today has brought good tidings. None other than Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter has arrived in town - to what end is unclear, but I believe that is always the case. After all, a demon hunter as distinguished as he does well not to disclose what quarry he is hunting. I have sent him a dinner invitation, feeling a duty to my fellow countryman, and also I must profess myself curious. I sincerely hope he will honour me with his company.
19th of June.
What a truly fascinating evening. I do not believe that Daniel Holtz himself could have told stories of such bravery and audacity. Mr Baxter is however not one to put himself forward as a hero, modestly downplaying his extraordinary adventures. He has the dashing looks and physical prowess of a star of the silver screen, but I found him a thoroughly earnest man, wholeheartedly dedicated to eradicating the forces of darkness all around us, without expecting or wishing for any thanks or adulation. I have heard that he was highly decorated for his efforts during the war, and this I do not doubt.
I shall now commit to paper the tales he told me, and I sincerely hope that they will be studied by future generations, since both Watchers and Slayers could benefit greatly from this man’s boldness, fortitude and quiet determination...
22nd of June.
Unsettling news this morning - it would appear that The Immortal has saved the life of Baldassare the Unflinching, head of the Diretto Clan. Any details are hard to come by, unfortunately, but I know that it is rumoured that Baldassare was one of the instigators of the Massacre at Manziana of 1871, which would not be surprising - the clan is notorious for its hatred of humans, existing in uneasy peace with humankind only thanks to Wolfram & Hart. I have repeatedly asked the Council to step in, but so far my efforts have gone unheeded - I fear we need another massacre before anyone takes notice.
23rd of June.
More information has emerged. Out of gratitude for the preserving of his life, Baldassare will throw a lavish party in The Immortal’s honour a week tomorrow, and also bequeath to him his youngest and most beautiful daughter, who, so I am told, goes by the name of ‘Venus’. (I must note that I do not see how the words ‘beautiful’ and ‘demon’ are compatible.)
2nd of July.
I do not know how best to chronicle the disturbing events of the past twenty four hours, but I know an attempt must be made. Just as I was about to depart for bed last night, a messenger knocked on the door, relaying a deeply troubling story. Having spent the night attempting to establish the course of events, these are the facts I have been able to verify:
During the festivities for The Immortal, Baxter attacked the demon party, killing at least five and injuring many more, including The Immortal’s new consort. The Immortal is furious, and has issued a statement demanding that Baxter apologise and offer contrition - or face the consequences. Baxter’s reply was, of course, a blank refusal. I fear the worst - the Diretto clan are baying for blood and will undoubtedly take revenge on the residents of Rome. All they’ve needed was a provocation and unfortunately Mr Baxter has given it to them. I wish I could say that I am surprised, but having had the privilege of Mr Baxter’s company, I know that he would always strike out with boldness against any foe, rather than wait.
3rd of July.
Baxter has disappeared, and that is all I have been able to ascertain. No one knows exactly how or when. But my sources all agree that this is only what is to be expected from crossing The Immortal, and that Baxter brought it on himself - I even heard a story that The Immortal cuckolded Angelus when the vampire declared enmity, but I find it hard to give any credibility to such a tale. However the situation is grim and I am deeply worried at this turn of events; the loss of Baxter would be a grievous blow to the fight against the dark forces in this world.
6th of July.
The twists and turns that life throws at us is a never ceasing source of disbelief to me lately. It has now been three days since Baxter’s disappearance, and, having carefully considered what steps to take, I have sadly failed to decide upon the best course of action. And a short while ago another hurdle was thrown in my path. Mrs. Hodkinson came to my study, looking flustered (I would have said blushing if I hadn’t known her to be a most phlegmatic personage) informing me that I had a visitor. Unsettled I hastened to the lobby where I found an immaculately dressed man waiting for me, and never, I am sure, has the description ‘devilishly handsome’ been more accurate. Upon seeing me he extended a hand, smiling.
“Mr Strantham I presume? I’m The Immortal, as I'm sure you know. Afraid I’ve come to ask a favour, since from what I can gather you’re the local expert on magicks.”
I shook his hand as if in a daze, only belatedly realising what I was doing. I fear that I was somewhat perplexed by his American accent - I had presumed that he was of Italian origin, an unfortunate conclusion due to inadequate investigation. As swiftly as possible I disengaged myself, asking with as much calm as I could muster what this favour could be.
“Well, I’m sure you’re aware of recent... developments, and the fact that my girl - Venus - was injured. I’ve done everything I can medically - and trust me, that’s more than you can imagine - but she’s not getting any better. I’m thinking that maybe this has something to do with it.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a dart (of the sort used in crossbows), only this one had been very carefully marked with magickal symbols, easily visible through the remnants of dried blood still adhering to it.
“I was wondering if maybe you could work out what the problem is, and make some sort of counter curse or whatever. Afraid magick is not my thing.”
For a moment I could not believe his arrogance - his sheer audacity in daring to come to my house with a request such as this.
“I am afraid that it is against Council policy to aid any demonic being,” I answered frostily, trying to restrain myself from bodily ejecting him from the premises.
“I thought it might be,” he replied lightly, “but as far as I am aware you are retired, and I’m very good at keeping things quiet. Surely there’s something I could offer you in return? Name it, and you’ll get it.”
What sort of fool did he take me for? Yet, I knew immediately what my reply would be.
“I wish for an assurance of Baxter’s well-being and his immediate return.”
The easy smile faded from his face instantly, his eyes and the lines of his face hardening.
“Afraid the xenophobic bastard known as Baxter is... how shall I put it? Inconvenienced. Forever.”
“Have you no honour?” I gasped, unsettled at such contempt and insolence. “The man of whom you speak is a hero!”
“Heroes,” he replied, sneering, “tend to have the decency to apologise - to feel some tiny smidgen of remorse - when they hurt the innocent. Although I don’t suppose my girl counts; after all, not only is she not human, she isn’t even British!”
His eyes narrowed, holding nothing but disdain. “You English with your precious Empire... Take my word for it, it’s all downhill from here. And you have so very far to fall...”
He turned to leave, but the gall of the man forced me to call after him.
“I could have you arrested for murder!”
Stopping at my words, he doubled back, eyes glinting dangerously.
“Tell you what - you find Baxter’s body and I’ll walk down to the police station myself!”
Then he laughed, as though he had told a good jest, and proceeded to stride out of the door, not looking back.
I am not sure what to make of him - his self-confidence is clearly not a smoke screen, and I have no doubts that he is capable of murder. But I fear that he is also too clever to leave any evidence. I shall write to the Council asking for assistance in discovering Baxter’s whereabouts - or his body, as I fear the case might be.
The diary extracts ended there, but Giles had added a note.
Baxter was never seen or heard of since, nor was his body ever discovered, despite intensive searches of every kind - it would appear that the man quite simply disappeared off the face of the earth. I sincerely hope you can see why this report disturbs me greatly, and not hold it against me that I brought it to your attention.
Rupert Giles
Buffy sat for a long while in silence. If Giles had hoped to shock or surprise her, he had failed... The story wasn’t just plausible, she could almost see it play out - remembered clearly that first morning in the warehouse when she’d seen The Immortal coiled up with anger, his finger a whisper away from pulling the trigger and ending the life of a creature who had tried to hurt a girl... The fact that the girl had been human and the criminal a demon had been wholly incidental - species, she knew, would make no difference to his reactions. He seemed to view the world from a very different perspective than anyone else she had ever met. And have a different sort of power...
She’d known he was dangerous - she wasn’t stupid - but she’d ignored it, because... well, because he wasn’t evil (quite probably a genuine white hat, from the hints he dropped), and she was used to danger. If she was perfectly honest, it was probably the thrill of that veiled darkness that had pulled her in.
Why did she have such an appalling taste in men?
But in this case the darkness was supposed to stay hidden - not to have a giant flashlight shone at it. Despite her continual attempts at getting him to talk, she was quite happy with him being secretive, because then she could easily project her fairy tale onto him. But fairy tale princes didn’t go around killing people, no matter the circumstances - they only went after wicked witches and dragons.
Tiredly she reached for her phone. Better see him as soon as possible - before making up her mind, she wanted his side of the story. There could be unknown factors... Not that she could see how.
Why did Giles have to be so pedantic?
Evening.
She pulled up outside the Immortal’s mansion as gracefully as she could - which wasn’t very, unfortunately. She could be graceful when decapitating, but not when driving... Although she told herself that tonight it might be because the roads were still wet.
After parking and locking the moped, she determinedly walked up to the imposing front door. She could do this - more than anything she had an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. Finding out that her boyfriend had something dark in his past (and/or present) was par for the course, and, despite the disappointment, at least she knew how to deal with this sort of situation.
Taking a deep breath she pressed the bell.
Her hand was still on the button when the door opened, and the footman smiled widely when he saw her.
“Miss Summers. Welcome. Please - allow me to take your coat.”
She happily allowed herself to be divested of her coat, and was then informed that ‘His Benevolence’ was to be found in the main living room.
Walking through the house she could smell the enticing early signs of dinner and heard someone sing off key somewhere upstairs, before smiling to a girl carrying a pile of towels that reached above her head, and - as always - shook her head at the row of nude sketches prominently displayed in the hallway.
But as she came to the door she had been aiming for, she realised that she might have to fight for her man. He was deep in what looked like a drawn-out argument, and for once he seemed to have met his match. He was sitting in the largest sofa, his chin resting on his hands, and a girl was standing in front of him, the glow from the newly lit fire dancing across her back. She was wearing a shiny pink dress, shiny pink plastic sandals, a sparkly plastic tiara with matching wand, and a pair of wings (slightly askew) on her back. She looked to be around 4, but Buffy could recognise the look of stubborn determination on her face, and wondered what they could be arguing about - and why The Immortal was even bothering.
She watched them for a moment, leaning against the door frame, being in no hurry to interrupt. She’d not really seen The Immortal interact with children before, but it was clear that he adored them - he had that knack of not talking down, and was obviously negotiating with an equal. Smiling at the situation, she thought to herself that maybe she was insane, coming to quiz him about possible murder... .
After a minute however he appeared to fold, and the girl, head held high, listed off her conditions. He nodded sombrely, and then they were interrupted by a piercing yell from somewhere else in the house.
“Mariiiiiiina!”
Ah, Buffy thought, Francesca’s granddaughter - the artist behind the fridge art.
The girl rolled her eyes, before making for the door, but was called back sharply by The Immortal, who was holding out his hand with an air of expectation.
Pulling a face the girl untangled herself from the wings and handed them over with an evil look, and The Immortal offered a very serious ‘grazie’ in return.
Not even bothering to shoot Buffy a glance the child disappeared, her shoes making a happy clacking sound on the floor as she ran past, and The Immortal looked up, smiling.
“I think I might have bankrupted myself, and possibly sold her soul to Disney... that child drives a hard bargain! But, it was worth it - no more fairies! I know it’s overkill, but quite frankly I don’t care.”
The smile barely hiding clear distaste he tossed the wings into the fire, watching them burn with an intensity that was rather unnerving.
Buffy walked up to him, thrown at this bizarre turn of events.
“You... have a fairy phobia?” she asked carefully, thinking that this might just outdo Anya’s bunny thing.
He shook his head. “Not a phobia. A very rational, fact based and serious fear.” As he caught her eyes, she could glimpse an almost invisible shudder.
“Fairies are real? And... evil?” she queried - sceptical, but unsettled.
“I don’t know what they are,” he replied earnestly, “but if you ever glimpse one - and it’s never more than a glimpse; something out of the corner of your eye, something you can’t really see - just... just run. Buffy - promise me you won’t fight. It’ll be the last thing you ever do, trust me.”
She nodded, and - still looking tense - he turned back to the fire where the metal wires glowed in the heat. She was on the cusp of asking him what had happened, when he turned round and threw himself back into the sofa, beckoning her to sit with him.
“But - you wanted to talk. Ominous words those, coming from a woman.”
She smiled lightly and settled into his embrace, wondering how to broach the subject. And desperately hoping that there was some sort of logical explanation for the whole thing because she didn’t want to stop dating him. Really, really didn’t want to stop.
“Did I mention Giles to you?”
“Briefly, but I think I got the basics. Fatherfigure-y Head of the Council?”
She nodded, swallowing. “He... he’s not very keen on me dating you, and sent me this diary by an old Watcher called Strantham...”
It took a moment, but then she saw things join up. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him - surprise, worry, regret, guilt, denial... But what she got was a drolly lifted eyebrow and slight annoyance mixed with resignation.
“This is about Baxter, isn’t it?” He smiled wryly. “Eighty years gone, and finally his ghost comes back to haunt me. Typical. Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter, Scourge of the demon world and all-round great hero and protector... Go on, what do you want to know?”
No point in beating around the bush: “Did you kill him?”
The Immortal’s eyes narrowed, and there was a pregnant pause before he replied.
“Define ‘kill’.”
She didn’t deign the question with an answer, and he sighed. “I didn’t murder him, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I didn’t let any of the Diretto Clan have their merry way with him either, although god knows I was tempted.”
“So... he just went ‘poof’?”
The Immortal grinned. “That’s a good term. I like it. Yes that’s it exactly. He ‘went poof’.”
“This isn’t funny.” She slapped his hand away, as it began to explore, clearly trying to distract her. Well he didn’t know Buffy Summers when she wanted answers. “Was it you?”
No hesitation this time. “Yes.”
That was something at least. “So... what did you do? If you didn’t kill him...”
He looked as though he was carefully considering his answer, and she wondered if she could trust anything he said.
“Well... if you wanted to be melodramatic I suppose you could say that it was a fate worse than death.”
She knew that he hadn’t meant what the words implied, but still her immediate reaction must have shown on her face, because he took one look at her and burst out laughing - that infectious, no-holds-barred laughter that she adored. She’d never met anyone who laughed so wholeheartedly.
And it was just wrong - they were having a serious discussion about serious things and giggling fits most definitely weren’t part of the script. This relationship just refused to behave the way relationships should.
Her dismay only increased his merriment, and it took a good while before he managed to catch his breath again.
“Oh Buffy, I like how your mind works! You know, that particular course of action never crossed my mind, even though he was a good looking guy.” He chuckled a little more, wiping his eyes. “I wonder what he’d have said... Given that he already thought that I was nothing but a foul, disgusting pervert. Never understood me at all.”
“But you understood him?” Keep him talking, that was the key - he often got carried away and said more than he meant to.
“He wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. Knew the type inside out - a classic product of his upbringing and culture... the quintessential Englishman I suppose you could say. Honest and polite to a fault of course, but born into the ruling class of an Empire that by then spanned a quarter of the globe. People like that make for dangerous vigilantes - especially when they operate alone and think they can do whatever they want.”
His eyes narrowed, studying her. “I know I’m stating the obvious, but doing a job like that - operating outside the government and the law - you need other people beside you. Not to mention rules and regulations.”
She blinked, feeling like she’d fallen into a parallel universe. “Rules. And Regulations. Right. Next you’re going to tell me that the best way of battling the forces of darkness is through focus-groups.”
He chuckled, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that was hard to miss. “C’mon, you have untold hordes of super-powered hormone bombs on your hands, don’t tell me you aren’t keeping them on a tight leash!”
His words brought up her perpetual worries - those that she came to him to forget... But that’s what she got for needing answers.
“Guess I just have problems seeing you as the rules-and-regulations type.”
He smirked. “Hey - if there are no rules, you can’t break them!”
Smirk fading, he continued. “And Baxter made me break my own rule of never getting involved in anything while I’m here... But I couldn’t let it go - and not just for my own sake. The Diretto clan are W&H clients, the whole thing could have imploded in a very nasty way. So... I took care of it.”
“And did what?”
He smiled, and lightly replied. “Like I said - I made him ‘go poof’.”
Oh great, now they were going in circles. She glared at him, willing him to talk. “Listen - I need more.”
He sat up and studied her, before shaking his head; stubbornness and quiet anger in his eyes. “No. He was a dangerous, narrow-minded man who killed anyone who looked different, no matter who they were. I’m not sorry I got rid of him, and I’d do it again. And yes, I have... issues, and I might have taken them out on him. I can forgive just about anything except bigotry.”
For a long moment she just looked at him, trying to get her thoughts in order. He cared what she thought - didn’t want her to think him something he wasn’t - and yet he didn’t seek or need her approval. She could take him or leave him, but he wouldn’t bend as much an inch to accomodate her.
And it was maddening. Why wouldn’t he talk? Was it because he knew she’d disapprove, or was it just because he liked keeping secrets? How was she supposed to make an informed choice when he wouldn’t give her the relevant facts? What could he possibly have done? People didn’t just vanish-
“Oh!” She refocussed on him, sharply. “Did you... did you send him to a parallel dimension? Like... like the Land of Trolls or the World without Shrimp?”
Slowly a wide grin spread across his face, and there was pure admiration in his eyes when he spoke. “Oh you are good, Miss Summers. Very, very good!”
The compliment filled her with a warm glow - despite all his secrecy he seemed to genuinely appreciate it when she figured things out. Then he smiled wistfully, in the way that always made him look old, even as it softened his features.
“If only things were different...” he continued, quietly and resignedly, before falling silent, gently letting his hands trail through her hair, a strange melancholy longing in his eyes.
“Different how?” she asked, feeling even more off-kilter than usual, their argument momentarily forgotten.
“The things I could do once...” he started, then shook his head; avoiding her gaze. “I lost so much.”
She didn’t have the first clue what he was on about, but before she could ask he took a breath and very obviously pulled away from the subject.
“Listen - if you want to leave just say so, but don’t do it because of Baxter, he’s not worth it. Seriously he’s nothing compared to-” he stopped, smiled tightly.
“Your ex-Watcher has a point I suppose. Despite saving the world on a far too regular basis, I’m not really in your league, hero-wise... Too many - far, far too many compromises.”
There was a bitterness in his words that was more affecting than all his previous justifications, but as she opened her mouth to speak - not entirely sure what to say - he swiftly added. “Oh, and I didn’t shove him into a different world by the way, mostly because it’s way too unpredictable - he could have ended up in... uh, the world of the slaughtering rat people, or the home of the universe's most comfortable couch, there’s no way of telling. But it was plan B, so you weren’t far off the mark.”
For a moment silence fell, and she couldn’t help feeling somewhat of a hypocrite - hadn’t she gone after Faith, intending to kill her? And not just for the cure, but for vengeance... Really, if she was honest, maybe her sharp reaction was due to understanding him too well...
Misunderstanding her silence, The Immortal gently put a finger under her chin, lifting her face.
“I mean it - you owe me nothing. Guess I’m just selfishly hoping that you think I’m too gorgeous to walk out on.”
The moment was broken by a polite knock at the door, a servant announcing that dinner was served.
The Immortal got up and held out his hand, and she hesitated. Looking up at him, letting her mind run through everything that had happened, she kept coming back to the same question.
“Who are you?”
He tilted his head, and for a single second she thought he might actually tell her. Then he smiled. “I’m just a guy.”
“Right,” she replied, wryly, trying her best not to roll her eyes. “That’s what I’ll tell Giles.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes, and reaching out he grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.
“Well why don’t you ask your Mr Giles to come visit? He could meet me in person, make up his own mind.” He thought for a moment. “It’ll be May Bank Holiday in a couple of weeks - I’m sure he can get away then. Everyone does.”
“Invite him here?” He couldn’t be serious.
“Absolutely. Get your friends to come too, if you like. It could be like a reunion or something. I’d like to meet them, and you can show me off.”
Moments before he’d been saying that he wasn’t good enough for her, and now he acted like he was some sort of trophy boyfriend - clearly his self-confidence never wavered for long. Then he grinned, showing off those fateful dimples, and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Go on! What’s the worst that could happen?”
Chapter 10
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Oh dear. Jack really should know better than to say something like that. I can't wait for the get-together.
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Also - thank you. Both for the catch and for reading. :)
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Anyway, I also meant to say that yes, he very much is a trophy boyfriend! :) (Replying to comments whilst keeping up with RL is... trying. Currently I'm considering sending the children to Siberia for half term.)
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Sounds like a plan to me...
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*goes off to check on airfares to Siberia*
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I can really see the story as Giles's relates it happening. Interesting twist; Buffy is having to make a choice, isn't she?
I'd love to see the gang meet Jack. Hee!
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*grins* He's such a delight to write!
I can really see the story as Giles's relates it happening.
Oh good - I did worry about it, but Kathy assured me that it worked. And I wanted a different viewpoint, someone who wouldn't see The Immortal as automatically fabulous. (Someone other than Spike&Angel... *g*)
Interesting twist; Buffy is having to make a choice, isn't she?
Yes - how much is she going to trust him, how much 'grey-ness' can she tolerate. (Jack of course is utterly pragmatic about the whole thing, and much better at hiding his feelings.)
I'd love to see the gang meet Jack. Hee!
Good things come to those who wait! (As if I could pass up an opportunity like that...)
Thank you lots for your fb, made me smile. :)
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PARTICULARLY nice touch with Jack bartering so strenuously to keep little Marina from wearing her combat-trauma-flashback-inspiring fairy wings.
I'm a little disappointed in Giles, for not being able to see past the prejudices and slanted view of the world in Strantham's Watcher diary (I thought Giles had figured out that much of what the Council held as sacred lore was self-serving crap years ago, when he 'crashed' Buffy's Cruciamentum).
But I suppose that -- as Jack would put it -- Giles is still a product of his upbringing, class, and education, and it's harder for him than he realizes to separate the little bit of wheat from the mountains of chaff in the Watcher lore and history he was raised to respect.
Plus, Giles has always been much more ready to go 'Old School Watcher' when confronted with Buffy's beaus (a few unexamined issues there, for Giles, and probably tied up with his complicated response to being her default-father-figure without ever quite wanting that extra responsibility).
Somehow, I wish Jack hadn't said that "what's the worst?" at the end, though! Whatever happens, it won't be dull, that's for sure.
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Oh you've summed it up *perfectly*! And I think this is something that's very good for Buffy, considering her past relationships. Both Spike and Angel saw her as their arbitrer, or redeemer, whereas Jack looks to the Doctor to fill that role.
PARTICULARLY nice touch with Jack bartering so strenuously to keep little Marina from wearing her combat-trauma-flashback-inspiring fairy wings.
Oh I'm so glad you liked it! He's doing it partly for himself (bad, bad memories) and partly to try to keep her safe, if that is possible, on the miniscule off-chance that she's a 'chosen one'. I also thought it a nice way of reminding people that a) he cares deeply about people and is very affected by loss and b) he will make the hard choices when needs be (as we see in 'Small Worlds').
As for Giles, then he's fairly able to read between the lines, but remember that he is very out of the loop. He was told about Buffy's new beau by Willow (who'd been told next to nothing), Xander was unaware, Dawn was clearly jealous and Buffy completely refused to talk. The only voice of dissent was Andrew (which is why Jack's intimidation of him turned out rather important). The Council, I would presume, has always been wary of The Immortal, since he is so liked by demons, but even so every source would do what TGiQ and gush about how fabulous he is, and that would certainly make Giles uneasy. And then Strantham's diary provides a unique insight 'behind the mask' as it were. So Giles feels a definite duty to show Buffy this - to make sure that she knows what her new boyfriend is capable of.
But a lot of this will all be dealt with far better later on when Jack meets the Scoobie gang. :)
(I hope that made sense - it's fairly early here and I'm not quite awake.)
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lol, and little sister ruins the moment. Can we see more Dawn interaction with Jack? I think she would regard him as interesting. Hm, random thought--how does her Keyness fit into the Whoniverse?
It was fun having Buffy watch him work his charm from the outside point of view. It is interesting that Jack as the Immortal is both exactly what he appears to be yet completely not. And everyone is trying to figure out his motives and what angle he's trying to get at, yet he really is here in Rome on a vacation to enjoy his time and right now that includes Buffy--exactly as it appears on the surface without any dark intentions. Poor Jack--nobody believes you!
Aww--Jack wishing he could show Buffy the stars.
Looked at in a sinister light his ability to manipulate the system was deeply worrying - and yet on the other hand he had apparently fought in wars for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.
What a puzzle, what a puzzle. Somehow though I don't think Buffy will ever be able to solve it.
He was quite simply her very own cross between Prince Charming and a Fairy Godmother.
Hehe, Don't tell him that though.
Hm, that's a fast post--would something really get from London to Rome in one day? Well, I guess he could have done overnight or something...
However, I feel that I would fail in my duties if I did not point out to you the precariousness of your current situation.
I'm just curious here--what exactly does Giles perceive these duties as being? And is he speaking as Watcher, father-figure, friend or some combination thereof?
He has the dashing looks and physical prowess of a star of the silver screen
Interesting similarities to Jack. Yet I think Jack's is more genuine (the whole effect, not just the looks).
I know that he would always strike out with boldness against any foe, rather than wait.
Boldness? or stupidity and arrogance?
“You... have a fairy phobia?” she asked carefully, thinking that this might just outdo Anya’s bunny thing.
lol! hadn't thought about the comparison before, but appropriate.
Oh, dear--plot bunnyish idea. Did Anyanka ever have any sort of encounter with the Immortal? I mean, it is conceivable someone might have made a wish against him at some point. But I could so see him turning it around and seducing Anya.
“Go on! What’s the worst that could happen?”
::looks on in horror:: Jack! you just cursed the meet-the-family get together...I can't wait to see it!
Predictions: all of Giles' opinions and preconceived notions are going to be smashed to bits. For some reason I think Xander would get along fantastically with Jack (though perhaps not in the Immortal facade...). And I can just see Jack and Willow walking on eggshells around each other, wary the entire time.
Excellent chapter. I can't wait for more.
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I will do my very best to bring Dawn in as much as possible - I love her perspective on things. :)
Hm, random thought--how does her Keyness fit into the Whoniverse?
You know, I've spent a lot of time thinking about how magic fits with the Whoniverse, but I doubt I can address it properly until the sequel. (Yes, I already have a sequel planned. *headdesk*)
It was fun having Buffy watch him work his charm from the outside point of view.
Also a new experience for her - none of her exes would ever behave like that. (And she wouldn't have let them!)
It is interesting that Jack as the Immortal is both exactly what he appears to be yet completely not.
So much yes to everything you wrote - I think this is one of the most fascinating things about writing him here, the way 'truth' is a very subjective thing.
Aww--Jack wishing he could show Buffy the stars.
I know! I liked doing their different perspectives - how for Jack flying highlights his limitations, but for Buffy it makes her feel free.
What a puzzle, what a puzzle. Somehow though I don't think Buffy will ever be able to solve it.
Not at this point in time, certainly.
Hehe, Don't tell him that though.
*snicker*
Hm, that's a fast post--would something really get from London to Rome in one day? Well, I guess he could have done overnight or something...
Next Day recorded delivery - Giles *is* very pedantic. :)
I'm just curious here--what exactly does Giles perceive these duties as being? And is he speaking as Watcher, father-figure, friend or some combination thereof?
I'm not sure Giles himself knows for sure, he just feels he has to do *something*.
Interesting similarities to Jack. Yet I think Jack's is more genuine (the whole effect, not just the looks).
I did make Baxter a sort-of mirror for Jack, and yet his opposite in many ways. Jack is a whole lot more self-aware, and - of course - incredibly open-minded. Baxter never questioned the rightness of his cause.
Boldness? or stupidity and arrogance?
All three! :)
Did Anyanka ever have any sort of encounter with the Immortal? I mean, it is conceivable someone might have made a wish against him at some point. But I could so see him turning it around and seducing Anya.
Oooooh! That could be brilliant! (Must. Not. Adopt. More. Plotbunnies.)
::looks on in horror:: Jack! you just cursed the meet-the-family get together...I can't wait to see it!
And you shall! (In... a while. Have other stuff to get out of the way first, such as TGiQ!)
And your predictions are v. interesting. Won't comment though. :) Also thank you LOTS for all your feedback, I loved it!
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Oh please, PLEASE adopt that one--me trying to write seduction would just be laughable. And its your universe anyway--it doesn't have to be long.
You know you want to.
:D
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But I'll file it away with the others, promise.
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The ImmortalJack? ;) (And the comics are not canon, period (even David Fury agrees on that). And I say that as someone who *adores* AtF.)no subject
I am enjoying the way you keep playing with Buffy's perceptions of Jack. Just when she thinks she has him figured out enough that she can live with her view, you throw another facet in for her to contend with.
I liked the whole observation scene. The idea of Buffy being all mature provides a nice contrast with the actions of certain other people in TGIQ who shall remain nameless but may be featured in my icon. (Although the whole anthropology thing suddenly had me hearing Bones explaining The Immortal's flirting to Booth in my head, but poor Booth is distracted because he can't figure out why The Immortal keeps asking if he had ancestors who were Irish.)
Oh yes, Jack would have no patience for bigots after seeing what a great big universe it was out there.
Soon we get to see Jack learn why one should never under estimate the power of the jinx, yes?
Great chapter, thanks for sharing this.
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I love being a treat. :)
I am enjoying the way you keep playing with Buffy's perceptions of Jack. Just when she thinks she has him figured out enough that she can live with her view, you throw another facet in for her to contend with.
Jack is a complicated guy, and my favourite thing is character interaction/development, so I'm just having a ball with all this. V. pleased that it works for you too!
I liked the whole observation scene. The idea of Buffy being all mature provides a nice contrast with the actions of certain other people in TGIQ who shall remain nameless but may be featured in my icon.
*giggles* It also helps a lot that Buffy isn't 'in love' with Jack, so she's more upset about being ignored, than about him being a big ho. ;)
(I don't watch Bones, but it sounds like a fun idea!)
Oh yes, Jack would have no patience for bigots after seeing what a great big universe it was out there.
There will be more on the subject of Baxter in the next chapter. And Jack's reaction to him.
Soon we get to see Jack learn why one should never under estimate the power of the jinx, yes?
I shall say nothing. (But there'll definitely be a get-together. How it goes... Well. Wait and see.)
Great chapter, thanks for sharing this.
Thank *you* for your feedback! Am happy you liked it, and will make sure that I never leave gaps this long between chapters again.
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Heeeeeee. Relationships with Jack never would, for certain.
Nice chapter. Can't wait for the boys to show up. *g*
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Indeed. And Jack really doesn't have that single-minded devotion that she's used to from her partners...
Nice chapter. Can't wait for the boys to show up. *g*
Thank you - and just one more chapter to go before they arrive!
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Thank you, v. happy you liked it! :)
Buffy faces interesting dilemmas. Looks like she has to re-think her attitude to demons.
Indeed. And I like dilemmas, especially when there's no easy answers. Jack is stuck right in the middle of lots of grey.
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Them's fighting words!
Does Jack have no common sense at all?
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They are indeed. Jack likes a challenge!
Does Jack have no common sense at all?
Well... You will get his perspective in the next chapter, so you can judge for yourself.
And thank you for reading! :)
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“You English with your precious Empire... Take my word for it, it’s all downhill from here. And you have so very far too fall...”
Too should be to.
Stopping at my words, he doubled back; eyes glinting dangerously.
Semi-colon means what follows after can stand on its own--a comma should do fine.
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(Esp because I love writing it - or at least I do when it behaves...)
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Squee! Thank you!!
The goofy romance, the occasional action ... actually, I'd love more action scenes.
I'm terrible at action, but I promise to try my best to put some more in - this story is far too much talk. Although I'm very pleased that the romance works!
Keep up the good work.
Will do - this thing has eaten my brain... And thank you again, your comment was a wonderful surprise. :)
Immortal Art
Here.
Re: Immortal Art
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The Scoobies meeting Jack may bring some interesting confrontations. :-)
It was lovely to get back to your beautiful tale.
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*beams*
I really enjoy how he deals with Buffy's questions and how he sounds always so confident.
Jack is the very epitome of confidence... except when it comes to pesky things like love and commitment. But a small case of possible murder doesn't really unsettle him. ;)
I like how you get into the characters ' heads .
I try my best... most of the time they're cooperating nicely.
The Scoobies meeting Jack may bring some interesting confrontations. :-)
Indeed. *evil grin*
It was lovely to get back to your beautiful tale.
Thank you. Your comment was exactly what I needed, since I am in the final stages of fighting with the next chapter, which is *finally* beginning to behave.