![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
My Immortal. Chapter 14.
HELO THAR! LOOK - I BRING U HAPPY JAK! PLZ ENJOY! :D (Honestly there's more to it than fluff, but writing this was pure bliss.)
Previous chapters here, and many smooches to my ever fabulous beta, Kathy!
Summary: Captain Jack *is* The Immortal.
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Word count: Just over 4000 words.
A/N: I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF! (You'll see what I mean. *g*)
Feedback: Pretty please?
Chapter 14
Jack: And you should have seen me in my platforms and five-inch lapels. Woo-hoo! [...] You should try it! A little 70s role-play?
Ianto: Please, God no.
Jack: Stella Courtney liked to role-play.
Friday 7th of May, evening.
“So... what are we going to do tonight?”
At her question The Immortal looked up at her from where he was sprawled on the large leather sofa, before pulling a hand through his hair, having apparently finally run out of ideas.
“Dunno. I’ve been kinda busy these last few days planning our big ball... Hoped maybe there was something you’d want to try? Something new?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like...” his eyes narrowed as he went through some sort of mental list, before suddenly freezing. Then a wide grin broke out on his face, and... he began singing.
“Girl-”
“No!” she cut in, but he was undeterred.
“I wanna take you to a gay bar, gay bar!”
“Stop!” she tried again, and he obeyed, beaming. She frowned sternly.
“We are not going to a gay bar!”
Wide-eyed and hopeful he looked up at her. “Why not? Have you ever been?”
“No... But...”
Any hope she’d had of talking him of out this latest idea crumbled as she saw his eyes suddenly light up as if someone had lit a whole bunch of fireworks.
“I could go in drag!”
Laughing he jumped up off the sofa, and took her hand. “To the wardrobe, away! So - do you want to be your gorgeous self or an out-and-out dyke?”
“I’m not sure you should use that word...” she said feebly, as she let him drag her out the door and up the stairs.
And yet his enthusiasm was so infectious that she was soon caught up in a happy game of dressing-up, diving into chests and under rails, now and again stopping to watch him prance around wearing nothing but a large green hat or a multicoloured feather boa.
Finally he settled on a short, bright pink dress, red stilettos (“I wish I could wear shoes like this more often - I never get to show off my ankles”), and a large amount of jewellery.
Buffy decided on a Small Black Dress which fitted like a glove, and, catching his eyes, held up a beautiful red cape. But he shook his head determinedly as he plucked it from her hand.
“No. Never wear black with colour. It makes the colour look cheap and the black look boring.”
“O...K...” she said, a little unsure, and he winked.
“Trust me - I have that advice from two fashion experts! Lovely, lovely ladies, really knew their stuff. Then they tried to cut off my head so I blew them up. Ah... Good times. Anyway, the Breakfast at Tiffay’s look is perfect.”
She stared silently. Sometimes...
Then he started looking through boxes again, and after some intense searching triumphantly held up a big platinum wig.
Studying himself critically in the mirror he tried it on, obviously not all that taken.
“Well. With it I’m Lily Savage, without it I’m Eddie Izzard. What do you think?”
She shook her head. “Who?”
He turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. “You don’t know Eddie Izzard? That’s... that’s terrible. We must do something about that. But not now.”
Glancing back into the mirror, he tilted his head. “I suppose the wig better stay, it does finish off the look rather nicely. Although maybe with a darker lipstick...”
Carefully he retouched his makeup, and Buffy watched, fascinated - if she hadn’t know better, she’d have thought him a former model.
Finally however they were ready to go, and she couldn’t help shaking her head... if anything gayer had ever hit the town she wasn’t sure what it could be.
***
It wasn’t until the moment she realised that it was karaoke night that Buffy began to have misgivings. The Immortal just grinned (oh he’d known, the bastard) and took another sip of his fruity cocktail, continuing his industrial-strength flirting with anything that met his eyes.
Visions of an entire evening spent listening to endless renditions of ‘Respect’ and YMCA loomed in her head, and she came close to pretending that she’d seen a vampire before she pulled herself together. Considering her best friend was gay, she wasn’t doing a very good job of trying to look beyond stereotyping.
Half an hour later (some of the singers had been good and only one Dolly Parton song so far), The Immortal stood up, that secretive smile in his eyes that meant he had Thought of Something.
“OK, what are you going to sing?” she asked, and he smirked.
“Have you ever seen La Cage Aux Folles?”
She shook her head, and he looked musing. “I’ll explain later. For now, just enjoy!”
As he took to the stage a little later she was a bit sorry that their table was so far back, but on the other hand she had the pleasure of admiring him on a daily basis - she was sure he wouldn’t mind giving her a private performance later on.
And he certainly was a consummate performer. He stood perfectly still for a moment, surveying the room until he was sure that he had everyone’s undivided attention. Then, as the music (fanfare, really) started, he dramatically ripped off the wig and tossed it aside, lifted his chin - and sang.
“I. Am. What I am. I am my own, special, creation...”
Watching him Buffy wondered if someone had written the song specifically for him... The line ‘I bang my own drum - some think it's noise, I think it's pretty’, was so spot-on that she almost laughed out loud.
He was so very much his own, special, thing; so completely unique... He ought to look ridiculous in the outfit he was wearing, but because he refused to be thought ridiculous, he wasn’t. Although he certainly looked... odd. Despite the dress, the make-up and the shoes, he was still overpoweringly masculine. She knew that the audience probably saw him as one of their own, but - despite all the never-ending flirting - she couldn’t make him fit into the box marked ‘gay’.
Then, while his eyes swept over the crowd, he suddenly stopped, almost missing the next line. Catching himself he managed to continue, but suddenly he was smiling widely at something she couldn’t see.
Frowning she stood up on her chair, scanning the adoring faces but wasn’t able to work out who could be there. Maybe an old friend?
Half a minute later the song was over, and The Immortal immediately swung himself down off the stage and made a beeline through the wildly applauding crowd, ending up talking to a young man whose face seemed vaguely familiar.
It wasn’t until The Immortal had put his hand across his shoulder, steering him towards the door that led to the bathrooms, that Buffy suddenly realised where she’d seen him before... it was the soldier who had shown them the ropes when he’d taken her out flying. Er... something. Ermanno? He looked different out of uniform, that’s what had thrown her. But why was The Immortal... doing what exactly with him?
She waited for a little while, but when they didn’t reappear she grabbed her purse and made her way to the door too, curious. Stepping through to the corridor on the other side she instinctively made sure to keep silent, tiptoeing along until she turned a corner. And froze.
They were only a few feet away, The Immortal pressed up against the opposite wall by Ermanno who had clearly overcome his shyness... and they were kissing passionately. One of The Immortal’s hands was wrapped around the soldier’s middle, the other cradling the back of his head, tilting it just so.
For the longest moment she couldn’t even breathe, the only thought in her mind that apparently he would cheat on her right in front of her nose...
Then The Immortal’s eyes slowly opened, and in a dazed double-take took in her presence.
She couldn’t help but remembering Riley, throwing aside his vampire whore in panic; Spike’s shame, unable to look at either her or Anya, and - heart beating - waited for the inevitable implosion.
And then... he winked.
Mouth falling open she stared with utter incredulity as he with great deliberation closed his eyes again and pulled the boy closer.
After gaping in mute incomprehension for a full three seconds she turned and fled, not stopping until she was outside, gulping down the cool night air.
She wanted nothing except to leave, to go home, but she was miles and miles away, and she’d not brought any money for a taxi because... well, because he always took her home, and he always paid for everything. And it had been so charmingly old-fashioned that she’d never stopped to think how very dependent it made her...
Telling herself that crying would be stupid she made her way to the car, sitting down on the bonnet and wondering what was wrong with her for always picking impossible men.
When he turned up some time later - probably no more than a few minutes, although it felt a lot more - he thankfully looked suitably subdued, despite the garish outfit.
“Buffy?” he asked softly, and she looked at him, trying to work out what to say.
“What... what was that?” she finally asked, and he took a deep breath, eyes leaving hers.
“Walking away.”
“What?” she exploded, pain turning into fury in an instant. “I know we talked about the whole ‘clearly words have a different meaning to you’ before, but walking away implies... walking away. Opposite direction kinda thing. Not walking straight into someone’s arms and sticking your tongue down their throat!”
He looked at her, clearly confused and upset at her anger.
“It was only a kiss...”
“Oh no, mister. That was one step away from ‘Hey let’s not bother with a room’.”
“And then I walked away!”
She stared for a few moments, speechless. “So... you want credit for not sleeping with him?”
“My God Buffy, have you seen him? The chances of meeting him again are literally zero and...” he shook his head, “... he’s a pilot! You have no idea how long it’s been since I had a pilot in my bed, they’re... they’re a breed apart, trust me! But - I just can’t see a way of making it work without screwing up my cover.”
And there was that hurt look again. Not that she cared because she felt like she’d just been stabbed in the back.
“So that’s it? If it hadn’t been so inconvenient for your precious double life it’d have been ‘Goodbye Buffy, hello Soldier’?” The bitterness in her voice was biting, but she’d thought...
To her immense surprise he started chuckling, studying her like she was 5 years old.
“Why on earth do you think it’d be a case of either-or?”
She blinked. “You don’t mean....”
He quirked an eyebrow, and she shook her head, incredulous. “Also he’s gay!”
The Immortal rolled his eyes. “Just labels. As I keep saying, you people are far too narrow-minded. It’d have been the perfect opportunity to show you how much fun a threesome can be.”
“Right...” she studied him, disbelieving and still pissed off. “So I should be upset about missing out on a threesome, not hurt because you went and macked on some cute guy who made you horny.”
“It was just a kiss!” he exclaimed again, frustrated. “It was a nice thing. I’ve told you enough about my past for you to know that I’ve done some pretty horrible things - and trust me, you can’t imagine the half of it - but that I get a free pass on. Instead the one thing you start bitching about is a kiss.”
Slowly she shook her head. “What has your past got to do with anything? I can’t believe you don’t get it. You’re... you’re like from another planet!”
Something dark suddenly flickered in his eyes, and she sighed.
“OK, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just... even vampires understand basic fidelity.”
He was silent for a long moment, then spoke, looking apologetic - even vulnerable. “Listen... I never meant to upset you. I thought... I just figured you’d think it was hot... Like a free show?”
And just like that she was laughing, fighting for breath as his arms swiftly closed around her to stop her falling off the car’s bonnet.
Looking up at him once she recovered, she shook her head, taking in the overly made-up face and the shiny pink fabric her hands were resting on.
“You sure you’re not an alien? Cause I swear it’s like you learned human by correspondence course. And if you have tentacles hidden away - like... like those aliens in Galaxy Quest - I want to know before they suddenly show up in my bed!”
“Tentacles,” he replied solemnly, “are always good. Really, you should-”
“Do not tell me that you are planning a threesome with a squid!”
He opened his mouth, but she put a finger across his lips.
“Also, you’re not allowed to go around putting those lips anywhere other than me until we’re over, understood?”
“Yes Ma’am,” he said, stepping back and saluting, and she cracked up again, because he really did look ridiculous.
Shaking her head for what seemed like the millionth time that night she asked him to take her home. If he’d been anyone else she’d have taken some kind of drastic measure, but she knew that their time was running out - the big costume party was a not-too-subtle farewell gesture.
“You know,” he said, when they were in the car, driving back. “I did need to talk to him - make sure he hadn’t been following me on purpose...”
“I. Don’t. Care,” she cut him off. “Trust me, you want to quit while you’re ahead. Not that you are. I expect grovelling.”
Shooting her an exasperated look, he turned back to the road. “So you never, ever kissed someone when you ‘shouldn’t’?”
“That’s... totally not the point,” she countered, keeping her eyes fixed on the pools of light created by the car’s headlights, not speaking again until he politely inquired about their investigations into the Kungai’s background, a topic which kept them occupied until they reached her flat.
And Dawn’s face when she saw him almost made up for all the previous awkwardness.
***
Saturday 15th of May. Evening.
The Immortal had declared the evening a non-negotiable night in, but she still wasn’t prepared for him turning up at her door in a T-shirt, jeans and a battered leather jacket, Andrew in tow, the trainee Watcher’s arms laden with cheap takeaway boxes.
“I just got rid of him!” she said, gloomily, but The Immortal just shrugged. “I needed someone to carry the food. And he can take notes.”
“Notes?” she asked, feeling progressively stupider by the second, and then wrinkled her nose.
“And why are we having rubbish food?”
Whenever he came round he tended to bring something from his own kitchen, and Buffy was beginning to seriously worry about what she’d eat once he was gone.
“It’s Eurovision tonight!” he replied brightly, as if this answered both questions, and she threw her hands up.
“OK, what is this Eurovision thingy? And why does it necessitate-” She stopped abruptly.
“What are you doing to my TV?”
He’d started unplugging and reconnecting cables, before adding a mysterious box that he pulled out of his pocket.
“We need to watch it on the BBC - trust me, it’s not the same show without Terry Wogan. And... here we are!”
The TV sprang back to life, except apparently she was now stealing cable, or satellite or... something.
“Immortal - please. Come here, sit down, explain from the start. Why do I want to waste my evening on this?”
He turned, eyebrows raised to comical heights. “Waste? It’s not a waste! It’s part of your cultural education. When in Rome...”
Despite herself she laughed, and he did as he was told, settling down and pulling her close.
“OK. The Eurovision Song Contest has been around since... 1956. It’s very simple - every country provides a song of some kind, people all over Europe vote and the winning country hosts next year’s event. Now the reason you should watch - apart from the fact that it’s fun - is that it will in one night teach you more about Europe than months’ worth of studying. Plus, the next time a European starts going on about they are culturally superior to America, all you need to do is say ‘Eurovision’ and they’ll shut right the hell up! Trust me - it’s kitsch and camp and fabulous - which is why we need the rubbish food to go with it. Also Francesca has everyone working overtime on tomorrow’s feast, so I figured this would be easier.”
Realising that she’d get no say in the matter, Buffy settled down to watch, grabbing some chicken wings and a coke, and telling her brain firmly to switch off.
The show was certainly entertaining, but it wasn’t until the 10th entry that she began to feel like she’d fallen into a parallel world.
“What’s with the Xena look?” she asked, boggling, but The Immortal waved away her complaint, eyes glued to the screen.
“Who cares? That is amazing!”
“But she can’t sing!”
“She’s a hot chick in skimpy leather. She doesn’t need to be able to sing. You’re missing the whole point of this.”
At least she was widening her horizons she supposed. Ukraine had until then never made her think of proto-Slayers rocking the stone age look.
By the time they reached the Russian entry, she felt it superfluous to ask why the pretty young female singer was using four primary coloured, half-naked hunks for sitting on...
The Greek singer was cute though, and had very nice arms.
“Hear! Hear!” The Immortal agreed immediately. “You know, he actually reminds me of-”
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘Ermanno Mancini’ I’m throwing you out of the window. Without opening it.”
“Why do I always end up with the violent ones?” The Immortal muttered to himself, but sadly didn’t elaborate.
During the voting she nearly fell asleep, unlike Andrew who had clearly discovered a new obsession. But finally Ruslana, with her wild cavemen dance, won, which meant that Buffy could kick Andrew out and snuggle into The Immortal’s arms once more, relishing the sensation of uncomplicated peace.
The Immortal was flicking through the gazillion and one channels she now had, too fast for her to follow, so instead she let her hand rest on his chest, watching as it rose and fell with every breath, and feeling the slow steady thump of his heart. Lifting her face she looked at him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How did you become immortal?”
He looked back, features passive and blank, and, before he could shake his head, she pleaded.
“I promise not tell anyone, ever!”
For a long moment he didn’t move, and then his mouth quirked a little.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny. Sorry I asked.”
“I’m not joking.”
She stared, taking in the calmness of his features and trying her best to read something into the lack of emotion. “How - how can you not know? Did you just wake up one morning immortal?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Seeing the look on her face he smiled a little. “I know when. Just not how.”
His eyes took on that faraway, but cautious, look that was always present when he talked about his past.
“There was... an apocalypse. As usual. The hero I was travelling with was busy getting his last minute plan up and running, so I rounded up a group of brave souls to help hold the bad guys back for a few moments. It was suicidal, but better to go out fighting than be slaughtered. I was the last man standing and then - they killed me too. Next thing I remember I woke up, and all the bad guys were dust - literally. Which... is just not possible. Anyway, I got my bearings, ran off to find my hero... and arrived just in time to see him leaving. Without me.”
His voice trailed off momentarily, an oddly lost look in his eyes.
“I’ve been looking for him ever since, because he has to know what happened. And there’s no one else who can-”
Whatever he was going to say was lost as he abruptly stopped. Realising that this was all she was getting, Buffy turned his extraordinary story over in her head.
“But if you’ve been trying to find him all this time... he can’t be human, right?”
At that he laughed. “Oh no, he’s not human. He’s... he’s so much more. The things he can do... it’s out of this world.”
She sat still for a moment, hearing the intense longing and hope hidden in his voice, and wondered just how long he’d been waiting.
“I hope you find him,” she said finally, and he smiled.
“Thank you. Now... how about we try to dress you up in leather?”
***
Sunday 16th of May. Evening.
Buffy clearly didn’t cope well with waiting, unnecessarily adjusting her tiara for the fifth time.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, as she once more tucked her arm under his.
“Like Cinderella,” she replied, brushing non-existent fluff off the blue ball gown. “You are absolutely sure this dress isn’t bewitched?”
He shot her a look, and she sighed. “I don’t like waiting. Aren’t they ready yet?”
“Relax,” he replied, patting her hand and yet again trailing his eyes over her. The Cinderella look suited her immensely well, he readily admitted. Just as much as Prince Charming fitted him. He’d thought Caesar and Cleopatra when he’d first started planning this ball, but somehow that had segued into fairy tale land when deciding on who to dress up as...
And to give her this filled him with true pleasure. Every girl in the world wanted to be a princess, to play that role just once, and tonight he was making that dream reality.
Then Vittore appeared, nodding his greying head silently as their eyes met, before throwing the large double doors open, revealing the ball room filled to overflowing with people of every species under the sun, all decked out in fantastical costumes. It was like a glittering kaleidoscope of light and colour, blinding and fantastical.
“Presenting your most distinguished hosts for tonight: The Immortal and the renowned Vampire Slayer, Miss Buffy Summers.”
Meeting Buffy’s eyes, Jack saw pure delight reflected back, and stopped for just a second to savour the moment.
“Shall we?” he asked, and she nodded, gripping his arm more tightly.
Mere moments later they were in the middle of the dance floor, the band striking up a waltz, and Jack bowed, waited for her curtsy, and then accepted her hand and her waist, before, with a tiny nod, starting off.
One, two, three. One, two, three...
It was perfect, right down to the last detail. Lavish and over the top, but perfect. And the best escape from reality he’d yet found...
Here there were no ugly deaths on rain-slick streets; no damaged, too-brief lives; no uncertain terror hanging in the air. There were only hopes and dreams, and it felt possible - even plausible - that there’d suddenly be two gatecrashers, in clothing entirely inappropriate to the occasion, curiously taking in the surroundings and suddenly spotting their old travelling companion...
If he kept throwing parties until the end of the world, surely one day they’d show up?
“What are you thinking about?” Buffy asked, and he answered without thinking.
“People I lost.”
Head catching up he looked at her apologetically.
“Sorry - that didn’t fit the script, did it?”
She smiled softly, eyes full of understanding. “’S all right. Me too.”
He smiled gratefully and then pulled her closer again, letting the easy flow of the music carry them away.
He’d known and loved so many people, but this was... different. The serendipity of him and her was utterly unique.
She - the last great warrior of an ancient line, saving the world from the final threat from a dark past, and he - a soldier from days still to come, helping arm humanity against the dangers of the future: The two of them coming together for the briefest of moments in the midst of change; time standing still around them as they danced the eternal dance of men and women in any time or place.
And at that moment he was intensely grateful for the life he had been given.
Chapter 15.
Finally, a few links for you:
Firstly, John Barroman dragged up for La Cage Aux Folles. I can’t even. Just look at those legs!
And here he is, talking about, and then performing, ‘I Am What I Am’. (Not in drag though, sadly.)
For those readers unfortunate enough to be as unfamiliar with Eurovision as Buffy, I’ve got the 2004 entries for Ukraine and Greece for you, in case you’re curious. ENJOY!
Previous chapters here, and many smooches to my ever fabulous beta, Kathy!
Summary: Captain Jack *is* The Immortal.
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Genre: Crossover. (BtVS/Torchwood)
Word count: Just over 4000 words.
A/N: I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF! (You'll see what I mean. *g*)
Feedback: Pretty please?
Jack: And you should have seen me in my platforms and five-inch lapels. Woo-hoo! [...] You should try it! A little 70s role-play?
Ianto: Please, God no.
Jack: Stella Courtney liked to role-play.
Friday 7th of May, evening.
“So... what are we going to do tonight?”
At her question The Immortal looked up at her from where he was sprawled on the large leather sofa, before pulling a hand through his hair, having apparently finally run out of ideas.
“Dunno. I’ve been kinda busy these last few days planning our big ball... Hoped maybe there was something you’d want to try? Something new?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like...” his eyes narrowed as he went through some sort of mental list, before suddenly freezing. Then a wide grin broke out on his face, and... he began singing.
“Girl-”
“No!” she cut in, but he was undeterred.
“I wanna take you to a gay bar, gay bar!”
“Stop!” she tried again, and he obeyed, beaming. She frowned sternly.
“We are not going to a gay bar!”
Wide-eyed and hopeful he looked up at her. “Why not? Have you ever been?”
“No... But...”
Any hope she’d had of talking him of out this latest idea crumbled as she saw his eyes suddenly light up as if someone had lit a whole bunch of fireworks.
“I could go in drag!”
Laughing he jumped up off the sofa, and took her hand. “To the wardrobe, away! So - do you want to be your gorgeous self or an out-and-out dyke?”
“I’m not sure you should use that word...” she said feebly, as she let him drag her out the door and up the stairs.
And yet his enthusiasm was so infectious that she was soon caught up in a happy game of dressing-up, diving into chests and under rails, now and again stopping to watch him prance around wearing nothing but a large green hat or a multicoloured feather boa.
Finally he settled on a short, bright pink dress, red stilettos (“I wish I could wear shoes like this more often - I never get to show off my ankles”), and a large amount of jewellery.
Buffy decided on a Small Black Dress which fitted like a glove, and, catching his eyes, held up a beautiful red cape. But he shook his head determinedly as he plucked it from her hand.
“No. Never wear black with colour. It makes the colour look cheap and the black look boring.”
“O...K...” she said, a little unsure, and he winked.
“Trust me - I have that advice from two fashion experts! Lovely, lovely ladies, really knew their stuff. Then they tried to cut off my head so I blew them up. Ah... Good times. Anyway, the Breakfast at Tiffay’s look is perfect.”
She stared silently. Sometimes...
Then he started looking through boxes again, and after some intense searching triumphantly held up a big platinum wig.
Studying himself critically in the mirror he tried it on, obviously not all that taken.
“Well. With it I’m Lily Savage, without it I’m Eddie Izzard. What do you think?”
She shook her head. “Who?”
He turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. “You don’t know Eddie Izzard? That’s... that’s terrible. We must do something about that. But not now.”
Glancing back into the mirror, he tilted his head. “I suppose the wig better stay, it does finish off the look rather nicely. Although maybe with a darker lipstick...”
Carefully he retouched his makeup, and Buffy watched, fascinated - if she hadn’t know better, she’d have thought him a former model.
Finally however they were ready to go, and she couldn’t help shaking her head... if anything gayer had ever hit the town she wasn’t sure what it could be.
It wasn’t until the moment she realised that it was karaoke night that Buffy began to have misgivings. The Immortal just grinned (oh he’d known, the bastard) and took another sip of his fruity cocktail, continuing his industrial-strength flirting with anything that met his eyes.
Visions of an entire evening spent listening to endless renditions of ‘Respect’ and YMCA loomed in her head, and she came close to pretending that she’d seen a vampire before she pulled herself together. Considering her best friend was gay, she wasn’t doing a very good job of trying to look beyond stereotyping.
Half an hour later (some of the singers had been good and only one Dolly Parton song so far), The Immortal stood up, that secretive smile in his eyes that meant he had Thought of Something.
“OK, what are you going to sing?” she asked, and he smirked.
“Have you ever seen La Cage Aux Folles?”
She shook her head, and he looked musing. “I’ll explain later. For now, just enjoy!”
As he took to the stage a little later she was a bit sorry that their table was so far back, but on the other hand she had the pleasure of admiring him on a daily basis - she was sure he wouldn’t mind giving her a private performance later on.
And he certainly was a consummate performer. He stood perfectly still for a moment, surveying the room until he was sure that he had everyone’s undivided attention. Then, as the music (fanfare, really) started, he dramatically ripped off the wig and tossed it aside, lifted his chin - and sang.
“I. Am. What I am. I am my own, special, creation...”
Watching him Buffy wondered if someone had written the song specifically for him... The line ‘I bang my own drum - some think it's noise, I think it's pretty’, was so spot-on that she almost laughed out loud.
He was so very much his own, special, thing; so completely unique... He ought to look ridiculous in the outfit he was wearing, but because he refused to be thought ridiculous, he wasn’t. Although he certainly looked... odd. Despite the dress, the make-up and the shoes, he was still overpoweringly masculine. She knew that the audience probably saw him as one of their own, but - despite all the never-ending flirting - she couldn’t make him fit into the box marked ‘gay’.
Then, while his eyes swept over the crowd, he suddenly stopped, almost missing the next line. Catching himself he managed to continue, but suddenly he was smiling widely at something she couldn’t see.
Frowning she stood up on her chair, scanning the adoring faces but wasn’t able to work out who could be there. Maybe an old friend?
Half a minute later the song was over, and The Immortal immediately swung himself down off the stage and made a beeline through the wildly applauding crowd, ending up talking to a young man whose face seemed vaguely familiar.
It wasn’t until The Immortal had put his hand across his shoulder, steering him towards the door that led to the bathrooms, that Buffy suddenly realised where she’d seen him before... it was the soldier who had shown them the ropes when he’d taken her out flying. Er... something. Ermanno? He looked different out of uniform, that’s what had thrown her. But why was The Immortal... doing what exactly with him?
She waited for a little while, but when they didn’t reappear she grabbed her purse and made her way to the door too, curious. Stepping through to the corridor on the other side she instinctively made sure to keep silent, tiptoeing along until she turned a corner. And froze.
They were only a few feet away, The Immortal pressed up against the opposite wall by Ermanno who had clearly overcome his shyness... and they were kissing passionately. One of The Immortal’s hands was wrapped around the soldier’s middle, the other cradling the back of his head, tilting it just so.
For the longest moment she couldn’t even breathe, the only thought in her mind that apparently he would cheat on her right in front of her nose...
Then The Immortal’s eyes slowly opened, and in a dazed double-take took in her presence.
She couldn’t help but remembering Riley, throwing aside his vampire whore in panic; Spike’s shame, unable to look at either her or Anya, and - heart beating - waited for the inevitable implosion.
And then... he winked.
Mouth falling open she stared with utter incredulity as he with great deliberation closed his eyes again and pulled the boy closer.
After gaping in mute incomprehension for a full three seconds she turned and fled, not stopping until she was outside, gulping down the cool night air.
She wanted nothing except to leave, to go home, but she was miles and miles away, and she’d not brought any money for a taxi because... well, because he always took her home, and he always paid for everything. And it had been so charmingly old-fashioned that she’d never stopped to think how very dependent it made her...
Telling herself that crying would be stupid she made her way to the car, sitting down on the bonnet and wondering what was wrong with her for always picking impossible men.
When he turned up some time later - probably no more than a few minutes, although it felt a lot more - he thankfully looked suitably subdued, despite the garish outfit.
“Buffy?” he asked softly, and she looked at him, trying to work out what to say.
“What... what was that?” she finally asked, and he took a deep breath, eyes leaving hers.
“Walking away.”
“What?” she exploded, pain turning into fury in an instant. “I know we talked about the whole ‘clearly words have a different meaning to you’ before, but walking away implies... walking away. Opposite direction kinda thing. Not walking straight into someone’s arms and sticking your tongue down their throat!”
He looked at her, clearly confused and upset at her anger.
“It was only a kiss...”
“Oh no, mister. That was one step away from ‘Hey let’s not bother with a room’.”
“And then I walked away!”
She stared for a few moments, speechless. “So... you want credit for not sleeping with him?”
“My God Buffy, have you seen him? The chances of meeting him again are literally zero and...” he shook his head, “... he’s a pilot! You have no idea how long it’s been since I had a pilot in my bed, they’re... they’re a breed apart, trust me! But - I just can’t see a way of making it work without screwing up my cover.”
And there was that hurt look again. Not that she cared because she felt like she’d just been stabbed in the back.
“So that’s it? If it hadn’t been so inconvenient for your precious double life it’d have been ‘Goodbye Buffy, hello Soldier’?” The bitterness in her voice was biting, but she’d thought...
To her immense surprise he started chuckling, studying her like she was 5 years old.
“Why on earth do you think it’d be a case of either-or?”
She blinked. “You don’t mean....”
He quirked an eyebrow, and she shook her head, incredulous. “Also he’s gay!”
The Immortal rolled his eyes. “Just labels. As I keep saying, you people are far too narrow-minded. It’d have been the perfect opportunity to show you how much fun a threesome can be.”
“Right...” she studied him, disbelieving and still pissed off. “So I should be upset about missing out on a threesome, not hurt because you went and macked on some cute guy who made you horny.”
“It was just a kiss!” he exclaimed again, frustrated. “It was a nice thing. I’ve told you enough about my past for you to know that I’ve done some pretty horrible things - and trust me, you can’t imagine the half of it - but that I get a free pass on. Instead the one thing you start bitching about is a kiss.”
Slowly she shook her head. “What has your past got to do with anything? I can’t believe you don’t get it. You’re... you’re like from another planet!”
Something dark suddenly flickered in his eyes, and she sighed.
“OK, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just... even vampires understand basic fidelity.”
He was silent for a long moment, then spoke, looking apologetic - even vulnerable. “Listen... I never meant to upset you. I thought... I just figured you’d think it was hot... Like a free show?”
And just like that she was laughing, fighting for breath as his arms swiftly closed around her to stop her falling off the car’s bonnet.
Looking up at him once she recovered, she shook her head, taking in the overly made-up face and the shiny pink fabric her hands were resting on.
“You sure you’re not an alien? Cause I swear it’s like you learned human by correspondence course. And if you have tentacles hidden away - like... like those aliens in Galaxy Quest - I want to know before they suddenly show up in my bed!”
“Tentacles,” he replied solemnly, “are always good. Really, you should-”
“Do not tell me that you are planning a threesome with a squid!”
He opened his mouth, but she put a finger across his lips.
“Also, you’re not allowed to go around putting those lips anywhere other than me until we’re over, understood?”
“Yes Ma’am,” he said, stepping back and saluting, and she cracked up again, because he really did look ridiculous.
Shaking her head for what seemed like the millionth time that night she asked him to take her home. If he’d been anyone else she’d have taken some kind of drastic measure, but she knew that their time was running out - the big costume party was a not-too-subtle farewell gesture.
“You know,” he said, when they were in the car, driving back. “I did need to talk to him - make sure he hadn’t been following me on purpose...”
“I. Don’t. Care,” she cut him off. “Trust me, you want to quit while you’re ahead. Not that you are. I expect grovelling.”
Shooting her an exasperated look, he turned back to the road. “So you never, ever kissed someone when you ‘shouldn’t’?”
“That’s... totally not the point,” she countered, keeping her eyes fixed on the pools of light created by the car’s headlights, not speaking again until he politely inquired about their investigations into the Kungai’s background, a topic which kept them occupied until they reached her flat.
And Dawn’s face when she saw him almost made up for all the previous awkwardness.
Saturday 15th of May. Evening.
The Immortal had declared the evening a non-negotiable night in, but she still wasn’t prepared for him turning up at her door in a T-shirt, jeans and a battered leather jacket, Andrew in tow, the trainee Watcher’s arms laden with cheap takeaway boxes.
“I just got rid of him!” she said, gloomily, but The Immortal just shrugged. “I needed someone to carry the food. And he can take notes.”
“Notes?” she asked, feeling progressively stupider by the second, and then wrinkled her nose.
“And why are we having rubbish food?”
Whenever he came round he tended to bring something from his own kitchen, and Buffy was beginning to seriously worry about what she’d eat once he was gone.
“It’s Eurovision tonight!” he replied brightly, as if this answered both questions, and she threw her hands up.
“OK, what is this Eurovision thingy? And why does it necessitate-” She stopped abruptly.
“What are you doing to my TV?”
He’d started unplugging and reconnecting cables, before adding a mysterious box that he pulled out of his pocket.
“We need to watch it on the BBC - trust me, it’s not the same show without Terry Wogan. And... here we are!”
The TV sprang back to life, except apparently she was now stealing cable, or satellite or... something.
“Immortal - please. Come here, sit down, explain from the start. Why do I want to waste my evening on this?”
He turned, eyebrows raised to comical heights. “Waste? It’s not a waste! It’s part of your cultural education. When in Rome...”
Despite herself she laughed, and he did as he was told, settling down and pulling her close.
“OK. The Eurovision Song Contest has been around since... 1956. It’s very simple - every country provides a song of some kind, people all over Europe vote and the winning country hosts next year’s event. Now the reason you should watch - apart from the fact that it’s fun - is that it will in one night teach you more about Europe than months’ worth of studying. Plus, the next time a European starts going on about they are culturally superior to America, all you need to do is say ‘Eurovision’ and they’ll shut right the hell up! Trust me - it’s kitsch and camp and fabulous - which is why we need the rubbish food to go with it. Also Francesca has everyone working overtime on tomorrow’s feast, so I figured this would be easier.”
Realising that she’d get no say in the matter, Buffy settled down to watch, grabbing some chicken wings and a coke, and telling her brain firmly to switch off.
The show was certainly entertaining, but it wasn’t until the 10th entry that she began to feel like she’d fallen into a parallel world.
“What’s with the Xena look?” she asked, boggling, but The Immortal waved away her complaint, eyes glued to the screen.
“Who cares? That is amazing!”
“But she can’t sing!”
“She’s a hot chick in skimpy leather. She doesn’t need to be able to sing. You’re missing the whole point of this.”
At least she was widening her horizons she supposed. Ukraine had until then never made her think of proto-Slayers rocking the stone age look.
By the time they reached the Russian entry, she felt it superfluous to ask why the pretty young female singer was using four primary coloured, half-naked hunks for sitting on...
The Greek singer was cute though, and had very nice arms.
“Hear! Hear!” The Immortal agreed immediately. “You know, he actually reminds me of-”
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘Ermanno Mancini’ I’m throwing you out of the window. Without opening it.”
“Why do I always end up with the violent ones?” The Immortal muttered to himself, but sadly didn’t elaborate.
During the voting she nearly fell asleep, unlike Andrew who had clearly discovered a new obsession. But finally Ruslana, with her wild cavemen dance, won, which meant that Buffy could kick Andrew out and snuggle into The Immortal’s arms once more, relishing the sensation of uncomplicated peace.
The Immortal was flicking through the gazillion and one channels she now had, too fast for her to follow, so instead she let her hand rest on his chest, watching as it rose and fell with every breath, and feeling the slow steady thump of his heart. Lifting her face she looked at him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How did you become immortal?”
He looked back, features passive and blank, and, before he could shake his head, she pleaded.
“I promise not tell anyone, ever!”
For a long moment he didn’t move, and then his mouth quirked a little.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny. Sorry I asked.”
“I’m not joking.”
She stared, taking in the calmness of his features and trying her best to read something into the lack of emotion. “How - how can you not know? Did you just wake up one morning immortal?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Seeing the look on her face he smiled a little. “I know when. Just not how.”
His eyes took on that faraway, but cautious, look that was always present when he talked about his past.
“There was... an apocalypse. As usual. The hero I was travelling with was busy getting his last minute plan up and running, so I rounded up a group of brave souls to help hold the bad guys back for a few moments. It was suicidal, but better to go out fighting than be slaughtered. I was the last man standing and then - they killed me too. Next thing I remember I woke up, and all the bad guys were dust - literally. Which... is just not possible. Anyway, I got my bearings, ran off to find my hero... and arrived just in time to see him leaving. Without me.”
His voice trailed off momentarily, an oddly lost look in his eyes.
“I’ve been looking for him ever since, because he has to know what happened. And there’s no one else who can-”
Whatever he was going to say was lost as he abruptly stopped. Realising that this was all she was getting, Buffy turned his extraordinary story over in her head.
“But if you’ve been trying to find him all this time... he can’t be human, right?”
At that he laughed. “Oh no, he’s not human. He’s... he’s so much more. The things he can do... it’s out of this world.”
She sat still for a moment, hearing the intense longing and hope hidden in his voice, and wondered just how long he’d been waiting.
“I hope you find him,” she said finally, and he smiled.
“Thank you. Now... how about we try to dress you up in leather?”
Sunday 16th of May. Evening.
Buffy clearly didn’t cope well with waiting, unnecessarily adjusting her tiara for the fifth time.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, as she once more tucked her arm under his.
“Like Cinderella,” she replied, brushing non-existent fluff off the blue ball gown. “You are absolutely sure this dress isn’t bewitched?”
He shot her a look, and she sighed. “I don’t like waiting. Aren’t they ready yet?”
“Relax,” he replied, patting her hand and yet again trailing his eyes over her. The Cinderella look suited her immensely well, he readily admitted. Just as much as Prince Charming fitted him. He’d thought Caesar and Cleopatra when he’d first started planning this ball, but somehow that had segued into fairy tale land when deciding on who to dress up as...
And to give her this filled him with true pleasure. Every girl in the world wanted to be a princess, to play that role just once, and tonight he was making that dream reality.
Then Vittore appeared, nodding his greying head silently as their eyes met, before throwing the large double doors open, revealing the ball room filled to overflowing with people of every species under the sun, all decked out in fantastical costumes. It was like a glittering kaleidoscope of light and colour, blinding and fantastical.
“Presenting your most distinguished hosts for tonight: The Immortal and the renowned Vampire Slayer, Miss Buffy Summers.”
Meeting Buffy’s eyes, Jack saw pure delight reflected back, and stopped for just a second to savour the moment.
“Shall we?” he asked, and she nodded, gripping his arm more tightly.
Mere moments later they were in the middle of the dance floor, the band striking up a waltz, and Jack bowed, waited for her curtsy, and then accepted her hand and her waist, before, with a tiny nod, starting off.
One, two, three. One, two, three...
It was perfect, right down to the last detail. Lavish and over the top, but perfect. And the best escape from reality he’d yet found...
Here there were no ugly deaths on rain-slick streets; no damaged, too-brief lives; no uncertain terror hanging in the air. There were only hopes and dreams, and it felt possible - even plausible - that there’d suddenly be two gatecrashers, in clothing entirely inappropriate to the occasion, curiously taking in the surroundings and suddenly spotting their old travelling companion...
If he kept throwing parties until the end of the world, surely one day they’d show up?
“What are you thinking about?” Buffy asked, and he answered without thinking.
“People I lost.”
Head catching up he looked at her apologetically.
“Sorry - that didn’t fit the script, did it?”
She smiled softly, eyes full of understanding. “’S all right. Me too.”
He smiled gratefully and then pulled her closer again, letting the easy flow of the music carry them away.
He’d known and loved so many people, but this was... different. The serendipity of him and her was utterly unique.
She - the last great warrior of an ancient line, saving the world from the final threat from a dark past, and he - a soldier from days still to come, helping arm humanity against the dangers of the future: The two of them coming together for the briefest of moments in the midst of change; time standing still around them as they danced the eternal dance of men and women in any time or place.
And at that moment he was intensely grateful for the life he had been given.
Chapter 15.
Finally, a few links for you:
Firstly, John Barroman dragged up for La Cage Aux Folles. I can’t even. Just look at those legs!
And here he is, talking about, and then performing, ‘I Am What I Am’. (Not in drag though, sadly.)
For those readers unfortunate enough to be as unfamiliar with Eurovision as Buffy, I’ve got the 2004 entries for Ukraine and Greece for you, in case you’re curious. ENJOY!
no subject
How I wish I could afford to go... *pines*
And I kept fiddling... thanks for the pointers, they were exceedingly useful. :)