| To London and Back by Michelle |
| The Atlantic Ocean looked far away yet imposing from several thousand feet above it. The clouds also looked real, as if someone could just reach out the window and grasp them like cotton � that is, if the basic laws of vacuums and air pressure were completely ignored. Xander sighed and looked back at his magazine, even though the pages had ceased to hold his attention two hours ago. He had read the same page on female sexuality at least 30 times, and it just wasn't holding his interest like he thought it would. �Thank you for flying Church of England,� the stewardess said to him as she pushed a cart down the isle. �Cake or death?� He blinked, but the same professional smile was on her face, so he figured she was serious. �Um, I'll have the cake, please.� She nodded and smiled as she handed him a piece of chocolate cake, moving on to the person sitting behind him. �Thank you for flying Church of England. Cake or death?� �Cake, please,� the man behind Xander said. The stewardess paused, then continued in a somewhat annoyed but still professional tone. �Well, we're out of cake. We only had three bits and we weren't expecting such a rush.� �So my choice is �or death�?� the man asked. There was pause in which Xander expected the stewardess nodded. �I�ll have the chicken, then.� The interaction was too much for Xander to understand, so he tuned it out before his head exploded. The cake was pretty good; a great deal better then death, he was sure. For the millionth time that day he wondered why he chose to fly on an airline named after a religious organization. For about the thousandth time he wondered why he chose to bring along an issue of Cosmo. And for about the hundredth time he wondered just why he was flying to England. Actually, he knew why he was going to England. He was going to try to win Spike's heart and give the vampire his own. Knowing why he was going, however, didn't keep him from questioning the sanity of his actions. After the Scooby Gang's harsh words had sent Spike back to his home country, Xander wasn't holding out much hope for his chances. When the plane landed in London, Xander had managed to move on to an is-he-your-soulmate quiz. He had started and stopped taking it many times before just giving up, not wanting to start his mission with a bad omen. Willow often told him magazine quizzes were about as certain prophecies. He was one of the last people off of the plane, so the waiting area was pretty much empty when he stepped inside. Alone man was holding a sign, and after looking around Xander decided it wouldn't be good to just leave him standing there. As he walked over to the driver, another man also walked up. They stared at each other before the other man spoke. �Are you Sancho?� the man asked, pointing to the sign. �I do not think so. No, I am Sancho.� �Yes, but what makes you more qualified then the others hoping for this position?� Xander asked. �I am Sancho,� the man responded. Xander couldn't really find fault with that, so he nodded and walked away. He was without a way around the city, but he had figured that much. Feet worked just as well as wheels in his book. On his way out of the airport, he was stopped by a woman wearing a purple toga. Flowers that looked like bright pink daisies were in her hair, while a yellow cape hung from her shoulders. �Have you ever been comically bitch-slapped by a six-armed goddess?� she asked him, her accent thick with something � he wasn't quite sure what. �Um . . . no,� he replied. His eyebrows were knitted together in confused disbelief. She handed him a pamphlet from the stack in her arms. �If you've never seen an elephant ski, then you've never been on acid,� she said before walking away to repeat the same conversation with Sancho. Xander was frozen in place for a few minutes before he shook his shock off and continued on his journey out of the airport. Maybe then he'd be able to work on the real reason he was in England. Besides, he had a feeling he didn't really want to think too much about what the woman had just said to him. �Bobbert,� he whispered in awe as he looked at the buildings around him. Then he shook himself in befuddlement, wondering where that word came from. Probably the same hidden vault as shpadoinkle. London, he discovered, was a great deal larger than Sunnydale. Xander's plans had only gone as far as go to England, find Spike, shag Spike, take Spike home. In reality, finding Spike was like trying to find a vampire with a soul. Okay, bad example. But it was still really hard. After a few days, he finally gave in and called said vampire with a soul. Xander figured Angel would know best where the blond vampire would be, or at least where he might gravitate to. Angel gave the mortal a hard time, but eventually told Xander to try the bars in North London. And on the eighth day, Xander got lucky. Well, not lucky in the sense of �getting it on,� but he found Spike, who was crucial to him having that kind of luckiness. If all went well, both men would be getting very lucky for a very longtime. The bar he found the vampire in was about as dank and dark as Spike's crypt, which didn't really surprise Xander. Of course, when he walked into the place he didn't know Spike was there. He just had the general impression of *ugh*. Several patrons were sitting at the bar drinking various forms of alcohol. Xander walked up to the counter, intent on asking the bartender if he had seen Spike, when he saw the picture of the naked woman on the wall where he expected a mirror. �Jesus!� Xander exclaimed. The drunk on his right brought his head up and looked around. �Where?� Deciding it was safer not to interact, he turned his attention back to the bartender and tried not to look at the various parts on display on the wall. He tried for a few seconds, anyway. �Can I help you?� the bartender asked, drawing Xander away from his trying. �Um, yeah, I'm looking for someone.� The bartender snorted. �Aren't we all?� �Well, yeah, but I'm looking for someone specific. He's got bleach blond hair, leather duster, big mouth, probably very drunk . . .� �Yeah, there's a guy here matchin� that description. Over there,� the man said, pointing to a corner. Through the dim and dirty light, Xander could make out a portion of platinum blond. �Thanks, man.� The heart of his mission was going to begin. Swallowing heavily, Xander walked past the drunk still looking for Jesus and toward the corner table where his future luckiness would be determined. With the exception of the hellmouth beast, the demon mayor, and the mystery stuff growing in his bathtub, he had never been so scared in his life. �Spike?� he said as he approached the table. �Go away,� the vampire ordered without looking up from his glass. �I'm dead. You can't talk with the dead.� �You're not dead,� Xander said. At that, Spike moved his eyes to see the mortal. �I'm not?� �No.� �Oh.� Spike directed his eyes back at his beer. �Well, go away anyway. I don't want to talk with you.� Xander sat down on the other side of the table. �Spike, are you drunk?� �Not nearly enough. I've got to start on the whiskey and scotch.� Spike took a drink out of his glass and looked back up at Xander. �Why are you still here?� The mortal wiped a hand over his face before plunging into the only reason he would ever set foot in a place like the bar. Although the artwork was starting to grow on him. �I've got something to say to you, and if you still don't want me here when I'm done then I'll leave.� He took a big breath. �Spike, I'm in love with you.� That got the vampire's attention. His head shot up, locking blue eyes with brown ones. �You love me? Bloody hell. First you wanna kill me, now you wanna kiss me. Blow!� �Spike, please.� Xander was not happy with where this was going. Unless Spike was telling Xander to blow him . . . no, that probably wasn't right. �I came here to England to tell you. I flew on Church of England airlines, was accosted by someone in the airport � I even called Angel to find out where you might be.� �You called Angel?� Spike sat back in his seat, shocked. �Cor, you really do love me.� Taking shock as a good sign, Xander plunged forward. �I know you don't love me, but all I'm asking is for you to give me a chance.� Spike was silent for several minutes before leaning over the table. Both eager and frightened, Xander leaned into meet him. �I guess I can give you a chance.� Even in the dim light, Xander could see Spike's leer. �Give me some sugar, baby." Xander was most happy to comply. It looked like he would be getting lucky, indeed. As long as that six-armed goddess didn't come around. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Not much to this challenge. All you have to do is include as many of these randomly chosen quotes into a story as you can: -"Have you ever been comically bitch-slapped by a six-armed goddess?" -"You're not dead." "I'm not?" -"Cake or Death?" (a/n: the entire conversation between Xander and the stewardess belongs to Eddie Izzard - I just used it all cause it worked so well.) -"If you've never seen an elephant ski then you've never been on acid..." -"Are you Sancho? I do not think so. No, I am Sancho." "Yes, but what makes you more qualified then the others hoping for this position?" "I am Sancho..." -"Jesus!" "Where?" -"First you wanna kill me, now you wanna kiss me. Blow!" -"Gimme some sugar, baby..." -"Bobbert." back to the archive |