Title:
The Soldier Diaries: Relative Issues
Author: Buffywatcher
Feedback: Constructive comments always
welcome: [email protected]
Pairing:
Spike/Angel (Sort of. You’ll see)
Rating: Strong R to possibly NC-17ish
Spoilers: Perhaps some incidental references
but nothing major.
Warnings: Character death in this one (You
don’t see any details). There’s Violence, M/M relationship, strong language…Bit
of uncomfortable ickiness here or there…The usual goodies.
Disclaimer: Just borrowing them for a bit of
harmless fun. All characters, recognisable likenesses are retained by their
owner and accredited license holders.
Writer’s Notes: This story takes place in an AU
setting. This one is going to contain a bit of a twist to the usual Vampiric
driven storylines so I hope that doesn’t offend too much. This series will also
bring forth the fact that Step-siblings can be lovers but if that goes a bit
too far for your moral fibre I’d suggest giving this story a pass. Please
excuse any minor discrepancies or artist license. As always thanks are going
out to GF, MarieC, Luba, and Mera my most excellent group of Beta/Editors.
Writer’s Dedication: This story if for Stony, my own
favourite muse and beta/editor Ghostsforge, since it was his Challenge that
gave me the idea for it and he helped with the outline concepts that drive this
little tale.
Distribution: If I’ve already been given
permission to archive my work please consider it yours if you want it. If I
haven’t and you would like to archive it please do, all I ask is that you email
me and tell me where it’s going so I can visit.
Summary: The battle for Humanity’s future is
about to begin but for a pair of Stepbrothers unexpectedly reunited on the
frontlines it’s about to become a relative issue.
Story Relevant Symbol Key:
**The colour
coding will help keep you grounded as the POV shifts during the story so be
sure to note which colour belongs to which character and you’ll keep on
track.**
*Character Thoughts*
~Angel Flashback Sequence~
~Spike Flashback Sequence~
Chapter One
*I know that you are watching. I can see you reading my every response as
though I were shouting at the top of my lungs every last secret thought like
some obscene poetry reading. I can feel the weight of those eyes that fall
heavily upon me, feel it as they drag slowly over my skin and strip me of my
pretences, laying me raw and exposed on the table of your observation. I know
what you see looking back at you as you contemplate that which you cannot so
easily label. You see a tall, broad across the shoulders, narrow in the hips
before flaring into powerfully muscled thighs and endless legs atop sturdy
feet, a man like so many others. There the comparisons stop for though
constructed to the same blueprint as any of his gender, God as they say, is in
the details. A thick mahogany mane that would put the oldest of precious
antiques to shame, strands of copper and gold playing hide and seek among the
darkness like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day. Eyes the colour of
bronzed whiskey and just as easily drowned in as that potent spirit. The
powerful features that are, in their whole, the epitome of masculinity and the
subtle imperfections are only reinforcing the impact of that countenance. The body
is the solid strength of the bear, all muscles and power built to take as much
damage as it delivers. Do you see the brow heavy with responsibility, the lines
that betray a frown overwhelming the faint traces of laugh lines? Do you see
the dull glimmer of duty clouding these weary eyes all but eclipsing the shine
of humour and the glint of shiny happiness? What is that old saying? Heavy
hangs the brow of the dutiful man? I know what you see, even as I can’t stand
to look, can’t face the knowledge that writhes in the heart of those perceptive
eyes. I know the secrets that lie in the hearts of men and in the heart of this
man in particular. Perhaps that’s why I can’t stand to look too closely
anymore. You see every time I look into the mirror of my life, I don’t see
what’s there, not like you are looking at me right now. I don’t see what the
mirror shows. I see what is missing from it. That is my secret, you see, I have
never seen what I have. I can only see what I am missing. What I can never
have.*
A soft knock on his door has him pulling away from the mirror, smoothing the
dark unadorned fatigues that serve as his uniform neatly into place.
“I’m sorry to bother you Colonel but the Commander has requested that you stop
by his office prior to leaving on patrol.” A polite male voice calls softly
from the other side of the door.
Stopping to smooth his hands down the front of his uniform; carefully easing
out any wrinkles or imperfections; he eases the door to see an eager young
recruit, managing to look both frightened and excited. He tilts his head down
and catches the man’s name on his fatigues before straightening back up to his
not unimpressive height.
“Thank you Private Meers. Did the Commander happen to mention what the meeting
was regarding? I need to know if I need to bring anything with me.”
“I’m sorry Colonel O’Donnell; the Commander didn’t mention anything about
requiring anything but yourself in his office before you went out with your
squad.”
“Call me Liam please or O’Donnell if you prefer, Meers. I retired from military
service to accept this post.” He tries to smile warmly, remembering how hard he
tried to fit in when he was a young as this recruit. To his consternation the
smile actually seems to just increase his nervous excitement and he blushes and
refuses to meet his eye.
“Yes Sir O’Donnell Sir.” The young recruit salutes sharply and Liam hides his
exasperated grin by leaning over and grabbing his carefully stowed gear. When
he straightens and reappears in the doorway his features are carefully blank of
amusement. “I am returning to the base presently Sir, would. I could offer you
a lift back if you like.”
“Certainly, Meers, give me a minute to lock up and we can head in.” He unzips a
side pocket and pulls out his keys, reaching around to hit the alarm’s arming
button he pulls the door closed and locks both deadbolts before turning back to
Meers. He slips his keys back into his pocket and pulls the zip closed firmly
and shoulders his gear and tilts his head at the young recruit, who salutes
sharply again and scampers ahead of him like an eager puppy. *I hope I was
never that perky.* Liam thinks with an inner grin.
He hops into the jeep and shrugs his pack into the back behind his seat and
fastens his seat belt and leans back and tries not to laugh at the anxious
young recruit, who is almost radiating a frantic energy. He pretends not to
notice the curious sideways glances the young man keeps shooting at him, made
all the more obvious by his poor attempts at appearing nonchalant. “What has
you so excitable Meers? Is there something going on at the base that I should
know about?”
Meers almost bounces in his seat with relief at getting to pour out what he’s
wanted to say. “I heard some of the Commander’s staff talking in the commissary
Sir. They said that the Watchers Council over in
Liam doesn’t need to ask whom Meers is referring to. The enigmatic hunter known
only as Spike has long been held with a curious mixture of fear and respect in
the small and elite field of Demon hunting. The fact that so little is known
about him has only added to the stories about him over the years. Aside from the
fact that he’s male and is undisputedly one of the world’s deadliest men and
his services are retained by the Watchers Council exclusively, nothing much is
known. Despite their best attempts to learn more about the Watchers Council,
their Slayers, and their shadowy teams of professional soldiers that they call
Hunters, they have learned little of any value. The Commander with the full
backing of the
“If they really sent their best than he must be among their number I would
imagine.” Liam says finally. “Also if the stories I’ve heard are true, then he
always accompanies any of the senior members of the Watchers Council when they
travel abroad and I’m sure that is more than true for the Head of the Council
himself. I’m sure they’ve spared no precaution to ensure his safety given we’re
on a Hellmouth.”
Meers looks like he’s in awe. “That would be so great, to be able to meet him
too. First I get to meet you and now maybe I get to meet him too that would just
make my day Sir. I would be the envy of all my friends if I tell them I got to
meet both Liam O’Donnell and Spike himself!”
Liam hides his grin at the bubbly young man and turns his thoughts inward as he
ponders his life and how he’s come to be where he is.
~He sits in
large limo and watches the scenery fly by. The world looks so big and he knows
that he is not part of it. From the moment he was born his Father has kept him
sequestered. Oh he knows that his Father didn’t mean to isolate his only child but
as an important man in political circles his son’s safety has always been his
paramount concern. He has wanted for nothing material in his life. His Father
has seen to it that he has had only the best of everything that a boy could
want but even that has set him apart from the world around him.
He remembers the play rooms of his youth, palatial in scale he learned to do
everything that a boy his age should learn, from riding a bike to playing in
his sandbox. All from the security and confines of heavily guarded rooms with
armed guards. He doesn’t know why his Father was so fearful but from his
earliest moments when some children delight in the embrace of family, he
learned to follow orders. His life was carefully structured and scheduled and
he could set a watch by what he was doing at any given point during the day.
But childhood is a fleeting thing, made all the more swift when one has never
really had the chance to be a child. His Father’s pride in him has never been
in question or his all consuming love but his youth was spent more with nannies
and guards than with his very busy and important Father.
It was no surprise when his Father appeared one cloudy autumn morning and
announced that his precious boy was old enough for school. He remembered being
so excited as his Father talked proudly about how pleased he was that his son
was being such a mature little boy on what seemed to be the endless limo ride.
The thought of finally being around other children and having friends
overwhelmed his fear of being in a strange new place. Little could he know that
he was merely exchanging one prison without bars for another and that freedom
was just a word with little meaning for him. The
school was everything his Father approved of, very posh, extremely exclusive,
ridiculously expensive, and utterly impenetrable; bank vaults should have such
security.
As he strained on his five year old legs to peek over the window sill and watch
his Father’s limo drive away, he found himself wishing he was back home in the
familiarity of those walls. Nothing in his meagre years had prepared him for
ten years alone with no visits from his Father and little contact aside from a
letter every few months and the occasional phone call.
Some part of him that is still that little five year old boy straining to look
over the window sill he now dwarfs, rejoiced when the headmaster of the school
called him into his office to give him the news. Finally after ten years he was
going home, the headmaster informed him, that his Father would be there in less
than a week to collect him and his belongings. His heart was light as he packed
his things, he had no one to say his farewells to, and as in truth since his
time at the school he rarely saw another student or left his quarters. At the
exclusive school meals were served within the sumptuously posh cells by
uniformed staff with all the pomp and circumstance of the finest restaurants.
Classes were held with private tutors that moved from suite to suite like
travelling bards. While common areas existed they were little utilised by the
pampered students that had anything and everything they could possibly desire
provided for them in the privacy…and security of their own suites. The only
regular interaction between students occurred only on the various playing
fields of their sports and that had little to do with making friends. On the
sports field it was kill or be killed, excel or lose all respect. He’s always
been proud to be the best at everything he’s done in hope of winning that bit
of praise from his Father. The praise that never comes, no matter how many
awards of excellent or trophies for performance on the sports field that he
earned by decimating his fellow classmates.
His excitement at seeing his Father was short lived as he waited eagerly on the
front steps of the school, watching the limo approach as he watched his things
being loaded into a small lorry for delivery at his home. He moved forward
eagerly as the elegant limo pulled to a stop and rushed to open the door and
tried to stifle the low sound of pain and forced a smile as Larissa Gunn his
Father’s executive assistant stepped out of the interior. He knew then that his
Father had delegated the responsibility for him once more. He tries to smile
brightly at Larissa; having long ago figured out it was due to her no doubt
tactful reminders that saw his Father maintaining as much contact as he has
over the years.
“I’m sorry Liam…” Larissa begins to say.
He holds up his hand and shakes his head slowly and her voice trails away.
“Enough excuses for him, I’ve gotten used to the disappointments. Out of
curiosity what is it this time, business, spoiled young girlfriend, or a
hangnail?” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice but it betrays him
anyway. He sees the bleak look on Larissa’s face and he can see her struggling
for words. “Just tell me Larissa. Whatever it is he’s done I’ll deal with it.”
“He…Liam, your Father’s remarried.” Larissa’s voice is hesitant and her eyes
are kind as she hurts for the proud young man doing his best to hide the
stabbing pain she’s just inflicted. Seeing the pain flare in the young man’s
eyes and how bravely he tries to pretend that she didn’t just tear his world
apart; she can honestly say in that moment that she hates her employer.
“So he wants to bring me home to live happily ever after with him and his new
wife?” Liam chokes out finally.
“Liam…he’s been married for six years. You’re coming home because your
Stepmother, Amalie, gave him an ultimatum that left him no choice. She wants
you to live with them and not shut up here like some kind of a specimen under
glass.” Larissa finally chokes out through the throat constricted with empathy
for the young man trying to be so brave in front of her.
“Why…why would she do that Larissa? Why does she care about me? She’s never
laid eyes on me and it’s obvious that my Father could care less. Why not just
leave me here?”
“Liam…” Larissa trails off not sure what she can say to make him feel better.
“Amalie is a good person Liam, she really is. Sean…he didn’t tell her that he
had a son Liam. She found out quite by accident when she came across some
pictures. As soon as she heard about you, she demanded that you be brought home
to live with them immediately or she and William would leave him.”
“William?” Liam chokes out, confused as to why a stranger would show such
caring for him when it seems beyond his Father’s capacities.
“William is Amalie’s son by her first husband. She dotes on that boy like
nothing I have ever seen. She’s devoted to him and to her, that devotion now
extends to you as well. Give her a chance Liam? Amalie’s a special person as I
think you’ll be able to tell when you meet her. I…I’m sorry that I’ve let you
down Liam. I should have found a way to make sure William found that photo
album sooner…” Larissa’s voice trails off as she realises what she’s admitted
to doing.
Liam looks at her and the first genuine smile to cross his face lights up his
features and he hugs the shorter woman affectionately. “So I have you and my
new little Stepbrother and his Mother for springing me from this place I take
it?”
Larissa hugs him back; her affection for him clearly shows. “Well I…left the
album out hoping Amalie would see it and be curious enough to look at it.
William was the one that found it however and took it to his Mother. Your
Father blamed Jacob for the household staff’s carelessness and fired him for
failing in his duties.” Liam looks shocked and sickened by the thought of
Larissa’s husband losing his job but she only smiles gently. “Don’t worry about
Jacob, Liam. It seems Amalie had a solution for that as well. Apparently
William has a wealthy and somewhat eccentric Godfather and by the time she was
done calling him, Jacob had a new job as his Steward. His manor is only fifteen
minutes away from your Father’s and we have a lovely cottage on the grounds
that we just love. You should see how happy the children are, I’ve never seen
Charles having so much fun running all over the ground with young William.
Jacob is much happier, truthfully we all are.” Larissa smiles at Liam’s
relieved sigh and brightening smile. “We should go, if we’re going to make it
by suppertime. Amalie was eagerly running around the kitchen cooking you a
welcome home dinner fit for a King.” Larissa gently urges the young man into the
back of the limo and climbs in after him, motioning to the driver that it’s
time to go.
So it came to be that he was in the limo on his way home after a decade away
and looking out a world that to his eyes is still as big and alien as it was to
his five year old eyes all those years ago. He’s trying to adjust to the truth
of his life; that he is only going home because his new Stepmother and
Stepbrother that he has never met, fought for his right to be there. He wonders
what home will hold for him now and as they’re pulling up the long drive to his
Father’s manor, it seems he doesn’t have long to wait for his answer.
As the limo pulls to a stop he can see his Father standing with his usual dower
expression that just shouts that there are things he’d rather be doing than
this. Standing at his side is a pretty older woman dressed elegantly in a
simple dress, her sandy blond hair coiled neatly at her nape. Twilight is
slipping into evening as he steps out of the limo, Larissa at his back. He
pauses on the lower step and looks up the stairs at his Father, stifling a low
sound of pain as his Father makes no move to walk down the steps from the
landing to meet him. The disappointment doesn’t last long as he suddenly finds
warm and welcoming arms closing about him as he’s pulled into an embrace unlike
any he’s every known. After a moment’s hesitation he closes his arms around the
slight form of his Stepmother and marvels over how tiny and fragile she seems
but her hold on him betrays a strength beyond what should be housed in her
petite form.
He is surprised as the hug goes on with no sign of it abating and he finally
relaxes into his first real hug. His Mother died when he was barely a year old
and he can’t recall ever receiving such selfless affection from his Father or
the endless parade of Nannies entrusted with his care. He buries his face
against a willowy neck and can’t help but take a deep breath, drawing in an
intoxicating scent of Motherly love and comfort with the subtle undertone of
cinnamon and vanilla. She seems so small in his arms, almost fragile despite
the strength with which she clings to him. She finally slowly releases him and
surprises him again by lifting her hands to cup his face.
“Welcome home Liam. I’ve got your suite of rooms all ready for you and dinner
will be ready shortly, come inside you must be weary from the trip. Larissa,
thank you very much, for bringing our Son home to us. I’d love it if you stayed
for dinner but I’m sure you’re anxious to get home to Jacob and the children.” Larissa
smiles and nods; knowing that Amalie would understand that. “Robert please
drive Larissa home.” The Chauffeur smiles and gallantly assists Larissa back
into the limo and quietly closes the door before leaving again.
Liam finds a smile curving his lips at the soft twinkling sound of her voice,
not unlike the soft tones of the purest silver bell, and somehow perfectly
suited to her. He lets her take his hand and follows her meekly up the stairs;
unable to keep his eyes from seeking out his Father’s but he sees no light of
welcome in them. He glad of the hold his Stepmother has retained on his hand as
they stop a few steps below the landing.
“Hello Father.” Liam says politely, making no move to hug his Father or intrude
on his personal space. He’s not overly shocked by his Father’s nod of
acknowledgement.
A slight whispering sound of fabric scraping against marble and some almost
imperceptible hint of movement draw his attentions into the deeper shadows
beside the doorway to his left. He knows that the stone railing of the stairs
up to the front door level out to a medium sized wall bracketing the door and
that the wide top of the shelf is a great place to sit, as he often sat there
when he was younger. With the deepening dark of the evening he can barely see
into the shadowy recesses but with another whisper of movement a slender form
leaps down lightly and stalks from the shadows.
Liam’s eyes widen at the sight of the young man who stops several feet away,
his brow quirking up in silent contemplation. His hair is amazing falling away
from his face in waves of sandy gold with deeper tones of gold and tawny brown
shot through it. His cheekbones are high and impossibly sharp drawing the eyes
down to surprisingly lush lips. The top curves with a pronounced cupid’s bow
and a luxuriously full lower lip that amazingly doesn’t seem effeminate though
any woman would kill for it. The sharp angles of his cheekbones draw his eyes
up and he sucks in a silent breath, there peeking out from the inky darkness of
incredibly lushes are eyes the colour of which he has never seen.
*Oh my god how beautiful. What colour is that?* He thinks.
The teenager steps further out of the shadows and the light plays over his
features causing the blue shade of his eyes to shift again almost like a
chameleon changing its colours. Liam draws his eyes quickly over his form and
is surprised to realise that he appears to be around his age but yet physically
is little larger than his Mother. He looks from one to the other and smiles as
he finally realises what has been nibbling at the corner of his consciousness.
They remind him of a cat he had when he was a boy, all long, slender lines,
graceful without a spare ounce of fat anywhere, but with an innate sense of
dignity and svelte power just waiting to explode into motion.
“Liam, this is my son William.” Amalie says proudly as the young man’s lips
twitch up into a slow but easy smile. “William this is your Brother, Liam.”
“Hello big Brother.” The teenager says softly. His voice
is slightly husky with a slight whispery inflection that softens his pronounced
cockney accent into a smooth purring cadence.
“Hello William.” Liam says smiling back. His eyes flick away as his Father
finally moves, taking a few steps forward to rest a hand on William’s shoulder.
Liam drops his eyes unwilling to see the pride that gleams in his eyes as he
squeezes his Stepbrother’s shoulder. He feels Amalie’s hold on his hand tighten
in support and his own tightens in silent thanks. He feels a hand curving over
his shoulder and he looks up to see that William has crossed the distance to
present a united front along side his Mother and new Stepbrother. William’s
eyes shine with warmth as his astonishing eyes brighten to a vivid cerulean
blue that would shame the deepest of pure
“Welcome back Liam.” His Father says gruffly.
Liam lifts his head and takes a deep breath. “It’s good to be home Sir.”~
“…Sir?”
Liam is startled, gives a little jump of surprise and looks at Meers with a
confused frown.
“We’re here Sir. I was asking if you’d like me to drop you off at the Commander’s
office on my way to the motor pool Sir.”
Liam swallows heavily and nods, shrugging off his unaccustomed loss of
concentration and forces his mind back to the present. He thanks Meers as the
jeep pulls up outside the administration building and he grabs his gear and
heads inside. He waves to the officers on duty at the security desk, smiling
his thanks as they wave him through the checkpoint with welcoming smiles.
He walks through the maze of corridors with the ease of years of practice as he
makes his way to the elevator and pushes the button. He glances briefly at the
adjacent stairwell and chuckles silently to himself and shakes his head. It’s
not like he doesn’t get more than enough exercise during patrols to worry about
the health benefits of taking the stairs and grins and waits for the elevator.
He automatically steps aside as a curious pair step off the elevator talking
animatedly amongst themselves as they stride off the
elevator and down the side hall towards the Officer’s Lounge. Liam uses his
foot to hold the elevator doors as he stares confusedly at the walking pair.
They are dressed in a style not unlike his own. Black boots, dark pants; which
if he’s not mistaken appear to be leather rather than the more traditional
fabric of fatigues; and simple black cotton tank tops complete their
understated ‘uniforms’. Surprisingly both are armed with what appear to be
small calibre firearms and if he’s not mistaken both are sporting wooden stakes
in ingenious boot sheathes. Neither the tall, bald black man nor his petite,
but well built blond female companion sport any sign of their rank or branch of
service. He wonders if they can be two of the ‘hunters’ here as escort for the
head of the Watchers Council? His brow furrows as he stares after the tall
black man. He could swear he knows him from somewhere, but can’t place him.
Hearing the soft tone of the elevator’s warning ping, he shakes off the feeling
and steps into the elevator for a ride up to the top floor where the Base
Commander’s palatial office is located.
He smiles as he’s waved past the security desk without hesitation. He spends
almost as much time in the Commander’s Office as he does the Officer’s Club and
he’s well known to the regular personnel. He pushes through the door into the
executive offices and smiles as the Commander’s secretary looks up and smiles.
“Good evening Colonel.” She says warmly. “The Commander said you could go
straight through when you arrived.” She gestures towards the heavy wooden door
behind and to the right of her. “Would you like me to keep an eye on that for
you?”
“Hi
“There you are, Liam. Please come in and meet our honoured guests.” General
Woods the base commander smiles and waves him inside.
Liam smiles and starts to move forward as the pair sitting with their backs to
him stand and turn to face him. Liam’s eyes widen and his steps falter as one
of the men mirrors his expression before darting forward to catch him up in a
hug.
“Uncle Rupert?!!” Liam exclaims in shock as his
honorary Uncle laughs and nods as the pair hug and talk a mile a minute,
neither noticing the door softly being closed behind them. Liam is stunned to
see his Stepbrother William’s Godfather after all these years. “YOU’RE the head
of the Watchers Council?!!” He just can’t believe his eyes. He lets his glance
flow over his shocked Commander’s face and over the studious looking man
standing in front of the desk. He tries to hide his shock as his first
impression of the man is that he’s a librarian or a college professor rather
than one of the deadliest men in the Council’s combat ranks.
“Well it seems introductions are redundant Colonel as you and Mr. Giles appear
to be acquainted.” Commander Woods says jovially as he resumes his seat. He
gestures to the other man to his left. “This is Wesley Wyndham-Price, Mr.
Giles’ Executive Assistant.” Liam releases his Uncle and reaches out to shake
Wesley’s hand. “And the gentleman behind you is…”
Liam turns automatically starting to extend his hand while he conceals his
surprise at not only not realising there was a fourth man in the room, but also
at not realising he was standing behind him. He would have thought his
observational and survival skills were better honed than that. He freezes and
inhales sharply as the man steps away from the shadows beside the door. His
hair is a shocking shade of platinum blond that is never seen in nature, it is
short on the sides and in back and the longer waves of the top are neatly swept
back and gelled into place. He is dressed identically to the two he saw
stepping off the elevator earlier with the addition of a calf length black
leather duster. Despite the changes from teenager into manhood, Liam knows
without a doubt that there can’t be two men in the world with those cheekbones
and those eyes.
“Hello big Brother.”
Liam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath at the sound of that voice he
remembers so well. It is deeper and slightly rougher with age and a more pronounced
accent roughened by a soft growl.
“Hello William.”
Commander Woods’ looks like he wants to bang his head on his desk in
exasperation but finally smiles wryly and just forges ahead anyway. “Liam, Lord William Bradley; Retired Lt. Colonel of her Majesty’s
Royal Marines. This is Colonel Liam O’Donnell, one of the best damn men
in this unit.”
“Just call me Spike, Mate.”
Liam watches in amazement as his Stepbrother pulls a pack of cigarettes from
his pocket and lights one as he leans back against the wall beside the door
with an obvious lack of military reserve and deportment.
Rupert Giles chuckles and shakes his head at his incorrigible Godson and makes
a subtle motion with his head that has him nodding in understanding as he steps
away from the wall.
“Come along Percy, lets round up the others and let Giles finish his talks with
the General.”
Wesley grimaces at being called by that inane nickname but quietly leaves the
office without argument.
“Spike.” Giles says softly, stopping the blond in his
tracks. “Keep everyone together; I want to visit the Slayer’s home before we
settle in here.” Spike nods once and stalks out of the office and past Wesley
who jogs to keep up, maintaining a respectful distance behind him.
Liam turns to his Uncle and narrows his eyes suspiciously as incidents from
William’s youth suddenly begin to make more sense. “How long has Wil been
working for you?”
Giles drops his eyes and turns back to the General. “Since he was a boy Liam,
since he was boy.” He sits down in a chair heavily and sighs at the censure he
knows will be in his foster nephew’s eyes if he could bring himself to look up
and see.
“May I be excused Sir?” Liam growls unable to keep the
anger from roughening his voice.
“Yes of course Liam. You’re excused.” Commander Woods replies at the silent nod
of encouragement from Giles. The men watch as Liam salutes sharply and turns on
his heel and strides out of the office, pausing only briefly to retrieve his
pack from Sergeant Maclay before striding out of the Commander’s offices.
“I’m sorry General; I…didn’t have any idea that your Colonel O’Donnell was my
Foster Nephew. I would have sent Spike and the others ahead and come alone.”
Giles says gruffly, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them vigorously before
putting them back on.
“They’re Brothers?” Commander Woods asks confused for his friend has never
mentioned having any family other than his Father.
“Stepbrothers; William’s Mother Amalie was married to Liam’s Father Sean for a
little over fifteen years.” Giles says clearing his throat.
“The marriage went bad I take it and they divorced?” Commander Woods asks
sympathetically.
“You could say that. Yes you could say that it went very badly indeed and
neither of those boys will ever forgive themselves for that; even though
there’s nothing to forgive. What happened wasn’t their fault but I think both
of them may persist in thinking that it is.”
*
Chapter Two
Liam strides down the hallway from the Commander’s office his mind in turmoil,
his mind jammed full of confused thoughts and mixed emotions. He had never
thought he’d ever see his Stepbrother again…and the son of a bitch is more
beautiful than ever.
He strides down the hall his eyes scanning each office
and lounge as he passes looking for a flash of black leather and platinum flash
that will betray his Stepbrother’s presence. He bypasses the elevator opting
for the ease of the staircase and his long strides make short work of the four
story descent as he rockets out of the stairwell. He turns and navigates the
maze of hallways and corridors and the maze of look-alike rooms that the
military does its level best to shove into every ounce of available space.
There isn’t much space when it comes to military life,
be it spatial or personal as efficiency is the dogma of the century. Every
available space has a function, has its uses, and waste isn’t something that is
well thought of by the bean counters that are as much a part of military life
as discipline is. Every person has their duties, their own uses, just as
regimented and just as controlled. There is always someone higher that must be
accounted to, always someone that you have to be held accountable to. The
military isn’t the path to freedom; it is the stability of structure, of
predictability, of constancy and the loss of one’s self.
From the moment the military embraces you, you become
part of the great machinery, your purpose set and defined as the labels of rank
and serial number become your mantra. The faceless cogs in the innards of the
military machine; you can be worn out, broken, and replaced as easily as a
burnt out light bulb. Little wonder that few bulbs choose to make their lives
in the service of their fellow man. They choose to illuminate the night with
their light for a span of a few years before taking their skills back into the
shadows instead. Who can blame them truly for wanting to regain the
individuality that once defined them and set them apart from everyone else?
Liam navigates the halls as easily as he does the
constraints his chosen path consigns him to and he soon arrives at the
Officer’s Lounge. He leans in the doorway and stares somewhat in amazement and
no little bemusement. William has hopped up on the bar and perches there with
easy grace, his arm resting comfortably around the shoulders of the slender
blond he saw getting off the elevator earlier. Her powerfully built companion
is talking animatedly to them both, his hands moving as he talks. The bookish
man from the office…Wesley he thinks his name was, is sitting at the bar
sipping from a thermos, offering a quiet phrase now and then to the
conversation. Each of them is in their way unique and some deeply ingrained
instinct tells him that they are much more than they appear to be.
Wesley is the epitome of low-key intellectualism
wrapped up in the formality of well-bred English mannerisms. His clothes are
neat and understated and of the highest quality without being flashy or
pretentious. He is seated perfectly in the centre of the barstool, the heels of
his loafers neatly caught on the lowest railing. Other than his moving arm
delivering his thermos to his mouth and the eyes that continually scan the
room, he is as still as a rock. To most eyes he would seem to be a threat on
par with a paper cut but Liam can almost sense a watchful intensity that the
truly innocent never possess. It’s like gazing at a snake curled on a rock, you
can never tell if it is awake or sleeping until you approach too close to
escape it’s strike.
The powerfully built black man is slightly easier to
categorise. His well delineated musculature, faint tracings of old scars
peppered here and there and the ease with which he tempers that power all
shouting out that he is no stranger to a fight. The back of his hands and his
forearms bear tracing upon tracing of scars and it’s easy to see that he fights
in a brawler like style that relies heavily on his physical strength. He
certainly has the build to stand toe to toe and duke it out on sheer power
alone. Yet again though layers upon layers and he too eludes the easy
classifications as he is talking quite animatedly about the thermodynamics of
the solar winds.
Liam’s gaze flickers over the petite woman looking
entirely too accustomed to the weight of William’s arm across her shoulders.
She’s attractive, even pretty he supposes. She wears her combat gear with easy
grace betraying that she is no stranger to it. She is physically on the
delicate side as far as her build yet she holds herself proudly and unafraid
among the number of these fighting men. While part of that could be explained
away by Spike’s clearly protective embrace he suspects it has more to do with
the fact that her eyes shine with knowledge beyond her years. Like her
companions the placid gloss of what she appears to be only hides the depths of
who she truly is.
Liam turns his attention to the last member of the
merry band. Wil…no Spike he corrects himself, has grown into the breathtaking
potential he exhibited as a boy. He is several inches shorter than he is and he
estimates that he is only an inch or two taller than his Mother had been which
places him at the lower range of the average male height range. The leather
duster hides quite a bit of his body’s build from being easily discerned and
it’s difficult to see if he has changed very much. He has always been rather
lithe of build, his muscles sleek but taut with a liquid fluidness he can only
liken to a cat’s in nature. His body seems to defy every standard for beauty,
every feature standing in high relief as though crafted by a Master artisan’s
hand to be both functional and aesthetically pleasing to look upon. Liam’s eyes
narrow as he sees that the few Officers milling around in the lounge this early
in the day seem to be enjoying the marriage of form and function that is his
younger Stepbrother. He moves out of the doorway fluidly, smiling coolly and
nodding to acknowledge the salutes that are snapped at him as the Officer
become aware of his presence as he crosses the room to join the group at the
bar.
Spike watches as his Stepbrother strides through the
room like Arthur through the court of Camelot and sneers at his lordly manners.
Before he can say anything he introduces his friends.
“Everyone meet Colonel Liam O’Donnell. Colonel these
are my fellow Hunters and friends. You’ve already met Percy there.” Taken aback
Liam only nods politely. “I’m sure you’ll remember Captain, Retired British
Army, Charles Gunn, Larissa’s oldest son.”
“I’ll be damned! Good to see you again Liam.” Charles
says with a polite smile and a firm handshake.
“We’ll it’s certainly been a few years Charles.” Liam
is surprised as he returns the handshake and he tries to reconcile his image of
a young boy with the grown man he’s addressing now. “How are your parents? I
must admit I think of them fondly and wonder how they’re doing from time to
time.”
“My Father passed peacefully five years ago. Mother
was killed in an accident along with two of my sisters in an auto accident two
years ago. My youngest sister is married to a barrister in
Liam nods sadly and clasps his shoulder in silent
sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that Charles. Your Mom was a very special lady.”
“Liam, meet Lt. Commander, Retired Royal Navy, Anya
Jensen-Giles, Rupes’ wife.” Spike says quietly. “They raised me after Mum…well
after Mum.” His voice trails off.
“After Mom what?” Liam asks confused but
for some reason his blood turns to ice water in his veins at the look in Wil’s
eyes.
“You don’t know?” Spike throws his head up and back in
shock silently damning his former Stepfather as Liam shakes his head. “Mum’s
gone Liam. She passed away when I was sixteen. Rupert and I cabled to let you
know but your Father cabled back that neither of you were interested in
anything to do with us and not to bother sending any more messages.”
“That’s not true! Dad knew I loved Amalie he wouldn’t
have…”
“He DID.” Anya says simply. “I read the cable myself
so I should know. I tried to call and I was told in no uncertain terms that
anyone in our family was unwelcome and legal action would be taken if we
persisted in trying to contact you or your Father again. We helped Wil with the
arrangements and brought him to live with us. Your Father is an asshole Liam,
nothing else.” She says coolly, her eyes narrowing in a way that has Liam
dropping his eyes and wanting to apologise.
“She…there are some things that she wanted you to
have.” Liam’s head rears back and his eyes are shrouded by his lashes as he
tries to contain his tears. “I…I have them stored for you. I’ll see that
they’re delivered as soon as possible, alright Mate?”
Liam can only nod and try to hold back his tears,
clenching his hand into fists as he forcibly restrains himself from finding the
nearest phone and ripping strips off of his Father’s hide. He feels three sets
of hands on his back or shoulders and accepts the silent comfort as he looks at
Wil who silently looks back, his eyes darkening to a stormy grey chased blue.
He watches as he tilts his head to the side as though looking at something he
can’t quite fathom, before slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a
small cell phone.
He dials without looking away from his eyes and lifts
the phone to his ear. “It’s Wil. Giles, we’ve got a bit of a situation and I
need a favour from your new best buddy Woods if you can swing it for me.” He
stops to listen for a moment. “The Bastard didn’t tell him about Mum, I don’t
think he’s in real good shape, I want to take him home, think that can be
arranged?” He’s quiet for a few moments before he talks again. “Yeah I’ll catch
up with you later tonight or tomorrow alright? Thanks Mate.” He closes the
phone and slides it back into his pocket and jumps easily off the bar to land
silently on the balls of his feet, moving fluidly to press his palm against
Liam’s chest. “The General says I can take you home…I think we’ve got a bit of
talking to do oi Pet?”
“Yes I have so many questions…” Liam trails off, his
voice rough and husky with unshed tears.
“The General said he’d have someone meet us out front
and drive us back to your apartment. He said that you can take a few days leave
if you need it, that he’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.” Spike says
gruffly. He turns his attention to his companions. “Giles will be down shortly
with the General and then you’ll all be going to get settled at the house.
We’ll head for the Slayer’s place tomorrow until then everyone is on stand
down. Just rest up and get over the flight and Giles will brief us on what
we’ll be doing here while he has his meetings.” They nod and he smiles at each
before stalking out of the room. He doesn’t need to turn around to look and see
if Liam is following him, he knows that he is. He pushes through the doors, out
into the welcoming shadows of the gathering evening and pushes his back into
the wall on the side of the building, taking solace from the shadows. He lights
a cigarette and watches as Liam sets his pack down and lets his back slam
against the wall next to him his, arms crossing across his chest as though
hugging himself to keep his emotions inside.
“So you’re career military…it suits you.” The pause in
Spike’s voice clearly shouts that he’s not sure that’s necessarily a good
thing. “You always were one for the orderly and disciplined life.”
“So left the military…it suits you.” Liam snaps back.
“You always were one for anarchy.”
They’re silent for several seconds then both chuckle
and Liam taps demandingly on Spike’s thigh until he hands over a cigarette
feigning a much put upon sigh of exasperation. He leans over and smirks as he
watches Liam fidgeting nervously as he uses the burning end of his cigarette to
light his. He chuckles again at the obvious relief on Liam’s face as he pulls
away to lean his back against the building once more.
“Was she happy Wil?” Liam asks softly. He sees his
eyes slip closed tiredly and sees his lips drawn tight as though to keep
something from wrenching it’s way out of his mouth. “Please just…I need to know
everything. Just tell me.”
“No she wasn’t happy.” Liam lets his own eyes fall
shut heavily. “Not after you left. She cried for days hoping you’d both come
back, but in the end, I think she missed you more than she ever had him. She
used to write you every week and every week an unopened letter would be
returned with delivery denied scribbled across them.” Liam flinches. “I…I hid
them from her…and Giles got a friend in the States to write to her pretending
to be you. I think part of her knew all that same but she let herself believe
the lies we spun for her.” Wil says quietly, glancing at Liam apologetically
expecting to see an angry expression and relaxing when he sees only a grateful
one.
Spike leans over and presses his shoulder against
Liam’s in silent support briefly before moving back. “She had a stroke a year
after you left. She recovered alright it seemed at the time, but then she had a
second and a third within just a few months, each time it left her more and
more damaged. Her physicians said she would never recover fully, she was bed
ridden, needed twenty-four hour care and assistance and bit by bit she just
faded away. We tried to get in touch with you, but Sean shot us down every time.
Giles hired a private detective to find you and he did but I guess Sean had
strings of his own to pull. We were stopped at the Airport by immigration and
told in no uncertain terms that the
“I…he never told me any of that. He told me that you’d
said pretty much the same thing about me when I asked about calling Amalie. I
wondered why she never answered my letters.”
“We never got any.” Liam seems to accept that as part
of his Father’s duplicitous actions. “He no doubt intercepted yours like he did
ours. We…I…hated you for a while for not coming to see her, but I think part of
me always knew that even if I had reached you, Sean would never have let you
go. So maybe in the end what happened hurt less for both of us.”
“Was it fast Wil? Did she…?” Liam’s voice is gruff and
hesitant.
“Suffer? No, she passed on peacefully in her sleep.
According to her physicians she felt no pain and she was ready to go Liam. She
was tired of being locked in the prison of her body, unable to do the simplest
things. I think in the end she just wanted to be free and thanks to Giles’
friend, she knew her Dark Angel would be alright. She knew the course of my
life had been mapped out long ago and she gave me the best start in life that
she could and it was time. We scattered her ashes into the sea as she wanted
and now she’s free in a way she just couldn’t be here any more.”
They’re shocked out of their melancholy silence by the
nosy arrival of a jeep and Liam recognises the young recruit that drove him to
the base earlier.
“Colonel O’Donnell? General Woods assigned me to drive
you and your guest back to your quarters Sir.”
Liam leans over and slides his hand through his pack’s
straps and whispers quietly. “He’s wanted to meet the infamous Spike, or so I
was regaled with on the ride over here earlier. It’ll be the thrill of his day
if you give him a bit of a show.” Liam picks up his pack and nods to Spike who
nods back and stalks forward. When he is still several feet from the jeep he
gathers his legs under him and snaps out of the crouch into an impossible
acrobatic move that has him somersaulting to a graceful landing in the jeep’s
rear seat. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and exhales a plume of smoke
as he lounges across the back seat while the servicemen around them break into
spontaneous applause.
Liam shakes his head and laughs loudly as Spike stands
up on the rear seat and takes a bow before returning to his lazy sprawl across
the backseat. He hefts his pack with a flex of his muscles unsurprised that
Spike catches it with the same ease, swinging it neatly into place behind the
passenger seat and securing it with the bungee cords placed there for just the
purpose. The motions are quick and efficient and Liam knows that for all the
truth of being retired, that Wil has forgotten nothing. He hops into the jeep
and nods to Meers who is busy staring over his shoulder in wonderment at his
second passenger.
@@
“Private First Class Meers, meet my Stepbrother
Spike.” Liam says with a grin. He chuckles and hears Wil echo it as the
startled Private’s mouth drops open in shock and stays that way and he flashes
looks between them both.
“Nice to meet you Mate.” Spike says with a grin
chuckling as the young serviceman blushes while he stammers out a reciprocating
reply. “We appreciate the ride back Private.” He says quietly jarring the young
man back into a realisation of his duties and he quickly flips around and
starts the jeep, manoeuvring them on their way.
“You’re HIM? I mean really, you know HIM?” Meers
stutters faintly.
“I’m not sure what you mean Mate. I’m sure there must
be a lot of HIM’s around, ya know what I mean?” Spike smirks as Liam shoots him
a chiding glance over his shoulder that he quickly ruins by laughing silently.
“Are you the Spike that works for the Watcher’s
Council?”
“Yeah Mate that’s me I guess, since I’m the only one
with that name that does.” He says with another chuckle.
“Wow, it’s a real honour to meet you Sir. I was
telling the Colonel earlier that I was hoping you’d be part of the delegation
the Watchers Council sent so that I would be able to meet you.”
“I always accompany the head of the Council when he
travels abroad. It’s one of my primary responsibilities.”
“May I ask you about your job with the Council?”
Liam glances at Meers grateful that the chatty young
man is asking Wil about questions he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask
anymore.
“Sure Mate, what would you like to know? I can’t
answer any questions that violate Council security but I’ll just say if I can’t
answer something, how’s that?”
“Meers are you off duty?” Liam asks suddenly.
The young private glances at his watch. “I was off
shift twelve minutes ago, technically, Sir.”
“I don’t think I have much in the makings for a decent
dinner as I usually eat at the base, why don’t we stop somewhere and have
dinner and you two can finish your discussion then drop us off at my place?”
Liam suggests.
“That sounds great Pet; I’m starving…but somewhere quiet
ya? My nerves are still jangled from all the travelling.” Spike says quietly.
Liam looks over his shoulders and can see the
weariness in the slight dulling of his normally shining eyes and the nervous
twitches of his muscles.
“My folks run a quiet little place not far from here.
It’s nothing fancy just good solid comfort food kind of place.” Meers offers
weakly, glancing nervously at the Colonel and in the rear view mirror at Spike.
“If they have chicken fried steak with all the
trimmings Mate, colour me comforted.” Spike quips. “It’s impossible to get a
decent chicken fried steak in
“My folks make the best chicken fried steak in town.”
Meers says with a grin, turning down a side street and heading for his parents’
restaurant.
The drive is pleasant and relaxing as the residential
area and upscale homes on this side of town are rather quiet. He pulls into the
parking lot of the Raintree Café and parks the jeep. Spike is seated on moment
standing outside the jeep in the next and leaning back inside and releases the
cords holding the pack and shoulders it with a casual shrug as though it
weighed three pounds rather than thirty. Liam chuckles as Meers’ mouth drops
open in amazement and he hops out of the jeep and looks at the young man while
Spike goes inside. After a couple of minutes of trying to rouse the googly-eyed
man Liam rounds the jeep to grab the still staring Meers and guides him inside
after Spike.
Liam looks around as they enter and is surprised to
see that the décor is very warm and welcoming but that steps have been taken to
preserve privacy. Rather than tables and chairs that he would have expected to
see, each table is surrounded on three sides by tall-backed bench seating
forming roomy yet intimate cubicles. The wood is dark and glows with the patina
of age and the loving care of rich oils. To compliment the rich woods the
carpeting is a rich mahogany red. The walls and ceiling are painted a pale
yellow that looks like the colour of antique lace that has been well handled
through its years. The seating is upholstered in deep mahogany red leather to
compliment the wood and the carpeting but the high backs are covered in pale
drapery that has been carefully pleated and sewn into place. Heavy
old-fashioned chandelier like light fixtures hang over the centre of each
well-crafted mahogany table. The overall effect manages to be both intimately
close and comfortably spacious at the same time, with the use of various
colours to define the space perfectly and it’s very appealing to the eye.
Despite the late hour, there seems to be a brisk
amount of business with fully half the booths having occupants in various
stages of the dining experience.
“The place is open twenty-four hours, seven days a
week, so a lot of night hawks hang out here.” Meers supplies helpfully as
though reading his mind. “I come here almost every night after my shift or my
Mom worries that I’m not eating right.” He mumbles embarrassed.
Liam smiles and looks around the restaurant looking
for some sign of Spike. In front of a booth towards the back he spots two
college age kids each with a pad and pen poised and waiting expectantly over
the paper with their eyes glued on the occupant of the booth. A slightly plump,
older lady with slightly greying dark hair stands between them smiling in a friendly
way with just the faintest streaks of a blush lingering on her cheeks. He
shakes his head and nudges Meers’ arm and motions him to follow him with a look
that just says ‘Trust me Meers.’ And he leads the way to the table.
As they approach, the older Lady smiles widely and
sweeps Meers into an enthusiastic hug that almost lifts him off his feet. Liam
inclines his head politely and slips past them to slide into the booth, his
eyes scanning lightly over everything.
“On the floor, under the
table, between my legs.” Spike states simply, smirking as Liam jerks up straight as a board
and looks very uncomfortable. “Your pack is on the floor, under the table, and
sitting between my legs, so you can stop worrying; it’s safe enough.”
Liam growls menacingly and shoots a dirty look at him
as he realises that he’s the butt of Spike’s little private joke. He tries his
level best to ignore him as he grabs a menu and shoves his face into it reading
urgently.
“Feel free to slip on under and check on it though Mate,
if you want.” Spike says with a soft chuckle, that becomes a quiet laugh as
Liam ignores him and just shoves his face farther into the menu.
Spike smiles at Meers as he finally fights his way
free of his Mother’s hug and slides into the booth across from Liam. He turns
his attention to the wait staff and almost chuckles as the young woman and man
both draw themselves up to their full height and thrusts out an impressive
chest and sucks up a slight pot belly respectively. “Could I have a glass of water
and a cup of cocoa please?” They both nod and shooting each other dirty looks
they both head off at rapid walks.
Meers smiles shyly and introduces his Mother. “This is
Roxie Meers, my Mom.” The pride in his voice is clear to all.
Spike smiles and bows gallantly. “I’m William Michael
Bradley, Ma’am but my friends call me Spike. It’s a pleasure to meet you
Ma’am.”
“Oh my, what a lovely voice you have! You’re from
“Yes Ma’am born and bred, I’m here with a contingent
of visitors attending a special symposium at the base. Your son and Colonel
O’Donnell here are being kind enough to show me the sights while I’m staying
here.”
“Oh you’re such a kind boy Warren to be so nice to a
visitor like this.” Meers blushes under his Mother’s praise.
“Colonel Liam O’Donnell
Ma’am.” Liam introduces himself politely. “Your son is an excellent
recruit, we’re lucky to have him assigned to our detail.”
Roxie beams happily and sniffs emotionally trying not
to burst with pride. She does a double take as the same young man and woman
hurry up to the table with a tray holding a glass of water and a cup of cocoa
and blinks confusedly. They pointedly ignore each other and slide their burdens
in front of Spike who only smiles politely.
“One can never have enough water or cocoa.” He says
brightly, lifting a cup of cocoa and taking an eager sip. He ignores the
pointedly arrogant smirk as the young man silently crows that he’s drinking
from the cup he brought him. He sees the stormy expression on the young woman’s
face and leisurely diffuses it by putting down the cup of cocoa and taking a
sip of the water from the glass that she brought. That seems to mollify both of
them as Roxie shoos them off to attend their jobs.
“
Roxie beams and nods happily. “You just leave
everything to me, as skinny as you boys are you need some of my stick to your
ribs fare!” Roxie plucks the menu out of Liam’s startled hands and hustles off
through the doorway and into the kitchen while
Spike slides the second cup of cocoa over to Liam as
he notices the subtle yearning glances at the steaming cup and slides a glass
of water over to Warren who smiles and takes a sip gratefully.
“Okay you wanted to ask me some questions then?”
“I’ve heard a bit about the Watchers Council and about
Slayers…but I don’t understand what the Hunters are for? How do Hunters differ
from Slayers?”
“Okay then, a bit of a history lesson Pet. You know
that there is supposed to be only one active Slayer a time, yes? And that her
power passes to a successor upon her death wherein a new Slayer is created?”
Both Warren and Liam nod. “Well a few years back there was an unfortunate
accident in that the current Slayer was clinically dead; at which time a new
Slayer was called; but the first Slayer was then revived shortly thereafter by
her friends. Now the first Slayer still retains her abilities, so now there are
two Slayers, Ms. Buffy Summers and one firecracker by the name of Faith. Faith
is the true Slayer, in that the lineage now runs through her rather than Ms.
Summers. When and if Ms. Summers should be kil…defeated…then her death will not
activate a new Slayer, because the lineage is now Faith’s burden. Following me
so far?” Both men nod again.
“Why is there only one Slayer at a time?”
“Very good question and yes there are. The Slayer’s
purpose has slowly become corrupted over the millennia and they are now no
longer what they once were. You see though there is; these unusual
circumstances aside; only one Slayer in every generation there are literally a
hundred or more potentials as they’re called. These potentials usually always
appear within only certain identified bloodlines so the Watchers Council is
able to identify them through various means both mundane and mystical. While
these potentials do not have all the abilities of a Slayer, they are still
something more than average and each is approached and training is offered. Now
it was once the Slayer’s job to train these possible successors as well as
maintaining the security of certain paranormal hotspots. As humanity ages it is
losing the knowledge that it once had, the beliefs born of the ancient
knowledge of their ancestors, and things that were once contained and
controlled are now free.” Spike says taking a sip of his cocoa.
The trio smiles as Roxie returns holding a tray stand
which she swiftly sets up and nods to the waiter following behind her with a
large tray. He sets the heavy tray down and helps her to unload a veritable
mountain of appetisers which they scatter around the table. She unloads two
pitchers of
“Boys need their vitamins.” She says implacably. “I’ll
bring out the chicken fried steaks when they’re ready. Roasted mashed potatoes,
green beans, and country gravy alright with everyone?”
“It sounds perfectly alright Mrs. Meers. I haven’t had
a feast such as this in way too long. I’m looking forward to it!” Spike says
with a smile, leaning forward and popping a breaded mushroom into his mouth.
Roxie blushes happily and picking up the tray and stand she rushes back to the
kitchen.
“She’s quite a lady Warren and this food is terrific!”
Spike says snatching up an egg roll and biting it in half. Liam nods
emphatically around his mouthful of Mozzarella stick. “What is that?” Spike
asks nodding to the large golden fried monstrosity serving as the centrepiece
of their mountain of appetisers.
“They call it
an Onion Blossom.”
“Brilliant, the things you yanks
come up with.” He says happily breaking off several more pieces and happily
munching them.
Liam and Warren catch his cues and in within moments
they’re all happily munching away while Spike continues his history lesson.
“As I was saying that was once the Slayer’s primary
job but in recent history; relatively speaking of course; she has become more
of the first line of defence. To assist her, the Watchers Council created the
Potential Corps, the training ground for all the potential Slayers; think ‘Boot
Camp’ and you’ll have the basic idea.” Both men nod again as they munch,
understanding the concept having gone through something much the same during
their days in the proper military. “Occasionally situations warrant a…more
aggressive response than a lone Slayer could produce. To that end the Council
began to amass and train certain individuals to assist the Slayer and they
called them Hunters. Whereas the Slayer would primarily be concerned with
protection, the Hunters would well do what their name implies and seek out and
destroy threats pro-actively. In cases where the Slayer is ineffective or
unavailable, the Hunters are sent in to assist or handle the situation.”
“So the Hunters were created to be the support for the
Slayer?”
“Partially but not entirely no; there’s a bit more to
it. You see the Hunters have several purposes that they serve. Firstly is the
role I spoke of before. Hunters are also the combat arm of the Council which
I’ve also told you previously. They are also the main body of the Council’s
internal security force. At least one Hunter is assigned to each member of the
Council as their personal bodyguard. Often an entourage of Hunters will be sent
with a Council member when they travel abroad, the more Hunters assigned, and
the more important the Council member is. Rupert Giles, the current head of the
Council never travels without at least three Senior Hunters, one of which is
usually I. Also a Hunter is usually assigned to assist each Slayer.”
“Only three escorts for someone of his position? That
seems a bit…light?”
“Giles is…more than he appears to be
“And what is your field of expertise?” Liam wants to
lean over and hug
“Well…” Spike trails off as he ponders how to answer
that without being too blunt and finally decides it’s best to just be blunt.
“I’m a killer.” He winces as that has both men staring at him like he just
reached over and disembowelled them both. “I am a combat specialist, my job is
to fight and keep fighting until everything in my path is dead or dying. I
never give up and mercy is not a word in my vocabulary. I am death itself when
it is warranted.”
“That doesn’t make you a killer though does it? I mean
you’re defending…”
“Demons may not be life as we understand it but does
ending their existence make me any less a killer because of the reasons I do
it?” Spike says interrupting. “We just love to make distinctions that make us
feel better about ourselves but in the end it all comes down to one truth; that
one inescapable and ugly word that none of us wants to face. I could call
myself a fighter, a Hunter…a soldier protecting my charges. In the end it all
comes down to killer, that one ugly word at the bottom of it all. I kill for a
living and I’m good at it.” Spike says with stony reserve. “Frighteningly
good at it.” He says quietly. The table is silent as each man eats
mechanically as they digest what spike has said.
“So…ummm how do the Watchers know which of
the…potentials was it…is going to be the next Slayer?”
“The strongest potential always becomes the next
Slayer. The Council keeps exactingly accurate biographies and evaluations and
mountains of records compiled and correlated by an army of Watchers,
Researchers, and computers for each potential. That is then used to create a
real-time model of the potential corps and the rank of each potential therein.
The next Slayer is almost always one of the top three in the rankings so the
Council has a fair idea of which will ascend to Slayer.”
“And the Slayer is always female?”
“The SLAYER is always a female yes, an occurrence the
Council attributes to the fact that the female body is uniquely suited to the
biochemical stress and hormonal surges that elevate a potential into a Slayer.”
Spike says after several moments.
“So then there are no male Slayers or potentials
then?” Liam says finishing his glass of milk.
Spike doesn’t answer, dropping his eyes away to scan
the table and is surprised to see that only crumbs are left and grabs his
orange juice and drains it before pouring some more. “The Slayer is always
female.” He just repeats again.
Liam narrows his eyes, he can tell Wil isn’t being
entirely straightforward but he’s distracted by Roxie’s return with three of
her waiting staff. The young woman quickly clears off the empty plates and
hustles them back to the kitchen as Roxie hands out the heaping plates of food.
“This looks marvellous Mrs. Meers!” Spike says beaming
happily at the mountain of food on his plate.
“Call me Roxie, please. I expect to see you in here
often, you don’t eat enough; you’re too skinny.” She says with a maternal sniff
of displeasure as she looks down at the trio expectantly.
They share a glance and start tucking into their food
with a passion that has Roxie grinning and clapping her hands delightedly.
Spike chews and moans with delight as he swallows. “Okay Roxie but only if you call me Spike.”
“And Liam.” He chirps in happily.
“Anything but late for
dinner.”
“For food this good you may see me every night Roxie.
In an obscenely short amount of time there is nothing
left but crumbs once more and their cups and glasses are drained dry and the
pitchers are forlornly empty and they’re all groaning much to Roxie’s approval.
“It’s good to see three growing boys with healthy
appetites again. The meal’s on the house.” She says with a smile.
“Oh no Roxie I am definitely paying for this meal,
expense account you know.” He says with a wink. “I’m picking up the tab for
everyone.” He quickly adds. “I wouldn’t mind something sinful to take with me
that I can have for dessert though if you like.” He hopes that will mollify her
somewhat and it does.
“Alright but I’m not charging you for THAT, agreed?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Spike says politely and Roxie grins and
heads back to the kitchen.
“I’m going to be scared with what she brings back
aren’t I?” Spike says with a groan.
Warren snickers and nods, knowing his Mother too well
to expect anything less.
He’s proven right when Roxie returns with three large
take out boxes that she carefully hands out. Spike gives in to temptation and
opens his and groans at the delights carefully arranged inside. It looks like
Roxie’s given them a portion of every pie and dessert they have arranged as a
sampler with various sauces trailing amidst the rich desserts. He looks up at
Roxie and grins. “Adopt me?”
Everyone laughs as Spike signs the credit slip for the
meal and Roxie shoos them out of the restaurant but not before she hugs them
all fondly and makes sure they all have their boxes.
Liam holds his and Spike’s boxes as he secures the
pack behind the seat once more and climbs inside the jeep before returning the
favour and holding the boxes so Liam can get in. Liam reaches over and takes
The pair thanks
“This is a really nice place Liam.” He says as he
hands over the boxes to Liam, who heads for the kitchen to put them in the
refrigerator.
“Do you want some coffee or anything?” Liam calls out
with his head in the refrigerator.
“I think I’d explode if I swallowed one more drop of
anything.” Spike says softly from directly behind him. He chuckles as Liam
gives a little jerk of surprise and he leans his shoulder against the doorway
and lounges comfortably. “Little high strung there?”
“Why can’t you make noise like normal people??” Liam
says with a scowl as he backs out of the refrigerator and closes it to lean
against it.
“Hazard of the trade now
innit?” Spike drawls raising his eyebrow. “Forget that I hunt things that
have little moral objection to ending my life in as bloody a way as possible
did you?” Spike says as his eyes flash stormily.
Liam looks at Wil and marvels at the changes in him.
As a teenager Wil was tailored and mannered, every inch the respectable son of
a Diplomat’s daughter. He was Amalie Bradley’s pride and joy and he knew it. He
always envied him that soul deep assurance that he mattered. He wonders what
Amalie would think of the cockney accented, leather painted, blond punk that
wears an air of menace and danger as easily as some people wear coats. Even as
he wonders, he answers his own question. Amalie would have never wavered in her
love for him. Anymore than she had wavered in her love for him; a love so
strong that she would willingly let herself be fooled
into believing the ruse set up to help her final days be peaceful ones. He
knows that Wil is deliberately being evasive as to the details regarding his
Stepmother’s final days and part of him is thankful for that even as he grieves
that Wil has to live with what the reality was.
Spike watches Liam lost in his thoughts and sighs. He
should have foreseen that Sean would be hell bent on controlling Liam’s life as
he tried to control everyone else’s lives…
~He glances up at the clock and sees that it’s not moving
fast enough and drops his eyes back down to his food. The dinner has been a
painfully awkward affair with both his Mother and himself doing their best to
make Liam feel welcome, only to be sabotaged by his Stepfather’s obvious
disinterest in his own son.
Truthfully when he learned about what his Stepfather had
done to his own son he had all but run to his Mother, knowing that she would
soon set things to rights. Looking at how unhappy his new Stepbrother is, he’s
wondering if he’s done the right thing at all. He may have been better off away
from Sean’s blatantly less than concerned manner. Time and again throughout the
meal Sean has made it a point to ask him a ton of questions about every facet
of his life, from his school work to how he’s progressing with his archery
lessons, but not one question for his son has he uttered.
“I should be going soon; Giles is expecting me for my…tutoring…lesson.”
He says quietly. His Mother sighs and smiles but it doesn’t overcome the sad
dullness in her eyes. He meets her gaze with his own and conveys his love and
understanding silently and after a moment the sparkle is back in her eyes. He
notes the frown lines that wrinkle Liam’s forehead and realises that he has
caught the exchange and resolves to be more careful in the future.
“Why don’t you call Giles and tell him you’re going to
give the tutoring a pass for this evening? You’ve been working too hard lately,
you should rest and relax and stay home tonight.” Sean says concerned. “I’ve
been meaning to teach you how to play a proper game of Snooker for ages.”
Spike silently damns him as his obvious concern for him
has Liam’s eyes dropping forlornly to his plate. “It’s important that I learn
my lessons well if I mean to do well later in life.” He pushes his chair back
and carefully piles his silverware and napkin neatly onto his plate. “May I be excused Mother?” She nods and I round the table to press
a soft kiss to her cheek and receive her hug. Sean clears his throat repeatedly
until I dart around the table to peck his forehead quickly. “Would you like me
to show you to your room Liam? It’s next door to mine.” He sighs over the
grateful look he shoots him and he knows he’s glad to have an excuse to leave.
“Pick up your plates and we’ll drop them off to Meg in the kitchen.” He rounds
the table and picks up his own plate and leads the way.
He rinses their dinner things and loads them into the
dishwasher, observed by a beaming Meg, the housekeeper before he leads Liam up
the main staircase silently.
“Thanks for that…giving me a graceful way to get out of
there.” Liam says finally breaking the comfortable silence.
“Don’t mention it Mate. Sorry your Father had to be such
an insensitive ass and all.”
“Oh I’m sure he’s just not used to me being back. I’m
sure he’ll be better once he adjusts.” Liam says quietly.
“If you say so Mate. Here we are. I’m right next door if you
should need anything. I have to get my things and head over to my Godfather’s
place for a bit.”
“What is he tutoring you in? Maybe I can help you too; I
was pretty good with my studies.”
“Oh hey that’s great, I’m struggling a bit with some of
my more obscure studies…some languages are just hard for me to pick up…I always
feel black and blue after some of those lessons.”
He can feel Liam’s eyes on his back as he turns and
leaves for his own room trying not to appear like he’s running away. Even if he is…~
“…Is?”
Spike shakes off the clinging thoughts of the past,
not realising that Liam was talking to him. “Sorry Mate?”
Liam clears his throat and says again. “It’s funny
that we ended up doing almost the same things with our lives. Why do you think
that is?”
“I dunno, fate maybe? Or maybe we just like getting
beat up for a living, who knows?” Spike says with a wry grin that has Liam
laughing.
“It’s getting pretty late, why don’t you just stay
here and I can drop you wherever you need to go tomorrow? I’ve got a spare room
and you’re welcome to it.”
“Thanks I’d appreciate it. I should be over visiting
your girlfriend but I suppose it can wait until tomorrow easily enough.
Liam charges after him shocked by what he’s said. “You
know Buffy and
“Worked out that dastardly brain teaser did you? Giles
was Buffy’s Watcher for a time so I was here often. How funny that we never ran
into each other anywhere but I guess we just crossed paths or something.”
“Well Buffy and I…well we break up a lot maybe you
visited during an off time? When did you visit last?” Liam asks throwing
himself lengthwise across the couch.
Spike lets his head fall back to rest against the
chair and he watches the fire catch hold. “Two years, five months, twenty-three
days, and eighteen hours ago.”
Liam lifts his head to look at Spike surprised that he
has remembered the date so accurately and starts to ask him why when he notices
that Spike is staring absently into the flames and he lets his voice trail off.
“I was here for Xander’s funeral.” Spike says quietly,
not taking his eyes off the flames. His voice is gruff as though he had to
force the words out through constricted vocal cords.
Liam looks over again to give his condolences when he
sees a single tear rip its way out of Spike’s tightly closed eyes. “You…and Xander?” He’s not sure why the notion upsets him
so.
“You sound surprised.” Spike says with a growl.
“Xander wasn’t what people thought he was.”
“That’s not what I meant Wil…I just meant that I
thought he liked women.” Liam says a little uncomfortable with the topic of
Wil’s love life. “Xander died saving Buffy, he was a hero.”
“It was his job.” Spike says softly. “A hunter is
always assigned to each Slayer.” Liam jerks up into a sitting position staring
at Spike in shock. “Do you REALLY think that anyone that attracted as much
trouble as he did would have lived as long as he had without having a little
something going for him? He never let on just how good he was and just how
extensive his training was.”
“So all those pearls of wisdom that would pop up at
strange times that he said was random fallout from
some spell that turned him into a shoulder one Halloween was something else?”
Spike smiles lovingly. “He was always clever. He was
actually possessed if you want to call it that but the knowledge was very real
and so were the skills. That summer he spent ‘travelling’; he was actually in
“How long were you…?” Liam lets his voice trail off,
not sure how to phrase it.
“We were together for almost six years.” Spike replies
shooting him a look of disgust.
“You didn’t want to take him home?” Liam asks
haltingly.
“This is where he belongs. He was born and raised here
you know and he died to keep it safe. He’s where he belongs and I couldn’t take
him away from home.”
“Does…did anyone know about you two?”
“Giles knew and Willow, no one else knew. We were
careful to make sure no one ever did.”
“You’re here for something other than the meetings
between Giles and Woods aren’t you?”
“If you mean me personally than yes, I’m here for
reasons of my own as well as accompanying Giles. If you mean we’re here for
more than just the formal signing of the cooperation pact, than yes we’re here
for more than that. Just how involved are you with Buffy?” Spike decides to
just be blunt about everything; he doesn’t have the patience to be considerate
at the moment.
Liam is taken aback. “We’ve been seeing each other a
little bit. Buffy mentioned maybe getting back together but I’m not sure that’s
really what I want anymore. You’re here because of Buffy aren’t you?” Spike
hesitates briefly than nods. “You’ve found her a new Watcher?”
“Why
“Buffy’s not going to like that Spike. As much as
she’s always complained that her ‘destiny’ screws up her life, Slaying is all
she knows and she’ll fight you if you try to take that from her…” Liam looks at
Spike with horror. “That’s why they brought you along isn’t it?”
“The Council has made its decision Liam. Buffy WILL
retire as the Slayer whether she chooses to or not. If she fights it than I
will have to subdue her long enough for Giles and Wesley to do the transfer
spell.”
“And then what will you do for a Slayer then? Faith’s
still in prison last I heard!” Liam growls angrily.
“Faith’s powers have already been transferred to her
successor. When her prison term is up, she’ll be given the same choices that
Buffy is. A very handsome severance package, including a modest home, somewhat
like this I would imagine, or a lifetime position as a very well paid employee
of the Council. I’ve spoken to Faith and she will likely take up a position as
a combat instructor in one of the Council’s training facilities. It pays very
well and she’s…rather high strung so the activity will help keep her centred.”
Spike rolls his head to look at Liam, noting his clenched fists and steel
expression. “It’s for the best Liam. The stress of being the Slayer will start
to burn her body out if she gets much older. She and Faith are the oldest
Slayers and to date taking into consideration what being the Slayer actually
entails wasn’t a matter of much concern. The Council researchers estimate that
she’ll begin to experience organ failures by the time she is thirty due to the
excessive stress and hormonal imbalances. As much as you don’t want to hear
this, Giles is very fond of Buffy, he looks on her almost as a daughter. He
won’t let her injury herself by her stubbornness or wait so long that her
lifespan is shortened prematurely. He loves her too much to let that happen.”
Spike rolls out of the chair and onto his feet crossing the distance between
them and sits on the coffee table and takes Liam’s hands in his own forcing the
fists open and holding on tightly.
Liam struggles but Spike clings tenaciously to his
hands until he finally relaxes and just lets him comfort him. “It’s really that
dangerous?” His eyes are bright with unshed tears.
“Yes and in more ways than just physically Liam.”
Spike waits until Liam looks up at him and meets his eyes. “You know she’s been
acting strangely for a while now don’t you?” Reluctantly Liam nods. “
“And what do you want Wil?” Liam asks tipping his head
to press his cheek tighter to the gentle hand caressing it.
“Like you told me all those years ago Liam, what I
want I’ll never have, so what does it matter? Right now I think I want a bed
and a soft pillow and to not have to think about things that I can’t have.”
Spike releases Liam and stands up and strolls down the hallway, he glances in
the first door and recognises that it’s Liam’s room and easily finds his own in
the small home.
Liam collapses against the back of the couch and
scowls into the flames, looking over his shoulder and down the dark hallway
occasionally. He forces himself to stop as he realises he’s hoping that Wil
reconsiders and comes back and he feels suddenly even more lonely than he has
ever before. After several minutes of staring into the fire he’s eyelids grow
heavy and finally droop closed.
~He’s not sure what has pulled him from the peace of sleep
at first as he lay in bed caught between awake and asleep. The soft sound of
splashing water and quiet voices drift through his open balcony door and lure
him from his bed. The night is cool but not uncomfortably so, with the faintest
of breezes teasing through his hair as he pulls aside the gossamer curtains
that cover the balcony doors and looks out into the night. No hint of sunrise
lightens the horizon and the night is as still as the pause between breaths and
he’s positive that the new day is still many hours from arriving. The soft
sound of voices again draws his attention and he steps a little farther out
onto the small balcony that he shares with Wil’s room and looks down into the
courtyard that houses their pool house and lavish pool and spa. He rubs his
eyes, not sure what he’s seeing at first and gasps silently as the sight chases
the last of his sleepiness away.
He quickly backs into the cover of the shadows cast by the
roof and stares down at the scene below him. His sixteen year old Stepbrother
is soaking in the spa with his arms caught on the edge and most of his back
exposed to the night air. Horrible scratches and bruises mar most of his back
and he’s whimpering slightly as his Godfather Giles lightly traces his hands
over his back. The scene is both innocent and yet oddly disturbing as he
watches the strangely intimate scene.
“They don’t look as bad as they did earlier but I think
you’d best rest tonight and give the salve time to work. Some of the scratches
still look inflamed.” He can hear Giles say as he curls his legs up to sit
beside the spa. He gently urges his Stepbrother to move over to lean against
him and Wil settles against his lap with a grateful sigh.
“I’ll be fine Giles, it’s my own fault anyway that I
didn’t see that tackle coming. I should have been watching my flanks better.
I’ll know better next time.” Wil says and his voice sounds weary beyond his
years. He must have been roughed up playing rugby again I assume and not
wanting to worry Amalie he asked Giles to help. It seems like he’s always
coming home with some new bump, bruise, or cut these days. He asked his
Stepmother about it and all she did was smile and kiss his cheek and say that
Wil has always loved his sports too much and occasionally overtaxes himself.
Truthfully it always made me rather glad that rugby was one sport I decided to
pass up trying.
“Come on out of there and go lay on the lounge, I’ll rub
some more salve on your back and then you should rest and let it do its work.
I’ll call Amalie in the morning and tell her you’re staying home today, she’ll
understand and I won’t let her worry so don’t YOU start worrying either.”
I watch as Giles stands and carefully helps Wil out of the
spa and my mouth drops open as the water sparkles on his nude form. He may be
only sixteen but his body is as well developed as a man in his twenty’s and
he’s…beautiful. It’s pretty obvious that nudity is not a concern as he lets
Giles lead him to one of the plump, well cushioned pool lounges and support him
as he makes himself comfortable on his stomach. Giles walks over to a gym bag
and pulls out a large jar and opens it as he returns to the lounge, setting it
by Wil’s hip and digging into with his left hand and slaps his hands together
rubbing vigorously before climbing onto the lounge and straddling Wil’s thighs
and leaning forward to press his hands deeply into his back. I expect it to be
painful as Giles’ hands press deeply into Wil’s abused back but the cries of pain
I was expecting never come and stare in shock as he arches up into the
punishing rubs like a cat being stroked.
There is nothing in the least bit sexual about the scene
but Wil’s unabashed enjoyment of the caresses and the way he’s wiggling makes
him feel funny, like his skin is too tight. He watches as Giles finishes and
recaps the jar and levers himself off Wil to replace the jar in the gym bag. By
the time he’s done that and returned to the lounge Wil’s eyes are closed and
he’s curled up on his side sleeping. Giles kisses his temple gently and
carefully works his arms under Wil’s body and lifts him easily as I duck into
my room with my hand over my mouth. I wonder if he saw me as I dive for my bed,
hurriedly pull the covers around me and close my eyes tightly. I lie awake and
every little sound seems to be a shout in the silence of my room. I hear Wil’s
door open and then a few minutes later I hear it close and I assume Giles put
Wil to bed and then left again.
I stay in my bed for another few moments but then I can’t
stand it, I have to get up, I have to know that he’s alright with my own eyes.
I slip from my bed quietly and ease open the bathroom door and cross it to the
door that leads into Wil’s room and silently ease open the door, millimetre by
millimetre. Taking a deep breath and trying to quietly peek tentatively around
the edge and into Wil’s room. There’s no sign of Giles and Wil doesn’t stir as
he quietly tiptoes closer to the bed. The heavy curtains that normally shield
the balcony doors are still open. The thin sea green gossamer of the sheer
inner curtains is no impediment to the moonlight giving him plenty of light to
see by.
Wil’s room is actually very nice and rather different than
he would have assumed from the rather gothic edgy fashions he seems to prefer.
The walls are a light shade of creamy green rather like the colour of the
inside of a cucumber contrasting nicely with the cream coloured area rugs that
provide some warm ambience against the hardwood floors. The woods used in the
room are surprisingly light cedar and maples rather than the darker mahogany
and oak used throughout most of the Manor, including his own room. The wall the
bed lies against is covered in a clever mural of a woodland scene and it lends
the illusion that the bed is lying secluded in the heart of an eldritch forest.
The bed itself is quite amazing with its simple open ironwork framing, posts,
and headboard. Swaths of the same sea green gossamer have been carefully draped
between the posts and curl sinuously through the open scroll work in fanciful
dips and swirls before trailing in graceful streamers down the posts and legs
to brush the floor. The bed is surprisingly large and roomy and he imagines
four adults could easily share it and not be crowded but he blushes faintly as
that image invades his mind and he pushes it away.
He creeps closer to
the bed and marvels at the image before him. In contrast with the light and
calming colours used in the rest of the room, the bed is dressed in all vibrant
and dark hues. Black satin trimmed silk sheets, a veritable mountain of thick,
plump pillows and a dark hunter green down comforter and there in the centre
the pearl amidst the shell. The moonlight reflects off Wil’s tawny, sun kissed
skin, deepening it to a soft golden alabaster under its caress. The light
catches the pale strands of silver in his unusual hair causing the highlights
to glow with an almost unworldly luminescence. He’s curled up on his side
little more than a bump on the huge bed the covers pooled around his waist
displaying the horrible brutalisation of his back. Before he can stop himself
he leans over to press his fingertips lightly to the worst of the bruises,
scowling at the heat pouring off the abused flesh; even as his fingers long to
press tighter against his skin. It’s amazing, like nothing he’s ever felt
before, a curious mixture of silk and suede and begs to be stroked and he
almost smiles as everything about Wil seems to remind him of a cat.
He leans forward to press his palm over his shoulder
intending to wake Wil and ask him about his injuries and make sure he’s
alright. As his hips press against the mattress he can’t stifle a groan and
yanks his hand back pressing it to his mouth and running out of the room and
hurriedly closing the door to the bathroom. He pants against his hand as he
slumps against the door and slides down to sit huddled on the floor. He can’t
have gotten erection from touching Wil…what kind of sick pervert does that make
him that touching a man could make him feel that way? Oh god his Stepbrother…oh
god. He throws himself forward as his stomach rolls painfully with the dry
heaves as he kneels shaking and crying. This can’t ever happen again, he’s not
gay, he’s not, and his Father will never forgive him if he was. He’ll send him
away and he’ll never see Will again, never feel the comfort of Amalie’s hugs,
he’ll be alone again. He’ll be a good son, Daddy let me stay, and I’ll be good.
I’ll be good. I’ll be good. ~
Spike flies up in his bed and looks around in
confusion, not sure what has wrenched him from his slumber. Then he hears it, a
deep low sound like the mewling of a kitten. He didn’t notice any signs that
Liam had any pets but its sure what it sounds like as he hears it again. He
looks around the dark room trying to see if he can what’s making the noise but
it doesn’t seem to be coming from his room and every time it sounds out his
muscles twitch. He throws the covers back and carefully rolls out of bed
keeping low to the ground and making his way to his leather jeans he hurriedly
wiggles into them and stalks to the door and waits. Within moments it sounds
again and he slips out of the room staying pressed to the wall, keeping to the
darkest shadows. After a moment he realises he’s probably overreacting and can
only imagine how ridiculous he must look, stalking a kitten or whatever it is
that’s whimpering but he continues cautiously. If his life has taught him
anything, it’s the value of never underestimating any situation because as soon
as he does, he always pays in blood.
He pauses at the doorway and peers into the living
room and sees nothing out of place. He can see the back of Liam’s head barely
visible over the back of the sofa in the faint glow of the smouldering embers
in the fireplace. Spike darts forward as he realises that Liam is making the
low sounds of pain and he leaps over the back of the sofa, landing in an agile
crouch on the coffee table. Liam is twitching in his sleep, pressing his hands
to his stomach and Spike can see the muscles contracting violently under his
hands. He leans forward and carefully kneels beside the couch, tipping Liam
over on his side and stretching his legs out. He’s surprised that he doesn’t
wake up but doesn’t question his good fortune and he carefully slips a pillow
under Liam’s head and strokes his back off his forehead murmuring comfortingly.
He keeps his touch light and his voice little more than a purr and eventually
Liam quiets and his hands fall limply to his sides as a deep sleep steals over
him. He hops up and pulls the comforter off his bed and tenderly tucks it
around Liam before curling up Indian style on the coffee table. He will watch
through the night. If the terrors that haunt Liam’s dreams should return, he’ll
be there waiting to drive them back into the shadows.
The night is cool but not unpleasantly so as he
centres himself and enters the restorative meditative trance that he learned
from Giles long ago. Mind and body are refreshed as the deep relaxation of
muscles and external thought are pushed away but his senses are alive,
sharpened into utter clarity. A mouse darting across the floor could not escape
his notice and he is every inch the predator, keying to even the slightest
change in his environment. It is not the same as true sleep but he will suffer no
ill effects from his unusual vigil and the effect is rather pleasant as his
mind is left to drift where it will. As it has so often in the past it is drawn
into the past and the single event that most shaped his life is replayed for
him in startling clarity.
~The night had been the latest in a long line of hard
nights, his mind being nearly as bruised as his body. He pulls his new leather
duster around him tighter and smiles through all the pain as he stalks slowly
up the staircase to the front door. Giles had presented the jacket with a proud
flare earlier that night and he’d watched proudly as he quickly learned to
adjust to his new gift with a speed and ease unique only to him. His Godfather
had always marvelled at his rather unusual ability to pick up impossibly
complicated and skills with almost inhuman speed as his mind absorbed the
knowledge like a sponge and his body moved through new motions like a shark
through the sea.
The gift had ceased to be just a gift, or anything as
meagre as a coat, no it had become part of him, to be used, framed, worn, and
adored with equal alacrity. He leans against the wall beside the door and in a
few economical motions a cigarette is curling its soft blue grey smoke into the
night. It’s funny to think that to most of the world, the simple act of smoking
a cigarette could set into motion disastrous health concerns but for him they
actually help him to maintain his health at peak efficiency. He always keeps it
in mind however that for others the smoke that brings him peace and relaxation
can cause them harm. He is careful to always smoke away from others, and never
in the house out of respect for his Mother. He doesn’t bother to turn his head
as the front door slowly falls inward and he’s not surprised when a dark head leans
out. He knew that his arrival home would bring him quickly as he seems to have
taken an obnoxious pleasure in being as belligerent and degrading as possible
for the last eight months or so.
“Well if it’s not Cinderella home from the Ball already.”
He flicks his gaze to Liam as he flops against the door jam and run his gaze
over him in a slow and insulting visual frisking that has his muscles twitching
with the effort not to strike out at him. “Did your FAIRY Godfather tire of you
early tonight?” He lets his eyes fall closed on the deliberately hurtful words
and insulting implications therein. He takes a last deep drag of his cigarette
and crushes it against the sole of his boot and places it with deliberate
carefulness into the small metal can hidden in the planter for just that reason
and undulates off the wall in a single sinuous motion. He steps calmly passed
Liam and stalks straight for the staircase, freezing with a foot on the first
stair as a heavy hand falls on his shoulder, spinning him around violently. He
uses the momentum, letting it flow through him without fighting and keeps his
balance as he stares defiantly up at Liam.
“You didn’t answer me Boy.” He growls menacingly. “What
the hell have you been doing?! You look like shit.”
“What do you want Liam?” He says tiredly, he’s not in the
mood to deal with his Stepbrother’s ill-temper tonight. He glances down at
himself surreptiously and shrugs. His red T-shirt is ripped in several places,
one rip still displaying the faint marks of sharp nails and the scent of beer,
blood, and sex that seems to permeate the London nightlife is clinging to him
tenaciously.
“I want to know what you’ve been up to. You look like
you’ve been rolling around some alley with some bitch of a slut looking to suck
you dry.” He says with a sneer of contempt.
He stares for a moment then starts to chuckle as he
realizes that Liam’s actually not far off in his estimation of his evening’s
events in some ways. He takes advantage of Liam’s confusion at his sudden burst
of laughter and pulls his shoulder free and continues up the stairs and lets
his voice drift back down. “Sluts aren’t really MY thing Liam. How IS dear
Darla doing by the way?” He doesn’t wait to hear Liam’s predictable cursing and
threats that always accompany any insulting references to his girlfriend. He
chuckles as he walks to his room slipping his duster off and laying it
carefully over the chair in front of his desk. He toes off his boots and pulls
off his boots and kicks them towards his closet as he turns towards the
bathroom. He groans, his muscles protesting vehemently as he leans over to pull
off his socks and stuff them into his hamper.
He glances down at the T-shirt and grimaces; quickly
pulling it off and tossing it into the waste basket as a write off. He scowls
as he inspects the damage the night has inflicted. Several scratch marks,
including an impressive set bisecting his left nipple stand out starkly against
his skin. He lightly draws his fingertips over the marks and shivers at the
brief ache that is oddly pleasurable.
*It does look like I’ve been ravished!* He thinks with a
wry smirk.
He can’t help
drawing his fingertips across the marks bisecting his nipple again taking a
deep breath as the brief but sharp pain makes him harden slightly in his jeans.
He laughs at discover yet another strange quirk of his unique nature as he
leans over to turn on the water in the tub, intending to soak his aches away.
While the water heats, he levers himself to his feet and starts to unbutton the
fly of his jeans when his bedroom door crashes open then slams after Liam’s
hurtling form.
He sighs and leans over and turns off the water and
stalks into his room to see his Stepbrother looking around angrily fuming until
his eyes lock on him leaning against the bathroom doorway. He starts forward
angrily, intending to thrash him no doubt, but he falters before he reaches him
and lets his hand fall as he stares, their chests almost touching.
“God what happened to you?!” He shivers as Liam’s hand
raises and hovers just short of touching the worst of the scratches marks and
the sensitive nipple that suffered the worst of the abuse.
“What can I say? I like to play rough.” He obeys some
inner instinct and deepens his voice until it’s almost a purr and leans forward
so his breath ghosts lightly over the tantalizing lips so near his own. The
corner of his mouth kicks up in a slow smile that is pure wickedness as his
eyes deepen to a startlingly vivid Prussian blue. The smiles turns into a
smirking grin as Liam hastily backs up, his mouth opening and closing
soundlessly as he stares fixedly.
He rolls his hips and stalks forward gracefully, his
muscles contracting fluidly beneath his silken skin and he has to choke back a
laugh at the power that seems to flood through him.
“Why so interested in my evenings Liam?” He purrs softly
crossing the room in a slow stalking glide. He shivers as the weight of Liam’s
stare tracks him the whole way to his bed as he stretches out across the foot
of his bed, curling up on his side to stare back. “Darla’s attentions leaving
something to be desired are they?” He slides his thigh up pivoting his hips to
writhe lightly against the softness of his comforter.
“Don’t talk about her that way! She’s beautiful and sexy
and she’s…she’s worth two of any skanky whore you could pick up!”
“Well at least you didn’t try to say she was smart, so
you’re not totally delusional yet.” He chuckles as Liam fumes. “As for skanky
whores, as I said before, not really my thing now is it. I’ll leave the private
school debutantes to you Mate. I prefer my dates have a bit more of a…bite to
them.” He draws his fingertips across the scratches on his chest and
unconsciously writhes against the comforter again, his head lolling back as he
stretches in a boneless sprawl against the dark green.
His instincts tell him that his lightly tanned skin, dark
jeans, and unusual hair are shown off to their best advantage against the dark
silk. He doesn’t know what is moving him to these ancient rhythms but the
feeling is compelling and addictive as it floods through his blood carrying a
power he has never dreamed of. It feels like his blood is liquid fire, setting
every nerve to smouldering with an aching heat that throbs and pulses, pounding
his body as ceaselessly as the waves washing over the beach.
He rolls onto his back, arching against the bed as he
runs his hands slowly up his body and up over his head pressing his palms down
until his body is arched as taut as a bow string. He has never felt more alive
than he does at this moment, with every atom of his body straining and
screaming to reach out and take, to possess, to surrender, to own, to corrupt,
and to worship at the altar of Liam’s body. The chuckle that has been trying to
rip and tear its way out of his throat finally makes its escape in a joyous cry
of happy depravity that has Liam quivering in reaction.
He slowly lets his muscles relaxing, flowing liquidly
against his bed. “Tell me Liam, don’t you ever long for something MORE when you
touch her? They are so soft, pleasant to touch, so different, so alien to all
that you are, do you never want for anything MORE? I do Liam, I want MORE, more
than the softness, more than the emptiness when I am never filled so full that
ever atom of my body is filled to overflowing by another’s body. They are
pleasant diversions now and then do not mistake my meaning but they are never
enough. I NEED the planes of muscle, the sharpness of teeth, the strength that
matches my own, I need to be taken, possessed, utterly and completely by
someone who can be my equal, a partner, someone to complete me. Have you ever
felt that way Liam? Have you ever yearned and longed to know that even as you
own, even as you break another to your will, that you are owned, marked, as
much a slave as you are the master?”
“I’m not GAY. I’m not…not like that. I’m…” He smiles at the breathless stutter
in Liam’s voice.
“Labels, boxes, signs, names, do you need them to define
who you are Liam? Does what you WANT, what you NEED, mean nothing compared to
the safety of those politically correct post-it notes you try to categorize
your whole bloody world with like the anal retentive WANKER that you are?” He
rolls to his side and fluidly to his feet, stalking across the room following
Liam as he hastily backs away to press his back against the wall.
He doesn’t stop until their bodies are pressed so tightly
together that the buttons of his shirt are digging their impressions into his
already abused chest. “DON’T try to put your labels on me Liam. They won’t
stick and I’ll always confuse you and surprise you, and make you ache and burn
until not even you can deny that I can do THAT…” He rubs his hips into Liam’s,
purring as their erections tease together. “…To you.” He tilts his head and
strokes his cheek along Liam’s jaw in a slow caress that has Liam’s hips
jerking in reaction. He smiles gently, still nuzzling his jaw as he feels his
arms close around him and tighten rather than pull him away. “You feel it too
don’t you?” He asks leaning back and looking up into Liam’s eyes and his breath
catches. It’s there in his eyes, the same knowledge that flares inside his most
private dreams, that melody that whispers constantly in his ear capturing his
soul beyond even the most seductive Siren’s song. He is the one.
He gasps and hisses as Liam picks him up and spins them
around until he has him pressed between the wall and his body and he chuckles
again, nipping playfully at his jaw only to soothe the ache with soft sweeps of
his tongue. Something rolls and coils deep inside him, boiling and simmering
with a constant pulsing heat that tugs at his inside, demands, wants, needs, to
join to the body pressed so tightly to his. “What do you want Liam? What do you
need?” His arms wrap tightly around the broad form holding him off the floor
and pressed tightly to the wall. The position he’s in should be making him feel
vulnerable, trapped, and victimized but instead he feels protected, cosseted,
and cared for. It’s a strange dichotomy of conflicting emotions and
circumstances and he knows that if he was in this position with any one else,
he’d be inflicting serious damage. What is it about Liam that steals his will
away, makes him want to roll over and beg to be stroked and petted like a
kitten? His Stepbrother has been a royal pain in the ass these last few months,
constantly belittling him every chance he gets and being just a general all
around bloody Prick. He doesn’t know what caused him to turn on him but being
pressed against him; he’s starting to wonder if the reasons aren’t more
complicated than he first thought. He’d assumed that not having had a real
Mother figure in his life that Liam had become jealous of his Mother’s time and
regard or upset that his wanker of a Father made it obvious he preferred his
company over his blood son.
“It doesn’t matter what I want or what I need Wil.” He
can almost hear the desperation and heartbreak. “It doesn’t matter what you
want or what you need, I can’t give you either; ever. I’m going to apply to a
college in the States. We’ll probably never see each other once I leave. You’ll
get on with your life, while I get on with mine. What does it matter what we
want or what we need? What matters is what we do.”
“How so very noble of you Liam, taking your middle name
to heart are we Mate? You just HAVE to be everyone’s bloody Guardian Angel,
have to save us all even if we don’t want to be saved, don’t you?” Anger deeper
than any he’s ever known floods through him, even as tears try to rip their way
from the prison of his eyelids. “You’ve been acting like you can walk on water;
I don’t know why I’m surprised that you’d try to climb up on the cross too.” A
violent twisted and a well timed shove and he’s free. He lands lightly dropping
into a low crouch, his hands braced between his legs, his fingernails scraping
against the wood as his hands clench and open spasmodically. He can feel
something deep inside him starting to stir and awaken, pulsing liquid fire
through his veins. He tries to force his feelings down deep inside and lock
them away trying to centre himself and reach for serenity as his Godfather has
tried to teach him.
After several tense moments the fire is slowly absorbed
and locked away once more and he relaxes his muscles in grateful relief, only
barely noticing as Liam steps forward to place a shaking hand on his shoulder.
He doesn’t shake off the comfort of his touch, Liam’s hand moves slowly to the
back of his head, stroking his hair and pulling gently. He turns his cheek and
rests it on the powerful thigh and wraps his arms loosely around the strength
of Liam’s legs and lets himself be comforted.
It comes as a great shock when his door opens quietly on
a shocked gasp, only to be flung open so violently it cracks the plaster of the
wall behind it as it ricochets off with the violence.
“What in the bloody hell is going on here?!!”
The next few minutes are all a blur as Liam is violently
ripped away from him by his Father and struck viciously until he is a ball of
quivering pain and misery beneath his kicking legs. He’s still not sure what
made him snap but the next thing he knows he’s standing over his Stepfather’s
unconscious body with Liam pulling him off and wrapping his arms around him
tightly as they cling together and try to make sense of what happened. He’s
vaguely aware that his Mother has at some point arrived and is crouched beside
them stroking their hair and trying to talk to them, asking frantic questions.
He knows he answered, he can feel his vocal cords vibrating but he’s damned if
he knows what he’s said but it must have been enough. She leaves them and he’s
vaguely aware of her using his bedside telephone but then she is back and they
scramble back into her embrace. He remembers being cold, and making small
sounds of discomfort as his muscles spastically clench and relax, beyond even
his Mother’s soothing touch to ease away.
He’s hyper-aware of every single thing going on around
him but for some reason he cannot stir from the embrace of his Mother and Liam.
He’s aware that his Godfather Giles arrives and he’s aware of the angry voices
of his Mother and him discussing something in harsh tones. He’s aware of Giles
grabbing Sean and pulling him roughly out of the room with an inventive flurry
of muttered curses. His world was as it had always been, Liam and his Mother, heart
and soul.~
A hint of movement and the soft sounds of a sigh pull
him from the reveries of the past and he watches as Liam rolls onto his side to
face him, his eyes opening slowly.
“Wil? What’s going on?” His
voice is gruff with sleep, sounding very much like a little boy’s at the moment
and Spike has to smile.
“You just drifted off to sleep Mate, that’s all and I
covered you up so you’d be more comfortable.” He leans forward and pulls the
quilt higher over his shoulder, tucking it around him gently.
“What are you doing?”
“Just remembering and thinking Pet, that’s all. Go
back to sleep.” He reaches out and strokes his hair for a few moments, smiling
as Liam’s eyes lower and his breathing evens out and deepens as he relaxes
under the gentle caresses.
“Wil…Buffy’s a Slayer…what do they expect you to do
against her? Please tell me the truth.” His voice is strong but his tone is
soft.
“If she fights being retired, than they expect me to
subdue her so they can administer the sedatives that will keep her quiet and
allow them the time to complete the spell.”
“How can you fight a Slayer Spike? If she gets that
violent she could hurt you!” Liam growls.
“She won’t be the first one that’s tried Liam. I doubt
she’ll be the last. Faith wasn’t overly receptive at first either.”
“You had to fight Faith?! Wait and you WON?” Spike
nods. “But Buffy is stronger than Faith Spike.”
“Don’t worry Liam, I’m stronger than I look too and
motivated. Being the Slayer is a death sentence, even if they don’t die in the
course of their duties. No Slayer has been active as long as Buffy has and
you’ve seen some indications of why. Usually by now their death wishes have
kicked in and their will to win becomes a will to lose. It’s funny in a way but
I think in the end they defeat themselves. They just start thinking that they
can’t lose to the point that they get overconfident to the point of arrogance
and start to make stupid mistakes. Once the spell was performed and Faith had
some time to adjust she came to realize that what happened was for the best.
She’ll make an outstanding potential trainer one of these days, I have no
doubt.”
“But why do you have to do this Wil? Can’t Charles or
one of the others?”
“For every Slayer, there has always been a Hunter
Liam. Gunn is a Hunter by choice, as are Wesley and Anya and at one time as
Giles was. They are some of the best that there are.”
“And you Wil?” Liam asks softly. “What about you?”
“I am not one of the best Liam. I AM the best. Buffy
will retire and her place will be taken by another, young Kennedy if I were to
guess, will be the next called. What has to happen will happen and we’ll all
learn to deal with that and get on with our lives. You and Buffy will have your
happy, shiny future together, if that is what you want. I’ll go where the
Council sends me and do what needs to be done and I’ll live in the moments
between them.”
“You make it sound like a death sentence Wil.”
“No it’s just a life one. I am a Hunter, THE Hunter,
it’s who I am, what I was born to be, and how I’ll live what life is mine to
live. Go to sleep Liam, it’s not even daybreak yet.”
“You asked me once, what it was that I wanted, what I
needed…now I’m asking you Wil.”
“All I ever wanted were the things I’ll never see
again. What I need…well that’s a trickier question. A man isn’t made of stone
but my memories are cast in it, tying me forever to what was and blinding me to
what is. My Soulmate is beyond me, I have accepted that. One day I may even
learn to live with it.” Spike rises smoothly to his feet, returning quietly to
his room, shutting his door with a soft whisper of a click that sounds like a
rifle shot in the quiet darkness.
Liam rolls over onto his back and flings his arm over
his eyes and despairs of EVER getting a simple answer to anything he asks Wil.
The silent dark soon works its magic and sleep steals over even his active mind
and all is peaceful silence once more.
In his room, Spike quietly dresses and opens the
window of his room and quietly slips out into the night. The Hunter answers the
call of his blood and the night reaches out to embrace her favoured son.
TBC