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thismazTitle: History lessons
Part 14 of the Blood on a Sundial series. Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #29 - Et tu Brute
At:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Disclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 2,146
14. History Lessons
The room was almost big enough for the two cheap lounge chairs it held, in addition to the bed and the rest of the usual furniture. It was also clean, if a bit old and worn. Spike had pulled the blinds closed as soon as they got in and hadn't turned on the main light, so it was only by the small amount of diffuse sunlight that got around them that Xander could see anything, from his vantage point tied to one of the chairs three feet from the foot of the bed. He was feeling very wary.
When they'd arrived in Sacramento a few hours before dawn, Spike seemed to know exactly where he was going - a nondescript motel somewhere to the west of the city. He'd left Xander in the car when he went to check in and then drove right up to the door of the room they now occupied. There hadn't been a chance for Xander to run, even if he'd known where he could run to - with no money, even if he got free, the means of successful escape defeated him. It was only later that he thought about how Giles would probably accept the charges of a collect call, if he could only get away. And Giles' telephone number was one of only three or four he had memorised. But for now, there was no chance - he'd been marched in and immediately tied up again.
It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but his arms were held fast to the wooden armrests, more rope wrapped around his shins and each front leg of the chair and finally there were the multiple turns around his waist which kept him fast in the seat. He fixed his eyes on his captor. "Why am I is still alive?" Okay, maybe not the most sensible question, but Xander wanted to keep Spike talking.
Spike was sprawled on his back on the bed, a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand. "Because you're my bargaining chip," he said easily. "Your Scoobies will never sacrifice you."
That made the sort of sense, that didn't. "But you've got away. scot free. Why do you still need me?" The small voice in the back of Xander's head was screaming at him to shut up and stop tempting the vampire. But for some reason he persisted in ignoring it. It was partly what Giles would call 'sheer bloody-mindedness' and partly a simple desire to know where he stood. He needed to understand what his chances were. Plus - distracting the vampire from the bottle of high proof alcohol. Xander had enough experience with unpredictable drunk humans to know that he really didn't want to face an unpredictable drunk vampire. And Spike had been drinking steadily for the last hour.
"What makes you think I'm not going back?" Spike laughed and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "Your Watcher killed my Dru. Think I'll just forgive and forget?"
Oh. "But last night... On the road... you were..."
"I was what? I was nice?" Spike sneered. "I was being friendly? I was making your abduction pleasant?"
"Er... no, not pleasant. But you were friendly. Sort of. I mean... you didn't kill me and you brought me food."
"Sure, pet. Need you healthy, don't I? And last night, I needed you docile. I was nice and we got to Sacramento with no fuss. But if you think for one minute that you are anything but a walking bag of blood to me, then you're more deluded than I thought."
For the first time, Xander felt real fear. How could he have forgotten? God! Had he been deluded? Or could he blame concussion? If he'd had the freedom to move, he'd have kicked himself. Just because in the privacy of his own head, he'd seen something in the two vampires in his life (and stop and marvel at that concept) that spoke to him, as Giles' behaviour didn't, he'd forgotten exactly what they were. What Spike was.
He was being held prisoner by a vampire. An evil, bloodsucking fiend. And no number of burgers and no amount of apparently friendly teasing would change that. It was a wonder he was still alive. Okay. Think Xander. Think hard and for once in your life, think smart.
Keeping Spike talking seemed like a good idea. He'd already drunk most of a bottle and although he wasn't acting drunk, exactly, his movements had become a bit wider and looser.
Xander shifted, as much as his bonds would allow, and tried to think of a safe topic for conversation. "Actually, I was thinking more about how you said you were going to New York."
"So we are. Doesn't mean I'm planning on staying there forever. Got something to do. But after that, we're going back to Sunnydale and I'm going to find myself a Watcher." He lifted the bottle to his chin and tipped it to drink. A dribble of liquid escaped from the side of his mouth and tricked down his cheek to disappear into his hair.
Xander didn't miss Spike's use of the word 'we' and, in spite of his current predicament, he took some comfort from the idea that Spike wasn't planning on using him as a handy food source as he crossed the country.
"But we're not going straight to New York? Can I ask where we are going first, then? And why?" That felt like a much safer question than anything to do with his own life expectancy. A sudden thought that Spike might be planning to turn him, so he'd help with hunting Giles down, sent a bolt of panic through him. Spike had teased him with that idea weeks ago, last time he had Xander prisoner.
Spike lifted his head from the pillow and peered down the length of his body at Xander. "Calm down, pet. We're going to Reno," he said. "Got to see a shaman."
"Oh. Okay. And you need me with you, why?"
"Well, can't very well sort you out, if you're not there."
The panicky sense of dread turned into something far more solid, and far more scary. "Sort me out?"
Spike levered himself up on one elbow and rested his head on one hand, the neck of the bottle gripped loosely in the other and propped against his thigh. "Yeah. Don't want to have to keep you tied up all the time. Cramps my style. We're going to get you fixed up with something to solve that little problem."
"Uh hu?" For a moment, language failed him. "What problem?" he eventually managed, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice as his imagination took him places he'd never wanted to go.
"Yeah. Going to see a shaman. Big guy with the magic. He's got a handcuff that'll stop you straying, without me having to worry."
"Straying?" He suddenly felt like the neighbourhood dog, but the sense of relief as he realised that whatever magical handcuffs were, they would only be needed for a still human captive, took the sting out of the thought.
By the time Xander got his breathing back under control, Spike appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he tipped it back for another drink. His eyebrows rose in an expression of surprise and he lifted the bottle higher, holding it above his face as he squinted thoughtfully into the open neck. One solitary drop of Bourbon gathered on the rim and fell into his eye. "Bloody hell!" The bottle flew across the room, just missing Xander and rolled away across the carpet as Spike flopped onto his back rubbing his eye furiously. Xander did his best not to laugh.
Spike lowered his arm and lay still, gazing up at the ceiling. "Pass us that other bottle will you, pet?"
Xander shook his head. "I can't, Spike. I'm tied up."
"Oh. So you are. Forgot." Rolling off the bed, somehow still graceful in spite of the quantity of alcohol he'd consumed, Spike stalked past Xander to the chest of drawers and picked up the second bottle. Returning to the bed he sat on the edge, gazing blankly at the carpet between his feet. Time stretched endlessly for Xander as he waited for whatever was going to happen next. His emotions were having trouble keeping up with Spike's changing moods. The fear overload of a few moments ago seemed to have dissipated, leaving him tired but calm. It wasn't that he'd given up, he thought, just that there was only room for so much terror in his mind at any one time. Whether quiet Spike was a safer thing than talkative Spike, he didn't know.
"My Dru," Spike sighed. "So beautiful. So fey." He looked up at Xander, his eyes unfocused. "You have no idea. One hundred years. She was so beautiful. Rescued me." Suddenly he was looking straight at Xander. "How old are you, boy?" His eyes raked Xander's body, head to toe. "Sixteen? Eighteen? Can you even imagine what a hundred years with one person, 'slike?" Xander decided not to answer that and a moment later Spike continued. "No. You can't even begin." His hands twisted around the neck of the bottle, not trying to open it, possibly trying to strangle it. "She pulled me from the wreckage, and life was fun. With her, life was always such fun." Deliberately he opened the bottle, allowing the cap to fall carelessly to the floor. "We danced across Europe and Asia. Through wars and plagues. We watched the comedy of your little lives." He raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swig. "You humans. Think you're so smart. But you don't know. Your place on the food chain, is way down. Way, way down." Once again his eyes shifted to some unseen point in the distance. "You play your games of power. Your games of betrayal and deceit. You think you're so clever." He lifted the bottle in a careless gesture, as if toasting Xander's health. "Until you've seen an old master with all his court, you haven't got the first clue what power is.
"I watched the Chinese rebel against occupation. I watched the Nazis rise in Europe. I saw the blunt instrument of hate they wielded. I saw their enemies descend to their level." He paused and his voice softened. "But I've seen the power of an ancient court, and I watched The Master kill his master, just so he could leave London and come and die in Sunnydale. And The Old Master... you know what?" He laughed harshly "He looked surprised. All 'Et tu Brute', like he hadn't done it himself, in his time." Suddenly he grinned. "You have no idea the shock waves that set off."
He turned his head and this time Xander felt he was actually looking at him. "My Dru saw it all, before it happened. She got us out of the Old Master's Court." He paused, turning back to stare at nothing, and when he resumed his voice was dreamy with memory. "She was good at that. Tried to get me to leave Europe back in the 30's. Didn't listen to her, that time... so she left me there and I ended up on a submarine." He snorted with mild amusement, before a sweet smile spread across his face, softening his expression. "But she came back for me. She always came back for me." He looked up at Xander again. "She had dark hair and pale skin and muscles like steel and a body as soft and welcoming as a tropical night." He stood and walked over to the chair. Placing the bottle on the floor, he set his knee on the seat and sat down, straddling Xander's legs. Xander reared back as far as he could, but Spike leant forward, his right hand bracing himself on the chair back behind Xander's head. With his left hand he gently brushed the hair back from Xander's forehead and stroked the backs of his fingers down Xander's cheek. He shook his head. "No. The hair's similar, but it's not the same. And your skin's different too." Sighing he pushed himself back onto his feet, picked up the bottle and returned to the bed. Xander heaved a sigh of relief.
Somehow managing to keep the bottle upright, Spike rolled across the bed and pulled himself up to lean his head against the headboard, booted feet crossed at the ankles on the quilted satin bedspread. "You should get some sleep pet. Busy night tonight." He took another swig, emptying the bottle. They both watched as it rolled away and clunked to the floor. Shuffling down into a more horizontal position, Spike grabbed the edge of the blankets and dragged them across his body.
Xander sat awake, as the hours of daylight passed, watching as the vampire lay unmoving in his cocoon.
Next Part
Part 14 of the Blood on a Sundial series. Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #29 - Et tu Brute
At:
tamingthemuseDisclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 2,146
14. History Lessons
The room was almost big enough for the two cheap lounge chairs it held, in addition to the bed and the rest of the usual furniture. It was also clean, if a bit old and worn. Spike had pulled the blinds closed as soon as they got in and hadn't turned on the main light, so it was only by the small amount of diffuse sunlight that got around them that Xander could see anything, from his vantage point tied to one of the chairs three feet from the foot of the bed. He was feeling very wary.
When they'd arrived in Sacramento a few hours before dawn, Spike seemed to know exactly where he was going - a nondescript motel somewhere to the west of the city. He'd left Xander in the car when he went to check in and then drove right up to the door of the room they now occupied. There hadn't been a chance for Xander to run, even if he'd known where he could run to - with no money, even if he got free, the means of successful escape defeated him. It was only later that he thought about how Giles would probably accept the charges of a collect call, if he could only get away. And Giles' telephone number was one of only three or four he had memorised. But for now, there was no chance - he'd been marched in and immediately tied up again.
It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but his arms were held fast to the wooden armrests, more rope wrapped around his shins and each front leg of the chair and finally there were the multiple turns around his waist which kept him fast in the seat. He fixed his eyes on his captor. "Why am I is still alive?" Okay, maybe not the most sensible question, but Xander wanted to keep Spike talking.
Spike was sprawled on his back on the bed, a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand. "Because you're my bargaining chip," he said easily. "Your Scoobies will never sacrifice you."
That made the sort of sense, that didn't. "But you've got away. scot free. Why do you still need me?" The small voice in the back of Xander's head was screaming at him to shut up and stop tempting the vampire. But for some reason he persisted in ignoring it. It was partly what Giles would call 'sheer bloody-mindedness' and partly a simple desire to know where he stood. He needed to understand what his chances were. Plus - distracting the vampire from the bottle of high proof alcohol. Xander had enough experience with unpredictable drunk humans to know that he really didn't want to face an unpredictable drunk vampire. And Spike had been drinking steadily for the last hour.
"What makes you think I'm not going back?" Spike laughed and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "Your Watcher killed my Dru. Think I'll just forgive and forget?"
Oh. "But last night... On the road... you were..."
"I was what? I was nice?" Spike sneered. "I was being friendly? I was making your abduction pleasant?"
"Er... no, not pleasant. But you were friendly. Sort of. I mean... you didn't kill me and you brought me food."
"Sure, pet. Need you healthy, don't I? And last night, I needed you docile. I was nice and we got to Sacramento with no fuss. But if you think for one minute that you are anything but a walking bag of blood to me, then you're more deluded than I thought."
For the first time, Xander felt real fear. How could he have forgotten? God! Had he been deluded? Or could he blame concussion? If he'd had the freedom to move, he'd have kicked himself. Just because in the privacy of his own head, he'd seen something in the two vampires in his life (and stop and marvel at that concept) that spoke to him, as Giles' behaviour didn't, he'd forgotten exactly what they were. What Spike was.
He was being held prisoner by a vampire. An evil, bloodsucking fiend. And no number of burgers and no amount of apparently friendly teasing would change that. It was a wonder he was still alive. Okay. Think Xander. Think hard and for once in your life, think smart.
Keeping Spike talking seemed like a good idea. He'd already drunk most of a bottle and although he wasn't acting drunk, exactly, his movements had become a bit wider and looser.
Xander shifted, as much as his bonds would allow, and tried to think of a safe topic for conversation. "Actually, I was thinking more about how you said you were going to New York."
"So we are. Doesn't mean I'm planning on staying there forever. Got something to do. But after that, we're going back to Sunnydale and I'm going to find myself a Watcher." He lifted the bottle to his chin and tipped it to drink. A dribble of liquid escaped from the side of his mouth and tricked down his cheek to disappear into his hair.
Xander didn't miss Spike's use of the word 'we' and, in spite of his current predicament, he took some comfort from the idea that Spike wasn't planning on using him as a handy food source as he crossed the country.
"But we're not going straight to New York? Can I ask where we are going first, then? And why?" That felt like a much safer question than anything to do with his own life expectancy. A sudden thought that Spike might be planning to turn him, so he'd help with hunting Giles down, sent a bolt of panic through him. Spike had teased him with that idea weeks ago, last time he had Xander prisoner.
Spike lifted his head from the pillow and peered down the length of his body at Xander. "Calm down, pet. We're going to Reno," he said. "Got to see a shaman."
"Oh. Okay. And you need me with you, why?"
"Well, can't very well sort you out, if you're not there."
The panicky sense of dread turned into something far more solid, and far more scary. "Sort me out?"
Spike levered himself up on one elbow and rested his head on one hand, the neck of the bottle gripped loosely in the other and propped against his thigh. "Yeah. Don't want to have to keep you tied up all the time. Cramps my style. We're going to get you fixed up with something to solve that little problem."
"Uh hu?" For a moment, language failed him. "What problem?" he eventually managed, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice as his imagination took him places he'd never wanted to go.
"Yeah. Going to see a shaman. Big guy with the magic. He's got a handcuff that'll stop you straying, without me having to worry."
"Straying?" He suddenly felt like the neighbourhood dog, but the sense of relief as he realised that whatever magical handcuffs were, they would only be needed for a still human captive, took the sting out of the thought.
By the time Xander got his breathing back under control, Spike appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he tipped it back for another drink. His eyebrows rose in an expression of surprise and he lifted the bottle higher, holding it above his face as he squinted thoughtfully into the open neck. One solitary drop of Bourbon gathered on the rim and fell into his eye. "Bloody hell!" The bottle flew across the room, just missing Xander and rolled away across the carpet as Spike flopped onto his back rubbing his eye furiously. Xander did his best not to laugh.
Spike lowered his arm and lay still, gazing up at the ceiling. "Pass us that other bottle will you, pet?"
Xander shook his head. "I can't, Spike. I'm tied up."
"Oh. So you are. Forgot." Rolling off the bed, somehow still graceful in spite of the quantity of alcohol he'd consumed, Spike stalked past Xander to the chest of drawers and picked up the second bottle. Returning to the bed he sat on the edge, gazing blankly at the carpet between his feet. Time stretched endlessly for Xander as he waited for whatever was going to happen next. His emotions were having trouble keeping up with Spike's changing moods. The fear overload of a few moments ago seemed to have dissipated, leaving him tired but calm. It wasn't that he'd given up, he thought, just that there was only room for so much terror in his mind at any one time. Whether quiet Spike was a safer thing than talkative Spike, he didn't know.
"My Dru," Spike sighed. "So beautiful. So fey." He looked up at Xander, his eyes unfocused. "You have no idea. One hundred years. She was so beautiful. Rescued me." Suddenly he was looking straight at Xander. "How old are you, boy?" His eyes raked Xander's body, head to toe. "Sixteen? Eighteen? Can you even imagine what a hundred years with one person, 'slike?" Xander decided not to answer that and a moment later Spike continued. "No. You can't even begin." His hands twisted around the neck of the bottle, not trying to open it, possibly trying to strangle it. "She pulled me from the wreckage, and life was fun. With her, life was always such fun." Deliberately he opened the bottle, allowing the cap to fall carelessly to the floor. "We danced across Europe and Asia. Through wars and plagues. We watched the comedy of your little lives." He raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swig. "You humans. Think you're so smart. But you don't know. Your place on the food chain, is way down. Way, way down." Once again his eyes shifted to some unseen point in the distance. "You play your games of power. Your games of betrayal and deceit. You think you're so clever." He lifted the bottle in a careless gesture, as if toasting Xander's health. "Until you've seen an old master with all his court, you haven't got the first clue what power is.
"I watched the Chinese rebel against occupation. I watched the Nazis rise in Europe. I saw the blunt instrument of hate they wielded. I saw their enemies descend to their level." He paused and his voice softened. "But I've seen the power of an ancient court, and I watched The Master kill his master, just so he could leave London and come and die in Sunnydale. And The Old Master... you know what?" He laughed harshly "He looked surprised. All 'Et tu Brute', like he hadn't done it himself, in his time." Suddenly he grinned. "You have no idea the shock waves that set off."
He turned his head and this time Xander felt he was actually looking at him. "My Dru saw it all, before it happened. She got us out of the Old Master's Court." He paused, turning back to stare at nothing, and when he resumed his voice was dreamy with memory. "She was good at that. Tried to get me to leave Europe back in the 30's. Didn't listen to her, that time... so she left me there and I ended up on a submarine." He snorted with mild amusement, before a sweet smile spread across his face, softening his expression. "But she came back for me. She always came back for me." He looked up at Xander again. "She had dark hair and pale skin and muscles like steel and a body as soft and welcoming as a tropical night." He stood and walked over to the chair. Placing the bottle on the floor, he set his knee on the seat and sat down, straddling Xander's legs. Xander reared back as far as he could, but Spike leant forward, his right hand bracing himself on the chair back behind Xander's head. With his left hand he gently brushed the hair back from Xander's forehead and stroked the backs of his fingers down Xander's cheek. He shook his head. "No. The hair's similar, but it's not the same. And your skin's different too." Sighing he pushed himself back onto his feet, picked up the bottle and returned to the bed. Xander heaved a sigh of relief.
Somehow managing to keep the bottle upright, Spike rolled across the bed and pulled himself up to lean his head against the headboard, booted feet crossed at the ankles on the quilted satin bedspread. "You should get some sleep pet. Busy night tonight." He took another swig, emptying the bottle. They both watched as it rolled away and clunked to the floor. Shuffling down into a more horizontal position, Spike grabbed the edge of the blankets and dragged them across his body.
Xander sat awake, as the hours of daylight passed, watching as the vampire lay unmoving in his cocoon.
Next Part
