Taming the Muse Prompts 55 and 56, BoaS Parts 39 & 40, BtVS, PG

[thismaz]

I'm posting prompts 55 and 56 together, because 56 is so short it was embarrassed to be out alone. ETA: That doesn't apply anymore, because I have done some reworking of this chapter, following thoughts, which in turn follow xanpet2000's very interesting workshop on plotting at writersconuk. /ETA      I'll post two separate announcements to TtM though, so the mods can keep their tags in order. I hope this works.

Parts 39 and 40 of the Blood on a Sundial series.
Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompts: #55 & 56 - 'Hello Darkness, my old friend' & 'St Peter'
At: tamingthemuse
Summary: Spike, Xander, AU in Season 2. We are talking slow burn here, people.
Disclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 2,055 & 1,405
Note: Some dialogue taken from BtVS 3.03, Faith, Hope and Trick courtesy of http://www.twiztv.com



39. Power and influence

Placing the folder containing the carefully collated pages of 'The Book' down on the bed next to him, Spike looked up at Xander. "I have no problem with you going out," he said. "Just so long as it's broad daylight and you stay away from the shady side of the street." He squinted thoughtfully. "And don't talk to anyone," he added firmly. Xander felt his face flush at the memory of almost being dragged into a dark alley by a young girl who'd claimed she was lost, but was now mixing her ashes with the dirt in the gutters up on Lafayette. With a faint smirk, acknowledging the hit, Spike continued, "The thing of it is, I killed Flavia." Xander stared at him flatly. "Okay, you killed Flavia, but then we killed the witnesses. So, as far as the general population are concerned, I killed Flavia, okay? Just get accustomed to being overlooked. " He grinned. "More overlooked," he corrected himself.

Xander folded his arms across his chest and upped the wattage of his glare. "But I'm not being overlooked, am I? We've been ambushed every night this week."

"Which would be why I don't want you going out alone."

"Except in broad daylight?"

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "And S'long as you stay on the sunny side of the street and away from alleys." He picked up the folder again, but lay it face down across his thighs. "Look," he sighed. "I've nearly got this done. Give me half an hour, then we'll go out. Where do you want to go?"

That was the question. Xander didn't know where, he just wanted out of these four walls. He wanted, if he were truthful, to find another ambush and feel the power of his shotgun disperse the vampires into clouds of meaningless dust. It seemed every vampire on the eastern seaboard had decided that with Heinrich and Flavia gone, New York was open season for challenge. And this lot played by the rules about as much as Flavia did. Spike had spent most of that morning complaining about the lack of tradition in the younger generation, until Xander thought he could sit an exam on 'the lore' set by Darla herself. But right now, he just wanted out of the factory. He turned away from Spike and went over to the computer, switching it on. "I don't know," he muttered. "Just out."

"Don't sulk!" Spike called from behind him, before going back to his interrupted reading. Xander offered him one last glare and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove.

He'd just pulled the sugar out of the cupboard and was putting some in his mug when Spike gave a whoop of triumph. "Here it is!" he cried. Xander turned to look at him, spoon suspended in midair, sugar slowly trickling off onto the floor. "It says here that the Gem of Amara resides in the Valley of the Sun." Spike continued reading. "And it's hidden in a sealed underground crypt.

Pursing his lips, Xander considered that. "And the Valley of the Sun would be....?"

Spike tossed the folder down. "It doesn't bloody say," he growled. "Sorcerers! Always got to be so bleeding obscure." Then he brightened. "Why don't you ask the computer, pet? Seems you can find anything on there. Go on, do a search."

"What for, 'secret crypts of the world'?" Xander turned back to the counter and stirred the remaining sugar into his coffee.

But Spike's enthusiasm was undimmed. "No, you twit! 'Valley of the Sun'. Search for 'Valley of the Sun'."

Nodding, Xander picked up his cup and went back to the computer. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I suppose that might work." Sitting down he logged in and waited while the computer went through the rest of its start up procedure then, once the sky and clouds had settled, he opened the browser. After ten minutes he turned to Spike. "Okay," he said cautiously, "there's a Valley of the Sun, in Arizona, but that seems to be most of Phoenix." A thought occurred to him. "Hey, there's probably graveyards in Phoenix. I mean, lots of people live there and that means they die and have to get buried." He trailed of in the face of Spike's sceptical expression.

"I doubt it's a human crypt, pet. Try again."

"Alright already. Sheesh!" Xander shoved his hair back from his face. It was getting long, he observed, he should get it cut. Out loud he said, "Hang on," and concentrated on the screen, scanning the list. "Okay, there's a Sun Valley in Idaho. And another in Nevada, but that one looks like it's just a suburb of Reno."

"Not interested in Reno, mate, not if we can avoid it. Where else?"

"Um, Sun Valley, Los Angeles, in the San Fernando Valley and Sun Valley, El Paso in Texas. And that's it." He sat back. "Nothing in Peru, at least not on Yahoo."

Rolling smoothly off the bed, Spike crossed the room to stand behind Xander, peering over his shoulder at the screen. "Why the hell would it be in Peru?" he asked.

"Um, because that's where Black Wind said he thought it was?" Picking up his coffee Xander swung around in the chair and looked up at Spike. "So whatcha want to do?"

Spike scratched his chin. "More research," he decided. "Need t' find out if any of them places have more demonic activity than the rest." Xander rolled his eyes at Spike's constantly shifting accent. "If we can't find anything, we'll go to Texas first, then Phoenix, then Idaho. Leave Reno t'last." He nodded in satisfaction. "You know how t'do that, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure. I spent hours searching for demonic activity with Willow, last year. That's one search I do know all the tricks for. I'll see what I can find out." He paused and looked up at Spike. "But tomorrow, okay? Can we go out now?"

Spike nodded again. "Sure, pet. We'll go wherever you like." He looked around the apartment and smiled when he located his duster, draped over the back of the sofa. "I need something to eat, anyway."

That sounded suspiciously like Spike back-tracking. "I thought you didn't want me near the blood houses?" Xander suggested, cautiously.

"I don't. We'll go down to cardboard town and I'll show you how the poor make a few bucks to keep body and soul together when there's no welfare state." He crossed to the sofa, picked up his coat and pulled it on, ignoring Xander's puzzled 'huh?'

They had just reached the bottom of the stairs and Spike was suggesting they check out Film Forum after he'd eaten, while Xander calculated the chances of any film showing there not having subtitles, when they were interrupted by a loud knocking. Xander pulled his colts out of his pockets and moved into position next to the small man-door set into the larger garage doors. Spike meanwhile, walked around the back of the car and positioned himself in the open space on the other side, facing the man-door. "Doubt it's a challenger," he observed, conversationally. "They wouldn't be stupid enough to request entry." He shrugged. "Or they might." Seeing that Xander was in position he jerked his chin. "Okay, open up." Xander flicked the latch, swung the door open and stepped back behind it.

For a moment, nothing happened, then a man stepped arrogantly over the threshold. He was black and better dressed than any vampire Xander had ever seen, except maybe Angel, and he walked into the room with his arms held away from his side, either in welcome or to show he was unarmed. Xander didn't care, he had his colts aimed at the back of the guy's head. The stranger came to a halt facing Spike across two yards of concrete. With a quick glance around, he concentrated his attention on Spike and his voice was rich and smooth and somehow musical. "Hello darkness!" It also dripped irony. "My old friend, it's good to see you."

Spike was unimpressed. "Darkness may be your friend, mate, but I'm not. I don't know you."

The vampire bowed slightly from the waist. "The name's Trick, and I feel I know you. You're quite the celebrity. Hits all over the 'Net." Spike caught Xander's eye behind Trick's back. 'Told you,' he mouthed with a grin, before looking back at Trick, who continued his spiel, "You have quite a rep-u-tay-shun, know what I'm saying?" Looking over his shoulder he saw Xander, guns trained on him, and took a step to the side, keeping both Spike and Xander in view. "I don't think we need to resort to violence." He flicked an imaginary spec off his sleeve and pulled his cuffs down over his wrists. "I've come to you with a proposition."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Have you indeed?" he asked sceptically. "And what might that be?"

"Well, way I hear it, you find yourself master of this fine burg." Trick paused, as if waiting for some acknowledgement which Spike didn't give, so he continued, "And if I'm not mistaken, that is not where you want to be."

Spike snorted "And you think you can help me with that, do you?"

"I'm sure of it. Things are changing, man, and we need to change with them, or be left behind. I'm a 20th century vampire. Live local, shop global." His smile suddenly broke free and lit his face, making him look younger, although Xander knew well enough that that meant nothing, and his eyes widened with excitement. "And there's large parts of this city... wired for fibre optics." He lifted his arms in an expansive gesture of shared delight. "I jack in a T-3, um, twenty-five hundred megs per, and I'm on the 'Net and I have the whole world at my fingertips."

"So why come to me? Sounds like you could do that anywhere."

Trick's smile turned predatory. "But this is New York. The trade centre of the country, of the world. It needs a firm hand, to keep the fledges in line, you know what I'm saying?"

"And you want to be that firm hand?"

"My friend," Trick paused at Xander's scowl and the slight lifting of his gun barrels, and he gave another small bow. "Master Spike, we really don’t need to attack each other." Spike raised an eyebrow as if to say 'why would I bother' and Trick swallowed before he went on. "What I'm saying is that as long as I pay my taxes and keep the streets clean... as long as I make sure no one makes waves... Well, a peaceful New York, is a prosperous New York and everybody wins. The way I see it, I'm doing you a favour."

"And you're just delighted for me to stay here, minding my own business. It would never occur to you to try and take me out?"

With a careless shrug, Trick smiled again, more warmly this time. "Why would I want to? What I'm offering is mutually beneficial. I take all the administration off your hands and you, you carry on your peaceful life. And if we have some trouble that I can't handle, I come and ask for your assistance and bow to your greater experience in battle."

There was silence for a full twenty seconds as they stood watching each other, then suddenly Spike laughed. "Do what you like, mate. I'm off anyway. Leaving tomorrow. I've got business to attend to, somewhere that isn't here." A furious expression flashed across Trick's face, but was gone so fast Xander wasn't sure he'd really seen it. Spike smiled. "But you're the first challenger with the good sense to talk, instead of trying to ambush," he said. "So yeah, you get what you want - all of New York, with my blessing." He glanced over at Xander. "Show the nice man out, pet. And lock the door behind him."

They gave Trick twenty minutes to clear the area, then the trip to the movies was replaced by a round of the local haunts, to announce the succession and make sure it was known that Spike approved. After that they went home to pack and for Xander to see what more he could discover of demonic activity in Texas, Arizona, Idaho and Nevada.




40. Selling it cheap

Stalking through the streets of Cleveland, Spike felt the rush of the hunt again, like the first taste of good wine and as addictive as cocaine. This first night out from New York he'd checked them into the best hotel in town, rather than one of the fleabag motels, like those they'd stopped at on their last cross country trip. They'd got in just short of dawn and, for the right inducement, the manager had been persuaded to give them a room and not disturb them all day. As evening fell, he'd woken and soon they'd be on their way again. He'd left Xander in the hotel restaurant, boggling over the prices, but determined on steak and chocolate mousse for breakfast. Now it was Spike's turn.

The sun had been down for less than an hour and the streets were still quite busy, but Spike had marked his target twenty minutes ago, recognising the type: tattered clothes that no amount of washing would ever get clean again, a shuffling gait that indicated bone weariness and ill health and a tatty and overfilled duffle bag dragging from one hand. It was just a matter of following and his prey would lead him somewhere where they wouldn't be disturbed. This man had a map of such places in his head, probably had one particular favourite - a place where he could curl up and sleep and guarantee not being moved on.

Sure enough, another forty five minutes of patient following and the old man bent stiffly down, pulled a bulging black sack out from under a pile of pallets against the wall of some commercial building and began to crawl inside the hole he'd exposed. Spike walked up to him. "Hey, Grandpa," he called. His mark started in surprise and shuffled around on his knees to look up. "Want to make ten bucks?" Spike asked. The old man looked confused, so Spike squatted down in front of him and allowed his face to change. "You know what I am, granddad?" he asked.

The tramp crossed himself. "St Peter and all the Saints, preserve us," he gasped.

Smiling, Spike nodded and pulled out his wallet. "You know what I am. So you know how this works. I give you ten bucks, you give me some blood, yeah? You want to deal?" Spike held out the ten dollar note and waved it in front of the man's face, watching his eyes follow the movement as he thought. Eventually he nodded and reached for the money, but Spike stood up and held it out of reach. "Blood first. Then the money. Come on, up you get." He reached his hand down to help his meal stand, glad of his superior strength, since the old guy relied on him more than on his own legs to do the job. Not that he weighed much for all his apparent bulk.

Once they were facing each other Spike jerked his chin and the man slowly shed his coat. Underneath, his arms and shoulders were relatively clean which was an unnecessary, if pleasant, relief. The muscles of his arms were wasted away, indicating a long term, poor quality diet that failed to replace the energy he used in just surviving day to day: chronic low level starvation. He shivered and although it wasn't really cold, it was likely his old bones felt every chill and whisper of wind. Hunched in on himself he peered up at Spike, his expression wavering as he glanced quickly up and down the alley, as if he was actually considering his chances of escape. Spike grinned at him, took hold of his upper arms and pushed him back against the wall.

"My, my arm?" the meal stuttered.

Resting his right hand against the old man's chest to keep him in place, Spike lifted his left and gently stroked the tired face. "Not this time," he said soothingly. "This time, we do it quick." He grabbed a sparse handful of hair and forced the head to the side, exposing the neck. The old body jerked, reflex action easily stilled and Spike bent his head, slicing neatly into the jugular, and began to drink. He took his time, enjoying the sensation, making sure he dragged out as much as possible before the old heart stopped. Relishing the sweet piquancy of the final struggling breath and beat, feeling the life rush into him as it left the body of his food, that last drop more potent and more satisfying than any quantity of blood bartered for from the top of a donor's supply, he revelled in the euphoria of the kill.

At last, when the body hung, a limp weight from his hands, he pushed it back against the wall and used the knife from the back of his belt to slash through the bite marks and disguise them. Pulling back he allowed the old frame to sag and caught it over his arm, so some last drops of blood drained out, staining the neck and dripping into the remnants of hair. Then he stuffed it into the cave of pallets, shoved the black sack of scrunched up newspaper in after it, to block the gap, and walked away humming happily under his breath. One more task to complete, then they could be on their way. He found a phone box and made a call to his lawyers.

Back at the hotel he was mildly surprised, and relieved, to see that Xander was not still in the restaurant. He wanted to be on the road. Now that his goal was almost in sight he was impatient for an ending. An ending that would also be a beginning. An image of the watcher struggling under Spike's fangs, as Spike took that precious last drop of life, played across his imagination. He could almost taste it. For a moment he considered Xander; the boy had said he would try to stop Spike, if Spike did go after the watcher. Well, there were ways of dealing with that too. Xander was still young, but he wasn't too young. Not a huge problem: spending eternity looking like an eighteen year old. A child turned was an abomination - forever dependent, forever weak. But at eighteen Xander was tall and strong, and in the last few months he had grown up significantly, the workouts and sparring having toned his boyish muscles. He could probably pass for a few years older, with the right clothes and haircut. He wouldn't need to spend his entire existence being carded in bars. And if it looked like he might, well, they could always go back to Europe. Spike shrugged the thought away. There was time for that later. For now, he just wanted to get them across this damn country again and find the demon who seemed to have his gem.

Taking the stairs at a run he burst into the room already talking. "Did you have a good meal, pet? Come on, lets be off. We have a demon to find." He trailed off at the sight that met him.

The boy was sitting on one of the beds; he looked like he was waiting. Spike let the door close behind him and took a couple more steps forward, and Xander looked up, his eyes dark and solemn. "You killed, didn't you?"

Spike shrugged "'Safer, now we're on the move. No one left to talk. I hid the marks."

Xander shook his head, dismissing Spike's precautions. "Who was it?"

"Best you don't know, love."

"I have to know."

With a sigh, Spike gave in, wondering if this was going to be a regular thing. "Some old homeless guy."

"And because he was homeless, he deserved to die?"

That was enough! "Deserving's got nothing to do with it," Spike growled. "Or if it does? Well, I deserve to eat. He was old and sick. We thin the herd. It's what we do."

For a full minute Xander sat still, staring at Spike, until Spike wanted to squirm under the assessing gaze, but then he nodded and when he spoke his voice was neutral. "I packed," he said. "I figured we'd best get out of town quickly. Your bag's by the bed. Come on." And with that, he picked up his own bag from the floor by his feet, stood up, walked past Spike, opened the door and left the room.

Next Part

Comments

[kaydee23.livejournal.com]

Yippee. I had three, no four to read today. I love this story. I liked Trick showing up. I hope Spike doesn't need to come back to New York. I think Trick will be pissed.

[thismaz.livejournal.com]

Heee, I knew that Spike was going to hand New York over to someone, but when I saw the prompt was 'Hello Darkness', it had to be Mr Trick.
Yes, I don't think Spike has made a life-long friend there. *g*
I am so pleased you are enjoying this story. Thank you for commenting.