No Rest for the Wicked
Part I
***********************
Begins in the
middle of A New Man, just after Giles
has found out that Buffy is dating The Initiative, her new mom-in-law is the
evil fishwife Prof Walsh and that everyone’s gone and stopped a little matter
of the apocalypse without him. He goes home to have a relaxing drink which is
somewhat disturbed by Spike, because Spike is still living at Giles’.
Because
it’s my story now.
(Yes, yes, yes, Mr
Lawyer, I do acknowledge the ultimate power and probably great wealth of Joss Whedon, who could crush me like a bug, like a *bug*, for
borrowing his creations. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? He seems such a
nice man? Muaahahahahahahahahaha!!!)
Mucho thanks to Kes who beta’d the first chapter and made me, you know, actually
describe stuff. Also to the Band of Buggered gang who had some fun coming up
with evil things that Spike could do, particularly the disturbingly inventive Ashes!
*************************
“Hey,
“Yeah,” agreed
Buffy, with no great enthusiasm. “Do you want to come and back up my excuse of
having no memory at all? That it was in no way my fault, for I am no-brain
Buffy? Please?”
“I think you need
to talk to him on your own,” said
“Ooh – you should keep
working on that one!” said Buffy with a smile. “Okay, I’m heading – call into
Giles and see if he’ll forgive me. Or if Spike has annoyed him to death yet.”
*******
“You know it’s
downright impolite to threaten a guest in your home,” said Spike smugly,
carefully placing his feet on the table as he slouched a little lower on the
couch.
“There will come a
day,” said Giles with care, glaring at him, “that you will, pray god, no longer
be a – guest - in my home. And on
that day you may find that my manners deteriorate quite rapidly.” His glance
fell on a chest in the corner, containing, as Spike knew well, any number of
lethal weapons.
Spike removed his
feet from the table with a snort of contempt.
“There’ll come a
day that I get this goddamn chip out of my head,” he muttered. “Then whatcha gonna do?”
Giles poured
himself a drink and considered the question.
“Fun as it would be
to drive the stake into your worthless heart myself, I
think I’ll probably call Buffy.” At the vampire’s smirk, he added, “That way, I
can stand by with the video camera and capture the whole glorious event in
Technicolor.” His expression lightened to a wistful smile.
“Give us a drink,
you wanker,” grumbled Spike, clearly annoyed at his
dusty death being reduced to home video footage. “No, don’t you pour it, your measures are the most miserable…..okay, fine!”
Giles handed the
glass of whiskey (glass with a light
coating of whiskey, was Spike’s general gripe) to The Most Annoying House
Guest of All Time. Praised, for the fortieth time that day, and the four
hundred and twentieth time that week, his own
restraint and infinite patience.
Buffy gets to kill vampires, he thought, a
familiar thought by now, particularly when compelled to play bartender to
Spike.
The world was not
fair.
“Just because
you’re out of the loop, there’s no need to spend the bloody evening brooding,”
Spike pointed out, in clear and annoying tones.
Giles started at
the intrusive voice, cursed himself for the thousandth time for not having
pawned this particular task off on one of the others. No reason why the damn
vampire couldn’t have stayed with Xander for….ever.
“Giles, I have a life, I have a girlfriend! At least I
might have a girlfriend. I won’t have a girlfriend if he stays! He says things!
It’s very awkward. You don’t understand, me and Anya can’t….”
“Fine! He can come back to mine!”
Yes, Giles cursed
that particular piece of cowardice.
“I said…..” Spike started again, determined
not to be ignored.
“I heard you,”
snapped Giles. “And I am enjoying a drink in my own home and I *don’t* need to
*hear* *you*!”
“Bit tetchy there,
aren’t you?” queried Spike, downing his drink and putting out his hand for a
refill.
It went ignored.
“I’m just saying,”
Spike continued, heading for the whiskey bottle. “I think I can appreciate your
pain. All useless, thrown on the scrapheap, just because you’re
so….old.” Behind the back of the Watcher, he grinned. Chip couldn’t
prevent the insults and verbal abuse.
“Given the fact
that my bloodlust has not been assuaged so far this evening,” said Giles
slowly. “This might not perhaps be the time to rile me.” He clenched his glass
more tightly, knuckles white. Spike was surprised it didn’t shatter.
“I’m sure they
would have given you a call if it had been a really important End-of-the-World,” Spike assured him patronisingly,
wondering if he could drive the man completely over the edge before
Giles took a long
drink.
Spike took control
of the bottle.
“And they didn’t
put a chip in your head,” Spike consoled, filling Giles’ glass with a
Spike-sized measure. His expression soured at the thought. “What’s she like? The bitch that did this?” He indicated his head.
“Well, not that
it’s my position to say, but if you do ever get the thing out, before Buffy
kills you with the maximum imaginable pain, I of course wouldn’t dream of
giving you her exact location and possibly her telephone number.”
Spike managed a bitter
chuckle before both men relapsed to sullen silence. A silence
which was finally shattered by the doorbell.
“See? Probably
another apocalypse,” Giles tried to encourage himself, as he rose to get the
door.
“Yes, because Buffy
the vampire shagger always rings the doorbell and
never barges right in to demand that we dance to her every order.”
“Shut up, Spike.”
Behind Giles’ back,
Spike managed a slug of alcohol from the bottle. The way things were going he
was going to need it.
“Ethan Rayne,” said Giles in a
discouraging tone.
The sort of tone,
Spike considered, that was used when he finished all the food in the kitchen
despite the fact that ‘Vampires don’t
need food, Spike!’
Spike watched with
interest as the stranger – this Ethan
Rayne - took
a step into the house, to be knocked backwards by the force of Giles’ fist. The
vampire resolved not to test Cranky-Giles’ patience any further.
The unwelcome guest
scrambled to his feet, clutching the doorframe with a low groan. Collecting
himself, he managed a decidedly grouchy, “Ow, bloody
hell, Ripper, it’s hardly my best attempt to take over the world when I amble
up and ring your doorbell!”
“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s far from your worst!” Giles informed him with
a scowl.
Gingerly touching
his chin, Ethan whined, “Can I come in now that you’ve poured scorn on my ability
to create evil?”
Scowling, Giles
turned his back on the man, walking back into the room, but not slamming the
door.
Ethan accepted the
implied invitation.
“What the hell are
you doing here?” snapped Giles, turning very sharply.
“Ooh, is that
scotch?” enquired Ethan with interest.
“Whiskey,” offered
Spike, passing the bottle. Giles intercepted it in its course, grabbing it and
slamming it down on a nearby table.
“He’s a very bad
host,” said Spike by way of explanation to Ethan, looking with regret at the
bottle, now out of reach.
“And here was me
thinking I’d be worthy of a least a fattened calf,” said Ethan dryly, more to the
vampire than his old friend.
“Yeah,” grumbled
Spike. “Then I get stuck drinking cow-blood for a week. No bloody thanks.”
Not a flicker of
surprise at this comment, Spike noticed. Okay,
we’re in the presence of someone who isn’t the slightest bit surprised by
vampires.
Unfazed, Ethan
continued, “There was a time my dear old friend would have welcomed me with
wine and song – isn’t that right, Ripper old mate?”
“Wonderful as it
is,” declared Giles loudly, with a threat of violence in his voice, “that I
have now been made chief maitre d’
for the more annoying forms of evil on this Hellmouth,
what the hell are you doing here, Ethan?”
Ethan shrugged non-committally. “You know me, wherever chaos rears its head, I
have been known to…..be.”
Spike brightened.
“Chaos?” he questioned with interest. “You don’t say. The
kind that leads to mass bloodshed?”
“Give it time,”
promised Ethan, a look of pure anticipation crossing his face. “Ripper, do I
get to come in and tell you all about it, or do I have to spread the word that
you’re living with a vampire these days? Not that I would dream of passing judgement,
I might add, but I’m not sure your old pals in the Council could say the same
thing.”
Groaning in defeat,
Giles made a vague gesture of invitation. “Ethan, this is Spike, a neutered
Vampire. Spike, this is Ethan, the bane of my life.”
They nodded at each
other, united against their host, but suspicious of one another.
“How do you neuter
vampires?” Ethan politely enquired. “Why
do you neuter vampires? I thought the general policy was to kill them.”
“Trust me, it is,”
Giles swore. “Unfortunately we also find ourselves bound by laws of humanity
and comp---pity, not to kill a
defenceless creature. Utterly defenceless.” He took
obvious pleasure in the reaction of Spike to his words.
“Fucking pity,” growled the irate vampire. “When
I get it out, I will drain you so dry!”
“I tremble in fear
of your vengeance, really I do,” Giles assured him, without a sign of
trembling. “But might I suggest that it’s wiser to save the insults until after
you’ve finished my whiskey?”
“Five minutes
then,” Spike promised, pouring himself a generous measure and passing the
bottle to Ethan, to Giles’ clear displeasure.
“Ethan, you
mentioned chaos,” said Giles insistently. “Would it bother you enormously to
stop drinking my liquor and tell me what the hell you were talking about? He
rubbed his temple with one hand, realising that two evil pains-in-the-arse were likely to prove too much for one
innocent Watcher who didn’t even get paid these days. And where was his
whiskey?
“Oh, unnatural
powers in Sunnydale, dark forces rising, demonic
discontent. The usual, really.” Ethan shrugged
dismissively. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
“Unnatural?” Spike
exploded, “I’ll tell you what’s unnatural, putting fucking *chips* in the heads
of perfectly innocent vampires!”
Giles snorted with
laughter.
“Well now, that
could be related to what I’ve been hearing about.” Ethan indicated the vampire.
“It’s hardly the Council’s style. They’re more, ‘Kill now. Write forty page report on incident later.’ Not so big with the fun and
games.”
“You really don’t
know the Council,” said Giles dryly. “But, no, this doesn’t seem to be their
work. Spike was abducted, taken to underground labs and had a device inserted
in his brain that causes him great pain when he commits an act of violence.
Though not, I suspect, as much pain as I would like to inflict.”
“Behaviour
modification,” surmised Ethan with interest. “Subject is supposed to learn to avoid
the pain-causing behaviour. Learnt yet?” he asked Spike.
“Fuck off,” growled
Spike
“I haven’t heard of
it being used on demons,” pondered Ethan, looking at Spike thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
“Defeated by bloody
technology,” bemoaned Spike. Turned into a bloody science fair project.
“So Bill Gates
finally did something useful,” chuckled Ethan. “And when you consider the
powers that he channels of an
evening….”
“God bless Bill
Gates,” cheered Giles, raising his glass.
“If I ever get my
hands on that fucker….” growled Spike.
“In any case it
seems to be related to the military,” Giles expounded, wondering vaguely why he
was telling Ethan Rayne of all people
about this. “Or possibly people wearing army uniforms in a cunning plan to
confuse us. But it seems to be the military. Commandos,” Giles snorted
resentfully, his expression matching that of Spike. He sighed deeply. “You
didn’t by any chance hear anything *useful* did you? Like what their plan is,
for example?” He turned the full force of his best glare upon Ethan.
Ethan searched the
ceiling for possible plans, before finally answering, “Nope.” He crossed his
arms and smiled smugly.
“What a shocking
surprise.”
“Isn’t that what
you get paid for? Oh - sorry, mate, I forgot.” Ethan smirked. “I just heard
there was something interesting going on around here, that’s all.”
“You’d think
between you, you could deal with a few bloody humans,” grumbled Spike. “Come
on, Rupert, how hard can it be?”
“Since when did you
support our fight?” asked a cynical Giles.
“Since
you’re fighting the wankers that fucked me over! And you never
know, maybe if you kill ‘em all, this damn thing will
stop working!”
“Excellent
plan, Spike. In order that you can murder and feed again, I shall single-handedly kill the
“If you start singin’ ‘Rule Britannia,’ I’m gonna
deck you, chip or no chip,” warned Spike with a roll of his eyes. No one was
taking his pain seriously.
“Taking on Bill
Clinton should be fun. You’ll have to be tougher than Bob Dole, mate,” Ethan
reminded the former Watcher. “You give me a call if you need back up.”
Giles chuckled, then turned the laugh into a cough.
“He’s easy enough
to distract,” said Spike with a sly smile. “We just send Buffy in a very short
skirt.”
Giles choked and
spluttered as the other two men collapsed with laughter. “Hey!” he protested,
when he could speak again.
“Oh lord, there’s
how to bring down the White House,” groaned Ethan, trying to collect himself.
“Send the demons in wearing very short skirts! You know, I like the way you
think,” he said to Spike.
“I am going to the
bathroom,” announced Giles, with great dignity. “Please try very hard not to
destroy the world while I’m gone.” He left with reluctance, glaring at the two
people who would most likely turn his house into a circus. A
demon circus. A demon circus with broken furniture.
Two pairs of eyes
followed his back until he had shut the door.
“So what are you up to?” asked Spike, a little
wistfully.
“Me? Up to
something? You can tell that you really don’t know me,” Ethan replied with a
smirk. “Up to something, indeed.”
Spike emptied the
whiskey bottle into his glass and smirked right back. “Go on, tell. I could
help. Unless it involves anything fun.” His face fell
as he remembered his situation.
“This…chip device,” said Ethan, gesturing
towards his companion’s head. “It prevents violence.”
“The fuckers,” Spike agreed.
“But you could fire a gun?” asked Ethan, eyeing him curiously.
“Yeah,
if I want my head to explode,” Spike proclaimed sarcastically. Then wondered, “What,
you’re shootin’ the librarian?”
“Don’t be facile.
I’m simply curious about your limitations.”
“My limitations, as you put it, mean I can’t
fight, I can’t kill, I can’t hit and I can’t even point a toy gun. Those are my
limitations. I think it pretty much
covers anything I might ever enjoy doing, thanks.” Scowling, Spike kicked his
feet up onto the table, house-rules be
damned.
“Do you know your
problem?” asked Ethan calmly, ignoring the vampire’s temper tantrum.
“I have a chip in my head?” Stupid humans.
“You are a creature
of little imagination.”
Spike’s jaw dropped
in outrage. Little
imagination? Fucking
unbelievable cheek!
“You could still,
for example, plant a bomb,” suggested Ethan calmly.
Spike considered
the idea. No direct violence. Just….leaving something behind that would just
happen to have the net result of killing people. Yeah, that could work.
“Drop cyanide in
the water system,” continued Ethan, watching carefully as growing interest overtook
Spike’s hissy fit.
Spike brightened
considerably. “Kill a whole loada people that way,”
he agreed thoughtfully. “I could cause environmental *havoc*! Chemicals and oil
– hey! – I could cause an oil slick right outside the Slayer’s house!”
“You could probably
set fire to a building,” pondered Ethan, ignoring him. “I sincerely doubt
whether your little piece of metal could tell whether there were people inside
or not.”
“I could jump out
at people, all fangs and growling and scare’em into
heart attacks! I wonder can I eat dead people?”
Ethan rolled his
eyes. “Yes, that’s useful. You could lead an army of minions,
guide them through paths of chaos as yet untested and untaken.” His eyes
gleamed.
“Dig a big hole in
the ground and put snakes in it and wait for the Slayer to fall in it!” Spike
was on his feet by now, lost in the myriad of possibilities.
“Yes, now you’re
thinking outside the box,” said Ethan sarcastically. “And then you could drop
anvils on her head.”
“This is all great
– sounds a whole lot like fun actually, but not much good for the food. The mangled and the poisoned and
the burnt to a fiery crisp don’t tend to taste so great.” Spike sat down again,
his air of defeat palpable.
“Vampires are so narrow-minded,” Ethan berated him. “It
always has to be about the bloody food
value of the chaos. Where’s your sense of fun?”
“Yeah, chaos is
fun, I’d be the last to argue with you there, mate, but it don’t help a great
deal when your stomach’s making all sorts of gurglies.”
Depression,
despondency. Wild and crazy
dreams replaced with practicalities.
Can’t kill, can’t feed. What’s the fucking point?
“Oh, really,” snapped Ethan impatiently. “If
you had the slightest amount of foresight, you would see that the most powerful
force is still open to you.”
“But I can’t kill people,” said Spike, with the air
of one who must contend with the village idiot.
“Magick, you idiot vampire,” Ethan hissed. “Harness the
right powers and the world will come to you. Slayers will bare their necks willingly, humans and vampires alike will obey your whim.”
“A-ha,” said Spike disbelievingly. “And you
with all this dark power are sitting drinking whiskey with an unemployed
Watcher and a neutered vampire because why
again?”
Ethan smiled. The smile of a predator.
“What are you up to?” repeated Spike with
suspicion.
“Well, just for a
start,” said Ethan with a very small smile, “I was thinking of turning Ripper
into a Fyarl demon.” He took a little white pill from
an inner pocket.
Spike began to chuckle.
Held out his hand for the white tablet.
So
small. So deadly. Such fun.
God, he’s missed fun these last weeks.
“Well, this should be entertaining. I guess I won’t
be the only big bad monster eating us out of house and home tomorrow.”
He dropped it into
Giles’ drink and slopped a little of his own on top for good measure.
“Let the games
begin.”