BtVS Fic: "Legacy of St. Stephen" (1/1)
Apr. 25th, 2005 09:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alixtiiTitle: The Legacy of St. Stephen (1/1)
Rating: PG
Timeline: "NFA"
Summary: Someone unexpected visits the W&H offices and learns that sometimes surviving the battle isn't the point.
The Legacy of St. Stephen
Spike was about to pass into Angel’s office, see how much he could bother the Poofter, when Harmony stopped him. “There’s someone to see you, Spike,” she said.
“Did you try telling them that I don’t bloody work here?” Spike asked. Harmony didn’t say anything, and finally Spike gave up. “Where is this bloke, then?”
“I put them in room 342,” Harm said, already turning her attention back to her computer and some game involving unicorns and playing cards.
“Right. I’ll just go there, then. Because that’s what I do. Meet with people at my grandsire’s demonic law firm.”
Spike made his way to room 342, mentally listing the things he could do to his appointment in exchange for wasting his time. When he entered the room, however, the only occupant—a tall brunette—had her back to the door, looking with interest at the shelves of books which lined the wall. “Well, what can I do for you, gorgeous?”
The woman turned with an easy confidence to face Spike. “Well, I don’t know. A postcard would have been nice. ‘In L.A., not dead anymore. Love, Spike’ or some such?”
Spike’s mouth fell open. “Dawn?”
“You recognize me. How flattering.”
Spike swore. “Andrew. I told him not to tell anyone. I didn’t want Buffy to know.”
“Buffy doesn’t know. Andrew told one person—his superior. I told Giles. We both agreed that, considering you did not seem to wish to seek her out and instead allied yourself with Wolfram & Hart, the knowledge would unnecessarily impair her performance as a Slayer.”
“Don’t fancy that she would like to know you’re playing Council power games. Buffy doesn’t like being kept in the dark. ‘Cept maybe literally, that is.”
Dawn nodded. “Precisely what I was about to say to you, Spike. You recommend that I tell her, then?”
“No! At least, I don’t want you to. I’m asking you not to. Still might be in your best interests to, though.”
“We’ve respected your wishes so far. We’ll consider to do so. Although if I may say so, what you just said about me applies doubly to you.”
“Know that. Will deal with it when the day comes.”
“The day may come sooner than you’d like, Spike. Buffy’s been having dreams. About you.”
“Did you say that you’ve become nerd-boy’s boss? How did you pull that off?”
“The ability to speak proto-Sumerian is a highly salable skill in the reconstructing Council. And don’t suppose I can’t recognize you trying to change the subject.”
“Right then. Buffy’s dreaming about me. Can’t say I’m surprised, really. I’m dreamworthy.”
“So is the Immortal. I know you know better than to think I would come here if you were simply starring in some R.E.M.-stage sexcapades. You’re dying. Again.”
“So you’re saying that the Powers are warning the Slayer about my impending death.”
“The Council is of two minds as to whether any action needs to be taken. There’s a sizable fraction of the council—represented in the High Council by Roger Wyndam-Pryce—who would be very content letting that prophecy take its course. Giles abstained.”
“You voted for me, I hope? Not that I need your help, but it feels good knowing I’m loved.”
“Naturally. But it wouldn’t have been enough. You’re lucky you have a fan on the Council.”
“Oh?”
“Lydia Chalmers, the only Watcher to survive the Council headquarters explosion in 2002—best explanation is intervention by a Higher Power. She wrote her thesis on you.”
“Well, at least for once the Powers show some bloody discernment. Wait, I thought you said the only person you told was Rupert?”
“I never said he never told anyone. But don’t worry, it hasn’t moved beyond the High Council. And if you’ve ever met Roger Wyndam-Pryce or Lydia Chalmers, you know that the chance of it reaching Buffy is nil.”
“Met both of them. The bint in Sunnydale during the review façade, remember; Wes’ dad during an orphanage slaughter. Or at least that's what the old man’s robotic clone told me.”
“Huh?”
“A long story. Please go on.”
“Okay. So despite the fact that the Council still doesn’t officially trust you or Angel, I’ve been deputized to come out and make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Now you can go back to Rome or England or wherever and tell them all is peachy-keen.”
“So you wouldn’t be planning, say, something incredibly stupid?”
“Niblet, you hurt me. Would I do that?”
“Such as an attack on the Black Thorn?”
The game, the repartee was over. Spike’s entire body posture shifted; sitting straighter, more tense, staring right into Dawn Summers’ eyes. “Where did you hear that?”
“Spike, c’mon. The Council of Watchers is the oldest human organization on the planet. We have our sources. Not to mention a nocturnal pipeline to the Powers in my sister and hundreds of other Slayers.”
“Bit, I want you and Buffy and all those other Slayers out of this. Do you understand me?”
“It’s suicide.”
“Exactly why I don’t want you or Buffy there.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. We almost lost the vote just to send me out to talk to you. There’s no way the High Council would stand back and let Slayers’ lives be put on the line to save Wolfram & Hart.”
“And here I thought you cared.”
“It’s the party line, Spike. You’re vampires; you’ve allied yourselves with the Senior Partners; you can’t be trusted. Even Buffy’s said as much about Angel.”
“So despite the official policy of not caring whether I live or die because I might be evil, you’ve come all this way to talk me out of going up against the ones who really are?”
“Spike, half the Council knows you intimately. A third member has done an intensive study of your psych profile. We wouldn’t be so foolish as to suppose we could talk you out of this.”
Now it was time for Spike to be genuinely confused. “Then what is it you came here for?”
Dawn pulled an item out of her pocket. “If you have to go into battle, at least wear this.”
“No bloody way!” shouted Spike. “No jewelry! That’s what I told Peaches and that’s what I’m telling you!”
“It’s a gem of Amara, Spike. It may be the only way you can survive this battle.”
“So I can live while I watch those around me fall. How bloody noble of me.”
“It wouldn’t work on Wesley, Gunn, or Illyria.”
“Then give it to Angel. He’s the brains behind this operation anyway.”
“He had his chance. He chose to destroy the possibility of that destiny, to renounce what fate had given him. He must face the consequences of that decision.”
Spike cocked his head. “Those aren’t your usual speech patterns, bit.”
“I spoke to an Oracle. That’s what she said. Angel had a gem; he chose to destroy it. This one’s for you.”
“Very well, hand it over.” He took the ring in his hand as Dawn passed it to him. Wordlessly, he placed it on the oak desk in the room, then picked up a metal paperweight. With vampiric strength, he brought the paperweight down on the gem.
“Now I’ve made my decision, too,” he said.
Dawn nodded, walked over to him and put her arms around him in a quick embrace, then left him alone in the room, with the dusty fragments of the gem of Amara. It was fitting in a way—“Bugger that.”
Spike ran out into the hallway. “Dawn, wait!” The younger Summers girl turned. “Have you ever been to a poetry reading?”
Rating: PG
Timeline: "NFA"
Summary: Someone unexpected visits the W&H offices and learns that sometimes surviving the battle isn't the point.
The Legacy of St. Stephen
Spike was about to pass into Angel’s office, see how much he could bother the Poofter, when Harmony stopped him. “There’s someone to see you, Spike,” she said.
“Did you try telling them that I don’t bloody work here?” Spike asked. Harmony didn’t say anything, and finally Spike gave up. “Where is this bloke, then?”
“I put them in room 342,” Harm said, already turning her attention back to her computer and some game involving unicorns and playing cards.
“Right. I’ll just go there, then. Because that’s what I do. Meet with people at my grandsire’s demonic law firm.”
Spike made his way to room 342, mentally listing the things he could do to his appointment in exchange for wasting his time. When he entered the room, however, the only occupant—a tall brunette—had her back to the door, looking with interest at the shelves of books which lined the wall. “Well, what can I do for you, gorgeous?”
The woman turned with an easy confidence to face Spike. “Well, I don’t know. A postcard would have been nice. ‘In L.A., not dead anymore. Love, Spike’ or some such?”
Spike’s mouth fell open. “Dawn?”
“You recognize me. How flattering.”
Spike swore. “Andrew. I told him not to tell anyone. I didn’t want Buffy to know.”
“Buffy doesn’t know. Andrew told one person—his superior. I told Giles. We both agreed that, considering you did not seem to wish to seek her out and instead allied yourself with Wolfram & Hart, the knowledge would unnecessarily impair her performance as a Slayer.”
“Don’t fancy that she would like to know you’re playing Council power games. Buffy doesn’t like being kept in the dark. ‘Cept maybe literally, that is.”
Dawn nodded. “Precisely what I was about to say to you, Spike. You recommend that I tell her, then?”
“No! At least, I don’t want you to. I’m asking you not to. Still might be in your best interests to, though.”
“We’ve respected your wishes so far. We’ll consider to do so. Although if I may say so, what you just said about me applies doubly to you.”
“Know that. Will deal with it when the day comes.”
“The day may come sooner than you’d like, Spike. Buffy’s been having dreams. About you.”
“Did you say that you’ve become nerd-boy’s boss? How did you pull that off?”
“The ability to speak proto-Sumerian is a highly salable skill in the reconstructing Council. And don’t suppose I can’t recognize you trying to change the subject.”
“Right then. Buffy’s dreaming about me. Can’t say I’m surprised, really. I’m dreamworthy.”
“So is the Immortal. I know you know better than to think I would come here if you were simply starring in some R.E.M.-stage sexcapades. You’re dying. Again.”
“So you’re saying that the Powers are warning the Slayer about my impending death.”
“The Council is of two minds as to whether any action needs to be taken. There’s a sizable fraction of the council—represented in the High Council by Roger Wyndam-Pryce—who would be very content letting that prophecy take its course. Giles abstained.”
“You voted for me, I hope? Not that I need your help, but it feels good knowing I’m loved.”
“Naturally. But it wouldn’t have been enough. You’re lucky you have a fan on the Council.”
“Oh?”
“Lydia Chalmers, the only Watcher to survive the Council headquarters explosion in 2002—best explanation is intervention by a Higher Power. She wrote her thesis on you.”
“Well, at least for once the Powers show some bloody discernment. Wait, I thought you said the only person you told was Rupert?”
“I never said he never told anyone. But don’t worry, it hasn’t moved beyond the High Council. And if you’ve ever met Roger Wyndam-Pryce or Lydia Chalmers, you know that the chance of it reaching Buffy is nil.”
“Met both of them. The bint in Sunnydale during the review façade, remember; Wes’ dad during an orphanage slaughter. Or at least that's what the old man’s robotic clone told me.”
“Huh?”
“A long story. Please go on.”
“Okay. So despite the fact that the Council still doesn’t officially trust you or Angel, I’ve been deputized to come out and make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Now you can go back to Rome or England or wherever and tell them all is peachy-keen.”
“So you wouldn’t be planning, say, something incredibly stupid?”
“Niblet, you hurt me. Would I do that?”
“Such as an attack on the Black Thorn?”
The game, the repartee was over. Spike’s entire body posture shifted; sitting straighter, more tense, staring right into Dawn Summers’ eyes. “Where did you hear that?”
“Spike, c’mon. The Council of Watchers is the oldest human organization on the planet. We have our sources. Not to mention a nocturnal pipeline to the Powers in my sister and hundreds of other Slayers.”
“Bit, I want you and Buffy and all those other Slayers out of this. Do you understand me?”
“It’s suicide.”
“Exactly why I don’t want you or Buffy there.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. We almost lost the vote just to send me out to talk to you. There’s no way the High Council would stand back and let Slayers’ lives be put on the line to save Wolfram & Hart.”
“And here I thought you cared.”
“It’s the party line, Spike. You’re vampires; you’ve allied yourselves with the Senior Partners; you can’t be trusted. Even Buffy’s said as much about Angel.”
“So despite the official policy of not caring whether I live or die because I might be evil, you’ve come all this way to talk me out of going up against the ones who really are?”
“Spike, half the Council knows you intimately. A third member has done an intensive study of your psych profile. We wouldn’t be so foolish as to suppose we could talk you out of this.”
Now it was time for Spike to be genuinely confused. “Then what is it you came here for?”
Dawn pulled an item out of her pocket. “If you have to go into battle, at least wear this.”
“No bloody way!” shouted Spike. “No jewelry! That’s what I told Peaches and that’s what I’m telling you!”
“It’s a gem of Amara, Spike. It may be the only way you can survive this battle.”
“So I can live while I watch those around me fall. How bloody noble of me.”
“It wouldn’t work on Wesley, Gunn, or Illyria.”
“Then give it to Angel. He’s the brains behind this operation anyway.”
“He had his chance. He chose to destroy the possibility of that destiny, to renounce what fate had given him. He must face the consequences of that decision.”
Spike cocked his head. “Those aren’t your usual speech patterns, bit.”
“I spoke to an Oracle. That’s what she said. Angel had a gem; he chose to destroy it. This one’s for you.”
“Very well, hand it over.” He took the ring in his hand as Dawn passed it to him. Wordlessly, he placed it on the oak desk in the room, then picked up a metal paperweight. With vampiric strength, he brought the paperweight down on the gem.
“Now I’ve made my decision, too,” he said.
Dawn nodded, walked over to him and put her arms around him in a quick embrace, then left him alone in the room, with the dusty fragments of the gem of Amara. It was fitting in a way—“Bugger that.”
Spike ran out into the hallway. “Dawn, wait!” The younger Summers girl turned. “Have you ever been to a poetry reading?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2005-07-22 11:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-23 01:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2005-07-23 02:21 am (UTC)Also, icon love.
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Date: 2007-04-23 04:19 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed it.
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Date: 2008-06-04 02:20 pm (UTC)QghMHvoiatEWvvpbJ
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