Feedback: Yes please but be very gentle. First fanfic and first slash.
Archive: If you want, but please let me know
Pairing: S/X
Rating: PG - NC 17 (maybe, I've never rated anything before)
Disclaimer: Most characters misrepresented in this tale belong to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy and Neil Gaiman. I'm only taking them out to play, changing their
clothes and then putting them back. There may be some original characters floating
about. They are mine but usually don't admit to it.
Spoilers: Up to Buffy Season 6 sorta but definitely AU
Summary: Spike and Xander get to take a trip and go a bit further than intended.
Crossover eventually with Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.
'' '' '' '' '' '' '' ''
Spike led Xander through the back streets of London, through a pub and out
the pub's back door, which opened onto a rubbish-littered alley. They
walked down the alley, stepping around the refuse until they came to an old
wooden door set in the wall. Spike sniffed the door. "Smells about right,"
he mumbled and pulled it open. It opened onto a rickety landing with
fragile-looking steps that led down to an empty room with a pile of old
rags in the corner. No other doorways in sight.
"Shit!" swore the vampire in frustration. "I can smell it but
I can't see
it, 'cept out of the corner of my eye. Look straight on an' it's gone."
He
growled softly, thinking. "Right then, pet. I've tried subtle, an' the
way
I went afore, now we're going for direct. C'mon, we're going to catch a
train." He turned and stalked out the door.
Xander cast his eyes one last time around the basement. For a moment he
thought he saw movement in the rags. He watched a couple of seconds more,
frowning into the shadows and a rat scuttled across the floor and into a
corner. When no more movement was forthcoming he turned to follow the
vampire back down the alley.
In the basement, in the corner, the bundle of rags shifted and stood,
becoming a handsome, dark-skinned man wearing a many-pocketed long coat. "A
vampire and his human seeking ingress to London Below. How very
fascinating. What do you think?" He addressed his comments to the rat,
sitting on its haunches in the corner. The rat chittered a moment and the
man nodded in agreement. "Yes, definitely worth something and worth keeping
an eye on, too. I shall leave you to your hunt. Good evening," and he
turned and opened the oak-panelled door in the wall and stepped through.
Xander followed Spike on the underground from station to station.
Blackfriars, Victoria then Covent Garden. Spike seemed most interested in
the beggars and street performers that decorated the stations. He studied
them all intently before turning away.
Finally, at Temple station, he seemed to find what he was looking for-a
saxophone-playing musician with shoulder-length brown hair and an
impressive forked beard.
Spike stepped in front of him and stared, until the musician, distracted by
the intent blue gaze, stopped playing. "Hello," smiled Spike. "I'm
lookin'
for the Earl's Court. Might you have a timetable?"
"I'm not a bloody conductor. The timetable's over there," and he
waved in
the direction of the wall behind Xander.
Spike smiled again, "P'rhaps I didn't make myself clear. I want *the*
Earl's Court. Not the station."
Xander, confused, wondered at the distinction. Earl's Court was a station
along the route. They'd already been there for, pete's sake.
The musicians eyes opened wide. "I dunno what you mean."
"C'mon, mate. You stink of London Below." Spike allowed his facial
ridges
and fangs to show, all the while singing a litany in his head, 'Not gonna
hurt the human. Not gonna hurt the human.'
"Shit!" the musician threw himself back against the wall, hand fumbling
in
his pocket.
Spike growled out, "Keep that cross in your pocket. Yes, I can feel it
from
here. Just tell me where the Earl's Court is next due an' I won't be your
problem anymore."
"You're not from Below." Firmly stated.
"No, but I've been there and need t' get back. Can't get in any other
way.
Tell me an' I won't 'urt you. No better yet, tell me an' let the court deal
with me."
The busker seemed to like that idea and slowly, in a very non-threatening
manner, removed his hand from his pocket. Crossless. He reached into a vest
pocket and pulled out a tattered timetable. "Coming through Temple
Platform #2 in about ten minutes. Stand two paces out from the Coke
machine. They'll stop." He waved the timetable at Xander. "Can't take
the
upworlder, he'll never see."
Spike gave a genuine chuckle, game face sliding away, and said in a voice
of quiet pride. "Him? Born and bred on a Hellmouth, that one. London Below
will be nothing."
The musician shrugged. "Now go away and be somebody else's problem. Oh,
mind the Gap." The last was said a touch maliciously.
Spike nodded and allowed Xander to precede him down the tunnel. Xander
looked back over his shoulder at the busily-packing up musician. "Betweener?"
"Yep."
Platform #2, two paces out from the Coke machine, and Xander was just going
with the flo, trusting Spike to know what he was doing even if it sounded
completely Drucilla-ville. Spike had been firmer than an English nanny
about going near the edge. Things lived in the Gap, he said.
An empty train wheezed to a stop at the station, the door of the third car
down stopping directly in front of Spike. Xander idly glanced at the
interior of the train. Dully lit by emergency lights, it looked like it
needed a cleaning.
Spike's attention was firmly on the door in front of him and he stepped up
and knocked twice on the door. The doors slid open a handspan and from
within a firm yet elderly voice demanded, "Who knocks?"
Xander jumped backwards and looked at the car again. Through the windows he
could see a dim empty carriage in need of cleaning. Through the gap in the
door he could see a narrow-eyed elderly face and behind that darkness lit
by flickering .firelight? He was also sure that he could see movement,
people moving beyond the owner of the querulous voice. He stepped closer,
trying to make out shapes. Then he looked up and down the platform to see
if anybody else had noticed. Nobody else on the platform seemed even notice
that there was a train there at all.
Spike stepped closer to the door and allowed his game face to slide over.
"Master Vampire William the Bloody and," Spike hesitated, "and
Consort request an audience with his Grace, the Earl."
"What assurances can you give as to the safety of this Court, Master
William the Bloody?"
"My word as a Master Vampire."
A snort, not unamused, was the response. "A Master Vampire's word can
be
flexible when they're hungry or enraged. Will you swear on the life of your
Consort?"
Spike looked back at Xander, expecting a barrage of questions. The boy
looked back, calm trust in his eyes. Then he nodded. Spike nodded back,
warmed by the unquestioning trust. "I swear by his life. If anything harms
him, however, then I will paint the underside with the blood of this court."
"Your oath is accepted. Master Vampire and Consort, please enter. Welcome to London Below"