1 | 2 | 3 |4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
Xanpet
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some references in this chapter are from the Spike and Dru book, ‘Pretty Maids all in a Row’ by Christopher Golden and published by Pocket Books. It’s a great story and well worth a read. I think it actually knocks spots off ‘Fool for Love’ but then again I’m in full denial over that episode.
The poem this time is my own.
Giles had searched every book and manuscript on the shop floor and now he was up on the gallery where the more dangerous arcane items were kept. He rubbed his temples in tired frustration. There had to be something. Something he’d missed. Nothing was completely impossible to destroy. He found what he was looking for, descended the ladder, with the scrolls under his arm, and then lost his grip.
“Hey G-man.” Said Xander, arriving just in time to catch the falling rolls of ancient paper.
“Be careful with those. They are three thousand years old.”
“And yet more sprightly than you, right now.”
“If you can’t be helpful go away.”
Giles put on white cotton gloves, gently unrolled one of the scrolls and peered at it. Xander looked over the librarian’s shoulder. “Well it’s all Greek to me.” He said.
“Actually you’re right it is Greek, hopefully Homer’s original Odyssey. I’m hopeful that there may be something in the primary text that could have been edited out in later versions.”
“Okay…. Could I maybe go and buy you a needle rather than search the haystack?!”
Giles frowned and shook his head. “I’m having trouble with the translation. This is written in a dialect I’m not familiar with.”
Xander suddenly made the ‘I’m having an idea’ face. “Spike.” He said. “Spike told me he reads Greek.”
“Yes, and he was at Woodstock, fought in both the American and English Civil Wars and probably attended the Crucifixion. Vampires talk big and that one talks enormous.”
All at once Xander felt a need to defend his vampire. “Well, then its time to call him on it. If he chokes, then revenge is a moral imperative. You can raze the hell out of him and never let him live it down. Er…unlive it?”
When Spike arrived, moaning and whining about being dragged out in the middle of the day, he peered at the text and scratched his head. “Can’t read it.” He muttered. Giles started to look smugly at Xander, when the vampire dashed out to the car under his old blanket and came back with a silver case. Opening it, he took out his spectacles, put them on and then peered at the text again. Giles blinked several times in surprise. The look reminded Xander of a large, tweed dressed owl.
Spike began to mumble to himself. Then he dropped his glasses onto the scroll and laughed. “Where d’you get this Watcher? It’s complete dog pile.”
“Well I …er…borrowed it from the museum when I left. I rather liked the case.”
“You half inched it you mean. You're a worse tealeaf than I am. It certainly ain’t the original. Not the right sorta Greek. Not that Homer was a writer anyway. Wouldn’t ‘ave writ it down. Na, some Alexandrian scribe did this. Egyptian most like. See ‘ere, take a butcher’s at this line.”
Spike showed Giles the missed spelled words and incorrect grammar in the text. Giles couldn’t work out how he had missed them. He was starting to gain a modicum of respect for the vampire, which made him uneasy.
All three of them pondered for some time. Spike was the first to speak.
“Xanpe…Xander, in the big brown suitcase at my place,” It wasn’t exactly subtle but he was trying. “There are three or four scrolls that look just like this. Go get ‘em, errand boy.” Being rude helped. If Xander wanted to play the ‘I’m not shagging the vampire, honest’ game he would just have to wear it. Besides Spike was covering his Freudian slip.
Xander went. “His place! Hah, you pay-a de rent, you do-a de laundry, you own-a de place. Am I right? Se, Don Alex, you are right.” He found the suitcase easily, opened it and searched inside. There were foreign coins, chocolate box ribbons, postcards and even some First and Second World War medals. There were also larger things, drawings of Buffy, books, a Chinese silk fan and a long red jewellery case. Xander was still cross with Spike so he opened it. Inside was the most beautiful ruby necklace. The stones glittered and twinkled. Each one was set in a delicate mounting of gold and the chain was so fine you could have threaded a needle with it. The object was breath taking.
With it was a small piece of paper. Xander opened it and read:
Bitter Sweet Valentine
When the woods of Arcady are dead,
And the sun bleeds into the sea.
When purity cowers in dread,
Then there will be you and me.
Evil shall scream with passion,
And Satan proclaim Jubilee.
Pain and death shall become the new fashion,
And the trendsetters shall be you and me.
When the stars go out one by one,
And each one has forgotten its name.
Forever they’ll be,
Just you and me,
Love to be our eternal flame.
Yours forever,
Sweet William.
Xander dropped the box like he’d been bitten. For a moment he was shaken. Did Spike still love Drucilla? Had he been toying with the brunette all the time? No, it wasn’t possible. He flicked at the ring on his left hand. Immediately he understood. It was no mystery why Spike had these things. Xander had been married for exactly one hour, thirty-seven minutes and eleven seconds. He still wore his ring. Spike had been Drucilla’s consort for over a century. All this showed was that the demon was capable of immense love. Xander then knew he’d be lucky if he even felt a fraction of it. Nevertheless he wished Spike would write poetry for him or even choose a favourite verse or line.
When he got back with the scrolls the two Englishmen immediately got to work. Realising they needed to work unhindered, Xander excused himself and went back home. He had a suitcase to finish unpacking!
Giles demanded to know where Spike had got the manuscripts.
“The library at Alexandria.”
The Watcher looked at the blond vampire with derision.
“Okay, I stole them from a God after I’d pulled his frigging head off. But they are from the library and they’re good translations. They also have notes written in the margins. If you’re looking for something extra, it’s here.”
They worked on into the evening and for a while it was comfortable. They talked about home, football, cricket and tea. They remembered places they had visited and shared jokes. They reminisced about the Royals, the Sun newspaper and the rain. They were just two Brits far from home but, as the night wore on, Giles became tenser until he could stand it no more.
“Spike, the Council have requested that I deal with the Slayer killing filth in our midst.”
Spike stood up and faced the Watcher. He could hardly believe what he’d just heard. “Me? And just how do they propose you deal with me? Stake me? I can't defend myself.”
“How many of your victims couldn't defend themselves.”
“Not that many actually. I like a fair fight, me.”
“And the Slayers?”
“You saying Slayers can't defend themselves?”
“Postulants, young girls, girls like Dawn.” He expected Spike to be angry, defiant, bold, but in his glasses with his hair ungelled he just looked like a lad who was lost and confused. Giles knew it was an illusion, that he couldn't be fooled by the demon in this way and shouldn’t fall under its spell, but it was so hard to resist.
“Okay Watcher, assassinate me. Go on right here.” Spike indicated his heart and then spread his arms. He stood in such a way that he looked as if he was about be crucified.
Giles didn't move. “Why did Spike have to do this? Why couldn’t monsters stay monstrous?” He thought.
“Or maybe you can't face me, can't look at me in the eye. What if I turned my back?” Spike remained in position, arms outstretched and turned. Now he had his back to the watcher.
“No good. No, well, you're right you might miss. No good being a clumsy assassin. Better off being the executioner. Take me head. I'll just put it here for you.”
With one swift, angry movement he swept the papers aside with his arm so that they spilt onto the floor and laid his head on the desk.
“Nice bit of mahogany you have here, Watcher. Now go careful with that sword. I hear French polishers can be expensive.”
Giles finally spoke, “Spike, stop it. The Council don't want me to destroy you. They want me to bring you back to England.”
“What!” Spike was instantly standing in front of the Watcher again. “Are they going to try me? For crimes against humanity? Tell them they’re on the wrong side to play Nuremberg.”
“You can't compare the Council to the Nazis.” Giles was trying to convince himself as much as Spike. His experiences with the Council since childhood, suggested that the comparison was more than fair.
“I can and I will. I've turned Nazis. Soon stopped mind. There was no bloody difference. They behaved as though they were soulless before and after. It gave me the creeps. Not that they were soulless of course.
It's very easy for you lot isn't it? All the evils of the world must be demonic. You couldn’t have created any of your own could you? I've got news for you, Mate. Vlad he was one of us, Genghis, Stalin, Ivan, Adolf, they all belong to you. They all had souls as did everyone who worked under them. Six million people. Six million. I couldn't kill six million if I survived ‘til I was permanently game faced and cloven hoofed. Six million. Men, women and children. People turned into soap and lampshades.” He paused for unneeded breath.
The respect that the Watcher had been developing for the young vampire had not diminished with the impassioned outburst and now he was coming to a decision. Spike continued his speech.
“The reason the Junta back home want to try me is just so they can parade Spike, Slayer of Slayers, in all his ignominy. The Big Bad brought down. Only they didn't do it did they? And that's what really sticks in their craw. Some jumped up little colonial tin soldiers just got lucky and some old, now what was the word you used – yes, harridan decided to play Mengele.
Let me ask you, how many vegetarian demons did she kill, just ‘cos they had the right bits of anatomy for her creation? And how many vampires disappeared to dust on an operating table, before she got this chip thing right?”
He suddenly looked sad and deflated. “Take me back to Blighty. You won't be able to keep me out of the sun long enough to stand trial.”
Both man and beast stood mirroring each other. Each took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Both unexpectedly laughed. Giles had made his decision.
“I'm not taking you back, William. I need you here and if they come to get you, I'll defend you, just do me one favour.”
“I'm yours, Watcher.”
“Don't let me have made the wrong choice.”
Late that night, Spike found a call box. He took the card from his pocket and dialled the number. When the Sicilian answered, he spoke three words…
“I’ll do it.”