Two Ladies of Quality
Author's Website: http://www.angelfire.com/rebellion/riani1/
Feedback: riani1@yahoo.com
It's been a quiet summer, since they defeated Glory. The quiet of waiting for the other shoe to drop. And some new shoes are heading for the floor.
It begins where these sorts of things always do--in the night time, with a creature at home in the shadows meditating on passion and obsession and madness and the warm seductions of the dark. Or, to be less Bulwer-Littonish, with a vampire lurking outside the home of his target, wondering what it would take to lure said target out to play.
Spike was well aware of his tendency towards overwrought melodrama, especially when he had too much time on his hands. Sometimes, though, it was amusing to paint extravagant mental pictures. Like Buffy suddenly turning to him and crying, "You're everything I want in a man! You're gorgeous, strong, dangerous. You'll help me look after my family, and I bet you're a better lay than Angel, too."
OK, so he had a rich fantasy life. Sue him.
Then there were the other pictures: the look in Xander Harris' eyes changing from deep distrust to cautious intrigue. Something tragic happening to those wretched clothes of his. A sidelong glance that told of thoughtfulness instead of disgust.
It could happen, and there were better odds of that happening than his Buffy-fantasy coming true. Which was why Spike was lounging on the roof of the building across the street from Harris' apartment, hoping that tonight Harris would forget to either close the curtains before his shower or not wear a towel in the privacy of his own home. It was too early in the evening to occupy the small balcony outside Harris' window. That was reserved for sleep-watching and sleep-whispering--which was coming along well, come to think of it. The boy twitched very pleasantly when Spike whispered to him out of the dark. Once there might even have been the return whisper of Spike's name. If only Spike had a way of finding out what Harris was dreaming of.
He idly twisted the amber stud that pierced the top of his right ear. Time to poke Ripper about a permanent fix to the chip. One of the reasons for their LA trip was to check on surgeons, psychic and mundane. The mundane ones all heard what the Initiative doctor had said and were reluctant to second-guess someone with first-hand knowledge. The psychic surgeons were less pessimistic, but the ones willing to work on a vampire all over on the sleazy side. Not that Spike really objected to sleaze, but if he paid someone he wanted them to stay bought, at least until he decided to kill them and get his money back.
The best of the psychic surgeons all mentioned being under contract and that they'd need to get approval for independent work. When they mentioned the name Wolfram & Hart, Ripper had politely broken off talks and retreated. Something Buffy had learned from Angel made the ex- watcher think a little harder about getting involved with a demonic law firm. Still, if the price of getting dechipped was a bit of cooperation with an organization that apparently existed for the primary purpose of bothering Angel, Spike was willing to chat terms.
From the apartment below him came the sound of the late TV news signing off. Spike straightened and stretched. Xander would be heading to bed soon, virtuously getting his sleep so he could be fresh for work in the morning. Depending on how many beers he'd downed while watching the news, he should be out cold in ten minutes.
He easily dropped the two stories to the ground and sauntered across the street to Xander's building. The wind shifted, and he paused. Demon in the area. One of the big, dumb, break stuff up sort. No worries, so long as it found somewhere else to play--
Wood smashed with happy crunching sounds somewhere nearby. Somewhere quite nearby, like in Xander's building, on Xander's floor.
"I don't bloody well think so," Spike snarled, and began to run.
Xander stared at the remains of his front door, then at the large, blue-green figure standing in the doorway. The tentacles on the creature's head coiled up tightly in what looked like chagrin.
"I'm sorry," it--he?--said. "I don't know my own strength at times."
"What?" Xander finally managed.
"I didn't mean to announce myself quite so violently."
"What?" That still covered useful ground, and he wasn't getting a good answer yet.
The demon nodded. "Of course, I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Reinhart, and I'm here to face you in honorable single combat for the love of the fair Anyanka."
And still the explanation makes no more sense than the questions. "Honorable . . ."
Reinhart shrugged. "I understand your confusion. I was simply going to come here and rip out your pathetic human lungs for daring to consort with someone as fine and glorious as Anyanka, but she has told so many stories of your courage that I couldn't simply remove you as impertinent human scum. Anyanka believes you are worthy of her, and so I must prove myself even more worthy by destroying you honorably."
"Destroy me . . ."
Reinhart reached through the doorway and poked Xander lightly in the chest. He only staggered a little. "There, the challenge has been given. I await your convenience."
OK, you've just been challenged to a duel to the death by a seven-foot-tall blue-green guy with muscles in his fingers that would make any beer can crusher proud. Quick, grasshopper, what do you do? Xander took a deep breath.
"So. A duel."
Reinhart smiled broadly. "Yes, honorable single combat."
"Right." Xander felt his survival instincts--along with the memories of all those Three Musketeers movies--kick in. "If you're the challenger, that means I get the choice of weapons and time and location, right?"
"Weapons?" Reinhart looked at his hand, then flexed his fingers. Claws popped out. "Why do we need weapons?" he asked in honest bafflement.
Xander held up his own hands. "Humans don't come with claws."
"You don't? How do you fight, then?"
"We use weapons."
"Oh. Well, then, a weapon is fair. I'll wait here while you fetch one."
"That's OK, you leave me your number, and I'll get back to you as soon as I've found a weapon. I'd hate to make you wait."
Reinhart beamed. "That's very considerate of you, but there's no bother. I had no other plans for tonight."
Well, Xander definitely had plans other than dying. "We need, uh, witnesses, right? Let me call somebody." Like a Slayer or something.
Reinhart sighed. "If you must. As beings of honor, though, the word of the survivor as to what happened should be sufficient."
"You'd think, but standards are slipping everywhere. 'Scuse me a sec."
As he started to turn, Xander thought he saw someone standing in the shadows down the hall. He was distracted, though, by Anya suddenly appearing behind him in the living room.
"Reinhart, what are you doing?" she demanded.
Reinhart hit his knees so hard the floor shook. "Fair Anyanka!"
"Hmph. Halfrek said you were coming here to kill Xander. You can't do that, I won't let you." She smiled at Xander. "Hi, Xander."
"Hi, honey."
"I did not come here to kill your Xander," Reinhart explained.
Anya relaxed. "Oh, good. Halfrek was talking so fast I must have misunderstood her."
"I came here to challenge this human to honorable single combat in your name."
She stared at him for several moments, then turned to Xander. "He did?"
Xander nodded. "'Fraid so."
"Men." She blinked and looked back at Rinehart. "For me?"
"For you, Anyanka. You have an attachment to this human, and I cannot in honor woo you while he exists. Therefore I shall remove him from my path."
Xander did not like the way Anya was fighting a smile. She shook herself out of it, though. "Well, I don't want you honorably single combatting my Xander. You'd smoosh him, and I like him unsmooshed."
Reinhart sighed happily. "You are as kind-hearted as you are beautiful. However, the human has nobly accepted my challenge. I'd hate for you to be upset by our struggle, so perhaps you could go someplace more pleasant and await the survivor."
Anya glared at Xander. "You accepted his challenge?"
Xander tried very hard to keep up with events. "I didn't accept anything. He just showed up and I've been, well, maneuvering matters."
Reinhart began to frown. "But, sir, you have established the weapons and the need for witnesses. Why are we deciding these things if you haven't accepted my challenge?"
"Um . . ."
Anya took Xander's arm. "Excuse us," she said to Reinhart, and she towed Xander into the bedroom.
As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Xander looked round hopefully in case he'd left the cordless phone in here. "Damn, not here."
Anya started pacing. "You accepted a challenge from Reinhart? Are you nuts?"
"He was just going to rip out my lungs for being an impertinent human who doesn't deserve to be anywhere near you."
"He said that?"
"Dammit, Ahn, don't look so happy about that."
She managed to lose the grin. "Sorry."
"The only reason he decided on a duel was because all the stories you've been telling convinced him I'm honorable--for a human. What have you been telling them?"
"Nothing but the truth. They wanted to know how I became a demon again. I told them how you saved my life. They were very impressed."
Xander had to look away from the love and pride on Anya's face. Did they all sit around some break room somewhere, the vengeance demons, swapping tales of creative punishments and making plans for the weekend? Did demons get weekends?
"So--is Reinhart a vengeance demon?"
"No, he's an accountant."
"There are demon accountants?"
"You seem surprised."
Xander shrugged it off. "We've got work to do here. Why don't you go distract Reinhart while I call Buffy."
"Why Buffy?"
"I've got a demon at my front door threatening to rip out my lungs. Of course I'm going to call in the professionals."
"But--it's none of her business."
"None of her business?"
"You agreed to the duel. You can't drag the Slayer into it."
Xander went over and put his hands on her shoulders. "Ahn, I'm not facing that guy in single combat. Him, big demon with claws. Me, squishy human."
Anya nodded soberly. "Yes. Human. I keep forgetting for some reason." She frowned in thought for several moments. "Still, you accepted a duel with a demon. There are rules. Witnesses are one thing, but it would go against a lot of rules if you pulled the Slayer into demonic business."
He gave her a reassuring smile. "Then they can just deal with the rule breaking." He went to the nightstand to check for the phone. "It's not like I care what demons think of me."
Several seconds' silence went by. "Xander?"
"Hm?"
"Does the not caring apply to all demons?"
"Pretty much, why--"
He turned and jumped. Anyanka, Patron of Scorned Women, gazed back at him, sad yellow eyes looking out of a heavily veined face. Tears grew in her eyes.
"Say my name," she whispered.
"Anya."
She shook her head. "My real name."
"Ah--Anyanka."
"And I am?"
That one was easy. "The woman I love."
A smile flickered there and gone. "And what else?"
He felt his stomach go into freefall. "A demon." She nodded sadly. "What I said, it doesn't apply to you--"
"It should. Because that's what I am, a demon. Who sometimes looks like a woman. You gave that back to me. But part of you wishes you hadn't."
A tear escaped, following the line of one of those blue veins. Anya wasn't supposed to cry. Demons weren't supposed to cry. Those faces weren't supposed to look so sad. Xander took a step towards her, but his sub-brain shrieked "Stay back! Demon!" He hesitated.
She closed her eyes. "You hate looking at this face, don't you."
"I'm sor--"
"Don't, please. Right now I still love you. Don't make that change."
Her human face flowed back, and Xander hurried to pull her into his arms. He chanted his apologies in his head, where vengeance demons couldn't hear. Anya wrapped her arms around his waist.
"It was a lovely fantasy, wasn't it?" she said. "That somehow we might make this work? I'd hoped . . ."
He rested his face on her hair. "Me, too."
He leaned down to kiss her. Partway through the kiss, she let her face morph back into its demon form. He jumped, just a little, but didn't let her go. With this being good-bye and the last time, somehow he didn't mind so much.
Anya pulled away first, and she briskly wiped the tears off her face, then off Xander's. "There is a way to get out of the duel. You tell Reinhart that you concede the point, and . . ."
He nodded. "I let him have you."
She drew herself up. "You let him have the chance to have me. This only gives him the opportunity to woo me. And I take a lot of wooing." Xander cocked his head knowingly at her. "Sometimes."
"Will I still get to see you?" he asked wistfully.
"We shouldn't have sex anymore." She sighed. "I will miss that."
"I--actually wasn't thinking about sex."
"Have you been sick?"
"Ahn . . ." He swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss hearing you talk." She leaned against him, and he pretended he didn't hear her sniffing. He hoped she was pretending the same thing.
"I'll still be at the Magic Box," she finally said. "If you ever need something magicky. Or I might need new shelves or something."
"Or something."
This time Xander pulled away. The human Anya was back, but it was time to stop thinking of her as his Anya. "We'd best deal with Reinhart."
The big demon got off his knees at Anya's reappearance, but he looked very confused when Xander told him there was no need for a duel.
"You are giving the fair Anyanka up?" Reinhart frowned. "Without a fight? Are you spurning her? Or are you merely a coward?"
"I can still get that weapon, dude," Xander glared. "This is Anyanka, Patron Saint of Scorned Women. Do you think anyone gets away with spurning her?"
"No, of course not," Reinhart said quickly. "Then, you are afraid to fight me."
Anya smacked him in the arm. "Don't you call him a coward. He stood up to an army and to Glory. If he doesn't want to fight, then he has a very good reason."
Despite his uneasiness at hearing her talk about Glory, Xander couldn't help smiling at her. "Thank you, Anya."
Reinhart looked back and forth between the two of them. "Then--you are free, Anyanka? You are no longer tied to this pathetic human?"
"Hey!"
Anya looked wistfully at Xander. "No. I'm no longer tied. And he's not pathetic."
Reinhart straightened triumphantly and looked at Xander, but whatever gloating remark he was planning faded at the stare the human was giving back.
"She may not be tied to me," Xander said firmly, "but I hear one word, one syllable, that you are not treating her the way she deserves, and this duel is back on. And you won't want to put large bets against the impertinent human scum."
For several moments, Reinhart only gaped, then he bowed in acceptance. Xander nodded back.
Anya checked her watch. "Gosh, I have to get back to work. I left this Argentinian businessman dangling by his large intestine--"
"Anya!" Xander protested.
She smiled at him, took half an automatic step towards him, then quickly turned to Reinhart. "I'll see you back at the office." She disappeared.
Reinhart was left staring at the place she'd been. "But . . ."
Xander had to laugh. "Welcome to the magical fun house ride that is Anya. Good luck." And that hadn't been walking on broken glass to get that phrase out.
"Yes." He shook himself. He studied Xander. "I now see why she considered you worthy of her. Farewell, honorable human." He bowed again, then disappeared himself.
Xander stared at the hallway and at his smashed front door. "Yeah, honor. That and three bucks gets you a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Doesn't fix my door."
He contemplated getting his tools, but shrugged and headed off to bed. Maybe he'd get to sleep before the shock wore off.
Out on the landing just down from Xander's apartment, Spike smirked as he finally lit a cigarette. "Day by day," he murmured, "bit by bit, another piece of your soul gets chipped away. Not far to go now."
Whistling softly, he headed down the stairs. Let Xander have the wretched night's sleep he had coming. Spike could wait.