Spike/Wes fic
Apr. 3rd, 2003 01:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
estepheiaHello ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wesleysgirl, this one is for you - a slightly belated and unfortunately rushed and unbetaed birthday prezzie.
PAIRING: Spike/Wesley
RATING: PG-13
GENRE: Pre-slash or friendship
SPOILERS: none really (up to 7x16 of BtVS and 4x16 of AtS)
SUMMARY: Post S7/S4 – totally AU (mere wishful thinking)
Spike didn’t have to check the slip of paper in his pocket to know he had the right address. The gutted state of the building was a dead giveaway. He kicked absently at a charred wooden beam, stirring up a small cloud of dust and ash and scanned the wreckage. When he spotted something metallic poking out of the mass of smashed bricks and pulverized concrete, he climbed a pile of rubble to take a closer look. It was a sword. He crouched and pulled, but it was stuck. Whatever explosion had wiped out this building, it seemed to have caused the sword to embed itself tip-first in a large piece of concrete. Spike yanked at it again and this time the weapon ended up in his hand - shiny and undamaged.
“I’d put that down, if I were you,” a soft-spoken voice with an English accent sounded from behind him.
“Yeah?” Spike got up but didn’t turn around. He swung the weapon experimentally. “Why’s that?”
“There are three things a man doesn’t share, his sword, his tooth-brush and his woman.”
“Yours?” Spike asked and looked over his shoulder, giving the other man a thorough once-over.
“Angel’s.”
“Who does he think he is, the Highlander?” Spike whooshed the broadsword through the air once more before turning it so the tip pointed downwards and tossing it at the other Englishman.
Wesley caught the weapon smoothly at the hilt.
“Watcher?” Spike asked and crouched again, poking around for other things of interest.
“Ex.” Wesley answered curtly.
“Yeah, you’re all ex, now, aren’t you?”
“So are you,” Wesley pointed out. “Ex-chipped, ex-soulless, ex-evil – there’s a lot of ex to go around.” He sounded aloof, unwilling to take the bleached vampire at face value.
“Got that right, mate,” Spike said amiably, accepting the fact that the man recognised him as his due. “So, where is he?” He got to his feet and brushed some dust off his hands.
“If you mean Angel, he’s on a case.” Wesley told him. “What do you want from him?”
“Join the noble cause and all that rot,” Spike mumbled around the filter of a cigarette, while trying to get his lighter to work. Belatedly, he offered the pack to the other man – he was, after all, a fellow-Englishman.
Wesley declined with a polite shake of his head. “Please don’t take this personally, Spike, but I don’t think we need another souled vampire in this town. We all heard how you helped out in Sunnydale. You should go back. I’m sure there’s still work to be done there.”
“That’s just it. Hellmouth’s closed for inventory – thanks to Buffy. Locked up, so to speak.” Spike paused, looking glum, sad even. With his own grief still raw, Wesley waited patiently for him to continue. As he watched, Spike squared his shoulders lifted his chin. “Sunnydale is about as exciting now as Milton Keynes. Nothing to keep me there. And without the pull of the Hellmouth all the nasties are heading out, most of them to LA. I’m just migrating after them, is all.” He tossed his half-smoked cigarette aside.
Wesley pondered that for a moment. How would Angel feel about this? Hard to tell. Angel was so closed off and unapproachable lately, it was difficult to say what was going on inside him. They all had far too many scars. Even William the Bloody looked strangely forlorn. Wesley controlled the urge to nervously rub his throat. Whatever Angel might think, another capable demon-fighter in town had to be advantageous, especially if Spike was right and the Sunnydale demons were indeed relocating. And then there was the opportunity to study William the Bloody first hand, the only vampire in known history to get back his soul out of his own volition….
“Do you have a place to stay?” Wes enquired softly.
“Was counting on staying here,” Spike said, gesturing at what was left of the Hyperion.
“I’ve got a couch you could use,” Wesley said to his own surprise. Maybe it was the accent. Spike was, after all, a fellow-Englishman, albeit an undead one. “For now.”
Spike tilted his head and looked at him searchingly. He obviously hadn’t expected the offer. He seemed to be pleased with what he saw, for a smile formed on his lips and he nodded. “Ta, mate,” he said, scratching his head with his thumb. “Appreciate it.”
“Wesley Wyndham-Price,” Wesley introduced himself.
Spike hesitated but then he shook the offered hand. “Maybe we could grab a six-pack on the way?” he suggested.
“I don’t see why not,” Wesley said.
“But not the rotten piss these Americans call beer.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wesley allowed himself a smile.
THE END
ETA: Just noticed that my original title "Salvage" is the title of an actual AtS episode. So, I changed the title for now.
wesleysgirl, this one is for you - a slightly belated and unfortunately rushed and unbetaed birthday prezzie.PAIRING: Spike/Wesley
RATING: PG-13
GENRE: Pre-slash or friendship
SPOILERS: none really (up to 7x16 of BtVS and 4x16 of AtS)
SUMMARY: Post S7/S4 – totally AU (mere wishful thinking)
Spike didn’t have to check the slip of paper in his pocket to know he had the right address. The gutted state of the building was a dead giveaway. He kicked absently at a charred wooden beam, stirring up a small cloud of dust and ash and scanned the wreckage. When he spotted something metallic poking out of the mass of smashed bricks and pulverized concrete, he climbed a pile of rubble to take a closer look. It was a sword. He crouched and pulled, but it was stuck. Whatever explosion had wiped out this building, it seemed to have caused the sword to embed itself tip-first in a large piece of concrete. Spike yanked at it again and this time the weapon ended up in his hand - shiny and undamaged.
“I’d put that down, if I were you,” a soft-spoken voice with an English accent sounded from behind him.
“Yeah?” Spike got up but didn’t turn around. He swung the weapon experimentally. “Why’s that?”
“There are three things a man doesn’t share, his sword, his tooth-brush and his woman.”
“Yours?” Spike asked and looked over his shoulder, giving the other man a thorough once-over.
“Angel’s.”
“Who does he think he is, the Highlander?” Spike whooshed the broadsword through the air once more before turning it so the tip pointed downwards and tossing it at the other Englishman.
Wesley caught the weapon smoothly at the hilt.
“Watcher?” Spike asked and crouched again, poking around for other things of interest.
“Ex.” Wesley answered curtly.
“Yeah, you’re all ex, now, aren’t you?”
“So are you,” Wesley pointed out. “Ex-chipped, ex-soulless, ex-evil – there’s a lot of ex to go around.” He sounded aloof, unwilling to take the bleached vampire at face value.
“Got that right, mate,” Spike said amiably, accepting the fact that the man recognised him as his due. “So, where is he?” He got to his feet and brushed some dust off his hands.
“If you mean Angel, he’s on a case.” Wesley told him. “What do you want from him?”
“Join the noble cause and all that rot,” Spike mumbled around the filter of a cigarette, while trying to get his lighter to work. Belatedly, he offered the pack to the other man – he was, after all, a fellow-Englishman.
Wesley declined with a polite shake of his head. “Please don’t take this personally, Spike, but I don’t think we need another souled vampire in this town. We all heard how you helped out in Sunnydale. You should go back. I’m sure there’s still work to be done there.”
“That’s just it. Hellmouth’s closed for inventory – thanks to Buffy. Locked up, so to speak.” Spike paused, looking glum, sad even. With his own grief still raw, Wesley waited patiently for him to continue. As he watched, Spike squared his shoulders lifted his chin. “Sunnydale is about as exciting now as Milton Keynes. Nothing to keep me there. And without the pull of the Hellmouth all the nasties are heading out, most of them to LA. I’m just migrating after them, is all.” He tossed his half-smoked cigarette aside.
Wesley pondered that for a moment. How would Angel feel about this? Hard to tell. Angel was so closed off and unapproachable lately, it was difficult to say what was going on inside him. They all had far too many scars. Even William the Bloody looked strangely forlorn. Wesley controlled the urge to nervously rub his throat. Whatever Angel might think, another capable demon-fighter in town had to be advantageous, especially if Spike was right and the Sunnydale demons were indeed relocating. And then there was the opportunity to study William the Bloody first hand, the only vampire in known history to get back his soul out of his own volition….
“Do you have a place to stay?” Wes enquired softly.
“Was counting on staying here,” Spike said, gesturing at what was left of the Hyperion.
“I’ve got a couch you could use,” Wesley said to his own surprise. Maybe it was the accent. Spike was, after all, a fellow-Englishman, albeit an undead one. “For now.”
Spike tilted his head and looked at him searchingly. He obviously hadn’t expected the offer. He seemed to be pleased with what he saw, for a smile formed on his lips and he nodded. “Ta, mate,” he said, scratching his head with his thumb. “Appreciate it.”
“Wesley Wyndham-Price,” Wesley introduced himself.
Spike hesitated but then he shook the offered hand. “Maybe we could grab a six-pack on the way?” he suggested.
“I don’t see why not,” Wesley said.
“But not the rotten piss these Americans call beer.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wesley allowed himself a smile.
THE END
ETA: Just noticed that my original title "Salvage" is the title of an actual AtS episode. So, I changed the title for now.
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Re:
Date: 2003-04-08 07:15 am (UTC)