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25 June 2009 @ 08:00 pm
Fic: Charms and Tidings-Part II  

For disclaimers and all that good stuff, see part one.

Eight: Hell

“Are you certain?” Giles asked, before he realized the inanity of the question.

“Yes—unless I mysteriously caught some demon parasite,” Olivia said, “Perhaps I should schedule a exorcist.”

“No need to be sarcastic.”

“No need to be stupid.”

“Besides, demonic parasites are extracted, not exercised.”


“Right, I’m sorry.  I’m just a little stunned, I mean, you were only here for a few days.” And that nightmare with the Gentlemen had cut into a significant part of their time together.

“I think it was that night we drank bourbon and watched those crows bother the neighbors’ cat,” she sighed, and he could hear the ghosts of their carefree laughter drifting from courtyard.  “I called to tell you I intend on keeping this child, but I don’t expect any noble actions on your part.”


“Before you say it, I am not coming back to Sunnydale. No matter how much fun we have together, because that whole incident with the Gentlemen was just the surface. You face weirder shit than that on a weekly basis.”

 “It’s not always as unusual as you’ve seen: sometimes it’s only vampires.”

 Only vampires? Like the one who spilled blood and bourbon on the rug? Rupert, no matter how fond of you I am, I don’t want to risk myself or this child.”

“Then why tell me at?” He traced the rim of his glass with his pinky before drinking the last little bit.

Her laugh trickled down his spine, “Oh Rupert. I could never be that callous to a friend. I’m telling you because, in the event you decide to leave that backwater town and return home, I’d be willing to resume our relationship.”

“I don’t think what we have is conducive to raising a child.”

“It could be.”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Only if you do. I know you’re a good man, and I know you would marry me because you think it’s the right thing to do, but it's not what you want. You know where to find me if you ever decide otherwise.”


“Goodbye Rupert.” A pause, an exhale of breath and the silence.  Fingers limp, the phone fell with a clatter on the desk.

For a second, he saw it:  red eye to London—coach, on the ground by 10 am London time, call his parents (how excited his father would be), find a jeweller—that little shop Ethan loved, get a ring, catch a cab to the British Museum—it’ll be lunch—find her, propose.


Then: get married and live in a little flat with an overweight tabby and a little Giles toddling around on little legs while Mummy and Daddy cataloged dusty artifacts. Send little Giles to Oxford then Watcher training, forth generation lost in to the family business. 

Leaving the daughter of his heart in Sunnydale, city poised and itching to pounce. Or worse, snapped up by those men in black and stuck in a jar, wriggling on a pin like some rare butterfly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, the movement pushing his glasses up. Next to the empty glass, the book of fairy tales and fables lay open to a drawing of magpies in a tree.  Four. Six. Nine. Eight. Birth. Death. Demons. Hell.

Choices. Choices.

Murder Redux: a Kiss

Spike sneered back, “No you pillock, the murder.” He waved his mug at the crows,

“That’s what a flock of ‘em are called.”

“And there are eight,” Giles said, slipping his glasses on, “ I thought eight was for hell,”

“No, eight’s for a wish.” Spike scratched his head, “Or maybe death. Dru used to chant it different each time.” 

Xander turned to look at Giles, his mouth slanted tight in thought. Past Giles’ shoulder, Spike peered down into his mug, swirling it around slowly as if he could divine answers from it like Willow had tried to do once last year.

“Right, of course,” Giles said. “One for sorrow—two for joy—three for girl—four for a boy—five for silver—six for gold—seven for a secret never to be told—eight for a kiss—nine for a wish and ten for a time of joyous bliss.” Puzzle solved, he smiled at Xander.

“A kiss, huh? You offering, Watcher?”

“If it’s a kiss of wood into the cavity of your heart, then yes.”

“Oooh! Talk dirty to me, Rupert,” Spike batted his eyelashes and mimed kisses at Giles.

Giles arched one eyebrow. “If it’s pain you want, I can accommodate. There would be no safe word for you.”

“Not like vamps know the meaning of the word. That would explain why you had the chains at the ready.” Spike voice lowered to a growl. “I can take anything you can dish out, Watcher.”

The stared each other down for a moment, and Xander wondered why the vamp would want Giles to hurt him.  Spike tilted his head, birdlike, and licked his upper lip.

Giles turned away first. “Xander, can you assist me in chaining up Spike in the bathroom?”

“Sure thing, Big G.”

“Xander for the umpteenth time—”

“Dunno Watcher, from what I’ve seen, name seems fitting. Am I not the only one you’ve chained to the tub? ” Spike asked. Xander grinned when Giles backhanded the vampire.

“Hey now, watch the mouth. I gotta look pretty for my kiss later.” A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of Spike’s mouth. 

“That I doubt very much,” Giles said. “Especially since I intend to keep you gagged as much as possible.”

 “Not my kink, Watcher.” Spike tongued the cut. “Maybe that bird that left the sexy message last night is into it, though she sounds like she would make the prettiest little sounds when—“

 Giles backhand Spike again. “Believe me, no one in their right mind would go anywhere near your mouth.”

 “You haven’t seen what my mouth can do,” Spike said. Giles looped the chain around his forearm and tugged hard. Spike jerked forward, catching himself before he fell. With a growl, he shuffled up the stairs, Giles following behind, and Xander grabbed the now empty pink paper box. Behind him, the murder flew off until they were a smudge of dark against the morning sky.


If your so inclined, check out the remix of Eight: Hell.