Author: josie_h
Pairing: Xander/Spike
Rating: Mature Audiences for content and themes later on - ie M/M
Summary: Post Black Thorn and final AtS - The PtBs screw with Spike yet again.
Spoilers: Canon is Post S7 BtVS and S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M if you don t like boys together, don t play here!
Author s Note: Don t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators
Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
Part 1
Then it all went black. When the dragon took out his grandsire, Angel, Spike had temporarily buckled over in pain, but was still aware enough to see the dragon double back to attack Illyria.
In a swirl of wet leather, game face and long sword, he placed himself in front of the former demi-god and stood to defend her to the last.
So intent on his task was he, that the talon piercing his right side went unnoticed and the fiery blast scorching his duster was a mere annoyance. But Illyria was not so distracted, admiring the chivallry of her compatriot in arms, she made a snap decision.
The final explosion of energy that destroyed the earthly shell of Illyria and dusted Spike also saw the dragon, the throng and the surrounding buildings obliterated. And instantly Spike was floating, beyond pain, but unlike the final days in Sunnydale and the months in the crystal, he was consciously aware.
There was no doubt that he saw the dust of his own undead form hit the ground, but this time he saw it as though in a movie. His awareness able to register a 'bugger not again' moment but also sensing a second entity, one whose influence permeated his essence with a forceful message.
He felt, rather than heard her words. "You were most brave in the final fight. And though this eventuality is unexpected, it is as I would have wished it. It seems you have been swept up in my wake, halfling.
"Our foes perceived the threat to their power was finite, but I have come to know how to transcend the miniscule human and lesser demon minds of this millenia. The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart think they control this realm by magicks and tricks of old, but there is more, beyond human consciousness, though created by it. I have 'adapted'. It is a quality I have come to understand through our training and the entity of the body I subsumed. You have a connection to the collective conscience of this pitiful species, the humans may call it a soul or a spirit, that is of little interest to me, but to move beyond this pitiful realm, I no longer require that or a Qua'hazaad or a token for my court. I require a guide, a servant through whom freedom for my essence will bring peace in exchange for wholeness and happiness in whatever form the guide pleases as a just reward."
Despite their shared grief at the night's events, Spike was unable to discern whether it was his soul or some other conscious self that seemed to be there, yet he was aware that his 'whatever' was apparently present and inextricably tied to the ancient demon and somehow he knew to reply in the only way he was able, with a single train of thought, "You have it Blue... Hurt, learn, adapt, survive, freedom, pfft like that's ever... Hey... got it. Not much choice here. What's the plan?"
"I am unable to move on without a physical manifestation, but I observed the human Wesley with the mechanical brain. The memories of Winifred Burkle also serve me well. The 'inter-net' is a crude but rather ingenious networking of knowledge created by these underlings together and also lays them bare. I despise their rather elementary attempt at combining their intelligence into something of use, but for now it must do. Communication, it seems, is the ooze that eats itself's obsessions and, based in chaos, its strength, and the electrical impulse method of transference amuses me... also, the algorithms and calculations are far beyond the average individual human conscious capacity, though
Winifred Burkle's capacity to interpret them and her apparent creativity and understanding of this and other systems are an advantage. She used this somewhat amusing tool to further her own research efforts over a number of dimensions, thus I have 'adapted' and we may inhabit this electrical realm independent of magical or mystical energies. In short we will endure incognito until it is time for me to take my true place."
Spike hardly had no time to process fully the words registered by whatever he was now though managed to wonder how "deeper well" might fit into the picture before all went 'cerfluey' again (to quote most of the Scoobies he recollected in that split second).
Time as he knew it seemed to stand still but flashes, images and odd 'twinges' on the outer edges of... where ever he was began to flood in but it was all a little too much. He felt an odd tug, was reassured and his essence followed Illyria without any more conscious thought. Spike did as he had always done, he adapted as he was swept into her wake and entered a new world...
..........
Xander logged on to the Net with ease, blessing Willow and her insistence that he embrace the coven's Wifi once and for all. If only his return from Africa had been so seamless.
He had found his way back to the USA from the dark continent but the 'home coming' was far from the 'warm fuzzy' he had almost convinced himself he would experience. Instead he felt quite out of place.
Everything seemed to move at lightening speed, the city streets sported neon signs, gridlock and homeless folks that those with chose to ignore and the super rich never saw. His search for meaningful work proved once again that his resume lacked the needed stamp of a College's approval, and that experience, and his few references from Rupert Giles MA(hist), the administrators of the two Somali refugee camps he had worked in, and a defunct construction company from a now non-existant Sunnydale, counted for very little.
A year, three states, a number of disastrous (one overly-possessive female and several one-night-stand male) relationships and four workplaces later, he had saved just enough for the airfare and found himself on a plane to London. Willow had met him with open arms having convinced him that if wiccan central or the new Watcher's Council could do with a carpenter, then he was their man!
Willow had arranged the old stable house for his abode (away from giggling young wiccans and oestrogen central) and now, two months relatively settled, he was sitting in front of the ancient fireplace answering his Email, then followed habit to logon to his own livejournal and a couple of other blogs. was a particular favourite as it allowed him to track, or at least see, the comments of his human friends across the third world. He wrote words of encouragement on a few favourites before the lights flickered and an another apparently hilarious power outage logged him off the network so he gave in an retired to the makeshift bedroom adjoining his private living space.
His bedroom was spartan in its fittings, though he was used to that, his five years in sub-Saharan Africa and the year and a half 'footloose' in the US were hardly the time for trinkets or accumulating household goods, but at least now he did feel he had a place to be where he was welcome and useful, and the time to 'regroup'. He contemplated the coming day as clothes hit the floor and he snuggled down into a bed that he knew would be warm in a short while. At least sleeping alone meant no interruptions bar occasional recurring bad dreams of friends lost.
Spike was again without a physical presence but this time it could not have been more different to his other reincarnations. This time he followed the tug of Illyria's essence without sense of time or effort. He was aware of bright flashes of energy, sometimes flying with them, sometimes merely observing as they floated by, or possibly through him. There was no sense of time or of sound or sight per se, but there was definitely light and shade and he knew he was 'somewhere'. Illyria's messages seemed to permeate his thinking without intent or effort, and the urge to follow was all encompassing.
Any apparent slowing of the... whatever he was now was accompanied by occasional flashes, like scenes from a movie or a wild dream and he had the sensation of viewing a room, or was it many (?) as though viewing a large television screen. Inevitably it was a fairly sedate scene of someone staring back at him though not really 'at him', rather through him, or whatever 'he' was now. The surprising part of it all was that he could apparently still think and contemplated in the windows of calm that came and went, that if this was Hell then it wasn't so bad, and if Heaven, he decided he should feel mildly disappointed. On reflection some time later (whenever that meant) he revised his assessment, deciding that he might still be earthly bound as scenes of joy and sadness, of relative squallor and riches came and went. It was all too confusing in the end, so he simply accepted and let himself ebb and flow along with Illyria.
And then she stopped. He sensed they were close to something she wanted but had no idea what.
"I am ready to test the human system and you will learn, underling."
Spike would have scowled and given her 'the bird' sign if he had a physical body but was mildly distracted by a scene across an office suite where a man and woman, both in a state of undress, were enthusiastically participating in some very enthusiastic interpersonal office relations.
Spike was suddenly aware of many hundreds of faces looking at him, some with amusement, others disinterest and a few in horror and somehow knew that what he and Illyria were observing was now being watched by others in the same building.
The woman on the couch looked up and straight at him then apparently screamed in dismay. He lip read "The bloody webcam is on you idiot!!" before he felt Illyria's tug once more and the confusing scene was gone.
As his essence was swept along once more he was aware of Illyria's apparent pleasure and 'heard' her, "It is as I suspected, a crude and fallible system created by lesser beings, but it is still of use. I will continue to ascertain its strengths and weaknesses until we find our target... come."
And with that flashes and images became ever more swift and confusing. Spike registered that he should feel quite ill were he still in human form, so simply released his hold on everything and washed along with the Old One's formless power and pondered her words. What was it she was seeking? And what was she, for that matter what was he, now... really?
Breakfast at the coven was always a rather chaotic affair with twenty or so wiccans and family availing themselves to ample lashings of home made bread, porridge and freshly cut fruit that weighed down the ancient long table. This morning the conversation was abuzz with who was where when the power surge had hit and the latest tabloid/internet scandal that had apparently aired early that morning on the news. Xander arrived rather late but was able to pick up enough to know that he was glad he had missed most of the excitement. He had a set of bookshelves from Willow's private rooms to fix and there were still four rather rickety dining chairs that sorely needed attention, so decided to eat quickly and seek out the solitude and satisfaction of his makeshift workshop for the morning.
Willow smiled at him as took his leave silently. He nodded to her and mouthed tell me later, snatched a last piece of toast and retreated. His old friend usually came over mid morning with a coffee, there would be time to catch up on the 'wierd goings on' then.
As he placed the first chair into the vice and began to drill a small starter hole for the screw that was to hold the back of the chair to a new upright, he began to think of some of the images in his dreams that night, of Sunnydale, of fights, triumphs and friends lost... and oddly amongst them, for the first time in many months he thought of a certain blonde vampire who had been hero to the last. He pondered thoughts of Spike for some time and resolved to ask Willow a few questions that had been bothering him for some time regards the same when she graced him with her familiar company a little later.
PART 2
Illyria was apparently bored or asleep or... whatever because the swirl of images and prickling sensations in his consciousness had abruptly ceased. It left Spike observing yet another spotty teenager 'SK8erZD's mundane MSN conversation with 'BeenyROX5' and as a consequence was seriously beginning to lean toward the 'this is Hell' conclusion regards his status.
The exchange was certainly not any notable intellectual discourse, indeed could hardly be described as a dialogue at all, and certainly not in any version of english he cared to recognize.
SK8erZD says:
sup?
BeenyROX5 says:
nadda
SK8erZD says:
U?
BeenyROX5 says:
nu setup
SK8erZD says:
sweet $$?
BeenyROX5 says:
70 enjoi deck n trucks
SK8erZD says:
nice
BeenyROX5 says:
u at BH?
SK8erZD says:
nada home
BeenyROX5 says:
K frenz?
SK8erZD says:
Kelli's over
BeenyROX5 says:
nice U 2 a thing yet?
SK8erZD says:
shes cool - bit needy
BeenyROX5 says:
SK8erZD says:
not into sk8ing
BeenyROX5 says:
U into her tho
SK8erZD says:
yeah
BeenyROX5 says:
way 2 go!
SK8erZD says:
not that into haha
BeenyROX5 says:
lol
SK8erZD says:
CU Sat at BH?
BeenyROX5 says:
10 OK
SK8erZD says:
yeah
.............. And so it went on and as it did Spike's ire continued to grow until he decided that were ever to get his vampire body back, soul or no soul, he would seek out the two and drain them, if only to save the world from boredom and bad breeding! He felt rather than saw the result of his indignation in a flash from his own memories of tearing into a warm neck, the fruitless struggle of the victim, and a resulting 'kick' much like that of fresh human blood straight from the vein.
Illyria was back with him instantaneously. "You breached the divide at last. It seems we might now work as one to attain our goal."
Spike gave the equivalent of a "Huh?" reply before recieving an image of his old Angelus days self draining and dropping the gored body of a hapless youth.
"This is the image those humans will have seen on their screens before your energy drained their computers and shut the connection."
"I did what? How?"
"That is of little importance now. You will improve with practice. Come, I have found some intriguing anomolies with the assistance of Winifred Burkle's memories and knowledge of this medium."
The ensuing lightening fast blur included numbers, symbols and images flashing past him too fast to really register so instead he focused on the commentary Illyria's essence was providing him... and wasn't he glad he'd spent so much time with Fred, Red and the other Scoobies before his dusty demise as babble seemed her pace and language of choice for the 'lecture'.
"Winifred Burkle was able to research many aspectjs of her work with the aid of this inter-net. And though I am discovering this might mirror the human brain in its chaotic nature, and its linkages, it is also easy to exact its foibles, frailty and inherent weaknesses. Thus far I have only explored a small proportion and at random but it is enough.
"According to the rather elemental human research on their own system, there is close to a trillion and a half discrete pages, around 1.5 billion users and 220 billion communications they call 'emails' sent daily. More interesting for my purposes, there are over to 1.7 million temporary black holes where information can be hidden, transfered or lost permanently or for hours and days at a time - innocently, for security, or nefarious reasons - and these by the hand of incompetent individuals, governments and/or criminals.
"Unbeknown to these humans, this network which links so many is also becoming semiconscious in its own right. It will only be a matter of time before it is capable of making its own links, processes and determine information it needs to complete sets of knowledge. As much as the humans wish to control this system, it is wonderfully beyond that now. And they have merely tinkered with the surface of its capacity. Even their best minds do not have the capacity to encompass its full potential."
Spike was becoming increasingly agitated and sensing she was about to go on, butted in, "Taa for the Discovery Channel summary Pet, but what does that have to do with you an' yours truly, the dearly almost departed?"
Spike felt an overwhelming surge of power permeate his thought process, effectively silencing him.
"Do not interupt! Observe underling."
Spike was swept up in her wake again. Bombarded by what seemed an endless string of numbers and names he finally realized that he was looking at some sort of ledger and that the numbers were fast being shifted from one place to another.
"I seek out the dark side of this system, the links to the magical community, the knowledge and power that will lead to my restoration across dimensions. Already this electromagnetic based system has proven useful in my quest, but I do not comprehend fully the aspects of this system that seem based in human emotion and this dominant species' obsession with that they cannot define yet and yet somehow links them to a universal power."
"Winifred Burkle's research extended to dimensional shifts and aspects of other energy realms but I now also find there is a powerbase known as the international monetary system which fascinates me. Its dependance on the inter-net, on human greed, power games and the tendency of humans to organize into nation states be they gathered by subspecies (race), opportunity, location, gender or religious choosing. I am unsurprised that there is evidence that they have and are endangering their own existence (and that of other species) by altering the precarious balance affording life on this planet, not to mention the obvious repeated and as yet unsuccessful attempts the human species have made to wipe themselves out with crude but effective weaponry fueled by pathetic tribal like squabbles on a massive scale.
"What I am unable to comprehend is their tendency toward acts of kindness, the connections between these beings and their apparent willingness for self sacrifice to benefit the whole. Their belief in one or many gods whom they have never seen seems wide spread yet has no cohesion. This..."
Spike had finally worked through the odd sensation of being overwhelmed and silenced and suspected that, if left to her own devices, Illyria would continue the diatribe until the humans really had become a footnote in history, so he tried again. "Not wantin' to bust into your rhetorical musin's Luv, but already know all most of the above n' really not seein' how all this is helpin' us. Thought you said sommit about movin' on to your own nirvana or some such. You got a plan to take over the world, leave it behind for good, or is this just a fact findin' exercise for us to fill in the rest of eternity? Really not seein' how I fit in, 'cause gotta say, much as I'm a keen observer of the human condition, yours truly a little over the light and sound show if we're not movin' toward bein'... well, in amongst it, proper-like. Seems as though I'm all a bit irrelevent as is, bloody useless, not even a ghostie. Bloody hopeless..."
Illyria seemed to pause for a moment then Spike had the oddest sensation of being stroked and comforted somehow, "That is where you are, as usual, wrong. You have an understanding of these beings and of the dark side of the demon world. I have the capacity now to wipe out this planet using the human devised weaponry, but this would be fruitless. Rather we will find those who might assist us and determine what it is they want in return for their services. Your strength lies in understanding human motivation. You possess what these beings would call a soul. You have lived as both human and demon therefore your memories and understanding of their world gives you strength, and your capacity for what they call love, despite your demon heritage, seems to be of use to me, to us."
Spike focused on the ledger of numbers again, realizing belatedly that it was a Swiss bank account containing a very significant sum, not to mention details of precious items stored in a vault with unknown value, all under the surname 'Aurelius' at the top. His pause and mentally whispered, "Bloody hell! Could buy 'n sell half Christ'ndom with that lot!"
"I am uninterested in this thing you call Christianity, but am fascinated by the potential of buying and selling. It is apparent that even the demon world participates in using this medium 'money' to exchange for goods and services. It is my understanding that it is a simple matter to put this manufactured wealth into the human system whereby it increases in sum without the need to acquire any additional forms of recognised physical wealth such as precious metals or large stadiums."
"Well... yeah... but it's not quite that simple, Luv. Seems as though we're at a bit of a disadvantage, what with us bein' all non-corporeal 'n all."
"Yet you do understand the basic strategies and mental capacity required to do such a thing, were we to appear, as you say, corporeal."
"Done my share of dabblin' in the past, but more of a 'take what I want when I want' chap before the chip... 'cept when it was me 'n me mum, and at the beginning with 'Gelus, but then he was a right tight bastard if there ever was one." Spike was about to go on but the names on the top of the ledger caught his attention as Illyria cut in.
"Yet it seems your original name William T. B. Aurelius appears as a signatory for this collection, something I assume entitles you to access."
"So it does... bit hard to convince the ol' bank teller t' hand over the loot though innit, given that I'm a little less than even undead these days."
"Yet much of the more recent activity has been electronic in nature. It seems that Angel had already begun to utilize the 'holdings' portion of the funds. It would merely be another such transaction, though claiming the full wealth would require a physical presence, I am sure the current active sum would suffice for our immediate needs."
Spike refocused on the numbers Illyria was talking about and were he able might have raised an incredulous eyebrow, instead having to be satisfied with, "That sneaky f$#ing Irish ponce! Bankrolled his full blood boy's future and was plannin' 'is own post Black Thorn by the looks."
"The one you call Connor has indeed been paid by your Grandsire it appears, but the remainder is in your name according to this... and Winifred Burkle's memories would confirm that."
"Still comes back to the same point though Pet. Not really here am I. How'd you propose..."
"Electronic transfers are a simple matter of initially breaching the security on the account then continuing to use it to amass our fortune ready for a time we might need it to fund a 'favour' as the human's call it."
"'N breachin' security is your specialty I don't think. Swiss banks are the best and..."
"Winifred Burkle had a head for numbers and formulae. It will merely be a matter of time before I can do this, the investing I will leave to you. You have a knowledge of what motivates the humans and will see opportunities as they arise. I have other, more important aspects of this inter-net to explore."
"Well taa muchly for the confidence Pet, but need a bit more of a handle on where and what to invest in 'n the how."
"You have time."
"That I do... apparently got a boat load 'n some o' that."
With that Illyria seemed to lose interest in communicating further, so Spike immersed himself in a full investigation of just what and how much it was he was 'playing with'.
Xander was lost in thought when the newest of the coven's members cleared his throat to announce his presence. Xander let out an 'eep', dropped the chisel he was holding and spun around. "Geez Wills just about... Oh... sorry not Willow... um... Mattias right?"
The tall figure of the young man came further into the workshop, brushing back the hood of his black jacket with his left hand, "Yeah, um... Here." A cup of steaming coffee was deposited at the end of the work bench.
"Thanks. How'd you get the delivery job? Willow too busy for a visit?"
The lanky youth looked a little uncomfortable, shifted from foot to foot then shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and looked at the floor as if something particularly interesting lay there. "The Mistress thought I might... um... thought you and I should... well... talk... sort of... um..."
Xander took a moment to look properly at his unexpected visitor. The longish black hair was pushed back for the most part, an unruly lock hanging over a slim pale face with rather attractive, androgenous features. Had Xander been in anything but a rather reflective mood he would have made a flippant comment, but recognized the distinct signs of a boy needing a 'manly' chat so indicated to a solid looking side table, sat on its twin and reached over for the coffee saying simply, "Pull up a pew, time I took a load off anyway. What's up?"
Mattias sat, but kept his head down, replacing his focus on the floor with a close examination of his hands, "Mistress Willow... that is... well... most of the wiccans at the coven... It's just hard being the only guy... You know, apart from you, or when Mr Giles visits... but even then... I... just... I just feel like I don't fit really... but I'm trying really hard! And Mistress Willow says I'm doing fine... well better than fine really... and that's a problem too."
Xander was just about to jump in with some kind words when the young man lifted to look properly at his new confidant. Xander was immediately struck by the look of utter despiration, knew from too many bitter experiences how it felt to be an outsider, but all words seemed to evaporate as Mattias lifted his head and levelled two begging crystal blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes in the carpenter's direction. It was Xander's turn to stare at an inanimate object for a moment and focussed on his coffee. In a different setting, say a bar for same gender types, and with a beer rather than a coffee in his hand, and with ten or so years less difference in their age... He cleared his throat and dismissed all such thoughts. The boy(!) had come to him for advice and that's exactly what he would do his best to give... but... in the right light... He looked up again and could not shift the single name that had come to mind... that of an old ally who had also looked that desperate with tear filled blue eyes, more than once... Spike.
It took a deliberate sip of coffee and distinct clearing of his throat before he dared answer. "Well, we should get on just fine then, me not exactly command central when it comes to the fitting in, but I'm sure a good listener, and you know, maybe we can work out a few things together. How about you start a little further back, like... what brought you here to study in the first place?"
Mattias (Matti to his friends, of which Xander was now apparently one) visibly relaxed and began with his discovery of his magical leanings and the rather convoluted path of part discovery and experimentation in dark and light arts, part self destructiveness and the anguish that accompanied a search for his early adult identity first amongst university peers and now at the coven.
By the end of the conversation, coffee long gone and Matti proving a dab hand at the basics of carpentry, the two had resolved little, but succeeded in putting the finishing touches on the turned legs for a new coffee table. A short "I'd better get back, see you tomorrow?" was enough for Xander to feel confident that it would not be the last time the two 'worked out stuff' while working together in the shed.
PART 3
Spike had lost track of time, and Illyria.
He had found an online role playing game involving vampires and demons, and put his Big Bad knowledge and new found powers of influence over the to good use, well as far as he was concerned - the players no doubt thought otherwise. He began by favouring one or other player, boosting their performance, but eventually managed to insert himself nicely in the game and temprarily took out the most powerful players with a use of his own knowledge of street fighting and personal experience of the hunt as vampire.
Eventually he bored of the caper and turned his attention to watching various soccer matches online before metaphysically wandering into the Oxford University system. Here he had become both elated and immensely frustrated by the third year English Literature students who were studying a Nineteenth Century fiction unit. In particular he was frustrated by the apparent lack of historical context reflected in many of the comments being exchanged, and was utterly offended when one writer suggested that Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe" was somehow inferior to Thomas Hardy's "Far from the Madding Crowd", eventually weighing in to the online argument as WtB to argue the merits of Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Gray" and slamming Bram Stoker's "Dracula" as a misrepresentation of all things vampire. He was interrupted mid critical diatribe by a blinding flash and Illyria's dominating presence in his psyche.
Once recovered he realised he had been cut off the 'conversation'. "Bloody Hell, Blue! Was just about to make me point! Load of upstart bloody try-hard so called English students! Couldn't spell themselves out of a corner I'll wager."
"Your indignation unfounded, indeed I find it mildly annoying. My absence was necessary. I have been establishing the use of a network of the so called 'blackhole' IP addresses from which you may trade using the Aurelian funds."
"And remind me again why we want to do that, 'cause gotta say, 's all a bit of skullduggery if you ask me. We ain't gonna *buy* our way out of this mess... and sure as heck not got a lot of use for cash in me current form... hardly purchase a body on Ebay now can I, less it's a used one from the W&H spare parts lot, 'n frankly you'd never know what'd turn up with that even if they were offerin'."
"You are too short sighted halfbreed. This is about power. In this human domain, power is money and for us to have leverage. We require a steady large cash flow and increasing asset base in the markets of the world to then press those who are able to assist us whilst avoiding any interference by the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart as they operate in this realm. I will focus my attention on the dilemma that is our current form and determine the solution. While you will accrue, without detection, the necessary funds for a time we may need them."
"Right, so me agenda is to make the odd squillion until told otherwise."
"Correct. I will lead you to the numeric position and provide you with the codes you need. You will also note the pathway to the concealed trading 'company' that I have created to enable trading." Spike had the odd sensation of being dragged to a different 'place' and blessed the Angelus of old for his foresight in teaching the fledgling William the ins and outs of their fortune. He became aware of a pleasantly, *very* large sum freely available to trade with, provided he was able to access it. Seconds later Illyria again assailed his consciousness. "I assume you can manipulate the medium to provide your signature on this release document. Here are the associated codes you will need."
The codes were entered and 'William T.B. Aurelius' was required to 'sign' the authorization. Fortunately it seemed that Angel had left Spike's identity on the account, and after some effort a slight shift in the fabric that was Spike's awareness signalled that he was able to access the money and begin his allocated task.
Illyria seemed satisfied and he felt her presence diminish as he turned his attention to the complex market statistics he would need to grapple with, grumbling to himself, "Don't mean an ex-vamp still can't 'ave a little fun on the side. ::sigh:: Still... reckon a little precious metals tradin' to start, obviously got plenty of time on me hands for playin' later."
It had been almost a year since Xander had moved to the coven and things had settled into quite a routine. Breakfast was had after most of the group had eaten, after which he returned to his workshop to begin the tasks of the day.
His 'hubby for hire' repair work had given way to a steady stream of original pieces of furniture that were now being offered for sale online and brought in a tidy sum. As a direct consequence he had also engaged in a number of masterclasses in woodturning, brass work and classic inlay, and had him constantly sourcing materials from far and wide to enhance his more creative works. He also found that the local art community quickly embraced him as one of their own after his series of functional but unusual set of 'one off' occasional tables, featuring hand carved images of 'creatures of the night', were displayed at their annual festival.
Sales after the festival had increased dramatically and Matti was now a constant companion in the afternoons, the young man proving good company and a dab hand at french polishing - a very welcome skill with the more 'exclusive' pieces. The addition of an industrial ventilation unit to extract dust and safer electrical system in the workshop (all funded by Xander's income) were necessary additions.
There was a steady stream of young wiccans happy to admire his work, chat to Matti and generally 'hang out'. Xander always felt welcome at the dining table and certainly enjoyed a healthy level of respect, yet Xander still felt somewhat disconnected from... people really, and it wasn't just the fact that Willow had been away a lot lately. He still chatted to her online, certainly enjoyed the occasional chatty email from Dawn, and an even less frequent brief phonecall with Giles.
His behaviour must have caught the attention of Mistress Yollanda, either that or Willow had given her a heads up at some point, because the High Wiccan made a point of visiting him in the workshop in the early evening, just prior to the summer Solstice celebrations. He assumed it was to check on the final arrangements for the evening of festivities for which Xander was providing his services as barman, but the friendly conversation quickly turned to deeper issues.
Yollanda was in her early fifties with salt and pepper grey hair and a sparkle in her dark eyes that spelt wisdom with just a dash of mischief. Xander had often thought that she would have been quite the beauty in her more 'hippie days', and still had a habit of wearing lose flowing hand dyed clothes in rainbow colours. She had an ease about her that exuded an inner peace that drew people in and allowed honest reflection should that be needed.
The conversation began easily enough, touching on the matters of the solstice day - it would run much as any other celebration, Xander's duties simple and the atmosphere relaxed. Xander had continued with his hand sanding of his latest art piece (a small male sitting figure of a winged faerie, or was it an angel, suitable for one leg of a coffee table).
... "All in hand Mistress. But you didn't wander this far to just talk about that? What's really on your mind? If it's about the girls wandering down here then I think that's to see Matti, who is doing a great job by the way. And they certainly don't interupt."
"No no... nothing of that ilk."
"Oh... Look if it's my contributions, I can up that to twenty perc..."
"Not at all! The coven coffers have enjoyed the extra cash flow you bring in. No this is about *you* Xander, more particularly your happiness here."
"Did Willow...?"
"Willow has told me some of your history yes, but only as it pertains to your stay here and your shared Sunnydale experiences. She also alerted me to the fact that you gave away much of your Sunnydale emergency fund compensation to your African charity, something which is both generous and to be applauded. No the reason for my inquiry is that you seem less than happy, driven yes but content, not so much.
"You are a popular member of our community and give much to all you encounter but there is also a measure of melancholy that I wonder you might share. Sometimes a burden shared is one lightened."
Xander stopped what he was doing and looked hard at the motherly figure who was now sitting at the end of his work bench. He saw nothing but friendly concern on Yollanda's face. "I guess you're right... And please don't take this the wrong way... um... I... I guess I just don't feel like I really fit anywhere, not that I ever have, not completely." Xander paused for a moment and lifted his eye patch enough to slip a finger under and rub the slightly irritated socket, a habit that was as reflexive as it was necessary when he was feeling 'out of sorts'. "It just seems like I always end up the outsider somehow and most of the time that's fine, it's just that lately... I guess I sort of had the idea that as you get older things become clearer, that I could find someone who likes me just as I am... and by like I mean a... well I guess I'm trying to say..." He rubbed his eye again, this time over the patch then took up his sanding again as he talked a little of his family, the loss of his parents, of Willow and he as children and later, of his experiences in Africa, then finally, very briefly of his decision to come to the coven.
The Mistress leaned forward a little and put a calm hand over his. "I understand the feeling Alexander, more than you might know, and I too have loved and lost many times over. You may feel at odds with the world now, but you continue to give to it, to others, in so many ways and you are deeply respected for your many contributions. I believe it is acceptance you seek and that can only come from within.
"Thoughts, memories, of the past are only words and images in your head as are your musings on the future. If you accept that and only work with the ones that are useful all the while living in the moment, you may approach the inner peace you seek. And remember we all eventually draw to us those we need most when the time is right, and without conscious thought. I believe in the wisdom of Gaia and am sure you will feel her full blessings when you least expect it. I thank you for your candid sharing Alexander, and will take my leave now, but please feel free to join me for a quiet supper anytime you are inclined. My door is always open."
Xander did feel oddly more at ease after the Mistress departed and found himself thinking of the latter days of Sunnydale with a detached fondness he had not really expected. Thoughts of his workmates, the last days of the Scoobies, of Anya, his parents and... Spike. And eventually sent a quiet prayer to whoever might be listening that those lost to him and/or the world might have found themselves in a better place.
PART 4
Spike had been focusing his attentions on the Middle East again, in particular the United Arab Emirates. Like all of his true generation all things 'exotic' held a certain appeal and for now that appeal was to watch countries that the British Empire (in all her heady dominant past) had annexed or written off thrive.
Despite initially trading on Western markets, his list of investments of late, had leaned toward China, India and other emerging nations. Combined with Illyria's occassional interruptions, or as he was increasingly aware, rather demanding insistance that he turn his attention to this or that company, he was quickly able to respond to market trends.
Illyria's interest in the 'human folly' had a distinctive Machiavellian flavour and her ability to infiltrate the email systems of governments and larger conglomerates had her geninely fascinated by trends. Her view was still one of the malevolent ex-god, interested in intrigue and now the general patterns in the online behaviour of wealthy rulers of failing companies when collapse or major takeovers were becoming apparent. She delighted in having discovered (with a little help from human research) that internal email traffic at the top level of such organizations increased tenfold as a large company began to faulter, or was genuinely threatened by a competitor, and similar trends seen in countries facing governmental collapse or all out war.
Spike for his part merely responded to her 'tip offs' by dutifully shifting investments at her delighted reports but was fast becoming tired of her insistance of the stupidity of the earth bound creatures and their obvious self interest and lack of insight but in the months that had past had also become skilled in keeping his thoughts relatively hidden from her. A task made all the easier when he realised that for all her perceived 'omnipotence', her understanding of the virtues of those same creatures really was limited to self interest.
Spike had long known that once an investment was secured there was little to be gained by 'tinkerin' around the edges' unless there was a particular reason. He had already resigned himself to the idea that their obtaining of sufficient wealth would take a while. Granted Illyria's insights had been useful and certainly her sequestering of a number of umbrella companies residing in tax havens allowed Spike's trading to 'fly under the radar' as it were and saw a steady stream of income legitimately flow into the originating Swiss Aurelian accounts without question.
For the first few months there had been a certain thrill in fast accumulating wealth, but something of William's sensibilities still existed within the essence that was Spike. Old, hard learned lessons of the evils of class snobbery, the excesses of the idle rich, and of overconfidence borne of arrogance, prejudice and fast money niggled whenever Illyria demanded that he push their money around as though there was no human cost involved.
Accompanying his somewhat conflicted moral compass, there was also the inner William who was coming up for a hundred and sixty years of existence. A William/Spike who had and still genuinely loved art, writing, poetry, music and all things of the 'today', whenever and wherever that might happen to be, and who had a sense of honour and loyalty that extended well beyond the simplistic excuse of 'a soul'.
Of late it was this inner sensibility that was becoming ever more dominant. His interest in all things online role playing had waned after he had dominated in several Warcraft games, made several million virtual dollars in Second Life and bored of a number of other wannabe blood thirsty individuals in online games. He still occasionally commmented on one or other rather esoteric (and some borderline eccentric) lists ranging from classical literature study to interest groups for all things occult but even that was becoming less and less attractive.
He found some solace in just 'floating', accessing a server that was on 'down time' and ceasing to be for a while in the digital blackness.
It was during one of these rest times that Illyria sought him out, jolting him from his place of nothing by a blast of energy that had him reeling.
"Bloody Hell Blue! Give a chap some warnin'..."
"I believe I have finally cracked the security on the Global coven network."
"Well bully for you... Would have figured that would be a doddle after your little adventures into corporate America and MI5."
"It is true that I have been able to merge with those human concerns relatively easily. But my interest in the coven communications has more to do with their ability to ward their electronic signals with magic, a rather unique system and most sophisticated, allowing them to shield their dialogue from other magical influences, such as the Wolf, Ram and Hart. To date you have merely dabbled in monetary gains for the purpose of us purchasing favours as we need them, now we must also explore and enlist the aid of those in the magical community sympathetic to our cause... without undue attention.
"Fred knew of one called Willow who is mentioned several times in correspondance. It seems she is powerful and may be sympathetic to my cause..."
"Ehh hemm... That would be *our* cause your high and mightyness, and you might care to know that I reckon Red would be just the ticket. If anyone could pull us from this mess she would."
"You also know of this witch?"
"Worked along side her in Sunnyhell... right sweetheart when she wasn't tryin' to destroy the planet, or save it. Last I heard she was in Brazil."
"That may be so, though the Email trace is convoluted. I shall attempt to establish contact with her using an anonymous monicker. It is unwise to alert even the covens of our status until their service is secured. I charge you with the task of learning as much as possible of the Berkshire coven as there seems to be a festival of some importance being held there attracting a large number of magical beings on the summer solstice..."
Spike was tiring of being ordered around by the sharer of his virtual thought space, so cut off the conversation with a curt, "Berkshire coven, got it. If that's all Highness, got some serious down time to catch up on."
Spike felt decidedly out of sorts courtesy of the conversation so as soon as he felt her gone, he turned his attention to some online porn, grumbling that at least *someone* was having some fun.
..........
The preparations for the inter-coven solstice festivities was in full swing and though Xander was on the periphery of the general running of any such events there was still a steady stream of young wiccans attending his workshop with a variety of minor requests for his skills.
He had realised some months ago that the reason for the girls attending to the requests with quite such intense personal interest was undoubtedly that Matti was nearly always at his side in the afternoons, preferring to spend most of his spare time in the workshop. Xander was happy for the company of the young man, and enjoyed watching the girls as they giggled, flirted a little and did their best to engage Matti's full attention.
For his part Matti was charming, friendly and enjoyed being the centre of attention, particularly after he learned (or rather directly quizzed) Xander about the older man's preference for male rather than female love interests. The discussion had been frank and non threatening for the late teen who was questioning his own leanings, and seemed to settle some of the tension that had permeated the first few afternoons 'in the shed'.
Xander had eventually decided to come clean to Matti, stating that he had no designs on any of the women (or men) at the coven or in the village, that his relationship with Willow was one of deep mature friendship, and that he had come to his own decision regards his staunchly single status and sexual preference rather late in the piece, and only after many baulked starts and a number of disasterous partnerings.
Matti's realization that his own fascination with all things 'boy on boy' was one of curiosity rather than any lifestyle choice seemed to clear the air and certainly seemed to have allowed him to gain greater confidence within the coven community in general. And Xander had been amused to note that the previously dyed jetblack 'emo-mop' had given way to Matti's natural dark blonde curls being trimmed to a far more flattering style that had his enthusiastic classmates begging to plat it with flowers for the coming celebrations.
With Mistress Yollanda's encouragement, Xander had also qualified as a teacher of woodwork through the technical college in Reading, and taken on some teaching duties at the local village community house, providing popular courses in furniture making, handyman renovation and 'wood art'. All in all he felt a little more like he belonged though still shyed away from any discussion of his Sunnydale days, even when pushed by curious coven members (especially after the biennial visit from Watcher 'expert lecturer' Andrew whose stories of the heady last days of the Scoobies seemed to become more fantastical as each year passed).
With the delivery of the last Maypole and departure of his helpers of the day, Xander turned his attention to tidying up the tools of trade then retreated to the quiet comfort of his small abode, relieved that the addition of a small microwave allowed dinner to be taken privately on this occasion.
He roughly cut a chunk of coven-made sourdough bread and waited for the typical 'ding' signalling that soup was ready before settling in front of his laptop to catch up with messages and enjoy the peace and quiet of the evening.
Willow was en route back to England for the solstice, and apparently Giles was coming down from London for the event also. Xander sent Willow a quick note wishing her a safe trip before adding a "Kudos, well done" to Dawn's enthusiastic entry regards her current work at a fashion magazine in New York (pictures of 'celebs I interviewed this week' included on her facebook page).
Xander took a break to collect his digital camera, make a coffee then returned to the real task of the evening, uploading photos of his latest wood carving series to his own website. The more tedious part of the task being to put accurate sizings and ptions, 'interesting' titles and prices under each image.
He had been pleased with the public response to his 'Avian series', enjoying the attention and extra cash after a local art show named his 'Ladyhawk' piece as 'Best Sculpture' prize winner.
His more recent pieces were leaning toward depicting the male torso, well toned casual stances, more often than not leaning against a tree or wall with face obsured. Jaw lines were easy but he struggled with more than that. He'd asked a rather embarrassed Matti to pose for him a couple of times but found that he sought a certain quality in his male faces that seemed to ellude and for the most part that was fine. As carved table legs or feature figurines framing a mirror there was little need for absolute accuracy, yet an old memory seemed to niggle.
Xander finished at the computer, flicked on a CD of classical music he had loaned from Mistress Yollanda and pulled out a sketch he had been working on for his latest figure. The soft cedar wood had seemed to 'want' to become a male in a long coat, leaning casually against a headstone, hand up as though to... light a cigarette.
Xander found himself sadly thinking of a certain dusted vampire, another fallen comrade in arms, and realised that it was that rather perfect face he wanted so badly to depict, to no avail.
Perhaps that was the face he sought for his other figures too, the defined features, the irreverent smirk, the impossibly handsome, timeless... After several more attempts he tore out the page of the sketch book and flung it toward the bin in the corner. He knew Andrew had a video of Spike (he'd watched a few highly edited pieces on the Watcher's facebook page) but was reluctant to source those as it brought up a whole lot of unwanted memories and feelings that he just did not want to address for the sake of a sulpture.
Reluctantly he packed up and resolved instead to ask Willow if she had any digital images of Spike somewhere when she returned to the coven and there was some context to the question.
He logged on again, this time to simply lookup some 'decent' male pornography but found even that uninteresting and went to bed with images of a perfect male blond vampire in various states of undress and welcomed the oblivion of sleep.
