TITLE: "Dancing About Architecture" (2/?)
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@verticalcrawl.com
SITE: http://verticalcrawl.com/mostly
FEEDBACK: *pointed look*
DISTRIBUTION: Nummy Treats, William archives, my site.
Or just ask.
RATING: Eventually NC-17 for m/m nummies and more angst
than reasonably allowed by law.
PAIRING: X/"S"
SUMMARY: And the twain shall meet again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've actually *researched* this story.
This is how involved in it I currently am. Hopefully
I'll entertain someone other than me with it.
Unbeta'ed.
(I admit it, I kinda wrote Sarah like Donna Moss from
'The West Wing'. Got the whole Josh/Donna thing going
by mistake. Yes, I amuse myself.)
* * *
If I peered over my shoes, I could see the tiny ribbon
of pink tainting the sky on the horizon, promising of
yet another sunny day. I blinked and stared listlessly
at the coming dawn, slumped in the big armchair with my
legs stretched out in front of me on the matching
ottoman. Both forearms propped up on the large
armrests, I uncrossed my legs and crossed them again at
the ankles. My shoulders started to feel numb from
sitting like this with my chin resting on my chest, but
I was unsure as to how else I should deal with this
sudden case of insomnia. Boring myself to sleep seemed
like as good an idea as any. If only I were bored. If
only my racing mind could acknowledge my conscious
efforts to side-step the issue at hand. I took great
care to avoid looking at the coffee table next to me,
where the disruptive missive had been abandoned, hours
ago, in favour of something - anything - less
upsetting. Sunrise, as it was, was barely cutting it.
Annoyed, I blindly reached for the letter but was
caught mid-movement by the ring of the phone right next
to my head. I jumped and cursed, my heart racing from
the sudden loudness. I grabbed the cordless and hit
'talk' with a shaky thumb before bringing the cold
plastic to my ear.
"It's five in the morning, Sarah," I said tonelessly,
sinking back in the armchair.
"Hey, you're up. Listen, about today's shoot, you need
to get there at two instead of three. Mr. Caldwell
called last night and he's saying you said two the
first time."
"Sarah. It's five in the morning."
"Yes. Do you need anything? I'm on my way to the pastry
shop now, I'll get something fresh. I know you like
those almond things, but they're always out when I go
later, so if I go now I can get them, plus I love the
smell of freshly ground coffee beans. The women there
are really nice. You should go sometime."
"I'm hanging up now."
"It's five in the morning - what are you doing up?"
"Goodbye, Sarah," I sang at the phone as I hit 'end'.
I stared over my shoes again, phone in hand because I
didn't want to make the effort to put it back on the
table. Then the room got too silent and I glanced at
the phone again, thoughts actually forming inside my
head this time. I hit 'talk' again, and the second
speed-dial button. It rang once.
"Hello?"
"I thought you were going to the pastry shop."
"I'm on my way out."
"Cancel my two o'clock."
"Xander!"
"Cancel my two o'clock. Did I ever tell you about this
guy Spike?"
"No. What do you mean cancel your two o'clock?"
I reached for the letter and shook it open, getting up
with surprising energy. "He's this guy I used to know
back home."
"The British guy?"
"Yes. Well no, not him. But he's British too."
"You never told me there were two British guys."
"He wrote me a letter."
"Just now?"
"Got it yesterday."
"Xander, I can't cancel your two o'clock."
"He wrote me a letter."
"So you said. What about it."
"He's dead, Sarah."
"He's dead?"
"Did I mention he wrote me a letter?"
"How can he be dead and write you a letter?"
"I don't know."
"I'll cancel your two o'clock."
* * *
Sarah stared at me from behind her steaming cup,
looking like I had just attempted to explain the choas
theory to her.
"So he's an asshole."
I sighed. This wasn't going very well. But I had to
tell her. Kinda. "He's not an asshole. He's... Spike.
Yeah he's a jackass, but he's a part of 'home', you
know?"
"I thought you didn't miss home."
"I don't. But I don't regret my time there either,
Sarah. I grew up there. That stupid town, it made me
what I am today."
"If you're going to wax clichés at me, you should've
told me beforehand, I wouldn't have gotten decaf."
"I thought he was dead," I sighed, and it felt like the
most off-target delivery.
"See, this I still don't get. How can you think he was
dead, then oops, he's not. I mean how does that
happen."
"He..." How could I go into this without bringing up
the whole demon thing? I loved Sarah, but her current
neuroses were quite enough without adding to the fold.
"Spike was always getting in trouble. Then he got into
really BIG trouble one day with a- with this guy, and
he got injured in b- in a fight." Dammit, way to
maneuver around a vernacular that still came naturally.
"He layed low for a while, then one day he disappeared.
We... it looked very much like-" I swallowed awkwardly.
"Like the other guy won."
I picked up my danish and put it back down again at a
different angle, knowing that if I were to look up I'd
only encounter a concerned female frown. I didn't know
how to deal with that, because I didn't know how to
deal with me in the first place.
What the hell was this? Spike. So he was alive.
Presumably well. Well enough to suddenly, out of
nowhere and after eight years of utter absence, reach
out and randomly pick me to send a note to. 'Hey, I'm
alive. See ya.' Lot of good that did. But more
interesting yet, why was *I* feeling like I'd been
knocked the wind out of?
So he was evil. But if there was something I had
learned from years of running around Sunnydale, it was
that evil didn't always mean evil. There was Angel.
Anya. And tipping the scale at the other end, there was
Faith. All of them together prooving once again that
labels were just that - labels. As far as I could tell,
Spike had, if not a soul, at least a heart. And in the
last years the chip had changed his ways ultimately for
the better. Hey, it wasn't perfect, but the Big Bad
had, along the way, become a little good. Maybe a bit
contrived at first, then almost willingly so. Near the
end, you would've asked anyone within our group, and
the reluctant answer would've been that yes, Spike had
actually belonged. So I figure, that's why this sudden
news shook me so. Yeah, that was it.
And now what. Now... now he was alive. Somewhere.
Sarah excused herself and went to the washroom, and I
took the letter out of my pocket. It was already
wrinkled, like an old love letter. Ha. Right. I twirled
the envelope between my fingers, mind still wandering.
I looked at the written surface blankly. Then less
blankly. I brought the paper closer to my face and read
the return address, which I had readily dismissed the
first time.
It read, "William Sawyer, 1202-642 East 58th Street,
New York, NY." Alive, in New York City. Hiding under a
pseudonym.
Now what.
TBC
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@verticalcrawl.com
SITE: http://verticalcrawl.com/mostly
FEEDBACK: *pointed look*
DISTRIBUTION: Nummy Treats, William archives, my site.
Or just ask.
RATING: Eventually NC-17 for m/m nummies and more angst
than reasonably allowed by law.
PAIRING: X/"S"
SUMMARY: And the twain shall meet again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've actually *researched* this story.
This is how involved in it I currently am. Hopefully
I'll entertain someone other than me with it.
Unbeta'ed.
(I admit it, I kinda wrote Sarah like Donna Moss from
'The West Wing'. Got the whole Josh/Donna thing going
by mistake. Yes, I amuse myself.)
* * *
If I peered over my shoes, I could see the tiny ribbon
of pink tainting the sky on the horizon, promising of
yet another sunny day. I blinked and stared listlessly
at the coming dawn, slumped in the big armchair with my
legs stretched out in front of me on the matching
ottoman. Both forearms propped up on the large
armrests, I uncrossed my legs and crossed them again at
the ankles. My shoulders started to feel numb from
sitting like this with my chin resting on my chest, but
I was unsure as to how else I should deal with this
sudden case of insomnia. Boring myself to sleep seemed
like as good an idea as any. If only I were bored. If
only my racing mind could acknowledge my conscious
efforts to side-step the issue at hand. I took great
care to avoid looking at the coffee table next to me,
where the disruptive missive had been abandoned, hours
ago, in favour of something - anything - less
upsetting. Sunrise, as it was, was barely cutting it.
Annoyed, I blindly reached for the letter but was
caught mid-movement by the ring of the phone right next
to my head. I jumped and cursed, my heart racing from
the sudden loudness. I grabbed the cordless and hit
'talk' with a shaky thumb before bringing the cold
plastic to my ear.
"It's five in the morning, Sarah," I said tonelessly,
sinking back in the armchair.
"Hey, you're up. Listen, about today's shoot, you need
to get there at two instead of three. Mr. Caldwell
called last night and he's saying you said two the
first time."
"Sarah. It's five in the morning."
"Yes. Do you need anything? I'm on my way to the pastry
shop now, I'll get something fresh. I know you like
those almond things, but they're always out when I go
later, so if I go now I can get them, plus I love the
smell of freshly ground coffee beans. The women there
are really nice. You should go sometime."
"I'm hanging up now."
"It's five in the morning - what are you doing up?"
"Goodbye, Sarah," I sang at the phone as I hit 'end'.
I stared over my shoes again, phone in hand because I
didn't want to make the effort to put it back on the
table. Then the room got too silent and I glanced at
the phone again, thoughts actually forming inside my
head this time. I hit 'talk' again, and the second
speed-dial button. It rang once.
"Hello?"
"I thought you were going to the pastry shop."
"I'm on my way out."
"Cancel my two o'clock."
"Xander!"
"Cancel my two o'clock. Did I ever tell you about this
guy Spike?"
"No. What do you mean cancel your two o'clock?"
I reached for the letter and shook it open, getting up
with surprising energy. "He's this guy I used to know
back home."
"The British guy?"
"Yes. Well no, not him. But he's British too."
"You never told me there were two British guys."
"He wrote me a letter."
"Just now?"
"Got it yesterday."
"Xander, I can't cancel your two o'clock."
"He wrote me a letter."
"So you said. What about it."
"He's dead, Sarah."
"He's dead?"
"Did I mention he wrote me a letter?"
"How can he be dead and write you a letter?"
"I don't know."
"I'll cancel your two o'clock."
* * *
Sarah stared at me from behind her steaming cup,
looking like I had just attempted to explain the choas
theory to her.
"So he's an asshole."
I sighed. This wasn't going very well. But I had to
tell her. Kinda. "He's not an asshole. He's... Spike.
Yeah he's a jackass, but he's a part of 'home', you
know?"
"I thought you didn't miss home."
"I don't. But I don't regret my time there either,
Sarah. I grew up there. That stupid town, it made me
what I am today."
"If you're going to wax clichés at me, you should've
told me beforehand, I wouldn't have gotten decaf."
"I thought he was dead," I sighed, and it felt like the
most off-target delivery.
"See, this I still don't get. How can you think he was
dead, then oops, he's not. I mean how does that
happen."
"He..." How could I go into this without bringing up
the whole demon thing? I loved Sarah, but her current
neuroses were quite enough without adding to the fold.
"Spike was always getting in trouble. Then he got into
really BIG trouble one day with a- with this guy, and
he got injured in b- in a fight." Dammit, way to
maneuver around a vernacular that still came naturally.
"He layed low for a while, then one day he disappeared.
We... it looked very much like-" I swallowed awkwardly.
"Like the other guy won."
I picked up my danish and put it back down again at a
different angle, knowing that if I were to look up I'd
only encounter a concerned female frown. I didn't know
how to deal with that, because I didn't know how to
deal with me in the first place.
What the hell was this? Spike. So he was alive.
Presumably well. Well enough to suddenly, out of
nowhere and after eight years of utter absence, reach
out and randomly pick me to send a note to. 'Hey, I'm
alive. See ya.' Lot of good that did. But more
interesting yet, why was *I* feeling like I'd been
knocked the wind out of?
So he was evil. But if there was something I had
learned from years of running around Sunnydale, it was
that evil didn't always mean evil. There was Angel.
Anya. And tipping the scale at the other end, there was
Faith. All of them together prooving once again that
labels were just that - labels. As far as I could tell,
Spike had, if not a soul, at least a heart. And in the
last years the chip had changed his ways ultimately for
the better. Hey, it wasn't perfect, but the Big Bad
had, along the way, become a little good. Maybe a bit
contrived at first, then almost willingly so. Near the
end, you would've asked anyone within our group, and
the reluctant answer would've been that yes, Spike had
actually belonged. So I figure, that's why this sudden
news shook me so. Yeah, that was it.
And now what. Now... now he was alive. Somewhere.
Sarah excused herself and went to the washroom, and I
took the letter out of my pocket. It was already
wrinkled, like an old love letter. Ha. Right. I twirled
the envelope between my fingers, mind still wandering.
I looked at the written surface blankly. Then less
blankly. I brought the paper closer to my face and read
the return address, which I had readily dismissed the
first time.
It read, "William Sawyer, 1202-642 East 58th Street,
New York, NY." Alive, in New York City. Hiding under a
pseudonym.
Now what.
TBC
