Immortal Beloved

Disclaimer: These things are not mine. Slight dialogue from BTVS "Chosen" and "Life Serial"

Chapter 2: Eternal City

Rome was the worst place in the world to be miserable. So Buffy Summers thought, sitting in a sidewalk cafe, soaking up the sunshine, licking the foam off the top of a cappuccino. A lovey-dovey couple strolled by, crooning to each other in melodic Italian vowels. A violinist stood on the opposite corner, sending a frantic scherzo across the piazza. Even the pigeons that circled and cooed, circled and settled from one roof to another hummed along with the same message. Life is exciting, life is sweet, settle here and heal, settle here and be happy because the world is happy, the world lives with tragedy, but Rome shrugs and laughs it away, Rome turns it into a song.

She had never minded before, had barely noticed this current in the mood of the city, because it seemed to flow so well with her own. Yes, she was much too far from many of her friends. Yes, Angel was neck-deep in a conspiracy that was insane at best, if not out and out evil. Yes, the last living creature she had made up her mind to love, that she had felt compelled and sincere and certain about actually loving, had, seconds after denying her declaration of love, dissolved into a pillar of flame, and taken the only home she had known for seven years with it.

I love you, Spike.

No you don't, but thanks for saying it.

Taking with him all vestiges of her hard-won certainty. Because he had always known her better than she had known herself.

You're not a schoolgirl. You're not a shopgirl. You're a creature of the darkness. Like me.

And that he had been right about. That was the thing she needed to face, in the end, to prove to herself - face the darkness, and move beyond it. As Angel had. And the others -- Willow, Faith, Giles, Anya, Andrew. Even Xander, though he hid it better. And Spike himself, Spike who had clawed so hard to move into the light. And when Buffy could finally move to a point where she allowed herself to love it all, love all of herself, the dark and the light -- this was to know that she could love him.

So, no, she thought. He was wrong about her, that last time, and it was only his death and his sacrifice that had robbed her of the chance to prove it. And then came Andrew's news, dropped casually and klutzily into his report on the mad slayer. "And when we got to Spike, it was just in time, after she'd cut off his hands and all. . . ."

"After she did what to who??" Buffy had almost screamed into the phone. It was hard enough to sort the relevant details out of an Andrew-style report, and even though she knew she shouldn't believe her ears, she couldn't avoid the sick surge of hope and dread that seized her gut.

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine," Andrew said. "Vampires heal real quick from that kind of -- oh, crap, Buffy, just pretend you didn't hear that part."

"Pretend I didn't --"

"He really, I mean he really didn't want you to know. He said it was a lot easier this way and -- Buffy, you don't think he'd bite me over a tiny thing like that, do you? Could you tell him it was an accident only, please don't tell him, because if he finds out that I told you . . ."

And so on. Andrew tried to put a good spin on it -- Spike didn't know what to say to her, he was worried that she needed to get on with her life, he was on some kind of world-saving mission of his own. But Buffy knew. She had come to him in the basement the night before the last battle, and what she had meant as a new beginning, he had seen as a farewell. When Spike looked her in the eyes and said, or as good as said, "No, you don't love me," he meant every word. Because she had waited too long to make up her mind. Because this new chance had let him envision a life without her, and discover that he liked it that way. Liked it to be easier. Well, she thought, congratulations, Buffy. You've managed to scare away yet another man; you've managed even to thrash the love out of Spike.

And damn, she thought. Why does the breeze have to feel so good? Why does this coffee have to be so delicious? Why does the sun have to shine so bright? Except that part wasn't true anymore. There was a shadow standing in the way of her sunshine.

"You try to hide it," said a man's voice. "But I know what you are."

"Oh," Buffy answered, without looking up, "I highly doubt it."

"See, there, I was right. You dress like a local, you sip your coffee like you were born here. You sit at that table like it's the only thing you've ever done. But you're like me. A compatriot. A fellow American. A fellow Californian, I believe. Along about Sunnydale way? Sunnydale that was, of course. Hell of a tragedy."

Buffy finally, reluctantly, raised her eyes and saw the image of a young man, very California with over-blow-dried, highlighted dark hair, piercing green eyes, a white silk T-shirt and a linen sport coat. More California than California. Just a little too perfect.

"And you," Buffy said, "don't try to hide it at all. The clothes change, but you look exactly the same. The accent changes, but still you sound the same. You must be the worst master of disguise in the history of the world. You're like Euro-Fletch."

"If disguise were my goal, Miss Summers, I'd have to agree. But the truth is, I am Todd Campbell, and I do own a small but influential telecommunications concern based out of Palo Alto, California."

"And the fact that when I met you in London, you were Sergei Manilov and you did do favors for some guy named Boris --"

"Eta pravda." He shrugged, and slid into the chair across from her. "That is the truth." And it wasn't just the accent that changed. The man sitting across from her actually looked different - his hair longer and a little slicker, his eyes slightly hangdog, his jacket sharkskin over a wide showy collar. It certainly wasn't the first time Buffy had seen a glamour spell in action, but this one didn't seem to work the same way. She didn't see the change -- he was one thing, and then he was the other, and he just was. "Nobody saw that?" Buffy demanded.

"You didn't even see it," he answered. But now he was California Todd again, and again, she'd missed the change. "And you're one person out of a hundred who even bothers to see anything. Most people -- if Sergei they just met shows up and tells them he's Todd, if Sergei doesn't have any obvious reason to be Todd, if Sergei and Todd and Nigel live their various live so that they don't intersect. Who are they gonna believe, their new friend or their lying eyes?"

"Do you throw a line at every American woman you meet. Or just the ones who happen to be slayers?"

"Still sore about that thing with your girlfriend, huh?"

"I cannot even begin to number the ways in which Faith is not my girlfriend. And I must say I thought your nose would look worse than that after she was done with you."

"OK." The man that she couldn't help thinking of as Todd spread his hands in apparent surrender. "Here I thought you were looking for company, I was obviously wrong. I'll just --" As he rose, the sunlight caught a ring, which glimmered gold and red on his finger. Just as quickly, it was gone.

"Wait!" He turned. "I've been talking to Giles -- to my Watcher. Stop me if you've heard this one. A thousand years ago. A prince. Italian or maybe Romanian. Let's say Transylvanian, I'm not even sure that's an actual country but let's pretend it is. Loves a beautiful lady, goes on a quest. Somewhere along the way, drinks from a spring that bestows eternal life, or squashes a mutated bug, or eats an enchanted cookie or something. Giles was kinda vague on the details, and presto-chango no more mortality to deal with. How am I doing?"

"Sort of the Cliff's Notes, Disneyfied version, but not bad for a Watcher. How is young Ripper these days?"

Buffy forged ahead, refusing the distraction. "He rides back to his lady fair. but she's so arrogant -- or so pure -- or so beautiful? I forget. Maybe he's the arrogant one. Point is, she refuses him. She can't give her life to a man who will stay young and -- in her, I must stress, purely subjective opinion -- good looking while she gets all old and wrinkly. So he rides back and finds the spring, or the bug, or whatever, and begs the goddess Whattheheck to take away the gift but --"

"Just stop," said Todd. "I can't stand for this part to get mangled. The gifts of the goddess cannot be undone, and they should not be questioned. And, by the way, while our hero was riding, Lady Ramona has taken a fever and will soon be dead. After that -- well, this is the part where it ought to sound familiar. Into every generation, the lady is reborn. The prince and the lady meet, they fall in love. There's an earthquake, there's a plague, crucifixion, revolution . . . Better luck next generation. Nothing to go on but that little spark of hope, maybe this time I'll get it right. Break the cycle."

"So it's like 'Groundhog Day'?" Buffy asked. "Only, you know. Longer."

"Can't really talk about that film. Pending litigation. Though, honestly, my people tell me that if I never saw a cent from Lord Chamberlain's Men over the whole Verona balcony thing, there's no way we're squeezing a settlement out of TriStar."

"What?" Buffy stared. "You're saying that you're Romeo?" Her eyes narrowed at him. "Bullshit."

A moment's silence hung between them, and then Todd erupted in a sharp laugh. "Yes. You're absolutely right. Eighty, maybe ninety percent of what comes out of my mouth is complete bullshit. Of course, the other ten percent will rock your world. Thing is, after a thousand years, I can't tell the difference myself. I can't even tell you what parts of my own story are true, or why it happened. And that's what I thought you might do for me, Summers. Lend an ear, help me sort through all the bullshit."

"As opposed to Faith, who's more of the break your jaw at the first scent of it. Which," she added. "Is what I promise I'll do as soon as you open your mouth and start telling me how I'm the reincarnation of your stupid princess."

"Oh." Todd's eyes fell to the table. "Wow, Summers. Buffy. Look, I'm really sorry. If I've made this awkward for you in any way. I didn't mean to give the impression -- maybe I just ought to go."

"Huh?" He was standing suddenly, Buffy looking up at him. "Well, that was easier than I thought. What gives?"

"Well, Buffy. I'm sorry if you've got the wrong idea about this. You're not my princess."

End Chapter 2