Transitory Evils
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Spike(William)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
1,580
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Spike(William)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
1,580
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Part 13 – Definitions of Evil, Part 4
Part 13 – Definitions of Evil, Part 4
Approximately three days after Part 12
Anya came into the small private departure terminal, dragging seven suitcases behind her. Following in her wake was Xander with another eight cases of various kinds.
Willow looked at the parade and then rolled her eyes at her friends. “C’mon guys, this isn’t a jumbo jet— it’s little. We can’t carry that much stuff!” She realised, though, as soon as she had uttered the words, that neither Xander nor Anya had heard her. Before she could speak again, however, she was interrupted.
Spike thrust his head out of the hatchway and called to Willow, “Pet, look what I found!” He was almost bouncing in excitement at whatever it was.
“Be right back, guys,” Willow said as she went to see what had so captured her lover’s imagination.
Willow entered the small Westwind jet that Spike had managed to rent, and saw him standing near a door at the rear of the aircraft. She followed him through the door to see an incredibly decadent bedroom. There was a massive circular bed, covered in a black satin comforter. The walls were a muted pink, and almost covered with explicit engravings and lithographs, showing everything sexual that the mind could conceive of, and more. The ceiling was fully mirrored, and the one part of the walls not covered in engravings had a state of the art video system fitted. It took no imagination to know what sort of videos would be available. There was a final touch that astonished Willow. There was a swing, covered in a soft fur and suspended from the ceiling.
“Spike, it’s a flying whorehouse!”
“Yeah! It’s just … neat.”
Willow’s lips quirked repeatedly at Spike’s enthusiasm. “Um … just one thing, Spikey. How on earth are we going to keep Xander and Anya out of here?”
“Why do you have to?” Both turned at the unfamiliar voice.
“Hi, I’m Greta, your flight assistant.” The young lady speaking was petite and had the standardised Movie Star look that so man Los Los Angeles affected.
“Are you Mr Blood?” She asked Spike.
Spike nodded distractedly as he continued to look around the aircraft’s main bedroom. “Do you know anything about this?” He asked.
“What I was told was that it used to belong to some kind of Arab oil prince, who was murdered years ago. The company bought it as is from the estate.”
“Pervy git, wasn’t ‘e,” Spike observed superfluously.
“That doesn’t begin to describe it, from what I’ve been told,” Greta stated bluntly.
“So why did a staid and upright charter company like yours buy it then?” Willow asked.
“I’d guess because it was cheap. Let’s be fair here. His family probably wanted to get rid of something as incriminating as this as quickly and quietly as possible,” Greta answered.
“Good point,” Spike acknowledged, “but that still doesn’t answer the problem of avoiding hearing Chubs and Ms Former Demon by Appointment shagging all flight and thereby forcing us to hear them.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem, sir,” Greta said a little doubtfully. “The bedroom suite is completely soundproofed.”
“Bugger it! Look ducks, can you stick up a sign that makes the damn place out of bounds or something?”
Willow looked at Spike strangely. “Why do you want the room to be unused?”
Spike smiled lopsidedly. “Pet, there’s three couples on this flight, plus Weasley Wyndham-Price, and only one bedroom. If it’s available, there’ll be rows about who uses it for the whole trip.”
Willow cocked an eyebrow. “Weasley?” she asked. “You’ve been reading my Harry Potter books on the sly, haven’t you?”
Spike looked strangely abashed. “Well ah pah pet. But you have to remember that there’s a long English tradition of ‘Boarding School Adventures’, for want of a better term. H I r I read ‘Tom Brown’s School Days’ only about ten years after it was published. And, of course, since I was at a boarding school, I sort of empathise with some of the stories. I still like the ‘Just William’ stories.”
Willow just shook her head. “Why, every time I think I know you, do you surprise me? It’ll be Biggles next!”
“Nah pet, I still gotta read the Enid Blyton collection.” Spike’s eyes twinkled as he made the comment, and he grinned openly at Willow before continuing. “The originals of course, not the revised politically correct version available now. We should get back now though, before anyone else explores this bloody room.”
The couple headed back to the hatch to try and convince Anya that she only needed perhaps two suitcases of luggage. Willow was, once again, bewildered by Spike. She was surprised he even knew Enid Blyton’s name, let alone the fact that much of her work had been re-written in the eighties and nineties to reflect a less intolerant culture.
* * * *
Giles looked exasperatedly at Cordelia. “No dear, we won’t have time to see the Tower of London. Or Tower Bridge. And London Bridge is in Arizona, so that’s really not on the agenda at all.”
“But … but it’s so long since I’ve been able to go overseas! If I don’t come back with photos no-one will believe me!”
“Cordelia, don’t worry. Given what we’re likely to be doing, the very last thing you’ll was fos for anyone to know you’ve been in England. After all, do you really think that the Council will object to charging us with kidnapping, should Dawn return?”
Cordelia looked shocked at the thought. “But they couldn’t, could they? I mean, Dawn’s an American citizen and she’s returning to America.”
“Doesn’t work that way Cordy. There’s an international convention that basically means that Buffy has custodial rights, wherever Buffy is. What I hope to do is to get Dawn to the US Embassy so that she can ask them to get her home. We will, of course, indicate that we can support her once she’s in the US.”
Cordelia nodded, unsurprised by Giles breadth of knowledge. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that it was one more reason both Giles and Wesley were opposed to the policies of the Council. From everything that she had seen and heard over the years, it was obvious to her that the Watchers Council was far too focused, and took into account very little of the realities of the mundane world in which they operated. Giles and Wesley, being more involved in the real world, and willing to examine all sorts of issues, developed an attitude that was, in some areas, almost diametrically opposed to that of the Council.
* * * *
Wesley finished his packing, surprised at how little he had to take with him. Looking at the half empty suitcase, he decided that he may as well take some mementos for his parents. He honestly doubted that it would help, but if he didn’t make the effort, he would never hear the end of it.
He looked around, and then realised a perfect selection for his father. It was a colour print of a soldier of the First Maryland Regiment, Continental Army of the United States circa 1780. He was wryly amused by what he had selected as his father’s gift, considering that the man still referred to the United States as ‘the colonies’.
For his mother, he selected a small cast model of a California style ranch house. It was hardly compatible with the Meissen porcelain that she collected, but it was similar in nature and, he hoped, would make her happy.
Wesley looked around once again, wondering if he had forgotten anything. All of his research volumes were packed in a proper transportation crate. He had liased with Giles extensively so that no duplicates were taken with them. His one suitcase was now packed and locked. For the seventh time, he checked his jacket pocket for his passport. He was as ready as he would ever be to return to England.
* * * *
Anya glared at Xander. “But you said, Xander! You said there wouldn’t be weight and bag limits like on a normal flight!”
Xander sighed. He loved his wife, but at times her literalness could drive him to distraction and well beyond. “I know baby, but I didn’t actually mean you could bring everything you own. This isn’t a really big airplane, so why don’t we just work out what you need, and then get Will to translocate the other stuff back home?”
“But this is my stuff! I need my stuff; my possessions, earned by the work of my body, my sweat. It’s my patriotism in a suitcase.”
Xander blinked and looked at Anya. “So, if I—or anyone else—doesn’t let you take all your suitcases, we’re being … unpatriotic?”
Xander sighed. “I’ll talk to Spike about it An, hon,” he said with a long-suffering look on his face.
* * * *
Spike and Willow were sitting in the large reclinable seats in the forward cabin of the aircraft, they were childishly spinning in the seats and laughing happily as they did so. Willow looked up to see Xander walking down the narrow aisle that bisected the aircraft. “Hey Xan, what’s up? Isn’t this just the coolest?”
“We’ve got a small problem, Will,” Xander began tentatively.
“What’s wrong?” Willow’s concern was self-evident.
“Anya. She insists on bringing just about everything she owns on this trip. She’s got fifteen cases with her, and says that not letting her take them all is somehow unpatriotic. I’m confused.”
Spike smiled wickedly. “So, what you really want is someone else to tell her she can’t take everything, right, Chubs?”
Xander nodded ruefully. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I know, I’m totally whipped, you don’t need to say anything.”
“Whipped huh?” Willow asked innocently.
“Not like that!” Xander protested.
Willow winked at her friend and reassured him. “I’ll have a word with her, Xand, don’t worry.”
* * * *
Once everything had been loaded onto the aircraft and, in Anya’s case, convinced to return the unneeded clothing and suitcases, it was nearly midnight. Embarking was a simple process, and, in only about fifteen minutes, the small Westwind took off, heading for Washington and the first stop over on the way to England.
End Part 13
Approximately three days after Part 12
Anya came into the small private departure terminal, dragging seven suitcases behind her. Following in her wake was Xander with another eight cases of various kinds.
Willow looked at the parade and then rolled her eyes at her friends. “C’mon guys, this isn’t a jumbo jet— it’s little. We can’t carry that much stuff!” She realised, though, as soon as she had uttered the words, that neither Xander nor Anya had heard her. Before she could speak again, however, she was interrupted.
Spike thrust his head out of the hatchway and called to Willow, “Pet, look what I found!” He was almost bouncing in excitement at whatever it was.
“Be right back, guys,” Willow said as she went to see what had so captured her lover’s imagination.
Willow entered the small Westwind jet that Spike had managed to rent, and saw him standing near a door at the rear of the aircraft. She followed him through the door to see an incredibly decadent bedroom. There was a massive circular bed, covered in a black satin comforter. The walls were a muted pink, and almost covered with explicit engravings and lithographs, showing everything sexual that the mind could conceive of, and more. The ceiling was fully mirrored, and the one part of the walls not covered in engravings had a state of the art video system fitted. It took no imagination to know what sort of videos would be available. There was a final touch that astonished Willow. There was a swing, covered in a soft fur and suspended from the ceiling.
“Spike, it’s a flying whorehouse!”
“Yeah! It’s just … neat.”
Willow’s lips quirked repeatedly at Spike’s enthusiasm. “Um … just one thing, Spikey. How on earth are we going to keep Xander and Anya out of here?”
“Why do you have to?” Both turned at the unfamiliar voice.
“Hi, I’m Greta, your flight assistant.” The young lady speaking was petite and had the standardised Movie Star look that so man Los Los Angeles affected.
“Are you Mr Blood?” She asked Spike.
Spike nodded distractedly as he continued to look around the aircraft’s main bedroom. “Do you know anything about this?” He asked.
“What I was told was that it used to belong to some kind of Arab oil prince, who was murdered years ago. The company bought it as is from the estate.”
“Pervy git, wasn’t ‘e,” Spike observed superfluously.
“That doesn’t begin to describe it, from what I’ve been told,” Greta stated bluntly.
“So why did a staid and upright charter company like yours buy it then?” Willow asked.
“I’d guess because it was cheap. Let’s be fair here. His family probably wanted to get rid of something as incriminating as this as quickly and quietly as possible,” Greta answered.
“Good point,” Spike acknowledged, “but that still doesn’t answer the problem of avoiding hearing Chubs and Ms Former Demon by Appointment shagging all flight and thereby forcing us to hear them.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem, sir,” Greta said a little doubtfully. “The bedroom suite is completely soundproofed.”
“Bugger it! Look ducks, can you stick up a sign that makes the damn place out of bounds or something?”
Willow looked at Spike strangely. “Why do you want the room to be unused?”
Spike smiled lopsidedly. “Pet, there’s three couples on this flight, plus Weasley Wyndham-Price, and only one bedroom. If it’s available, there’ll be rows about who uses it for the whole trip.”
Willow cocked an eyebrow. “Weasley?” she asked. “You’ve been reading my Harry Potter books on the sly, haven’t you?”
Spike looked strangely abashed. “Well ah pah pet. But you have to remember that there’s a long English tradition of ‘Boarding School Adventures’, for want of a better term. H I r I read ‘Tom Brown’s School Days’ only about ten years after it was published. And, of course, since I was at a boarding school, I sort of empathise with some of the stories. I still like the ‘Just William’ stories.”
Willow just shook her head. “Why, every time I think I know you, do you surprise me? It’ll be Biggles next!”
“Nah pet, I still gotta read the Enid Blyton collection.” Spike’s eyes twinkled as he made the comment, and he grinned openly at Willow before continuing. “The originals of course, not the revised politically correct version available now. We should get back now though, before anyone else explores this bloody room.”
The couple headed back to the hatch to try and convince Anya that she only needed perhaps two suitcases of luggage. Willow was, once again, bewildered by Spike. She was surprised he even knew Enid Blyton’s name, let alone the fact that much of her work had been re-written in the eighties and nineties to reflect a less intolerant culture.
* * * *
Giles looked exasperatedly at Cordelia. “No dear, we won’t have time to see the Tower of London. Or Tower Bridge. And London Bridge is in Arizona, so that’s really not on the agenda at all.”
“But … but it’s so long since I’ve been able to go overseas! If I don’t come back with photos no-one will believe me!”
“Cordelia, don’t worry. Given what we’re likely to be doing, the very last thing you’ll was fos for anyone to know you’ve been in England. After all, do you really think that the Council will object to charging us with kidnapping, should Dawn return?”
Cordelia looked shocked at the thought. “But they couldn’t, could they? I mean, Dawn’s an American citizen and she’s returning to America.”
“Doesn’t work that way Cordy. There’s an international convention that basically means that Buffy has custodial rights, wherever Buffy is. What I hope to do is to get Dawn to the US Embassy so that she can ask them to get her home. We will, of course, indicate that we can support her once she’s in the US.”
Cordelia nodded, unsurprised by Giles breadth of knowledge. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that it was one more reason both Giles and Wesley were opposed to the policies of the Council. From everything that she had seen and heard over the years, it was obvious to her that the Watchers Council was far too focused, and took into account very little of the realities of the mundane world in which they operated. Giles and Wesley, being more involved in the real world, and willing to examine all sorts of issues, developed an attitude that was, in some areas, almost diametrically opposed to that of the Council.
* * * *
Wesley finished his packing, surprised at how little he had to take with him. Looking at the half empty suitcase, he decided that he may as well take some mementos for his parents. He honestly doubted that it would help, but if he didn’t make the effort, he would never hear the end of it.
He looked around, and then realised a perfect selection for his father. It was a colour print of a soldier of the First Maryland Regiment, Continental Army of the United States circa 1780. He was wryly amused by what he had selected as his father’s gift, considering that the man still referred to the United States as ‘the colonies’.
For his mother, he selected a small cast model of a California style ranch house. It was hardly compatible with the Meissen porcelain that she collected, but it was similar in nature and, he hoped, would make her happy.
Wesley looked around once again, wondering if he had forgotten anything. All of his research volumes were packed in a proper transportation crate. He had liased with Giles extensively so that no duplicates were taken with them. His one suitcase was now packed and locked. For the seventh time, he checked his jacket pocket for his passport. He was as ready as he would ever be to return to England.
* * * *
Anya glared at Xander. “But you said, Xander! You said there wouldn’t be weight and bag limits like on a normal flight!”
Xander sighed. He loved his wife, but at times her literalness could drive him to distraction and well beyond. “I know baby, but I didn’t actually mean you could bring everything you own. This isn’t a really big airplane, so why don’t we just work out what you need, and then get Will to translocate the other stuff back home?”
“But this is my stuff! I need my stuff; my possessions, earned by the work of my body, my sweat. It’s my patriotism in a suitcase.”
Xander blinked and looked at Anya. “So, if I—or anyone else—doesn’t let you take all your suitcases, we’re being … unpatriotic?”
Xander sighed. “I’ll talk to Spike about it An, hon,” he said with a long-suffering look on his face.
* * * *
Spike and Willow were sitting in the large reclinable seats in the forward cabin of the aircraft, they were childishly spinning in the seats and laughing happily as they did so. Willow looked up to see Xander walking down the narrow aisle that bisected the aircraft. “Hey Xan, what’s up? Isn’t this just the coolest?”
“We’ve got a small problem, Will,” Xander began tentatively.
“What’s wrong?” Willow’s concern was self-evident.
“Anya. She insists on bringing just about everything she owns on this trip. She’s got fifteen cases with her, and says that not letting her take them all is somehow unpatriotic. I’m confused.”
Spike smiled wickedly. “So, what you really want is someone else to tell her she can’t take everything, right, Chubs?”
Xander nodded ruefully. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I know, I’m totally whipped, you don’t need to say anything.”
“Whipped huh?” Willow asked innocently.
“Not like that!” Xander protested.
Willow winked at her friend and reassured him. “I’ll have a word with her, Xand, don’t worry.”
* * * *
Once everything had been loaded onto the aircraft and, in Anya’s case, convinced to return the unneeded clothing and suitcases, it was nearly midnight. Embarking was a simple process, and, in only about fifteen minutes, the small Westwind took off, heading for Washington and the first stop over on the way to England.
End Part 13