Chronos' Puppet

William the Bloody was not having a good day.

It had started out with high expectations, but quickly sewered itself into misery.
Cecily had rejected him. Not just that...but she had said that he was 'beneath her'. He had
spent the better part of the afternoon walking, bifocaled eyes staring ahead at nothing in
particular as he rounded one corner after another while his mind tried to make sense of it.

He had lain out his heart on a platter to the only woman he had truly loved, and his
muse had turned her nose up at it. Worrying his lower lip, Will was pretty sure that he
would never be able to write again. All the better, he supposed, no more William the
Bloody Awful. Slender fingers fought the hedge of mouse blonde curls that affronted his
vision before pulling down on his vestcoat. The self-proclaimed poet had not yet noticed
that evening had fallen nor where his wanderings had led him, and that the petticoats and
lace of high class society had given way to those belonging to another kind. Whitechapel
did indeed receive a fair amount of visitation from the rich, but they offered nothing that
he wanted. Will wanted Cecily, wanted to be a successful poet like Elliot or Blake,
wanted...

His eye caught a flash of a smile from a pale face down the street. Her dark hair
framed porcelain features and Will's mind wiped itself clean of Cecily's image and etched
this new vision into his memory. Surely she couldn't be one of the bang-tolls that watched
him and his pockets as he shuffled down the streets. She held herself like royalty, her
charcoal dress skirting the cobblestones as she turned down an alley. Will had to see
her...had to talk to her. Somewhere in his soul he knew that this lady, this dark princess,
could inspire him in ways he could never imagine on his own.

Just before he rounded the corner into the alley to meet the exotic woman
something collided into William, knocking him to the ground. The dead weight that
pinned him was breathing raggedly and he turned his head to look straight into the most
brilliant shade of orange he had ever encountered. It was truly blinding, and within the
hideous fabric something moved and he found himself suddenly staring into a pair of very
wide, and very deep brown eyes. The other man looked startled for some reason, and had
obviously been in a fight.

"Spike?" Xander believed that had collapsed on top of the bleached vampire
somehow, and was now searching his eyes to see how long he was going to live. But the
look of confusion that passed over the man's face did not match Xander's who realised
suddenly that those chilling, ice blue eyes held a look of utter befuddlement and were also
behind a set of thick glasses. Then 'Spike' spoke, and confirmed that something was
indeed wrong in the land of Xander Harris.

"I beg your pardon?"

No...definitely not the former Big Bad. Still stunned from the blow to his stomach
during the fight, not to mention the current situation, Xander's mind tried to puzzle out
what was going on. Despite the glasses the eyes were right, and the sound of the voice,
but the biting cockney was gone and replaced with something very Giles-ish. Still
sprawled on the Englishman, he reached up and took off the spectacles before smoothing
back the tangle of curls into something slicker, flatter.

Yup. There he was. So what the hell was going on?

William meanwhile, was terrified. The surroundings he was in finally caught up
with him, and he saw the whores and pimps, the pickpockets, and the general lower class
workers that had started to stare at the pair who lay sprawled in an embarrassingly
compromising position on the sidewalk. Not to mention this obviously mentally disturbed
gentleman who looked like he had just seen a ghost. William retrieved his glasses and
cleared his voice in an attempt to find it and break this spell that the man seemed to be
under, but he was saved the trouble as the other rolled off and sat against the wall.

"Uh...sorry. Thought you were someone else for a sec," the statement sounded
far away as the strangely accented individual now stared gobsmacked at his surroundings.
It seemed to William that he also was surprised to find himself in Whitechapel. Xander
almost laughed at the passer-by in the bowler hat and shook his head at the petticoats and
lace that seemed to adorn every woman in the area. Not a pair of blue jeans in sight,
except for his own that were torn and mud-streaked from the fight. Then there was the
matter of Spike's geeky twin, a man so far removed from the master vampire that despite
the uncanny visual resemblance Xander wouldn't have given him a second glance had they
not collided on the street.

Collided. He remembered that he had seen a glowing blue 'rip' in the air in front of
him before sailing through it to what he thought was Hell, not the set of From Hell. The
pieces snapped together and the dark haired head thudded back against the wall. "Shit.
I"m in England, aren't I." It wasn't a question at all, and he turned chocolate eyes
towards William. 'Well...if that was the case, then it would explain that guy, wouldn't it
Xan?' He thought to himself. The revelry was shattered as William spoke, crouching at a
safe distance from Xander as though the Zeppo were the biggest threat in the world. "Are
you sure you're alright? Yes...this is London, Whitechapel from the looks of it. You have
the oddest accent I have ever heard. Never found the like of it anywhere."

Now Xander laughed, and waved off the stumbling of William as the other man
tried to steady himself. The darker man stood carefully, happy to find that he was sore but
not in ways that meant something was broken, and stretched his back with a satisfying
'crack'. "I'm good. Hurt a bit, but everything's working fine. You alright? You got hit
pretty hard yourself. And...sorry about that too."

William took off his glasses, cleaned them with the edge of his vestcoat and
nodded. Such a strange fellow. However, he was one of the more polite people he had
ever come across...and it was partially his own fault. He should have watched where he
was going. People do not just pop in out of the air like that. "Entirely my fault, sir. I
wasn't paying attention. Would you like a pint then? To make up for it, of course."

The more Xander talked to this pale, nervous shade of Spike, the more he wanted
to go home. Though he didn't think the man could step on a spider, let alone kill him, the
brunette was missing the old Spike he knew because at least the chipped vampire could
take care of himself. This guy could get very annoying, very quickly with the continuous
stream of self-effacement, and Xander still had to find a way to get back to Sunnydale.
Just as he was about to come up with an excuse and retreat a voice called out from across
the street and caught the Englishman's attention. "Ey! It's William the Bloody! Fancy
seein' ya 'ere in Whitechapel! Goin' for a bit o' sport are ya?" The russet haired gentleman
crowed from the bar's doorway with a woman on his arm grinning on at her charge.
Xander suppressed a shudder at the sight of her; skeletons looked less starved then she
did. Then the Scooby focused in on the conversation, or rather the nickname that was
given to William. That was Spike! No wonder the vampire didn't mention much about
his life before he was turned. Xander felt embarrassed for him, and flashed the man a
small, knowing smile; highschool hadn't exactly been paradise for him back home, and he
hadn't been called 'the Zeppo' for his popularity (thanks, Cordelia, he winced). William
gave the man across the street a small wave before shoving his hands back into his
pockets. "Allo, Nigel. Yes...thought I'd take a walk today. Nice weather, isn't it?"

The man called Nigel grinned and returned the volley for the conversation. "Yes it
is! Shame about Cecily. My sister can be cruel, can't she? Good for you for trying to
take your mind off it 'ere! I'm sure that lovely orange gentleman will give you a nice
time!" The stout man started to laugh then, his 'date' joining him in the humour as they
walked into the pub. Xander winced visibly, suppressing the overwhelming urge to go
and beat the shit out of Nigel at the insult to his manhood, and his favourite shirt. Thanks
to many, many years of watching "Back to the Future", Xander had the most basic
understanding of time travel in that whatever you do, don't fuck around in the past
because it could really, really mess up your plans when you get back home. Glancing over
at William he watched his jaw work from the quip before it clamped shut. God...it looked
like the guy was about to cry! "Hey...uh...don't worry about it. Yeah. If a pint means a
beer, I'll have one."

William looked stunned. The blue in his eyes had deepened from the shock, and
Xander found himself staring into them for a moment before he mentally shook it off. Still
not used to seeing a soul in there behind the glasses and the abstract mop of curls.
William either ignored the gawking or didn't notice it for the shock melted into a grin and
he hailed a carriage. "I know a good pub we can go to. I'll spot for the ride."

"Good 'cause I don't have any money," replied Xander. Somehow William didn't
seem surprised by this and on a sudden whim held out his hand. "Seeing as you already
know my name, how about letting me know yours? My friends call me Will." If I had
friends. the poet thought to himself. Xander took the hand firmly and shook it, trying
frantically to come up with a name for himself. Last thing he needed was the future Big
Bad to remember this humiliating moment and years later hunt down five year old Xander
Harris after bedtime. "Ah...name's James." Hopefully Will wouldn't notice that he had
borrowed it from the name of the street they were on. Fortunately for Xander, the cab
pulled up and he peered through the opened door at the velvet seats and black lacquered
interior. William shook 'James's hand and seated himself, and Xander noted how relaxed
the other man had become. He was so naive; William was lucky that Xander wasn't
intending on robbing him, and somewhere between utter disbelief at another un-Spikish
revelry and outright humour at the forthcoming pint with 'pre-Fangboy', Xander let himself
become assimilated into the bustling London atmosphere. He knew he had to get back
home, but while the carriage jolted and bumped its human cargo abou the they talked, the
more Sunnydale started to seem like a nightmare that was starting to fade from waking
memory.

Yup...maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

Neither man noticed the pair of eyes that followed their progress out of
Whitechapel, or how the body they belonged to started after them at a leisurely stroll. He
was not worried about finding them; mortals always left enough clues, and the atrocious
shirt would not be hard to spot in a crowd.

It was the hunt that mattered, that made the blood taste sweeter when it was finally
reaped from the prey.