Deja Vu - the updates
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AtS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
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52
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Category:
AtS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
52
Views:
4,113
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 85
Deja Vu
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC17
Author: Jane Alexander
Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. The characters belong to Joss. I’m just borrowing them. I’ll try and return them undamaged, honest!
Document version: 24 December 2004
Feedback: janealexanderxxx@hotmail.com
Archived at: http://www.foreverfandom.net/viewstory.php?sid=4394
This story is AU and is a sequel to The Guy in Question.
Warning: includes character death.
Chapter 85
The outskirts of a small village somewhere in Pylea
*************
“Spike!” Spike heard Lorne squeal as he came hurtling toward him.
Spike skidded to a halt about twenty feet from the dais. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, he found himself wrapped in Lorne’s arms and being hugged as if there was no tomorrow.
“Spikealicious! Oh, Baby, am I glad to see you?”
Come to think of it, from Lorne’s point of view maybe what he’d been living was the ‘no tomorrow’ although, from what Spike could see, things didn’t seem nearly as bad for the villagers as Angel had made out. Mind you, could be very different for Lorne having been ostracised by his own people and, as a member of the ruling race, he was bound to be less than welcome in the slave community.
“I thought I’d lost you all for good.” Lorne continued as Spike felt his feet leave the ground.
“You too, Mate,” Spike gasped.
It was difficult to speak. He’d had no idea Lorne was that strong. Fuck, he was kissing the top of his head now.
“Missed you too…”
Just as well breathing wasn’t an issue.
“That’s enough, Pet. Come on, put me down or people’ll start to talk…”
Not to mention how Angel might react.
“’Cept Fred, of course,” Lorne continued. “I started to think I’d never see any of you again except Fred.”
Spike was relieved to be set down on the ground again and released from Lorne’s enthusiastic embrace finally. It was good to see him though. Unexpected too. Odd that, Wesley had reckoned Lorne would have been too far away to have been caught up in whatever it was Illyria had done in that alley way to send him and Wes back in time.
“You mean this is our Fred?” Spike asked, registering what Lorne had just said.
He’d naturally assumed this was Fred Mark One. How could their Fred have ended up here? Hadn’t her soul been destroyed by Illyria’s resurrection?
“Sure it’s not Illyria?”
“Oh no, Sweetie. This is the real deal: the Fred who got sucked into the portal in May 1996 in the public library…”
Okay, they were at cross purposes. She was the original. That made more sense.
“Fred’d been here about four months when we arrived… And, that was no picnic I can tell you. One minute I’m staring into the mouth of Hell and the next I’m up to my waist in scum - that’s the Scum Pits of Ur, in case you’ve heard of them - this time staring into the face of Hell. Well, as good as - the face of a drokken that was about to have itself a tasty snack…”
“You okay, Mate?” Spike asked.
Lorne appeared to have all his limbs in place and there were no obvious scars. In fact, Lorne looked rather well - might even have put on a few pounds - but from Angel and Wesley’s descriptions of life in Pylea he didn’t imagine the past few weeks had been a bed of roses for any of them…
Wait a minute, when did he say he’d arrived?
“We’d almost given up hope of the four of you ever coming to rescue us,” Lorne continued. We’ve been expecting you for over three years, Sweetie. What kept you? You’ve no idea what I’ve had to endure…”
Three years, fuck!
“They torture you?”
“In a manner of speaking, Pumpkin. I mean, just look at this outfit… Have you any idea what it’s like being trapped in a world with no Armani, no Prada… and, worst of all, no Aretha?”
“Hah!”
If that was the worst he could come up with then maybe it hadn’t been so bad this time around after all.
Spike turned to look at the villagers, seeing their faces for the first time - smiling, happy faces. He wondered what could have happened to make that much difference.
He looked again. Nah, they didn’t appear to be under any kind of spell. The happiness seemed genuine enough.
“What’s going on?” Spike asked. “For an oppressed people they look remarkably content with their lot…”
None of them were what you’d call skinny so they obviously had enough to eat as well as a roof over their heads…
“Everything’s changed from when Angel and Wes first visited. I’ll explain later, Sweetie. Come and say, ‘Hi!’ to Fred.”
Spike found himself being led toward the dais. He looked up to see that Angel had now accepted the bowl the girl had been holding out to him. He was about to drink.
“What’s that all about?” Spike asked gesturing toward Angel.
“Ah, the Cup of Champions,” Lorne said as if the words had meaning. “It contains blood drained from the klack…”
“Klack?”
“Pylean sheep… no, make that a goat. Its meat is a rare delicacy reserved for special occasions… Would you like some? Blood, I mean?”
Lorne gestured to the fire where the klack was roasting.
“Ta, maybe later,” Spike said. “Just exactly what are they celebrating?” he asked as he watched the villagers scurrying back and forth making ready for the feast.
“Harvest festival is about the nearest equivalent,” Lorne said, “and it’s been a particularly good harvest this year. We’ve plenty of food and skins to trade with both the nobles and the neighbouring villages as well as to last us right through the winter. Hence this…”
Lorne patted his stomach.
“I’m gonna have to seriously diet when we get back to LA or my tailor will never forgive me.”
“So, this… feast… has nothing to do with Angel then?” Spike asked.
“Not per se,” Lorne replied, “but it’s how I knew when you’d be joining us. You see, the festival is always held on the eve of the first new moon after the harvest has been gathered…”
“And?” Spike prompted.
He was becoming more confused by the minute.
“Let me explain, Sweetie,” Lorne said, recognising Spike’s confusion. “As you know, singing isn’t exactly appreciated here. I think everyone’s ears must work differently or something… except for mine, of course. Singing seems to cause them real pain. I have to make a special effort to remember not to burst into song when any of the villagers are around…”
“You read Fred,” Spike said.
That had to be it.
“Yes. Several weeks ago. She found me down at the stream doing my laundry and I was working my way through Aretha’s greatest hits to pass the time, as I always do, and she started to sing along.”
“So, what’s with all the flowers and the Cup of Champions then?”
“The place of honour at the table always goes to a champion. The village is currently between champions, so to speak, so Angel has the honour. His slaying of the drokken is legendary, not to mention the lawyer beast and…”
“You told them all that?”
“Well, yes, Sweetie. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno.”
Spike hadn’t really known what to expect but he was uneasy about these people making Angel their hero. He didn’t want any of ’em getting to feel like he was part of the family. What if they didn’t want to let him leave when the time came?
***************
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC17
Author: Jane Alexander
Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. The characters belong to Joss. I’m just borrowing them. I’ll try and return them undamaged, honest!
Document version: 24 December 2004
Feedback: janealexanderxxx@hotmail.com
Archived at: http://www.foreverfandom.net/viewstory.php?sid=4394
This story is AU and is a sequel to The Guy in Question.
Warning: includes character death.
Chapter 85
The outskirts of a small village somewhere in Pylea
*************
“Spike!” Spike heard Lorne squeal as he came hurtling toward him.
Spike skidded to a halt about twenty feet from the dais. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, he found himself wrapped in Lorne’s arms and being hugged as if there was no tomorrow.
“Spikealicious! Oh, Baby, am I glad to see you?”
Come to think of it, from Lorne’s point of view maybe what he’d been living was the ‘no tomorrow’ although, from what Spike could see, things didn’t seem nearly as bad for the villagers as Angel had made out. Mind you, could be very different for Lorne having been ostracised by his own people and, as a member of the ruling race, he was bound to be less than welcome in the slave community.
“I thought I’d lost you all for good.” Lorne continued as Spike felt his feet leave the ground.
“You too, Mate,” Spike gasped.
It was difficult to speak. He’d had no idea Lorne was that strong. Fuck, he was kissing the top of his head now.
“Missed you too…”
Just as well breathing wasn’t an issue.
“That’s enough, Pet. Come on, put me down or people’ll start to talk…”
Not to mention how Angel might react.
“’Cept Fred, of course,” Lorne continued. “I started to think I’d never see any of you again except Fred.”
Spike was relieved to be set down on the ground again and released from Lorne’s enthusiastic embrace finally. It was good to see him though. Unexpected too. Odd that, Wesley had reckoned Lorne would have been too far away to have been caught up in whatever it was Illyria had done in that alley way to send him and Wes back in time.
“You mean this is our Fred?” Spike asked, registering what Lorne had just said.
He’d naturally assumed this was Fred Mark One. How could their Fred have ended up here? Hadn’t her soul been destroyed by Illyria’s resurrection?
“Sure it’s not Illyria?”
“Oh no, Sweetie. This is the real deal: the Fred who got sucked into the portal in May 1996 in the public library…”
Okay, they were at cross purposes. She was the original. That made more sense.
“Fred’d been here about four months when we arrived… And, that was no picnic I can tell you. One minute I’m staring into the mouth of Hell and the next I’m up to my waist in scum - that’s the Scum Pits of Ur, in case you’ve heard of them - this time staring into the face of Hell. Well, as good as - the face of a drokken that was about to have itself a tasty snack…”
“You okay, Mate?” Spike asked.
Lorne appeared to have all his limbs in place and there were no obvious scars. In fact, Lorne looked rather well - might even have put on a few pounds - but from Angel and Wesley’s descriptions of life in Pylea he didn’t imagine the past few weeks had been a bed of roses for any of them…
Wait a minute, when did he say he’d arrived?
“We’d almost given up hope of the four of you ever coming to rescue us,” Lorne continued. We’ve been expecting you for over three years, Sweetie. What kept you? You’ve no idea what I’ve had to endure…”
Three years, fuck!
“They torture you?”
“In a manner of speaking, Pumpkin. I mean, just look at this outfit… Have you any idea what it’s like being trapped in a world with no Armani, no Prada… and, worst of all, no Aretha?”
“Hah!”
If that was the worst he could come up with then maybe it hadn’t been so bad this time around after all.
Spike turned to look at the villagers, seeing their faces for the first time - smiling, happy faces. He wondered what could have happened to make that much difference.
He looked again. Nah, they didn’t appear to be under any kind of spell. The happiness seemed genuine enough.
“What’s going on?” Spike asked. “For an oppressed people they look remarkably content with their lot…”
None of them were what you’d call skinny so they obviously had enough to eat as well as a roof over their heads…
“Everything’s changed from when Angel and Wes first visited. I’ll explain later, Sweetie. Come and say, ‘Hi!’ to Fred.”
Spike found himself being led toward the dais. He looked up to see that Angel had now accepted the bowl the girl had been holding out to him. He was about to drink.
“What’s that all about?” Spike asked gesturing toward Angel.
“Ah, the Cup of Champions,” Lorne said as if the words had meaning. “It contains blood drained from the klack…”
“Klack?”
“Pylean sheep… no, make that a goat. Its meat is a rare delicacy reserved for special occasions… Would you like some? Blood, I mean?”
Lorne gestured to the fire where the klack was roasting.
“Ta, maybe later,” Spike said. “Just exactly what are they celebrating?” he asked as he watched the villagers scurrying back and forth making ready for the feast.
“Harvest festival is about the nearest equivalent,” Lorne said, “and it’s been a particularly good harvest this year. We’ve plenty of food and skins to trade with both the nobles and the neighbouring villages as well as to last us right through the winter. Hence this…”
Lorne patted his stomach.
“I’m gonna have to seriously diet when we get back to LA or my tailor will never forgive me.”
“So, this… feast… has nothing to do with Angel then?” Spike asked.
“Not per se,” Lorne replied, “but it’s how I knew when you’d be joining us. You see, the festival is always held on the eve of the first new moon after the harvest has been gathered…”
“And?” Spike prompted.
He was becoming more confused by the minute.
“Let me explain, Sweetie,” Lorne said, recognising Spike’s confusion. “As you know, singing isn’t exactly appreciated here. I think everyone’s ears must work differently or something… except for mine, of course. Singing seems to cause them real pain. I have to make a special effort to remember not to burst into song when any of the villagers are around…”
“You read Fred,” Spike said.
That had to be it.
“Yes. Several weeks ago. She found me down at the stream doing my laundry and I was working my way through Aretha’s greatest hits to pass the time, as I always do, and she started to sing along.”
“So, what’s with all the flowers and the Cup of Champions then?”
“The place of honour at the table always goes to a champion. The village is currently between champions, so to speak, so Angel has the honour. His slaying of the drokken is legendary, not to mention the lawyer beast and…”
“You told them all that?”
“Well, yes, Sweetie. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno.”
Spike hadn’t really known what to expect but he was uneasy about these people making Angel their hero. He didn’t want any of ’em getting to feel like he was part of the family. What if they didn’t want to let him leave when the time came?
***************