Just a little snippet...

[calic0cat]

One of the hazards of jumping back and forth between fics, writing a little here and a little there as the muse allows, is that you don't end up with anything long enough to post, let alone anything that's actually finished. Hopefully, I'll have either a TS or GW bit that's long enough to post either tomorrow or the day after but, for now, here's a little bit of something that's headed for S/X pre-slash - eventually. *eyes snippet* Though even pre-slash is stretching it at the moment, since this kind of looks like it's headed for a series of ficlets rather than a single, longer, story...


Title: Artifact
Part: 1/?
Author: Calic0cat
Fandom: BtVS
Pairing: S/X (eventually)
Rating: FRT (for now)
Warnings: profanity
Notes: Post-season 7 BtVS AU.

Everyone else was long gone to their own offices before Angel finally worked his way down through the huge pile of paperwork in his inbox. It was with considerable relief that he slit open the last envelope, allowing a familiar but very unexpected item to slide out onto his desk.

Five minutes later, he was dumping the pendant back into the envelope. Angel felt a twinge of guilt at the resigned but unsurprised expression on Spike's face as he faded out with the resealing of the obviously-enchanted package, but didn't allow it to weaken his resolve. Soul or not, incorporeal or not, Spike was just one more headache that he - that they - really did *not* need right now. He didn't care how or why Spike's ghost had been sent to him; he was tired of being manipulated by the Senior Partners and the Powers That Be. Wesley and the others had enough work to do without adding researching the puzzle of Spike and the amulet to the list; Rupert Giles and the new Watchers Council were much better choices for the assignment.

The fact that he was not in the mood to face his always-complicated relationship with his perennial problem-Childe had absolutely nothing to do with his decision.

***

It was as bad as being chained in the Watcher's bathtub again. Worse, even.

Bad enough that he could only move a certain distance away from the damn amulet but, adding insult to injury, the Watchers Council had limited him even further. Instead of having the run of the building, he was trapped in the library's heavily-warded Restricted Room. For his own good, of course.

Bloody wankers. Spike knew that his safety had nothing to do with it; they just didn't know what the hell to do with the ghost of William the Bloody any more than his defacto Sire had but, unlike the poof, they didn't have anyone else to palm him off on. Havin' a soul and savin' the world apparently wasn't enough to earn either trust or respect; despite Giles's assurances that they would 'look into' his situation, he'd been stuck here for months - or at least, he thought it was months, the lack of any means of keeping time made it a little hard to be sure - already, with nothing to break up the boredom other than the - very - rare visit by someone needing access to the materials in the restricted archives. No one ever dropped in just to visit with him; he was hoping that meant no one had been told he was there rather than that no one - not the Slayer or even the Nibblet - had cared enough to visit.

He didn't even have a telly; Giles had apologetically mumbled some rot about the warding interfering with reception when he'd demanded one.

Couldn't even read; little tough to turn the pages when yer nothin' but an insubstantial spirit, t'weren't it?

Nothin' to do but think. Not a good thing, what with the soul an' all. Liable to turn into a broody git like someone else he could name.

Assumin' that he didn't go loopy as Dru before then, that was.

No one to talk to, nothin' to *do*...

Nobody to need him... no place to *belong*, not like he'd belonged with Dru for so long, not even like he'd - maybe, almost, despite everything - belonged with the Scoobies back in Sunnydale, just before the end...

Spike shook his head sharply, trying to shake off his darkening mood as wistful yearning for the near-camaraderie of those days turned to regrets for things done and undone. Which yielded to the weight of so many other memories and regrets... to so bloody damn much *guilt*...

Between the soul's whingin' about the past and the demon's ragin' at the solitary confinement, and the *loneliness* and the *uselessness* and the thrice-damned *futility* of it all, sometimes he couldn't help half wondering if this was actually meant to be his own personal purgatory. Because one thing was for damn sure - it bloody well wasn't a *reward*.

***

"Supposed to be 'Slayer-scout' Harris, not Xan the Research Man..." Xander groused under his breath as he made his way through the Council building. "As if Africa wasn't bad enough, now Giles is all, 'We need you to go find a new Slayer in the Balkans, Xander. Oh, and, while you're there, I'm sure that you won't mind checking into the Whatsits of Whosits and bringing it back if it's the real thing. How can you tell? Well, you'll just have to do a little research before you go. Here, take a key for the restricted archives; you should find everything you need there. Please take whatever you need.' And then he gives me this *look*, like I should be glad he's giving me carte blanche to help myself to the archives..."

Inserting the spelled key into the warded lock, he waited for the doorknob to glow a welcoming green before wrenching the door open and stalking inside. Slamming it shut behind him, he muttered sarcastically, "Gee, thanks, G-man. Just what the Xan-man's always wanted - lots of musty old books and creepy arti..."

"Harris?!"

Wiggins time. "...facts." *Major* wiggins time. Xander slowly turned his head towards the source of the familiar but very unexpected voice. Make that *seriously* major wiggins time. "Spike?!"

***

Comments

[calic0cat.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I'm glad that the characterization is on target. I usually consider it to be one of the most critical elements of a fic. As a reader, if a character isn't recognizable as her/himself other than by name and physical description, then it's going to take a darn good explanation of why to keep me interested and reading. So, as a writer, I try very hard to keep characterization on target - unless, of course, there's a darn good reason why the individual is acting out of character.

As for what happens next - well, you'll just have to wait and see. Hopefully, I'll get back to this one in the not too distant future.