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...babble!
Wheee!
:)
Everybody on my flist is all 'snow, it's snowing!' and we have *none*!! So not fair. It's cold as all get-out, but *no snow*.
The kittens - who, let's face it, are not really kittens anymore - are all in the house today, just 'cause it's so cold. L'il Brudda *waves at Strongbad* has a cold with sneezes and a weepy eye, poor guy.
We've done a little xmas shopping, all for Monstrous, basically. Gods, we're so broke. Ah well. Makes it easier - only one person to shop for! Tomorrow, hopefully, we get our tree. A cold tramp through the woods searching for the perfect cedar is always good. And i love, love, love the smell - fills up the house.
I have a rec! Absolutely lovely stuff. Basically it's an OC POV story 'about' Spike, and Slayers. The Vietnam War, the jungle, soldiers and civilians and vampires... Absolutely incredible. Follow the link in the header for other ficlets in this 'Series of Short Stories about William the Bloody. You will *not* be sorry.
Proud Mary by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ludditerobot.
I didn't mention this the last couple of posts, butreremouse is still the absolute bomb for looking this story over for me and correcting my mistakes and giving me invaluable feedback. Thanks, doll!
Previous parts are here.
The lyrics quoted are from 'Places', 'Kissing Galaxy', and 'Bus Named Desire' by Scruffy the Cat.
The closer they got to the mass of ships, the more - daunting it was. *Right. Daunting. Not flat-out fucking terrifying. Which it is. Daunting.* Spike sat in his chair, watching his crew do the little things you had to do, coming out of skip-space. Eat, use the head - take lightning-fast showers and get into clean clothes, because all that dead skin that built up started to itch. Spike didn't have that problem but he wasn't going to do any potential meetings - or potential fights - in the washed-soft fatigues and raveling sweater he'd put on for the ride.
*Need to look like a bloody pirate captain.* "Arrrgh," he muttered to himself and Xander - coming back from getting a 'real' drink - stopped and looked at him.
"Gonna go get your eye patch and parrot?" Xander said, and Spike grinned at him.
"And my fucking cutlass and pistols. Bastards aren't gonna board, that much I can guarantee you."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n." Xander grinned back, making a sloppy salute with his left hand, since he had a soda in his right. He looked down at his own jump-gear, which was basically sweats and a t-shirt topped by a very old, carefully preserved flannel shirt. Some things never changed. "Guess I'd better go put on some battle gear, too."
"Might be a good idea. Nobody's gonna be intimidated by that juice stain."
"That's grease. And I thought I got that out." Xander wandered off, muttering, plucking at the weird-colored stain on his shirt.
Spike watched him go - raised an eyebrow at Ferro who was coming back to his boards, showered and in his own version of 'battle gear'. Surplus Marine fatigues - the grey-black-white of 'urban' camouflage - and black-market battle armor that was supposed to be for Outsiders only. It was oddly insectoid for a mammalian species and Spike had always found it a bit - weird. But it was rated for the kind of weapons an Outsider ship might hold for its crew and that was all that mattered. Ferro had his Marine jump-boots on, too - glassine and some sort of epoxy in layers, with steel toes and soles. Tougher than Spike's old tanker boots but not, in his opinion, as aesthetic.
"So, anything?" Ferro asked, settling into his chair and snapping on the belts - cycling through his screens with a flurry of key-strokes.
"Just an approach-vector, like we're at some bloody station. Saw a few other ships out there. Couple Chaddock and at least one Earth ship. Nobody's talking, though."
"Huh." Ferro checked his boards again - looked at the warning that always came up when the ship's gun was charged. A leak, somewhere - nothing bad yet. But the little warning was always there.
Spike watched Nia doing something at her boards - logging every move of every particle out there, probably. Watching that mass of ships with more than just the Dru's sensors. She sensed his gaze - she pretty much always did - and glanced back over her shoulder, shaking her head. Nothing new. Spike sighed and shifted a little - reached for his own boards and brought up the camera and com in the office. Time to check on the passenger.
"H'ru. This is the captain. You alive?" The camera showed the air mattress with the safety webbing unhooked and draped aside. A little pile of trash - some sort of post-skip food wrappers - was in the middle of the mattress. The Outsider was just emerging from the little cabinet of a bathroom, water darkening his dun-colored fur and glittering on his shoulders.
"I am - a-live." H'ru didn't seem to have much in the way of English - or anything much to say either, and Spike's finger hovered over the cut-off.
"We're coming up on a bunch of ships - Outsider ships. Have you back to the doghouse in no time, I'm sure."
"What do 'oo mean, 'dog'ouse'?"
"Never mind. Just - straighten up down there, I don't want a mess."
"Yess," H'ru said, and Spike cut off the com - leaned back in his seat. It annoyed him to have that dog aboard. Rrahn's dog. He wanted it off his ship, and the sooner the better.
"Guess the dog made it," Ferro muttered, and Spike sighed.
"Yeah. Course he bloody did. Damn dogs." Spike stood up and stretched, popping every vertebra in his back. "I'm gonna go suit up. You okay?"
"Yeah, I got it," Ferro said and Spike nodded and walked aft, tapping the lift button. Riding it down, walking out and walking down the hall, hearing music that gradually became clearer as he got closer to their quarters. Xander was there in the shower, singing along to something - bouncy.
*Jesus. Thought I'd gotten rid of that particular disc...* It was old stuff - Earth stuff - and it made Spike smile even though the music itself was far, far too peppy for his tastes. It was the soundtrack of freedom, after all - Xander's freedom.
'No dangerous animals can play in my yard...No giant monsters can climb this tree...I should have known that a person like you...Could never be the person I need...No dangerous animals can play in my yard...'
Xander is lying on his back on the Whale Deep equivalent of a creeper, only instead of wheels to slide him under a vehicle it has a little suspension module that is currently floating him up under part of the skip-array. Xander has dark goggles on and a welding torch is spitting sparks over him as he seals a patch onto the Dru's flank. His dark hair is held back in a worn bandanna and the dull-brown coveralls he has on are unzipped and pulled down, the arms tied around his waist. Spike pauses for a moment to admire the view - grimaces at the loud, tinny music that's piping from a player duct-taped to the floater.
'No poisonous snakes can swim in my tub...Only friendly dinosaurs can read my books...I should have guessed that a woman like you...Would be impressed with a guy like that...No dangerous animals can play in my yard...'
"What in bloody hell is that noise?" Spike shouts and Xander yelps and almost drops the welder - flails behind his head and smacks the 'off' button on the player. He hauls the goggles up off his face, his wide, dark eyes glaring at Spike.
"Jesus, Spike! Scare the fuck out of a guy - I could've set myself on fire!"
"Shouldn't be in here deaf like that, anyway - s'dangerous," Spike says - walks over to the floater and pulls it down to eye-level. Xander is slick with sweat and smells of grease and metal - of burning and rock-sugar candy and Spike wonders if he just kissed him, if he'd get a welder in the face. He has no idea where the sudden heat - the sudden want - comes from, but in his nearly quarter-century in space - and almost two hundred years of living - Spike's learned to just go with his instincts.
"It's not dangerous," Xander says, but his voice is a little breathless and instead of recoiling he leans up on his elbow, putting himself marginally closer to Spike. There's a smudge of grease on his cheek and nose - another on his chest near his nipple and Spike's eyes track to it. That's when he sees the chain and tag around Xander's neck. Like a dog-tag but...different. Indentured servant tag, which puts him about a notch lower than the dog and Spike suddenly has a very bad feeling.
"So - she 'bout ready to fly?"
"Um - huh? Oh, yeah. She is. Damn, Spike -" Xander grins up at the arching, dull-pewter mass of the Dru above him - at the span of the skip-array that looks like crystal and bone and cobwebs, even powered down and cold. "She's a fucking beautiful ship."
"That she is," Spike says - reaches out and caresses the cold curve of his lady-love. So many similarities between his new Dru and the old. He likes to think of her between the stars, bathed in their light with no atmosphere or static to come between them. His hand drifts down and lands on Xander's ankle, feeling heat through the shank of the cheap boots he's wearing and Xander grins. Spike's pretty sure that fifty years have taught Xander to follow his instincts, too.
"You know, my bunk's right over there," Xander says. It's like a bucket of icy water.
"He makes you sleep here?" Spike growls, and Xander loses his grin - loses the easy posture and hunches - jerks his foot away and sits up, not looking at Spike.
"It's cheaper than any of the places around. He only charges -"
"Charges?!"
"It's in the rules, Spike! He can - can charge for whatever he wants to charge for."
"Bloody hell - how in fuck did you get into this mess, Xander?" Spike reaches out and plucks the tag up, holding it. Oblong of steel with Xander's name and ident number - his debt and his...owner. All there for anybody to look at, any time they want. "How'd this happen?"
"It's none of your business," Xander mumbles. He twitches away - slaps at the floater's controls and sends it up, high on the side of the Dru. He sparks the welder to life and settles his goggles - flicks on the player, good and loud.
'I know I'm going to the place I like best...The place I know most...Where there are people who know me, people I know...And people who care about the one I care...'
Spike watches him, unaware that he's growling - that his demon is to the fore, glaring with golden eyes. "This is not fucking acceptable," Spike shouts, and watches Xander start to weld a new patch, mouth set grimly - ignoring him.
Three days later the Dru is spaceworthy again and Spike comes in to pay his bill. He brings along Ferro and a clerk from station control. There's an accusation about the bill being padded - there are words, shouts and a fight, and then Desmond - Xander's debt-holder - is dust on the dry-dock floor and Spike's signing papers. Putting his bloody thumb-print on a sheaf of legal documents that says he owns this dry-dock now. Owns everything in it and Xander too. Before midnight they've found a renter and they're gone, skipping out to Fenris and Xander's settling himself into his quarters. It takes them five months - real-time months - to get back to that moment in the dock, when Spike was drowning in Xander's heat and Xander wanted Spike in his bunk. Spike's happy to wait.
Spike slipped into their quarters and stripped out of his skip clothes, shoving them into the laundry. Steam and music and Xander's voice - a little hoarse and a little off-key - wafted out of the bath.
'Bakelite, satellite, say goodnight...Cosmonaut, astronaut, honey well all right...All the stars that we could see...In the kissing galaxy...Just might be on your color TV... Rocket fuel, after school...Zoom, Zoom...Telescope, wish and hope...Now give us room... K-I-S-S-I-N-G in the back of a big black Mercury -'
"Swear I'm gonna space that damn disc," Spike said, slipping into the cabinet and Xander yelped, jerking around and getting foam in his eyes from the shampoo horns that were sticking up all over his head.
"Spike!"
"S'dangerous to be deaf like that," Spike said, wiping shampoo off Xander's mouth and kissing him.
"Not supposed to be in danger here - ow - fuck -" Xander stuck his head under the spray, rinsing off soap and Spike pushed the water-black, shoulder-length hair out of Xander's face - kissed him again and got a spluttery kiss in return. "Anything new?"
"Nah. Nia's all eyes and ears but they're just...sitting out there." Spike made himself comfortable, leaning into Xander and Xander slung an arm around Spike's waist, blinking. "Couple other ships coming in - looks like we're about the last."
"Huh." Xander rubbed his eyes - watched Spike get a palmful of soap and start to soap himself up. "The dog make it all right?"
"Right as rain."
"What doest that mean? I mean - does that mean rain is the 'right' way for weather to be and not-rain is wrong? Or does it mean -"
"Means he lived, you git." Xander put his hands on the wall on either side of Spike and leaned in close - dropped a fast kiss on Spike's mouth and pushed away.
"Think there's time for me to replace that filter?"
"I - dunno. Just leave it. I don't you want you in there with a bunch of tools if we have to move."
"Okay then. But just remember one thing." Xander ducked out of the cabinet and got under the dryer, rubbing lotion into his skin as the warm, forced air blew his hair around his face.
"What's that?"
"If we get pneumonia and die it's all Ferro's fault."
Spike rolled his eyes - shook water out of his hair like a dog and palmed the switch, shutting the water off. "If you all get pneumonia and die, I'll be sure to do something nasty to Ferro's corpse, okay?"
"Sounds good." Xander finger-combed his hair, grinning cheerfully, and looked at himself in the mirror. "Okay then. Battle gear. Do you think the 'U2 - Last Legs' tour shirt or 'Demons do it in the dark'?"
"How 'bout that retro-Hawaiian thing Ferro got you for your birthday last year? They'll be dazed and confused and we can steal all their spoons."
"I don't think Outsiders have spoons, Spike."
Spike stared at Xander's 'I'm so serious it hurts' expression. "And I don't think U2's gonna make 'em run for cover. Unless you're gonna stay on board I think you might wanna go for the very expensive body armor I got you."
"Nothin' says 'Happy Birthday, I love you,' like body armor," Xander muttered, walking out into the main room and leaving the dryer on for Spike.
"Better than a sucking chest wound!" Spike yelled after him.
"That's supposed to be 'better than a sharp stick in the eye!" Xander yelled back, and Spike kicked the heat on the dryer up, grinning.
"Cap'n, the Rumplestiltskin is hailing us."
"The - what?" Spike stopped moving, the whiskey bottle halfway to his lips. Beside him, Xander choked slightly on his mouthful of tomato soup and Spike patted his back absently.
"Rumplestiltskin. It's a tug. Sort of. It's going to help us dock."
"Dock at what? Nia -"
"There's a sort of - living space out here, Cap'n. Five or six transports from the war years, looks like they've got 'em all - welded together. Enough mass to make a skip point."
Xander tossed his spoon in the washer and tipped his bowl up, drinking fast, and Spike did the same, gulping three big mouthfuls of good Irish whiskey. He capped the bottle and put it away - strode toward the galley door and the lift while Xander shoved the bowl after the spoon and did a fast check of the counters, making sure nothing was lying loose.
"Why the fuck," Spike said, holding the lift door for Xander, "are we docking at anything?"
"Let me put them through, Cap'n? Their captain's getting a little...impatient."
"Yeah, put 'em through. Xander - move it!"
"Coming, coming -" Xander darted through the doors with a capped mug and an apple. "They say eating an apple is just like brushing your teeth."
"If your toothbrush leaves bits of red skin behind." The com popped softly and Xander subsided.
"Drusilla? This is the Rumplestiltskin - Captain Havisham."
"This is Spike - what's the situation, Captain? We're docking?"
"You are. But the docking facilities are - primitive. We're going to have to guide you in. It's a flex-tube and universal lock."
"For fuck's sake." The lift stopped and Spike and Xander got out, heading for the bridge, Xander cursing softly under his breath. Universal docking locks were for emergencies - something a rescue ship could, in theory, use on any ship to get endangered crew or passengers off. In practice they were finicky and difficult to use and more often than not breached halfway through the procedure. It was going to be suits and extreme caution on this one. Ferro glanced up as they sat down, scowling, and Spike raised his hands in a 'what can I do?' gesture. Ferro snorted and shook his head.
"Your pilot's got the course that'll bring you through to us - once we're in range we'll guide you in. We advise pressure-suits, Drusilla."
"Bloody hell, so do we! All right, Captain - ETA is -" Nia held up four fingers. "- four minutes. Don't scratch the chrome."
"The - chrome? Uh - sure. Four minutes, Drusilla. Out." The Rumplestiltskin went offline and Spike slumped back in his chair.
"Bet you the whole fuckin' crew's younger than I was when I died," Spike muttered. "Ferro, better get below and prep three suits."
"Aye, Cap'n," Ferro said, unclipping and getting up, heading below fast. Four minutes wasn't much time.
"Has Rrahn hailed us, Nia?"
"The Gur'y'a says Rrahn is in conference and will meet us on the - thing. And that we're to bring H'ru with us."
"Wonder if he has a suit in that little pack of his?" Xander said. "Spike - this does not sound like a fee-collection. Sounds like a fuckin' - set up."
"With half the fuckin' jyiiy in the 'verse watching? We're not that notorious, love. Or that important. Nia, who're those Earth ships?"
Nia tapped a key and the schematic of the surrounding space popped up onto Spike's screen. The Outsider ships were shown in blue-green. Now that they were in the middle of the cluster, they could see, scattered among all the Outsiders four Chaddock in yellow and two white oblongs. Earth ships, built in the yards that orbited Mars. There were also two red oblongs - the color the Drusilla showed as. Not-earth, and probably demon-captained. The Earth ships would be wholly human.
"I've only got i.d. - The Earth ship to port is the Hammer and the one zenith of that is the Centaur. The other ships... The Kurf out of Fenris and -" Nia stopped and shook her head and Spike felt a little surge of irritation and unease.
"And?"
"And the Billy Bud."
"Oh for fuck's sake -" from Ferro somewhere down below, listening as he worked. There was the thump of his fist hitting something. Spike closed his eyes, his fingers coming up to massage his temples.
"Oooh, yeah, gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight," Xander muttered.
"Maybe their dock'll blow. Here's the Rumplestiltskin, Cap'n - better get below."
"Right. Below. Tell H'ru get his shite together, right? C'mon, Xander. Time to be bad-ass pirates."
"Arrrgh," Xander said, and unclipped the safety belts.
"Yeah, arrrrgh," Spike agreed. *Arrrgh, I'm gonna kill Rrahn. Just you wait and see.*
Inside the tube it was bitter cold and Xander's gloved hand slipped off the third hand-hold and he cursed, kicking a little harder so that he made it to the fourth without going off-track. Ahead of him Ferro muttered something, making his own seemingly effortless progress. The Outsider was ahead of them all, suit-free and naturally warm enough to make it from one end of the twenty meter tube to the other mostly pain-free. The tube itself was pitch-black, lit by a looping coil of flexi-lights that were strung haphazardly along the opposite wall. About half were out and Xander toggled on his helmet light. He kept his eyes trained on the next handheld, seeing Ferro's death's-head decorated helmet and Spike's solid black one as dark blurs in his peripheral vision. The dog was halfway along the tube, just a shadowy shape that Xander barely registered.
"You're a top kid, you're a blue suit, I need more words like I love you - you're a top kid, you're a blue suit -"
"Xander, fuck's sake, don't sing on com."
"Singing to keep down my supper," Xander muttered, detesting the free-fall sensation of no gravity that just - never ended.
"Should've taken -"
"They make me fuzzy. Can't be fuzzy for this, Spike."
"Yeah, I know. Heads up, the dog's at the hatch." There was a distant clank that Xander felt more than heard, then a ripple all down the tube as the pressure changed.
"Xander, get it in gear!"
"Comin' Ferro, I'm comin'." Xander swallowed and pulled and pushed and grabbed, again and again until gloved hands caught his shoulders and he looked up into Spike's mirrored face-plate.
"Steady now, pet. Grab hold."
Xander wrapped his own gloved hand around the safety strap Spike guided it to, looking around for the orientation arrows that would tell him were to put his feet. They pointed left and he angled himself that way, watching Spike and Ferro do the same. H'ru was already in place, panting, his fur tipped with frost.
"We're in - seal it up," Spike said. The hatch boomed shut, cutting off the blue-white glow from the tube. Red safety light went on and then there was a hissing as atmosphere was pumped in. Another minute or so and Xander's weight was resting on his feet - hanging off his arm. His innards settled downward as well and he swallowed hard, wishing he could wipe his face.
*In a minute, in a minute, almost done...almost out...* There was nothing Xander hated more than zero gravity. The inner hatch blinked a green light at them and then whipped open, revealing a clutch of Outsiders. Armed, armored, and every muzzle - organic or otherwise - pointed straight at them.
"Bloody fucking hell! Rrahn!" Every dog - and every gun - suddenly swung around and Rrahn was there, looking extremely Samurai, Xander thought, in layers of ceremonial brass-toned armor.
*I have a very, very bad feeling about this. Was it the Force that made Luke and Leia say that, or just their twinness? And didn't Han say it too? Gonna have to force Spike to have another movie night.*
Spike was popping the seals on his helmet - wrenching it off with a snarl over com that Xander lost as he broke the seal on his own - pulled free of it and took a deep breath. And coughed. Whoever was living here believed in marijuana, garlic, and chickens. And not in baths. Ferro coughed too, hooking his helmet to his belt and drawing a gun in a series of smooth moves that had a couple Outsiders belatedly turning back on him, guns swinging uncertainly into true.
"Huch!" Rrahn snapped, and the guards finally stood down, long guns falling to a rest position - stepping back with a click of jointed, armored feet. "My a'ologies. Things arre...'ense."
"What things. Damnit, Rrahn -"
"William Rowe, called Spike? Captain of the Drusilla?" New voice - human voice - and the dogs stepped back further, clearing a path. Older human guy in what was probably the latest in Earth formal dress. That was topped with an armored vest, which didn't seem to be fitting too well. The man was - paunchy.
Spike glared at the man, who visibly flinched. "Yeah. Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Albert Peacher. I'm the assistant to the ambassador of Human-Demonic relations on Earth."
"Assistant? I don't talk to assistants, mate."
Peacher shifted uncomfortably and Xander realized that wasn't a shadow on his face - it was a bruise. "I'm - sorry, Mm - Captain. But the Ambassador is -"
"He wass taken." Rrahn interrupted, and Xander finally realized something. That high, sharp smell wasn't more of the unwashed masses, it was the dogs, and they were afraid. "We need him back. And 'oo are going to get him, Sss'ike. 'Oo and 'oo're crew."
*Jee-sus....Christ.* Xander put his hand on Spike's arm, not able to feel anything but knowing, from the look on Spike's face, that he was practically vibrating with tension and rage.
"This is not worth six-hundred million," Ferro muttered.
"Not even six-hundred billion," Xander muttered back, and Spike twitched under his hand.
"Well - billion -"
Xander gave Spike the evil eye. "Not. Worth it."
"We have a lot to talk about, gentlemen," Peacher said, fiddling with the straps on the body-armor.
Spike sighed and straightened his shoulders - pushed his hand back through already-rumpled hair. "Don't think talking's gonna fix this mess, mate. But you can try." Peacher nodded and turned away - started walking toward what looked like an exit in the dim, cavernous space. The Outsider troops fell into line around him. Rrahn gave a short bow before turning to go as well and Spike stepped up to her fast, taking hold of a piece of the elaborate armor and jerking her to a stop.
"You are gonna have to do a lot more than try, Rrahn. You fucking owe me."
"All in good 'ime, Sss'ike."
"Got nothin' but, Rrahn."
Part six.
Wheee!
:)
Everybody on my flist is all 'snow, it's snowing!' and we have *none*!! So not fair. It's cold as all get-out, but *no snow*.
The kittens - who, let's face it, are not really kittens anymore - are all in the house today, just 'cause it's so cold. L'il Brudda *waves at Strongbad* has a cold with sneezes and a weepy eye, poor guy.
We've done a little xmas shopping, all for Monstrous, basically. Gods, we're so broke. Ah well. Makes it easier - only one person to shop for! Tomorrow, hopefully, we get our tree. A cold tramp through the woods searching for the perfect cedar is always good. And i love, love, love the smell - fills up the house.
I have a rec! Absolutely lovely stuff. Basically it's an OC POV story 'about' Spike, and Slayers. The Vietnam War, the jungle, soldiers and civilians and vampires... Absolutely incredible. Follow the link in the header for other ficlets in this 'Series of Short Stories about William the Bloody. You will *not* be sorry.
Proud Mary by
ludditerobot.I didn't mention this the last couple of posts, but
reremouse is still the absolute bomb for looking this story over for me and correcting my mistakes and giving me invaluable feedback. Thanks, doll!Previous parts are here.
The lyrics quoted are from 'Places', 'Kissing Galaxy', and 'Bus Named Desire' by Scruffy the Cat.
The closer they got to the mass of ships, the more - daunting it was. *Right. Daunting. Not flat-out fucking terrifying. Which it is. Daunting.* Spike sat in his chair, watching his crew do the little things you had to do, coming out of skip-space. Eat, use the head - take lightning-fast showers and get into clean clothes, because all that dead skin that built up started to itch. Spike didn't have that problem but he wasn't going to do any potential meetings - or potential fights - in the washed-soft fatigues and raveling sweater he'd put on for the ride.
*Need to look like a bloody pirate captain.* "Arrrgh," he muttered to himself and Xander - coming back from getting a 'real' drink - stopped and looked at him.
"Gonna go get your eye patch and parrot?" Xander said, and Spike grinned at him.
"And my fucking cutlass and pistols. Bastards aren't gonna board, that much I can guarantee you."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n." Xander grinned back, making a sloppy salute with his left hand, since he had a soda in his right. He looked down at his own jump-gear, which was basically sweats and a t-shirt topped by a very old, carefully preserved flannel shirt. Some things never changed. "Guess I'd better go put on some battle gear, too."
"Might be a good idea. Nobody's gonna be intimidated by that juice stain."
"That's grease. And I thought I got that out." Xander wandered off, muttering, plucking at the weird-colored stain on his shirt.
Spike watched him go - raised an eyebrow at Ferro who was coming back to his boards, showered and in his own version of 'battle gear'. Surplus Marine fatigues - the grey-black-white of 'urban' camouflage - and black-market battle armor that was supposed to be for Outsiders only. It was oddly insectoid for a mammalian species and Spike had always found it a bit - weird. But it was rated for the kind of weapons an Outsider ship might hold for its crew and that was all that mattered. Ferro had his Marine jump-boots on, too - glassine and some sort of epoxy in layers, with steel toes and soles. Tougher than Spike's old tanker boots but not, in his opinion, as aesthetic.
"So, anything?" Ferro asked, settling into his chair and snapping on the belts - cycling through his screens with a flurry of key-strokes.
"Just an approach-vector, like we're at some bloody station. Saw a few other ships out there. Couple Chaddock and at least one Earth ship. Nobody's talking, though."
"Huh." Ferro checked his boards again - looked at the warning that always came up when the ship's gun was charged. A leak, somewhere - nothing bad yet. But the little warning was always there.
Spike watched Nia doing something at her boards - logging every move of every particle out there, probably. Watching that mass of ships with more than just the Dru's sensors. She sensed his gaze - she pretty much always did - and glanced back over her shoulder, shaking her head. Nothing new. Spike sighed and shifted a little - reached for his own boards and brought up the camera and com in the office. Time to check on the passenger.
"H'ru. This is the captain. You alive?" The camera showed the air mattress with the safety webbing unhooked and draped aside. A little pile of trash - some sort of post-skip food wrappers - was in the middle of the mattress. The Outsider was just emerging from the little cabinet of a bathroom, water darkening his dun-colored fur and glittering on his shoulders.
"I am - a-live." H'ru didn't seem to have much in the way of English - or anything much to say either, and Spike's finger hovered over the cut-off.
"We're coming up on a bunch of ships - Outsider ships. Have you back to the doghouse in no time, I'm sure."
"What do 'oo mean, 'dog'ouse'?"
"Never mind. Just - straighten up down there, I don't want a mess."
"Yess," H'ru said, and Spike cut off the com - leaned back in his seat. It annoyed him to have that dog aboard. Rrahn's dog. He wanted it off his ship, and the sooner the better.
"Guess the dog made it," Ferro muttered, and Spike sighed.
"Yeah. Course he bloody did. Damn dogs." Spike stood up and stretched, popping every vertebra in his back. "I'm gonna go suit up. You okay?"
"Yeah, I got it," Ferro said and Spike nodded and walked aft, tapping the lift button. Riding it down, walking out and walking down the hall, hearing music that gradually became clearer as he got closer to their quarters. Xander was there in the shower, singing along to something - bouncy.
*Jesus. Thought I'd gotten rid of that particular disc...* It was old stuff - Earth stuff - and it made Spike smile even though the music itself was far, far too peppy for his tastes. It was the soundtrack of freedom, after all - Xander's freedom.
'No dangerous animals can play in my yard...No giant monsters can climb this tree...I should have known that a person like you...Could never be the person I need...No dangerous animals can play in my yard...'
Xander is lying on his back on the Whale Deep equivalent of a creeper, only instead of wheels to slide him under a vehicle it has a little suspension module that is currently floating him up under part of the skip-array. Xander has dark goggles on and a welding torch is spitting sparks over him as he seals a patch onto the Dru's flank. His dark hair is held back in a worn bandanna and the dull-brown coveralls he has on are unzipped and pulled down, the arms tied around his waist. Spike pauses for a moment to admire the view - grimaces at the loud, tinny music that's piping from a player duct-taped to the floater.
'No poisonous snakes can swim in my tub...Only friendly dinosaurs can read my books...I should have guessed that a woman like you...Would be impressed with a guy like that...No dangerous animals can play in my yard...'
"What in bloody hell is that noise?" Spike shouts and Xander yelps and almost drops the welder - flails behind his head and smacks the 'off' button on the player. He hauls the goggles up off his face, his wide, dark eyes glaring at Spike.
"Jesus, Spike! Scare the fuck out of a guy - I could've set myself on fire!"
"Shouldn't be in here deaf like that, anyway - s'dangerous," Spike says - walks over to the floater and pulls it down to eye-level. Xander is slick with sweat and smells of grease and metal - of burning and rock-sugar candy and Spike wonders if he just kissed him, if he'd get a welder in the face. He has no idea where the sudden heat - the sudden want - comes from, but in his nearly quarter-century in space - and almost two hundred years of living - Spike's learned to just go with his instincts.
"It's not dangerous," Xander says, but his voice is a little breathless and instead of recoiling he leans up on his elbow, putting himself marginally closer to Spike. There's a smudge of grease on his cheek and nose - another on his chest near his nipple and Spike's eyes track to it. That's when he sees the chain and tag around Xander's neck. Like a dog-tag but...different. Indentured servant tag, which puts him about a notch lower than the dog and Spike suddenly has a very bad feeling.
"So - she 'bout ready to fly?"
"Um - huh? Oh, yeah. She is. Damn, Spike -" Xander grins up at the arching, dull-pewter mass of the Dru above him - at the span of the skip-array that looks like crystal and bone and cobwebs, even powered down and cold. "She's a fucking beautiful ship."
"That she is," Spike says - reaches out and caresses the cold curve of his lady-love. So many similarities between his new Dru and the old. He likes to think of her between the stars, bathed in their light with no atmosphere or static to come between them. His hand drifts down and lands on Xander's ankle, feeling heat through the shank of the cheap boots he's wearing and Xander grins. Spike's pretty sure that fifty years have taught Xander to follow his instincts, too.
"You know, my bunk's right over there," Xander says. It's like a bucket of icy water.
"He makes you sleep here?" Spike growls, and Xander loses his grin - loses the easy posture and hunches - jerks his foot away and sits up, not looking at Spike.
"It's cheaper than any of the places around. He only charges -"
"Charges?!"
"It's in the rules, Spike! He can - can charge for whatever he wants to charge for."
"Bloody hell - how in fuck did you get into this mess, Xander?" Spike reaches out and plucks the tag up, holding it. Oblong of steel with Xander's name and ident number - his debt and his...owner. All there for anybody to look at, any time they want. "How'd this happen?"
"It's none of your business," Xander mumbles. He twitches away - slaps at the floater's controls and sends it up, high on the side of the Dru. He sparks the welder to life and settles his goggles - flicks on the player, good and loud.
'I know I'm going to the place I like best...The place I know most...Where there are people who know me, people I know...And people who care about the one I care...'
Spike watches him, unaware that he's growling - that his demon is to the fore, glaring with golden eyes. "This is not fucking acceptable," Spike shouts, and watches Xander start to weld a new patch, mouth set grimly - ignoring him.
Three days later the Dru is spaceworthy again and Spike comes in to pay his bill. He brings along Ferro and a clerk from station control. There's an accusation about the bill being padded - there are words, shouts and a fight, and then Desmond - Xander's debt-holder - is dust on the dry-dock floor and Spike's signing papers. Putting his bloody thumb-print on a sheaf of legal documents that says he owns this dry-dock now. Owns everything in it and Xander too. Before midnight they've found a renter and they're gone, skipping out to Fenris and Xander's settling himself into his quarters. It takes them five months - real-time months - to get back to that moment in the dock, when Spike was drowning in Xander's heat and Xander wanted Spike in his bunk. Spike's happy to wait.
Spike slipped into their quarters and stripped out of his skip clothes, shoving them into the laundry. Steam and music and Xander's voice - a little hoarse and a little off-key - wafted out of the bath.
'Bakelite, satellite, say goodnight...Cosmonaut, astronaut, honey well all right...All the stars that we could see...In the kissing galaxy...Just might be on your color TV... Rocket fuel, after school...Zoom, Zoom...Telescope, wish and hope...Now give us room... K-I-S-S-I-N-G in the back of a big black Mercury -'
"Swear I'm gonna space that damn disc," Spike said, slipping into the cabinet and Xander yelped, jerking around and getting foam in his eyes from the shampoo horns that were sticking up all over his head.
"Spike!"
"S'dangerous to be deaf like that," Spike said, wiping shampoo off Xander's mouth and kissing him.
"Not supposed to be in danger here - ow - fuck -" Xander stuck his head under the spray, rinsing off soap and Spike pushed the water-black, shoulder-length hair out of Xander's face - kissed him again and got a spluttery kiss in return. "Anything new?"
"Nah. Nia's all eyes and ears but they're just...sitting out there." Spike made himself comfortable, leaning into Xander and Xander slung an arm around Spike's waist, blinking. "Couple other ships coming in - looks like we're about the last."
"Huh." Xander rubbed his eyes - watched Spike get a palmful of soap and start to soap himself up. "The dog make it all right?"
"Right as rain."
"What doest that mean? I mean - does that mean rain is the 'right' way for weather to be and not-rain is wrong? Or does it mean -"
"Means he lived, you git." Xander put his hands on the wall on either side of Spike and leaned in close - dropped a fast kiss on Spike's mouth and pushed away.
"Think there's time for me to replace that filter?"
"I - dunno. Just leave it. I don't you want you in there with a bunch of tools if we have to move."
"Okay then. But just remember one thing." Xander ducked out of the cabinet and got under the dryer, rubbing lotion into his skin as the warm, forced air blew his hair around his face.
"What's that?"
"If we get pneumonia and die it's all Ferro's fault."
Spike rolled his eyes - shook water out of his hair like a dog and palmed the switch, shutting the water off. "If you all get pneumonia and die, I'll be sure to do something nasty to Ferro's corpse, okay?"
"Sounds good." Xander finger-combed his hair, grinning cheerfully, and looked at himself in the mirror. "Okay then. Battle gear. Do you think the 'U2 - Last Legs' tour shirt or 'Demons do it in the dark'?"
"How 'bout that retro-Hawaiian thing Ferro got you for your birthday last year? They'll be dazed and confused and we can steal all their spoons."
"I don't think Outsiders have spoons, Spike."
Spike stared at Xander's 'I'm so serious it hurts' expression. "And I don't think U2's gonna make 'em run for cover. Unless you're gonna stay on board I think you might wanna go for the very expensive body armor I got you."
"Nothin' says 'Happy Birthday, I love you,' like body armor," Xander muttered, walking out into the main room and leaving the dryer on for Spike.
"Better than a sucking chest wound!" Spike yelled after him.
"That's supposed to be 'better than a sharp stick in the eye!" Xander yelled back, and Spike kicked the heat on the dryer up, grinning.
"Cap'n, the Rumplestiltskin is hailing us."
"The - what?" Spike stopped moving, the whiskey bottle halfway to his lips. Beside him, Xander choked slightly on his mouthful of tomato soup and Spike patted his back absently.
"Rumplestiltskin. It's a tug. Sort of. It's going to help us dock."
"Dock at what? Nia -"
"There's a sort of - living space out here, Cap'n. Five or six transports from the war years, looks like they've got 'em all - welded together. Enough mass to make a skip point."
Xander tossed his spoon in the washer and tipped his bowl up, drinking fast, and Spike did the same, gulping three big mouthfuls of good Irish whiskey. He capped the bottle and put it away - strode toward the galley door and the lift while Xander shoved the bowl after the spoon and did a fast check of the counters, making sure nothing was lying loose.
"Why the fuck," Spike said, holding the lift door for Xander, "are we docking at anything?"
"Let me put them through, Cap'n? Their captain's getting a little...impatient."
"Yeah, put 'em through. Xander - move it!"
"Coming, coming -" Xander darted through the doors with a capped mug and an apple. "They say eating an apple is just like brushing your teeth."
"If your toothbrush leaves bits of red skin behind." The com popped softly and Xander subsided.
"Drusilla? This is the Rumplestiltskin - Captain Havisham."
"This is Spike - what's the situation, Captain? We're docking?"
"You are. But the docking facilities are - primitive. We're going to have to guide you in. It's a flex-tube and universal lock."
"For fuck's sake." The lift stopped and Spike and Xander got out, heading for the bridge, Xander cursing softly under his breath. Universal docking locks were for emergencies - something a rescue ship could, in theory, use on any ship to get endangered crew or passengers off. In practice they were finicky and difficult to use and more often than not breached halfway through the procedure. It was going to be suits and extreme caution on this one. Ferro glanced up as they sat down, scowling, and Spike raised his hands in a 'what can I do?' gesture. Ferro snorted and shook his head.
"Your pilot's got the course that'll bring you through to us - once we're in range we'll guide you in. We advise pressure-suits, Drusilla."
"Bloody hell, so do we! All right, Captain - ETA is -" Nia held up four fingers. "- four minutes. Don't scratch the chrome."
"The - chrome? Uh - sure. Four minutes, Drusilla. Out." The Rumplestiltskin went offline and Spike slumped back in his chair.
"Bet you the whole fuckin' crew's younger than I was when I died," Spike muttered. "Ferro, better get below and prep three suits."
"Aye, Cap'n," Ferro said, unclipping and getting up, heading below fast. Four minutes wasn't much time.
"Has Rrahn hailed us, Nia?"
"The Gur'y'a says Rrahn is in conference and will meet us on the - thing. And that we're to bring H'ru with us."
"Wonder if he has a suit in that little pack of his?" Xander said. "Spike - this does not sound like a fee-collection. Sounds like a fuckin' - set up."
"With half the fuckin' jyiiy in the 'verse watching? We're not that notorious, love. Or that important. Nia, who're those Earth ships?"
Nia tapped a key and the schematic of the surrounding space popped up onto Spike's screen. The Outsider ships were shown in blue-green. Now that they were in the middle of the cluster, they could see, scattered among all the Outsiders four Chaddock in yellow and two white oblongs. Earth ships, built in the yards that orbited Mars. There were also two red oblongs - the color the Drusilla showed as. Not-earth, and probably demon-captained. The Earth ships would be wholly human.
"I've only got i.d. - The Earth ship to port is the Hammer and the one zenith of that is the Centaur. The other ships... The Kurf out of Fenris and -" Nia stopped and shook her head and Spike felt a little surge of irritation and unease.
"And?"
"And the Billy Bud."
"Oh for fuck's sake -" from Ferro somewhere down below, listening as he worked. There was the thump of his fist hitting something. Spike closed his eyes, his fingers coming up to massage his temples.
"Oooh, yeah, gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight," Xander muttered.
"Maybe their dock'll blow. Here's the Rumplestiltskin, Cap'n - better get below."
"Right. Below. Tell H'ru get his shite together, right? C'mon, Xander. Time to be bad-ass pirates."
"Arrrgh," Xander said, and unclipped the safety belts.
"Yeah, arrrrgh," Spike agreed. *Arrrgh, I'm gonna kill Rrahn. Just you wait and see.*
Inside the tube it was bitter cold and Xander's gloved hand slipped off the third hand-hold and he cursed, kicking a little harder so that he made it to the fourth without going off-track. Ahead of him Ferro muttered something, making his own seemingly effortless progress. The Outsider was ahead of them all, suit-free and naturally warm enough to make it from one end of the twenty meter tube to the other mostly pain-free. The tube itself was pitch-black, lit by a looping coil of flexi-lights that were strung haphazardly along the opposite wall. About half were out and Xander toggled on his helmet light. He kept his eyes trained on the next handheld, seeing Ferro's death's-head decorated helmet and Spike's solid black one as dark blurs in his peripheral vision. The dog was halfway along the tube, just a shadowy shape that Xander barely registered.
"You're a top kid, you're a blue suit, I need more words like I love you - you're a top kid, you're a blue suit -"
"Xander, fuck's sake, don't sing on com."
"Singing to keep down my supper," Xander muttered, detesting the free-fall sensation of no gravity that just - never ended.
"Should've taken -"
"They make me fuzzy. Can't be fuzzy for this, Spike."
"Yeah, I know. Heads up, the dog's at the hatch." There was a distant clank that Xander felt more than heard, then a ripple all down the tube as the pressure changed.
"Xander, get it in gear!"
"Comin' Ferro, I'm comin'." Xander swallowed and pulled and pushed and grabbed, again and again until gloved hands caught his shoulders and he looked up into Spike's mirrored face-plate.
"Steady now, pet. Grab hold."
Xander wrapped his own gloved hand around the safety strap Spike guided it to, looking around for the orientation arrows that would tell him were to put his feet. They pointed left and he angled himself that way, watching Spike and Ferro do the same. H'ru was already in place, panting, his fur tipped with frost.
"We're in - seal it up," Spike said. The hatch boomed shut, cutting off the blue-white glow from the tube. Red safety light went on and then there was a hissing as atmosphere was pumped in. Another minute or so and Xander's weight was resting on his feet - hanging off his arm. His innards settled downward as well and he swallowed hard, wishing he could wipe his face.
*In a minute, in a minute, almost done...almost out...* There was nothing Xander hated more than zero gravity. The inner hatch blinked a green light at them and then whipped open, revealing a clutch of Outsiders. Armed, armored, and every muzzle - organic or otherwise - pointed straight at them.
"Bloody fucking hell! Rrahn!" Every dog - and every gun - suddenly swung around and Rrahn was there, looking extremely Samurai, Xander thought, in layers of ceremonial brass-toned armor.
*I have a very, very bad feeling about this. Was it the Force that made Luke and Leia say that, or just their twinness? And didn't Han say it too? Gonna have to force Spike to have another movie night.*
Spike was popping the seals on his helmet - wrenching it off with a snarl over com that Xander lost as he broke the seal on his own - pulled free of it and took a deep breath. And coughed. Whoever was living here believed in marijuana, garlic, and chickens. And not in baths. Ferro coughed too, hooking his helmet to his belt and drawing a gun in a series of smooth moves that had a couple Outsiders belatedly turning back on him, guns swinging uncertainly into true.
"Huch!" Rrahn snapped, and the guards finally stood down, long guns falling to a rest position - stepping back with a click of jointed, armored feet. "My a'ologies. Things arre...'ense."
"What things. Damnit, Rrahn -"
"William Rowe, called Spike? Captain of the Drusilla?" New voice - human voice - and the dogs stepped back further, clearing a path. Older human guy in what was probably the latest in Earth formal dress. That was topped with an armored vest, which didn't seem to be fitting too well. The man was - paunchy.
Spike glared at the man, who visibly flinched. "Yeah. Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Albert Peacher. I'm the assistant to the ambassador of Human-Demonic relations on Earth."
"Assistant? I don't talk to assistants, mate."
Peacher shifted uncomfortably and Xander realized that wasn't a shadow on his face - it was a bruise. "I'm - sorry, Mm - Captain. But the Ambassador is -"
"He wass taken." Rrahn interrupted, and Xander finally realized something. That high, sharp smell wasn't more of the unwashed masses, it was the dogs, and they were afraid. "We need him back. And 'oo are going to get him, Sss'ike. 'Oo and 'oo're crew."
*Jee-sus....Christ.* Xander put his hand on Spike's arm, not able to feel anything but knowing, from the look on Spike's face, that he was practically vibrating with tension and rage.
"This is not worth six-hundred million," Ferro muttered.
"Not even six-hundred billion," Xander muttered back, and Spike twitched under his hand.
"Well - billion -"
Xander gave Spike the evil eye. "Not. Worth it."
"We have a lot to talk about, gentlemen," Peacher said, fiddling with the straps on the body-armor.
Spike sighed and straightened his shoulders - pushed his hand back through already-rumpled hair. "Don't think talking's gonna fix this mess, mate. But you can try." Peacher nodded and turned away - started walking toward what looked like an exit in the dim, cavernous space. The Outsider troops fell into line around him. Rrahn gave a short bow before turning to go as well and Spike stepped up to her fast, taking hold of a piece of the elaborate armor and jerking her to a stop.
"You are gonna have to do a lot more than try, Rrahn. You fucking owe me."
"All in good 'ime, Sss'ike."
"Got nothin' but, Rrahn."
Part six.
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Maybe you should go to the emergency room?
*wrings hands*
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I got the mega-dose that i only have to take for five days, which rox.
I hate taking the damn pills four times a day for ten days. I always forget and screw it up and they make me kinda sick, anyway.
:)
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