The Way of the Wombat.

Ten Years After Chapter Six.

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 21:22:17 GMT

As promised, I am posting the next chapter of Ten Years After here. In the Watchers Tales on S2C's website I put an 'in which.....' for each one, and I keep thinking I should be doing it for this story - so

CHAPTER SIX.

Dawn and Spike walked through the Parisian night to nearby public gardens, there were other people strolling in the night air, but not enough to prevent private conversation, and they attracted little attention but for one or two admiring glances from, Dawn was glad to notice, about equal numbers of men and women.

“And you,” Spike said as they entered the gardens, “ten years, long time – my little Bit’s all grown up.” ‘Was there a hint of query in his voice?’ Dawn wondered, but he kept on “So – boyfriends, lovers?”

“Enough of them.” Dawn answered. “No-one at the moment though. My heart’s still intact and in one piece, it’s just been slightly bruised on a couple of occasions! How ‘bout you? Ten years, long time – girlfriends? Lovers?” she finished, grinning.

“Enough of them!” Spike laughed. “Was just asking – I mean the Council might want their researchers to live like nuns – I don’t know! Wanted to be careful not to say anything to ….em… to…”

“Upset my sensibilities, shock my virgin mind, and sully my innocent psyche, etcetera etcetera?” Dawn suggested, grinning. “Well, much though my sister tried, I think my innocent, virgin sensibilities were fairly well non-existent by the time we got to Rome, and the virginity itself didn’t last much past my eighteenth birthday. Don’t think you could say much to shock me these days – not that you ever did! Buffy still looks pained if I say fuck, but can’t see it bothering you!”

“No,” he said, “I’m a pretty quick learner sometimes. My little bit is a grown up bit, I’ll cope with that!” He stopped, spun towards her and held her by both shoulders at arms’ length. “And turned into the stunner I always said you would, as well. Good job I wasn’t around when you started dating – I’d have wanted written guarantees that they were going to keep their hands to them selves, prowled around like a Victorian Father if I knew you were out without a chaperone, quite possibly talked Buffy into having you fitted with a chastity belt! With an alarm on it!”

Dawn blushed at the compliment; glad that it was dark, but knowing Spike could see the blush and would wonder why, if she was so unshockable, she blushed so easily still.

They sat on a bench, and Dawn said “Now give, Spike. There are so many things I don’t know, or don’t understand. Giles said that the amulet thing delivered you up to Wolfram and Hart – actually he also said that it was probably a shock to them, they’d have been expecting Angel to wear it and be delivered gift-wrapped, not you! Bet you threw a bit of a spanner in their works! But I don’t really understand why you didn’t let us know you were alive – well as alive as usual. I mean me – I was still being a bit Bloody Awful Teenagerish I know, but Buffy….”

“Wasn’t that easy pet! When I found myself in the Wolfram and Hart building I couldn’t have picked a phone up to ring anyone – or a pen to write a note – I was a bloody ghost! Insubstantial, can’t pick things up! And I couldn’t leave the damned place – could only get so far away and ‘Stop! No further!’ Took a while to adjust to not being totally and terminally dead – but stuck in that bloody place – like being in a hell dimension it was! And being stuck with Angel for what looked like it could be eternity. Wasn’t much point in letting you guys know I was still in this dimension when I might as well not be!”

“I never really understood why Angel was at Wolfram and Hart anyway – nobody told me much then, and when Giles did talk about it afterwards he just said that it seemed as if Angel had planned to destroy it from within from the beginning.” Dawn commented.

“Nah – I don’t think that was really in his mind – even if he believes it himself now - not that I was there when they first moved in, but they bribed him – him, the Great White Hope – they just knew what button to push, and he gave in like anyone else would. Was a pretty big button mind, although he didn’t exactly take me into his confidence at the time. I think he was probably well over Buffy you know – people only thought he was still brooding about her, but he was totally in love with Cordelia, and they offered him the best medical help of any sort to try and pull her out of her coma. But I think maybe Connor was the...”

“Cordelia? Angel? Coma?” Dawn interrupted. “I mean I knew she was working for him, but in love with Cordelia? She was a bitch! I remember her being really horrible to Buffy. And coma? What happened? No-one ever told me anything!”

“Mmm… not really sure exactly what happened – it was some demon thing before I got there, and no-one liked to talk about it much – but everyone seemed really sad about her, so I’m guessing she’d mellowed a bit. Angel used to go and sit and brood over her for hours when he thought no one was around to notice. Think he only decided to screw up Wolfram and Hart after Cordy died and there was no need for all the medical research. Although if you ask me they probably weren’t working that hard on her recovery – I mean if she’d recovered Angel could have just taken all his team and walked out. Except for the Connor thing and they’d already done that so…”

“I heard from Willow sometime that Cordelia had died, but I can’t say I was bothered – I though she’d probably crashed a sports car whilst posing around in Hollywood, or been hit on the head by falling scenery, or something. I mean, so much not one of my favourite people that I would have been much more upset if Willow had told me her cat had died. I didn’t realise she’d been ‘demoned’ and died in the line of duty sort of thing – poor Cordelia. And hey – who is this guy Connor….that rings a bell…wait a minute; Andrew said Angel had a son ….Connor….Angel’s son? They fixed it so that Angel had a son? How?” Dawn asked.

“Not quite like that – he’d had the son before, some demon with a long-term plan arranged things so’s Darla and him had this baby – but it’s not something he’s entirely chatty about – you know Angel – chatty is not his style, so I guess they did the usual thing but some mojo meant totally unnatural pregnancy! And all sorts of things had gone wrong – kid went off the rails tried to kill people, and Wolfram and Hart offered to take the kid and put him into a new family with a whole new set of memories as if he’d been there for ever and….” Spike trailed off.

“Whoa! Been there, done that! I didn’t realise it happens all the time – that is one scary thought! I mean some of my friends may not be who they think they are either – Spike – you are telling me we are all living in some kind of science-fiction B movie! I’m having enough trouble coping with me!”

“Now hang on, don’t get upset – don’t think it’s all that common, pet. I mean I’ve only come across you, and you’re special! And you know – move in weird and unnatural circles you get to know about weird and unnatural things – um – digging myself into a hole here aren’t I?”

Spike paused and fidgeted with his hands, which is when it occurred to Dawn that he didn’t have a cigarette in them to play with. “Anyway didn’t work too well in the end – kid ended up with both sets of memories after a while. Turned up in the end to help his real Dad – still there as far as I know. You and him should get together sometime – you’ve got things in common! Mind he’s a bit inclined to brood – gets it from his father,” he ended, with a wry grin.

“So is he a vampire?” Dawn asked, somewhat distracted by the thought of Connor. “And how come Angel never mentioned him when he was in Sunnydale – was Connor with Darla – and so who looked after him when Darla was dusted?”

“It’s a long story – don’t really know all of it, but Connor is human, well not a vampire anyway, and he hadn’t even been conceived when Angel lived in Sunnydale. Yeah I know that doesn’t make any sense – I reckon he was conceived about two years before he was a teenager, and three or four years after his mother, who’d already been dead for about three hundred years anyway, was turned into a pile of dust. Told you some major demon type thing was involved!

“Far as I can tell Wolfram and Hart had Darla brought back from her dust for some reason, and the lad was stolen as a baby and taken to a demon dimension where he grew up to come back only months after he’d been taken. Bloody sneaky, the demon that organized that one. Never have found out exactly what it was that happened next, but it had something to do with Cordelia ending up in a coma. No-one in LA ever seemed able to tell me about it – probably all forgot as part of the deal Angel made, and Peaches is never going to tell me himself – whatever it was, don’t think it could have shown him in a very good light.”

“Hey, and I think I’ve got problems!” Dawn said, and then added “although I don’t think I want to talk about me just now – you seem to have been doing far more interesting things, I mean didn’t you just say a minute ago that you’d been a ghost?”

“Yeah – not all it’s cracked up to be, haunting! At least haunting Wolfram and Hart wasn’t, after I got over the idea that ‘I aten’t dead’, and I didn’t have to open doors to get from room to room, it wasn’t such great fun.” Spike answered, wryly.

“Hey – you read Terry Pratchett – neat!” Dawn cut in.

“Hey - you read Terry Pratchett as well – neat!” Spike laughed. “Bet I read them before you did, Bit!”

“Well….maybe. Anyway – how come you not only aten’t dead, but you aten’t a ghost either?”

“Fred sorted it for me – was frightened I was just going to fade away, then Fred got me back into solidity. She was a lovely girl, Fred.” Spike answered.

“Fred – lovely girl? Fred was a lovely girl? Who was Fred, and what happened to her?” Dawn asked, feeling slightly jealous of this unknown female.

“’Course, you never met her,” Spike said. “She was a scientist. Really nice girl who loved Mexican food, and, eventually, Wesley. And she’s ……dead.”

‘Sometimes,’ Dawn thought, ‘it is probably not good to ask how or why someone is …… dead.’ Out loud she said “Well I’m glad you’re solid. Actually I’m pretty glad that you survived the whole Wolfram and Hart thing, because Council records say that there was a big battle, with smiting and even a dragon and an Ancient God-King and things. But they are a bit short on detail, just that Angel and you were involved, and won, and must have been the good guys because you winning stuffed Wolfram and Hart totally. That’s all we got. How did you beat an Ancient God-King?”

“Beat her? She was on our side!” Spike started, but was interrupted by Dawn.

“Her? I thought the records said ‘God-King’, shouldn’t that be ‘him’?”

“Guess properly it should be ‘it’” Spike answered, slowly, as if he was looking back to a picture in his mind. “But Illyria ended up with poor Fred’s body, ‘s a long story, and not Illyria’s doing, no point in blaming her – because how could we think of Fred’s body being anything but a ‘her’?

“Illyria ended up stuck in a body that couldn’t do what she’d always been able to do, in a dimension that she couldn’t control, or take over. She was lost really. Someone that should have been all-powerful caught like a bird in a cage.”

‘Probably a good job she didn’t know where to find a Key,’ Dawn thought to herself.

“OK, so come on, why was there a big battle? How come you won it - apart from the fact that you’re a hero?” she asked out loud.

“No, love, sorry to disappoint you, but old Spike is no hero. Was once, ‘cos I felt it was the right thing to do, thought my time had come and I needed to atone and all that, but that was it for being a hero. No, this one was Angel’s battle, and I could’ve backed out, but that would’ve been being a coward, and I’m not that either!” Spike said, somewhat wryly. “You lot could get on with your lives fine without me. Only Buffy’d wanted me around anyway, and she was coping fine, the rest, yourself mainly excepted, always preferred my space to my presence anyway. Dru didn’t need me, and Angel was the only ‘family’ I’d got left. Why not go out in a blaze of glory together? But it wasn’t heroics, it just seemed a good idea at the time – didn’t have anything else planned!”

“So you did a big battle scene out of boredom? Sure you weren’t drunk? Me – I’d have read a good book, or had a holiday. But seeing that it’s you I’ll accept that you got yourself involved in, if not The Apocalypse, a local Apocalypse of the Week, just you and Angel and a God-King disguised as a scientist lady.”

“Hey, Apocalypse of the Year at least!” Spike interjected, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, of the Year,” Dawn acknowledged. “Anyway, why on earth were the guys from Wolfram and Hart so pissed at Angel, and how come you beat them? I mean, I know I wanted to talk to you about me – but your life is much more interesting!”

“There was more than just the three of us. Wes and Gunn were there too, ‘least to start with. Angel decided that the best way to try and do as much damage to his employers as possible was to take out basically the Board of Directors – Black thorn something or other they called themselves. So we all set off together to try and kill as many as possible at the same time. Did pretty well, except Wes was killed by his one and Illyria had to finish the job for him. Right upset she was – Wes’d loved Fred, and he’d been good with Illyria, so she was really pissed off about it.”

Spike grimaced and drew in a deep breath. “Angel had told us to meet up with him in an alley. We all got there, except Wes, and Gunn was pretty badly hurt. Then we realised the Wolfram and Hart top brass’d found us and set the hounds of Hell with all their friends and relations on us. Helluva scrap. Gunn didn’t make it. Connor arrived just after the fun started – typical son – Angel had told him to get out of town an’ make himself scarce. Just like you at Sunnydale, innit?

“Where was I? Oh yeah, all the things of your nightmares, the bad guys from every childhood book you ever read, even a soddin’ dragon, they were all there. Poured out of a portal and came down on us – I can still see ‘em. Me and Angel just went chargin’ in there, like fights in the old times, Connor just behind, but we’d not have lasted long.

“Only, every one that Illyria hit she seemed to get brighter, bluer, till she was bloody glowing. Heard her yell something about power, and that she would show the bastards for killing Wes, ‘pursue them even unto their own dimension’ – and she just walked through this horde, killing bloody everything that got near her. Getting brighter all the time she was, like a blue sun – and she just walked up into the air still killing things ‘till she stood right in the portal, and she looked at this dragon that was still hovering trying to fry me and Angel and said – ‘Bow puny lizard’ or something like that. It stopped in its tracks – which was when Angel chopped its soddin’ head off – then she stalked in through the portal and it just snapped shut behind her. Was one helluva a bloody sight, never forget it.”

Spike had closed his eyes during the telling of this tale, and Dawn, who wanted to ask lots more questions like ‘Blue?’ and ‘Gunn?’ decided that this wasn’t the time and stayed silent.

“Never thought I’d see anything like it”, he said after a minute or so. “Guess she got the power she needed from their dimension, staged a take-over or something – but she never sent us so much as a soddin’ postcard since, so we’ll never know! Like to think of her kicking the asses of all the so-called Senior Partners! Doing it still looking like Fred, as well. Didn’t take her long – the Wolfram and Hart building in LA turned into a pile of rubble. Hear some of the other branches survived, but whoever was top man or woman in them suddenly found they’d no higher authority to answer to, and could just get on with screwing the public like lawyers are supposed to!

“Anyway, me and Angel and Connor just stood in that alley and gawped. Must’ve been minutes but it felt like days. Then Connor said we’d better get out before the cops eventually turned up, and he picked up Gunn, and me and Angel followed him like a pair of bloody sheep. We’d not expected to have any afterwards to deal with, but there we were again – still standing. Wonder why sometimes.” He paused. “But not often – or I’d end up off my bleeding trolley!” he said suddenly with a change of tone. He reached over to Dawn and pulled her up to her feet.

After that they walked for a while, talking about ‘things to see in Paris’, books, and TV programmes, and avoiding anything else by unspoken mutual agreement. Spike eventually walked Dawn back to L’Hotel du Vieux Saule, and told her that at first he’d only intended to meet up with her for an hour or two, but he’d had the best evening for ages. He knew that Dawn had something on her mind, but it was too late now to talk about it, and so if she could put up with his company, how about shopping tomorrow? If she was still the Queen of The Mall that was?

Dawn wanted to know how he was going to cope with day-time shopping, and Spike explained that one of the best things about Paris was the Metro – go anywhere by tunnel! The twenty-four hour city concept meant it was easier to shop at night – but these days even Paris had indoor malls that opened directly from Metro stations, so no problem shopping by day either. He’d meet her mid-morning for coffee – and after giving her the address of the relevant coffee shop, kissed her lightly on both cheeks (trés Francaise!) and strode away into the night.

Ten Years After, Chapter five.

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 18:34:25 GMT

I really don't know if anyone is reading this here, but just in case -

Ten Years After, Chapter 5.

Finding an answer to her e-mail next morning was almost an anti-climax. Somehow Dawn had convinced herself that if Spike was indeed anywhere in Paris he would have come to her rescue the evening before.

‘Dawn, what a surprise to hear from you. I had thought that you had moved on so successfully from Sunnydale that you would not want any reminders of that time, and, as you said, I was not sure where to find you.
If you really would like to see me I think that I would like to see how you’ve grown up!
I see from your ISP that you are in Britain, and currently I am in Paris, and I aim to be here for a few weeks more, so name your place and time here, within my usual limitations of course, and save me crossing the channel!
Spike.’

She read it over a couple of times and thought ‘Sounds pretty formal – cool even, but at least it’s a yes – and I am in the right city. Wonder where the best place is for An Interview With A Vampire?’

Over breakfast Dawn consulted her guide book, and decided to check out a café fairly nearby for suitability as a meeting place before using her phone to e-mail her reply. It turned out to be easy enough to find, and small enough that you should be able to see who you were looking for, and somehow she thought Spike might appreciate the quote from the guide book.

‘Tonight, eight thirty, meet me at the Café Ma Bourgogne, 19 Place des Voges, and unlike Mme de Pretevel, I promise I won’t piss in your soup!’ She liked the idea that the original owner’s wife had used such a distinctive way of expressing her dislike of her husband, and as she hit send she thought ‘That should make him smile, or at least give him something to look up on the internet!’

She had the satisfaction of a reply within half an hour – ‘Sodding hell, Nibblet – you’re in a hurry! Tonight it is! And I won’t be having the soup!’ Now that was more like Spike!

The day seemed to drag. She rang Willow to let her know that Spike had been in touch, and to pass on the information about the vampires in the Gay Quarter, visited a couple of Art Galleries, and bought a pretty dress for Thea – pity Thea was too young for the phrase ‘Paris Fashion’ to mean anything to her friends!

Early evening on the other hand became a frenzy of ‘What to wear?’ This was Paris – you should look reasonably smart, and this was Spike – her old friend and mentor from her teens. This was also Spike who was so cool looking in those teen years that her friends drooled and wanted introductions. The Spike she’d had a crush on herself, if she was being quite honest. The Spike who logic suggested would still look just as cool – and not so much different in physical age from herself these days.

Clothes chosen, hair swept up to look somewhat sophisticated, Dawn arrived five minutes early, and waited outside their rendezvous scanning the passers by. Would he still be blond? Would he still have the 70’s haircut? Would he still be wearing that leather duster that was so much part of his look?

“Dawn?” a voice said right beside her ear, he’d obviously been waiting just inside the door for her – ‘That’s cheating!’ she thought. She spun around, and there he was – hair fashionably clipped, but still blond, eyes just as impossibly blue as she’d remembered them, and black leather coat still draped around his shoulders – albeit a somewhat newer one. And despite all her good intentions to be calm and adult Dawn threw herself at Spike and hugged him as hard as she could.

There was a second when Spike just stood totally still, it felt like an hour. Then his arms came up and he gently hugged her back.

………………………………………

There were things that you just couldn’t discuss in a café, and so conversation was rather general and a bit stilted to start with. Dawn had been determined to make sure that Spike realised that she had not known that he had survived Sunnydale until almost three years after the event, and she launched into her speech on the subject before she had even looked at the menu.

“I should have tried to get in touch with you then,” she said, “but I was still only a teenager, and I guess I was willing to buy Buffy and Giles’ line that you had moved on, and so had we, all too easily. I was still behaving like a kid, and thinking ‘if he wanted to talk to me he could get in touch’. Why would you have done? For that matter how would you have done? When I think about it now about the only way you could have got in touch would have been by way of Giles – ‘cos I guess you’d know where to find the Watchers’ Council – you being a vampire and all that.” Then she put her hand to her mouth and blushed because she’d mentioned ‘vampire’ in public! That broke the ice a bit though, as Spike raised an eyebrow, and then grinned.

“Although come to think of it,” Dawn continued after a moment cursing the fact that she still had a twenty-year-old’s blush reflex as well, “even they’d moved! I should have tried to get in touch with you since though – the years have gone by, and I didn’t try, and I’m sorry.”

Spike looked at her for a moment, and said, rather gruffly “’S alright – I’d guessed you were busy living your own life – no reason for me to turn up and bother you. I’d kind of lost track of how long it had been, anyway.” At that last remark Dawn wondered if his gaze was just a little questioning, but thought perhaps she was seeing things that weren’t there.

After ordering, no soup for either of them, Dawn explained how she had finally tracked Spike down, but not really why, and he didn’t ask. By the time their first course arrived she had got onto what she was doing with herself these days, and where she was living. “Milton Keynes! Milton Bloody Keynes! You must be joking! You work for Giles and that means you live in Milton soddin’ Keynes? What the bloody hell is The F’in Council doing in Milton F’in Keynes?’ Spike’s outburst made Dawn laugh and also made a number of heads turn in their direction, which made both of them laugh more – the ice was well and truly broken.

She explained that the big country house where the Council was now based had been bought with the insurance money from the central London offices, because prices outside London were cheaper, and if the Bletchley Park area had been good enough for the Code Breakers it was good enough for the Council. Milton Keynes was pretty close, had reasonably priced apartments, and really good train links. Spike was, she told him, welcome to come to Milton Bloody Keynes to visit any time he liked!

She was still on edge though, and had too many butterflies in her tummy to do more than pick at her food , wary of talking about Buffy, not sure what she would see in his eyes, but knowing that she couldn’t really avoid talking about her sister for the whole evening. In the end it was Spike who brought the subject up. “How’s Buffy doing, she OK? Not still with the Bloody Immortal is she?”

“No, no, she split up with The Great Wanker when I was just in my first year at Edinburgh. She’s - um – she’s fine.”

“The Great Wanker? Bloody good name for him – who christened him that?” Spike asked, laughingly.

“Me!” Dawn confessed, noting that he hadn’t immediately asked for more information about Buffy, “But I learnt it from you!”

“Yes, well – you’re a big girl now; you can say what you like!” He laughed.

Again Dawn wondered whether he was looking at her just a touch too closely, or whether she was just being a bit paranoid about it.

“So what’s big sis doing with herself? Not that she’s really big sis these days – you’re nearly my height – you must tower over her. She ever get that normal life she longed for so much?” Spike seemed simply interested – not really as if he was hanging on Dawn’s every word about Buffy with either longing or lust.

“Well, I think she got closer to it than I would have expected back then. She’s married to a nice guy who helps train some of the girls, they live out in Sacramento and she’s got two kids. Boys. She says she’s glad they’re boys, ‘cos, well, you know – can’t follow in her footsteps.”

As Dawn told him about Buffy she watched him through slightly lowered eyes, and thought she saw a flicker of emotion, sadness maybe, cross his face, but it was there for only a fleeting moment.

“I’m glad for her,” he said simply. “Knew she didn’t really mean what she said when she tried to get me to leave the Hellmouth, even if she thought she did. Did she ever tell you about that?”

“Yes – a couple of days after, she said she’d told you she loved you, but it hadn’t been enough.”

“If I’d run with her then, and the thing had collapsed in anyway, it wouldn’t have worked – we wouldn’t have stayed together – all she ever really wanted was ‘normal’, and I could never have given her that. Bloody annoyed me when I found out she was with that wanker over in Italy though – how soddin’ normal was that? Still kind of thought she might at least have got in touch when me and Angel turned up in Rome though. Knew it was over for sure then.”

“She didn’t know you were in Rome, Spike. She didn’t even know you were alive. Andrew said that you’d told him not to say, so he didn’t.” Dawn watched Spike closely as she said this – but what she saw in his face was purely surprise.

“You mean that blabber-mouth finally managed to keep his mouth shut – who’d have thought it? So when did Buffy find out we’d been there?” he asked curiously.

“A bit before I did I think – when she came to London from Rome, after you had that big thing in L.A.” Dawn answered - wondering still whether he would be upset to realise that Buffy hadn’t known he was alive, or whether he would be upset to realise that once she had know she hadn’t dashed off to find him.

His answer surprised her. “Glad she knew before she got married. Wouldn’t have wanted her carrying some guilt thing about not persuading me to leave the Hellmouth around with her for the rest of her life – might have made things a bit awkward with her husband if she’d still thought she was hankering after some mythical long-lost love.

“I though about it quite a bit you know – that she’d said she loved me. She didn’t really. To start with she loved the wrongness of it, when all she wanted to do was to bring herself down. Then, with The First, she needed me, one way and another, and maybe that felt like love to her. In the end she thought she loved me because I was a hero, but it still wasn’t me she loved – it was the idea of having her own hero. I don’t think she ever really knew me, you know. Then in the end, when I though she was just ignoring me for The Immortal I was pissed off – but more because it was him than because she didn’t come running. Realised then I was getting over her.

“Wish her all the best from me sometime – I’m glad she’s fine, glad she’s got what she wanted, and you know in the end, I’m glad what she wanted wasn’t me. Took me a bit of thinkin’ about, but it’s the truth of it. So you don’t need to be all worried that I’m goin’ to start cryin’ about her, or go chasin’ off to Sacramento to steal her from her husband.

“To be honest, when I’ve thought about Sunnydale in the last few years it’s usually been because I’ve seen something on TV that reminded me about the time she wasn’t around, and I used to come around and watch things with you. And I’ve thought about your Mom, even about The Watcher, all as much as I’ve thought about Buffy. It was only a short time for me – small bit of a long life. But you know me – live in the moment – live life to the full – it was intense then, and now it.…isn’t.” He finished, and looked Dawn straight in the eyes, and she could see that he was telling the truth, and felt a rush of relief, letting out the breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, with a rush.

“Anyway,” Spike said after a pause whilst their plates were cleared, “tell me how the other people I knew are doing.”

“Thought it was too long ago for you to be bothered!” Dawn retorted.

“I only said I don’t spend my life thinking about Buffy all the time, not that I’m not a bit curious about everyone. I’m curious enough about you to be here aren’t I?” he answered, but there was no anger in his voice, more amusement. “All those bloody teenaged girls’ll be well grown up by now – how’re they doing? How’s the Watcher – when he’s not being one of the top bods in the council? And bloody Harris, how’s he doing – heard from someone else in her line of business about Anyanka not making it out of Sunnydale – shame she didn’t make a comeback like me! And Red – she still shacked up with that Kennedy female? Come on – give with the gossip over pudding, Bit.”

‘Pudding’ was good, and Dawn savoured every spoonful now that she wasn’t worrying that Spike might still be heart-broken over Buffy. Spike also ate with enjoyment, and she wondered, not for the first time in her life, what happened to the food he ate – then tried to put the thought right out of her mind – quickly!!

Spike expressed sorrow over the Potentials he remembered who were no longer alive – either because they died at Sunnydale, or in action since. He was surprised at Giles’ marriage and parenthood – “Do him good, a smart looking bird like that – and a little girl? Loosen the Watcher up a bit! Bet he’ll be watching her all the time in case she gets the call though! Buffy’s right to be glad she’s got boys!” Again, Dawn noticed he sounded pretty natural when he mentioned Buffy, he really didn’t seem to be wallowing in unrequited love at all – and she felt a real lift to her spirits.

Xander’s role in disaster relief work made Spike nod in understanding – “Make him feel wanted – and doing something where people recognise that he’s good at it and knows his stuff will do him good. Didn’t always get a lot of recognition when he was young, from anyone, made him unsure of himself. I mean look what happened at his wedding – well non-wedding – wouldn’t have happened if he’d had more confidence in himself! He got himself a decent woman yet?”

“Not a permanent one that I know of anyway. But he doesn’t talk about things like that to me – still sees me as a teenager I think.” Dawn replied – and could have bitten her tongue – she didn’t want to go there just yet, not here, and this time she was certain that Spike paused just a little too long before answering slowly “Yeah, I suppose he would.”

Coffee saw a discussion of Willow’s love life, and Andrew’s, absorbed with great interest by Spike – but then, Dawn remembered, this was the vampire who used to be addicted to day-time soap-operas, and quite possibly still was. “Glad she got over that Kennedy one – too bloody bossy for my liking. Red deserved someone who appreciated her, not someone who tried to tell her what to do. I’m just surprised it didn’t end with Red turning her into something more interesting – a frog or something! And Red’s still into men as well? Might turn up some day and try my hand – always did think she was a smart bit of talent!” He grinned as he said that – but Dawn was surprised to feel a bit as if someone had just punched her in the stomach – yep the old Spike crush thing was alive and well and visiting Paris!

“Was surprised when we turned up that time in Rome, and Andrew was with a couple of neat looking women – somehow thought he was more into guys! But he’s just not picky – same as Red eh? Well that makes me feel better! And not that way!” he added as Dawn raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I mean I’m glad to know I hadn’t totally mis-read him, lost me touch and all that!”

Dawn wanted to know what Spike had been up to in the last ten years as well – starting with what he called his ’Come-back’, but he said he didn’t want to talk about it in the, now crowded, café.

He paid the bill when it arrived, although Dawn protested that it was her treat, she’d invited him, but he wouldn’t even split it halfway. ‘You can take the vampire out of the nineteenth century – but you can’t completely take the nineteenth century out of the vampire – at least not this one!' she thought, followed by 'And where did he get the money?'

.....................................................

Disclaimer as Chapter One - all rightr remain with the original owners etc.

Ten Years After Chapter Four

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 19:12:20 GMT

Not sure if anyone is actually reading this over here - but here is
Ten Years After - Chapter 4 is

Ten Years After, Chapter 4.

It was a couple of days before Dawn made contact with Angel – she couldn’t quite make her mind up – phone or e-mail –or what to say. She decided to wait until the lab results on her tissue samples were ready. The morning came when Giles called her into his inner sanctum and told her that the best brains in demonic physiology and related sciences had concluded that the samples came from a being that was either immortal or very slow ageing – so slow it would be almost imperceptible.

It was the result Dawn had expected, but it still upset her. At least Giles could understand why, and did not try and tell her how wonderful it was. To watch your friends all grow old and die; to know, even with new young ones, it would be the same. Not only friends, but lovers – and how could a relationship continue as one became old enough to be the other one’s grandparent?

Never able put down roots and stay in one place because after a while people would start to comment. Even in this century surgery could only hold back the years for a finite time, to really defy age would still be suspicious. Dawn almost understood why The Great Wanker, his Immortalness, could be so unlikeable, and perhaps why he led the life he did, never being very serious about anything. But there was no way she was going to seek him out for advice.

She rang Angel Investigations in the end. She had wondered whether it would be best to ring during LA’s daytime or night time, with Angel being a vampire, and had gone for about 8.00am LA time. The phone was answered by a female voice, who explained that Angel was ‘out’ and identified herself as Nina – could she help?

“I hope so,” Dawn answered. “I’m ringing from the UK, from The Watchers’ Council – you know? I’m trying to find contact details for someone called Spike.”

“Well yes,” Nina came back, “I have heard of your organisation, but I don’t think I can help you on this.”

‘Don’t think you can, or don’t think you will?’ Dawn thought. Out loud she said “You do know who I mean though, don’t you? He’s a vampire, and like he used to work with Angel a few years back, um, and he’s known Angel for years. You see this is more of a personal thing than a Council thing – it’s just that I knew him really well when I was a kid – in Sunnydale. You heard about Sunnydale? Well Spike was like a sort of big brother figure for me, and there’s something kinda major going on in my life right now, and I’d just really, really like Spike to know about it.”

“Yes, I do know who Spike is, only I don’t actually know where he is, Miss, em, Miss who?” Nina asked.

“Dawn, my name is Dawn,” Dawn replied, thinking it better not to mention Summers in case Nina thought she was trying to contact Spike, or even Angel, on Buffy’s behalf. “Angel might remember me, although I was only a kid when he was around. I could wait and call back later when he’s around if you like, if he might know where I can contact Spike.”

“He won’t know any more than I do”, said Nina, “Spike doesn’t exactly keep in regular touch with Angel.”

“Oh gee,” Dawn said, emphasising her Californian accent, which was somewhat faded after her time in the UK, ‘I so wanted him around for my big …. I mean I so wanted to give him my news, and you were my only chance, it won’t be the same….”

“You got a big day coming up honey?” Nina queried, jumping to the conclusion Dawn had hoped she would. “And you really want to let Spike know? I am so sorry – I really don’t have any idea where he is, or I would at least pass on a message.” She paused, and sensing that Nina was trying to decide about something, Dawn waited without saying anything.

“I do have an e-mail address,” Nina said eventually, “although I don’t know whether he ever picks messages up from it – but he has sent us the odd post over the last few years, so it might help.”

“Oh please! You can’t imagine how much it would mean to me! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind!” Dawn enthused, doing her best to sound like a giddy bride-to-be rather than a Watchers’ Council Researcher.

“No, I guess you’re right”, said Nina, sounding reassured. “In fact he may well be in Europe – Angel got a postcard from Paris a couple of weeks ago – no signature, but a message saying it should remind him of very old times. It made him laugh, a bit, and he said it was from Spike, if that’s any help?”

“Oh wow! That’s really great! Thanks so much Nina, give my love to Angel!” and Dawn finished the call grinning all over her face! Paris a couple of weeks ago, and an e-mail address – now things were looking up!

………………………………………………………………………

Giles was quite happy for Dawn to take some time off to ‘think things through’, and thought a trip to France for a while would ‘do her good’. She wasn’t sure, even yet, how Giles would feel about her hunting down Spike, and so decided not to mention him for now; except to Andrew, who already knew, and to Willow.

She asked Andrew not to mention Spike to Giles just yet, and although she hadn’t discussed the Highlander Syndrome with him, she thought he may well have his own idea about it since he’d found her all her old pictures, because he just said “That’s a pretty cool idea, it might be good for you to talk to Spike – say ‘Hi’ from me.”

She talked a bit about why she wanted to find Spike to Willow, who agreed he would be a much better person to talk to about being the eternal twenty-something than The Immortal, or Angel for that matter. All Willow asked was that Dawn stay in touch with her by phone or e-mail, and remember that Spike might not want to be reminded about The Sunnydale Years, and so he might not want to see Dawn at all. Willow even recommended a hotel for Dawn – L’Hotel du Vieux Saule, Dawn’s French was good enough to understand why Willow might have gone there in the first place – and thought it might just bring her luck. Vieux Saule – The Old Willow! It was in the Marais, a fairly old bit of Paris, which somehow seemed more Spike.

Organising a trip to Paris was the easy bit; working out what to say in an e-mail was a lot harder. ‘Hi Spike – guess who? Give me a ring sometime so we can discuss longevity!’ How about ‘Dear William, I would consider it an honour if you would deign to contact me’? Maybe not!

In the end she decided on ‘Spike this is Dawn, I’m really sorry I’ve not been in touch with you, I didn’t know where to start, and I didn’t think you could want to hear from me, although I know that’s a silly excuse, as you wouldn’t have known where to find me either. There is something really strange happening to me right now, and I would so like to be able to meet you and talk about it. You were my best friend that summer in Sunnydale, and I am sorry if I never said sorry properly to you for being horrid to you. Please, please get in touch, so that we can meet – anywhere you like, your Nibblet.’

‘OK, not the most grammatically correct, but written from the heart,’ Dawn thought, and hit ‘send’ before she thought better of it.

……………………………………………………………..

Thirty six hours later, as Dawn boarded the Eurostar for Paris, she had not had an answer to her e-mail. She knew that Spike might well no longer be in Paris, and she knew that even if he was she could just wait for a reply before travelling, but she was restless, itchy for action. She thought to herself that she probably felt very like Buffy used to when she was too wound up to stand still, and would prowl around, or shift from foot to foot whilst waiting to go and DO something – must be a genetic thing.

The hotel was fine – an old building but with modern and very comfortable furnishings. Dawn wondered just which of Willow’s girlfriends or boyfriends had shared one of these beds with her, and looked with her out of the window at Paris. Dawn had been amused when she had realised from the in-room tourist information that the Gay Quarter was just around the corner, so more likely it had been a girlfriend than a boyfriend. Still, no distractions like that for Dawn.

But there were all sorts of shops and boutiques, nearby, also museums and Notre Dame within walking distance, not to mention a famous cemetery – always useful if looking for vampires! She set out to explore.

By dinner Dawn was quite a few Euros poorer, with a number of interesting store bags on the second bed in her room, and had decided it would be a good place for a bit of sisterly bonding sometime when Buffy was in Europe. The area had lots of small streets, as well as some broader ones, and a couple of parks, not to mention Pere Lachaise – Paris’s number one historical cemetery – she definitely thought it was a good area for vampire hunting.

There was a Parisian Slayer – Sylvie-Louise – but Dawn hadn’t arranged to meet her. Neither Sylvie-Louise nor her Watcher had mentioned encountering Spike, so were not likely to be much help to her at present. But somehow an area other vampires might frequent made Dawn feel closer to finding Spike, either because it might be an area he knew well (shame she hadn’t asked Nina exactly what bit of Paris might remind Angel of ‘old times’), or because he might still be a ‘White Hat’ out there to save the unwary.

If there was no answer to her e-mail by the time she’d eaten, she thought she might go out and wander the night-time streets – after all if this was fiction instead of real-life, she should get jumped by a vampire down a narrow dark street, and Spike would appear to rescue her, and they did say life was stranger than fiction!

In the end of course it didn’t quite work that way. Dawn wandered the streets, passing the gates to Pere Lachaise a couple of times, and finally made her way back towards L’Hotel du Vieux Saule by detouring through the Gay Quarter, described in the hotel’s tourist literature as ‘the safest place for a woman to walk alone’. That’s where she was jumped by a pair of male vampires.

Although she had not inherited the ‘vampire awareness’ of a Slayer from Buffy, she did get a tiny tingle, and she knew what they were a couple of steps before they reached her. Hoping that life was indeed going to follow the perfect storyline, she struggled with them, making smallish panic sounds, so as not to attract too many passers-by, but loud enough that someone with vampire hearing would notice if anywhere in the vicinity.

After a couple of minutes struggling just enough to keep herself out of fang reach, Dawn decided that enough was enough and, when the first vampire went totally into game face to scare her, she twisted out of his grasp saying “Pleeease – that is just sooo predictable! But this isn’t!” and used the official Watcher’s Council stake that she had had in her hand since that first tiny tingle. He turned into dust. His companion turned into a rapidly retreating figure, that she decided not to chase after, and no blonde vampire had appeared on the horizon to save her at all.

Dawn returned to her hotel room, shook any remaining dust off her jacket, and found herself wondering if it would blow the mind of French room service if she asked for hot chocolate with marshmallows. Dusting vampires made her feel vaguely homesick – for Sunnydale.
...................................

The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.

Ten Years After Chapter Three

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 18:24:01 GMT

Below

CHAPTER THREE.

Dawn’s research training meant that she was looking at the situation methodically, even though the puzzle was herself, and after some time amongst the records again she had written careful notes, which she discussed with Giles next afternoon.

The Watchers’ records showed that ‘The Key’ had been around for a very long time. They always spoke of ‘The Key’ – never of ‘A Key’, and the way it had been guarded over the years showed it was a very major magic item.

The monks had been so under threat that they had safeguarded The Key by placing it in human form in the family of the person most likely, in the whole world, to be able to protect it; again showing that they were desperate to prevent such a powerful thing falling into the wrong hands.

If The Key was so important, surely they must have thought about what would happen to it when Dawn became old and died – the energy source would either die with her, after all they had done for so long, or it would float around unguarded – again not in keeping with the job they had done all those years.

Dawn was showing none of the normal signs of ageing you would expect between the ages of twenty and twenty-seven – she thought this herself, and electronic comparisons of photos and vid-files found by Andrew confirmed that apart from her hairstyle she had changed not one iota since her twentieth birthday.

Giles had eventually agreed that Dawn could be right. If she remained at her physical peak, and did not age, The Key was not going to disappear within 70 - 80 years of it’s conversion into ‘Dawn’. This could be a conscious act on behalf of the monks, or it could be a direct result of putting The Key into human form – the magic itself might be so powerful that it preserved ‘the vessel’ in every possible way.

Except that it must be possible to injure or even kill her – note previously broken arm, and Glory trying to kill her to open the portal. Considered purely as a theoretical problem, they had come to the conclusion that this could be because the monks had not been able to put every possible safeguard into place. There was no definite proof that she could be killed, as no-one had yet achieved it, but it was likely that she could be, at least in certain circumstances; and so the term ‘Highlander Syndrome’ which Dawn had come up with herself might well be apt.

Giles had said that it would be quite possible for the scientific Watcher staff to carry out tests, probably at cellular level, to confirm or disprove this self-diagnosis. At first Dawn resisted the idea – feeling, like her monastic creators, that the fewer people who knew anything out of the ordinary about her the better, but by the end of the day had agreed to blood tests and a small tissue biopsy.

That night Dawn went home alone, having not really been able to do the research she had really had her mind set on – it would have to wait another day.

In her dreams that night she was still running past people, and could never stay to talk to them, and still she saw glimpses of platinum and black, always running with her, never getting left behind.

……………………………………………………………………………

“Andrew, I need your help”, Dawn said as she walked into the office, full of computers and electronic ‘toys’, just off the Main Library. “I could go do this research myself, or ask a librarian – but I know that you will know exactly where to look for what I want.”

Andrew raised one eyebrow, a move Dawn thought he probably had copied from Giles because he thought it made him look knowing, or inscrutable, or whatever, and said “Me – I’m flattered!”

“Good!” answered Dawn, “As flattery is supposed to get me everywhere! Now, what I want to know is where is Spike?”

This was obviously not quite what Andrew had expected, and he looked somewhat taken aback. “Spike? Why do you need to know? Why do you think I’d know?” he asked.

“Yes, Spike, and I need to know where he is because I want to talk to him. And I expect you to know where I’ll find him because hey, this is the main archive of information held by The Watchers’ Council,” Dawn waved at the computers and the shelves outside the door, piled high with books, discs and even a few scrolls. “And you know I’ve always been led to believe that we keep as much information as possible on Master Vampires – and Spike, William the Bloody, whoever, is a Master Vampire. Not just any old Master Vampire, but one of only two we know of with A Soul. Note my use of capital letters here, Andrew! And I expect you personally to know where this information is stored because one, you are the Senior Recorder; two, you were Spike’s Number One Fan not so many years ago; and three, you are downright nosy! Now make with the information, or I will invite you over for a meal and watch you squirm as you try to be polite and eat haggis!”

“With neeps!” she added, as Andrew hesitated.

“All right, all right, you got me!” he answered, and within minutes had pulled up a file on the screen in front of him.

The Slayers and their Watchers had been primed to avoid staking Spike and the records showed that over the last few years he had crossed the paths of three Slayers – saving the life of at least one of them. The last report was from a Watcher in Brussels about ten months previously. Not quite a dead end – but almost as bad – Dawn thought, as he was not all that likely to still be there.

Andrew, now anxious to be as helpful as possible, pointed out that there were also a couple of references to Angel passing on information about Spike over the years, when The Council, or individual Watchers or Slayers, had been in touch with him – it looked as if Spike kept in touch, at least to some extent, with his sire.

“So do we have a file on Angel? Have we any information on how to get in touch with him?” Dawn asked, to be told that Angel’s phone number was on file, as was the e-mail address for his firm, would those do?

“Why didn’t I know that The Council keeps in touch with Angel?” she demanded of Andrew.

“Well, you’ve been involved with more complicated research for Giles,” Andrew answered, “he knows we can ring Angel up any time, he probably just didn’t ever need you to do it for him because it’s simple enough for him to do it himself.”

‘Probably,’ thought Dawn, ‘Giles thought that the less he reminded me about anything Sunnydale related the better – he probably thought if I wasn’t asking I wasn’t ready to know.’ But Andrew knowing so much more than her was a bit annoying!

Reading files, and having blanks filled by Andrew from his own knowledge, Dawn discovered that Angel was still in L.A., still running Angel Investigations, and still, according to Andrew, being a Good Guy who helped the Little People who had hassle from the Big Bad Guys. Only that the Really Big Bad Guys, the top ones at Wolfram and Hart, had been in some way banished from this dimension at the time of the Great Battle in L.A. (Andrew could still capitalise verbally better than anyone else Dawn knew!). Oh, and Angel had a female partner - a werewolf (!) - and a son who worked in the business!

Dawn left Andrew’s office not knowing whether she most wanted to hug him for being helpful, or, more likely, throw things at him for never having filled her in on all the Angel related gossip before – how could he have known all that and not told her? He was much better at this Watcher business than you would have thought when it came to only answering what he was asked, and opening up on other stuff purely on a need-to-know basis, only why hadn’t he decided that Dawn might at least want to know! Stupid Andrew! Well actually amazingly well disciplined Andrew, she corrected herself – a real credit to The Council she supposed.

She had invited him to dinner anyway – and promised that there would be no haggis, or neeps!

is Chapter Three of Ten Years After.

Ten Years After, chapter 2.

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 18:23:41 GMT

Second Chapter of my fic previously posted on my LJ

CHAPTER 2

“Giles, I really, really need to talk to you.” Dawn had cornered her boss and father-figure in his office at the Watchers’ Council Headquarters, whilst bearing coffee and a packet of shortbread.

“Certainly, Dawn – is it about your visit to Edinburgh? How is James McStay? Was he able to shed any light on that scroll fragment?” Giles asked. “Oh, and is that shortbread I see?”

“Yes, well sort of. Absolutely fine. Quite a bit, and yes – but I am only going to feed it to you at timed intervals so that I can hold your attention for a while!” Dawn answered.

Giles smiled at Dawn and said “Well if it is from that little shop near the University you can probably hold my attention for quite some time!”

In her researcher capacity, Dawn went over her conversation with Dr. McStay for Giles, but before he could start to discuss how her old tutor’s input might help them decide where else to look, Dawn broke into his train of thought, and said “No more shortbread unless we can stop talking about this for now, and get onto what I really want to talk about!”

“Ah yes”, said Giles, removing his glasses in the so familiar gesture, “This was meant to only be ”sort of” about your trip to Edinburgh – so what else happened?”

Dawn smiled. Giles was really much quicker on the uptake than many people around here realised even after ten years. “I want to talk about The Key. About me. About my Keyness. No-one ever mentions it; it’s as if you have all forgotten about it totally.”

“Hmm”, Giles murmured, still gazing blankly at the well polished glasses in his hand, then more briskly “You are quite right, I do tend to look at you and think ‘Dawn, bright, good company, reminds me in some ways of Joyce’, rather than ‘Dawn, mystical ancient power in human form’.” He replaced his glasses on his nose, and then turned to Dawn with a rather piercing look – “But then aren’t we all meant to do that? The fact that I see you as a person rather than a mystical essence shows what a very good job those monks did – both in making you, the real live, normal and human you, and in making sure that no-one ever thinks of you in any other terms. But I can see that the time has come for me to try hard to concentrate on that otherness, as something is obviously worrying you.”

“How much research has been done here about my Keyness, I mean I don’t know of any, but then I don’t suppose you’d tell me anyway, would you?”

“Well actually”, Giles answered slowly, “if there has been much research it’s existence has become obscured by the monks’ spell as well, because even if I concentrate hard on the fact that you came into existence as a fully-formed fourteen year old, and that you encapsulated an energy source to enable inter-dimensional travel, I still have difficulty concentrating enough to wonder why we haven’t got whole books written in the library about you.”

“We probably should have had you examined in a myriad interesting ways,” he added smilingly, “but I’m fairly sure that we haven’t even attempted to dissect you once – have we?”

……………………………………………

The ensuing discussion with Giles had been followed by some time in the archives. Now Dawn was sitting on her own in her own living room, munching on chocolate and considering everything she had learnt today.

The monks who had created her had guarded The Key for many, many centuries; their existence was recorded at least three times in Watchers’ Council Records. Also recorded was the information that The Key could be used to open inter-dimensional portals, and so the monks safeguarded it to prevent it falling into the wrong hands. One Watcher, in the seventeenth century, if Dawn remembered correctly, had noted that whilst destroying The Key would seem to be a good idea, such a course of action ‘could unleash unknown power’, and also that The Key ‘might one day be needed to open a portal for the good of the world’. That was pretty scary.

Giles had pointed out that this seemed to only be the opinion of that particular Watcher; he had not given any reference for the statement, but at least his opinion might have saved any attempts by the Council to safeguard the world themselves by destroying The Key.

Giles pointed out that mentions of The Key were few and far between, and if it (“Um, sorry, you,” he had said at least five times during the afternoon) was of major importance there should have been more regular reports. Either the Watchers’ Council had investigated at some time and thought it of very little importance, or the monks had done a pretty good job of masking themselves from investigation.

However he admitted that there should be full records of the discovery that the monks had created Dawn to contain The Key, and yet he himself had reported very little of this discovery to the Council at the time. Giles said he remembered this being because he had worried ‘about the information getting into the wrong hands’, but was not sure whether this was because he had had real worries about security at the Council headquarters, or because the spells surrounding Dawn’s existence had ensured that he did not report her existence fully.

This left Dawn with two possible hypotheses – either The Key was pretty unimportant, and had been guarded all those years just in case Glory turned up at the beginning of the twenty-first century, or it was so important that they had used so many cloaking spells and things over the years that even the Council forgot about it (‘Uh, sorry, me,’ thought Dawn) for centuries at a time.

She quite liked to think that it was the first, and that she was no longer anything other than a young woman of twenty-seven. But she was tending towards the second hypothesis, and that was when she had begun to wonder whether the monks had thought of her reaching her ‘use by’ date. Would The Key be passed to someone or something else, and if so how? They couldn’t rely on her having a child and passing it on that way, but if they had been so thorough over all these centuries it seemed impossible that they would allow The Key to cease to exist. Dawn was becoming more certain that she knew the answer, and she wasn’t sure she really liked the idea.

Both she and Giles had concluded that the first thing to determine was whether she was still The Key, or whether she had become what she appeared once the problem of Glory using The Key was passed. If she was no longer The Key then her problem was solved – she could put everything down to inheriting good genes!

Dawn could still remember with horror the reaction to her of the ‘crazy’ people, but with so many modern treatments for mental illness, hospital wards of ‘crazy people’ no longer existed in Britain. Giles had thought it possible that those with cerebral cortex damage following head injuries might ‘see’ her as pure energy if she was still The Key, but wondered about the ethics of exposing such people to what could be a traumatic experience for them. ‘Not to mention me!’ Dawn thought.

There was the possibility of going into London some evening particularly to see what effect she had on those people who wandered the streets mumbling to themselves – but it would be hard to know whether they were reacting to her being a ‘pretty light’ or to something else completely.

However Giles’ original research in Sunnydale, which she and Spike had read that night they’d broken into The Magic Box, had suggested that people with ‘second sight’ might be able to detect The Key, or ‘Necromanced Animals’. It had begun to look like a job for Willow. So, tomorrow, Willow was going to put herself into a magical trance and link herself with her pet cat so that she could see through its eyes; both Willow and Giles thought that this should qualify as a ‘necromanced animal’. Dawn wasn’t sure whether she was happy about this test, or frightened of it. If Willow saw The Key then at least she had more idea of who and what she now was, but if Willow saw Dawn, nothing changed – because it might simply not be the right spell.

Dawn wished she had not insisted on coming home alone tonight. She wished she had accepted Giles offer to spend the night with his family. She didn’t think that she would get much sleep.

…………………………………………………………………………

Arms flailing, gasping for breath, Dawn tried to escape from the swirling grey mist that clung to her – and found herself tightly wrapped in bedding, struggling to sit up. At first the dream was still so real that she couldn’t work out where she was. She had been running and running through the clinging grey mist; figures had loomed out of the mist but she had only just had time to see who they were when she had run past them and they had disappeared, swallowed by the mist behind her.

She remembered Giles, and Olivia, Buffy and Phil, Willow, Xander, Andrew, all calling to her, asking her to wait, but she couldn’t stop running. Then there had been two of the young Slayers, and just before she had woken Thea and her two nephews were calling, and stretching out their hands, but she had kept on running. And always there running beside her, or just in front of her, there had been another figure, seen almost out of focus by her dream eyes – just a glimpse of swirling black and bright white.

Spike, the person beside her had been Spike, she was sure of it now, as she sat bolt upright, and began to make sense of her surroundings.

There was a quiet knock on the bedroom door, and Willow appeared, in baggy pyjamas, asking her was she OK. The light from behind Willow illuminated the room gently and confirmed that this was not Dawn’s bedroom, but Willow’s spare room, and as Willow came and sat on the end of the bed Dawn was glad that tonight, after the spell, she had taken up the offer of company.

Willow had cast the spell here in her own little house, so that Scaramouch would not have to leave home. Dawn, and Giles, had sat quietly as Willow had cast the spell so that she could enter into her cat, see out of Scaramouch’s eyes, and hear and smell what he could hear and smell. As the last words of the spell were cast, the cat had suddenly sat up on his cushion, stared in Dawn’s direction, then stood up, arched his back and hissed.

At that moment Dawn knew – she did not need to wait until Willow withdrew from the cat’s mind. Scaramouch, who would normally sit happily on her knee, had not seen the Dawn he knew once he was a ‘necromanced animal’. He had seen The Key.

Back in the bedroom, in the middle of the night, Willow fussed and offered hot chocolate, to help Dawn get back to sleep after her ‘bad dream’. Even Scaramouch arrived, and deigned to jump onto the bed, obviously happy that this was the Dawn he knew and sometimes allowed to fuss him.

When she had broken the spell, Willow had described what Willow-Scaramouch had seen as “Still Dawn, but surrounded by a bright green light that seemed to flow in and out of her, and wrap itself around her, and she no longer smelt just of Dawn, but of metal, and electricity as well.” Giles had said that he was sure that those who had seen The Key in Sunnydale had only seen the light, and not Dawn in the middle of it, and he wondered if this meant that there was only a ‘residual keyness’ left, but Willow had said she thought that he was wrong – The Key was an extremely powerful force, she had been able to sense that. She thought that she could also see Dawn because Dawn was now a much more real and rooted person. Both Dawn and Key existed in equal measure.

Finally Willow left the bedroom, and went back to her own bed, leaving Scaramouch, who now seemed to have forgiven Dawn for startling him earlier, and was happy to deign to curl up on her feet. But Dawn did not sleep, not straight away. She lay there knowing what she must do, and planning on how to do it until the first grey light of her namesake appeared through the crack in the curtains.

Previous chapter(s) and future ones will be tagged TYA and posted into memories

Ten Years after - fic repost.

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 22:51:46 GMT

I have decided to repost my first proper fanfic over here, a chapter at a time. If you haven't read it before, it is a Dawn-centred fic, set, as the title might suggest, ten years after the closure of the Hellmouth at the end of Chosen. From my point of view canon is up to the end of Angel, the Series - I started writing before the comics came out, and have totally, and completely ignored them!

The story is eventually NC17 - but not at this point.

So - here we go with Chapter One of

Ten Years After.

Dawn sat in the pale early spring sunshine, thoughtfully eating her sandwich, drinking her water and keeping an eye open for the friendly squirrels that sometimes came and shared people’s lunches, even here in the middle of the city. Behind her she could hear the hustle and bustle of the traffic on Princes Street; closer she could hear a couple of voices arguing over something in, probably, Japanese; and when she looked up in front of her she could see the great looming rock with Edinburgh Castle sitting solidly on top.

She looked pretty deep in thought, and she was. She was considering an off-the-cuff remark of her former tutor, and how it seemed to confirm what she herself was beginning to suspect. She was carefully thinking through all the people who had known her for a while, and wondering, if she was right, why it hadn’t occurred to any of them. Could non-occurrence be considered proof that she was wrong?

There were some people who seemed to have know her for the last twenty seven years, although Dawn, and most of them, realised (if they concentrated) that they had really only known her for the last thirteen. ‘Buffy,’ thought Dawn, ‘lets start with Big Sis’.

Buffy was back in California – Sacramento, and Dawn met up with her once or twice a year, although she spoke to her and e-mailed her – but the image on the phone or the computer screen was not quite the same as seeing someone right up close. Buffy was thirty three now, and showing signs of her busy life, the odd dark ring under her eyes, the odd wrinkle, slightly sagging breasts, often slightly harassed looking although still very fit.

Dawn’s mind wandered back across the years, considering what had happened to Buffy to give her the odd lines and wrinkles. The whole Sunnydale experience of course – although she’d started to look younger and more California Girl after a spell in Italy. Dawn had liked Italy, but not Buffy’s relationship with The Immortal – ‘The Great Wanker’ Dawn had called him in a phrase she had learnt from Spike – although acknowledging that it was unlikely to be true – he had spent so much time fucking Buffy he hardly needed any DIY!! Dawn laughed quietly to herself – if Buffy heard her using ‘The F Word’ she still gave her a pained look as if she was too young to say that. Then she thought ‘Bank that thought – it might be relevant. Perhaps I ought to get a little notebook and write it all down a la Giles or Andrew!’ But she didn’t move, just kept on munching, and thinking.

She herself had decided she couldn’t stand any more of TGW after almost a year, and had decided to adopt Giles as a father-figure, and ask him for help. She hadn’t asked Hank Summers, because deep down she knew that really they had never even met – Giles knew her much better. He had suggested that instead of staying in Italy or going back to the States for university, she apply to a UK one – and if Dawn was interested in continuing her links with Watchers, Slayers and all that jazz, he could help with the university placement.

When she had thought about it, Dawn had realised that she probably would have trouble moving entirely into the ‘unknowing’ world – she knew too much about the things most people knew nothing about, or tried to know nothing about, and had asked him to explain more. Giles had suggested that she attend one of the five universities in the UK that had tutors in ‘specialist subjects’ to help with the education of Watchers. Not necessarily to become an active Watcher, but to expand her own knowledge, and decide later, and Dawn had decided it was a really good idea. This was of course why she had been talking to her former tutor this morning.

Dawn had decided on Edinburgh – home to two or three old Watcher families, and to a History Department where Dawn, along with two other students ‘with connections’ would have a special tutor for sessions on Demonology and Supernatural Research. She’d loved it – she had made friends not just with the other two but also with people doing all sorts of subjects, had boyfriends who were medical students, an English Lit. student and a physicist. The physicist had amused her whenever he talked about energy and light – ‘if only he knew’, she used to think.

A flash of grey out of the corner of her eye distracted Dawn’s train of thought, and she persuaded the squirrel to come a little closer with offerings of cheese salad sandwich. It moved a little closer and glanced at her, accepting the offering as its due, and fluffing out its tail. Dawn halted in her reverie and found herself grinning at the squirrel’s temerity. Two young oriental-looking girls stood still on the path, amused by this small wild thing in the middle of the city, whilst their companion, a young man in his twenties, panned between squirrel and girls with his camera.

The girls reminded Dawn of some of the young Slayers in training, and for a moment she thought about her first contact with The Potentials back in Revello Drive all those years ago, and she began again to think about Buffy.
She had turned up in England about half way through Dawn’s first year at Edinburgh; throwing herself at Giles for a place to stay while she got her head together.

When she and Dawn had spoken, curled up on Buffy’s bed in Giles’ house, Dawn had not really learnt a lot about the break-up with TGW – only that Buffy had said that she’d finally seen sense, and decided to grow up again. Buffy had stayed around the new Watchers’ Council HQ for over a year, helping with training new Slayers, and keeping herself fit. Dawn and Buffy had enjoyed each other’s company both in the vacations and on the odd weekend when Buffy had come up to Edinburgh – they had been proper sisters again.

It was whilst Buffy was around at that time that Giles had sat Dawn down in his study one evening and told her what he knew about Spike and Angel, or at least enough of what he knew to satisfy her at the time, Dawn thought ruefully – Giles was never big on the total honesty when it came to Spike and Angel. Giles had said that as Dawn would have access to Watchers’ Council Records he did not want her to discover recent events that she should be aware of by stumbling on them. Spike had been ‘returned’ via the amulet – but to Wolfram and Hart, as whoever had given it to Angel had doubtless known – “Spike being the one tied to them must have upset their plans somewhat,” Giles had said dryly.

Andrew had known this – had seen both Angel and Spike whilst they were all in Italy – and had had it recorded, but had not told Buffy or Dawn – better at keeping things to himself than Dawn would have otherwise realised. There had later been a very major upheaval at Wolfram and Hart, and it seemed that Angel had been planning something like that when he had agreed to join them, Giles had admitted.

Further research by Watchers had discovered that the total destruction of the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart, and the subsequent shattering of their branches into separate autonomous businesses, had been brought about by an ancient God King destroying the portal, but Giles had very few details of this. Angel and Spike had both survived. Angel’s whereabouts were known to the Watchers’ Council – he had been the source of the intelligence on Spike. Spike’s whereabouts were not known at that time.

Dawn was stunned – and demanded that Buffy be told at once. She already had been, Giles had explained. That had led to another night time of talk, curled up on Buffy’s bed. Dawn had demanded to know why Buffy hadn’t gone straight off to look for Spike – was it because she was still in love with Angel – was she going to go out to the States to him instead? “No, absolutely not,” Buffy had said – Angel seemed to have a girlfriend, and he was very old history now – really just puppy love. But this did not mean that she wanted to find Spike.

Buffy had described her relationship with Spike to Dawn that night as ‘mutually destructive’ – and had said she wished him well, but she also wished him well away from her! She knew she’d never be able to be just ordinary – but there were enough Slayers now to take the strain – they’d done it during what Buffy called ‘The Immortal Interval’, and Buffy wanted something close to normality.

By the next university vacation Buffy was going steady with Phil – one of the martial arts instructors employed by the Watchers’ Council, and by the time Dawn had finished her degree she was picking out a dress to wear as Buffy’s bridesmaid. Two children later, and Buffy and Phil were still happily married, and training ‘Slayerettes’ in Sacramento. No wonder Buffy was developing laughter lines as well as worry lines. Buffy had said that the two boys were enough – she was so glad that they weren’t girls, and so couldn’t be Slayers, and she didn’t want any more saggy body bits! Yes Buffy was showing her age, but at least she didn’t look older than it the way she had done in the Double Meat Palace days!

A sudden loud noise echoing across the city broke Dawn’s train of thought again, and she watched the pigeons circling around all aflutter. ‘I wonder why they never get used to the one-o-clock gun?’ she thought, ‘surely most of them have heard it every day of their lives since they left the egg?’ She found herself wondering about the long-term memory of pigeons as she shook the crumbs from lunch onto the path for them, and took herself off for an afternoon’s shopping before getting her train back south.

…………………………………………………………..

As the high speed train sped back into England and the fast moving landscape disappeared into darkness, Dawn settled back into her seat, closed her eyes and began again her contemplation of all the people who knew her, and why none of them seemed to have ever thought about what she was beginning to suspect.

Giles, well, Rupert to be quite correct. It is difficult to keep calling someone by their surname when you know their wife. Giles and Mrs. Giles would sound weird; and Olivia and Giles was equally odd, like calling her sister and brother-in-law Buffy and Wilson rather than Buffy and Phil, but in her head he was still Giles. Dawn had been surprised when she had realised that Giles and Olivia were ‘an item’, even though she knew that Olivia had visited him back in Sunnydale at least once.

Actually Dawn really liked Olivia, who had gently moved back into Giles’ life during Dawn’s first couple of years at University, so that by her third year it was no surprise to find Olivia sleeping-over at Giles’ house – even if their sharing a bedroom did still rather ‘gross her out’ as she’d put it to Willow! Dawn supposed it was rather like contemplating the possibility of your parents having sex, even though they must have done to conceive you – or not in her own case, she thought wryly.

Giles and Olivia had probably surprised more than just Dawn when they had not only got married, but then produced a daughter, little Thea; ‘Gift of God’, Olivia had explained, as any baby born to someone at forty was a gift! Giles doted on his young daughter but was still happy to ‘father’ Dawn when he or she felt she needed it.

Although she had her own apartment these days, Dawn saw Giles almost every day as she had taken up the post as a Watchers’ Council researcher that had been offered after university, and she worked mainly on projects led by Giles himself. ‘I see him almost every day,’ she thought, entering the fact in her mental note book. ‘Do we ever really look at people we see every day? Probably not. I don’t think he still just sees me as Buffy’s kid sister, but he’s probably not stopped to think how old I am, even though he gives me birthday gifts annually!’ So perhaps no comment from Giles meant very little, especially considering his eyesight!

Olivia. Olivia didn’t see Dawn every day, but she did see her about once a week, as Dawn loved to visit her ‘baby sisterling’, so although Olivia’s background in the fashion and beauty business should mean that she took note of people’s appearance, either the proximity rule held good for her, or if she had noticed anything she hadn’t regarded it as odd enough to mention.

Outside the train the lights of a city began to twinkle. ‘Newcastle’, thought Dawn, ‘hope no-one wants to sit beside me, I need to concentrate.’ The train slowed, and stopped, but no-one did sit beside her – the Watchers’ Council paid for First Class these days, and the carriage was spacious and not crowded. She continued to focus on the view from the train until they had crossed the Tyne – a remembered view from all those trips up and down as a student – ‘Second class then though!’ she thought, smiling to herself.

As Gateshead flew past the window she closed her eyes and began again her mental inventory of old friends. Willow. Dawn had known Willow since she was nine or ten, or all her somewhat shorter life if she looked down into the deeper level, below memory to knowledge. On the whole she thought they would probably describe each other as friends these days.

Willow looked well, although the vibrant red of her hair already needed help from a good hairdresser. ‘Probably because of the bleaching effect major magic has had on it,’ thought Dawn. Willow meditated a lot, to help her control her own power, and it seemed to do wonders for her clear smooth skin and the supple way that she moved. She had no long term partner but she didn’t seem short of company, and Dawn thought that Willow despite her ‘vacillating sexuality’ probably never really looked clearly at Dawn because she didn’t think of her as ‘talent’! ‘She probably still thinks of me as a teenager because in some ways she’s still rather like one herself, despite everything.’ Dawn thought.

That term ‘vacillating sexuality’ was one that Dawn had thought suited Willow well – after Kennedy there had been a couple of males before the next female companion; but she thought it suited Andrew even better. In fact Dawn had once thought that if both of them were in a hetero phase at the same time they could probably do worse than getting together with each other. Well apart from the ‘Your friend killed the love of my life’ bit, and the ‘You flayed my friend alive’ bit – but then everyone carried around some emotional baggage! At this thought Dawn laughed out loud, then thought ‘No-one in the world of ‘unknowing’ could ever understand why such a thought could be funny – even if they realised that such a thought could exist!’

Actually Andrew worked very hard as an official Recorder for the Council, so that the tradition of recording everything as far as possible to help future Watchers (and Slayers, it was now pointed out forcefully at meetings) would continue, despite the terrible losses when the old Council building had been attacked. Andrew had done a lot to haul things into the Twenty-first Century despite his urge during the Sunnydale years to talk of ‘vampyres’, and most records were now electronic, properly backed up, and with moving images wherever possible – Quentin Travers was probably turning in his grave. (Only of course like almost all Watchers, he had been cremated, just to be on the safe side!) It occurred to Dawn that if anyone could confirm what she was beginning to suspect it could well be Andrew.

However, she continued her ‘list’. Xander. She only saw him very occasionally; last time must be almost a year ago, when he had stopped off in the UK for a couple of weeks before going out to California. He looked older than Buffy, older than Willow, but it was not really surprising as he spent so much time in the sun. After Sunnydale he’d spent time in Africa, and he’d liked the wildness of it, but even in Africa you couldn’t live like George of the Jungle for ever, and he had begun to put his construction skills to use for an aid organisation, as well as keeping an eye open for possible newly activated Slayers.

By late 2004 the Council had trained Watchers within Africa; and when he was asked by an aid agency to go to Sri Lanka in the wake of the Boxing Day Tsunami he had been more than happy to comply. He seemed to have found his role in life and Dawn got occasional e-mails from all over the world. He still called her ‘Dawnie’. He probably thought of her as still being sixteen, and would be truly shocked if he not only heard her use ‘the F word’ but realised she’d not only said it but done it. Xander’s opinion on the current subject would be no use at all, and this had nothing to do with his lack of binocular vision.

Dawn thought that the time had come for coffee, and decided to leave her puzzle until tomorrow, then perhaps she would get Andrew to help her look for some pictures of herself over the years, and see whether Dr. McStay was right when he had said “Dawn, how lovely to see you – working for The Council must suit you – you don’t look a day older than you did when you graduated!”

........................................................................................................

The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.

I think my writing may well have improved a little since this was written - but I am still happy with it.

I Aten't Dead.

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 13:03:39 GMT

This is really an 'I aten't dead' post - although I haven't transfered my 'I aten't Dead' icon over from LJ...

Perhaps I should start posting my fics over here. Hmm - I think I might start to do it, at least with the finished ones.

Look our IJ - once I've finished uploading Starlight Bathing to Twisting the Hellmouth, i'll start putting my first prpoer fic, Ten Years After, here a chapter at a time.

I'll go with this one!

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 20:38:23 GMT

curiouswombat

"You can never browse enough"

'What is your personal life motto?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Greetings.

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 23:59:39 GMT

I hope you all had a good Christmas, even if it is just a nice bonus day off work for you. We have eaten lots of turkey, goose, Christmas cake, Christmas pudding, the odd mince pie....and opened a good few presents.

Now it is the mid-point of celebration week - tomorrow is my birthday, and my mother, daughter, sister, neice and I are going to have afternoon tea together to celebrate.

Then a couple of days to draw breath, and it will be New Year.

So incase I don't update over here - Blein Vie Noa!

Another meme!

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 23:42:06 GMT

Ooh - this one is pretty -

Take the "How Do You Use Magic?" test! Written by Brimo

Well I do currently have a thing about trees - we haven't got the actual Christmas tree up yet, but from where I sit I can see 3 gold trees, and 3 small decorated green ones!

I'm spamming!

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 11:35:46 GMT

This journal is being a bit of a place to leave memes unaccompanied! Irather liked this one -

Your results:
You are Deanna Troi

Deanna Troi		70%
Chekov		60%
Beverly Crusher		60%
Uhura		50%
Will Riker		50%
Spock		49%
Data		41%
James T. Kirk (Captain)		40%
An Expendable Character (Redshirt)		40%
Leonard McCoy (Bones)		35%
Jean-Luc Picard		35%
Geordi LaForge		35%
Mr. Scott		30%
Worf		30%
Mr. Sulu		10%

You are a caring and loving individual.
You understand people's emotions and
you are able to comfort and counsel them.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz

Would that i had her looks and figure!

I am a Peanut.....

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 19:18:26 GMT

I taste like Peanut Butter.

I am one of the most blendable flavours; I go with sweet, I go with sour, I go with bland, I go with anything. I am practical and good company, but have something of a tendency to hang around when I'm not wanted, unaware that my presence is not welcome. What Flavour Are You?

I'll go with that - beats nuclear waste which was one of the options!

Postcardathon.

Tue, 25 Sep 2007 21:01:11 GMT

OK lets see who is around over here.

On LJ a couple of people on my FL are taking part in a postcard thingy. You want a nice postcard from the Isle of Man? I'll happily send you one, as long as you put your postal address in a comment here, which will be screened. The original idea was to max at 5 but, like my LJ friends, I don't mind sending a few more - I'll send one to anyone who replies over the next 48 hours. This is mainly because I will be away next week, and this will give me time to buy and post them before I go. If you comment more than 48 hours from now I may well still send you one - but it might take a week or two, or you might get one from the uK instead....

Silly Meme

Tue, 11 Sep 2007 12:29:36 GMT

DIV id=testResultInfo>

Your Score: Matt Parkman

You scored 66 Idealism, 29 Nonconformity, 33 Nerdiness

I don't want to be a chump.Congratulations, you're Matt Parkman! You're a great person: caring, hard-working, and honest. You might not have the best of luck, but you do your best in all areas of life. Your kind and responsible nature is rare, and you should be proud of it. Your best quality: Heart Your worst quality: You may take more abuse than you deserve.

Link: The Heroes Personality Test written by freedomdegrees on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Well that's quite fun - pity I don't watch the show, so I don't actually know who he is.....

A sevenfold meme.

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 22:10:30 GMT

ponders_life tagged me to list 7 habits/quirks/facts about myself, to help new friends get to know each other better.

It’s taken me a while, but here we go -

Having been overweight since toddlerhood, it is interesting to note that at birth I weighed just 5lb, and my father’s first words were ‘She looks like a skinned rabbit’!

My husband speakr2customrs introduced me to the wonderful world of on-line journals.

The Cat Haiku icon usually means that the cat is sitting on the keyboard as I type…..

If you think nursing is not a very glamorous occupation then think how unglamorous my actual speciality is – I am a Clinical Nurse Specialist in the field of Continence.

I read all sorts of interesting things out loud to my husband and daughter – despite the fact that both of them tell me not to – because I am convinced that this time they will realise that I am right and that it is fun to share!

I love to sing – sadly I cannot hold a tune….

I am 100% Celt – I have no known Anglo-Saxon blood in me at all.

I am going to tag a few people that I don’t know very well, too. Although there is always the possibility that I know you much better somewhere else under a different name, of course! In which case that can be one of your facts or quirks!

uninvitedcat

elisane

irishrose1

A Slightly late entry to the Smutathon.

Sun, 02 Sep 2007 21:10:12 GMT

I was a bit busy yesterday to do much about a smutathon - to be honest it looks as if a few others were too.

But here is my contribution, albeit a day late.

Under the cut is the story of the first sexual encounter between these two characters - they are OCs from the Roxyverse - the 'verse of the BTVS RPG that speakr2customrs ran and I played in.

So this is an encounter between a Watcher in her late twenties, and a vampire of some few hundreds of years old - who has been 'courting' her for some time. There are things about both Jack and Jocasta that were important to the original game - but you don't need to know most of them, although the fact that in the UK a Magnum is a very upmarket choc-ice, not a condom might be helpful - but mainly this is just about the sex, folks!

Whitby In Winter.

It was probably a good thing, thought Miss Jocasta McStay, that the spare bedroom in the flat above the shop faced north, and had fairly thick curtains, although having a vampire sleep-over had not been a major consideration when choosing either shop or curtains.

It was getting increasingly difficult to keep everything in life running smoothly, and according to the ‘Order of Things,’ she thought. The whole Slayer, Watcher, Vampire relationship had become more and more – what? Chaotic? Unclear? Confused? ‘FLUID,’ she decided – ‘Fluid was probably the best way to think of it.’ A fluid relationship instead of a concrete one.

There had always been a strong relationship between Watcher, Slayer and Vampire – or Watcher, Slayer and Prey as the Watchers Council lecturers had sometimes put it. Actually, Jocasta was aware that the bonds that held the three together were so strong that ‘unusual’ relationships sometimes formed between Slayer and Vampire, (hormonal teenage girls, and mysterious young men who had most definitely been there and seen that!) but she hadn’t come across any record of an ‘unusual’ relationship between a Watcher and a Vampire. Still, she was learning that there were a lot of things that weren’t clear from the records and she reckoned she could play it as it came!

She had wondered about coffee, and decided in favour of taking him a cup – it would have to do until he could get something gloopier and redder. She knew he was quite capable of eating and drinking ‘normal’ food - he’d done so on most of their dates –it just wasn’t absorbed properly. Vampirism as a Non-Absorption Syndrome – sounded like a good title for a learned paper, Jocasta thought. Thinking of her dates with Jack, she decided that although at 28 she was definitely not a hormonal teenager, you had to admit that Jack was a mysterious young (well 28 going on 420) man who had not only been there and seen that – but by his wardrobe it looked as though he had, at least since it was invented, always bought the T-shirt!

She knocked quietly on the bedroom door in case Jack was awake - it only seemed fair to wait to be invited in, even if it was her house, after all Jack ALWAYS had to wait to be invited. There was no sound from behind the door, however, not even breathing. As Jocasta didn’t have to wait to be invited, she opened the door gently, and went in. Jack was still sleeping. As she watched him she realised that he did seem to breathe, almost imperceptibly, as if even after all these years his bodily reflexes found it difficult to give up the habit.

He had thrown the duvet partly off in his sleep and she stood for a minute watching him; it was after all what she did best she thought. His skin was pale, but not really the alabaster white of some paintings of his type, not an albino white, more the pale fawn colour of someone who had been in bed ill for weeks, and not seen the sun, or the colour of someone who spent all night clubbing, and slept all day. That was a better analogy, she thought. Peter Stringfellow would probably be this colour if no-one had invented the sun-bed and fake tan. Could vampires go on sun beds? Probably not. She couldn’t really visualise a vampire getting a Saint Tropez fake tan either – well perhaps female ones. On further consideration she decided that Jack was probably a healthier colour than he would be if he spent all of every night clubbing – the high protein diet was probably better for the skin than the diet of the average clubber! Nice muscles. Vampires are strong, and he’d been a strong lad before being turned. As he lay on his side she could make out the muscles of his arm, his back and his shoulder. She’d run her hands over them under his shirt a few times now, but this was the first time she could just stand and admire.

She put the coffee down, turned on the bed-side light, then gently touched him on the shoulder – best not wake a vampire roughly she thought, they might vamp out and attack without thinking about it. She had not seen Jack in full vamp face, and wasn’t sure she wanted to – and definitely not at this moment. His skin was cool, as she knew from experience, but it was no cooler than you’d expect when someone had slept bare chested in a north facing bedroom in Whitby in April, she thought.

Within seconds of that light touch he was awake. The dark brown eyes were wide open, looking up into her face, and he was as alert as a cat about to spring. ‘Evenin’, Cass,’ he said. ‘Cass’, she liked ‘Cass’. No-one had ever called her ‘Cass’. She actually quite liked Jocasta – even though, coupled with McStay it did sound like a Terry Pratchett witch. Maybe even the name of a historical, burnt-at-the-stake type of witch – did they still burn witches when Jack was a lad? Probably. Anyway, Jocasta was an old family name, and McStays had been on the Watchers Council for many generations, so a name to be proud of. But no-one had ever called her ‘Cass’ before. Her family sometimes called her ‘Jo’, and a boyfriend at university had always called her ‘Joker’ like a character from Batman, but Cass was just Jack’s name for her, although she had noticed that in company he always called her Jocasta.

‘How’s the shoulder now?’ Jocasta asked. ‘Getting better, but--’ was the reply. ‘But what?’ ‘Well I know Slayer Blood is usually the most powerful healing agent for a vampire, but, well, I mean I’ve been around a while, and like, er, I think this needs a little something else as well,’ he said, looking a little tired and pained. ‘What?’ asked Jocasta, concerned. His head fell, in a way which Jocasta supposed books meant by ‘wanly,’ onto his pillow and he gazed sadly up. ‘I think it needs kissing better by a Watcher!’ he said.

Those big brown eyes were now decidedly full of fun, and maybe a few other things, including lust. ‘Well if you’ll just wait a few minutes, I could go and ring for James,’ answered Jocasta, sounding very serious. ‘No, no, I divn’t think I’ll last that long,’ gasped Jack, clutching dramatically at his shoulder, and trying to look ill and pathetic. ‘Well, in that case I suppose I’d better do it myself,’ she said, and bent down until her lips were touching the cool flesh, where it was still possible to see where the Bringer’s knife had wounded him.

Jack’s skin tasted and smelt as she had known it would, from previous kisses. Faintly earthy, with a hint of aftershave, definitely more alive than dead she thought. Then wondered – how did she know the taste was more alive than dead? All previous males that she’d got close enough to taste were 100% alive, and each a bit different to the other, was the Jack difference the ‘dead’ bit, and was it bigger than the similarities – the ‘live’ bit, and why did people in books always describe how anyone tasted if they were going into interpersonal details anyway? What was there about being in close proximity to Jack in a state of undress, in her spare bed, with her face in his neck (better than the other way around!) that made her possibly think ‘interpersonal’ type stuff anyway?

Probably the fact that the ‘Watcher’s Kiss’ remedy seemed to have worked remarkably quickly, and he was moving around to pull her down onto the bed with him, and transferring the kiss from neck to mouth! Apart from the lying on the bed bit, it wasn’t anything they hadn’t done a few times in the last couple of months, and the duvet was still in between from hip down, so not THAT interpersonal she reasoned – well not yet anyway, as her hands moved to his back.

In reciprocation one of Jack’s hands slid up her back to press her a bit closer, but not too close to allow the other hand to slide up the front of her rib-cage at the same time. She rather thought that the ‘correct’ clothing for someone who kept a shop selling crystals, potions and similar things was a floaty dress with lots of lace and jingling things, but it wasn’t really her style, and not very practical – so Jack’s hands only had to cope with a T-shirt (with ‘mythical’ pattern), before finding her bra. ‘Bugger’, thought Jocasta, ‘if I’d thought about this instead of pondering about coffee, I’d have taken off the boring ‘T-shirt bra’, and put on something a bit more visually appealing!’ Jocasta had not had the sort of breasts you were supposed to be able to go bra-less with under a T-shirt since she was about fourteen – if you put a pencil under one of hers and let go of it, it would happily stay there, even if she jogged up and down a bit, so no going bra-less for her.

Jack’s ability to undo a bra with one hand was, as she’d commented to him one evening, very impressive, but there again, as he said, he’d been practicing ever since the blessed garment was invented. (She’d wondered at the time whether he meant blessed literally, or as a derogatory term, but had been too flustered to ask.) As it came undone she could feel her breasts drop a bit under their own weight, and Jack let out a happy little grunting sound as he felt the weight of one with his hand. His thumb brushed her nipple, and she could feel it stiffening in welcome – he seemed to know exactly the right amount of pressure to get the effect most quickly. Like rubbing it with an ice-cube, which Jocasta had read was how they got people’s nipples to stand up for photo shoots – um – cold, maybe THAT was why the vampire touch worked so well!

Jack had started to pull up the T-shirt, and Jocasta squirmed. This was a bit further than previous close encounters with Jack; she’d always kept her top on until now. His tongue, which had been rubbing her teeth, stopped, and he moved his mouth just far enough away to talk. ‘Ee, Cass, divn’t be mean – ah’m topless,’ he muttered, but she kept wriggling – until his hand moved to the other nipple, and it also stiffened under his touch. ‘That’s better, it would look silly with one hard one and one soft one,’ thought Jocasta, and changed the direction of squirm, so that she was now wriggling out of both T-shirt and bra.

Instead of going back to her mouth, Jack’s tongue began to slowly move down, chin, the soft spot in her neck (he stopped there briefly, avoided the silver and crystal cross, glanced up at her eyes and winked), her upper chest, then the upper curve of her left breast, around outside the areola, the under-curve of the breast, and finally, as she made small moaning sounds and tangled her hands in his hair, the nipple. As he nibbled and licked it she could feel it hardening even more, becoming positively erect. Jocasta couldn’t remember any previous man having anywhere near this effect, and just as the thought crossed her mind that she had once read the phrase ‘nipples like chapel hat pegs’, and had finally achieved at least one, Jack lifted his head, drooling slightly, said ‘Ee pet, I could hang my hat on that’, before moving to the right breast. Jocasta found it was possible to both moan and giggle at the same time, and the resulting effect seemed to please Jack, as he moved from one breast to the other with a smile that was bordering on a smirk!

As Jack’s face moved back towards hers, and his mouth again found her mouth, Jocasta could feel his hands gently probing around the waistband of her jeans. She started to run her own hands down his chest, through the fine patch of hair, with her nails just skimming the surface, down towards his hips, meaning to run them down over the outside of his jeans. Jeans – what jeans? She was well down to the hip level, and there was still only cool skin under her fingers and the beginnings of the next patch of hair!

Jocasta let out a rather surprised squeak – speech was difficult as she currently had two tongues in her mouth. Jack’s head pulled back from hers, and he looked questioningly at her. ‘You’ve nothing on,’ said Jocasta rather accusingly. ‘Ah’m not a total peasant you know’, he answered, ‘Well not these days. Me jeans would‘ve got all crumpled, and I often go commando unless it’s below freezing. Ah’m surprised you’ve never noticed the lack of ‘panty-line’ when you’ve had your hands on me bum!’ He grinned – then added ‘Which makes you a bit over-dressed still!’ and he made a purposeful dive for Jocasta’s jeans again.

She really didn’t want to resist, the tingle in her nipples had been running down to her pussy, and she just wanted more, so she lifted her hips, rather than trying to stop him undoing anything. Meeting no resistance it didn’t take Jack long to remove both Jocasta’s jeans and panties (white, but at least fairly new, and not at all baggy, had they been anything else there might have been resistance!), and she was glad that she’d kicked off shoes and socks after coming up from the shop, naked people with their footwear on just looked silly.

Untangling himself from the duvet, Jack knelt beside her on the bed. Naked side by side, she noticed that really they had almost the same skin tone; the main contrast was her blonde hair, and his dark. He had an impressively hard and upstanding cock already; come to think of it he probably woke up with it, which is why the whole thing started, Jocasta thought. She had felt it before, through his jeans, and decided that it was at least as big as she’d thought – this ‘cock of the north’ was certainly a lot more than a ‘cock sparrow’, she thought, and reached a hand out towards it. Even though Jack could see what she was doing, he suddenly moved his hips, and moved himself away from her hand, bringing his mouth down on a nipple again, licking it briefly, and then blowing gently on it, before trailing his tongue down her body.

He stopped for a while at her navel, and ran his tongue around it, cushioning his head on her tummy with another small contented sound. It was a gently rounded tummy – not enough to ‘overhang’ when she stood, but not a flat taut, fashionable stomach, in fact Miss Jocasta McStay, at 5’6” was a fairly standard size 16 (or a 12 in American – which always sounded more flattering). However, the two previous men to get this close had found it a very acceptable body, and Jack had told her in fairly basic terms a couple of times over the last couple of months that one of his main ambitions in life (un-life?) since he’d first set eyes on her was to get his hands, and other things, on as much of it as possible, therefore Jocasta had no thoughts at all about holding bits in, or trying to hide bits, she just lay back and revelled in sensation.

With his tongue in her navel, and his head still resting on her tummy, Jack’s hand reached down, and cupped her whole pubic mound, covering about as much as a thong, Jocasta thought inconsequentially. He gently squeezed so that the fleshy outer labia and the mons were applying pressure to everything they covered, and Jocasta squirmed, and moaned. She reached down towards Jack with both hands, but could only really reach his head and shoulders. With one hand she grasped his shoulder, (remembering even now to go for the uninjured one, she didn’t want to interrupt the flow!), and her other hand tangled in his hair again.

Jack lifted his head, and looked into her eyes ‘Is that nice, pet?’ he asked, continuing to apply the pressure to her outer pussy, and moving the whole thing a little in a circular motion. ‘Mm, yes, yes,’ Jocasta said slightly indistinctly, while she pushed upwards into his hand as hard as she could. Jack smiled, ‘I thought Yes, Yes, came later,’ he said. ‘Mm – it might come sooner than you think,’ Jocasta said, between teeth that were trying to clench themselves. Jack lifted his eyebrows, ‘Oh no, not just yet,’ he said, easing the pressure, then releasing her pussy altogether.

His hands moved to her hips, and the build up of sensation in her pussy came down a level or two, giving a moment or two of disappointment. Only a moment or two though, as he dipped his head down and gently pulled on her pubic hair by nibbling it. Jack paused for a moment, looked up and said ‘Natural blonde, always my favourite flavour’, before moving his lips and teeth even further down, and starting to nibble on the same outer fleshy lips he had been applying pressure to moments earlier. (Such nice teeth, thought Jocasta – surely they wouldn’t have been in such good condition pre-vamp. Did vampires have dentists, or did the slightly sharp, white teeth even when not in full vamp face come with the job? So many things the Watchers’ Council Lectures hadn’t covered! Was she weird, she wondered, to be able to think about such things whilst her body was desperately trying to rush towards orgasm?)

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only about 10 minutes after the ‘Watcher’s Kiss’ cure, Jack’s tongue moved a little deeper, into the satiny folds of her inner labia. (Jocasta rather liked the word labia, it rolled off the tongue so nicely, and so she tended to think ‘labia’ rather than any slang word – and rolling off the tongue, was definitely what was happening to them right now!) She tried to move her hips to push her clit into the path of Jack’s tongue, only to realise why he had moved both hands to her hips, as he pushed down on them and held her still. He stopped licking. ‘Bastard!’ thought Jocasta, slightly shocking herself. ‘Don’t rush so much Cass,’ said Jack, ‘Let me drive up this first slope – you can drive later!’ ‘Mm, can’t help it’, she muttered. ‘Relax, like Frankie says,’ said Jack, quoting a T-shirt he’d worn a few weeks earlier. He kept the firm pressure on her hips, and lowered his head again.

This time he dipped his tongue right into her, at first she felt it probing and entering her as if it was a pointed, hard little cock, then it licked smoothly and softly forward, until finally it swept across the hood of her clit, and drew a circle around it. Such a mixture of sensations! Hard, cool, (would the traditional vampiric description of alabaster do here? Had anyone ever made an alabaster dildo? Maybe the ancient Egyptians!) Soft, cool, (ice-cream? Snow? No, not that cold, perhaps more the sensation you would get if you rubbed your fanny against a silk cushion!). Heat, sizzle (that was her own nerve endings at the end of the stroke!).

The same pattern, hard, probe, soft, slick, circle, sizzle continued in rhythm, until it had repeated ten or twelve times, then he added an extra note to the riff. Hard, probe, soft, slick, circle, sizzle - flick! The flick of Jack’s tongue on the very head of her clit made Jocasta feel as if her ears were going to explode. She still had one hand in his hair, but the other one had been pressed into the bed, and now she reached down to his hand on her hip, not to pull it away (vampire strength and all that), but to pull it upwards, towards her boobs.

As Jack reached the end of the next repeat, his eyes flicked up towards her face. As a counterpoint to her own gasps and moans Jocasta realised he was also making small satisfied noises, a bit like a Pooh Hum (‘Isn’t it funny, how a vamp likes cunny’ maybe?). He moved the hand she had hold of, in a move so quick as to be imperceptible, and now it was on top of her hand – which was now on her hip. Just as ‘“Bugger” said Pooh’ was forming in Jocasta’s mind, the brown eyes changed expression, and the other hand came up, sliding over the slick of sweat that had already formed on her tummy, and cupped a breast. This time the hand put in the bass line – hard, probe (cup, squeeze),soft, slick (cup, squeeze), circle, sizzle (circling finger around areola), flick (flick thumb on nipple).

Now at each flick, Jack’s eyes also flicked up towards Jocasta’s face, and the soft ‘Pooh Hum’ got more satisfied sounding, until at about the fourth or fifth ‘flick’ since he’d reached for her breast, the top of Jocasta’s head exploded, her clit exploded, and everything in between did something – possibly imploded. She came not only with a bang, but a very loud yell, becoming a soft giggle, then a sort of mewing sound. The part of Jocasta that was always Watcher noted this reaction from a distance – probably about a hundred miles away, and decided that it was probably the most spectacular orgasm she’d ever had – yet.

As the giggling turned to mewing, so the tongue slowed to a slow gentle circling of her clit, then a gentle lapping, like a cat. The hand on her hip moved down towards her pussy and cupped it, squeezing more gently than before, and Jack’s head moved back towards her tummy. ‘Nice, pet?’ asked Jack. ‘How feline it was’, drifted across Jocasta’s Watcher mind, but coherent speech was still a bit difficult, and although she thought that she must share that thought with him sometime, at the moment all that came out was ‘Mm’.

Jack’s face, still damp around the mouth, broke into a grin. ‘What Cass, lost for words? And that was only for starters, pet,’ said Jack.

He started to move back up her body, still licking gently all the way, leaving a cool trace where he replaced the sheen of sweat with a slight trail of saliva, until he brought his head up the valley between her breasts, back to her jaw bone, and then back to gently nibble at her lips. Jocasta noticed, even in her post-orgasm daze, that the Jack smell was now slightly earthier, and laced with a softer muskier aroma that she could also taste as her tongue gently touched his mouth on hers, the smell and taste of her own juice. The mixture was good.

They were now face to face, with Jack lying sideways beside her at hip level, and over her at face level, one hand on her shoulder, one still cupping a breast. His toes were just touching her toes. They were almost exactly the same height. Jack had once commented that when he was a young man, 5’6” was a good height for a lad, and he found it a bit disconcerting that so many men were taller than him now. Jocasta decided that actually there was something rather nice about matching so perfectly side by side, it put more of his body within easy reach. Now that her body seemed to be more or less back under the control of her brain, with just an overall tingle, and a few loud signals going from where Jack’s mouth and hands touched her down to her boobs and pussy, she wanted to explore everything within reach.

Jocasta slid one hand down from Jack’s shoulder along his side, until it rested on his hip briefly, while her other hand went to his chest, ruffling the hair, and her nails grazed first one nipple then the other. His nipples were raised, and hardened gratifyingly under her touch, as he made one of his small satisfied sounds again. Slowly she trailed the hand from his hip bone down across his stomach (firmer than hers, dusted with dark hair) until she just touched his cock, still very much erect. (That was good - he must have been genuinely turned on by the pleasure he had been giving her.) She resisted the urge to grasp it firmly, ‘Don’t rush so much, Cass,’ echoed inside somewhere, and she just touched it gently with her fingertips, learning the exact feel of the skin stretched over the oh so solid flesh.

Not really alabaster – almost as smooth as alabaster, maybe alabaster with a smooth, silky, velvety cover. Jack stilled, and his next small satisfied sound was more gasp-like.

Jocasta moved her body slightly, until they were side by side at face level as well as hip level, then with her fingertips now gently moving up and down the length of Jack’s cock, she asked ‘Can I drive up this next hill?’. Jack smiled, ran his tongue over his lips, and said ‘Why aye, pet, gan on.’ The last syllable was followed by another one of what Jocasta already thought of as Jack’s Pooh sounds, as her fingers on his cock moved around to encircle it.

There was, thought Jocasta, something very satisfying about the fact that her finger tips and thumb tip JUST met around Jack’s cock, no overlap, no room for another millimetre before they would not be able to touch – neat! Sort of made to measure.

Her hand that was still on Jack’s chest pushed him gently, so that he lay back onto the pillow. Hardly moving the hand which was around his cock, just squeezing very slightly in a slow rhythm, Jocasta applied one or two more little nibbles to Jack’s mouth, as he had to hers, then running her tongue first over his lips to savour the taste of both of them, she started to place little kisses along his jawbone until she came to his earlobe, which she took gently between her teeth.

She swirled her tongue around the earlobe, then sucked briefly on it, before moving on down Jack’s neck. Cool smooth skin now that she was below the line of slight stubble (Do vampires get 5 a.m. shadow? This was probably twenty four hours worth anyway!). Strange, the lack of a pulse, but she kissed where it would have been. ‘No bitin’ now,’ said Jack, with a laugh in his voice, ‘No, just another Watcher’s kiss,’ Jocasta answered, before continuing down his body in much the way he had done down hers only a few minutes before.

Jack’s nipples, and the puckered circles around them, were dark brown against his pale skin, and she touched first one then the other with lips, then teeth, then tongue, then just as he had with one of hers, she blew cool air across them. She was pleased to see them stiffen more, only one previous boyfriend had had sensitive nipples, and watching them react was good. Jack’s eyes watched her, slightly defocused with pleasure, and he made one of his small happy sounds as each nipple received her attentions, and her hand on his cock started to move up and down a little with each squeeze.

As Jocasta’s mouth moved south down Jack’s body, she paused for a moment at his navel, (shallow, neat, no fluff!) and the free hand smoothed across his tummy, to his hip bone. He laughed gently, and covered it with one of his own hands, he stretched his other hand out towards Jocasta’s breast again, but she had slid so far down the bed by now that it was out of reach. She looked up, grinned, and said ‘Lie back, relax, and remember I’m driving now!’ Jack laughed again, his body shaking slightly under Jocasta’s hands, and instead he tangled the hand in her hair, which he moved back slightly so that he could watch her mouth on his skin.

Jocasta continued down, tracing the dark line of hair all the way down from his navel to the point where his cock joined his body, hand holding his cock gently out of the way, so that her mouth didn’t touch it – yet. She traced a circle with her tongue all the way around the base of his cock, just feathering across the puckered skin of his balls, the touch so light that with anyone less sensitive than a vampire, it might have gone un-noticed, but by the Pooh sounds and the slight buck of the hips she knew that Jack had registered it.

She stopped. The hand holding Jack’s cock maintained the slight pressure on it, but stopped moving. Lifting her head, Jocasta looked at Jack’s face, and realised that a vampire could look slightly flushed. She knew she probably looked fairly flushed herself! ‘Do you think this could GET any better if I kissed it?’ she asked, ‘and would biting be O.K. now?’ Jack laughed again, and her hand on his hip could feel him tensing his muscles trying not to push his cock up and down in the containing hand. ‘Crack on, pet’, he said ‘I’m the happiest of passengers!’

Slowly, lasciviously, Jocasta put her tongue to the point where balls and cock met, and making a long slow ‘Mmm’ sound deep in her throat she licked the length of Jack’s cock, until she reached the totally smooth, slick, ooze covered head. Oh, she did love doing this, such a long time since she’d had time for a man that she’d been comfortable with doing this. So cool, she thought, like a Magnum bar, a white chocolate Magnum bar, and as Jack the vampire watched, Miss McStay the Watcher closed her eyes, and licked, and swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, then took the head in her warm, wet mouth, and applied just the slightest of pressure with her teeth.

The noise that Jack was making caused Jocasta to open her eyes, and look up towards his face. It was a sound somewhere between a moan, a grunt, and a laugh, and eventually he actually took a deep breath, straightened his face, and said ‘I don’t think loppin’ off that head works, pet, at least I hope not!’ Jocasta smiled. An odd effect, smiling up at someone whilst your teeth are fastened around the head of their cock. She increased the pressure of her teeth ever so slightly, so that Jack’s cock was firmly held by the neck, moved her hand slowly up and down the shaft, and continued to swirl her tongue across and around, tasting, testing, savouring.

Jack made no more coherent sounds for a minute or two, just more Pooh sounds. Jocasta could feel the muscles beneath her hand on his hip tensing, and then relaxing, in time with the rhythm of her other hand and her tongue. Now she started to suck, gently at first, pulling a little more of his length into her mouth, almost grazing it with her teeth, but not quite. Now she increased the pressure of the grip on his shaft and her hand moved in a slightly faster rhythm. Hand, tongue, teeth, suction, forming one bar, to the beat of her own heart (pity she couldn’t match it to Jack’s!). More sound from Jack, a very satisfied version of the Pooh hum, but perhaps a little ragged – what Jack, losing control? Jocasta’s mind formed the next line of the Hum she had thought of earlier ‘Isn’t it funny how a vamp likes cunny? Suck, suck, suck, I wonder if we’ll fuck?’

Jack’s head on the pillow was tossing around, as he continued to moan a little, and grunt a little, and his hand in her hair was moving in time to her hand on his cock, trying, trying, not to take over the ‘driving’, not to impose his rhythm or depth onto her. She could feel him trying to hold his hips still, and now, at the point in the bar where her circling hand was moving down to the root of his cock, and her mouth was sucking up on the head of it, she removed her restraining hand from his hip. (Jocasta knew full well that he could have moved at any time he wanted; she admired a little restraint in a man.)

Recognising the ‘permission to move’ signal, Jack let out a loud grunt of satisfaction (more Piglet than Pooh, maybe?), and he started to thrust upwards into Jocasta’s mouth, at that same, stretching, point in the bar where she had released his hip.

In time with each other, the rhythm increased, faster, faster, encircling hand up shaft towards mouth and tongue swirling around glans, then hand down towards body, sucking mouth, hips thrust. Jack moaned, Jocasta ‘Mm’d’ deep in her throat, aware of the taste and the texture, and the increasing tautness of the Magnum cool cock in her mouth.

‘Now’, thought Jocasta, ‘Now is the time to drive this car over the cliff!’ Without disrupting the rhythm or pace, she moved her body weight a little, so that she could move the hand that had been on Jack’s hip. She glanced up, and her eyes met Jack’s, still open, although gazing at her in that slightly out of focus way, and as the cock-mouth music reached the extension point this time, she cupped his balls, and very softly squeezed.

This time he closed his eyes, and made a louder, gasping sound with each stroke. Five or six more bars and Jocasta could feel his balls tightening, lifting a little in her hand, and knew that he was at the very edge of coming. Then, under her fingers on his cock, she could feel the movement of the spunk, bubbling upwards, like champagne about to blow the cork off the bottle, and just as it reached the top, she released his cock from her mouth, and changed the pressure of hand on shaft slightly so that the stroke was all pressure up towards the head, none down, and watched Jack erupt like a tiny cool volcano.

Jack’s come, where it spilled down his shaft and her hand, onto his belly, was clear - totally clear. Jocasta watched it in fascination. Somewhere from the deep recesses of memory she could hear the voice of a lecturer explaining that as a vampire is not truly alive, it (!) cannot breed. She’d never been totally sure about this, as texts were always very clear about the dangers to young women of the sexual propensities of vampires, but she hadn’t liked to ask, and it hadn’t seemed likely to be personally important at the time. She had come to the conclusion that they just didn’t have any ‘bodily fluid’ sign of orgasm at all – but this was obviously wrong.

As Jack’s body stopped moving, and his head lay quiet on the pillow, eyes still on her, Jocasta slowly relaxed the grip on his cock, but kept it gently resting in her hand, and then touched the clear fluid on his tummy with the tip of her other index finger, and raised it slowly to her mouth. (She had read that the taste of a man’s spunk depended on what he ate – was it true of vampires? Something else the lecturers hadn’t covered – they really should revise the syllabus!) The taste was not unpleasant, salty, rather like licking your finger if you cut it, and it was just so beautiful, more viscous than champagne and forming little rainbows where the light caught it. She caught some of it up between her fingers, held it to the light, and felt that she could gaze at it for ever!

She realised that Jack was now watching her in a totally focussed way, and she wondered if she looked rather silly, but he didn’t seem to be laughing. He made another couple of soft contented sounds, and smiled at her, licking his lips. His cock, in her hand, twitched gently, and stiffened again. ‘Cass, have you any idea how sexy that looks?’ Jack asked. ‘Mm, sexy? It’s just that it’s so beautiful,’ she answered, rather embarrassedly. ‘I mean, I’ve seen come before, but it didn’t look quite like this!’ ‘I guessed that you might have seen it once or twice before – after that performance,’ he said laughingly, ‘are you sure you haven’t had a couple of hundred years of practice?’ Jocasta blushed. ‘No, no, but the first time I tried it, I decided that I liked it, and the boyfriend I had at the time seemed to like it too, so I did it a few times before we broke up,’ she answered. ‘Aye, you looked like you were enjoying it!’ Jack said, ‘and I sure as hell was!’ he added grinning.

He reached a hand down, and pulled her back up his body. The spunk on her fingers continued to catch the light, and she found herself still looking at it, even as he took the fingers into his own mouth and licked them slowly. Jocasta felt a shiver running down her spine, ending in her pussy again. Jack stopped licking, looked her in the eye, and said ‘Didn’t they teach you that a vampire fires blanks, pet?’

‘They didn’t put it quite that succinctly’, said Jocasta, ‘but to be fair, I don’t think “they” would have expected me to be quite in this position, where it became relevant.’ ‘Oh, and which do you think would be the official preferred position for you to be in?’ asked Jack, trying to look solemn, ‘is there a ‘Watcher’ position like there’s a ‘Missionary’ one then, pet? Can you teach me it, I divn’t think I’ve ever come across it before! Mind, come to think of it I divn’t think I’ve ever come across a Watcher at all before!’ Jocasta laughed, so that her breasts joggled against Jack’s chest, and sent a tingle down to her pussy again. ‘I think the official position would be with at least half a mile between us – or a stake!’ she said. ‘Well, I’ve got SOMETHING hard, solid, and fairly pointy ended that you could hold between us!’ said Jack.

Before Jocasta could answer, Jack’s mouth again covered hers, so that she was giggling and kissing at the same time, but her eyes, as Jack looked into them, twinkled with laughter, and her hand reached down, just as he had suggested. Jack really could move quickly – vampiric speed, reflexes and the rest were just as covered in lectures – his hand was on her pussy before her hand was within a couple of inches of his cock!

Jocasta knew that she was as wet as he was hard, (or was he as hard as she knew she was wet?) and as his fingers slid in between her folds, this time he smoothed straight around her clit, which was so swollen that it seemed to be trying to escape from her pussy and reach right out towards him. Her grip on his cock was not the gentle touch she had started with before, but already a firm caress, sliding easily from root to tip, lubricated with his own fluid.

Jack’s fingers moved around in her pussy, and now he eased two, then three fingers right inside her, whilst his thumb continued the slithery circling of her clit. She tried to gasp, but her mouth was full of mouth, then Jack’s face pulled back a little from hers, he moved his body weight, and put his other hand over hers on his cock. He looked into her eyes, smiled, and said ‘Can I come in? You know that I never go into anywhere uninvited!’

The Watcher inside Jocasta McStay, said ‘I’m not sure this invitation is quite necessary,’ but nothing said ‘Don’t issue it!’, and as the phrase ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb’ floated into her mind, so too did her earlier thought that she was the most senior Watcher around – who could DO the hanging? So she nodded, and putting her cock-free hand onto his shoulder, rolled so that she was on her back, knees slightly bent, and Jack was easing himself on top of her.

Jack’s hand held her hand which held his cock, and so it was that the act of penetration, the entry of cool cock (alabaster, Magnum bar,) deep into the warm, wet depths of pussy,(watered silk, melting chocolate), was a very mutual act, Watcher and Vampire acting in total harmony.

For a few seconds they lay still, joined by this most intimate of connections, and Jocasta thought ‘Nice. Such a long time since the last time. Good fit – full, absolutely full: stretched, nicely stretched, but not too much – neat!’ Just as this last thought drifted through her mind, Jack’s voice, right by her ear, said ‘Good, Cass? Is that good? I’ve woken up thinking of this for ages.’ In answer, Jocasta did three things – she said ‘Mmmm,’ she moved her head so that her mouth was on Jack’s, and she gently rotated her hips.

Slowly they moved, mouth to mouth, nipple to nipple, belly on belly, but hips moving in counterpoint, gently at first, then in a quickening rhythm, cock all in, cock almost out, all in, almost out. Now that they were sure of the beat, their hands began to move, Jack’s in Jocasta’s hair, or cupping her breasts, still teasing her nipples, hers on his back, or gripping him firmly by the muscles of his bum.

It stopped being gentle, and began to be harder, deeper, faster (‘Isn’t that the motto of the Olympics?’ thought Jocasta). This was shagging, this was screwing, this was fucking – this was fucking good! Jocasta could feel herself getting hotter, her skin felt flushed, and wet with sweat, and just above her Jack also began to look decidedly flushed, and even the cock deep inside no-longer felt so much cooler than the flesh that gloved it (lecturer’s voice – a vampire can experience some raising of body temperature in conditions of exertion – this must be a condition of exertion!).

Jack slowed the rhythm again, and Jocasta tried to slow down with him, she’d let him drive for now. He eased himself up from her, without pulling out, and moved both himself and Jocasta, until he was kneeling between her legs, her knees bent up beside his hips, her feet flat on the bed. Jack let out another small grunt of satisfaction, and reached one hand out to Jocasta’s breasts, whilst he slid the other one back into her pussy, between the sleekly swollen labia, and gently teased her clit.

Now Jocasta began to move her hips, the rhythm now more hers than his, bucking upwards towards the hand in her pussy, moving up and down on his cock, so that she was fucking him, she was moving his cock into herself, then almost out, in deep, then almost out, backwards and forwards. She tried to keep her eyes open, to watch Jack, she guessed she had the same unfocussed look as him, and between her own sounds of pleasure, and the wet noises of flesh on flesh, she could hear Jack, making small contented noises.

She half expected Jack to slow her down again, or to take away the hand that pressed and rubbed her swollen clit, but instead he now moved with her, at her pace, increasing the depth of thrust until she felt that he was pushing her womb up into her chest, making her breath come in short gulps. Deep, hard, clit singing, nipples straining upwards, all joined by an invisible thread of lust and sensation. ‘Now! Now! Yes! Yes! Come in – come in – come in –ME!’

He did. Jack’s cool clear spunk flooded into her, just as Jocasta’s orgasm flooded over her, and through her, and made her feel as if she was floating above the bed, or maybe above the town.

Still they moved their bodies together, slower, and slower, less and less deep, the aftershocks of coming still causing tiny shudders to run through Jocasta, whilst she could see Jack’s muscles also twitching a little in his own rhythm. Eventually they were quiet, still locked together cock in pussy, her head back on the pillow, Jack still kneeling between her legs, but his hands now on the bed at her waist level.

Finally, Jack withdrew, and just as he had before, slowly licked his way back up Jocasta’s body, until he was again laying half beside and half on top of her. Jocasta’s inner Watcher wondered whether sweat was a sort of blood substitute, and if so, did Jack realise that? He was nibbling gently on her ear, and still occasionally making small contented sounds. She was still on a post-orgasmic high, floaty, a little remote from her surroundings, slowly and aimlessly running her fingers over Jack’s torso, when she realised that down by her hip, Jack’s cock was again hard and in full working order.

Jocasta’s pussy was still swollen and tender feeling, nerve endings still on alert, and just at the moment she thought it was probably a bit too sensitive to keep going! ‘Good, Cass?’ whispered Jack’s voice in her ear. ‘Mm, the best!’ she answered, ‘but, um,’ she touched his erection lightly with her fingers, ‘I’m not sure, I mean you’re - -, um.’ Jack’s face came into full view. He was grinning. ‘Ah’ve done it – Miss McStay is totally lost for words! Oh, Cass, Cass, I would love to keep fucking all night, but I don’t have to. The hard on - it’s a vampire thing; it recovers automatically, like wounds and things. Keep me near you like this and it’ll keep on recovering and recovering, until I move somewhere a bit less arousin’, pet!’

‘Bugger,’ thought Jocasta, ‘we really will have to change the syllabus!’ Then ‘Probably a good job I didn’t say bugger out loud under the circumstances – he might have thought it was an instruction!’, and she giggled. ‘That must be the reason they warn us to keep young ladies away from vampires,’ she said out loud, ‘they could die of fatigue on the first night!’

‘I think it’s more the habit of “Fuck ’em, and suck ’em!” Jack said, touching Jocasta’s neck with a fingertip, thoughtfully, and then grinning again. ‘But I gave that up a long time ago – virgin’s blood doesn’t taste much different to anyone else’s – at least it didn’t after they’d lost the virginity, and it would have been a shame to just suck without the fuck!’

There didn’t seem to be an answer to that, and whilst Jocasta tried to decide whether she should be shocked by what he’d said, Jack went on ‘I think it began to lose its appeal after the eclipse that healed me soul. Anyway, the sex is much better with someone who’s done it before – a diet of virgins is pretty boring! And whilst I know you’re a bit knackered at the minute, I’d much rather fuck you again, oh, any day this week, than suck you! At least in the “Lunch” sense anyway!’

Jocasta laughed, then said more soberly, ‘The way things are at the moment, Bringers, Djinn and other minor things, you might be lucky to get the chance any day this week.’ ‘You’ll get through, you’re a good Watcher, and I’ll help – I’ll even come to Africa, and face the sun, if that’s what it takes, but we ARE going to do this again, aren’t we?’ ‘Yes,’ said Jocasta, ‘sometime, as long as it’s not in the next hour, we must definitely do this all again!’

‘Well, if you’re likely to be up for it again in an hour,’ Jack said, ‘I’d better think about breakfast – I think that coffee’s a bit cold by now, and to be honest I think I could do with something a bit more – ,’ he paused. ‘Red’, said Jocasta. ‘Right,’ he answered, sounding relieved. ‘Actually I’ve a couple of units of only slightly out of date O pos. in the fridge at my place, but you could do with company overnight – safety in numbers, troubled times, and all that – I’ll come straight back!’ he slid out of bed, put on his t- shirt, and squeezing his jeans over his slightly deflating erection, headed for the bedroom door. ‘It’s cold out there’, thought Jocasta, ‘still, he’s a Geordie, and so no-one thinks it odd if he doesn’t seem to feel the cold.’

So it was, that Miss Jocasta McStay, Watcher, lay on the bed in her spare bedroom, in a somewhat dishevelled state, and mused that someone might be a little surprised if she gave them an honest answer next time she was asked ‘But what do you find to do in Whitby in the winter?’

Remembering the Cottage Hospital.

Wed, 22 Aug 2007 19:45:59 GMT

In my last post I mentioned how apt it would be to start putting some of my family history posts here by writing down my mother's memories of being a child in hospital in the 1930s.

The Cottage Hospital in Ramsey is celebrating its centenary this year. As I do regular clinic sessions there I have been sent a copy of the centenary booklet and, to be quite honest, I was disappointed in it. There was really very little history in it and as there are still people around who, whilst not patients in the first ten or fifteen years of the hospital, were patients seventy or more years ago I'm sure they could have made it more interesting.

When I mentioned this to my mother, and showed her the booklet, I knew that I was basically pushing the right button and D-d and I had only to sit with our listening heads on and absorb the oral history .

My mother was first a patient of the Cottage Hospital in 1933 when she was six. She was there for over six weeks, and was not allowed visits from her family during that time, as it was feared that it would distress the child and set back any recovery.

Mum was a patient because she was suffering from mastoiditis – something rarely seen these days, and usually fairly easily treated. But we are talking pre-antibiotics, and this was not only a fairly common condition, but also a common cause of death in children as it could lead to meningitis and/or septicaemia.

My mother was told by her mother that the mastoidectomy operation, carried out by Mr. Pantin, was the first of its type to be done outside London – but it was the only chance she had of survival, and so he operated.

She recovered quite quickly from her surgery, and was able to get out of her bed and run around the hospital within a week, but it was normal to stay in until there was no possibility of complications or infection, and so she has quite a lot of memories of everyday life in the hospital, as seen from a child’s perspective.

The Cottage Hospital in those days had three six-bedded wards - men, women and children each had their own ward, with a few seperate private rooms, and an operating theatre.

The matron was Matron Proctor – who had been in post since the hospital opened in 1907 – who had a reputation for being very strict. But her six year old patient seems to have been something of a favourite, as Mum says she was allowed the run of the hospital, and doesn’t remember ever being scolded by Matron. She does remember that there was a large wall clock in the children’s ward – and every morning Matron would arrive on the ward, be handed up onto a chair by a staff member, and ceremonially wind the clock. Then before she got down she would wipe her clean white cotton handkerchief along the top of the door, to check that it had been properly cleaned.

Mum knew some of the young nurses from meeting them at a family friend’s house. This friend was not a lot older than them, and was also the cashier at the local cinema, where she often saw the staff nurses or probationers on their days off. Mum says the nurses used to ask her not to let on to Matron that they knew her, in case she found out that they went to ‘the pictures’ on their days off!

On Matron’s day off she would go into town in her car. This was often a signal for the nurses to get out a wind-up gramophone and entertain the patients in both the men’s and women’s wards – with one of their number positioned to keep an eye out for matron’s car coming up the hill towards the hospital, when the gramophone would be pushed back into the cupboard, and all patients would be lying in their beds by the time matron passed through on her way to her own accommodation!

I asked Mum whether there were many other children in the hospital with her. She said that one or two were in for a week or two, but that there was also a boy from the nearby Children’s Home who was there most of the time that she was. He had fallen and got a cut knee, which had become infected. Despite all attempts to clean out the infection (which treatment must have been painful, poor boy) eventually he had his leg amputated mid-thigh. However he didn’t ever really recover and he died.

That is how life was before antibiotics – fall over, cut your knee, and be dead within weeks. Poor little lad.

Mum spent two more spells in The Cottage as a child – I will write down soon how she spent a week of summer wrapped in blankets and surrounded by hot-water bottles when she was eight.

Slightly more up to date, Daughter-dear and her friends set off to go to the Leeds Music Festival on the first boat out this morning - probably not the smoothest of journeys! She sent me a text to say they have arrived, got their tents up, and it is decidedly windy. Let's hope all their tents are well pinned down.

I'm feeling sleepy because I was up at 6a.m. to take her to the boat, and then had a busy day at work.

Interior Decorating, or something...

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 21:24:29 GMT

I have started to personalise this journal. I've got as far as putting one of my photos on as a background, and trying to tweak the journal colours to fit with it better. But as the top entry was a meme in a rather garish blue it has been hard to 'see' the colour scheme - which is why, to be honest, I am mostly making this entry!

I set my mother off talking about the time she spent in hospital as a child this afternoon, so I must write it all down sometime soon. Maybe I will start putting some of my family history posts onto this journal - and a spell in hospital seems a good place to start for somewhere meant to be an asylum!

Actually, thinking about oddities and insanities - why is it that all the recent concentration on Elvis Presley emphasis what a unique talent he had - followed by people doing pretty good copies of him?

It must be a journal - I'm spamming!

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 20:57:02 GMT

Where I live.

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 20:52:20 GMT

This is cross posted from the Where I Live community on LJ, for those of my friends who are not in that particular group.

Welcome to where I live. I live on the Isle-of Man, a small island in the middle of the Irish Sea, equidistant between England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

We have quite a lot of open space –

The first picture was taken from the highest point on the Island – Snaefell, a genuine mountain at 2036 feet high. The second two were both taken in the hills above Ramsey, the most northerly town, where I spent most of my childhood. The fourth is a bay at the southerly end of the island, Gansey, with Port St Mary in the distance. I took that photo one day when I had been running a clinic near there, and just loved the stillness of the sea – a rare occurrence!

This is one of our two castles – the older, and pretty ruined one, at Peel. Right beside the sea, of course, as that was how we were always attacked or invaded!

Still at sea level, these two show the harbour at Douglas –

The blue structure in the first one is the walkway for foot passengers getting off the passenger ferry which docks on the other side of the harbour wall.

The brick-built building on the left of the second one is where my husband works. The fantastically shaped building is the top floors of the Sea Terminal, built in the late 60s, and known ever since as – what else – the Lemon Squeezer.

Staying with transport – we have trains! Look –

Yes – steam trains – we don’t actually have any modern ones…. That picture was taken at Port Erin railway station last week, when I just happened to be going past at the right time to catch two engines.

Going back to Douglas, here is the main shopping street – not terribly pretty, but it is pedestrianised, so easy to walk around.

And we buy food in Marks and Spencer’s like so many other Brits!

Two minutes walk from M&S you are back at the sea. This is one of the series of sunken gardens along the sea-front at Douglas. The rather ugly concrete block at the end of this garden section is actually a fountain, but the water has sadly just disappeared into the background.

And this is the other end of the sweep of the promenade – over a mile further along than the previous one.

As you can see - California might have the Hollywood sign – we have the Electric Railway sign! The Electric Railway is almost as old as the Steam one, and is known to all the locals as The Tram –

That picture of a tram was taken in Laxey – a village about six miles north of Douglas. These next two pictures were also taken at Laxey tram station – it is a piece of public art which has just been put into place – this is the ‘front’-

But actually I like the back better –

It is a salmon, because Laxey’s name means that it is on a Salmon river – in Norse. Many of our place names are in Gaelic, but many are from the time when the island was an important part of the Viking world.

Going back to the picture with the Electric Railway sign, the building in the distance is the headquarters of Skandia international – and here it is again, just because I took a picture of the rocks beside it –

These rocks mark the end of the sweep of Douglas Bay, and are actually in Onchan, the village in which we live. Both Douglas and Onchan have grown over the years, and so there is not a lot of clear space between.

This is our local shopping precinct in Onchan –

Not exactly a bustling metropolis! I took that picture one lunch time.

And to finish, this is not where I live, it is the local general hospital, where I work part of most weeks –

Someone once told me that it has the biggest continuous area of slate roof in the British Isles – don’t know if it’s true, but it would be an odd claim to fame any way!

And this isn’t where I live either – it is where my mother lives!

She lives in ‘social housing’ in the most northerly village on the island, Bride. This means that she rents this bungalow from the government. For those who like to know these things, the baskets have begonias and fuchsias in them.

So – there we have a quick tour of the Isle of Man, from Bride in the north to Gansey and Port Erin in the south, Peel in the west to Onchan and Douglas in the east. Considering the wet summer we have been having as you can tell the weather has been sunny on occasions over this last couple of weeks!

Where are you guys?

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 20:28:53 GMT

I really must do something about paying for this journal and making it look like mine. I've mislaid you all - LJ seems to be gone again - or is this just in out house?

Just landed.

Thu, 21 Jun 2007 20:35:25 GMT

Hi - I'm here. I will get around to a proper entry sometime soon!

How will you be suspended from LJ? by Anonymous LJ User
Username
Years on LJ
Snape
Hours left until your suspension	3
Your crime	Mixing up "its" and "it's".
Who reported you	flatstanley_
Your fate	You discover fresh air, real life, and true love.