Written for Eurydice's birthday, and fondly dedicated to her.
PG. Set post Angel's season 5.
As always feedback is greatly appreciated.
14 juillet
The unforgiving summer sun was slowly traveling over Paris, its effects
tempered only by a wind that was barely strong enough to give life to
the many tricolor flags strung over the capital. The heat wasn’t enough
to deter tourists and patriotic crowds however, and countless curious
lined up the roads, awaiting the military parade. Already in the
distance could be heard faint music, the clap of horses’ hooves on the
asphalt, the rhythm of many feet walking in unison, and above all the
engines of armored tanks. The crowd was waiting, more or less
patiently, pressed behind the barriers, their craned necks trying to
see over taller shoulders if the parade was in sight yet.
From his terrace on the third floor of his overrated Parisian palace,
Spike was enjoying a smoke. The exposition of the hotel’s façade
would keep this spot in the shade until late afternoon, and he was
amusing himself by observing the crowd below him. All this excitement
for what? A few soldiers who hadn’t fought a real war? He had seen a
couple of wars from the inside, and though he had enjoyed the
bloodbaths then, his soul now cringed at the memory. A few horses,
legacy of a long gone time? He had nothing against the animal, but cars
were a definite improvement as far as he was concerned. A few tanks
that had never fired a shell? They looked impressive, certainly, but
not as much as a charging dragon.
He just didn’t understand what the deal was. And not understanding it
wasn’t particularly upsetting him; this show wasn’t why he was in
Paris. Of course, he didn’t really have a reason to be there, none that
he would admit to at least, but that wasn’t the point. The point was,
he wasn’t dust and he had enough money to live comfortably for a few
decades if he was careful or a few months if he kept spending at his
current pace. He could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he pleased,
without a care in the world for the first time in many years. Maybe for
the first time ever.
He had parted ways with Angel and Gunn at the hospital a few hours
after Illyria’s last show. At the time, he had thought that fever and
pain were making Gunn ramble when the ex-lawyer started sprouting
numbers and bank names. Instead, Spike had been surprised to discover a
few days later, when his curiosity had gotten the best of him, that
Gunn hadn’t been as out of it as he had thought. A little fortune in
his name, undoubtedly from Wolfram & Hart’s funds, was waiting for
him in four different accounts. Unlife had just taken a turn for the
good at last.
A murmur ran over the crowd, and mindlessly, Spike turned toward the
end of the road. The start of the parade was beginning to appear, which
meant that the whole bloody show would be over soon, or so he hoped.
After the armies of hell charging up a Los Angeles’ street in a fury of
sound, this carefully choreographed presentation was just… lacking, to
say the least.
Access to sun proofed planes had disappeared along with Angel’s pension
plan, but it hadn’t been too difficult for Spike to find night flights
to bring him to Europe. He had thought of going to Rome, and dismissed
the notion almost immediately. Better to leave that particular ghost
alone. London, then. A trip to the motherland. After stumbling on what
were undoubtedly Watchers in training three nights in a row, he had
fled. From what he knew, old Rupert was there, rebuilding the Council,
and Spike wasn’t too interested in knowing whether the old man had
gotten over his distrust issue yet or not. He had bought a car, a nice
Jaguar, black, identical to one of Angel’s pretties he had trashed a
few months before, and taken the road to France. No more need for a
boat, thanks to the Chunnel, and he was ever so grateful. He had been
on too many boats in his life and hoped not to ever see one again.
As he took small country roads by nights and leisurely made his way
toward the capital, he couldn’t help but notice the news. Hate crimes
numbers surging, intolerance on the rise… he had a hunch that something
not exactly natural was going on there, and maybe that was what drew
him to the center of all this activity, Paris. Or maybe, he simply
hadn’t seen the city of lights in far too long.
Whatever the reason, he arrived there three days before the national
holiday celebration, took a room in the center of the town, and started
patrolling every night. If he didn’t think about it too much, he could
pretend to himself that he was only doing it because he was bored. No
other motive. No sense of duty or any such rot. No growing feeling that
a Hellmouth had opened somewhere in the capital.
The parade was now passing directly in front of the hotel, and the
clamor of the crowd was getting on his nerves. British troops, he noted
wryly as he stood from his seat on the balcony and ground out what
remained of his cigarette. Something on the very edge of his vision
caught his attention, and he turned swiftly to look down at the crowd
again. He could have sworn…
His gaze traveled through the many faces, searching for a few seconds
for the familiar one he thought he had seen before he realized he was
being stupid.
“She’s in Italy, wanker,” he muttered to himself before walking back
inside and closing the French windows and curtains behind him. If he
was going to spend another night patrolling, he had to try to catch
some sleep.
But with thoughts of the Slayer now filling his mind, sleep remained unreachable.
Once upon a time, this kind of setting would have been a wondrous
hunting ground for Spike. With sunset, the earlier crowds had only
increased, and joyous groups had taken over the streets. Noise,
darkness, a bit too much alcohol, and so many people that someone could
disappear and wouldn’t be missed for hours… a perfect environment for
vampires.
He dusted a handful of them as he followed the tide toward the Champs
Elysees; Paris hadn’t had a Slayer in decades, and the vampire
population reflected the fact. There were too many of them, and they
had grown too complacent. Strange that the Council or whatever they
were called now hadn’t assigned anyone to the city yet. Or if they had,
the girl was doing a poor job of it. Not that Spike cared, of course.
The first sparks of fireworks above his head took him by surprise. He
had been following a couple, the girl a vampire that he intended to
dust at the first occasion, when the lights and sound show started.
There had been music so far, loud music, but the roar of the exploding
lights, so close, was deafening to him. He wouldn’t let go of his prey,
though, and hastened his pace to catch up with the now kissing couple.
By the light of a red flare, he saw the girl slide into her demon
features and bend toward the unsuspecting fool’s neck. Cursing, Spike
started running, bumping into the now still bystanders who were all
looking up at the blue, white, and red display.
He was too late. When he reached the spot where the vamp and her snack
had been standing, they were gone. Disgusted, he looked around, trying
to find them again. He heard her voice in a momentary silence of the
show only a second before seeing her.
“… need to learn to quip in French. It’s not as fun if they don’t get it.”
She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just to herself, and that
didn’t surprise him; he had observed her do the same thing many times
in Sunnydale. Her presence, though, was a shock, as was the fact that
he had come across her in the middle of so many people. A little voice
deep in him wanted to call it fate. A louder one demanded that he get
away before she noticed him.
He was about to do just that when her gaze rose in his direction,
scanning the crowd, finally finding him. She froze, surprise etched on
her features. Not the kind of surprise he would have expected, which
meant that she knew he was alive. She was simply surprised at seeing
him there, in Paris, no more.
The fireworks were still exploding above them when she took her first
hesitant step toward him but they were both oblivious to the show.
Spike’s thoughts were flailing in all directions, with too many
questions, too many things to tell her, too many emotions that he
didn’t want to identify. He simply stood there and let her come to him
without a gesture or a word. When she finally reached him, when there
was only a step between them, the crowd around them exploded in
delighted applause at the fireworks grand finale, and it seemed oddly
appropriate when she smiled.
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The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.
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