PAIRING: Spike/Giles/Wesley angst/friendship.
RATING: PG13. I'm English - so is the spelling.
SPOILERS: to end of BTVS S6 and ATS S3
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask. I'll say yes. I just want to know where's it's living. The series, and my other fic, is archived at http://www.myarseisnotpansy.co.uk/lesley/ on the wonderful Magpie's superb London Calling site.
FEEDBACK: Gratefully received, much appreciated, and given a loving home.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine the characters belong to Joss. Chapter titles belong to numerous people more talented than me.
DEDICATION: To everyone who wanted more, thanks for all the kind words, but especially for Magpie, Lori and IsabelleC.
ANGST WARNING - I mean it.
The World Cup is a feature for the first few chapters, but this story has been greatly enjoyed by non-lovers of the beautiful game. Lack of political correctness - which reflects England football supporting attitudes, and the age of some of the characters.
CHARACTER DEATH WARNING.
Willow drifted down the stairs of the small Chelsea Mews house, which currently was home to a detached watcher and his charges - a re-souled vampire, and a witch recovering from attempted World-endage.
Giles shouted from the kitchen. "Willow? Have you taken your Prozac? It's time. And Spike your Ritalin?"
Ensconced deep in the old sofa, came the sound of, "Yes Dad," from a vampire almost unrecognisable but for the bleached tips to his hair.
Willow slumped into the armchair, by the covered window. Her neck was bound with a choker, which stopped her from accessing her magic, or removing it. She idly considered opening the curtains, and frying the vampire sitting opposite them, but decided it would be too much like hard work.
Spike was curled up over a notepad, and was chewing on his pen in thought. Unfortunately since he happened to be in game face chewing was the apposite phrase, and yet another of Rupert's pens met a tragic fate.
Giles came out of the kitchen, with a couple of cold beers and a de-caff coke for Willow. He gave her the coke. There had been an unfortunate incident, shortly after she arrived in London, and drank 3 cans of full-caff, full sugar coke. It hadn't been pretty. His Aunt's collection of Staffordshire dogs was no more. Not that it had been much of a loss. He'd always hated them, which of course was why the bitch left them to him in the will. He just hoped she wouldn't come back to haunt him, after their tragic demise. Well, if she did, there were some great exorcism spells around.
He turned to Spike, and wondered for a minute why the vampire was in game face. He'd mostly been crying, manic, or writing his autobiography - 'Things I have to Feel Guilty About' since arriving two weeks ago. Considering the tears blotting many of the pages the writing was surprisingly legible, though the language tended towards the overblown.
Giles looked at the telly. He saw why Spike was so riled. The football pundits were showing Maradona's 1986 'hand of god' cheat against England, and following it up with Beckham's sending off in the 98 World Cup. Spike growled at that insult. Giles could identify with that. He threw Spike the twin to the beer he was holding.
Spike came back to himself, caught the beer, put down the paper and the mangled pen and said, "Thanks". Then continued with, "Sure you don't want to go watch the match down the local? Me and Red here promise not to play with matches, or top ourselves for the next two hours."
Willow snorted. Giles looked sadly at her. Despite everything he, the coven, and his cousin the psychiatrist, tried she remained deep in denial, and wallowing in her depression, and misplaced aggression.
Despite all his histrionics the newer possessor of a soul among the pair was doing by far the best. He'd even taken an interest in this World Cup, though the Sweden match had admittedly been a bit of a setback. Giles had wondered if he should put Spike on Prozac as well as Willow following that one. Bugger it, he'd been tempted to hit the pills himself after the second half. But at least when talking about the footy Spike appeared, well, Spike like. So, while going down the pub was tempting after being cooped up for weeks with this pair of miscreants, he decided to stay and get the vampire talking.
"I'm sure, Spike, beer present and correct, telly sorted, got company, who needs more. How are you doing with the bio?"
"Up to 1923 Giles. God so much…"
Giles wanted to watch the match not have to have to keep Spike away from the wooden spoons again, and Willow was too wrapped up in herself to bother. So footy. "We're gonna get hammered aren't we?"
"Yeah, cheating tossers. Bleeding hand of god, fat git more like. Was there you know? Couldn't be in the stadium…too bleeding sunny. Found a nice bar though with some big tellys, and some fellow Brits. Dru wouldn't come, told me the blue and white pixies wanted to hurt us. Should have listened, the pixies usually told her the scores."
Giles looked at Spike and said, "I worry about you."
Spike snorted with laughter. "'S not catching, over 100 years still just about sane. Poor princess… Should have listened though. Got some good bets from the pixies over the years. Look it's starting!"
"Book 'im! Send the git off!"
"OOOOOOhhhhhhhhhh. Bugger! Hit the post."
Snores came from Willow.
"Go on my son!!!!!! He shoots, he misses."
"Go on Michael!!!!!! Foul! Penalty!!!!!"
"Come on, come on my son, You can do it!"
Whistle blows. Two Englishmen look at each other, from where they are standing arms in the air shouting 1 nil, and say at the same time, "We're doomed, 2 - 1 second half," and, "Yeah". So they retrieved more beer from the fridge and sat down.
Giles, wanting to keep Spike in an up phase, asked, "So what about 98? That would have been when you actually left us in peace, right?"
"Yeah! Watched it in Brazil. Great though. The Brazilians hate the Argies almost as much as we do. Watched it in a demon bar in Rio. Went out Argy hunting with some great Brazilian vamps afterwards. They'd been buying me drinks to make me feel better all night. Nice guys! Couldn't find any though. The locals had already munched their way through any Argies they could find. Nice of them to try though! Had worked beautifully as a coping thing in 86." Spike stopped, his face fell and he put his head in his hands. "God, listen to me, enjoyed it then, having problems feeling guilty now. Maybe I got a faulty deal? Oh…hell! Still Evil!"
"No Spike just English!" Giles said - who did after all want to watch the second half.
"Yes, here, drink beer, watch match, it's starting again."
"Owwwwwwww, nooooooooo, phew."
"They're gonna score, they're gonna score, phew."
"Scholesy!!!!!!!!!!Told you Man U were the biz!"
"Seaman! Ok I confess the pony-tail rocks!"
"No, can't watch, can't watch, yessssssss."
"God no, please no!!!!"
"Nicky Butt, Nicky Butt, Nicky Butt. Man U rule!"
"He's a pillock, and an Argy pillock at that!"
"Blow the whistle! Blow the Whistle!"
"No, no, no Millsyyyyyyy!!!!!!!"
As the final whistle blew Spike and Giles were up, arms round each other, jumping up and down singing, "It's Coming Home, it's coming home, football's coming home" and to the telly a rousing chorus of, "You're not singing anymore, you're not singing any more!"
Spike said, "You know I feel better now!"
Willow continued to sleep through it.
Continued in Part 2. Three Lions.