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Just repostings parts 1 and 2 with minor revisions now I know how it ends. Archivist notes at the end of part 3. Note on subject line tags: TTR/TDF = This Time Round / the To Die For series. [CF] = Clash Fiction, a subset of the above with guitars! Er, OK, with Spike and other characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Whether the Clash songs used in the titles bear any relation to the stories is another matter. SPOILERS: this story contains spoilers up to Buffy season 5 episode 15 (Blood Ties). This Time Round concept created by Tyler Dion Doctor Who characters (c) respective writers and the BBC Buffy characters (c) Joss Whedon. TTR/TDF [CF] Rock the Casbah 1/3 by Mags L Halliday *** She was balletic in style now, her fighting edge honed so fine that it had become an art. She was dancing with him, almost. Teasing him with the knowledge that at any moment she would deliver the killer blow. So young. So deadly. So attractive. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame: dancing closer, risking death for a fleeting brush with her fire. She pirouetted lithely, one neatly booted leg lifting to chest height. The stacked heel pushed him backwards against a wall. The bow slung across her back was pulled round, aimed. Looking up, he welcomed the deadly crossbow bolt through his heart. Nyssa looked down at Adric's corpse. "What was *that* all about?" she wondered. Then she shrugged and headed into town to collect the April edition of Projectile News. *** She was balletic in style now, her fighting edge honed so fine that it had become an art. She was dancing with him, almost. Teasing him with the knowledge that at any moment she would deliver the killer blow. So young. So deadly. So attractive. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame: dancing closer, risking death for a fleeting brush with her fire. She pirouetted lithely, one neatly booted leg lifting to chest height. The stacked heel pushed him backwards against a wall. The bow slung across her back was pulled round, aimed. Looking up, he stared into her eyes. They were dark with something difficult to define. Something primal. She released her hold on the trigger of the crossbow and pushed it out the way. "I don't have time for this, Spike." "Oh, right. A Slayer who doesn't have time for a damn good slay?" The peroxide blond relaxed against the wall, slouching his hips out and hooking his thumbs into the belt of his black jeans. He grinned provocatively at the petite blonde woman who was glaring at him. "Don't tempt me, Spike." "Come on, Summers, admit it." He pushed himself away from the wall and leaned in close to her ear, so close that her hair caressed his cheekbone. "You're tempted alright," he whispered. He grinned, then brushed past her, letting his hand trail over her hip. Buffy turned to watch him walk out of the alley. She frowned, her own hand absently tracing her ear where his lips had almost touched. The frown turned to a pout. "Am not." *** The Mortality Deferment Office, Adric's home from home, has little care for timing. Thus Adric was restored to life in the middle of the weekly Unrequited Anonymous meeting. Interrupting a lengthy rambling and tearful monologue by Ares. Luckily for Adric, the God of War was too occupied with his own problems to be annoyed at the Alzarian appearing in the middle of the circle. "...and she has this long, beautiful black hair... Like mine. And muscles on her muscles... Like mine. And tight fitting leather..." Adric looked around. The only one of the group not comforting the Olympian was Spike, who waved a desultory hand in greeting. "The big oaf," he informed Adric, "has had a breakthrough. Realised that he not only lusts after his bint's warrior instincts but her body as well." Ares looked up, frowning at the slight Englishman. "Take that back, living dead! I adore every particle of her being. The way her eyes glint when she tries to kill me..." The group all nodded and made sympathetic "ooh, I know" noises. Spike snorted but looked away. Adric thought he glimpsed something in the vampire's face, a momentary empathy. After all, they were all here for the same reason. The dingy little Scout hut close to This Time Round was a seething mass of unrequited longing, unspoken desires and trembling hearts. Which is marginally better than it being full of Scouts singing Kumbyah. The idea, and unsurprisingly it has been the American lad Pacey's idea, was that characters who not only had the unrequited hots for someone but had the unrequiteds for someone who hated them should form a self-help group. A safe haven where they could admit their feelings without fear of scorn, laughter and, in the case of at least two of them, crossbow bolts. Where fellow addicts could provide support and a sympathetic ear. "...oh, the way she holds a sword, her command of it...her..." Ares was still sobbing into Haramis's shoulder. Adric felt a little left out. He'd yet to admit to any feelings because he didn't have any. Not for anyone. Certainly not for the petite brunette who had sworn to kill him. No, not for her. Never for her. Oh no. He didn't know why he'd followed Fitz's directions to this place to start with. "Hey kid." Adric looked round. Spike was looking at him, his scarred eyebrow raised. The blond grinned. "Is there anywhere around here I can get a bloody drink?" *** "He's so *irritating*," the young woman scowled as she threw herself onto a sofa. Her friends exchanged glances, daring each other to be the one to ask it. The redhead raised an eyebrow and risked it. "Who is?" Tegan asked. Nyssa glared at her, before shifting slightly. She pulled out a crumpled and dog-eared copy of _The Anarchist Cookbook_ from beneath her and frowned at it, then at Tegan again. "Him. The swamp rat. With his stupid hair and his ridiculous clothes and...and..." Nyssa's gaze returned to the pamphlet in her hands, "...and this isn't mine?" Turlough looked up from his notebook and saw what she was flicking through. He snatched it away from her, shuddering. "Do you mind? Some of us have some serious research to do." Tegan raised an eyebrow, "Plotting to blow up Brendon again?" Turlough shrugged, "It's a hobby." Nyssa pouted at her two friends. It wasn't that she didn't like them, she did. They were two of her best friends in the multiverses. Admittedly, Turlough could be a bit snide, a touch petulant and pretty damn superior for a guy who spent most of his life locked up in some way. And Tegan...well, the Australian even admitted herself that she could talk a little more and a little loudly than was really necessary. However, Nyssa felt, with what she considered to be typical self-effacement, that right now her two friends should be listening to her problem, not bantering about Turlough's minor unresolved school fetish. She coughed politely and was pleased to see them both turn and stare at her. Tegan glanced at Turlough again and mouthed something Nyssa couldn't see. It wasn't important anyway. "Can I buy the two of you dinner?" she asked them. *** "He's so *irritating*," the young woman scowled as she threw herself onto a sofa. Her friends exchanged glances, daring each other to be the one to ask it. The redhead raised an eyebrow and risked it. "Who is?" Willow asked. Buffy glared at her, before shifting slightly. She pulled out a crumpled and dog-eared copy of _The Multiversal Gazetteer_ from beneath her and frowned at it, then at Willow again. "Spike. With his stupid hair and his ridiculous clothes and...and..." Buffy's gaze returned to the pamphlet in her hands, "...and since when was 'practical pyschogeography' on our syllabus?" Giles looked up from his notebook and saw what she was flicking through. He snatched it away from her, shuddering. "Do you mind? There are only two copies of that left in this dimension." Willow smiled at Buffy. "It's really cool. It suggests there are worlds beyond our own. Like, in this one place, you can travel in space and time in a phone box." Buffy frowned. "I thought that was Bill and Ted?" "Bill and...?" Giles looked confused. Buffy waved a hand at him as she slouched back onto the sofa. "Nevermind, Giles, just more of that new-fangled moving picture nonsense. So. How goes the research?" Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked as though he had been reading his mouldy old books 24/7 without bothering to sleep. Which he probably had. "Well, it's safe to conclude that the Casting of Rabalais is our best bet for tracking down this demon. Did you pick up the monks' dust from the store?" Buffy nodded and reached into her jacket pocket. "Anya says it's the last you have in stock. Actually," Buffy paused as she frowned and checked her other pocket, "she said you would be a better businessman if you didn't keep using your stock for personal purposes." She checked the first pocket again, then looked up guiltily at Giles. "I did collect it!" "Well, maybe it fell out?" Willow suggested. "Try retracing your last movements?" Buffy scowled. "Spike!" Part Two - Part Three
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