Remember, Remember
by Oracleholly
Rating: R
Warning: Some language.
Summary: Set during BtVS Season 6 after "All the Way" but before "Once More With Feeling." Spike and Giles, two Englishmen, commemorate a holiday.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, who graciously allows
us fans to play with them on occasion. No profit is being made from this piece.
A/N: Written for Fall for Spike (Fall 2006).
*********************
With the slightest hint of hesitation, Spike knocked on the door before him. It was thirty minutes until midnight. He still hadn't made up his mind whether or not this was a good idea, but he figured he had really nothing else better to do this evening. Shifting the bag of groceries into his other hand, Spike felt for his trusty lighter, itching for a fag. He could hear movement behind the door, and noted a shadow cast briefly through the peephole.
"Open up, Rupert. I know you're in there," Spike loudly shouted.
The door was roughly thrown open, and a very disheveled Giles made his appearance. "Spike. What are you doing here? And no, you can not come in."
"You've forgotten. Isn't that bloody rich?" Spike huffed. Pacing on the small patio, Spike started ranting. "I knew it couldn't have been a real invitation. Not like all bleeding summer we weren't shoulder-to-buggering-shoulder in the fight. Hadn't celebrated proper-like in…"
"Spike, do shut up. You're pacing is making me dizzy. What are you going on about?" Giles asked, completely baffled.
Knowing full well that Giles hadn't dis-invited him to his flat, Spike pressed himself against the imaginary barrier and asked, "What day is it, Rupert?"
Giles thought for a few moments, coughed uncomfortably, and said, "Come in, Spike."
"Not like I couldn't have entered anytime now, Rupert. Was just here a few nights ago or did you forget? You, me, the Slayer saving the Nibblet from the fangs of a lusty, teenaged vamp. You'd think being a Watcher; you'd be more careful," Spike petulantly added as he strode inside, shoving the grocery bag into Giles' hands.
****************
Spike stood impatiently over one saucepan heating on Giles' stovetop. He'd already combined two tablespoons of brandy, one can of apricot sliced halves, and the residual apricot juice in a small bowl, setting it to the side. As the saucepan heated up, Spike added two pints of red wine, three tablespoons of port, two tablespoons of dry sherry, one-half pint of water, one cinnamon stick, and twelve cloves.
Giles was marveling over the rest of the goodies Spike had been able to acquire. Spread out before him on the counter lay a wooden Parkin box, a tin, and four apple lollipops. He watched as Spike poured the apricot-brandy mixture into the saucepan with a quick stir. He grabbed two large mugs and placed them beside the stovetop. Spike poured the delicious punch into the mugs, setting the rest back on the burner on warm heat.
Grabbing one for himself and handing the other to Spike, Giles raised his mug. "Cheers."
"Cheers."
Both Englishmen gulped the hot brew, savoring the taste.
"Now that is what I call punch," exclaimed Spike, before downing another swallow.
Giles held his nose over his mug, inhaling its contents. "It's quite good, Spike. I didn't know you could cook. You never did any when you stayed here before."
"Oh, you mean during my unfortunate incarceration? Didn't realize I had guest privileges. Must have been the chains," Spike snarked.
"And here I thought you would have felt more at home with the chains. My mistake," quipped Giles.
Spike's response was just a nod and pouring another mug of punch. Quirking an eyebrow at Giles, Giles in answer proffered his mug for another serving.
"You mentioned that you've not celebrated this day in a quite a while. Why not?"
"After Prague…didn't want to upset Drusilla. And lately…well, I'm not exactly the most popular vampire in town. Working with the Slayer and her friends doesn't do much for my reputation," Spike answered.
Deciding to change the subject, Giles said, "I am impressed the you were able to find Yorkshire Parkin and a tin of Bonfire Toffee. Where on earth…no, I don't want to know."
"Actually, thank Xander's Demon girl. Anyanka found everything for me. Had to scrape up some dosh though. Demon girl makes you pay in advance."
Giles and Spike shared a knowing smile.
****************
Two hours later in the desert area outside of Sunnydale, two figures moved about a modestly sized bonfire.
"Needs to be bigger, Rupert."
Taking a swig from a bottle of Scotch, Giles answered, "Then add another log, Spike. 'M not one of your fledges." Giles took another gulp and then added, "Tosser."
"You add another, Rupert. Left a special surprise in the DeSoto." Spike moved quickly in the inky night.
Giles realized that he probably should feel some sense of fear about being left in the middle of the desert with only a vampire for company. Even though said vampire had been handicapped with a government chip preventing Spike from causing him harm. However, that did not prevent Spike from coming up with some other way to kill him. Yet, Giles could not manage to feel even the slightest bit concerned about his situation. It was Spike…and unlike the rest of his unfortunate family relations, Spike would have been upfront about it if the plan were to kill him.
Giles threw another two logs onto the bonfire and munched on a piece of Yorkshire Parkin.
From somewhere behind him in the dark, Giles heard Spike say, "Remember, remember the fifth of November, Gunpowder, Treason and Plot. I see no reason why gunpowder and treason should ever be forgot."
Giles could now see Spike in the firelight. He appeared to be carrying a body. Spike's vamp face glowed in the light. For the briefest pauses of time, Giles felt afraid until he made out what Spike was showing him.
"Oh! That's bloody marvelous, Spike!" Giles approached Spike and grabbed the figure to study it more.
"Wouldn't be right without a 'guy,' now would it?" Spike said, proud of his accomplishment.
Giles frowned. "It doesn't have a beard, nor does it look like Guy Fawkes."
"No, it doesn't. I thought we'd use something more fitting. Look closer. Who does it remind you of?" Spike rocked back on his heels in anticipation. He felt down right giddy.
It took a few moments before the answer came to Giles. He took in the guy's black coat, black hair, black marker uni-brow, and broody expression. Giles dropped the figure and doubled over with laughter.
"You…you…made the dummy…Angel!"
"Too right, I did. Bleeding Irish wanker. Only wish it was the real thing." Spike picked up the dummy Angel and began dancing around the fire.
Spike stopped dancing when he saw Giles' serious expression. "What?"
"Spike, I would like to ask you something."
"Yes?"
"May I be the one to cast that tosser into the fire?" Giles broke out into a devious grin, reminiscent of his Ripper days.
"You grab the arms; I'll throw the legs."
Together the two Englishmen tossed the representation of the person they both hated most in the world into the bonfire. Watching "Angel" catch ablaze did wonders to both the vampire and the man who beheld the site.
"Rupert, about that time with Drusilla. I…"
"Spike, your part in that…I've already come to terms with it. I know if you hadn't gotten Drusilla to make me believe she was Jenny, Angelus would have killed me," Giles said, watching Angel burn.
"No, Rupert. You're wrong. Angelus wouldn't have killed you right off. He'd make you suffer. He would have waited and killed you in front of Buffy, probably with Joyce. Wanker had to create his masterpieces."
"Then…"
"Rupert. Nothing more needs to be said."
"Agreed."
Watching the last of the dummy disintegrate before their eyes, Spike once again iterated:
"Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, Treason and Plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder and treason
should ever be forgot.."
Giles joined in and both continued:
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
to blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
Giles stopped talking and expected Spike to do so as well. However, Spike elected to continue on with the recitation.
A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah!
"That last verse's my favorite," Spike said.
"What did you do before 1959? Before it became legal to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day?" Giles asked, taking a swig of scotch.
"Vampire here, Rupert. I tread on the dark side."
"Oh yes, how could I have forgotten?"
"Best you not forget it, Ripper."
The crackle of the fire lulled both Spike and Giles into a comfortable silence. Much later on, the two packed smothered the fire and packed up their belongings, heading back into Sunnydale. It was unspoken but understood that none of the others would ever know that the two had enjoyed each other's company for a truly English celebration. None of the others would ever understand.
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