Soul of Steel

[madimpossibledreamer]

Introducing Jack “Pretty Boy” Steel, better known to the public at large as Jacob Steel (because it sounds more sophisticated)
It is really interesting to squish a human-and-vaguely-polite-but-still-very-deadly Spike into a Marcone-shaped suit. The closest metaphor I can get is that this is a Yakuza 0 Majima, except he’s doing this all to himself. He’s running things this way because he’s seen what happens to the thoughtless fools who get themselves killed by not thinking. Though, the way he runs his operation, the guy in the first cutscene Majima shows up in would undergo an ‘unfortunate mugging’ on the way home.
Also Xander manages to be more oblivious than Harry because he’s open to the possibility of dating guys and still manages to not notice he’s being flirted with.

Main Points:
Buffy/Dresden Files Crossover
Chapter Summary: As expected, the plan goes horribly wrong.
Word Count: 4042
Rating: Teen

           Angel freezes only a little when I start giggling the moment he opens the door. I’m a little groggy—usually am, when I’m waking up—and keep up all the funny memories of Miss Kitty on catnip on loop in my head. Which is actually a little weird when you think about it. We drug our cats. Yeah, okay, they can’t get addicted like Willow on magic, but you have to admit, it’s still weird.
           My brain is a strange place. I try not to spend too much time in it, or I’ll just get weirder.
           It takes me a moment to get out—I’m really going to want some caffeine after this—and Angel decides I’m taking longer than he’d like because he hauls me out, hand firm on the scruff of my jacket. A pretty brunette appears in front of us from one of the other freshly parking cars. She’d be prettier if I knew that wasn’t just a suit like the Slitheen wear. I manage a goofy smile and a goofier wave and force my heart to slow down, because I’m pretty sure vampires can hear human hearts beat and vamp saliva slows down that steady thumping rhythm, not speeds it up. “Do you mind if I have a taste?”
           “I just gave him enough he wouldn’t give me trouble. He’s a present for Mr. Steel. Do you know where he is at the moment?” I’ll give this to him, I might hate his guts but Angel does actually have guts.
           She pouts playfully at us. “He doesn’t need another human.” Her tone matches the pout perfectly. I blink, eyes wide, and sway a little in his grasp, because it’ll be funny since he won’t let me fall.
           Or…actually, would he? I try not to start sweating.
           Angel shrugs. “Orders are orders.” I notice he’s using the Vague Method. If you can act like you’re supposed to be there and are vague, if people aren’t already suspicious they’ll fill in the blanks without realizing that’s what they’re doing. It’s a good strategy. I find myself blindsided a lot when Angel actually acts competent. I mean, he can fight, obviously. He’s a vamp. It’s the other stuff that’s weird.
           “Don’t get on Chase’s bad side.” She’s amused.
           It’s going well so far, as Angel greets the other vampires who don’t seem to be suspicious and he manhandles me up the stairs to whatever secret room he’d wanted in. I was kind of scared they could smell the lack of vampire saliva on me, or something, but then, maybe it’s a taste thing instead?
           And then we turn the corner and run straight into the guy we were hoping not to run into. I can see why the papers call him “Pretty Boy”, because you could probably cut someone with those cheekbones, and that grey suit and blue-grey undershirt is carefully calculated to bring out his glacier eyes and fits him very, very well. But then, he can pay for a tailor that can show off his muscles and class. I definitely cannot.
           He could be an actor, or a handsome businessman. But he’s actually one of the most dangerous mortals in the city and he very easily could kill little ol’ me for interfering with his brand of business.
           Angel freezes completely still. Given that he doesn’t need to breathe, that’s very still. And he still has me in an inhumanly strong grip.
           Steel’s eyes turn, well, steely. Icing over. “Angelus. Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” the crime boss says softly, and here I am, looking beween the two like I’m at a tennis match or something. As slowly as I can, with a derpy look on my face, because I’m still supposed to be out of it. Now, contrary to vicious rumor, I do in fact have an IQ greater than sixty, and so I get that while I’m dangling here in the grip of a possibly backstabbing Red Court freak, they’re having a conversation that has everything to do with the fact that they have history (and that would’ve been really great to know before you’re trying to offer the bad guy a pet wizard, thanks!).
           “Are you going to upset Chase over it? I’d heard you were a professional,” Angel responds just as quietly. They’re both trying not to make a scene, which makes sense on Angel’s part since he’s supposedly trying to help this alliance, but Steel would be completely within his rights to make some sort of fuss about it.
           The mobster clenches his jaw, but nods cooly. “Of course not. I just wanted you to know where you stood.” He’s got a grudge, which is fair enough, even for a criminal, but he manages to leash his rage. “Is there a reason you’re hauling a human around?”
           “He’s a wizard, and an offering.” Angel practically shoves me at the criminal, and I stumble. “I’d grabbed him as a snack, but he was powerful enough he seemed more useful than as a dessicated corpse.”
           “And we haven’t even made it to the negotiations yet.” I’d expected, I dunno. I’ve seen mobster movies. I know they don’t walk around with blood on their hands all the time. It’d be really inconvenient when trying to convince the police that they had nothing to do with the dead body, and make it hard for the pals they bribed to turn a blind eye. But still, I’d expected something. Something other than warm, obviously human and not obviously evil, hands grabbing me so I don’t fall flat on my face. “Though I suppose it’s appropriate, if she’d prefer me not to dust you where you stand. Preemptively dealing with potential complications from one’s subordinates is a logical enough move.” I briefly allow my hopes to tentatively leave the nest. He ruthlessly smothers them. “However, I don’t believe for a second that Miss Chase would allow such an exchange. Giving me a wizard, during the meeting, no less, is the equivalent of handing me a loaded gun and then hoping I do not use it. So, then, what is this, hmm? A desperate attempt to save your own hide? Did someone go off script?”
           His hands are still gentle as he holds me in place, but he definitely doesn’t let go as I sway, still playing my part.
           There’s a silence that feels like it stretches on forever. Come on, buddy, don’t leave me legit hanging… Unfortunately (though I really should’ve expected it, given my luck) the one who speaks up next isn’t Angel. “That’s Angelus! Treachery! Kill the humans!” Well. I’d told them so. I wouldn’t get to remind them of that fact, probably, because I was probably dead, but I could still retain my sense of genre savvy superiority.
           Angel takes one look at me…and then throws himself out a window, onto the lawn. I just gape. I mean, sure, I’d seen it coming, but not quite like that.
           Steel throws me into a room and not exactly gently, which under the circumstances I can’t really fault him for, given that one of them had a throwing knife of all things and barely missed my throat, by which I mean there’s only a wound and not me without a throat. He sprints in after me, pushing a table toward the door. I scramble out of the way, holding a hand to the blood, and consider using a spell to help, but he’s too quick for that.  The door splinters.
           “Please tell me you weren’t thoughtless enough to let that vampire enthrall you,” Steel states softly, polite voice an entire contrast to the way I scramble behind the protection of the temporary barricade, gasping. He doesn’t show excitement, or worry, or really any emotion other than calm as he pulls a gun out of goodness knows where and attempts a peek to ascertain where the enemy is. I’m not even sure where Angel got to, or if he’s even planning to come back. And then my brain points out that he’s calling him ‘that vampire’ rather than Angel even though he probably knows his name given the whole angry-grudge thing, which, wow. I’d never really gotten to see Furious Frosty Politeness, the Play, before. That is kind of impressive. It’d be even more impressive from a safe distance, but I don’t have the luxury of that.
           “Oh, come on,” I groan. Let’s see, let’s see—ah, candlestick. The perks of being attacked in a nice mansion owned by giant bats in human suits. I scrabble for it in the dust, probably looking half-crazed, but—look. You try to stay all nice and relaxed as the human-suited bats try to come and eat you. Though apparently Steel can. Never mind him, he’s probably half-lizard or something anyway. Us mere mortals will have to just try and deal on our own without panicking entirely. A metal rod is no substitute for my blasting rod, but then, for reasons known only to potentially traitorous vampires, Angel had taken all of my usual weapons away, on account of that would’ve seemed suspicious (which, he wasn’t wrong about that point). And when I got my hands on him again, I’d only fry him a little. Willow had managed to use a pencil for spellslinging before, so I could improvise too. Probably. With a giant headache, I’d bet, but still. “I thought I’d gotten my last question about being a druggie when I didn’t have to see the principal anymore.” He’d been, in Willow’s words, a Big Jerkface. The Biggest Jerkface. Sunlight could be useful, except that would require me to be happy about the situation, which I am miles from. Wind could be helpful, a little, and so could fire, and given that I’m already working with a handicap I’m going to guess the accidental element will be fire. The question is whether to attempt to cast something else, and thus have the summoned fire be stronger, or to go straight for the weaker fire spell but have no surprises, and—
           I glance at the mundane monster squeezing off the occasional shot through the widening hole in the door, and amend that thought. Weaker fire it is. At least it’ll be more controlled and hopefully won’t kill anyone of the human-type persuasion today.
           Steel makes a few well-placed shots. The vampires on the other side stop moving, which is pretty impressive. I guess he’s had special bullets made, or something? That’s honestly even a little creepier, but then, I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t prepared. He’d been ready to negotiate with vamps, and if fiction was at all truth, being a mobster probably taught you quick how to stay alive, or you died. And he wasn’t dead, so he’d obviously learned.
           I focus on the fireball. Fire, fire… “You might want to get out of the way,” I state dryly, and Steel raises an eyebrow and obligingly steps aside. I hold on to the burning feeling in my chest for a moment more before I let the power go with a cry of “Ahel!” Okay, to be fair, it’s less a fireball and more a stream of generally kind of small fireballs, but it’s enough to cause the door to start burning and a howl to come from behind the door. Effective enough.
           “Well. I suppose you are worth keeping alive, at least for the moment.” I don’t, for an instant, make the mistake of thinking he’s joking. With his, uh, profession? It’s probably a calculation he makes all the time. “I’ll take a look at that wound, and then, if you would help, I believe we should find an exit before they decide getting to us is worth destroying their own property. Namely, the walls.” He holds out a hand for me to take, like a gentleman, and I accept, as he pulls me up. Like a fool.
           It’s not that he stabs me, or whatever. I have the feeling he wouldn’t bother to say anything, and definitely wouldn’t lie about that kind of thing. No, the way he directs me, his determined blue eyes catches mine.
           Ordinarily, I’d be better at looking away before I triggered a soulgaze, but I might be, just a tiny bit, in shock, and I’ve just been ignoring it. It’s easy not to think about the fact that I almost died—again—when I’m casting spells, but when there’s an attractive guy who’s not about to nibble on my neck a little too close to me and I’m a bit in a daze…yeah, I wasn’t fast enough.
           To sum up: wizards don’t look you in the eye, not because we’re a bunch of untrustworthy, shifty characters, but because meeting your gaze for too long will trigger a soulgaze. Never mind the fact that it’s probably not good letting just anyone catch a glimpse of your soul, there’s a superstition, at least among the hedge wizards, that soulgazes give away a bit of your soul. Just like that thing with the cameras, if that was real and not just made up. I don’t really know. Giles was appalled and said it was the most superstitious thing he’s ever heard, but we live in a world where superstition is reality and nobody’s really done research into it, so who’s to say? Also, you catch a glimpse of the other person’s soul, too, and given that it’s probably an extension of the Sight, you don’t forget what you see. And of all the people in the city, in the world even, handsome or not, I would not have chosen Steel to remember forever, or have that kind of knowledge about me.
           If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the man (and yeah, he’s human, the soulgaze wouldn’t happen otherwise) had a severe case of multiple personality disorder or something. Because like an onion, he has layers. There’s the prim and proper version dressed in innocent white that looks like he’s just coming back from a poetry reading or something and I’m seriously confused because nobody looks the same in their soul as they do on the outside, that just doesn’t happen, and then he raises a scarred eyebrow and glances at the mirror and there’s a wolf. Giant, man-eating sized. Fiercely intelligent, ready for the joy of the hunt. It’s not evil, those blue eyes seem to say. It’s just business. He can’t help that he’ll tear your throat out; it’s just instinct.
           I meet the eyes of the wolf, and I’m falling through a series of those mirrored mirrors, blue eyes, every one, and then—
           There’s a masquerade, old-fashioned. There are rules. A system. Order. Even entertainment has its place. But genuine class. Mirrors still, everywhere, affirming and questioning identity in the same breath. A man wearing the mask of a wolf and a wolf wearing the mask of a man, and both have the same steely blue eyes. I couldn’t pick out which of the two was the true self, but then, maybe that’s the point. It’s probably both.
           I make the connection and shiver, suddenly in a blizzard, with it staring at me, holding my life in its jaws. It hasn’t moved, merely observing me, intelligently, but no matter how it decides, I can’t get away. That’s a dire wolf. Natural enough, but the Fae occasionally stole them, raised them as pets, because they see ‘horse-sized bloodthirsty wolf’ and think ‘perfect for a pet’. There’s no actual loyalty to Winter, which is of the good. I can see the choice of metaphor, independent dire wolf. He’s the biggest predator in the city, coldly beautiful, untouchable, frost and shadow, calm, deadly, and implacable, and yet—
           And yet, though the winter is self-imposed, he fights against it, too, struggles against the chill of death. A heart, frozen but still alive, within the wolf. Trying to ice over old wounds.
           The wolf snarls at me, seeing his weakness, and I fall up, away from the wolf, back past the masquerade and mirrors and back to the innocent-looking version in a suit. All the rage, all the fierce determination of the wolf is channeled into the man, into his desire to force things to change. He’s traded in the dagger for the scalpel, but he’ll still cut, just with more precision, flay you alive, if he has to. That suit begins to bleed with the blood of his enemies. He’s just directed now, not just lashing out at the world.
           And I blink, and that’s all gone. I’d heard the rumors. Practically everyone had. It’s really hard to credit them, having met the man and his iron wall of manners, but it sounded like back when he was just a button man or whatever they actually call themselves in the twenty-first century, he’d been…well, a lot like me. Mouthy, no respect for authority, kick butt and get kicked and maybe get around to asking questions if the problem isn’t solved with a whole lot of fire. No plotting, no planning, just raw action. Having seen his soul, I get that now.
           And I’d take my chances with the seasick crocodile, or, y’know, in this case, the wolf. Because nobody sane can go from using a railroad spike on enemies, even vicious enemies that deserve everything they have coming to them, to politely lending me a hand. The old version, back when they called him Spike, he’d just eat me. The new version, with the veneer of respectability just a bad paint job away from fraying? I’d be lucky if he ate me alive.
           I act like it’s just a façade peeling in the sun, about to disappear at any moment, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. It’s more like…a one-inch thick plate made of mithril, separating his core and his chosen path. It’s kept at bay and won’t leak out unless he wants it to, but the separation between it and the maelstrom of death and vicious hurt is the width of a toothpick. His control is a hell of a thing, and that kind of willpower terrifies the living daylights out of me. Controlling a monster like that? You’d be more likely to get through a demon-summoning with no protection to speak of.
           Steel rocks back on his heels, surprised but not shocked, which is itself a bit of a surprise. Usually people aren’t that…calm, when it happens. Mostly, there’s a bit of panic, if they don’t know what’s happening, or…pity. When they do. I hate that. He doesn’t even look away or blink. “That’s different,” he murmurs, the slightest hint of a smug smile on his face, and really, I would appreciate it if he wouldn’t look at me like I was his newest acquisition in the most sordid sense of the word. Even if Deadboy had just offered me to him not ten minutes ago. Oh, how time flies when there’s a bunch of monsters out to feast on you until you’re a dry husk.
           He brushes off some of the dust from our mutual falling on the floor holds out a hand, again. Which is…
           “Size eleven,” I blurt out, and he raises an eyebrow.
           “Excuse you?” he murmurs, just as polite, like we’re not in the middle of a war zone or something.
           “Shoes. You’re sizing me up for concrete ones, right?” Maybe I should just let the eccentric criminal save my life, but I’m not much good at keeping my mouth shut, even when I should.
           That actually gets a chuckle. “It would have been far easier to shoot you when this all began. As for that,” he meets my gaze deliberately, fearless, “You may have learned something of me, but I have learned something of you. It seems an equal exchange, given that you are not the type to blackmail. More, perhaps—I do enjoy knowing who I’m dealing with. As for another common worry, no, I’m not much of one for forcing people into contracts, even when I happen to save their life. It doesn’t do much for loyalty after the fact. And I value loyalty.” He practically purrs the last few words, which strikes me as very wrong as he’s a wolf, and then I get a grip. He’s still holding out the hand, waiting on the slow wizard to catch up. “I should thank you for providing a face-saving interruption, to be quite honest, though seeing that perhaps wasn’t the best timing. They’re still trying to kill us. While Miss Chase is relatively honorable, the same is not true of all of her kind.” I just blink. “This would have happened with or without you. So no, I’m not going to kill you for something that would have happened anyway.”
           Oh. Oh. So much for me feeling even like I’d done something good, the whole mission we’d come here for. Kind of makes me feel hollow. Inadequate. I hate that. Not that…it’s one of those things I’m trying to get over, and by the feel of things I’m not succeeding yet. I take his hand, robotic. I’ll get over it, probably with the help of Bollywood movies and ice cream and a Willow pep talk (equaled only in power by the Willow Babble), but right now I’m feeling a little worthless.
           He makes it look effortless, the act of pulling me to my feet, and that just makes me feel worse. I’m not not muscled. Swinging around a staff, even if mine is a relatively light metal and not wood, takes muscle, and sometimes I’ll experiment with carpentry-like things, if only because fixing up Warden Giles’s library puts him in a good mood which equals safer Willow. But most of my musculature is in my legs, because I spend way too much of my life running away from things. Things that want to eat me. Sometimes, to mix it up, they want to mate with me and then eat me, because my life is unfortunate. This is a guy who goes to the gym for fun, or. Well, no, probably not. It’s probably a maintenance thing. Because as distant as he acts, he won’t hesitate to get guts deep if he has to. And he probably has to deal with things like assassins.
           “Cheer up. Perhaps next time you’ll do a ‘white hat action’ that will force me, the Big Bad, to break your neck.” He’s laughing at me, just slightly. You can see it in his eyes, thawed a bit from the way he’d been glaring at Angel. The thing is…he’s multitasking, because it’s simultaneously a threat, a serious attempt to cheer me up, and a joke, and the fact that the second part is even a consideration just weirds me out.
           “Please don’t do me any favors,” I grumble, cheeks hot with the humiliation.
           “I’m not in the habit of that, no.” He meets my eyes, and it’s still weird that I can do that. “For you, I might make an exception.”
           “I’m sure you’d want something in return.” I suddenly realize that I’m still holding his hand and drop it quickly. This is not the time to be making nice with the mob, Xanman.
           He coughs politely. “Nothing that you’d be unwilling to give.”
           The thing is…the thing is, I find myself believing him, because that little glimpse of his soul, it says that he’s a man of his word. He’s the kind of gangster that cares about some twisted honor code. “I…I appreciate the restraint, even though it makes me suspicious as all hell as to what you’re scheming and worried about how much psychology you know.” I was going to say more, but he actually smiles at me, a surprisingly sincere, normal smile that’s entirely new, right before a vampire breaks the door and charges through on fire.
           Huh. Usually vampires flambé faster than that. What, are they, like, uber-vamps or something? I mean, I’ve got a guy with a blessed gun who probably won’t shoot me, which is something, and I had a candlestick and not too much of a headache yet, but also, I was going to lecture Summers until she threw me out a door. Or window. Whichever was closer.