Pick Up Your Pace

[madimpossibledreamer]

This is basically a rewrite of On Hiring Practices. Which isn’t getting removed, but there might be some shuffling involved it's probably getting moved into a side series. Hold My Heart of all things gave me a clue of where to go here, because different employers = just fine for my brain so we are all good to go. (I know there are some perfectly fine employer/employee relationships but power dynamic imbalance is one of those things that’s bothered me more and more the older I get, particularly when I read stuff like Captain Awkward and Ask a Manager worst case scenarios, so it’s a personal writing block.)

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: Spike has something he wants Xander to look at.  This is not the setup for an innuendo, no matter how much Xander might wish that.
Word Count: 1955
Rating: Teen

 

         Spike doesn’t call him often. It’s a real shame, really is. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he trusted the guy, and the delicious accent was soothing, particularly after a long day, like a little bloody taste of home. Literally bleeding, and yeah, okay, he’s past the point of no-sleep where his mind is getting even more ridiculous than usual, which is actually kind of an accomplishment.
         He’s not sure how long it’s been, exactly. Long enough he’s exhausted and wants, desperately, to fall asleep, enough he’s shivering slightly even beyond the fact that even a private jet gets awfully cold at cruising altitude, but his brain is wired and he just can’t sleep.
         It might’ve been the caffeine. He vaguely recalls a morning cup of joe or three in something resembling morning, but that was a whole presentation, conference, and ‘round the world plane ride ago, and yeah, sure, he could break the speed records, but he’s trying not to break other planes, and the poor traffic controllers are already overworked and he’s not trying to make their job any harder than it already is, so it’s the slow life for once.
         No matter how antsy he gets doing nothing for hours on end. Well, not that he’s doing nothing, but paperwork is almost worse than nothing. He finished that hours ago, started doodling plans on every available surface, channel surfing, the usual. Pacing a bit, but turbulence had put an end to that. Talking to someone hot would have been a welcome distraction.
         He’s lost track of time, but if he’d been getting to a point it was dangerous, Star would’ve said something. Probably something along the lines of ‘sleep, it’s an order from God’, because she finally got through catching up on the latest survival shows and Trading Spaces, thank goodness, she might have been pulling his leg but she’d mentioned Genevieve being her favorite and actually had threatened to decorate everything in her style and, yeah, no, he’s been threatened by Hell Goddesses and the literal incarnation of the First Evil and that scares him, come on, he likes patterns as much as the next guy but the amount she tends to use actually hurts his remaining eye and brain and—he’s rambling, point is, she’d finally gotten around to viewing B5 and the Babylon 5 Mantra had amused her greatly. She’s taken it to using it on him as a last resort because that sudden Order from On High usually was enough to break through whatever stubborn streak he was on and make him laugh. He’s pretty sure she also found it funny, but she won’t admit to it. And, yeah, okay, sure, it’s probably making a ton of other people who happen to overhear scared of Skynet, but whatevs, that’s their problem.
         “Hey there handsome, business or pleasure?” he asks as he answers, with a gesture putting the image up on the big screen. It’s good for more than just movies.
         Spike, as always after that little revelation, looks a little...nervous. Is that the right word? Whatever, he’s not entirely comfortable with the whole ‘trust’ thing. Doesn’t get why he does, doesn’t really trust himself yet. With Xander, with Tony, it’s kind of an all-or-nothing proposition, go big or go home, and Willow literally, honestly tried to kill him, and he trusts her still, so yeah, their little talk hadn’t even put in a dent, but. It’s not like he can force anyone to operate to his schedule. He’s always been a little ahead of the class.
         “I’ve got something you might want to look at,” the vampire answers, and, well, everything wants to make that an innuendo somehow, but he doesn’t, take that. He is capable of self restraint sometimes. Mostly when he’s trying not to make people unpleasantly uncomfortable.
         “Sure, send it over. It’ll give me something to look at.” He tries not to yawn as he gestures, gimme.
         The vampire does so, and he frowns as he adds the file that gets sent to his email to the screen. That’s a Slayer file, the kind they use to fill in the Watchers before they go tell the next girl on the list that her life has changed forever.
         “...Did I forget to send out that memo about the whole ‘I’m just a consultant’ thing?” he wonders out loud.
         “Buffy and Willow know. I’m not sure it was CC’d to the rest of the organization,” Star pipes up helpfully, and he winces, mentally adding it to his to-do list on the mental calculations board. It’s more an anything-board at this point, but too late, it’s been named for ages, it’s definitely not getting unnamed now.
         “Thought you might want a look at this one. The name, specifically.” He’s being cagey for some reason.
         Their hands are shaking before they actually processe the words on the screen, and oh yeah there’s that panic attack, just on schedule, knew I forgot to pencil in something they think vaguely hysterically.
         “All right, luv?” Spike’s voice gets soft and gentle like it does toward Dawn and he still wonders why we actually trust him.
         Tony’s trying it too, vaguely, in the background, but it’s hard to hear over the roaring in their ears and the fact that most of them are lost right now, too. Half-hearted self-mantras at best.
         “Panic attack, fine, just talk through it.” It gets their mind off it. Off the fact that they shouldn’t be this weak—like panic attacks have anything to do with that, actually—off the fact they’re wasting time—like he was doing anything else—like they should be anything but guilty about this—words like oil clinging to his consciousness unable to be cleaned away no matter how hard they scrub you’ll try to convince yourself it’s not your fault, and you’re still trying to work out what happened and really shouldn’t be listening to the literal incarnation of evil anyway—
         “Sorry, should have waited until you landed.” Spike’s still apologizing—shouldn’t be the one apologizing—and looking adorably worried.
         They actually manage a wry grin. “Wh-what, so I could melt into your strong, gentle arms?” Voice pretty shaky, might be able to fix that using the modulator, suit not within arm’s reach and they don’t trust their body to get up and get it, not without collapsing like a house of cards. Be pretty obvious what they were doing anyway. That actually doesn’t sound too bad right now, the vampire just rubbing their arms and staring at him like they were the world’s eighth wonder. It was the awe that got them hooked, really. Like they were something precious, something valuable, not just a broken toy.
         “Could’ve let the Slayer handle it, or Red, but.” Yeah, they’d want to do this in-house, owe that much. “Try ta breathe, pet, you’re the one who actually needs it.” Huh, do Vampires who have panic attacks—not that that’s too likely, but pretty sure Angel and Spike have both done that at one time or another—do they start breathing if they’re having a panic attack? Weird thoughts. Like that’s anything new.
         Gasp in a lungful of air. Another. Pretty sweet. “Breathing,” they voice out loud, and somehow saying it helps. Loses track of time, but between the breathing and the hot voice in his ears—hang on is that poetry not that they’re going to draw attention to that, they’re not that rude, but maybe he’s cool with being vulnerable since they’d been showing their vulnerability and it was this whole thing—
         All systems present and accounted for, you good, kid? Tony, not sure which one, doesn’t matter now, mental nod, still feeling twitchy over the sound of his own thoughts, but yeah, they’ve got themselves together, as much as they ever do.
         Shakily he reaches out and reads, flipping through the papers like they’re right in front of him. His holograms are still awesome.
         What stands out, maybe unfairly, are the differences. Maybe he’s trying to distance, trying to see what makes her not Cordy—breathe—
         “Gonna rip Peaches a new one for not tellin’ us about the Queen Bitch—” not his fault when they didn’t convince Angel that one person cared about her— Spike’s muttering darkly, now, and Xander briefly considers asking before he realizes it probably was actually not only approved but also worn with pride, so he doesn’t.
         “Sharing is caring,” he mutters, still going through the packet. Urban geography, with a few architecture classes and an undergraduate thesis she’s working on for sustainable architecture, neat, she’s a nerd. Not that Cordy wasn’t, but she wanted—deserved—that spotlight.
         Rubs thoughtfully at his chin, and, yeah, that beard’s getting a little wild. Soon it’s going to start having loud parties without him if he doesn’t intervene somehow.
         “Only the best of seats for you, pet,” Spike promises, and he can’t help but smile at that. Which was the point, really. “Only fair, since you gave me a little prezzie,” he continues, shaking the phone pointedly in his hands, and yeah, of course, who else would get the latest hot off the lines other than all the people he loves?
         “’Least you know how to use the damn thing, unlike a certain Mr. ‘I brood therefore I am’,” he mutters, not bothering to project for once. There’s just...specks in his vision. That’s probably a visual migraine. He should take something before it gets worse. Lucky he keeps emergency painkillers within reach. Unlike his suit.
         Graduated and trouble getting a job; combination of ‘any positions are already filled’ and the ol’ recursive problem of ‘must have x years of experience to apply, good luck actually getting those when we’re all requiring the same things’.
         “He never did see the point. Said I was the hot-headed one who didn’t think things through, too.” Fascinating and all, but not relevant for the moment, file for later.
         “I’ve always taken you for a pretty hip guy.” Something about a geek club at school, nice, not only are those generally his favorite kinds of people, but they usually tend to take the ‘so you’ve got superpowers’ conversation better. Or so Buffy says.
         He really doesn’t want to do this conversation. He doesn’t. But he’s not letting anyone else do it, either, and he’s not keeping her in the dark, either. Maybe he should bring that up as part of the package.
         “I live for your opinions, pet,” Spike snarks back, because oh, yeah, that could absolutely have been taken as sarcastic, couldn’t it. Even though it absolutely isn’t.
         “And I live to entertain.” He bows to the screen, and that’s a smile. Even if it’s still worried.
         “All right, then?” Quieter, thank goodness for KnightTech, specifically that mic. Because of course the Big Bad can’t be seen to actually be expressing worry about anyone or anything.
         His smile is perfectly natural and perfectly hollow and Spike probably notices, but he doesn’t point it out directly. Polite of him. “This is me we’re talking about; absolutely not. But I’ve got enough to be going on with, I think. Gonna talk about some flight plans, then I’m going to try to get some shuteye.”
         Spike doesn’t look like he believes, but apparently his need to not do something domestic like watch them sleep wins out over the skepticism. Pity.
         He gets up, and he’s almost steady, and he goes to walk over to Dipali’s cockpit. She confirms she’s absolutely not doing another flight, no sir, I’ll coordinate with Nakol, please go to sleep, which is as good as a confirmation, and his sleep is almost nightmare-lacking.
         He’ll take it. He needs everything he can get.