musesandlyrics | 9.1. Benjamin Disraeli quote
9.1. "Action may not always bring happiness; but there is no happiness without action."
Benjamin Disraeli
Co-written with obscuritenoire & lotterylucky
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
Rory looked at the chocolate croissant in his hand, first wondering why croissants were actually that shape, and then wondering how the hell he was going to eat it without spreading pasty from arsehole to breakfast all over the Bachelor Pad of Plenty. He probably should be wondering if Buffy would mind if he stole one of them from her stash, but he really wasn’t. She had buggered off to go buy pigeon porridge, or just run away to hide from the awkward... either way, she wasn’t here. Rory was here, and he was here with one of her chocolate croissants. The only thing was, he knew he wasn’t actually here alone. Apparently GI Joe had come home sick that morning, but other than hearing him go for a few rounds with the Porcelain Goddess in the bathroom up the hall around lunchtime, Rory hadn’t actually seen him since the morning before when he pulled a white ninja routine and left to escape the dodgy conversation.
But he was just about to bite into the pastry when the door of the main bedroom finally opened and emitted Saving Private Ryan, who looked about as scary and intimidating as a well-worn gumboot. Sweaty and pale, dressed in a pair of daggy grey track pants and a blue hoodie, and Rory actually sat forward a little in case the guy was going to faint. Buffy probably wouldn’t be very impressed if the dude’s face ended up with a bad case of rug burn. Rory suspected she wasn’t quite ready to stop drooling over him yet. “Lassie’s gone to get pigeon soup,” he stated with a shrug and help up the pastry in offer. “Croissant?”
Swallowing back a nauseated gag at just the sight of the pastry, Riley closed his eyes and held up his hand in surrender. “Can you please put that away? I don’t care where you put it. Just... away. Please.” He got restless lying in bed. He had slept for awhile between waves of feeling like he wanted to take himself out with his own weapon, but after the talk with Buffy that morning, he had really just been doing a whole lot avoidance tactics so there were no more awkward conversations with her. There was one time she had come in to his bedroom to check on him, but he pretended to be asleep. At least, he only knew of the one time. If there had been others, he hadn’t realised. He couldn’t tell if she wanted to take care of him, or if him being there feeling sick just made things more awkward. Either way, he didn’t have a whole lot of energy to face more talks of their past just yet. He decided that landing with some sort of stomach flu was apparently Karma for sleeping with Buffy, or even just having sex at all. Maybe he was destined to be celibate?
Rory looked forlornly at the croissant before he just shrugged again and shoved it in under a nearby cushion so it was out of sight. “Away,” he confirmed. “Am I allowed to smoke in Paris? Or will it get me arrested?”
“Eat your heart out,” Riley replied as he opened his eyes again to find the food gone. There was only a fleeting curiosity as to where the Scot had shoved it, but even then Riley just didn’t want to know. He sunk down stiffly into the closest armchair and rested a hand on his stomach. “I would just appreciate if you didn’t give me secondary lung cancer in the process and do it out on the balcony. I’ve already had a heart attack, I don’t need to experience emphysema.”
“Well, you’re a stick in the arse killjoy, aye?” Rory snorted and just put his feet up on the coffee table instead. It might not give the dude emphysema, but it might irritate him and Rory was curious how many military buttons he could push before the guy swore or cursed or pulled a gun on him.
“One of the best in the business,” Riley replied calmly, clearing his throat. Then they were stuck staring at each other awkwardly for a few moments. With a sigh, he waved his fingers a little. “Ask me whatever you like. Just don’t be surprised if I tell you it’s classified.”
Rory tilted his head and took his lighter out of his pocket to start turning it over between his fingers. “You know when you’re oot in the jungle on special top secret missions, are you allowed to take loo roll or do you need to use leaves? And if you take it, where do you keep it all in those packs?”
At first, Riley just stared blankly at the guy and blinked. Was he serious? Of every possible question that Riley had just opened the door to, the guy was asking about bowel movements? He really had absolutely no idea how to process that, and automatically had a stupid hint of embarrassment at it. Thank god Buffy wasn’t here. He didn’t get a chance to answer, though. The doorbell to his apartment rang and it gave Riley an excuse to get up to answer it without responding to the blatant question. “Toilet paper? Dude,” he did say, though, shaking his head as he looked through the peephole to see who was at the door. It was just a blond guy in a suit that Riley didn’t recognise, and before he unlocked the door, he reached into a cupboard behind the door and pulled out a small silver pistol that was loaded with phosphorus bullets and tucked it into the back of his track pants. He unlatched the chain and opened the door. “Monsier. Je peux vous aider?” he asked. But the words had barely left his lips before the blond guy was stepping aside and Blaise Richelieu appeared as if he had just evaporated out of nowhere. Riley nearly crapped himself and jumped a little in surprise. Damnit. He was sick and off his game and he damn well hated that.
“Bonjour, Sergeant Finn. A moment of your time, if it is not too inconvenient,” Blaise requested calmly, holding the soldier’s gaze. To look, Blaise could see he was ailing, but he could also smell the air of sickness emanating from him. It was not enough to waver his determination, though.
Rory had been still sitting on the sofa watching the scene curiously from over his shoulder. The pistol, the blond guy. It was all very James Bondish. He felt like he was in some sort of movie. Then the Prince of Darkness was suddenly standing there looking all... dark, and Rory’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, fuck...” he murmured under his breath. Suddenly things went from awkward to red alert dangerous and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to stick around for the show. He got up and cleared his throat pointedly. “You know, I’ve been hearing so much aboot this Eiffel Tower and all its gorgeous beauty and elegance. I might just...” He pointed to the door and before there were too many protests, slipped out the door past both Captain America and Count Blaiseula. He liked Buffy, and she had come to be a great friend, but he really did not want to get in the middle of a showdown between her two lovers anymore than he wanted to drink out of a public toilet.
“Call off your bodyguard, and you can have as long as you want, Monsieur Richelieu,” Riley returned and took the pistol from his waistband, holding it up for Blaise to see before he put it back where he got it from. He watched as Blaise dismissed his sidekick in a string of succinct French and then stepped aside to let him inside.
Blaise followed Riley into his apartment and as soon as he was inside, Buffy’s presence there hit him almost as sharply as a physical slap in the face would have. That alone took him by unnverving surprise. He should have realised that the Scot being there would mean Buffy wasn’t far behind, but it hadn’t been an automatic conclusion. It seemed that Finn wasn’t the only one ailing in his external consciousness. “You are unwell. Nothing serious, I do hope,” he stated. His tone and facial features were unreadable, but his eyes didn’t once leave the soldier. They were of similar height and stature, though where Blaise was dark and somewhat intimidating in his looks, Riley was fairer and more had the boy next door look to him. Blaise realised it couldn’t be their appearance that was Buffy’s type.
“Do you?” Riley asked, really trying not to let Blaise’s presence throw him. He gestured to his dining table and took one of the seats. He didn’t think Blaise would be the sort to let it all hang out chilling on his sofa. This was business. Riley could just sense that. Whether it was personal business or otherwise just remained to be seen. The Kindred Prince would never reveal his hand this soon, not entirely. Because Blaise’s statement wasn’t posed as a question, Riley didn’t supply any answers to it. Instead, he just waited for some elaboration, bracing himself for it to be some sort of threat to keep away from Buffy. He also figured that if that was to actually happen, in order to retain his job and his rank, he might not have any choice but to tell Buffy he couldn’t see her anymore, and that was something he really didn’t want to have to think about again.
As Blaise sat down, his lips curled into an indulgent smile. “Do you want me to hurt you for sleeping with her, Sergeant Finn? Do you want me to go into such a rage of jealousy that I lose control and drain you to the point that your own face would be unrecognisable to you? To taunt you about how she feels... smells... tastes...” he purred, his eyes shifting to a faint silver as he looked over Riley’s face. He sat back and wet his lips. “Of course you don’t. You also know that if I was to have any such urges, you would have no warning, mon ami. Business. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The mere fact that Buffy was involved meant Riley was on full alert. He couldn’t help but being unnerved by Blaise, considering he knew the Kindred’s strength and power. What he didn’t know was just how deep Buffy was in with Blaise. She hardly mentioned it and the conversation kept ending whenever it was brought up, but he had to deduce now that it was more than she had been letting on. Blaise’s threat was passive-aggressive, but it was a threat all the same. Riley just had no idea if he was jealous of the fact Riley had slept with Buffy or not, if it was just something else well beyond Riley’s baseline understanding of Kindred. He was also cursing internally over the fact he was feeling so ill and was hardly in top form to be dealing with this right now. Of course Blaise knew where he lived, but it seemed strange he knew to come today when Riley should actually be at the base working. “Are there pending threats you need to discuss with me?”
“Indeed,” Blaise responded without hesitation. “Vampire Slayers. An army of them being constructed and trained in Scotland, in hundreds. I have absolutely no reason to believe they are not a threat to my Kindred kind, nor do I have any evidence to the contrary that they have no intentions to infiltrate Europe, and indeed, France. As far as I can deduce, this is a substantial threat and I wish for you and your faction to ensure that you do everything within your power to protect my city from Slayer infiltration. I do, however, have reason to believe that they have avenues of gaining information of The Masquerade. Information like that in the wrong hands could be catastrophic to our race. It can not only put our lives at risk, but could also risk civil unrest within our Clans. And trust me, Sergeant Finn, you do not want my Clans warring on your watch.”
By now, Riley was just staring at him in disbelief, and in fact a small gasped cough escaped him before he could stop it. “You want me to go after Buffy?” he asked, stunned. “This is your fucked up way of punishing me for sleeping with her.”
“You do not believe the Vampire Slayers are a threat to the Kindred and The Masquerade?” Blaise returned evenly, raising an eyebrow in slight challenge.
“I- no... I didn’t say that,” Riley jumped in quickly and wet his lips as he sat back with a heavy sigh. “Buffy isn’t a threat to you. Whatever you have told her, she isn’t going to tell the other Slayers. I... I know Buffy. She wouldn’t do that to you. Whatever is going on between you guys, she just wouldn’t. But I... I can’t talk for the other Slayers. There has been no indication whatsoever that they are operating anywhere but Scotland.”
Blaise pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes as if he suddenly had something distasteful in his mouth. “Last I looked, Sergeant Finn, Scotland was part of Europe. You do operate in all of Europe, do you not? Or do you just believe that your magnifique sexual skills will be enough to convince Buffy to call off her army?” he added with a small sneer. “Have it be known that my Scottish family are just as much Kindred as those who grace this soil. If I hear of any Slayer slaughtering one of my kind here, or in another country, I will not hesitate to reciprocate. Am I making myself clear, Sergeant Finn, or does your illness happen to be a mental incapacity? I do not want Slayers crossing into my world,” he finally added with a sharp finality in his tone.
Riley knew exactly what was going on here, and for a moment, he did actually wish he was suffering from a mental incapacity so he could plead insanity to his involvement with this. Blaise wasn’t punishing him for sleeping with Buffy, he was just so hurt that it had happened, he was trying to ensure Buffy couldn’t manage to hurt him again. He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her to choose, he was throwing up the protective walls so she couldn’t breach them. In fact, Riley was fast coming to assume that in Kindred terms, Blaise had probably offered quite a lot of himself to Buffy, but she hadn’t realised it. He had opened up, and she had gone to sleep with two other men. Riley knew there was no other way Buffy would know about Kindred because The Masquerade was an extremely covert thing... beyond even Giles. Unless it was blatantly pointed out to you and explained in the finest detail, it was generally something one would scoff at. Vampires masquerading as humans seemed ludicrous, and even Riley had taken a long time to be convinced of it. Which was why it worked so well. He had a sudden urge to apologise to Blaise for sleeping with Buffy, but he knew that would just enflame the situation even more. He had strict military orders to protect the Kindred, and by this, it was usually from Blaise’s guidance as to what protection was needed. His hands were well and truly tied. Riley just had no idea how he was suddenly finding himself needing to choose between his job and Buffy again... only this time, there was even more doubt Buffy was there for him to choose. “She broke my heart too, you know. I know how it feels,” was all he could think to say. He didn’t know if he was just buying time, but it felt like it needed to be said.
“Mes sincères condoléances,” Blaise replied, holding his gaze. “But I do not have a heart, homme. At least not the vestiges of one that I wish to offer anyone who does not wish to understand it. Or take the time to understand it. Kindred are vulnerable too, Sergeant Finn, despite the yearning of mortals to believe we are all powerful killing machines that must be slaughtered. We are still human enough to make mistakes, to take bad risks, to get hurt. Fortunately, that is why you have a healthy pay packet. You are employed to protect my kind, Sergeant Finn, and I fully expect you to do so.” He stood up, indicating the conversation was drawing to an end. “All the best to you and the Slayer on your second chance.”
“Buffy doesn’t want me!” Riley finally exploded in frustration, throwing his hand up. Why did he have to be feeling so sick for this? It was some horrible twist of Karma that he really wasn’t liking one bit. “She doesn’t! We just never had the chance to completely resolve our feelings because I walked away so quickly! Granted, I got tired of waiting too, so I get what you’re trying to say here, but she doesn’t want me, okay? She’s never wanted me completely. She’s never loved me. You know that. You know I am telling the truth here. What you don’t know is how much this is damn well breaking my heart all over again to admit to you. I wish that everything between me and Buffy had worked out perfectly. I really, really do wish that. And yes, I slept with her, because I was confused and I was surprised to find her standing there in front of me. I made a mistake, and if I had known how deeply this whole thing ran, I wouldn’t have even touched her. I can’t promise you that my feelings for her are completely resolved, but what I can promise you is that they were never completely reciprocated, so there is nothing to base any assumptions on here there is remotely any hope of second chances when there wasn’t even a first. You know why? Because I don’t want my heart broken either! Not again. Not by her. I barely survived the first time, and I can’t stop blaming her for that, as much as I want to and need to so it’s not haunting me anymore.”
Blaise narrowed his eyes a little, taking in everything Riley was saying but it was having very little impact on the feelings Blaise was experiencing. With another glance at the soldier, he started to walk away to the door. “Second chance, perhaps not, but there is a first time for everything.”
“She never even said she loved me!” Riley cried as he jumped out of his seat, really not believing he was hearing himself say that out loud. It was a fact he had known for so long, but never wanted to admit to out loud. Not when he knew how much it would hurt to hear it. “Not once.”
Blaise paused at the door and turned back briefly, the look he gave Riley nothing but apologetic. Whether it was for the experience he spoke of or just because he was regretful to have forced out the painful admission, he didn’t know. “She never even said she liked me,” was his answer. “I expect your full cooperation on my request, Sergeant Finn, or I will go above you.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he left without another word. He’d had enough of these games.
Nearly five hundred years old, and he’d had enough of just about everything.
Word Count | 3,287
Benjamin Disraeli
Co-written with obscuritenoire & lotterylucky
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
Rory looked at the chocolate croissant in his hand, first wondering why croissants were actually that shape, and then wondering how the hell he was going to eat it without spreading pasty from arsehole to breakfast all over the Bachelor Pad of Plenty. He probably should be wondering if Buffy would mind if he stole one of them from her stash, but he really wasn’t. She had buggered off to go buy pigeon porridge, or just run away to hide from the awkward... either way, she wasn’t here. Rory was here, and he was here with one of her chocolate croissants. The only thing was, he knew he wasn’t actually here alone. Apparently GI Joe had come home sick that morning, but other than hearing him go for a few rounds with the Porcelain Goddess in the bathroom up the hall around lunchtime, Rory hadn’t actually seen him since the morning before when he pulled a white ninja routine and left to escape the dodgy conversation.
But he was just about to bite into the pastry when the door of the main bedroom finally opened and emitted Saving Private Ryan, who looked about as scary and intimidating as a well-worn gumboot. Sweaty and pale, dressed in a pair of daggy grey track pants and a blue hoodie, and Rory actually sat forward a little in case the guy was going to faint. Buffy probably wouldn’t be very impressed if the dude’s face ended up with a bad case of rug burn. Rory suspected she wasn’t quite ready to stop drooling over him yet. “Lassie’s gone to get pigeon soup,” he stated with a shrug and help up the pastry in offer. “Croissant?”
Swallowing back a nauseated gag at just the sight of the pastry, Riley closed his eyes and held up his hand in surrender. “Can you please put that away? I don’t care where you put it. Just... away. Please.” He got restless lying in bed. He had slept for awhile between waves of feeling like he wanted to take himself out with his own weapon, but after the talk with Buffy that morning, he had really just been doing a whole lot avoidance tactics so there were no more awkward conversations with her. There was one time she had come in to his bedroom to check on him, but he pretended to be asleep. At least, he only knew of the one time. If there had been others, he hadn’t realised. He couldn’t tell if she wanted to take care of him, or if him being there feeling sick just made things more awkward. Either way, he didn’t have a whole lot of energy to face more talks of their past just yet. He decided that landing with some sort of stomach flu was apparently Karma for sleeping with Buffy, or even just having sex at all. Maybe he was destined to be celibate?
Rory looked forlornly at the croissant before he just shrugged again and shoved it in under a nearby cushion so it was out of sight. “Away,” he confirmed. “Am I allowed to smoke in Paris? Or will it get me arrested?”
“Eat your heart out,” Riley replied as he opened his eyes again to find the food gone. There was only a fleeting curiosity as to where the Scot had shoved it, but even then Riley just didn’t want to know. He sunk down stiffly into the closest armchair and rested a hand on his stomach. “I would just appreciate if you didn’t give me secondary lung cancer in the process and do it out on the balcony. I’ve already had a heart attack, I don’t need to experience emphysema.”
“Well, you’re a stick in the arse killjoy, aye?” Rory snorted and just put his feet up on the coffee table instead. It might not give the dude emphysema, but it might irritate him and Rory was curious how many military buttons he could push before the guy swore or cursed or pulled a gun on him.
“One of the best in the business,” Riley replied calmly, clearing his throat. Then they were stuck staring at each other awkwardly for a few moments. With a sigh, he waved his fingers a little. “Ask me whatever you like. Just don’t be surprised if I tell you it’s classified.”
Rory tilted his head and took his lighter out of his pocket to start turning it over between his fingers. “You know when you’re oot in the jungle on special top secret missions, are you allowed to take loo roll or do you need to use leaves? And if you take it, where do you keep it all in those packs?”
At first, Riley just stared blankly at the guy and blinked. Was he serious? Of every possible question that Riley had just opened the door to, the guy was asking about bowel movements? He really had absolutely no idea how to process that, and automatically had a stupid hint of embarrassment at it. Thank god Buffy wasn’t here. He didn’t get a chance to answer, though. The doorbell to his apartment rang and it gave Riley an excuse to get up to answer it without responding to the blatant question. “Toilet paper? Dude,” he did say, though, shaking his head as he looked through the peephole to see who was at the door. It was just a blond guy in a suit that Riley didn’t recognise, and before he unlocked the door, he reached into a cupboard behind the door and pulled out a small silver pistol that was loaded with phosphorus bullets and tucked it into the back of his track pants. He unlatched the chain and opened the door. “Monsier. Je peux vous aider?” he asked. But the words had barely left his lips before the blond guy was stepping aside and Blaise Richelieu appeared as if he had just evaporated out of nowhere. Riley nearly crapped himself and jumped a little in surprise. Damnit. He was sick and off his game and he damn well hated that.
“Bonjour, Sergeant Finn. A moment of your time, if it is not too inconvenient,” Blaise requested calmly, holding the soldier’s gaze. To look, Blaise could see he was ailing, but he could also smell the air of sickness emanating from him. It was not enough to waver his determination, though.
Rory had been still sitting on the sofa watching the scene curiously from over his shoulder. The pistol, the blond guy. It was all very James Bondish. He felt like he was in some sort of movie. Then the Prince of Darkness was suddenly standing there looking all... dark, and Rory’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, fuck...” he murmured under his breath. Suddenly things went from awkward to red alert dangerous and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to stick around for the show. He got up and cleared his throat pointedly. “You know, I’ve been hearing so much aboot this Eiffel Tower and all its gorgeous beauty and elegance. I might just...” He pointed to the door and before there were too many protests, slipped out the door past both Captain America and Count Blaiseula. He liked Buffy, and she had come to be a great friend, but he really did not want to get in the middle of a showdown between her two lovers anymore than he wanted to drink out of a public toilet.
“Call off your bodyguard, and you can have as long as you want, Monsieur Richelieu,” Riley returned and took the pistol from his waistband, holding it up for Blaise to see before he put it back where he got it from. He watched as Blaise dismissed his sidekick in a string of succinct French and then stepped aside to let him inside.
Blaise followed Riley into his apartment and as soon as he was inside, Buffy’s presence there hit him almost as sharply as a physical slap in the face would have. That alone took him by unnverving surprise. He should have realised that the Scot being there would mean Buffy wasn’t far behind, but it hadn’t been an automatic conclusion. It seemed that Finn wasn’t the only one ailing in his external consciousness. “You are unwell. Nothing serious, I do hope,” he stated. His tone and facial features were unreadable, but his eyes didn’t once leave the soldier. They were of similar height and stature, though where Blaise was dark and somewhat intimidating in his looks, Riley was fairer and more had the boy next door look to him. Blaise realised it couldn’t be their appearance that was Buffy’s type.
“Do you?” Riley asked, really trying not to let Blaise’s presence throw him. He gestured to his dining table and took one of the seats. He didn’t think Blaise would be the sort to let it all hang out chilling on his sofa. This was business. Riley could just sense that. Whether it was personal business or otherwise just remained to be seen. The Kindred Prince would never reveal his hand this soon, not entirely. Because Blaise’s statement wasn’t posed as a question, Riley didn’t supply any answers to it. Instead, he just waited for some elaboration, bracing himself for it to be some sort of threat to keep away from Buffy. He also figured that if that was to actually happen, in order to retain his job and his rank, he might not have any choice but to tell Buffy he couldn’t see her anymore, and that was something he really didn’t want to have to think about again.
As Blaise sat down, his lips curled into an indulgent smile. “Do you want me to hurt you for sleeping with her, Sergeant Finn? Do you want me to go into such a rage of jealousy that I lose control and drain you to the point that your own face would be unrecognisable to you? To taunt you about how she feels... smells... tastes...” he purred, his eyes shifting to a faint silver as he looked over Riley’s face. He sat back and wet his lips. “Of course you don’t. You also know that if I was to have any such urges, you would have no warning, mon ami. Business. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The mere fact that Buffy was involved meant Riley was on full alert. He couldn’t help but being unnerved by Blaise, considering he knew the Kindred’s strength and power. What he didn’t know was just how deep Buffy was in with Blaise. She hardly mentioned it and the conversation kept ending whenever it was brought up, but he had to deduce now that it was more than she had been letting on. Blaise’s threat was passive-aggressive, but it was a threat all the same. Riley just had no idea if he was jealous of the fact Riley had slept with Buffy or not, if it was just something else well beyond Riley’s baseline understanding of Kindred. He was also cursing internally over the fact he was feeling so ill and was hardly in top form to be dealing with this right now. Of course Blaise knew where he lived, but it seemed strange he knew to come today when Riley should actually be at the base working. “Are there pending threats you need to discuss with me?”
“Indeed,” Blaise responded without hesitation. “Vampire Slayers. An army of them being constructed and trained in Scotland, in hundreds. I have absolutely no reason to believe they are not a threat to my Kindred kind, nor do I have any evidence to the contrary that they have no intentions to infiltrate Europe, and indeed, France. As far as I can deduce, this is a substantial threat and I wish for you and your faction to ensure that you do everything within your power to protect my city from Slayer infiltration. I do, however, have reason to believe that they have avenues of gaining information of The Masquerade. Information like that in the wrong hands could be catastrophic to our race. It can not only put our lives at risk, but could also risk civil unrest within our Clans. And trust me, Sergeant Finn, you do not want my Clans warring on your watch.”
By now, Riley was just staring at him in disbelief, and in fact a small gasped cough escaped him before he could stop it. “You want me to go after Buffy?” he asked, stunned. “This is your fucked up way of punishing me for sleeping with her.”
“You do not believe the Vampire Slayers are a threat to the Kindred and The Masquerade?” Blaise returned evenly, raising an eyebrow in slight challenge.
“I- no... I didn’t say that,” Riley jumped in quickly and wet his lips as he sat back with a heavy sigh. “Buffy isn’t a threat to you. Whatever you have told her, she isn’t going to tell the other Slayers. I... I know Buffy. She wouldn’t do that to you. Whatever is going on between you guys, she just wouldn’t. But I... I can’t talk for the other Slayers. There has been no indication whatsoever that they are operating anywhere but Scotland.”
Blaise pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes as if he suddenly had something distasteful in his mouth. “Last I looked, Sergeant Finn, Scotland was part of Europe. You do operate in all of Europe, do you not? Or do you just believe that your magnifique sexual skills will be enough to convince Buffy to call off her army?” he added with a small sneer. “Have it be known that my Scottish family are just as much Kindred as those who grace this soil. If I hear of any Slayer slaughtering one of my kind here, or in another country, I will not hesitate to reciprocate. Am I making myself clear, Sergeant Finn, or does your illness happen to be a mental incapacity? I do not want Slayers crossing into my world,” he finally added with a sharp finality in his tone.
Riley knew exactly what was going on here, and for a moment, he did actually wish he was suffering from a mental incapacity so he could plead insanity to his involvement with this. Blaise wasn’t punishing him for sleeping with Buffy, he was just so hurt that it had happened, he was trying to ensure Buffy couldn’t manage to hurt him again. He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her to choose, he was throwing up the protective walls so she couldn’t breach them. In fact, Riley was fast coming to assume that in Kindred terms, Blaise had probably offered quite a lot of himself to Buffy, but she hadn’t realised it. He had opened up, and she had gone to sleep with two other men. Riley knew there was no other way Buffy would know about Kindred because The Masquerade was an extremely covert thing... beyond even Giles. Unless it was blatantly pointed out to you and explained in the finest detail, it was generally something one would scoff at. Vampires masquerading as humans seemed ludicrous, and even Riley had taken a long time to be convinced of it. Which was why it worked so well. He had a sudden urge to apologise to Blaise for sleeping with Buffy, but he knew that would just enflame the situation even more. He had strict military orders to protect the Kindred, and by this, it was usually from Blaise’s guidance as to what protection was needed. His hands were well and truly tied. Riley just had no idea how he was suddenly finding himself needing to choose between his job and Buffy again... only this time, there was even more doubt Buffy was there for him to choose. “She broke my heart too, you know. I know how it feels,” was all he could think to say. He didn’t know if he was just buying time, but it felt like it needed to be said.
“Mes sincères condoléances,” Blaise replied, holding his gaze. “But I do not have a heart, homme. At least not the vestiges of one that I wish to offer anyone who does not wish to understand it. Or take the time to understand it. Kindred are vulnerable too, Sergeant Finn, despite the yearning of mortals to believe we are all powerful killing machines that must be slaughtered. We are still human enough to make mistakes, to take bad risks, to get hurt. Fortunately, that is why you have a healthy pay packet. You are employed to protect my kind, Sergeant Finn, and I fully expect you to do so.” He stood up, indicating the conversation was drawing to an end. “All the best to you and the Slayer on your second chance.”
“Buffy doesn’t want me!” Riley finally exploded in frustration, throwing his hand up. Why did he have to be feeling so sick for this? It was some horrible twist of Karma that he really wasn’t liking one bit. “She doesn’t! We just never had the chance to completely resolve our feelings because I walked away so quickly! Granted, I got tired of waiting too, so I get what you’re trying to say here, but she doesn’t want me, okay? She’s never wanted me completely. She’s never loved me. You know that. You know I am telling the truth here. What you don’t know is how much this is damn well breaking my heart all over again to admit to you. I wish that everything between me and Buffy had worked out perfectly. I really, really do wish that. And yes, I slept with her, because I was confused and I was surprised to find her standing there in front of me. I made a mistake, and if I had known how deeply this whole thing ran, I wouldn’t have even touched her. I can’t promise you that my feelings for her are completely resolved, but what I can promise you is that they were never completely reciprocated, so there is nothing to base any assumptions on here there is remotely any hope of second chances when there wasn’t even a first. You know why? Because I don’t want my heart broken either! Not again. Not by her. I barely survived the first time, and I can’t stop blaming her for that, as much as I want to and need to so it’s not haunting me anymore.”
Blaise narrowed his eyes a little, taking in everything Riley was saying but it was having very little impact on the feelings Blaise was experiencing. With another glance at the soldier, he started to walk away to the door. “Second chance, perhaps not, but there is a first time for everything.”
“She never even said she loved me!” Riley cried as he jumped out of his seat, really not believing he was hearing himself say that out loud. It was a fact he had known for so long, but never wanted to admit to out loud. Not when he knew how much it would hurt to hear it. “Not once.”
Blaise paused at the door and turned back briefly, the look he gave Riley nothing but apologetic. Whether it was for the experience he spoke of or just because he was regretful to have forced out the painful admission, he didn’t know. “She never even said she liked me,” was his answer. “I expect your full cooperation on my request, Sergeant Finn, or I will go above you.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he left without another word. He’d had enough of these games.
Nearly five hundred years old, and he’d had enough of just about everything.
Word Count | 3,287