Truths and Heroes
By
L Mouse
See "The Many Shades of True Heroes" for the first story in this series. This is a Buffyverse/Lois and Clark crossover.
Wow. The outline is 9 pages and 4600 words. Last think I needed was a long novella but it looks like I'll end up with one here ...
It's noted in the story as well, but I'll also mention it here -- for purposes of keeping them straight, Clark's Lois is "Lois" and Bill's Lois is "Lane."
* * * * *
Chapter 1
* * * * *
It had been stiflingly, miserably, hot in Metropolis in her world. Here, in another Metropolis, in another time and another dimension, it was fall. Crisp air, threatening to be chilly, swirled up between the skyscrapers. It smelled of smog and fall leaves, the ocean and the rain that had ended an hour before.
Buffy leaned against the dampish concrete railing and watched traffic far below. It was just a random rooftop in a random universe not her own; still, she was not surprised when a vampire walked quietly up behind her. “Buffy.”
She didn’t ask how he’d found her -- last she‘d seen him, he‘d been watching football (and comparing it somewhat rudely to rugby) with Clark, hours before. He could have followed her after she‘d let herself out of the apartment, or gotten information on the street; he could have used his nose or some weird psychic link -- though she seriously doubted the existence of the latter. It wasn’t that she didn’t didn’t have unusual psychic abilities: she saw the future, the past, and sometimes the present in her dreams and she sensed the presence of demons in ways she couldn’t explain.
But there was no psychic connection between her and Spike. If there was, she wouldn’t have gone three years believing him dead. Had she known he lived she would have torn the world apart searching for him. Not even her Slayer dreams had hinted he’d survived.
“Spike,” she said, wondering if he‘d come hunting for her because he wanted her company or if there was a problem. “Is something up?”
He swallowed; she saw his adam’s apple bob up and down in the dim light. He was nervous, so this was Spike being sociable. Problems didn‘t make him nervous. “No. No problems, Slayer.”
“You realize,” she said, stepping closer to him, “That this is the first time since I was sixteen where I haven’t had some sort of crisis going on. Various definitions of crisis, of course, some bigger than others.”
Being transported into another dimension wasn’t a crisis. Given the rather peaceful nature of this world, it felt like a vacation. There were criminals here, but the crimes were mundane. She’d yet to see anything uncanny lurking in a stinky dark alley or storm sewer.
He nodded. “Weird, innit? This world‘s too quiet. Bloody unnatural. A week here and not one vampire, not one demon.”
They’d been looking. Habit, self preservation; they’d been roving the city on excursions that were half habitual patrols and half scouting missions to learn the city.
She stepped closer, until she could see the blue of his eyes despite the night darkness. The moonlight cast dark shadows across his high, sharp cheekbones. He smelled of cigarettes and leather, of dust and of his favorite brand of aftershave. The smell brought back visceral memories of other nights spent with him; of good times and bad; of heroics and cowardice and mistakes made and forgiveness given -- forgiveness given sometimes freely and sometimes at great cost.
He reached up and cupped her jaw in his hand. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. It was a casual, yet powerfully intimate gesture. His fingers were very cold; a reminder of what he was. A guilty twinge tweaked her conscience for all the times that she’d thrown that reality in his face: vampire, beast, monster, thing. He was a vampire, but none of the other descriptions fit -- hadn’t, for longer than she wanted to admit. She’d hurt him, and he’d hurt her, and somehow, they had yet another chance to make it all right.
This second chance was of the good. Of the very, very unbelievably good.
Then he pulled away. “Been wanting to talk to you, Slayer.”
“About what?” She stepped back, giving him space. He walked past her to the edge of the roof.
After a moment of staring out at the city lights he finally said, “Angel.”
“Spike.” She stood next to him, not touching him but very close. “Don’t make me come up with any silly analogies involving baking. Because I warn you, they might not make sense even to me.”
“Huh?” He looked down at her, a smile playing across his face. “No. No baking involved.”
“Good.” Now she did touch him, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head against his chest. He was so very solid, so very real. He stroked her hair with one hand.
“Buffy, I jus’ wanna say a piece here.” He sighed out an unneeded breath very heavily. “Angel. Bastard that he is, I just’ wanted you to know we weren’t enemies when he died. Weren’t good buddies, either, but he fought the good fight -- he died a hero, Buffy, just like I did.”
She glanced up at him. His blue eyes met hers. She saw a lot unspoken there; she didn’t need to be psychically connected with Spike to read him like an open book. This was important to him. She sighed, and said, “Spike, even if he was still alive, I’d have chosen you. I already had.”
“Wish I could believe that, love,” he ran a hand over her blond hair. He was very still beside her; body cool, no breath, no heartbeat, no sound unless he spoke. Yet somehow, he was still so very alive.
“It’s true.” She twisted around to face him, hands resting on his hips, face upturned towards him. His arms wrapped around her, fingers spanning the small of her back, and he kissed her then -- hungry, desperate, not like any kiss she’d ever had from him before. He pulled her close, held her tight, hard muscles bunching under the leather of his duster.
After a moment, he just held her, and she buried her face in his chest, and wondered how she’d survived without this. She’d missed him so much …
He tensed suddenly, not really alarmed, but aware of something. “Clark.”
Buffy pulled free of his arms and turned to face the man landing on the roof beside them. Clark Kent -- or, since he was in his brilliantly gaudy costume of blue spandex and red cape, not Clark. She cleared her throat, then said in greeting, “Superman.”
He nodded gravely -- stood with his arms folded and shoulders squared and nothing of the funny, down-to-earth man who was Clark Kent showing on his face. She knew that Clark and Superman were one and the same, but sometimes it was damned hard to believe it. “Willow wanted me to find you. Everyone’s meeting at the Kents’ apartment in an hour.”
He’d said *the Kents* not, “My apartment.” It added to the illusion that this was not the same man who had blushed from the hairline to toes yesterday when Spike had, apparently accurately, teased him about being late to dinner because he’d been shagging his wife. Vampire noses were hard to fool.
Lois, far less embarrassed, had simply cuffed Spike up side the head and threatened to stake him. The other Lois -- Slayer Lois from Buffy’s universe -- had boxed Spike’s ears from the other side and told Clark’s Lois that she’d have to wait in line for Spike slayage at the rate he‘d been going. Buffy wasn‘t entirely sure what Spike had done to Slayer Lois -- or Lane, as they‘d decided to call her to avoid confusion with Clark‘s Lois -- but she figured it had been obnoxious. Lane was a favorite target for Spike when he was looking for a bit of verbal sparring.
“We’ll meet you back there, then.” Buffy said.
“You’ll meet Clark there,” Superman said, a mild rebuke and reminder. He shook a finger at her.
“Sorry,” Buffy said, “I’m not so good at this whole secret identity thing.”
“So I noticed,” Superman rolled his eyes, looking very much like Clark for just a second. “You need to get better at it. Don’t blow my cover.”
“Or what?” Spike said, with a laugh. Superman could have dusted Spike with simple glare; Spike wasn‘t the slightest bit afraid of him. “You’ll lecture us to death?”
“No, you blow my cover, you put Lois in danger. And everyone else around me.” Superman said, voice low. Dangerous. “That would piss me off.”
“Would that be a pissed of Clark Kent or Superman?” Spike said, insolently. “Superman, he doesn’t scare me much. Clark’s got layers, though. I think he might be a bit more dangerous than …”
Buffy and Superman both glared at Spike; this only encouraged him. He continued, “… Superman, but that’s not saying much.”
Superman squared his shoulders, stood as tall as he could, and glowered Spike. Spike gave him a slow grin, the special grin he saved for friends he was trying hard to piss off. Buffy shook her head. “Sorry, Cl … Superman. If it’s any consolation, he’s this annoying with everyone.”
“I am not!” Spike protested, “Just with people I like. Plus Angel. Plus the occasional bad guy.”
* * * * *
The Kent’s apartment was bright and airy, but not nearly large enough for the whole gang. The “whole gang” was Lois and Clark, plus everyone who’d been accidentally sucked through a dimensional portal to Clark’s world.
“Everyone” from the home dimension consisted of Willow -- who was seated cross-legged on the floor before a world map and several containers of smoldering incense -- plus Spike, Lane, Bill (who was a slightly older, much quieter version of Clark -- literally), and Buffy herself. Seven bodies, total, in an apartment that might have held four comfortably.
Buffy perched on the edge of Lois’ kitchen table and said, “What’ve you scried, Wil?”
She glanced up. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she just looked utterly exhausted. She’d been at this since the night before -- trying to find a route home, trying to find the location of allies in this world.
“It’s 1996,” Willow said, “You haven’t been Chosen yet, here.”
Buffy nodded. She frowned, remembering dates. “Not for a few more months.”
“If ever. This world is really different, Buffy.” Willow ran a hand through her hair, then reached out and waved at the map. “Notice anything?”
“Nothing there,” Buffy said, studying the map curiously. It was just a map, like you’d hang on the wall. No little lights of power indicating locations of scried people or objects, not so much as a flag on it.
“I’ve found one Slayer. Luckily, she lives here -- that’s probably not a coincidence, by the way, Metropolis seems to have the biggest concentration of demonic activity in this universe. Which isn’t saying much.”
“Haven’t seen a demon yet,” Spike said, “Not so much as halfbreed.”
“Not many in this universe. No Hellmouths.” Willow explained, with a shrug. “They’ve all been closed.”
“Well, that’s bloody boring,” Spike snorted. “Takes all the challenge out of things.”
“There’s evil out there, but not like what we deal with.” Willow waved a hand in a lazy arc to indicate the world. “Nothing at all like what we deal with.”
She hesitated and gave Spike a look, sideways, that said she had a nasty truth she was about to reveal. “The Hellmouths were closed by a Slayer by the name of Li, in 1902, 1904, 1908 and 1910. There were four of them, total.”
Spike said, “Chinese Slayer?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Damn. I ate her.” Spike ran a hand through his curls. “Ain’t that a pretty bit of irony?”
“Guilty much?” Willow said, sarcastically.
“Evil then.” Spike shrugged.
“So that means that evil has to work a lot harder to get a foothold in this world, and it’s not as strong when it does,” Buffy translated, for the benefit of Clark and Lois. “Sorta like the Hellmouths are batteries and doorways for evil, all rolled together and really messy.”
“Willow, what does that mean for our tickets home?” Lane asked.
Willow shrugged. “Not so much evil, not so much need for powerful good forces. I’m having a hard time finding people with the mojo needed to send us home.”
“What about the Watcher’s Council?” Lane asked. “Surely, they’ll help us?”
Spike barked an amused laugh. “That soddin’ bunch of wankers? Not likely.”
“What Spike means,” Buffy interpreted, “Is that in 1996 in my world, the Watcher’s Council was a bunch of …”
“Wankers.” Spike repeated.
“Pretty much.” Buffy said, with a shrug. She could give them a really long explanation of just how ineffective and annoying they had been, but was there even any point?
“I have contacted them,” Willow said, glancing around the room at her friends. “They’re kinda … not what I was expecting. They lack expertise, at least, the Watcher I spoke to does.”
“No Big Bads, no Hellmouths, no need to keep their skills sharp,” Spike said, with a frown. “How bad, Red?”
“I spoke to the head of the Watcher’s Council himself -- he was clueless enough to speak freely with me.”
“Oh, that speaks volumes all by itself,” Spike said, with disgust.
“Seemed glad to speak to someone who ‘believes’ …” Willow sighed. “He said that the Slayer’s thirty-four and has killed four vampires in her life. Vampires can’t make new vampires; apparently that was part of the spell that Li did. So no new fledges. She’s just had to deal with some old ones as she’s found them. Her name is Lisa, by the way.”
“We should introduce ourselves,” Buffy said, “It’s probably the polite thing to do.”
Clark said, carefully, “Aren’t you afraid that might be dangerous?”
“What’s she going to do?” Buffy shrugged. “Tell the world I’m a Vampire Slayer? Hello, so not a secret.”
Clark shook his head, “Aren’t you worried about …” he used the term Spike had used earlier, with a bit of self-consciousness, “Big-bads using your friends and family to get to you?”
“Happens, sometimes,” Buffy said. She was quiet when she said this, and serious, and Clark gave her a surprised look -- Buffy‘s voice seldom held quite that grave of a tone. “But I make sure they know how to take care of themselves.”
“It’s funny how trotting around in Buffy’s shadow learns a bloke to duck fast …” Spike said, and then did just that when Buffy aimed a casual, backhanded swat at the back of his head. He grinned over his shoulder at her.
“You were the Big Bad more than once, I seem to recall,” Buffy pointed out. She shook her head, and added, to Clark and Lois, “My friends know what I am. And the dangers of my world. Sometimes … sometimes I wouldn’t have succeeded without them, in saving the world. My friends are heroes too. It’s what we do.”
Willow had rolled out a detailed map of <etropolis. She cast a handful of bones across the map, and a puff of orange smoke smelling of flowers and citrus filled the air. A glowing yellow light appeared on the board. “That’s Lisa. Why don’t we go introduce ourselves?”
Clark nodded, then glanced significantly at Bill and Lois. “You want to stay out of sight, Bill, or should I?”
Clark’s double from Buffy’s world said, “I’ll lurk. Not a problem.”
“You lurk too,” Lois pointed at Lane. The issue was explaining two sets of Loises to Lisa, or anyone else who happened to see them together.
“Hey!” Lane protested, “Slayer here … by rights, I should meet the other Slayer.”
“Girls, girls, flip over it,” Spike produced a coin. He leered. “Though if you’d prefer to fight, I could sell some tickets …”
Twin glares skewered him. Lane and Lois chorused together purely by accident, “We’ll flip over it!”
Spike ducked, anticipating a slap from Buffy that didn’t come. She was two steps ahead of him, and swatted him as he was standing up. “Don’t such be a jerk.”
He just grinned at her. After a moment, she smiled back, and shook her head; she was finding it remarkably difficult to stay mad at Spike for long.
