Fic: Shanshu 5 - Ream Swag

[dragonyphoenix]

Fandom: BtVS
Original prompt: Spike shanshues
Part 4 of Shanshu
Note: With help from the Victorian Slang glossary.
Note: I really keep meaning for Will and Xander to meet in the next chapter, but it keeps not happening. Fingers crossed for the next installment.
Taming the Muse prompt: back alley

The arrhythmic clacking coming from Millay's keyboard was somehow soothing.A search-and-rescue crew had found Will outside of the sinkhole that had once been a California town. His bluejeans had held a wallet and papers identifying him as William Pratt, a naturalized citizen. If Charlie, one of the gentlemen who'd found him hadn't taken pity and given him a home, Will didn't know where he might have ended up. He'd been surprised to find himself living with a woman. At first he'd thought Millay must have been married to either Charlie or the roommate Dave but she had her own bedroom and, in fact, had turned out to be Charlie's cousin. Will had discovered himself, learned his own interests and habits, with the sound of Millay's clattering keyboard as background music. To this day the sound of a keyboard made him feel safe, comfortable, at home.

He didn't quite doze off but he also wasn't completely awake when he heard Millay speak. “Well, isn't this interesting.”

There was a bio of one Alexander LaVelle Harris spread out across the computer screen. The picture matched the guy he's seen being hauled off by a pair of coppers. Nothing leapt out as important. “What?”

Millay pointed to a line of text. “He comes from Sunnydale.”

Sunnydale. “Shit.” When Millay raised an eyebrow in inquiry, Will elaborated.“Found him, someone who knows me that is, and lost him all in one night.”

“Your luck does seem to be running bad.”

“What else does it say?”

Millay's finger skimmed over a couple of lines. “After Sunnydale collapsed, he spent two years in Africa. There's not much data from that period. He used his credit card intermittently, as in months apart between purchases.”

That didn't sound good. “He was deliberately not leaving a trail.”

“Looks like.”

Will turned away from the screens. “So after five years the first guy who knows me is dragged off by the cops like a back alley barber and has spent two years doing something highly illegal in Africa.”

“Back alley barber?”

Will drew his finger across his throat.

“Ah, Sweeney Todd,” she said, nodding her understanding. “There was no body.”

“There were some girls. Maybe they carried it off.”

“Unlikely,” Millay said. “A couple of girls carting off a corpse during happy hour? Even if they could carry it, someone would have seen them.”

“Anything else?”

“Going by his credit card, he's staying at a Marriott.”

“You know where he is?”

She nodded. “Street cameras have him entering the hotel about an hour ago. The question is do you want to meet him?”

He did, but he didn't. The few glimmers of messages from his past-self were mixed. When he'd been found he'd been wearing jeans and a black t-shirt but it had been months before he'd felt even remotely comfortable in such casual attire. His almost fluorescent hair had seemed terribly unnatural and, indeed, he'd been relieved when his natural color began to reveal itself. He preferred a level of formality that almost seemed out of time and yet he knew slang, criminal words, not just in English but from languages from around the world and also not just current but going back over a hundred years. That last bit had given him hope. Perhaps he'd been a professor or a researcher of some sort. That seemed unlikely given what they'd learned about this Mr. Harris. Could he live without ever knowing whom he'd been? “You have no idea what it's like, not knowing who you are.”

“That's a yes then.”

He was surprised to realize it was a yes.

She held up something small and metallic. “You're not going in alone.”

He thought about action movies and what happened to men caught wearing wires. “I'm not sure that's wise.”

“You going to arrange to meet him someplace public?”

God but that was a good idea. “I can't guarantee it.”

“Then I'm listening in.”

He nodded his acceptance. “I should get going then.”

“Will, it's four in the morning. Normal people aren't up at this hour.”

“But he's not, is he, normal that is. Besides, with the crushers on the know, he might just lavender off. If I don't catch him now, I might miss him.”

As she handed him the bug, Millay blinked at him as if processing what he'd said. Will reviewed his words. Oh. Crusher. Lavender. British slang. 19th century. Very lower class.

Time and past time to find out who he'd been.