Fic: Untitled (Night Watch / B:TVS crossover) 1/?

[kangeiko]

Today, athena25 and I purchased Nightwatch, which we last watched at the cinema. I didn't really remember it then, because that was the night that I stopped breathing and passed out at Stockwell station, resulting in paramedics fluttering over me. So, yeah, I mainly remembered the pretty, but less of the actual film. It's a pity 'cause the film rocks. But you knew that already.

You also know that I have to write following:



Stood waiting outside the metro station, Anton lit his cigarette with shaking hands and took a deep drag, coughing a little at the heavy taste of tar. Damnit, his lungs haven't been the same since that bastard Andrey drove a pair of fucking scissors into his chest. Fuck it. He inhaled unsteadily, scrubbing his hands through his hair and stomping his feet to force some warmth back into them. It was fucking freezing, but what'd you expect for November? He was lucky it wasn't snowing yet.

Fuck it, and his contact was late. Not that he was sure he'd have been able to recognise her if he saw her, mind you. Geser hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the details. He'd been a closemouthed bastard before, but Anton could swear that he'd actually got worse recently. Since the fucking Virgin showed up. Since - Yegor.

Fuck. Where was this stupid piece of cunt, anyway?

"Hey. You Anton?"

Yeah, his skills really were slipping if he couldn't pick her out of a line-up. Skinny, dark-haired - like that vampiress, if he thinks on it - and dressed like his mum had said only streetwalkers dressed. Mind you, now everyone dressed like that, copying the American models plastered across the TV and billboards, so maybe all the leather wasn't quite as trashy as he'd supposed.

Of course, it could be that his dick was hard as soon as he looked at her. Yeah, that might also be relevant.

"I'm Anton," he said, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar words. He flicked his sunglasses up to get a good look at her. Pale, pale, pale - he'd thought that Americans were supposed to be tanned or something - and a crucifix hanging around her neck, down into an impressive cleavage. Right, Kostya was just going to love her, and what with him nearly ready for his license and all, Anton didn't want to give him any ideas. So, he was going to have to take her back to headquarters instead of his apartment, which was all kinds of fucked up. "Er - do you have any bags?"

"Bags?" She raised an eyebrow. "I was told I was here for a consultation, not to go down deep or anything. Although," and she smirked, "I wouldn't mind a spot of going down, if you're offering."

Anton blinked at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

She rolled her eyes and stuck her hands in her pockets. "Right. You don't-a speak-a no English. I get it, sweet. Let's go meet this head honcho of yours, we'll get to business."

Maybe he should have skipped that last drink, Anton thought. And possibly the drink before. The words 'has a drinking problem' floated in front of him again, and he shook his head. "You don't have any bags?" He said again, trying to clarify what the fuck was going on.

"What are you, deficient? No, I don't have any fucking bags. Can we get with the program already? Where's Geser?" She looked him over. "And why the hell do you look like a member of the Fang Gang?"

"What?" He said again, and wished a hundredfold that he'd told Geser to go fuck himself when this primo assignment had reared its ugly head. They'd been mollycoddling him for the last year, feeding him sweet little titbits that had him one step away from a desk job, bohze moi: talking to fucking Svetlana to make sure she didn't go fucking crazy again - yeah, like that was gonna happen - and filing reports on every fucking thing he could remember saying or doing with Irina, step by step so they could figure out a way to Play her. The thought makes his bile rise and he took a hard drag of his cig, trying to chase down the sour taste of blood and disgust. That they'd Play her at all was bad enough, but to Play her against Yegor was just fucking sick.

Not they weren't Playing him, of course. Not that Yegor wasn't being Played by Zavulon. Not that the whole world wasn't damned, and what he'd thought of as the epicentre wasn't even close, 'cause here was this cunt from Cali-a, dressed like she should be table-dancing in -10C weather and carrying a poorly-concealed stick of wood. Yeah, like that would be much use out here. Anton wasn't sure what breed of Other roamed across the oceans, but a splinter like that couldn't take out Kostya, let alone a licensed vampire.

Not that they'd want to, Heaven forefend, as it would violate the Truce to have unlawful killings springing up all over the place.

Truce, right, Anton thought, and jerked a thumb at the yellow truck across the street. Like that meant a damn anymore, now that Yegor had chosen sides.

He gave the girl a boost into the truck, and she slid in all comfortable-like, snug against Ilya. "Change of plan," he said shortly. "We're going to HQ to speak to Geser first." Alisa said something inaudible from the back, but Anton could bet that whatever it was wasn't particularly friendly. "Look, don't fucking argue," and he slammed the door shut.

Meanwhile, their new best friend was endearing herself to the local wildlife. "Hey, you're a big one, aren't you?" She grinned, patting Ilya's forearm.

He looked at her appraisingly. "No speak English," he said after a moment, and nodded to Semyon to kick the truck into gear. Fire spewed out the exhaust and they lurched forward. Alisa was shrieking again, screaming at Semyon to slow the fuck down, they didn't have to rush anywhere.

Anton slid a look over at their guest to see how she was bearing up. The speed didn't seem to bother her any; instead, she seemed positively delighted, if a little put-out at Ilya's abrupt response. "What-the-fuck-ever," she muttered, and made herself comfortable.

"So, where are we headed, exactly?"

Anton flicked his cig out of the window and fished a half-empty bottle of vodka from his raincoat. "City Light Company. South from here," he said, frowning, "I think."

"Whatever. Geography's not my strong suit, A. So, what's the deal? Who is this Geser guy, anyway? All I heard about him is that he's some sorta big honcho with The Powers That Be - not that they've exactly been scratching our backs for the last however long, you understand - so -"

"He's, um, a general? I think." He offered her the bottle. "You want some? It's clean. No blood."

She looked at the bottle with some suspicion, but took it from him. "You think? What, he never said, or you never asked?" She swallowed and grimaced. "Jeez, A, this thing sucks. Don't you have any better liquor around here?"

"Not for roubles, we don't. You want good alcohol, you need dollars to buy it. Or friends to sell it to you. I used up the last of both some time ago. And," he took another swig, "I never asked, he never said, and it wouldn't translate, anyway."

"Huh." She glanced at him, shifty-eyed. "So, are you actually gonna ask my name or not?"

He didn't bother looking at her. "I already know it. You'll find that names don't mean that much over here."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "That's weird. Why the hell not?"

"Didn't you hear? The apocalypse is coming." He offered her the bottle back.

She snickered into the neck of it. "It's always coming, A. You gotta learn to let loose a little."

Anton said nothing and folded his arms. On the other side of the truck, Ilya grinned over at him and raised two fingers to the side of his head, miming a gunshot.

Whatever. What did it matter? When Anton looked out of the truck, all he could see were the down feathers of the newborn crows above.

Fucking things.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Faith asked, and took another swig of the bottle.

*

end part 1

*


Still untitled, but I do like the premise of it, and it lets me have a whole new setting - i.e. Moscow - as my playground, so I'll probably carry on with it.

Right. To bed...