Title: The Sunlight Sphere

Author: Anna

niannah@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-15

Written for the Warren Ficathon on LJ

Fic Requirements
Pairing: Warren/Andrew or Warren/Tucker (but not Warren/Andrew/Tucker)
Requirement(s): future AU in which Warren has succeeded in all his plans, but
his empire is crumbling from within
Restriction(s): no fluff

Thanks to Emony for the beta, and for setting up this ficathon. :)


The Sunlight Sphere
by Anna

The mansion on Crawford Street had returned to its state of dishevelled splendour. Inside, in the corridors, in the vast empty rooms, dead and malfunctioning bots lay staring, vacant-eyed, at nothing. Sometimes one or two still twitched and spasmed. Warren had developed very long lasting batteries.

The lab in the cellar was shut now, covered in dust and broken parts. Circuitry oozed out of bot bodies, sometimes sparking feebly in the dark. Insects scuttled around them, some of them stopping to chew on rotting latex, some of them fried by random sparks as they passed. One bot, her legs removed and her eye lolling grotesquely down her cheek, still attempted speech. It was futile. There was no one around to care.

Upstairs in the old drawing room, a fire blazed in the fire place. Warren still had plenty of furniture to burn and the forest at the back of the house provided all the fuel he needed, when he had the energy to venture outside. He sat now in an armchair, curled inside a blanket. His temples were greying and his face had become lined and worn. It was impossible to guess his age. He looked so tired.

There were books stacked around the room, vast numbers of them piled in precarious columns against the wall. The shelving had burned in some similar fire countless nights before. There was a book in Warren's hand now, and he read assiduously, his eyes close to the page under the light of a small reading lamp. Beside him was a steaming mug which, now and then, he would reach for and sip from.

When Warren thought about it, and it must be said that this was rare enough, he quickly concluded that things had really worked out rather well, given the circumstances. He wasn't dead, nor was he ill or injured. He wasn't cursed. He was usually alone, but Tucker still dropped by now and then, on the back of a bike belonging to some blond guy from Georgia. It always struck Warren how young Tucker looked. He wasn't sure if it was just that, when he looked in the mirror, he looked so old in comparison, or if it was the effects of the dark magic Tucker was hunting out there with his friend. Jealously, Warren always referred to the man simply in those terms. Tucker's friend.

It was just one more thing Warren didn't think about too often.

*

He kept the Sunlight Sphere with him at all times. The mansion had become porous, penetrable, and he dreaded the things that could come find him in the dark. Over the years he had angered too many evil creatures to be safe now from their vengeance. The Sphere would turn the vampires to dust; the rest, well, at least it would blind them for long enough to allow his escape. It was a fairly small silver sphere, about the right size to fit neatly into one's palm. Two panels forming the upper hemisphere slid apart to reveal the true sunlight trapped inside. Night turned to day and vampires crumbled, and this is how Warren had, years ago, taken over Sunnydale and its Hellmouth.

All the vampires and demons he hadn't killed either joined him or ran away to Cleveland.

Back then the mansion had sparkled and gleamed, served by an army of bots and guarded by all the vampires in Sunnydale who saw the benefits of joining the winning side. Warren had set up an incentive system, too, so provided they were team players with initiative and a sense of pride in their work, they were never short of humans to feed on.

Back then, Warren had chosen to be Mayor of Sunnydale. He knew he could do more - take California, maybe, or even the whole of the US. Why not? But he chose not to. Holding the Hellmouth, it was enough. He enjoyed the fear and respect he saw in the piggy eyes of delegate demons wishing to use the Hellmouth for their various, ugly rituals, and able to pay vast sums of money for the right. No one could get to it except through him, and it was this stranglehold on the underworld of most of North America that Warren truly wanted. He had money, he had power, and he had Tucker in his bed. All was good with the world.

Until the day the letter came. Warren remembered it clearly. He was on his way to the lab, looking for some down time. Midwinter was looming and things had been so hectic, and the bots were sorely in need of maintenance. He looked forward to some time away from the usual demonic problems and issues and decisions, just him and the circuitry. It was all so much clearer then.

"Throw it out," said Warren, striding down the corridor in the manner he had developed since becoming mayor.

"What?" said Tucker. He had his notepad in his hand and Warren knew he found it hard to write when they were walking so fast. He didn't care.

"I said throw it the fuck out," said Warren. "I don't want the Watcher's Council here. You know what they're after, and they're not getting it."

"But they'd pay so much, Warren! The plans to the Sunlight Sphere are worth a fortune."

"And they're the one thing we are never going to sell," said Warren, opening the lab doors as if he held some sort of personal grudge. "The Sunlight Sphere is mine. The Council will never get it. Ever."

Tucker followed him inside, his face now silent and blank. "Fine," he said, marking something down in his notebook. "Whatever you say."

Warren cast him a look as he sat down at his workbench in front of a malfunctioning bot. He didn't care when Tucker left without a backwards glance.

"The Council don't even have a fortune to pay," muttered Warren, taking up a screwdriver. "I wish he'd think about these things before bothering me." He prised the back panel from the bot and took a look inside. It was a mess. It would take hours to fix.

*

It was not until Warren heard about the Council plane landing on the Sunnydale airstrip that he realised what had happened, and why Tucker had suddenly become so secretive. Warren was incensed.

"I thought you'd come round," said Tucker, standing in front of Warren's desk with that infuriating smile on his face. "Come on, Warren. It's just the plans. You don't know if they'll even be able to build one."

"Don't give me this bullshit, Tucker," said Warren, standing too. "This is not about the fucking plans."

"Oh right, it's about your total egomania. It doesn't matter if they get a Sphere. You're just too possessive to see that."

"It doesn't matter? What?" Warren's eyes were dangerously wide. He felt explosive. He walked around his desk to look Tucker in the face. "You really think it wouldn't matter if two opposing groups, one holding a hellmouth, the other wanting to close it, both own the one device in the world that can achieve either end? Tucker, they could march in here and destroy every one of my guards! They could gain control over every other goddamned hellmouth. Why didn't I do that? Why? My plans weren't grandiose enough." Warren put a hand to his forehead in weariness.

"Look," said Tucker. "Okay. They're coming, so we'll talk to them, right?"

Warren looked at him with eyes like death. "They're not getting it, Tucker. It's too dangerous."

"Sure. Too dangerous for anyone but you." The bite in Tucker's voice was unmistakable. Warren could feel his menacing breath, taste his own defeat. Tucker leaned in close. "I think the Council can be dangerous, too."

Warren shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you would do this to me."

Tucker put his hands deep in his pockets. "I can't believe you ever trusted me. Trust no one, right? That's what you used to say. Or rather, quote."

"My mistake. Won't happen again."

"I know." Tucker turned and left with the same hateful smile. Warren wanted to rip it off his face with his bare hands.

*

Warren watched the motorcade approach from his large window. As he had expected, there were a lot of them, probably enough to take out the guards he had in the mansion. For the first time, he cursed the sunlight. In the dark he could have destroyed them before they even came within view of Crawford Street. He knew they had planned it this way. It wasn't that difficult.

It was only when they climbed from their cars and he saw Tucker go to greet them that he realised who the lead delegate was. He should have seen it coming.

Andrew.

Warren cursed and felt his insides tense and twist. Tucker had done this. Tucker had done this to him.

And, unlike Jonathan, years ago, Tucker would live to see tomorrow.

*

Warren watched Andrew insist that the meeting be held in the sunny courtyard. It was an obvious precaution. Then he and the girls that surrounded him took up a kind of loose formation, watching the garden entrance. Warren knew they were waiting for him.

He had heard of the spell performed in Cleveland to turn all potentials into Slayers. Buffy, he had read in the report, deemed it necessary when he had chased so many vampires there after his accession to power in Sunnydale. Ironic, he thought, that now he would be forced to come face to face with those same girls who owed him all the strength they had. He was sure no one had informed them.

Warren had no choice but to go down there. He could hear Tucker's footsteps in the hall, coming to find him, to smile at him again, and soon, Warren knew, his spirit would be broken. Andrew was out there. He could hardly bear it, and yet something inside him could hardly wait.

It had been so long since he'd seen Andrew.

*

The sun hurt his eyes. Andrew was cold and distant. The deal, it seemed, was done before he knew it. The vampires inside the mansion had fled into the sewers at the sight of so many slayers, and Tucker had betrayed him, left him for nothing. All he had now was dignity, and his grasp on that felt tenuous.

He brought Andrew inside, the Sunlight Sphere in his hand and Slayers surrounding them, and showed him the way to the lab. Tucker followed behind, and Warren could feel the sparks of his spite, the malice in his eyes. To be so close to Andrew and yet so impossibly far away, to use Andrew as the instrument of Warren's defeat; Tucker could not have achieved a greater victory. From some distant, cold place, Warren could only admire the cunning.

He handed over the original plans for the Sphere, keeping only copies for himself. Andrew rolled them carefully and slid them into a magically reinforced titanium tube. One of the Slayers, a taller girl, took the tube protectively. Warren watched her and hated her.

They returned to the courtyard without a word.

Once in the sunlight, Andrew turned to Warren.

"The Council would like to thank you for your co-operation in this matter," he said.

"Sure," said Warren. "How much are you paying?"

"The funds will be transferred according to the instructions provided by my brother as soon as we have analysed the plans and can be assured that they will work," said Andrew.

Warren laughed. "Is that so?" he said, turning towards Tucker. He saw that smile again.

"Is there a problem?" asked Andrew. His formal tone was beginning to grate.

"Yeah. Yes, there is," said Warren. "You're killing me, you know that, Andrew? You're leaving me for dead."

Andrew sighed, looking away. Suddenly the girls dispersed, returning to the cars outside the mansion, though Warren had not noticed Andrew's signal.

"We are aware of your situation now, Warren," he said, his voice quieter now, more intimate. "But frankly, the Council doesn't care. Why would we? You've stood against us all these years."

"Us?" said Warren scathingly. "When did you become part of them, Andrew? I remember when we were an us."

Warren saw the pity in Andrew's eyes, and suddenly hated himself.

"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. You should let it go."

"I've just let everything go," said Warren. Then he smiled again, a small smile, but sad and real. He took a step backwards, his eyes on Andrew all the way to the door.

*

He did not see Tucker nod to Andrew and watch him leave. Nor did he see him load up the van with everything he owned. He did, however, feel the emptiness of the mansion, the hollowness of Tucker's steps as, for the last time, he walked to Warren's study.

"I'm going," said Tucker.

Warren sat deep in his leather chair, playing idly with a pen. "I know," he said.

"The vampires are gone. I don't think they'll be back in a hurry."

"I expect not," said Warren. "Not now that they could be killed by either side."

"Yeah," laughed Tucker. "Poor guys. The world is about to change, huh? It's pretty invigorating to be part of that."

"Tucker?" said Warren, looking straight into his eyes. "Shut up. Leave, if you're going."

"Fine." Tucker took a step back. "I'll look in on you now and then, okay?"

"Please don't."

Tucker laughed. "I'll see you, Warren," he said.

"Bye," said Warren to the back of the door.

*

By the time Tucker had showed up again Warren was forced to exchange pride for company. It was a lonely old place, and looking lonelier by the day as dust settled and bits of furniture disappeared into the nightly flames. Tucker already had his friend with him, introduced only as Doe, a silent man who spent most of his time flicking through Warren's books. Warren had to spend hours after they'd left putting the books back in their correct order. He had no idea what Doe was looking for.

Dark magic, said Tucker. It was the one thing left that made his eyes shine with delight. Then they'd leave again, as abruptly as they came, and Warren would remain in his leather chair by the fire. Every time the same.

He was tired. He was tired reading, and he was tired remembering. He was tired of growing old alone.

There was only one thing he could bear to do about it. He flicked a catch on the lower half of the Sunlight Sphere and opened a tiny panel. The power source for the Sphere was so small, he thought, so fragile, when not encased in its shell. He placed it gently on the table beside his chair and hefted a book in his hand.

Then he smashed it with a smile.


end