Unlife was, without a doubt, a royal bitch.
Understatement.
You'd think after sacrificing yourself at the very pits of evil you'd at least be saddled up with a nice, shiny reward. Something in the halo and pearly gates department, maybe.
Wasn't the case with Spike. No, he saves the world -- damn big heroic gesture, mind you -- and he gets ripped back into existence and placed under lock and key with Angel playing warden. As a sodding ghost.
He'd gotten over his otherworldly sojourn (read: ghosties) a couple of days ago. Two or three, maybe. Four at the most. He couldn't place an exact date, being that he'd since drowned out the world in a few different bottles of alcohol. Which was pathetic, he knew, but right now he was feeling more than a little sorry for himself.
He was supposed to be in Rome. Well, after supposing to be dead, anyway. Wasn't so, because he grew a case of cold feet when he made to accomplish that feat. Bought himself a boat ticket with the dosh he'd managed to nick from the Champ, made it to the docks and was all set to board when he did an abrupt about-face and left. Just like that. No thinking, nothing but impulse. Got in the car (also that he'd nicked from the Champ), turned up the radio to something loud and heavy and completely lacking a beat, and sped off. Threw the boat ticket out the window for good measure as he was pushing 100mph on the freeway, watching it out the rear view mirror as it danced and twisted in the wind behind him until he couldn't see it anymore.
Like he said, that was days ago. And since then he'd spent the better part of that time buried at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol.
Spike stood up, pushing himself away from the bar.
Time to rectify this lifestyle. Or amend. Make it less pathetic, because there was really only so much modern rock he could be forced to listen to while getting plastered. Didn't bars used to have juke boxes? Played all the classics? Not the case now-a-days.
"Leaving so soon?" the bartender said, making to gather all the empty bottles Spike had been collecting.
Once upon a time ago, back when he wasn't the reformed White Hat that he was now, he'd have snapped this dolt's neck for the sarcastic drawl. As it was, Spike was reformed and the bloke was right, so he merely settled for a glare before turning on his heels and getting the hell out of there.
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He ended up at Forehead Incorporated, his previous confines. Wolfram & Hart, and what a bloody surprise that was. Not like he had anywhere else to go.
"Great," Angel sighed when he spotted him strolling aimlessly out of the elevators. Burst of something that closely resembled pride coursed through him at that. How he loved the easy means in which his mere presence pissed the Poof off.
"And hello to you, too," Spike said, falling in step behind him. "So, what's on the agenda for today? Saving lives or breaking banks?"
"Don't you have a boat to catch?"
"Lucky for you, I've decided to stay. Looks like you can officially add me to the payroll, retroactively speaking. Means I want to be compensated from Day 1."
"I know what it means," Angel gritted out. "And you're not getting put on the payroll."
"Why the hell not? You can't seriously expect me to go at this pro bono. Sorry, Champ, not in my wiring. Least not when all your other avengers are getting paid handsomely for whatever it is they actually do around here."
Angel whirled around, and Spike had to slam on the brakes to stop himself from running into him. "Newsflash," he barked. "You're not one of my avengers! You're not getting paid!"
Spike couldn't help but smile. Which turned into full-out laughing on his part. Angel looked all pissed off and glowerly, brow drawn tightly together, and it was all a little more than ridiculous. What the hell was he looking to join Team Angel for? He had a Slayer waiting across the pond for him, one that looked decidedly better in high heels and knee socks than the Poof ever had.
"You know what?" he managed, once he finally stopped laughing. "Think you're right. Think I'll just gather up my stuff and head on out. Got a girl to see, and you're sure as hell not her."
Flick of a switch, the Champ's mood changed. Settled into something Spike almost wanted to call 'thoughtful'. He was basing this on the fact that Angel's forehead was protruding far more than usual. "So... you're going to see Buffy?" Angel asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "You're really going to Rome?"
Spike let out another low chuckle as he turned to walk away. Called out over his shoulder, "Do believe that's what I said."
"Hang on," Angel said, his voice low like he was mentally connecting the dots. Spike could perfectly envision the caveman brow furrowing as the little light bulb dimmed above his head. "Spike, we still need you here."
Spike swung back around at that. "Did I hear that right? You, the one with the Lone Ranger complex, need me?"
"Not when you put it like that."
"Whatever happened to your 'don't let the door hit you on the way out' sentiment you were preaching not two minutes ago? Changed your mind? Not quite ready to let me go yet?"
Angel glowered. "We still haven't worked out who the Shanshu Prophecy--"
"Bugger the Prophecy," Spike cut in, not in the mood for urban legends. "I don't want it. And even if I did, we both know who the Powers that Wank'll find fitting enough to be on the receiving end. And let's just say it's not the better looking, better dressed of the two."
The Champ looked ready to protest, but Spike was having none of that.
"Be a good little pawn and get back to work," he told him, before heading back towards the elevators.
"You can't leave, Spike!" he heard Angel yell behind him. "Spike!"
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As if Spike would oblige to anything Angel had to say. Maybe the Champ was right-- maybe Spike did have to stay and see this Prophecy through, at least until they knew that they weren't tempting fate by both being in existence. But then again, he didn't really care. If two souled vampire Champions was enough to muck up the universe, too damn bad.
The fact that he was still cruising the halls of Wolfram and Hart had absolutely nothing to do with the nonexistent possibility of Angel being right. It was more the fact that Spike had done that entirely stupid thing of tossing his previous boat ticket out the window. And he'd sort of spent whatever little money he'd had during those few drunken days of alcoholic bliss. Not exactly proud of that fact, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Savings funds were never his thing. More like finders keepers. Come across a wallet full of cash that just so happened to be on the dead body you'd just drained? Well, lookey there-- little extra to take care of life’s twists and turns.
Wasn't the case now, being that he was, as previously mentioned, reformed. Atonement is such a bloody bitch. That sodding demon in Africa, the one who'd wired him up with the soul to begin with, should've had that as a disclaimer.
Anyways, he could bypass such bumps in the road. Spike never had a problem with borrowing (read: stealing) the Champ's stuff. Felt like he was doing him a personal favor in the process-- all that extra money and those half dozen or so cars only would've went straight to his head, and Angel was already well-off in that department. Yep, ol' Spikey was just looking out for the greater good. Which is why he headed up to Angel's apartment and relieved the Champ of a couple thousand bucks.
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Spike strolled into the science lab, pockets full and soul beaming. Just had one more thing to do, and then he'd be on his merry way, out of LA and headed for Destination Slayer. He wanted to use Fred's fancy computers to book himself a last minute ticket, not wanting to go through the hassle of arriving at the airport and having to go at it that way. And bloody right 'airport'-- Spike had gotten over the notion of doing this by boat. He'd rather not spend an entire week hankered down in the shadows of some barge, or worse, shrimp boat. Nope, the friendly skies was the way to go.
"Hey, Spike," Fred said, not bothering to look up from her clipboard. She was busy checking numbers, making sure what she had written down was matched with whatever it was she was producing out of the six or seven flasks lined up in front of her.
"'Lo, Fred," he answered back, switching his attention to the group of computers lining an entire wall of her lab. Blasted technology. He moved uneasily towards them, not knowing where to go. Probably all work the same, right? And they all looked to be turned on. So now it was just a matter of using his God-given's to figure out how exactly these things worked. He knew the basics -- wasn't entirely pathetic -- but it was connecting to the internet that he was in no way what-so-ever clued.
"Uh, Fred?" he finally ventured, when all his tapping on lettered keys amounted to a whole lot of nothing. "Little help here?"
"Sure," she said, still intent on her task. "Just give me a second, I'm trying to find out if the polyatomic attributes I keep coming up with are identical to the--"
And then he blocked her words out. Banged a few more times on the keyboard to see if he could produce anything, with no such luck. Was frustrated to the point that he was about ready to just call the whole thing off and get his ticket at the airport when Fred suddenly evaporated at his side. Threw him off a bit, what with the way her arrival also coincided with the blinding flash of white that exploded behind his eyes.
"Spike?" he heard her say, her voice far off in the distance.
Bloody hell, felt like someone took a two-by-four and introduced it to the back of his skull. He hadn't had a headache like this since his days in Sunnydale, paired with that chip.
"Spike, are you okay?"
He blinked his eyes open.
It happened at an instance, this sudden realization. Like one life-altering revelation happening upon him, he knew--
Spike loved Fred.
God, but he loved her! Had to, what with the way she helped him. He popped up in the middle of Team Angel, not knowing a damn bloody soul except for the self-titled one himself, and spent the better part of the following months shifting about in a depressed state of loneliness. And Fred was the only one who ever cared. Who ever voiced any little bit of concern over his well-being.
And the concern! The care! Oh, it made his inner-William flutter. Poetry dared to be written in the presence of such a sweet beauty! It made him feel... and not that he wanted to be redundant or dredge up old, bitter memories... but effulgent came to mind. A lot. Everything about her was effulgent, from the sparkle of her pearly whites to the glow of her lab coat.
"Are you okay?" she asked again, still looking concerned. "Because for a second there you looked ready to pass out."
"I'm fine," he insisted, his love for this girl bubbling infectiously inside of him.
"Okay. You wanted something?"
It took a few seconds to place what she was talking about. He wanted help from her, right. Wanted her to work her science girl mojo and get the internet to work so that he could hop on a plane and make his way to the Slayer.
But that didn't make any sense all of a sudden.
Why the hell would he want her to do that for him? For one, he wasn't even in love with Buffy anymore. Sort of got over that when she'd thrown her "I love you" at him down in the Hellmouth, figuring it was a dying man's last wish and all that rot. Please, like he needed her sugar coated sympathy? Not bloody likely. Besides, she didn't love him. She hadn't ever loved him, despite that gratuitous send off he got. Would never love him, could never love him, should never love him, had never--
Wait. He'd already mentioned that one. Can't blame a bloke for being repetitive though, especially with the way the Slayer'd beaten the same sentiment into his head time and time before. Literally, on some occasions.
His point being-- he was moving on, right this very second. Growing back his balls she'd clipped off in Sunnydale. Unwinding himself from around her little finger. Picking himself up off the floor. All proverbially speaking.
William the Bloody, back on the market!
"Spike?"
Well, not entirely on the market, being that he truly realized who he was supposed to be with in life. Fred Burkle. Pretty little science girl. Of course, it all made perfect sense.
"Fred," he purred, loving the way her name rolled off of his tongue. She was Heaven, and he was the lucky bloke standing at the pearly gates.
"Did you want something?"
"Right," he muttered, glancing at the computer, then back at her. "Was wanting to see you, actually."
"Me?" she said shyly, tucking a strand of her mousey brown hair behind her ear. "Why would you wanna see little ol' me? Unless there's some sort of side-effect with your corporeality that you're dealing with? I knew Angel should've let me run more tests on you--"
"Nothing like that," he chuckled, stopping her before she broke out the fancy gadgets. "I just wanted to see you."
"Oh." She looked confused, but forced a smile on her face. "Well. Hi, then."
God, he couldn't take it anymore. There was an inner mantra along the lines of, 'Don't say it. Don't say it, you bloody sod, don't bleeding well say it' but he quickly drowned it out. What'd it know, anyway?
"I love you!" he blurted, throwing his arms open.
She seemed surprised. He'd give her that. It's not like he wasn't a bit surprised himself.
There was a long beat that passed before she said, "You what?"
"I love you!" he repeated, and then shook his arms for emphasis. Step into the bloody embrace!
Her confusion shifted into awkwardness as she drew her brows together, her nose crinkling. "Well... I love you, too, Spike. I guess. In the 'we're all a bunch of friends' sense, you being one of those friends--"
She wasn't getting it, which was so bloody cute. "Not like that," he cut her off. "I love you, Fred."
She laughed uncomfortably. When she saw that he wasn't joking around, a terrified flicker flashed behind her eyes. "You're not kidding, are you?"
Spike dropped his arms back to his sides. Okay, so the hugging was out. No matter, he'd done without the soft, caring feel of a woman his entire existence before, what's another notch in the belt? Used to it by now, anyway, especially coming at the heels of his never-actually-was-a-relationship with the Slayer. Only Fred didn't seem as thrilled with this revelation as he was. He was nearly bouncing on his bloody heels, ready to throw his head back and shout to the higher powers that he BLOODY LOVED THIS WOMAN!
He took a step forward, his hands itching to grab her and pull her towards him. "Never been more serious."
"Are... Are you sure?" she said, endearing little country twang in her words. Oh, how it made his dead heart flutter. "I mean, it seems awful sudden, don't you think?"
With a grin, Spike covered the few feet between them with a couple of quick strides. "'Course I'm sure. Don't be daft. I love you, Fred."
The look on her face had his smile faltering. Shouldn't she be happier about this? They were in love!
"I-- I think maybe..." She started to frown. "No, wait. This can't be right."
Now what the hell was she prattling on about? "What can't be right?"
"This! You! You don't love me, Spike."
"Course I do! Said so, didn't I? And, unlike bitchy Slayers who shall remain nameless, I mean it when I say it." He stepped closer again, blissfully unaware of the way she flinched and took a step backwards. "I love you."
"Spike, you don't even know me."
"What's to know? You're beautiful," he told her, loving the way her cheeks reddened at the compliment. He glanced around them, eyes darting around the room in a quick once-over. "You work here in this lab... Got yourself one of them fancy-sized brains. Got nice clothes..." He leered down at her, taking in the bony, wired frame of her body in a manner that wasn't the least bit surreptitious. "Got real nice clothes." He moved up on her now, pinning her between his body and a file cabinet. Lowered his voice a few seductive degrees. "I ever mention how much I love them skirts you wear?"
She was blushing. He could feel the blood pulsing under her skin just as plainly as he could see the deep red that flushed her cheeks. "Okay," she said, flattening her hand against his chest. The contact went and sent off a wave of pleasure that danced through his body from the heat of it, the softness of it. "That's... sweet, Spike, really. I'm-- I'm flattered. Really, really flattered."
"Yeah?" He moved in closer, loving the breathy, gasping noise she made at his doing so.
Just before his lips met hers, she slipped out of his grasp, leaving a very stunned vampire pressed up against a cold file cabinet. He turned around, looking at her in confusion.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "You were just getting a little close."
He frowned as he took a step towards her. "Kinda the point."
"No! See! That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I think this... thing, that you're saying? Well I don't think you really believe it. Or maybe you do and that's something else entirely, and... well, I don't want to think about that option right now because frankly it's a little disconcerting. What I'm saying is-- you're not right, Spike. You don't love me. Of course you don't love me, you don't even know me. Not that you really need to know someone to be in love with them, exactly, I mean, there are plenty of people who fall in love at first sight, right? Right. I think so. I mean, it's always what people are saying, so I guess it must be true--"
She was rambling. It was by far the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.
"Fred?"
There was that little tint of red on her cheeks again as she caught his eyes. "Yeah?"
"You're rambling, sweets."
And the blush deepened. "Right. Rambling." She took a deep breath. "Okay, so you know what?" she said, a little too casually. "I think I'm just gonna... go. I think I should probably get back to work. Those pesky numbers won't solve themselves."
She didn't believe him. One very strong (and centrally located) part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her until she damn well knew that what he felt was real, but another, more logical part told him he had to go at this differently. Get her to see this from his side of things. Convince her somehow. Less tell and more show. And he knew just the way to do it, which is why he relented. "Alright, pet. I'll let you get back to your chemicals and what-not."
She backed away slowly, somehow frowning and smiling at the same time. "Thanks. Erm... bye."
He watched her scamper away with a grin. He had a vague idea of how exactly he was going to convince her of his feelings. Shouldn't be too hard. He had his natural charm and, let's face, overly-abundant and more than supple good-looks working for him. That'd reel her in well enough. But he needed more than that. Needed proof that this thing, sudden or not, was real.
So, with great intent, he headed off towards Angel's office, hoping the Champ would be elsewhere.
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Angel was so damn predictable.
Spike strolled into his Foreheadness' office during one of the ritual 5 o'clock meetings that he hadn't even been bothered with an invite to. Didn't matter anyway, as he had something else on his To Do list.
He shut the door behind him, not wanting Harmony to spot him. That would lead to, well, Harmony spotting him. And then she'd invite herself in and make herself useless by attaching herself to his side like some sorta parasite. He was better working this one solo.
Shuffling through the the files located in the unlocked second drawer of the Champ's desk, Spike searched for what he was looking for. A name, an address, a whereabout-- something that was familiar. Something he needed. He skimmed documents, flipping through pages, until he found it. Buffy Summers, c/o Rome, Italy. And right under the name was the Slayer's number, scrawled out in that girly scribble that was Angel's handwriting.
Spike always loved a challenge, but even more than that he liked when things were handed to him on a silver platter. Finding her number turned out to be a lot easier than he'd first thought it'd be.
He made himself cozy in the big, fancy leather chair at the brunt of Angel's desk, swinging his legs to rest on top of the wood. Took a moment to bask in the feel of it. He hoped, for a split second, that maybe the Poof himself would walk in and find him like this. Spike, with his feet propped on top of Angel's desk, combat boots just resting carelessly on top of all sorts of important documents. But then he remembered that he was here for a purpose and, right now, that purpose wasn't pissing off his elders. Pity that.
Leaning forward, he plucked the phone off its cradle. Dialed the number he'd found before relaxing back into the seat, enjoying the way the leather crinkled in his ear. This was a good chair. Soft, cozy, pliable. Could see why Angel liked it so much.
The ringing picked up and he silenced his thoughts, holding his proverbial breath.
"Hello?"
"'Lo, Buffy?"
He was met with a long stretch of silence on the other end, and Spike contemplated banging the phone against something hard and sturdy. Bloody connection. Probably because the Poof was cutting corners and going with the bad service. Always was a bloody cheap--
"Spike?"
Oh! Finally.
"Right. Yeah. So, how are things?"
"Things are-- I mean... what?"
"That's great! Got a little trip planned for you, Slayer. I want you to pack an overnight and hail yourself a cab. Go to--"
"Wait, wait-- hang on a minute. Spike, is that you?"
Spike sighed. Sure, let's make this conversation as painful as possible. "Bloody hell. Yes, it's me."
"I don't understand... I thought-- you're dead."
"And she remains observant as ever."
"What?"
"Nothing. Did you hear what I was saying before? Pack a bag, Slayer, you're needed in LA."
"Okay, I'm sorry, but life-altering stuff going on here. Gimme a minute to grasp the fact that I'm actually talking to you. Spike, how are you... alive? Back? Not dust-in-the-wind?"
Spike craned his neck to the side, cracking it. Wouldn't do to hang up on the bitch, being that he needed her company here. He reminded himself that a few dozen different times before responding. "Slayer, we don't have time for this, alright? You'll find out soon enough."
After a quick explanation in which he rambled off directions for her to follow that were repeated a couple of times before she finally understood, Spike hung up. Everything was falling perfectly into place. Finding the number. The call to Rome. Slayers on the move right this very instant and getting on planes directed to LA.
Only a few more things left to do, and then Fred would know.
Brilliant.
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Same time the next day, Spike was at LAX.
He waited at Gate C, bouncing up and down on the heels of his combat booted-feet, trying to spot the golden glow of Buffy's hair. Couldn't see over all the bloody people, and the fact that she was so damn short wasn't helping. Besides, it was sodding LA-- everyone had bottle-produced glowy hair.
He took up pacing, deciding that he'd probably have more luck on the move than standing in one place. And he was right. Only took a few minutes until he saw her. She came pouring out of a crowd of people, small suitcase clutched tight to her chest as she looked around. No doubt was looking for him. And when she spotted him, the look she gave him would've nearly had him drowning if it was a look Fred would've given him. Happiness. Pure and utter happiness.
Spike shook off the twitchy feelings that came from being on the receiving end of it. It didn't feel right, her looking at him like that. He surged forward, duster flapping at the heels of his boots, until he was in front of her. And she was still smiling that bright, blinding smile. He wish she'd stopped.
"Spike," she said, and it came out all breathy and dazed.
He spared her a quick glance, frowning. "Slayer," he said as a reply, more for obligations sake. Took hold of the bag she was reluctant to give up (sodding Slayer and her damned independence) and started to move towards the exit. He knew she was confused by his abruptness but he really had no desire to sit and play the tedious game of catch up with her.
She was at his heels, trying hard to keep up with his fast strides. He weaved in and out of the crowd, feeling her behind him with every heightened sense in his body. Could feel those confused glances she kept throwing his way, could hear the little sounds she kept making as she toddled along behind him, desperate to not fall too far behind.
When they eventually managed to make it out through the winding doors and into the brisk night air, she finally got him to stop. More like grabbed his elbow and gave it a good yank that had him jerking to a standstill.
They stood there for a few seconds, eyeing each other, her breathing heavily as she took the time to catch her breath.
"What's with the rush?" she finally said, when the silence turned uncomfortable. She looked like she was trying to keep control of the situation. Slayer-mode, present and accounted for. "We dealing with an Apocalypse here? Because those usually have a tendency to wait until I show up on the scene to start."
So damn cocky. Made him sick. "Nothing like that," he mumbled, breaking away from the strong hold of her eyes to stare off into the distance. Anywhere but at her, because he sure as hell wasn't in the mood to be reminded of anything even remotely resembling what they once had. And her staring at him, well, it reminded him of what they once had. And he didn't bloody like it.
"You're not even gonna say hello?"
He nearly rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to fall to his knees at the little tremble of vulnerability in her voice?
Instead of voicing her demands, he continued on his way. Gotta get out of the public. Gotta get to the car... get to the car, then everything falls into place from there. Just like he planned.
She was following him again, though he could tell she was pissed at him for dodging her question. Good. It was familiar.
"So back-from-the-dead you is kind of a jerk," she said, all hoity-toity.
He snorted. Couldn't help it.
"Can you at least slow down? I'm wearing heels, Spike. As in 'I'm so glad I don't actually need to feel my toes'--"
He spun around and popped her in the nose. No real force behind it, but she was caught off guard. Flash of anger danced behind her eyes for a flicker of a second, but the effect was lost as her eyelids fluttered shut and she slumped forward. Spike caught her as she passed out, more than pleased with how he handled the situation. Giving the area around them a quick once-over to make sure no prying eyes were there to stand as witnesses, he stuck her suitcase under his right arm before hauling her limp body towards him.
Still a light-weight.
He half-carried, half-dragged her over to his car, tossing the suitcase onto the roof of it while he dug around his pant pockets with his free hand, searching for his keys. Found them, clicked the little mechanical button and unlocked the doors, and stuffed the unconscious Slayer into the passenger side. Slid her seatbelt over her-- safety first, after all. Whistled as he kicked the door shut and made his way to the driver’s side, grabbing the suitcase before slipping into the car as well. Stole a look at the knocked out bitch to his right, grinned, and gave a twist of the wrist as the car purred to life.
Damn, was he good? Bloody right he was.
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!