(Author's Note: PLEASE READ! This story is one of three possible pieces. I'm writing three chapters of each and I'll continue the one that receives the highest number of positive reviews. You get to choose what you want to read. All three stories have several things in common, all are set in Season One and all deal with slightly altered versions of Spike's origins. This story is an AU of the AU series I've been writing that began with 'This is the Way the World Ends.' You do not need to have read either of the others in the series. This story really doesn't have much to do with them. Spike has been around for a while here and he's a little tired. But there's another Slayer that needs his help and he doesn't have a choice. When has he ever?)
What will one day be known as Spain.
Approximately, 1000 A.D
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her name was Esperanza and she was the fifth in a line of warriors he had chosen to destroy. He had killed the second and the fourth before her. The first and fifth had already been killed before he could reach them.
She fought like a Goddess. He should know, he'd seen several Goddesses in action. Her hair was so black it shone blue in the firelight. She had a stake carved out of olivewood. But she hadn't gotten the chance to use it.
The creature known as 'Spike' had already had many names. When he was alive and living with his clan as a child he had a name. He barely remembered it now. When he had been stolen away by the raiding Germanic tribe they had given him another name. When he was sold as a slave he was given another.
As a warrior in his new tribe, he was turned by one of the first vampires ever to walk the earth. Then he chose his own name.
He had her now, his arm wrapped around her throat in a headlock. It was a classic feeding position and nearly unbreakable. He had been turned nearly fifteen years now. This would be his third Slayer and his name would be whispered fearfully from Gaul to Sumeria.
As his fangs approached her throat, the sweet smell of her fear hit him. But she did not tremble as the others had. She stood strong, bravely awaiting death.
That was the moment he would always believe he fell in love with her.
* * *
Sunnydale, California, Present day.
Spike shielded his eyes from the bright glare of the sun. He hated America.
It had nothing to do with the country's politics, or geography, or even its people.
It had everything to do with its malls. They were crowded, air-conditioned alters of Hell.
Spike would know, he'd been to Hell several times.
Always visiting, he wouldn't want to live there. Even though Lucifer had offered him ownership several times now.
But they were necessary evils if one wanted to get the essential for a brand new living space.
He was here because of a Slayer, the reason he'd been to most places in the last three millennia. He preferred the East Coast of the U.S if he had to live there. California had a surreal, impermanence about it that always made him nervous. Lyra seemed to love it, however. The small child swung his hand and hopped about in her new Barbie flip-flops, oblivious to her father's discomfort.
She was very proud of her new footwear and he had to keep stopping her from pointing them out to total strangers. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress with little flowers on it and her pink plastic sunglasses shaped like stars.
Spike grinned down at her because he couldn't help it. There were mornings she was the only reason he got up.
“Daddy, can we get Elmo sheets?” Lyra stood up on tiptoes and pointed to one of the notorious 'Bed-In-A-Bag' sacks on the Wal-Mart shelf. Spike winced, he hated that little bugger. He spent most of the last Christmas fighting off little old Jewish grandmothers to find her one of the 'Tickle-Me' dolls and he had nightmares ever since.
Besides, the little git had an annoying voice.
“Sure, petal.” He tossed the plastic covered monstrosity into the cart.
* * *
“So, I get an Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Buffy asked, twirling her stake.
It was a rare night, Giles had offered to patrol with her and show her the town's twelve cemeteries. She assumed it was rare, anyway. She had only been in town two weeks and had hadn't done it before.
“Well, I suppose you could call him that. He's been helping Slayers since before the Watcher's Council was even a dream. I've never had the opportunity to meet him. He's lived for three thousand years. Imagine the wisdom he'll be able to impart!”
“Yeah, he sounds like a riot.” Buffy said flatly. She absently staked a rising fledge without pausing, “When is he coming again?”
“He's already here from what I've gathered. He's settling in. He has the child to consider after all.”
“He's got a kid?” Buffy asked, incredulous, “I thought you said he was like a vampire.”
“Yes, a vampire redeemed by God and wandering the earth on a holy mission. Having a child seems rather bland in comparison with all of that.” Giles checked his watch, “I really should be going. Research and all that.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and waved as he walked away, “Yeah, never mind that I have a mountain of homework.”
* * *
Buffy's Obi-Wan Kenobi was currently braiding hair.
Lyra had a beautiful mane of golden curls that every woman who met her commented on. But it was an absolute bitch to do anything with.
He swore he spent hours washing it and detangling it and combing it and brushing it and attempting to style it.
Braids, however, he had mastered. He spent half an hour forming a set of neat, braided pigtails for her first day at school. At the end of it he felt as though he'd conquered England again.
But Lyra turned and smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek, “Thanks, Daddy.” And she skipped off to get her new backpack.
Spike felt like he could lead the charge on Troy again.
Or even attempt a French braid.
* * *
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