Summary: Future fic. Vengeance, memory and the course of true love.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel (The Series). All of the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al.
A/N: Here is a new story, NC-17 eventually. I've been struggling with
it for a while now but I've decided to take a leap of faith and start posting.
:) This story includes slight alterations to the ending of BtVS. AtS S5 occurred
without Spike. The first few chapters of this story contain intentionally mixed
up chronology. It is meant to reflect the character's perspectives. I hope you
stay with it. This story mentions character deaths that occur outside of the
main plot line. Feedback: alp@magma.ca
5.
Buffy could hardly complain when Giles insisted she go home and sleep.
Sleeping on the furniture at the Magic Box was a sure sign that she'd
used up her not quite inexhaustible slayer strength. Reading that
cryptic monster story did little to help her circumstances. Deciphering
Watcher-speak always made Buffy's head hurt.
She should be calling Dawn with an update. When Dawn heard about what
had happened, she just wanted to come home. An East Coast scholarship
sounded really terrific until Dawn realized just how far away she would
be. That was kinda the whole point of going away in the first place, to
separate herself from Sunnydale and all things preternatural. Dawn could
be herself and everyone would see her instead of the slayer's sister.
This crisis had shaken her. She'd started chewing her finger nails again
and phoned daily for updates on the situation.
Willow sounded upbeat on the phone. Those reassurances helped a great
deal. Buffy tried her hardest to maintain a positive attitude for Dawn,
but old insecurities crept into her conversation. When Buffy's uncertain
silence started to freak Dawn out she'd launch into another 'I'm coming
home' speech.
The phone rang just as Buffy entered her house. She picked it up
quickly. It could be Dawn.
"Hello?"
"Greetings Buffster! I've got a brewsky in one hand and the registered
certification of my business in the other. You're talking to a card
carrying entrepreneur!" Not Dawn. Florida. Xander.
"Xander..."
"I had Ginny dissect the small print and it's a go. I've hired a crew
and we're ready to roll! I'm the boss man now. People will be calling me
sir..." He paused in order for Buffy to respond. Her lips trembled.
Prolonged silence ensued. "Feel free to insert congratulatory messages
at the beep...BEEP! Buffy? Are you there?"
"Yeah, that sounds great--"
"I am the owner of my own contracting business! How do you like them
apples? Put Spike on, I've got plenty of gloat to go around."
Buffy heard happy family sounds in the background. Xander left Sunnydale
far behind for Florida and construction work. He found peace and purpose
and the love of a woman named Ginny. He was a new father too. A boy.
Brendan Alexander. He had dark curls, burped at will and was seriously
photogenic. Just like his dad.
"Xander..."
"Buff? Where's he at? Buffy?" No one had told Xander. How could no one
have told Xander? Buffy's chin began to tremble.
"Hello? What's up?"
"Xander, I've got some news." She let the tears fall but thankfully held
off from blubbering into the phone. Xander was concerned for her first
and foremost and asked if there was anything he could do to help. That's
when her pain became audible.
Xander had a way about him. He was always the first to grab an axe, even
if it was only metaphorical, and start swinging. But it wasn't his job
anymore. Hell, it was never Xander's job. Xander had houses to renovate
and diapers to buy. Xander found the life he wanted and nothing was
going to jeopardize that, not if Buffy had anything to say about it.
She couldn't tell him much, but just talking helped. Xander was never a
cheerleader for Spike, but the First changed everyone and everything. He
struggled with bitterness over Anya's death, but chose to embrace a new
path and a new direction. Breaking free of Sunnydale and the past was
exactly what Xander needed. Florida had been good to him. Ginny had a
good business head on her shoulders and she loved Xander. That was
enough for Buffy.
They spoke in quiet consoling tones for a long time.
"Call me anytime, Buff. You know I'm here. Giles and Willow, they'll
figure it out. They always do." Optimism sizzled across the long
distance lines. Buffy remembered optimism. It came dressed in a Hawaiian
shirt and floppy trousers, carrying a hammer. Again Xander asked if
there was anything he could do to help. Xander made her feel like this
was just a bump on the road.
"Give that baby a kiss for me?" They said their good-byes and Buffy hung
up the phone. She lay down on the sofa and threw the tartan throw over
her body. Xander's encouraging words played again in her mind. She clung
to that feeling as drowsiness took her over the edge into sleep.
*
"You've got me worried, love, you're not sleeping." Spike whispered
softly into her temple and followed it by a kiss.
"I've been busy. We're working on this thing. It's important--"
"It's always important. What do you say we take the weekend? We could go
to the mountains. Into the city?"
"Can I get a rain check on that?" Buffy curled closer into his chest.
She didn't want to talk at all.
"What's this research anyway?"
"You remember, I told you already."
"I can help, you know."
"You are helping."
"What d'you say we order in some Mandarin? You liked that pork dish with
the almonds."
"Mmm, that sounds good. Give me ten minutes and I'll call."
"Give us the remote, love, my show's coming on."
Buffy opened her eyes and found herself reaching blindly for the remote.
Alone in the quiet room she could still feel the weight of Spike's arm
draped over her body.
*
When at last she returned to the Magic Box, Buffy was ready to face him
again. She swore to herself there would be no tears. Tears meant
weakness and whatever possessed Spike would fuel itself on her weakness.
She entered the steel room to find Spike lounging on the floor, propped
up on one elbow. It was an easy familiar pose. He looked relaxed and
calm.
"Got a cigarette?" He asked casually.
"I don't smoke." He swayed his head back and forth, assessing her. "And
no stake, I see. Well, darling, if you're not gonna stake me, bring me
some smokes or some whiskey. Preferably both."
Buffy forced the grin from forming on her face. That was him. Her Spike.
Impatient and demanding. Pretty soon he'd be tackling her and--
No.
That was not going to happen. She looked into his eyes and saw only her
reflection. He twisted the corner of his lips, evaluating her. There was
no recognition at all, not even the barest hint. Buffy took a deep
breath and idly grazed a hand over her abdomen.
Empty. She felt so empty.
"Time of the month, is it?" His sneer was cold and condescending.
"SHUT UP!" Buffy shrieked, threw a plastic container of pig's blood at
him and stormed out. Okay, maybe she hadn't steeled herself enough to
face him again.
Spike raised his hand and caught the jar. He blinked slowly and shook
his head at the retreating stranger.
"Women."
Spike pulled off the lid and drank deeply. He picked up a faint sound as
he swallowed his daily ration. It seeped gently through the crack at the
bottom of the steel door. It was definitely a sniffle.
Later she returned with a new resolve and stone face. She sat on the
chair and looked at him.
"You'd better tell me what's going on here, pet, before things get
nasty." He crinkled his nose at her and spoke with deliberate softness.
She knew all his voices and all his tricks.
"You're my guest and that's about it."
"And just who the fuck are you, love?" That hurt. To hear him say that
word. Love. She was his love and he was hers. But he said it in such a
blank way it held no meaning. It was just another overused vocabulary
word, like the and it.
Like like.
"My name is Buffy Summers," she spoke quietly and searched his face for
some reaction. Spike's forehead creased as he strained in thought. He
knew that name. Why did he know that name? The Annoying One...had he
mentioned it? Or one of his dance troupe? He'd definitely heard of a
Buffy Summers.
Yeah. Candy-coated, bubble gum name. It finally hit him.
"The bloody slayer?" Spike's eyes widened. That's what he'd sensed from
her. Where were his manners? Spike stood up immediately. She wasn't long
for the world, but he'd be polite before things got grisly. It was a
habit he'd never quite shaken from his human years. She was his for the
killing but at least he could show her common courtesy. Maybe this one
was a little slow. Didn't she know the rules of the game? Cute as a
blood soaked button though.
"Don't you have someone teaching you etiquette, sweetheart? The way this
is done?" He shook his chains for effect. "Come on, let's lose the
chains and go at this proper like. What do you say?" He was spoiling for
a fight, eager to kill. Spike tilted his head and drew is gaze over her
petite form. She didn't look like much, but he could sense the slayer in
her now, loud and clear. It had been forever, but she knew that stance,
that look of murderous delight and it was all pointed at her.
Buffy remembered that was a bonus of his arrival in Sunnydale all those
years ago. Curing Drusilla was his first priority, but he offered to
kill the slayer for a bonus. A lark. God, that was so long ago. Did he
have any memory of her? Of Sunnydale?
"Do you know me?" It broke her heart to ask that question.
"Heard about you, yeah...high school cheerleader slayer. Something like
that. Say love, you got a uniform?" A slow grin spread across his mouth.
"I always fancied a bird with enthusiasm...bet you can even do the
splits." He rolled his lips in a relaxed exclamation. "I can wait, pet.
You go grab your kit and pom poms and get changed and we'll get right to
it..."
Buffy made a irritated snarl in the back of her throat. "Do I LOOK like
I'm still in high school?" It annoyed her that he thought she looked
that naïve.
Spike regarded her closely. He knew the American education system was
shite, but even she looked a little long in the tooth for high school.
This one was old. An old slayer. The prospect tickled him.
Old for a slayer meant she was good and had lasted. This one would be
quite the notch on his belt. The Hellmouth must have really honed her
muscles but you could hardly tell by the loose fitting tracksuit she
wore. He suddenly wanted to see her muscles.
If only they could forego this cramped Thunderdome for something more
fitting. Spike thought of a better location: Main Street at midnight. In
a flash he had her dressed in a tight leather number, back lit and
glistening in a light rain with something thrashy by the Ramones-- no,
the Clash playing in the background. Yeah. That would be cinematic and
memorable for him. Pure poetry.
Spike shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to betray his rebounding
enthusiasm for her operatic demise. He attempted to sound uninterested
and aloof.
"Bad press package is all, Slayer. Hey, are we talking college
cheerleader?" He bit the tip of his tongue. That sent a lightning bolt
through Buffy's body. "Much nastier moves. Come on, love, give us a
peek." His gaze dropped to her hips and ass.
He was flirting with her. He wanted to kill her and still he was
flirting. He used to do that in the bad old days. It used to piss her
off, but now she couldn't stop her body's unconscious reaction to his
teasing, molten voice and those eyebrows. There was only one
alternative.
Retreat.
Buffy grit her teeth and left the room as quickly as she could. The
ghost of her arousal lingered after her. It was unexpected, but not
unappreciated. Spike stood in puzzlement, his nostrils flaring. He
inhaled deeply.
He'd have a bit of fun with this one before draining her.
6.
The soft chime of the doorbell caught Buffy's attention. She opened the
front door to find Giles on her doorstep. He apologized for arriving
unannounced at her door. It wasn't a problem. Buffy was glad for the
company.
"I was just going to warm something up. Have you eaten?" Giles set down
his briefcase and followed Buffy into the kitchen. The prospect of a
meal sounded too good to pass up.
"I haven't actually, no." Giles stood at the island counter and watched
as Buffy peered into the open refrigerator.
"I've got some pasta," Buffy peeled back a plastic lid and wrinkled her
nose at the unattractive contents. "And that's so seen better days." She
walked to the garbage can and tipped the container into the bin. The
congealed mass slipped into the trash with a resounding thud.
"I think there's some frozen curry." Buffy opened the freezer
compartment and brought out another container. "From the pot luck night.
Spike made--" Buffy's voice stopped in midstream. Spike made enough to
serve a visiting army of ravenous slayers. The curry was a big hit and
Spike made a most gracious host.
Buffy stared at the plastic container, transfixed by another memory.
Even dinner was a struggle these days. She let out a slow exhale and put
the frozen entrée on the island. Her mind idled on its familiar subject.
"He doesn't know who I am, Giles. He doesn't seem to have any memory of
Sunnydale at all. He's all 'Where's Drusilla? She's sick. She needs
me.'" Buffy looked from Giles' solemn face to the dinner Spike had made
a month ago. Within that frozen mass of legumes, ground beef and spices
was the flavor of Spike's affection.
"That seems to be the intent of the Alchemist's work. It has discarded
his memories of us. And I agree, he does seem quite preoccupied with
Drusilla."
"Well, we need to get his memories back. He's a hero. He saved the whole
world." After that outburst, Buffy walked into a spontaneous embrace. It
had been a while since Giles had been allowed to hold her and comfort
her. "He shouldn't be pining away for the psycho who did this to him."
An audible sniffle sent Giles into action. He offered his handkerchief
and she gratefully accepted. Buffy's sorrow was beginning to annoy her.
Sniffling and whimpering at the drop of a hat was hardly helpful to
Spike. In fact, it was getting in the way. She needed to get angry and
kick some butt. And start eating.
Spike experienced a periodic mope himself, but it had never put him off
his food. Buffy needed to stay strong and focused. The curry went into
the microwave. Giles set the table while Buffy sliced a baguette.
After they finished their meal, Buffy sat at the table rolling the edge
of her place mat between her fingers. They broached the problem once
more.
"What about Willow? Can't she do something and magick his memories
back?" What was the use of having a sometime goddess in the family
anyway?
Giles took a deep breath. Willow had already investigated and discarded
that possibility. "It's not as simple as that. Perhaps if some spell had
altered him then there would be a chance at a reversal, but his memories
have been," Giles reached for a neutral word, "taken...removed from him
completely."
"He thinks he's just arrived in Sunnydale."
"Apparently so. The demon appears to have removed selective memories but
his core personality does seem intact."
Buffy's expression soured. Her frustration surfaced once again.
"Personality? What are you talking about? He's a complete asshole! I
just want to throttle him and make him be Spike again."
"He is Spike."
"Spike can behave better than that creep."
"That was the Spike you knew, the Spike who came to love you. Think back
to what he was like when he first came to town."
Buffy thought and her mouth turned into a frown. "He was a jerk. All
puffed up ego and arrogant and--"
"Why don't I just tell him everything that's happened and see if he
remembers anything?"
Giles knew it would be difficult to keep Buffy's impulse control under
rational management as his own was being sorely tested. "We'll need to
proceed carefully here. He hasn't merely forgotten the past. The demon
has taken his memories and that means they cannot be retrieved. That
past no longer exists for him."
"Should I tell him that Drusilla's dead?" Giles winced and fluttered his
eyelashes. Impulse control was going to be a problem. Again, he chose a
calm and neutral response.
"That's probably not the best place to start. Why don't you give him the
paper? He can read. He can see for himself."
"Giles. He has a soul." She looked at him with guarded, watering eyes.
"I know, Buffy." Giles' face stilled. He wanted to show support but he
was under no illusions. Soulless Spike was an adversary he did not care
to face again. Neither of them voiced their fear. Did Spike still have
his soul? Or had Drusilla destroyed that as well?
*
"What?! How the hell did I fake the L.A. Times, Spike?" Buffy cried out
in exasperation. Spike refused to consider that the date at the top of
the page was the correct one. No matter what she said he refused to
believe her. As far as he was concerned, it was 1997. He was itching to
get back to Drusilla and then get as far away from the Hellmouth as he
could.
It didn't escape his notice that the Slayer used his name.
"Heard of me, have you?" That thought sent a blaze of macho
gratification through his belly. Spike straightened his shoulders and
began to pace in a proud manner. Cock of the walk. That's what William
the Bloody was. Yeah. So deadly to a slayer that he had to be captured
and held at bay. Fearful little bitty this one must be. He bubbled with
glee to think that his reputation had preceded him and that the scenario
he found himself in was somehow an offshoot of his fearsome skill as the
Slayer of Slayers.
"Right, I suppose I would figure prominently on the To Do list of any
slayer," his voice dropped seductively and he looked at her through
hooded eyes. "I got a thing for slayers, you know. I like them up
close," he paused and sucked in a shudder of air through his teeth. The
tingling tightness that accompanied those arousing memories was
something to be savored. "And bloody."
Buffy cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on the most neutral,
inane mantra she could think of -- flossing prevents gum disease,
flossing prevents gum disease -- anything not to acknowledge the bedroom
voice he just used. Too late. She felt her toes start to curl.
The reptilian smile that greeted her cooled her down instantly. Spike
took pleasure in sniffing the air in an exaggerated manner. She could
still feel what he scented and fought against her mindless response. A
nasty look of delight curdled the edges of Spike's eyes. Even like this
he got to her, under her skin, inside her mind, between her legs. It was
the undiluted attraction between vampire and slayer. Homicidal bloodlust
mixed with sexual need ricocheted off the walls of the small room and
infused both occupants. Attraction and repulsion bristled on both sides.
"I think somebody wants to play. Does kitty need a scratching post?"
That was one lurid grin. Again, retreat seemed the only option. Buffy
turned and almost reached the door.
"Slayer," his voice was low and gruff. "What say we lose the chains and
fight each other as nature intended...to the death. Come on now, you
know you want it." He morphed before her. "I'll show you mine if you
show me yours."
"Shut up! Just-- Shut up!"
"Ooooh. Rough talk. Does kitty have some claws or just a sweet pussy?"
Spike erupted into peals of laughter.
Buffy stood and shook with frustration. "Listen to me, you dolt. It is
NOT 1997. For the last time, it's 2005. Read the newspaper! You don't
know shit. Things have changed. You've changed. I've changed. Drusilla
has changed. Get the theme, Spike? Changed!" She roared out of the room.
Her tears and anguished respiration floated down the hall.
"Why is that chit always bloody crying?" Spike squat down and spread out
the newspaper. "And a fucking PEN would be nice to do the crossword!" he
bellowed at the door.
Suddenly the door flew open. Buffy stormed back into the room, red faced
and her chest heaving for air. She flung a bag of blood at him. A blood
donor bag.
"Taste that you jerk! You always said that blood cannot lie. So here's
the truth. You can choke on it!" She stormed out again. Down the hall,
through the shop, not even a good night to Giles. She needed to run. She
needed to roar. She needed to put her fists through as many demons as
she could find.
"Oh, I could dance with that one," Spike murmured as he slit the bag.
Again an unexpected fragrance filled his nostrils. He morphed and sucked
out the contents only to be stunned by an unmistakable truth. This blood
had an incredibly decadent bouquet of emotional turmoil laced with
dynamic physical strength.
This was slayer blood. Enemy blood. It was her blood.
What the fuck was going on?
Spike's eyes drifted to the date line on the newspaper spread out before
him. August 6, 2005. After draining the bag he carefully pealed open its
seams and methodically licked the intoxicating nectar from each plastic
surface.
The slayer willingly fed him her blood.
Changed wasn't a big enough word.
7.
Dancing was always a good sign even if there wasn't any music. He was
content to sit and watch. Drusilla was happy, that's all that mattered.
She swayed over to Spike and bent down, securing the locks on his
wheelchair. Then she gripped the arms of the chair and spoke lovingly
into his face.
"Don't worry Spike, I'll make you strong again. I'll make you mine
again. Dance with me?" She held out her hand in invitation. Spike looked
at his legs and couldn't move.
A tall chaos demon, antlers dripping with thick slime emerged from
directly behind Spike and took Drusilla's hand. They oozed gracefully
onto the dance floor. Spike tried to growl but could not. Drusilla
glanced over her shoulder toward Spike.
"Don't be a bad dog, Spike. You have friends to keep you company." Spike
glanced sideways and saw hundreds of gaunt huddled figures staring at
him in accusation, each with dry puncture wounds at their throats.
Drusilla's solemn voice filled his head.
"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."
Spike opened his eyes and stared at the blank ceiling. The reproof of
Drusilla's voice echoed in his gut like an old wound. Jangling images
rebounded in his mind as the uneasy feeling lingered. There was
something about Drusilla, something he couldn't quite grasp. Clearly
captivity did not agree with him. A chaos demon? Where did that come
from? Spike sighed and let the images dissipate. It was a pity, Drusilla
dreams were usually more entertaining than that one had been, and far
bloodier as well.
*
When Buffy returned the next day Spike was ready for her.
"I don't care what the soddin' calendar says. You tell me about
Drusilla. You said she changed. What? You dust her, Slayer? Is that it?"
"No." It was the truth.
Spike walked forward, stretching the chains behind him to their limit.
"You tell me where my Drusilla is, bitch, or I'll tear through my flesh,
out of these chains and rip out your bloody neck before you can reach
the door."
God. He'd probably try that. The Spike who loved Drusilla would have
done that. In a flash Buffy knelt and grabbed the wooden leg of the easy
chair.
"And she's skilled at improvisation!" Spike chuckled mirthlessly and
stepped back. He placed his hands on his hips and spoke in a relaxed
tone. "Slayer, tell me the truth. Where's my princess? I know you know."
"She...left."
"WHAT?! Fuck. That's such a weak lie, it's laughable." Spike slowed his
words so his dimwitted captor would understand. "She's not well, dearie,
and wouldn't be able to leave on her own. What are you playing at?"
"I'm not playing, William." Calling him by that name was not one of
Buffy's better decisions. It just happened. She merely wanted to show
him that she knew him. He reacted badly, and surged forward once again.
"You've got something going with Angelus, don't you? Tag team torture?
Is that it? Been there. Done that. NOT interested. If that's what you're
after, then break off that chair leg and stake me now because this pup
ain't playing."
"Angelus has nothing to do with this."
"You are a lying, bloody bitch, you are. It's been a long time, yeah,
but I'd know that scent anywhere."
"Not this again," Buffy let loose a weary sigh.
"And nobody, but nobody calls me that name."
"You can stop it right now. I know your prancing peacock act. I've seen
it. Seen. It." Buffy showed her strength. She'd need to be tough and
confrontational. This was Spike from long ago. Before he knew her.
Before he loved her. Before he changed the world for her.
God, Drusilla, Buffy cursed silently. I'd reassemble your dust just to
stake you myself.
"Angel is a friend. He's my friend. He's your friend." She hadn't heard
him cackle in years. It was a frightening sound.
This one was off her nut. "You are delusional. ANGEL?!" The name was a
sour screech. "Is that what those soddin' gypsies cursed Angelus with?
Hm? Is he a prancing poodle now or a nice soft door mat?"
"A friend. He's a friend."
"Right," Spike's icy _expression disconnected from his dark amusement. "A
'friend' with his scent under you skin. You gave me your blood, Slayer.
Did you think I wouldn't taste that? He's had you. Tasted you--"
Buffy clenched her teeth. "That's over! That's so...OVER!" Her mind
scrambled for something that would convince him. "Why can't your stupid
nose smell..." Her voice shrank to a faint level. "I guess a skunk can't
smell himself." Tears threatened. She fought them.
"Forget Angel, Spike. What about this? Did I fake this too?" She pulled
at her neckline, turned her head and pointed to a small area of
accumulated scar tissue. Spike moved forward by mindless instinct, his
gaze fixed on her neck. Something jostled inside his body, a sort of
ticklish throb. He licked his lips and felt himself harden.
It wasn't just the temptation of a revealed neck, ripe for the biting. A
recognition rose out of his depths. Somehow Spike knew that he had
bitten her. Those were his marks. How could that be? There was no memory
in his head, but he felt it in his gut. She had let him drink from her.
His throat thickened with emotion and an aching hunger while his eyes
took in the unbelievable, a grouping of tiny healed punctures. It was a
beautiful sight, no question. He'd marked her. What the bloody,
buggering hell was going on? Spike knew who he was. What he was. He
fought slayers. He drained slayers. He didn't mark them and he
absolutely didn't cl-- No. Not that. No self respecting creature of the
night would ever do that. This was a trick...a scam...a hoax. If he
stayed sharp and kept his wits about him, he'd figure it out.
Spike twisted his lips into a disbelieving smirk. He ignored the gnawing
in his gut that confirmed the truth and spoke with detached derision.
"So...you're telling me...What? I came to Sunnydale with Drusilla, she
left me and you consoled me with your open legs and neck? That's full
service slayering, that is."
"No, that didn't happen, not like that."
"Then like what? Because there's only one way I know my mark would EVER
be on your neck and, the thing of it is love, you're bleedin' well still
alive." His voice rose to a higher pitch of incredulity.
"What did you do, Slayer? Take some pointers from Angel and turn me into
your lap dog? Is that what this is? I snapped out of it and you want to
turn me back? Forget it. I don't want to know anymore." Spike paused and
then tried a different tack.
"Strike a bargain, Slayer. Let me go and I'll leave this town for good.
I'll find Dru myself and you'll never see hide nor hair of me again."
"I can't let you go."
"Why the hell not? I do know how to keep my word."
"I know..." she spoke softly. "I know you were a gentleman." He looked
at her and blinked, taken aback. What exactly did she know about him?
And if this wasn't a game, what was it?
"It's not safe for you. There's too many slayers. You'd be staked for
sure."
"Too many? Don't talk daft. There's one slayer at a time. I should
know."
"Things changed. I told you. There was a calling of slayers. All the
ones we trained are active now."
"You mean there's more of you? A stake happy brigade? Bloody--"
"Drusilla did this to you, Spike. She did this to hurt you, to turn back
the clock and make you love her again." Spike caught that reference.
Love Drusilla again. Again? He already loved her. They were forever.
Nothing would come between them. "I don't know, maybe she had some
notion that you'd follow her to the ends of the earth so she could hurt
you again."
Drusilla was fond of games, especially punishing games. "You're in this
with...Drusilla?" That made no sense at all, but nothing in this blank
room made sense. Spike grasped at whatever straws he could, struggling
to keep his head above water.
"NO! Get a clue would you? I didn't do anything. Drusilla did.
Impulsive, irrational, grind you beneath her insane heel Drusilla."
Spike started to pace.
"Drusilla left you, Spike, she did. First she left you for a Chaos demon
and nearly drove you insane. Then she left you again for a Fungus demon.
And she blamed you all the while. She captured you and put something in
your brain. It ate up your memories. Now you're back there, back in
Drusilla's tea party dreamland. She did this to hurt you. To take
everything from you. Everything you fought for. Everything you are. She
did this to destroy you."
Spike paced and glared at her, then paced some more. His mouth twisted
in thought while his jaw clenched and unclenched. As much as he wanted
to smash the Slayer's face for talking such rot, there was a glimmer of
possible truth that couldn't be totally discounted.
Drusilla would do that, he thought. Yank my bloody chain. Punish me
because it rained on her bleedin' dollies. The other demons part of the
scenario was completely believable. When Drusilla got it in her mind to
follow her wandering eye, she wasn't exactly the most discerning of
individuals. Whatever the truth was, Spike needed to find it out.
"Where is she, Slayer?"
Buffy balked, not knowing how to proceed. Hadn't Giles urged caution in
exactly this area? She knew she'd told Spike too much already and her
silence was only making him more and more agitated.
"WHERE?"
Sh-she's-- She's dust, Spike."
What happened next scared Buffy and shook her. It broke her heart.
Spike's face broke. He morphed and roared and surged forward, falling in
a heap onto the cement floor. Howling. Raging. Crying out her name. His
black goddess. His sire. His moon for over a century. Buffy ran from the
room.
His primal howls echoed in her ears as she ran home through the fresh,
dark night.
8.
Buffy raced through the dark empty streets and finally found herself at
her own front door. Once inside she ran to the basement and began
pounding on Spike's heavy bag. Her fists flew with relentless precision,
each one flattening Drusilla over and over again.
Buffy tried to think of a suitable punishment, something that would
equal the devastation Drusilla had brought to town. Any horror Buffy
imagined would probably be a thrill ride for Drusilla, or a wet dream.
Nothing would suffice. Buffy didn't even have the satisfaction of
staking Drusilla herself. But Drusilla was gone for good. This was a
certainty. A slayer hadn't staked her, but a slayer and a member of the
coven Willow worked so closely with witnessed her destruction.
Drusilla would not be taking yet another curtain call in Sunnydale. But
what had she left behind? Could anything be salvaged from Drusilla's
malicious tampering?
Over the years, Buffy often thought that she wouldn't change her past
with Spike. There had been horrific and hurtful experiences aplenty, but
she and Spike had survived them all, ending up together; a real couple
who were really in love. It was an achievement they both treasured.
Spike had gotten over Drusilla long ago and turned to Buffy. In the
beginning she did nothing to encourage him. Indeed, she fought him,
ignored him and ridiculed him. Later, after Buffy came to her senses,
Spike spoke fondly of their elaborate courtship. That's the word he
used. Courtship. He made it sound like Buffy had pursued him, but that's
the vampire mindset. Fighting, violence and blood play are tantamount to
foreplay and even outright sex for a besotted vampire.
Back in their courting days, Buffy bashed him with a fever she'd never
felt for anyone else. It was a confusing and revelatory time for both of
them. Mixed messages swirled between them like burning leaves on the
wind. Spike chased Buffy until she caught him.
All she needed to do was catch him again.
The truth was that Spike loved her first. He pursued her and teased her
relentlessly. He never gave in and he never gave up. There were plenty
of ugly bumps along the way, but eventually she grew to believe in and
trust his feelings. To want them. What was he now? A vampire who hated
her because that was his job description?
The Spike she faced in that awful room sniffed at her like she was the
most succulent dish on the menu. This was a being who never knew her.
Their past never existed to him. It was excised from his mind by a tiny
creature. But was everything gone? It was abundantly clear from his
actions and conversation that he wanted nothing more than to kill the
slayer.
To kill her.
Buffy swung her fist hard and dislodged the bag from its tether, sending
it crashing into the concrete wall of her basement. She slumped to her
knees on the floor, no longer burdened by the need to control her grief.
Giles said that Alchemist demons were restorative, medicinal even. She
could think of nothing so debilitating to a demon than a soul. Guilt.
Conscience. Self loathing. These traits were an anathema to demon kind.
How on earth was she going to determine whether Spike's soul was gone?
Spike's condition was more than just amnesia. Amnesia at least held the
possibility of memory restoration. Buffy's mind raced around a well worn
track. What if he never comes back to me? What do I do? What if I
can't-- If he won't-- Buffy tortured herself with the what ifs until her
mind shut off. Not thinking was better than the alternative.
She forced herself to standing and walked like a mindless automaton up
and out of the basement. The alien silence of her home crushed her;
there should be sounds...the television...the stereo. Laughter.
Conversation. Bickering. Not this emptiness. But there was nothing. Not
even the ghosts of whispered kisses. Buffy stood in front of the open
refrigerator in a half hearted evaluation of its contents. She took a
long swig from the orange juice carton and then locked up and headed
upstairs.
Even a long shower failed to soothe her restlessness. Their bed was too
big for her alone, but she climbed in anyway and pulled his leather
duster over her naked body. It was a comfort. His scent was there, sweet
and clean. His touch was there, soft and buttery. His affection was
there, stalwart and true.
Buffy lay still with her eyes closed and waited for him. He wouldn't
keep her waiting long. His voice entered her mind as it always did, that
tantalizing voice made rough and seductive in her imaginings.
"Oh, very nice."
"You like that hmm? How about this?"
"You taste so good."
"That's my girl."
"Buffy...Buffy..."
Mindless to the fury of her hands between her legs, Buffy arched into
the darkness of her room and cried out his name. With a wink and a soft
caress he receded into the recesses of her mind leaving her alone once
more. That's when the tears came. This had become her new routine. No
sobs or whimpers but a dread feeling that he was lost to her forever.
*
It was late the following day when Buffy came into the Magic Box again.
She sat at the table and listened impassively to Giles. He'd kept silent
about a few things but they needed to be said. Peripheral issues Buffy
had continually forced from her mind now needed to be acknowledged and
addressed. Buffy took a deep breath and listened. Arrangements had to be
made. Contingency plans. Spike was too dangerous a factor to be ignored.
He could never be allowed to return to his vampiric ways. Buffy nodded
blankly as Giles spoke.
Giles was sensitive to Buffy's loss, but she was not the only one
affected. Spike could pose a danger to the world in his current state.
Should he escape, Spike could sire an army and run amok through the
world. The line was already drawn. Weeks earlier when they witnessed the
undiluted demon show, Giles drew up a plan. A phalanx of slayers could
be activated at a moment's notice to hunt Spike down if he managed to
escape. The relentless nature of Giles dire predictions began to grate
on Buffy's nerves.
"I can't hear this, Giles."
"Buffy..." Giles' tone was gentle but firm. It wasn't that his words
were a great surprise to Buffy. Giles never lost sight of the big
picture.
"No. I can't think about that because it's not going to happen." Buffy
forced herself to stop those kinds of thoughts. She couldn't think of
Spike hunting again, killing and feeding like he once had. It was
equally difficult to think of him as a prisoner locked up in a strong
box for fear he'd go back to the bad old days. "It's too early to think
like that anyway. Spike's smart. He can adapt."
Spike had certainly proved that time and time again. For a supposedly
unredeemable creature he had shown remarkable resilience. Even before he
gained his soul he proved he could be helpful, compassionate and a team
player. Unlike Angelus, Buffy was certain that evil had never truly
owned Spike. He had other worlds within him, worlds of words and ideas,
and they existed long before he came to Sunnydale. For Buffy, those
undeniable truths were the essence of Spike and they existed well beyond
the confines of recent memory.
Giles didn't push it any further. He knew better than to challenge her
faith in Spike. Besides, Buffy was right. They weren't under any kind of
deadline and there was further research to be done. In the past Spike
had proved himself a surprising and resourceful individual.
Giles had even gained a begrudging respect for Spike over the years.
They understood each other as former adversaries and as men who loved
Buffy. Spike had shown himself a hero, a champion, and for the whole
world besides. His actions made Giles re-evaluate the dogma he'd staked
his reputation on. It wasn't as if redemption was going to be the next
big demon fad. One was enough. One alone was worth a lifetime's
investigative research.
Spike proved himself in the caverns below the high school during the
final battle in the Hellmouth. Bathed in a transformative light that
Buffy and a few of the other slayers witnessed, Spike accepted what
would come, ashes and a torturous oblivion. The sting of his soul's
purity paled in comparison to the fires of incineration but still he
stood resolute and let the fire take him.
After that flashy and excruciating bit of business Spike embraced
nothingness. Nothingness proved strangely satisfying. Curiously, there
was no pain or torment, nor a somber recitation of his crimes. Instead
of being the new piece of rotisserie flotsam dangling over a fiery pit
of hell, Spike found himself in a stone courtyard covered in vines.
Apparently hell had a waiting room.
A genderless being with sparkling silvery skin wearing a toga appeared
and spoke to him. Spike's account of their interaction was vague at
best. A brief conversation ensued, followed by the luminous being
referencing an enormous text. The being pointed to a paragraph and read
the same lines over and over. Its placid complexion betrayed a shimmer
of irritation. Something was amiss in the great scheme of things and
Spike was hip deep in it.
From Spike's perspective, the absence of red hot pokers and Perry Como's
unending melodious voice was a pleasant enough reprieve in itself. He
couldn't fathom what the problem could be. Hello? Vampire. Didn't they
know he was coming? Surely there would be a reservation for William the
Bloody. Disorganized was not a word Spike would ever have associated
with purgatory. He always assumed it would be a professional operation.
The radiant creature betrayed signs of agitation and Spike was the
focus. He was most definitely not meant to incinerate. That kind of
unnecessary and showy display was not needed to complete his redemption.
Certain references were made to Spike's role in some future events. The
word significant had been used. Interference with significant beings was
not to be tolerated under any circumstances. That kind of meddling
spurred higher plane types into immediate action. Consequently, Spike
was returned with all due haste.
The next thing Spike knew, he crawled up and out of the sink hole that
sealed the Hellmouth proper and also destroyed twelve city blocks of
prime commercial real estate. A hellish rain beat down on him as he
struggled across the crater bottom. Five days of rain filled the
resulting sink hole and transformed it into a reservoir.
Spike made his way through the devastated city to Revello Drive.
Amazingly, many outlying residential neighborhoods remained mostly
unaffected by the massive downtown destruction. Days later, when the
devastated town held more television news crews and perspicacious
journalists than curious returning residents, the surviving slayer army
trickled back to Revello Drive to survey the damage. Like a leather clad
Goldilocks happened upon unawares, Spike awoke on the sofa and looked up
into the flabbergasted faces of his allies.
The geological incident inexplicably resulted in quieting the localized
fault beneath Sunnydale. The Sunnydale Sink Hole became a must see
tourist site and a beacon for seismological experts and enthusiasts
worldwide. As a result, the town enjoyed a building and population
explosion. Sunnydale became a boomtown the likes of which California
hadn't seen in a century.
9.
The arrival of Buffy's period forced her to stay away from Spike for a
time. Giles looked in on him periodically and delivered blood but Spike
remained unmoved and unresponsive, neither acknowledging Giles' brief
appearances nor Buffy's absence. When she did return, Buffy sat quietly
doing some paper work on her knees. It was mindless busy work and was
soon completed. Buffy shuffled her papers further, pantomiming being
occupied in order to remain. She wrote out a grocery list and started a
letter to Dawn that turned into a page of doodles, all the while
stealing glances at Spike. He had not spoken a word since she told him
about Drusilla. It had been twelve days.
Spike lay prostrate facing the wall. He made no sounds. He never
registered the blood he was given, but the next day the containers were
always empty. He never stirred even if Buffy was present.
It was an untenable situation. Slayer resolve came into play as Buffy
struggled to control her emotions. She knew he abhorred pity most of all
and would certainly think of any emotion on her part as pity. However
desperately she wanted to console him, Buffy knew she could not. She
could barely last an hour alone with him in that interminable silence,
but Buffy held her tongue. She would be silent.
*
Again he wandered. Each direction felt familiar although the locations
differed: a forest path, the narrow medieval streets of an eastern
European city, the corridors of a deserted castle, the hallways of a
school. Spike followed the trail pushing himself beyond the boundaries
of exhaustion. Occasionally he would catch sight of a wisp of red satin
or the distant echo of an ominous giggle. That stimulus only urged him
onward.
In his mind a voice lulled: "I'll find you, I'll find you."
Spike ran through rain soaked back alleys, propelling himself up and
over a chain link fence, and then through a dark underground cavern lit
by torches until his legs gave out from under him.
Suddenly, she was there among the shadows.
Soft fingertips traced the side of his haggard face. Drusilla. Loving
arms enveloped his exhausted body. Drusilla. He fluttered his eyelids in
an attempt to get his eyes to focus. A curtain of hair touched his face
and that soothing voice calmed his weary mind again.
"I told you I'd find you." Sweet warm lips pressed against his forehead.
"I'll always find you." Spike opened his eyes in wonder to the beautiful
face before him. "Always."
He woke with the angelic vision of the Slayer still in his eyes. Spike
blinked the confounding and traitorous images from his mind and sat up
against the unyielding wall. What was wrong with him? He should be
dreaming about Drusilla and not the bloody slayer. Unfortunately, his
mind refused to cooperate.
*
"This is ridiculous, Giles. He's lying in there on the floor. He needs a
bed, a shower, and a change of clothes." Buffy paced near the rear of
the Magic Box, voicing her frustration. "He's dusty for crying out loud!
That place is worse than his crypt ever was."
Giles looked up from his book over the top of his glasses. "It was never
meant as more than a temporary holding cell, Buffy."
"Can you rough in a shower?" Giles pursed his lips in reaction to her
serious request.
"Buffy, if you must, there's a hose hook up in the hallway next to the
washroom." It sounded like a perfectly reasonable solution to Giles.
"Giles, I'm not going to hose Spike down. That's just wrong."
"He's hardly suffering for a lack of hygiene, Buffy." Okay, technically
that was true but Spike wasn't an ordinary vampire.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Giles. I know Spike. He would
want to be clean. He would want a change of clothes. I think he's
actually growing a beard!" Spike had extremely resistant beard growth,
but his chin was becoming noticeably fuzzy. There was also a persistent
eau de staleness that clung to the walls of the room. It was starting to
make Buffy's skin crawl.
Giles put his book down. "Buffy, clearly there are more pressing issues
here than comfort. Your safety is my paramount concern and I'd rather
you didn't spend so much time with him."
"He's in chains, Giles, what's he going to do?"
"I don't know and neither do you, that's the problem. He's
unpredictable...he could turn feral at a moment's notice." Buffy closed
her eyes and sighed.
"In case it's slipped your notice Giles, Mr. Fun hasn't drooled at us
for a while now. I know Spike will feel better if he could clean up."
Giles arched an eyebrow at her. "Okay, mostly I'll feel better. Giles, I
need to do this. It's important."
"What do you propose?"
*
When the door opened again Buffy entered with two pails of warm water
and some bathing accessories. Giles entered with an almost theatrical
flourish, with a crossbow in one hand and an ornate cross in the other.
Buffy was certain that wasn't necessary, but Giles insisted. Buffy set
down the pails and a roll of towels containing some bathing necessities.
The sight before her was encouraging. Spike sat impassively against the
wall, wondering what brought on this burst of generosity.
Buffy raised an eyebrow and looked at Spike in question. He raised his
wrists and tinkled the chains in reply. Buffy produced a key and stepped
forward.
"Buffy," Giles spoke up with alarm. He was having second thoughts about
the plan already. There had been no mention of removing the chains.
"Giles, what are we going to do? He can't put on clean clothes all
chained up." It disturbed Buffy to see Spike in chains and she wanted
them off for good. Once Willow put up wards around the cell to prevent
Spike's escape the chains seemed redundant and cruel. She was a slayer
after all and fully capable of defending herself or Giles if that was
required. "Besides, he's not an animal."
Those words piqued Spike's interest, that and the earnest manner in
which the Slayer spoke them.
"You don't know what he is in this state, Buffy." Giles maintained an
ominous glare at Spike.
"I know he'd want to be clean."
"Just toss the key then and step back."
Arguing at this point wasn't going to get them anywhere. Buffy did what
Giles requested and tossed the keys to Spike. She no longer felt fear in
Spike's presence. She felt compassion for his loss and for his feelings,
despite the fact that Drusilla and her slug like accomplice had
maliciously carved them into his mind. Spike was hurting and Buffy had
to find some way to help him.
Even though Spike appeared somber and subdued, Buffy knew he was
impulsive and perfectly capable of lashing out and seeking vengeance.
Spike kept his eyes on Giles while he slowly unclasped the manacles at
his wrists and ankles. A bit of a clean up sounded pretty inviting at
this point. Buffy turned to leave, wanting to give Spike some privacy.
Giles followed her closely, backing out of the room while his weapon
stayed trained on Spike. Once at the door, Giles pulled the chair out
with him and shut the door securely.
Instead of a snarling growl at the door as Giles predicted, they heard
some faint sounds of water splashing and the distinct musical hum from
the throat of the vampire. After twenty minutes Buffy prepared to
reenter the room.
"Get away from the door, we have weapons." Giles' voice was stern and
calm. He placed his hand on the door handle and a deadly _expression on
his face in readiness. The vampire would not catch him off guard for
even a fraction of a second. It was all a bit too much for Buffy.
"Giles, you don't have to threaten him," she scolded in a harsh whisper.
"And you do have the safety activated on that thing, right?" She stared
at the crossbow. She was in no mood for any macho exhibitionism. Giles
looked at her with disdain and hissed a whisper.
"I most certainly do not. Need I remind you, Buffy, that he is a killer.
He has voiced his intent to harm you on numerous occasions and if he
attempts to make good on those threats or escape, I shall stop him.
Let's be clear about that." Macho exhibitionism was a stubborn opponent.
"Why do you even need a crossbow in the first place? We went over this,"
Buffy mouthed the rest of her sentence, "staking is out." She glared her
disapproval at Giles.
"I can hear you two talking," Spike spoke with weighted impatience. "Do
I get some clean clothes or what?" Who was he dealing with anyway? The
two Stooges? Giles opened the door slowly and entered, aiming the
crossbow at Spike. He stood across the room with a towel slung low
around his waist and his hands at his hips.
"You two are a pair. Look, I'm not going to go all frothy on you. I'm
not Old Yeller." Spike's tone was neutral, yet derisive. He stared with
ridicule at Giles' exaggerated gait and rigid handling of the weapon.
"It's a wonder she puts up with you, Watcher. You really go in for the
melodrama, don't you? I can see how that might grate on a person." Buffy
pressed her lips together to squelch a guffaw.
"Be a love, Watcher," Spike adopted a dismissive air, "leave us alone,
would you? I need a word with your girl here." Spike bent down, grabbed
a tube of hair sculpting cream and squeezed a small blob onto his hand.
He then worked it through his damp hair.
"I hardly think that's likely to happen." Giles' tone sharpened with
suspicion.
"Giles, it's okay. I've got a stake. I'll be okay."
"Buffy, this is inadvisable in the extreme."
"Run along now, there's a dear." Spike made a dismissive shooing gesture
with his fingers.
"Buffy--"
"Spike told me once of a vampire The Master kept in a box, Giles, still
conscious after a year of not feeding. It was a...how did you put it
again? A dust skeleton but not dust. Remember that...love?" Buffy's tone
was chilly. Spike stared at her with disbelief as a shudder tickled down
his spine. He was already in a box and had some ambition of leaving it
and not becoming a conscious, evaporating cadaver. His head tilted as he
looked at the Slayer. Spike swallowed heavily. That was one of his most
disturbing memories and she knew it. If he told her that...
"Trust me to trust myself, Giles." Giles nodded curtly, flashed a narrow
eyed gaze of suspicion at Spike, and left the room.