Distro: WLS, NHA, WWOMB, Mystifying Dreams, Redssoulmates, Poetry in Motion, Writings of the Femail, My Livejournal, Winter of Spillow.
Spoilers: everything ever.
Pairing: S/W, mentions others.
Rating: mildly adult (or R)
Warning: mentions domestic violence, mature situations, violence, language, bloodplay.
Summary: Post NFA and Spike feels the need to wander for a while. Guess who he wanders across?
A/N: Thanks to Kat for the beta. This part is for the <lj user ="winter_spillow"> I will not be posting the rest of this story until it is completed. I have way too many WIPs out there already.
Feedback is appreciated and will let me know if I should even continue writing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 1~
There were days when he missed them: Fred, Gunn, Wesley, Lorne, even Harmony. When he looked at Illyria he, unlike Angel, was not confused about what she was. He was just glad she had been on their side that night. She tore into the demon horde sent after them by Wolfram and Hart with a viciousness that shocked even him.
And Angel slayed the dragon.
That they had actually won still boggled his mind, but he took the good with the bad nowadays with surprising complacency, just happy to be undead and pretty much guilt free.
Spike tossed the butt of his cigarette out the driver's side window and considered, for the tenth time in as many days, turning back. He could. Angel and Illyria would both secretly be pleased, but he stayed the course, such as it was. He needed to be away from that whole saving the world scene for a bit. Eventually, he would return to them, to him, but this little road trip was necessary.for his soul. He had his cell phone and if they truly needed him, he was only a call away.
In the distance, he saw a faint twinkling of lights and smiled slightly. A city, or town, but more importantly, a motel and a day of sleeping in a bed. The last dawn caught him by surprise and he was forced to camp out in a cave, unwilling to chance parking under trees and sleeping in the backseat. State troopers leaned towards nosy about corpses in cars.
He increased his speed and concentrated on the drive for the rest of the way. Upon arriving in the town he spotted a truckstop with the obligatory diner attached, another restaurant of a nicer caliber, several gas stations and fast food places, and two motels. Further up the street, maybe half a mile, seemed to be the heart of the town, but nothing appeared open for business yet. Not that he had any business to handle; he was just the curious type.
He pulled into the lot of the nicer motel since it proclaimed to have free cable and HBO. He checked-in and, once inside his room, collapsed on the bed just as the day broke over the mountain crest.
~~~*~~~
The harsh rays of sunlight filtering through the sheers on the window woke him. His inner clock told him it was about two in the afternoon, but he looked at the digital one beside the bed anyway.
Carefully, he approached the window at an angle and pulled the cord, closing the heavier drapes that he carelessly forgot about that morning. He wasn't too worried about burning up by sunlight while sleeping since the marvelous pain of it woke him before too much damage could be done. He had also discovered that it took a bit more time in the sun to affect him now. He supposed it was a product of his prior burning in the Hellmouth, but never had a chance to ask Fred about it.
Glancing around the room, he silently cheered upon spotting the microwave, small coffee maker, and the mini-refrigerator. The cooler containing blood was sitting next to the bed, where he dropped it along with his holdall. He placed several bags in the refrigerator, keeping out two for heating now.
He was still wearing his coat and stripped out of it while his breakfast was in the microwave. It had been three days since he'd had warm blood so he didn't stray too far from the small oven. He didn't exactly run but the ding never had a chance to finish before he opened the door and swirled the hot fluid under his nose inhaling the tempting aroma.
Human.
Angel had a problem controlling his demon after drinking human blood and assumed it was the same for his grandchilde, as well as the vampires in his employ while playing at being CEO of Wolfram & Hart. It was far from true for the blonde vampire. His time being chipped and defenseless afforded him more control and patience than he could explain. He could still feel a ghost of a headache when he contemplated, seriously contemplated, killing for sport.
He was Pavlov's dog.
It had remained a constant source of contention between the two vampires since the final battle but Spike refused to be saddled with Angel's guilt. He had enough of his own and was dealing with it quite well. So human blood it was.
After feeding, he showered and brushed his teeth, human and demon, before flopping back onto the bed, remote in hand. He had a few hours left before he was able to roam around and check out the town; besides, there was free HBO.
~~~*~~~
The diner was much nicer on the inside than it looked on the outside. Spike considered this with a little laugh. Had it been the opposite, he may have passed. Instead he seated himself, as the writing on the portable whiteboard so politely commanded.
A waitress, Millie, came over to his booth and poured coffee without asking, taking his order without ceremony. When she left, he picked up the thick white mug and pretended to drink the hot beverage. He never really enjoyed coffee. It was bitter and left an aftertaste that only blood could kill. But it was very useful for warming cold, preternatural flesh and convincing the prey that he was one of the sheep, like them.
Sooner than he expected, a plate of Buffalo wings and a beer were placed on the table in front of him by the ever-so-social Millie. He gave her a small smile and said thanks. Her reply was a grunt as she sped off to the next table.
He ate in silence, watching the truckers and town's citizens go about their evening's activities and thinking that he would call Los Angeles after he was done. Angel got rather cranky if Spike failed to check in periodically. His grandsire's definition of the word meant every morning after dawn, while Spike leaned toward whenever the mood struck him.
The wings weren't that great and after three he knocked back the rest of his beer, signaling Millie for the check. She came over and placed the ticket on his table just as he turned on the cell phone. Her eyes narrowed with stern disapproval while he dialed, but he ignored her and listened to the ringing on the other end. The alternative was to wait for her to take a break and drain the annoying bitch, and his demon gave this option two thumbs up so it was a real possibility...but he was certain that he would resist that delicious pull into darkness.
Today.
The voicemail picked up and Spike left a message, only realizing that the sun had set in California by now and that his grandsire and Blue were probably out killing things. A surge of longing traveled his slight frame; thoughts of killing things usually brought that on. Just like women got positively giddy over a good shoe sale so did he about creating death. Although he would never use giddy to describe anything about him. But he certainly had a passion for it that was only dampened by the soul for a short period, back when he was first learning to deal with it, adjust to it, manipulate it. Now it was just another aspect of his total package that he whipped out when needed and tucked away for safe keeping when the situation called for something more primal.
Killing Millie didn't rank.
Tossing a ten dollar bill on the table, he stood, finding the old waitress and meeting her hard gaze with a feral grin of his own. She faltered and blinked rapidly, he knew she would, and he sauntered to the exit, feeling pretty happy about leaving her alive. A major feat for the mood she put him in.
Before he could grasp the handle, the door opened inward, nearly hitting him, save for his own vampiric speed. His anger at the careless human peaked and fell quickly as the hurried apologies flew from her lips in a wild babble that Spike would have recognized even without his enhanced senses screaming at him.
"...in such a rush because I'm late and really, really am sorry," she carried on.
"Willow?"
She looked up from the items she had been gathering that had apparently fallen from her purse in the confusion, to see an exact look-alike for Spike. She frowned and skittered away, attempting to gain distance and stand at the same time, but was having trouble.
"Don't be him. Be anyone, but not him." She would even prefer it take Tara's form, but not Spike.
"Red? Why...What are you doing?"
She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, yelling at him. "You are not Spike!"
He stepped to her, suddenly sure of her problem, and grabbed both wrists, pulling them from her ears. "Sorry to disappoint, pet."
Her mouth fell open and she stared at the cool strong hands that immobilized her. "Spike?" He nodded, giving her a small grin. "Spike!" And then his arms were full of Willow. "Oh Goddess...how can...I thought...they said...and the Hellmouth collapsed. What happened?" She was confused and her heart pounded furiously in her small body, resounding so very loudly in his ears. She was still a treat.
"Long story. What are you doing way out in the deep cold nothing that is Wyoming?"
"Hey, Katey."
The bark came from the back and was attached to a large, balding, greasy man with a pot belly that hung low over his belt. Spike turned toward the sound, surprised to discover the human was speaking to Willow.
"You're late. Again." His voice was gravelly and grated on her nerves, but she liked him better this way, annoyed with her, because at least he was not making a pass at her.
"I know. I'm sorry." She didn't bother with an excuse; she did not want him that mad.
"Well, get your ass in gear. And I'm docking your pay."
Spike watched the volley as if it were tennis, his head going back and forth, as he wrapped his mind around what he was seeing.
The witch, the almighty and powerful witch, the hacker, the biggest brain around, was in some little nowhere town waiting tables.
"Not like you pay me enough anyway," she mumbled but the man was already gone back into his cave of an office. Spike heard her well enough and snatched her by her arm, more roughly than he intended.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Red?"
Wincing, she tried to shrug away without causing a scene. "I need money and I can't talk right now." She glanced over her shoulder, but Frank was still in the office. "And you kinda have some explaining to do too, mister I-was-dust-and-now-I'm-lurking-around-in-diners-vampire-with-a-soul-guy."
The smile came unbidden to his lips. She sounded so much like the girl he once tried to turn. Suddenly, she took a step back.
"You do still have a soul, right?"
He laughed. "Yeah, for what it's worth."
"Well...good. I get off at three. Come back and we can talk, okay?" It was cold out and she had layers of clothing to remove. He helped her with her coat and one of the sweaters, wondering how she got it all on.
"Sure, pet. I'll be back. Gotta make sure no nasties get you. Sorta like old times, yeah?"
Willow giggled and took off the last sweater, remembering how many times Spike had to walk her home to keep her safe. "Yep," she grinned. "See you at three."
He made his exit, coat billowing behind him, cool as ever, as her eyes watched with something like longing. Was it for Sunnydale and her old life and friends or was it something uniquely felt for Spike?
There was no doubt in her mind that she missed him terribly once he was gone. She never realized how much she enjoyed his snarky ways. Or the way she always felt a little better knowing he was fighting on their side, helping Buffy. He never failed them, even if he did not believe that.
"Katey!"
Sighing, she headed for her locker to store her stuff and get an apron.
next | back