Little Bitty Puzzle Pieces

By PJzallday

Reminisce

Harris had been unwilling to let "Spike" into the house. Although the guy seemed harmless enough — oddly reserved and quiet but not in a sly manipulative sort of way — the Sunnydale veteran knew it was best not to take too many chances when it came to inviting "people" into one's home. As a compromise, Alex agreed to go for drinks at a local bar, so after telling his girlfriend that the visitor on their doorstep was an old friend having some personal problems that he didn't care to discuss in front of a stranger, he accompanied said "old friend" outside to where his truck was parked. "So tell me, Spike," he said with considerable suspicion, "what kinda game are you playing?"

Outside the passenger's side of the pickup, John rested his elbows on the box rails and explained, "I dunno who I am. Or at least I don't know who I was. 'bout seven months ago I woke up in hospital. I don't remember anything from before that."

The carpenter climbed into his truck then leaned across and unlocked the passenger door. As the other man boarded the vehicle, Harris was hit by the delayed reaction to what he'd said. "What do you mean you 'woke up in a hospital'?"

Anxious and distracted by his own thoughts, John was oblivious to the carpenter's tone so he simply answered his question, "Apparently some old folks found me on the beach. Dehydrated. Sun-burned. Barely alive."

Alex's eyes popped. "Barely?" He couldn't believe what he was thinking, but Harris had to know. Quickly, he reached to grab Spike's hand; it was warm. Still holding the hand, gripping tightly and pulling it towards himself, Harris leaned over and put the fingers of his other hand to the man's neck. A strong pulse! "Holy shit, Spike!" Harris exclaimed. "How did you do it?!"

More than a little edgy when his supposed-friend lunged for his throat, John jerked back and countered, "'fraid I'm not followin'."

"Whoa. You really don't know what you were before, do you?"

***

When she finally felt she had no more tears to cry and her breathing had eased, Buffy crept to the bedroom door listening intently for sounds. There were none; except for her, the apartment was empty. She went to the bathroom and slipped from her dumpy clothes as she turned the taps to run a hot shower. For a long time, she had the heat and pressure of the water ease her tense muscles while the humidity cleared her head. When she felt she'd pulled herself together, Buffy climbed out, dried her body, wrapped a towel around her head and went to her room to find something to wear.

After drying and fixing her hair and applying a little makeup, she emerged from the room dressed in a warm comfy turtle-necked sweater, cargo pants (into which she'd tucked a couple of stakes) and a pair of sensibly-heeled black boots. From the front hall closet, she pulled a leather jacket and slid it on. Standing in the foyer, she peeked in the mirror and found, looking back at her, the young woman she hadn't seen in months.

Judging herself ready, Buffy grabbed her keys and purse then headed down to the garage to get her car.

***

On the ride to the pub, John recounted what little he knew of his life concluding with his having seen the carpenter on television days earlier. "So that's about it. For all the time, the tryin'… I haven't gotten far. Just flashes here and there. Even police searches didn't turn anything up. Nothing conclusive, anyway. On the bright side: I'm not a mass murderer or summat."

At the declaration, Alex choked and hit the brakes.

"Bloody hell!" John slammed his hands on the dashboard as his seatbelt locked.

"Sorry. I… ah… thought I saw a parking spot," he tried to cover for the jolt. "So the police ran finger print checks?"

"Yeah. Early on they got some partial matches," John explained. "Turned out some of those unsolved cases were thirty years old and more. I guess it's not all that uncommon to get false leads."

Harris chuckled uncomfortably suspecting the leads were far from false. "Here we are." He motioned to the building across the street.

Inside the bar, the pair found a corner table as far removed as possible from the rumble of the crowd and the flirtatious women to whom John appeared blind and that Harris knew Nicole wouldn't appreciate. They shared a bit of idle chat about the place and flagged down a waitress to order a round of beer.

After being served, John was in the midst of a swig when he noticed the darker-haired man staring at him. As he lowered the bottle, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Spike… ah… Sorry: John," Harris corrected. "This is gonna take some getting used to."

John was impatient. He didn't much care what the other man called him so long as the guy had answers for his questions. "S'alright mate, just tell me what you know."

"I just can't get over the fact that you're alive!" marvelled Harris, unable to look away from the familiar face across the table.

"Yeah," John sighed unimpressed. "You said that."

"Well, we thought you were dead," the other man explained. "I mean actually dead. Sunnydale got sucked into hell and we thought you went with it."

"'m not. I didn't. Look, I just-"

"You don't get it though: you were. You were dead- Undead." Realizing he was getting a bit boisterous, Alex spoke more softly but maintained the animation of his expression, "Spike, you were a vampire."

"Rrright then," John mumbled with disbelief. That vampires existed didn't come as a complete shock — working nights, the parking lot attendant had seen some pretty peculiar things — but the idea that he had actually been a vampire seemed unfathomable. "That's quite a tale."

"But you were! For a hundred something years, you were a bad guy. Really bad," Harris insisted, "or so you said."

"S'ppose I was to believe you," John countered cautiously, "how can I be alive now? And why didn't I ever bite you?"

"Well, on the alive thing: no idea. But the biting, you tried. Lotsa times," the other man replied defensively, "but I was just- OK. You didn't. But that's only because most of the time you were in Sunnydale, you had a chip in your head."

"A chip?"

"A computer chip," Alex specified, eliciting a shake of the head and another raised brow from the opposite side of the table. "No, really. An elite group of secret government military commando demon-hunters captured you and their scientists implanted you with a computer chip that zapped you with electricity if you tried to hurt people."

"But I don't 'ave anything in my head," John insisted pointing to it. Somehow from the look on the other man's face, he knew Harris was going to make some kind of wise-crack, so John quickly clarified, "I've had scans and none of 'em showed anything but grey matter."

"Well, last spring you got it out. It was breaking down and…" he trailed off. Harris deduced that Spike really didn't know anything about his past including Buffy which put him in an awkward position.

"And what?" John urged.

"They took it out."

"If I was such a dangerous evil thing," the bewildered man countered, "why'd those government whats-its take it out?"

Harris was struggling around the Buffy-issue. "Well, you changed. You got a soul."

"You're off your nut, you are," the fairer man scoffed. With a shake of his head, he took another gulp of his beer. "If the vampire bit wasn't ridiculous enough… A vampire with a soul?!? That's laughable."

"Yeah… well… I never put a whole lotta stock in it," the carpenter conceded. "You blood suckers were all pretty much the same to me, but Bu-" No. Buffy was free of Spike; "John" seemed to have a decent life without the day-to-day danger and horror of demons and vampires that inevitably followed Buffy; and Xander hadn't kept in contact with his old friends. They were all better off. "But you helped save the world," he concluded. "I don't really know what else I can tell ya. I haven't been in touch with any of the gang in months. Not since I moved up here," he stated truthfully. "I had to get away from all that. I started a new life." He paused for a long draw of beer. "You should probably just go back to your own."

***

Buffy stood in the courtyard of the Hyperion Hotel remembering the time she'd spent there with Angel. Thinking of him refreshed the sting in her eyes. Though she'd known they couldn't be together, she hadn't stopped loving him.

"Hey B," the voice startled Buffy from her reverie. "Sorry. Didn't mean to-"

"It's OK Faith." Buffy brushed the tears from her cheek then turned to face her former foe. "Why aren't you…?" She motioned in the direction of the lobby where the others were gathered.

"Not really my thing. Everybody cryin' and huggin' and telling lame stories." Faith crossed her arms at her chest and shuffled her feet awkwardly. "I mean, yeah, I'm kinda messed up about Angel being dead and all; he was really good to me. But, I don't wanna hang out and whine about it. Ya know?" The dark Slayer glanced up and caught the sorrowful look on the other woman's face. "Geez… I'm sorry Buffy. Shit… I'm such an idiot, I-"

Buffy shook her head and strained a smile. "No. Faith, come on. It's OK. I don't want to hang out and whine about it either," she mimicked. "I'm angry. This shouldn't have happened."

"You're right. But Buffy, it was an honest mistake," Faith stated sending chills up the fairer-haired woman's spine. Noting her counterpart's visible shaking, she continued, "We've both done it, B: gotten carried away. Struck first; asked questions later." Faith huffed and flopped down on a bench. "Hell, I ended up in jail for it. So shit happens. There's nothin' we can do to change it. We can just try to make a better future." She stopped and thought for a moment. "Man… that was lame."

"Yeah." Buffy went to sit beside her. "But I get your point."

Neither spoke for several minutes then Buffy piped up, "So… What have you been up to?"

"The usual: slayin' and runnin' from the law — until Wes got me off."

Buffy quickly spun her head to look at the other woman warily.

"Not like that, B," Faith said with a sly grin. "His legal geniuses got me paroled."

The blonde turned her gaze to admire her boots. Somewhat sheepishly she asked, "You've been keeping up with the slaying then?"

***

After a few beers, some snacks and more conversation, the two men went back to Harris' house. "Do you mind waiting here?" Alex asked once they were inside. "I'll go see if I can find that card."

John nodded, feeling a great sense of disappointment as the other man went up the stairs. To say that what he'd learned about his life wasn't what he'd expected would be an understatement, but nothing he'd been told explained the flashes he'd had since even before he could remember first waking in hospital. Maybe the woman in his dreams was just that: a dream, or perhaps she was from a time before "Spike" had been in Sunnydale since Alex didn't seem to know anything about her.

On the way home, Harris had thought of something that might help John discover more of the answers he sought, something he supposed was upstairs. From the foyer, John could hear the low tones of the residents talking overhead and the sounds of someone rummaging through drawers and closets. It seemed to take a long time before things went quiet and the dark-haired man appeared again on the stairs.

"Here." Harris held out a small white card. "This guy might be able to help you with more of your questions."

John read the card. "Angel Investigations. Hey, um… I don't think I can afford a private investigator."

"Yeah, well he's not just a P.I.," Alex explained.

"Oh?"

"He's… kind of an old friend of yours."

John attempted to clarify, "Like you, you mean?"

Harris frowned. "Well, no. Not really. You knew him before you came to Sunnydale."

John groaned. "'e's a vampire. You're sayin' we were friends as vampires."

"More like family actually."

"Right then," the traveller mumbled. "S'ppose I should be off." He held out a hand. "Thanks for your help, Alex."

Harris shook the offered hand still amazed by the warmth of it. "No problem. And Spike… I hope you find some of the answers you're looking for. Good luck."

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