Perfect World

By CousinJean

Part Two: Welcome to Sunny Hell

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, and then really wished that he hadn't. This was just a hallucination or something, brought on by the one-two punch of a concussion and booze. Right? Right. He stumbled forward to where his chair ought to be, turned around and, with complete faith that it would be there, proceeded to sit down.

And wound up sprawled on his ass on the concrete floor.

The pain that shot through his battered body was nothing next to the anger and panic bubbling up within. It rumbled upwards through his chest and throat and erupted out of his mouth with a roar of "Halfrek!"

His head began to throb again. Spike forced himself to stop grinding his teeth as he climbed to his feet. Ignoring his bruises, he shifted into vampface so he could see better in the darkened crypt. He checked the shadows in the corners, behind the tombs, inside them, finding nothing but the rotted corpses that he'd relocated long ago. Something almost tripped him, and he looked down to see a flimsy sheet of plywood covering the hole that led below. Spike kicked it out of the way and dropped through the entrance, landing in a crouch on the cave floor. Standing, he held up his lighter and flicked it open. He stood in an empty cavern. No rubble, no burned up furniture, no salvaged books or supplies or various mementos of his existence piled in the corner.

Spike shoved his lighter in his pocket, then tilted his head back and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Hallie, get your ass down here!"

He waited. It had worked for Anya, hadn't it? It was worth a shot. He waited some more. Nothing.

He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it in frustration. That right, buggering bitch. She would pay for this. He waited a moment for that pang of conscience to correct him, but William agreed with him for once. They would find Halfrek, they would make her undo whatever she did, and then they would both take a great amount of satisfaction in introducing her to Spike's own brand of vengeance.

But first, how to find her? He paced the length of the cave. "Plan, Spike," he muttered. "Need a plan." He didn't even know where to begin, other than to do the only smart thing there is to do in such a crisis: go to Buffy. She'd help him figure this out.

Buffy. And Dawn.

Shit!

Fear held him paralyzed for a fraction of a second, then fueled him as he rocketed down the tunnel in the direction of their house.

***

Spike climbed up through a manhole a block over from Revello Drive. From here he just had to cut across a couple of lawns and hop a few fences to Buffy's back yard. Slightly more difficult while holding a blanket over his head, but on a sunny day he could make the mad dash to her back door in about ten seconds. No such urgency tonight, though, so he took the long way around to the front.

This neighborhood usually boasted freshly painted houses presiding over neatly manicured lawns with carefully laid out flowerbeds, a typical suburban landscape. But tonight all of the yards were overgrown tangles of weeds and unkempt shrubbery. The houses had peeling paint and boarded up windows. The houses that still stood, anyway. Here and there he could see slabs of foundation holding up nothing but burned-out husks. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered as he took it all in. He fought to stay calm, to not take off in a blind, panicked tear to Buffy's front door.

People milled about on the sidewalks -- no, not people. Vampires. Awfully cheeky of them to be strutting around so close to the Slayer's abode. Assuming she still abided there. The urge to run to her door grew stronger, but he curbed it when he realized a couple of the vamps were coming right at him. Standing his ground, Spike reached in his pocket and clutched a stake. They stopped outside of striking distance, both standing at attention.

"Sir!" said the taller of the two.

Spike felt one of his eyebrows shoot up of its own accord. He looked at the vamps and waited.

Without meeting Spike's eyes, the tall one stepped forward. "We've been to check the traps, Sir."

"Have you now? Good on you."

The vampire glanced at him, and swallowed. "Um ... they were empty, Sir. Sabotaged. Again."

If Spike didn't know any better he'd think the git was holding his breath. He and his companion both acted scared shitless. Spike could take them both out in two shakes. He started to slip the stake from his pocket, then realized he was being watched. Glancing around, he saw other vamps, frozen in place, waiting to see what he'd do. The stake slid out of his grasp. He couldn't take on this many by himself. Then it occurred to him: they weren't readying for a fight. There was a certain air of deference about them. Deference for him. They had the attitude of ... minions.

Spike laughed. Well, what do you know? Whatever else might be wrong with this reality, at least he wasn't the laughing stock of the vampire community any longer. 'Bout time.

He glanced back at the two vamps before him, a couple of kids who in reality probably weren't much older than they appeared. His laughter had clearly startled them. The shorter one began to laugh along, a hollow, keening sound, as though he thought it might be expected of him. Spike stopped laughing and glared at him. The fledgling's mouth snapped shut. The two of them just stood there, waiting, clearly expecting something from Spike.

The tall one stood at least three inches above Spike, but he cowered nonetheless. Spike drew himself up to his full height and stood toe-to-toe with the youngster, fixing him with his best "Say the wrong thing and I'll quite literally chew your head off" sneer. Been a while since he'd gotten to use that one. Somewhere in the back of his noggin the Victorian priss protested he was having too much fun with this. Spike told him to piss off and go compose a ruddy sonnet about the wrongness of it all.

"Traps were sabotaged, you say?"

The young vamp swallowed. "Yes sir. Those humans, they--"

"Do I really want to hear your excuse?"

"N-no, Sir."

Spike nodded. "You know what I expect you to do about it, don't you?"

The boy nodded.

"So then, why are you standing about like a bloody useless sod instead of off somewhere taking care of it?"

"Sir, I ... yes, Sir!" He and his companion walked as fast as they could without actually running away from Spike. A grin spread across his face as he watched them go. How 'bout that? He wasn't sure whether he felt more smug about his ability to intimidate or to bluff, but either way, he still had it. His steps held a little more swagger as he continued down the sidewalk.

The swagger and grin both faded as the house came into view. The porch light was on, but the windows were all painted black. The yard was an overgrown mess, same as all the others. All of Joyce's plants and the wicker furniture had disappeared from the front porch. Spike recognized his old DeSoto sitting in the driveway.

This time when the urge to run hit him, he gave in and sprinted across the front lawn, taking the front steps in a single bound before bursting in through the door.

"Buffy!"

No answer. He started up the stairs, but paused on the bottom step as something in the living room caught his eye. He stepped back down and went to stand by the open French doors. A big screen telly took up a whole corner of the room, over by the fireplace. The sofa had been replaced by a black leather sectional monstrosity that pretty well filled the rest of the room. Little knick-knacks -- porcelain unicorns and fairies and the like -- covered just about every flat surface in the room. He definitely didn't remember any of that being there last night.

A door creaked upstairs. Spike returned to the stairs and crept up them, treading as lightly as his boots would allow. As he reached the top he heard another door open. He peeked around the corner to see a small figure in a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head. Spike allowed himself a relieved sigh as he stepped into the hall. "Buffy."

The figure turned around and smiled. "Hey, Spikey!"

His eyes widened. "Harm?" He lunged forward and pinned her to the wall, one hand on her throat, the other holding a stake to her chest.

"Ow! What the hell are you doing?"

"What have you done with them?" he growled.

"What? With who?"

"Where are they!"

Harmony shifted into game face. "Get off me!" She shoved him back into the opposite wall. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her neck and glaring at him. "I told you that if you ever pulled a stake on me again--"

"How did you get in here, Harmony?"

She straightened up and stared at him. "Are you high? We live here!" Spike slumped against the wall, and Harmony's expression went from angry to concerned. "Oh my God, Spike! Look at you!" She ran over to help him stand. "You're all beat up. What happened?"

"Um ..." He was too confused and too busy trying to figure out what to tell her to protest as she led him into the bedroom. Buffy's bedroom. Exactly her bedroom, right down to the stuffed pig perched on the pillows. "I don't remember," he said at last.

"You don't?"

"No." Maybe he could make this work for him. "Hit my head."

She tried to push him onto the bed, but he shrugged her off. He couldn't ... he had no right to be there. Harmony stood back and put her hands on her hips. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um." What had he wished, exactly? That he never got chipped. That had happened right after ... "I remember coming back to Sunnydale and getting jumped by a bunch of soldier blokes."

"What?" Harmony's eyes widened. "God, Spike. That was almost three years ago!"

"Right, then. Guess you'll have to fill me in on everything's happened since."

She sidled up to him. "Oh, my poor Sweet Baboo." He stiffened as she ran fingers through his hair and kissed him on the cheek. "I want to just put you to bed and take care of you until you're all better. But we don't have time."

"Why not?"

She let go of him and went over to the closet -- Buffy's closet -- and rummaged through it. "You're supposed to meet with Adam in an hour. You'd better go get cleaned up."

"Adam? Who -- you mean that Franken-wanker?"

Harmony spun around and looked at him, delighted. "Hey, see? Your memory's already coming back!"

"Uh, yeah. Bits and pieces. But most of it's pretty fuzzy."

"Well, I'll have to fill you in on the way. But don't worry, the tribute's already been delivered by Josh and the boys. We didn't get much this time, though." She pouted and muttered, "Stupid resistance. Anyway, Adam's not gonna be too happy with our offering this month. You definitely don't want to say or do anything that'll make him more pissed off."

Spike nodded. "Right, then." He started for the bathroom, but stopped in the hall. He couldn't go in there. Not after ... not ever. He went back to the bedroom. Harmony had dropped her robe and was pulling on her underwear. Spike suddenly remembered what it was he'd seen in her. He turned his head away. "Harm, tell me one thing. What became of the Slayer?"

She let out a little snort as she pulled a top over her head. "Which one?"

Oh. That didn't sound good. "Buffy. What ... what happened to her?"

Harmony turned around and gave him a sympathetic look, then came over to stand in front of him. "Don't worry, Sweetie." She reached up to stroke his face. "You never have to worry about her coming after you again."

Spike swallowed. "And why's that, Pet?"

Harmony smiled the satisfied smile of one who gets to be first to deliver big news.

"Because she's dead!"

***

He'd lived in a world without Buffy before. First hundred years of his existence, in point of fact, though that didn't count because he hadn't known what he was missing. But that last summer ...

For one hundred and forty-seven days he'd wake up and remember. And then he'd make himself remember why he should bother getting out of bed, why he should force himself in out of the sun the next morning. Kind of ironic that his reason was named Dawn. She'd saved him from the sunrise, day after day. Harmony didn't know what had happened to her. Didn't even know that Buffy'd had a sister.

Now his world was Buffyless again; and this time, he'd killed her. Oh, he hadn't done the actual deed. In this reality, Adam had taken her out. But according to Harmony, Spike had delivered her to him. Whatever deal this reality's Spike had cut with Adam -- whatever he'd done to lead Buffy into the cyborg's trap -- had worked this time. And in exchange Spike got to be ruler of Sunnydale. Hip hoo-fucking-rah. All he had to do to keep the gig was round up a gaggle of humans and demons every month and deliver them to Adam to use as spare parts. And, apparently, show up in person to do a fair bit of toadying.

Which was where Harmony was driving him now. Ordinarily he wouldn't allow anybody else behind the wheel of his baby, but given his "amnesia" and his still somewhat less than sober state, letting her drive had seemed for the best. 'Sides, it wasn't actually his car, was it?

Harmony prattled on about something to do with traps and ambushes and some underground resistance blokes what kept causing them trouble. So, the non-vampire population was fighting back, were they? Bully for them.

But all Spike could think about was how he'd caused this mess. Buffy was dead, Dawn was who knows where, the town was in shambles, all because he was a bleeding idiot who couldn't keep his hole shut.

He needed a cigarette. He rolled down his window just as they drove past the "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign. Spike leaned out and looked back at it. Someone had crossed out "dale" and spraypainted "Hell" over it in big, red letters. That particular nickname had never been more apt. Spike pulled back inside the car and popped a cigarette in his mouth. He started to light it, but paused before touching the flame to the tip. Something about it tasted ... familiar. And not in the stale tobacco kind of way.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, held it up and examined it. It was bent, the end of it crumpled as if it had been jammed into the pack without care. There was something on the filter. He leaned closer to the window to get a better look at it under the passing street lights. Lipstick. Buffy's shade.

His hands trembled a little as he fought to keep control. This pack of cigarettes had sat in his coat pocket all summer, hanging in the front closet of the Summers' home. Buffy must've taken them out and tried one. Something like that had really happened. That Buffy had really existed, and here was proof.

Spike opened his coat and carefully tucked the cigarette into the breast pocket. Determination and purpose flowed back into him, and with it, hope. He would fix this. He didn't know how, but he would find Halfrek, or Anya, or even D'Hoffryn himself, and he would get his world -- his Buffy -- back.

But first he had to go through with this Adam charade.

Harmony pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Here we are! Just go up that hill till you see the cave entrance, and follow it down to Adam's lair."

"What, you're not coming?"

"Oh. Well, I was gonna go hang out with Genevieve and then come back to pick you up."

"You're sending me in there alone? With my memory all wonky?"

"I told you everything you need to know to fake it," she said. "I mean, I can go in if you want, but I usually don't even come with you, and when I do you make me wait in the car. And you always take a really long time. So I thought this time ..."

"Go on then, don't let my concussion ruin your evening."

Harmony sighed. "Stop being such a baby. If you want me to go in I'll go."

Spike shook his head. "Forget it. You'd probably just bollix it all up anyway."

Harmony let out a little laugh, but her expression said that was anything but funny. "Yeah, that's why you make me wait in the car. At least your amnesia let you remember that much."

Shit. He'd hurt her feelings. And what's more, he felt bad about it. He thought back on all the times he'd seen that look on her face and not given a fuck. Even taken a perverse sense of joy in it. He was still getting used to this guilt thing, but it had never occurred to him to apply it to Harmony.

"Uh ... look, Pet. I'm sorry." And he was. Not just for snapping at her, but for treating her exactly like what she'd always been to him: an easy lay, a convenient distraction, a cheap Buffy substitute. A bitter laugh escaped his throat as he realized he'd treated her just as Buffy had treated him. Worse, even, 'cause he'd truly had no feelings for the bint. At least Buffy had admitted to feeling something -- even if that something was contempt, least he'd registered on her scale. He forced himself to meet Harmony's eyes. "Have fun with Genevieve. See you in a bit."

Her face brightened a little. "Okay. And Spikey, don't worry. You'll do fine. Just ... act natural."

Spike nodded, and got out of the car. Act natural. He didn't even know what natural for him was anymore. They'd be expecting the Big Bad. He could still do that. He summoned up a century's worth of fearlessness and cockiness and let it carry him forward.

He knew this place. The entrance to the old Initiative caves. Unwelcome memories began to resurface, and Spike suppressed a shudder. He held his chin high and plastered on his patented smirk. Shoulders back, head cocked just so, bit more swagger ... that's it. Big Bad never really left, did he? Just got buried for a while.

A couple of armed demons decked out in camoflauge guarded the cave's entrance. One of them stepped in front of Spike, blocking his way.

"Who goes there?"

Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and looked the guard up and down. Not a demon, he amended. Well, not all. One of Adam's creations, sewn together out of human and demon parts. The other guard was the same.

"Who's it look like?" Spike asked. "I've got an appointment with Patches, and I'm already late. He's not gonna like you making me later."

The guard gave out a low growl, but he stepped out of the way and motioned with his gun for Spike to enter. Spike blew the creature a kiss as he sauntered past. Inside the darkened cave, he let out a relieved sigh. That part had been easy enough. Obviously he had power here. Power he could use to his advantage. Had to admit, it felt good. After so many years of being good only for lending the Slayer some extra muscle, mostly ineffectual in any other way that mattered ... even William couldn't argue that it was nice to be back on top.

A light shone up ahead. Spike approached it. Another patchwork soldier took up sentry duty beside a steel door set into the cave wall. "You're late," the guard barked, and Spike's steps faltered. He knew that voice. He looked up at the creature, studied the human features that remained beneath the scaled brow.

"Finn."

"Spike." The demon-zombie formerly known as Riley Finn ran his security badge through the reader on the lock, and the door slid open. "Big Brother's expecting you."

Spike nodded and stepped inside. Franken-Finn followed. The rock walls of the cave had given way to the white sterility of the Initiative headquarters. Spike kept his cool. He wasn't Hostile 17, here to be shoved in a cage and have his head ripped open and poked around in. He belonged here. Or so these freaks believed.

He didn't mind admitting that these things made his skin crawl. Reanimated human-demon hybrids, had no business existing as far as Spike was concerned. Though technically, that's what he was ... but at least he'd come by it naturally. Or supernaturally, at any rate. He wasn't some byproduct of human science run amok.

He wondered if that's how humans felt when they looked at him, knowing what he was. Demons too, for that matter. Vampires were the red-headed stepchildren of the demon world, a bastard race unwanted by either of its parents. You could endow one or two of 'em with souls, make them think and act and feel like men ... but you couldn't change what they were. Not really. You can whittle away the sharp edges from a square peg and make it squeeze into a round hole, but it's still never gonna be a comfortable fit.

Finn passed Spike and led him into a room filled with television monitors and high-tech computer equipment. Some of the monitors were turned to various television channels. Others showed different areas of the Initiative. The cages were still full, Spike noted, but it looked like there were at least as many people locked up as demons, some of them pacing around their cells, some huddled in corners, hugging themselves and rocking back and forth. Spike felt for the poor bastards. Didn't let himself feel too much, though. It wasn't real. None of this was real. He had to remember that, no matter what he saw.

The chair in the middle of the room swiveled around to reveal Mr. High-and-Mighty himself. The last time Spike had seen the pillock, he'd ordered one of his crazy-quilt pets to take Spike's head off. Hadn't actually happened here, though.

"You've been fighting," Adam observed, his voice devoid of inflection.

Spike raised tentative fingers to one of his shiners and shrugged. "Something like that, yeh. Sorry I'm late. Had to go home to wash off the blood."

The cyborg's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yours, or the other guy's?"

Spike lifted an eyebrow. "When did you get programmed with a sense of humor?"

"I am programmed to evolve," Adam said, "as you well know."

"Right."

Adam's gaze never wavered. Spike felt like the bastard could see every individual molecule he was made out of. Probably could. He ignored the chill that ran up his spine.

"Your tribute this month was under quota," Adam said.

Spike tried to recall all that stuff Harmony had told him. "Yeh, sorry 'bout that. The, um ... the traps were tampered with. A lot of 'em got away."

"This is becoming an increasing problem."

Spike nodded. "So I'm told."

Adam tilted his head, regarding Spike like some kind of rare specimen. "Your increased reliance on these traps is curious. You are vampires. Hunting humans is what you were made for, is it not?"

Spike's mouth twitched at the corners. "Well, that's what I keep saying, at any rate."

Adam nodded. "You will remedy this problem. Or I will find someone who will."

"No worries," said Spike. "Consider it remedied. So, that it?"

Adam seemed to deliberate for a moment. "One of the specimens you brought me has cancer of the colon. He will be of no use in my army, but he should prove fascinating to study. For that, you may still receive your bonus." He waved a hand at Riley and swiveled back to face the monitors.

Bonus? This should be interesting. Spike turned to follow Finn out of the room, but Adam called him back.

"You've acquired a soul," he said.

Bugger. "What of it?"

"Curious."

"Yeh, I'm all special and what-not these days. You gonna stick me in one of your cages now, see what makes me tick?"

"Not necessary," Adam said. "I believe I learned everything that could be learned from the last one."

Spike let this sink in. Well. Add Angel to the body count, then.

"Right to the end, he kept saying how he and his friends were going to take me down. It seems his soul made him altruistic. Has yours had the same effect?"

Spike snorted. "Right. What do you think, mate? You know what they called me back when I was human?"

"William the Bloody."

"That's right. You think I picked up that monicker by sitting around and scribbling poetry or some such?"

"No, I suppose not."

"'Course not. I am a killer, and I have always been a killer. The soul didn't make a difference before, and it makes no difference now."

Adam nodded. "Good to know." Without another word, he turned back to his monitors.

Spike felt a claw on his arm. "This way, killer." Finn led him out into the corridor. Spike tried to keep his eyes straight ahead as he was escorted through the detention area. He could feel the humanity all around him, pressing in on him. It's not real, he reminded himself. He'd make it right for them, give them back their real lives that he'd stolen from them.

Even so, his eyes were drawn to one of the cages. It held a girl with long, blonde hair, pacing back and forth, dragging her head against the glass and tracing a pattern with her fingers as she went. As he walked past she raised her head to look at him. Spike's throat tightened and his mouth hung open at the sight of her.

"Tara."

"You know the witch?" Finn asked.

Spike forced his eyes straight ahead, and shrugged. "Passing acquaintance."

"Small world." Finn rounded a corner and approached a door that had maximum security written all over it. Finn slid his badge through the reader and swung it open to reveal another door, the numbers "314" emblazoned across it in bold, silver letters.

This time when Finn ran his badge through, a female voice responded, "Please hold for retinal scan." Finn stood still, eyes open, as a beam of green light scanned down his face. "Recognition: Finn, Riley. Second in command." A click as the door unlocked, and Finn pulled it open.

He motioned Spike inside. "You know the drill," he said. "I'll be back for you in twenty." With that, he shut Spike inside the room.

Spike had to raise up on his toes to look out the little window in the top of the door and see where Finn was going. So his "bonus" was to get locked up for twenty minutes? What the hell kind of incentive was that?

A whimper from across the room caught Spike's attention, and he spun around. Something smallish huddled in a corner on the floor. Human female, wrapped in a straightjacket. Her brown hair was cropped close to her head, and Spike could make out surgical scars on her scalp. He took a tentative step towards her. "Hello?"

She raised her head to look at him. Her face held no expression, but her green eyes seethed with hatred. The emotions that came with recognition were too numerous and varied to name.

Spike's legs gave out. He dropped to his knees before her.

"Buffy."

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