July 12, 2004

Two men, who looked to be in their twenties, sat at a dining room table so engrossed in their argument, too wrapped up to pay attention to the result of the summons spell they had just preformed. Too engrossed with each other to pay attention to the demon they had summoned standing just five feet away. Too engrossed to pay attention to a demon that wasn’t used to being ignored. Manuel reached across a large, red scarf laid across the end of the table and thumped his partner, Peter, hard on the side the head. “You screwed it up, genius. Oh, I am so sorry. Not. I should have said…*imbecile*. Those cricket legs you ordered through ingredients-n-magic.com must have been too old. They ripped you, man. You should have used magicpluss.net instead.”

Peter’s pale complexion quickly turned red with anger; he could even feel the heat radiating from his face. “Ow, you jerk, that hurt, and no, they weren’t too old. It was entirely your fault. You put the candles in the wrong arrangement.”

“Did not.”

“Did to.”

“Did not. You got the summoning spell wrong.” Motioning to an old volume of Pestrok, Manuel glared at his friend.

“It’s you fault times ten.” After making a nanny, nanny face, Peter held up the said volume and pointed to a specific diagram. “See. Look at this. The candle closest to *you* is off by a couple of inches, and the one to your right is *way* too far away from the rest.”

“You are so full of dog poopy. I can’t believe your trying to blame me. If I wasn’t sitting down, I’d come over there and kick your butt.” To prove his point, Manuel made a show of balling his fists and holding them up as if he were going to box by the Marquis of Queensbury Rules instead of a good, nasty brawl.

Trying to look like he didn’t take his partner seriously, Peter shrugged nonchalantly, “I would fight you, but I hurt myself the other day picking up the ShoShen vessel.

A few minutes ago, Spike had abruptly appeared naked in front of the pair that summoned him. Naked or not in front of two nit wits, he was glad to escape the medallion and be back on terra firma. Escape, escape, escape. The words sounded as if sung by angels. Before he had time to ask them a question, the immature argument between them had started. Listening to the pair, who talked and acted like they could have been brothers to Andrew or Jonathan, Spike laughed and then walked around the room, getting his bearings. The house had white walls with black furniture and whatever was not black, was glass. Judging from the size of the room Spike could see, the house must be large. The two geeks must have some money. When he made it back to the idiots with their pissing and moaning, he closely looked them over. Judging from Manuel’s accent, he must be Spanish, but Peter sounded American. They looked to be in the mid-twenties and were just as lousy at magic as their taste in decorations, science fiction memorabilia placed in a display cabinet behind the table.

Finishing his inspection of them, Spike decided to get the two bickering children’s attention. Easy. He hit them with a two foot doll from the sci fi shrine. Both screamed and then screeched when they saw the club. “Bloody fantastic. I am gone for no telling how long, and the first people I see are you tossers.” Spike rolled his eyes, instead of hitting them again. Nay, he went for hitting them again. The screams were actually comforting. “Look, it was the medallion, you fucking idiots that cocked things up with your spell, not candles, books, or the fucking ozone for that matter.”

Peter stood up, holding his head and stuttering. “I can’t believe you hit us with Ka D’Argo. You can hardly find those anymore since that stupid SciFi channel cancelled Farscape.”

Spike rolled his eyes, “Shut you gob, unless I ask you a question. And then shut your gob unless you know what you are talking about.” He pointed at Peter. “You look to be about my size. Go get me some clothes. If you run, I am going to destroy all those little goodies behind glass. GO NOW!” The last two words were a lion’s roar. Then he turned his attention to Manuel. “You…Who the bloody hell are you two gits?”

Manuel wanted to just stay sitting and cowering from the blonde, but instead, he stood up so he could step back away form the furious demon before answering the question. “We are internet magic artifact dealers, and we are getting way rich, man. But we wanted a little payback on one of our competitors that screwed us on a deal.” As Manuel warmed up to the subject, he started relaxing. “So we bought this medallion from one of our sources for artifacts. He wouldn’t say where he got the medallion, but he did say it would summon this powerful warrior, an Ingeas demon, that would take out our problem. So the frelling…uh…uh…frelling guy lied to us. We’re going to…”

“Enough.” Idiot couldn’t even curse properly. Spike growled in frustration until Peter made it back with some clothes. Blue jeans and a Terminator Four t-shirt. Peter shrugged, “If you haven’t seen it, T-4 was much better than T-3.” The tennis shoes were tight but would do until he could find others. As he dressed, he talked. “You bleedin’ ninnies, there was no way that medallion was going to summon an Ingeas demon. Only demon in there was me. And believe me, I should know; I’ve been in there a good long while.”

“Oh, wow. That’s so way cool.”

Manuel shoved his friend, “No, damn cool.”

“Way was a much better word because…”

A new argument broke out concerning the medallion, which reminded Spike of his time “away.” He remembered burning up in the fight against the First Evil. Unexpectedly, he ended up in the medallion which over time reconstructed him. First his body was brought from his ashes, but the burns all over his body mained, a testament of his sacrifice. So in the beginning, the pain over took any thoughts he may have had as he healed. Once healed and healthy again, Spike had what felt like all the time in the world to think. He missed his coat that had burned up, he thought with a laugh, but even more and not surprisingly, he missed Buffy. He had often dreamed about retuning to her. Those were the best dreams. However, when Spike pictured all types of scenarios of returning to his slayer, arriving via a mucked up spell wasn’t one of those possibilities. So now he was back, feet firmly planted on the ground, but the down side was he was in the company with two nit wits. “Ok, Abbot and Costello. I don’t give your bloody left nut to know who’s on first, second, or third. What I want to know is where the bloody hell I am? So someone better spill. Pronto!”

Manuel and Peter looked at each other, not sure how to answer Spike’s last question. Finally, Peter shrugged and looked back at Spike. “Greetings. Welcome to Earth.” Then he reached out to shake Spike’s hand.

“Boy, if you lay a hand on me, I’ll knock you on your arse. This is no petting zoo.” Again Spike’s growl had the pair taking another step back. “Bloody hell, I’ll have patience, which is not my strong suit, and wait to knock you out later. But for now, could you kick start your small brains and tell me where on Earth I am?”

Trying to pacify the angry demon, Manuel found his voice. “Peter’s an idiot…”

“Am not.” Peter was turning red again.

“Are to.” Manuel turned his attention back to Spike. “Anyway, you’re in a house on the outskirts of Madrid. This is our international headquarters for our antique magical objects.” He finished with a smile while Spike didn’t buy the international headquarters rot.

Confirming the small size of his brain, Peter’s curiosity got the better of him. “And what was up with the nakedness?”

“Zip it. That’s all the share time I can take.” Spike’s eyes landed on the medallion lying on table. So he was here because two twits wanted a powerful warrior, specifically an Ingeas demon, and they had used the medallion to do the summoning. Well, they got the powerful warrior, but he had no intention of telling this incompetent pair that they actually had conjured up Spike, William the Bloody. If he had a plan to get out of that sodding trinket from getting roasted, this certainly would not have been it. But what was a cock up for them was a stroke of bloody luck for Spike. “Right. I need to go shopping for some new clothes. So kiddies, where’s your money?”

“But we…But you are supposed to do our bidding. The book said that when we conjured you that you would do our bidding…”

Manuel quickly shut up, when Spike’s face shifted into his game face. “The book was wrong, and besides, I don’t hire out. I’m my own vamp. Now, let’s stay focused here. Money.”

After the pair opened their safe for him, Spike stepped up to Peter. “Which side?”

However, Peter had no idea what the vampire was asking. “Which side what?”

Before the would-be conjurer knew what was coming, Spike punched him on the right side of his chin, and Peter the entrepreneur was out before he hit the ground. Spike immediately turned to Manuel. “Which side?”

“Uh…I guess the right side.”

“Good choice since I’m left handed.” With one punch, Manuel joined his friend in La La Land.

“I told you wankers that I was going to knock you out. Pfft, amateurs.” Taking the medallion, the money, one of their cars at dusk, Spike headed into Madrid to buy some essentials.

Before he bought some clothes that properly fit, straight away Spike bought a plane ticket to New York. He was on the wrong bloody side of the ocean separating him from Buffy and had to get across ASAP. He was exceedingly lucky to obtain a seat on the next American Airlines flight, which took off in a little more than six hours. Spike didn’t care what time the plane left, even at high noon would be ok. He would have chanced the sunlight to get to the states as fast as possible.

Since it would be a while before he could board the plane, he bought better clothing, a duffle bag to store clothes he wasn’t wearing, a pack of cigarettes, and other odds and ends. When Spike ran his hand through his hair, he remembered that he also needed his hair cut and dyed, but he couldn’t very well waltz into a salon for humans and have to explain why he couldn’t be seen in a mirror. Falling back on a memory when he and Dru had visited Madrid, he headed over to a part of the town demons frequented to obtain a fake passport and tend to his hair.

As his hair was being cut and died, he thought about what he was going to tell Buffy and the Scoobies for that matter. ‘Surprise, I’m trying to beat Buffy’s record of coming back from being dead.’ Giles in his upper crust accented voice will ask, ‘And exactly how did you accomplish this feat?’ ‘Well, two ponces screwed up a spell with the medallion, and bang, I was back, naked, standing in their house outside of Madrid. Right funny how these things happen. Go figure.’ And Xander, ‘Yikes, we can even burn you to ashes, and you still come back.’ Dawn may have been of the same opinion as Xander since she had already threatened to light his bed on fire while he slept for almost raping Buffy. Well, someone beat her to it. Willow would want to know the spell. And Buffy…He had no idea how she would react. They had become so close those last days in Sunnydale that he hoped for some kind of warm welcome, but he was going to protect his nose just in case she lets her fist do the speaking for her. Realizing that not only had he missed the slayer but also all her slayerettes, Spike found himself laughing as he paid for his hair cut and had the passport picture taken. He walked across the street to a demon bar to get some blood, wait for his new passport and pass the time until his flight.

When the bartender, a demon with white skin, bluish silver horns and silver eyes served Spike his drink, he nodded towards Spike’s head. “You’re the third “Spike” we have had in here over the last couple of months. Enough already.”

Spike set his drink back on the bar with a thump and lit up a cigarette. “Pardon me, mate, but I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You know, the vamps like you impersonating “Spike”… “William the Bloody”. That’s what you’re doing with that glowing hair and bad British accent, right?”

‘Glowing hair? Bad accent?’ Still not understanding what the bleedin’ hell the bartender meant, Spike smoothly lied. “I don’t think so, mate. I liked that Billy Idol bloke’s look, and I’ve done this look ever since.” Since Spike had often been told that he took his look from the singer, so why not use that to his advantage for once. “So, you have me curious, chief. What’s this rumor going through the demon’s shriveled grapevine?”

“The real Spike is gone, of course, burned up in the Hellmouth of Sunnydale, and good riddance to that traitor of his kind. Nonetheless, five months ago, back in February, a rumor started going around that this particular master vampire had returned from hell like his grandsire, Angelus, before him. Unlike his grandsire, he returned without that ridiculous soul. Word is that he’s meaner than ever before, leaving red rivers of blood to dance in. Gossip also has it that he’s suppose to be somewhere in Russia. Anyway, some vampires decided to cash in on the rumor of Spike’s return, bleached their hair, bought leather dusters and called themselves William the Bloody. I just assumed you were trying to cash in on his reputation also.”

Another demon two stools down joined in on the gossip. “Some say he is looking for Drusilla, but she certainly isn’t in Europe.”

‘Drusilla is no doubt still in South America,’ Spike thought, ranting about the stars, fairies, dolls and eating the yummy populace. He had enough of that gig. One of his imposters could have her. “Sounds like there are quite a few Spikes running about killing, causing havoc. Good thing I’m headed to the states.”

“Nah. The slayers find those stupid blondes and take them out. They quickly made it clear that they take exception to impostors using Spike’s name for evil. They consider him a martyr for the good guys. It’s…It’s disgusting.” Contrary to the demon’s opinion Spike silently crowed with glee. Let Angel get such a memorial when he finally turns up his toes.

A Stha’te demon sitting to Spike’s right, jabbed him in the ribs with the human equivalent of an elbow. “Speaking of slayers and the states, you’re not going to LA are you?”

Spike shook his head. “No. No intention of even getting close.” That was certainly the truth.

“Good thinking. I was there for awhile, but it just wasn’t safe. Tell you what, someone needs to take Angel and his slayer out. Then LA would be safe for us demons again.”

Now they had Spike’s attention. “So LA is tough?”

“If you’re a demon, going to LA is the equivalent to putting you head in a guillotine. What with the blonde, viscous slayer helping him, *stay away*.”

The bartender proceeded to do what bartenders do and wipe the bar with a towel. “I hear she’s blonde, beautiful, but very lethal.”

After he absorbed the loathsome information, all Spike wanted to do was get pissed fast and until he passed out. ‘His slayer…No. No longer his. But, no matter what she was doing or who she was with, Buffy would always be ‘”the” slayer. Not just one amongst all the slayers. And so, the slayer had gone to her Angel,’ he thought as he snubbed out his cigarette.

When he had been with her those lasts few weeks, he hadn’t wanted to believe that Buffy still loved Angel, but deep down Spike knew that it was a possibility, especially after he saw Buffy and the poof snogging the night before Spike died. He had already known that he was going to get killed in the Hellmouth, and he assumed he would go to hell. In fact, it was a shock that he didn’t. Regardless of where he ended up, he had no intention of staying away from Buffy for long. If his grandsire found his way back from hell, then so could he. In his case, he had fought and won his soul, so escaping hell should be a walk in Hyde Park. But no, he had stayed in that medallion, feeling as if he was still feeling like he was burning as he healed, but he knew it would be worth the torment and pain if he could eventually make his way back to her. Then BOOM, he was out and in those two wankers’ house. After getting his bearings, in true single-minded, goal focused Spike style, his only thought was how to get back to Buffy. But he was a soddin’ ponce yet again when it came to her. Even though he told himself not to, this time he had been foolishly hoping that she would wait for him, or she would be trying to find a way to get him back. Before he burned to dust, he shouldn’t have believed that her words, “I love you,” had been sincere. Words he strongly suspected were used to make him feel better before his sacrifice. He told her that he hadn’t believed then, but what he hadn’t told her was that he still held hope. Good thing he hadn’t believed her because now she was back in the arms of Angel, her so called soul mate. No big shocker there.

He asked the bartender for a glass and a bottle of tequila and then walked to an empty table in the darkest corner of the bar. After three fast shots, he reached with a shaking hand, which had nothing to do with alcohol, into to his pocket and pulled out his airplane ticket to the states. He stared at it through the next shot. Before he drank his fifth shot, tears fell, and he didn’t care who saw. After the sixth, he laid his forehead on the table and enjoyed the coolness of the table and the soothing numbness that had seeped into every cell of his body. Playing on the juke box, he recognized a song that he had heard played at the Bronze numerous times. But now as he listened, the lyrics bit in deep.

Please come now I think I’m falling

Tears fell down, splashing on his table again. “It seems I found the road to nowhere.” His road no longer led to Buffy. Nothing mattered now.

“…I’m thinking that maybe six feet under ain’t so for down…” Six feet down did sound appealing but the problem was that he could survive buried. Tearing up his airplane ticket into small pieces of paper, the small pieces of his heart floated to lie unwanted on the floor. For one of the only times in his undead existence he showed restraint. He knew he couldn’t even be on the same continent as the slayer because he knew he couldn’t help but go to her. And thus fuck up her life as he had before and before and before....

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Considering the circumstances, Spike surprisingly felt a degree of pleasure being back, out of limbo, but he also felt lost. No more ties, moving every couple of months, the majority of the time keeping to himself. Only two things brightened up his existence. One was that he continued slaying by helping out in whatever city was his current residence, whether the city was located in Russia, Turkey, Greenland, Morocco or some other different country. Only one rule - never cross the Atlantic. Never close to Buffy. The new slayers were now spread out all over the world. Spike assisted the newbies, but made sure he stayed under the local slayer’s radar and swiftly left town, or even the country, if she became suspicious.

His somewhat warped second joy was playing off the Evil Spike rumors, even making up some of his own to float out into the demon world. He had no desire to make it known that the genuine Spike was back, so he lurked behind the stories, making sure anyone who crossed his path knew he was just an imposter. The uniqueness was making sure he didn’t completely look the part. Gone was the black leather duster, his now little crispy critter, and gone it could stay. Displaying a trophy off a dead slayer no longer represented him. Even if he wasn’t hiding out, he had no desire to replace it. Along the same lines, he dropped the color black as his mainstay. The first set of shirts he bought were a rainbow of colors. Next came the white blonde hair. He seriously thought about leaving his hair natural but couldn’t bring himself to stop bleaching it. So the only three parts of his old persona left was the hair, his accent, and the scar on his eyebrow. No way around the last one. So every time some dippy demon looked at his hair, heard his accent and told him, “There’s no way you are William the Bloody,” Spike would smile, tell him that he was right, thus making it easy for him to remain a shadow. For the first time in his unlife, Spike wanted to escape his reputation and stay anonymous.

Nevertheless, one of the bigger regrets from leaving his past behind, besides no contact with Buffy, was not seeing Dawn. Unbelievably, it was almost as hard not to see her as Buffy. Buffy was gone to him; she was happy with the big haired wonder. But to Spike, Dawn was still there and was hard to stay away from. He yearned to check up on her, see how she was doing.

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May 21, 2005

Then one night in Belgium, a crack developed in his self control. That night was when he took a foolish chance, but surely not his first or last. He broke into the city’s resident slayer’s flat, where he quickly found the phone number for the Watchers Council’s new location in Cleveland.

He waited until late afternoon Cleveland time and got lucky on his first call. A friendly female voice answered the phone.

“Good afternoon.”

‘What did you expect, you stupid git? Hello, Watchers Council. Where can I direct your call? Slayer openings, slayer education, the library of demonology…’ Spike thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to knock some sense loose. He channeled his inner William and used an upper crust British accent. “Good afternoon to you. I am trying to contact a Miss Dawn Summers.”

“If you can hold, I will check to see if she is still here.”

“Thank you so very much.” The length of time that he stayed on hold gave him time to make nine circuits around his flat, worrying with every step.

“Hello, this is Dawn.”

Only four words, but it was good to hear her voice.

“Hello?”

“Right. Sorry. Is this Dawn Summers?” Summers. Just the name brought images of all three Summer’s women, and he had loved and lost them all.

“Sure is. Who is this?”

“Hi, my name is Randy Gileton.” Spike couldn’t help the joke on Rupert even if he were the only one to ever know. “You probably don’t remember me, but we went to Sunnydale High together.”

“I don’t remember anyone British in any of my classes. In fact…I only knew two men with British accents that last year.”

He wanted to tell her so badly that she was talking to one of those two Brits. “And that’s not surprising. As an exchange student, I didn’t transfer in until close to the end of the first semester. What I am calling for is several of us from school are trying to get together a news letter that would let others find out what each other are currently doing. The Survivors of Sunnydale High.”

“That sounds cool. I’m in. So what do you want to know?”

Her voice sounded perky and endearing. Thoroughly Dawn. He asked questions. She answered, filling in the gaps from when he left her life until current. “So what are you doing now?”

“I am attending Valley View High School here in Cleveland, and after next year, my senior, I am going to the University of Cleveland to get a degree of sociology in the variations of different cultures. I already have loads of experience in that.”

Spike thought she should already have such the degree considering how many varieties of demons and witches she had contact with, including himself. “Do you look forward to college?”

He could hear her laugh, which warmed his cold, dead heart. “I use to like school, but after Sunnydale going all crater-like, I didn’t want to have much to do with it. So at first I refused to go, but my sister pulled the guilt card on me. Said that an old friend of ours we lost in Sunnydale would want me to go. One time when my sister was away, he was my babysitter, and Mr. “I don’t follow the rules but you have to” made me do my homework. I hated it then, but now I know that he wanted what was best for me. Actually, you remind me of him a little since he was British also.”

He wanted to cry at the mention of himself in conjunction with Dawn and Buffy. “He sounds smart.”

Spike could hear her laugh again. “He hid it, but yes, he was. For a while after that I hated him because of something he had done to my sister, which he made up for, but I know that I miss him now and that he did…uh…would give his unli…life for me or anyone.” Dawn paused and tried to clear the lump from her throat. “Can we talk about something else?”

At the reference of his attempted rape of Buffy, he would have been glad to talk about anything else, even Giles’ love life which he figured would be scary.

Now for a question he just had to know, her love life. “Do you have a boyfriend? I figure you are too young for a husband.” ‘A husband for my young Niblett. I’ll be there in two shakes of a bat to take care of the pervert.’

Dawn laughed. “Husband? Very funny, mister. I do have a guy that I am dating, but not really a boyfriend.”

“Does he treat you well? If he steps out of line or even on the line, tell your sister.”

‘A little protective for a stranger,’ Dawn thought, and the reference to Buffy? “My sister? Why do you say that?”

“I..uh..heard that…your sister was tough. They say that she blew up the first Sunnydale High.” Spike crossed his fingers that that paper airplane would fly.

Things went well during the rest of the interview until Spike put his foot in his mouth, a place where his foot had certainly visited before.

First Dawn had asked an innocent question. “Did you lose anyone when Sunnydale was destroyed?”

“Yes. Several. It was such a shame that all those young girls died in the school.” Shit, shit, shit!! Spike prayed she would miss the reference, but not his Niblett.

“Girls. What girls?” Dead air filled the space between the two phones. “Who are you? Where are you calling from?”

“Belguim.”

“Do you have a number I can call you back.”

Tricky, tricky, his girl. Get a number so you can trace it. “No…uhm… I am here visiting relatives, so it wouldn’t do any good to give you one.”

“How did you get this number?”

Spike did the smart thing; he hung up. He hadn’t been prepared for this, and he knew he had stayed on the line too long. But he could never resist the Platelet, not to mention that she was as close as he was going to get to Buffy. Now the Bit’s bite was more refined, quick and sharp.

He pulled the tape out of his tape recorder, wrote Dawn’s name on the outside and stored it away next to his Creed CD. When he thought of Buffy, he could listen to “One Last Breath” and think about the fork in road they had taken, not the same paths.

*I’m looking down now that it’s over

Reflecting on all of my mistakes

I thought I found the road to somewhere*

Regardless of his leaving for a while, she chose the road to Angel and would have regardless, and after looking down, he chose off a cliff into nowhere. But now when he thought of Dawn, he could listen to the sound of her voice and smile, think about how much he had loved her, still loved her, and how her love had turned to hate but had changed into something warmer now. Nevertheless, he loved them both, love encased in pain.

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September 8, 2005

“Come join us.” The Greek island of Crete and all things Cretians were calling Spike. After a year of wandering with no direction and barely a purpose, Spike didn’t know why the call came in so loud and clear. But even with reservations, he followed his instincts and headed for the small island.

Crete was beautiful. White plastered houses, terracotta tiled roofs, and electric blue trim. Many of the fishing boats were painted white with a red or blue stripe. The people were warm, friendly, and liked to party. Fun all the way around, Spike thought, but he didn’t plan on staying more than a week. Ten days at the most. However, after just four days on the island amongst the natives, he decided to stay for a month, maybe two or three. He rented a flat in Irakleio, the largest city, but traveled and stayed nights in some of the other cities. Hotels in Chersonisos, Chania, and Agios Nikolaos came to know him by sight.

His flat in Irakleio was white washed with a blue awning over the balcony. Beautiful outside, but inside it was sparse at best. A bed, a bar stool at the other window on the wall facing the beach, a suitcase stuffed full of books, and a chair on the balcony to look out over the water at night. Spike wasted no time tinting the windows dark. During the day he would sit on the bar stool, smoke and watch the women in their bikinis walking along the beach lined with palm trees. The rest of the day he would sleep or read books to escape memories of Sunnydale and a beautiful slayer with hazel eyes. As it had been for years, escape from her was hard.

Curiously, Spike found three butchers in Irakleio that were vampire and demon friendly, which was two too many butchers in the relatively small island, let alone in a small town. Intrigued by the oddity, he had nosed around until he found out that the Sepatuccis clan had made the island their headquarters and were building up to make a grab at the control of Greece and then on to Italy. The minions were getting blood from the butchers since all victims were going to feed the elders. No wonder his intuition had pulled him to Crete. Here was a purpose for him. Irakleio had a master vampire that must think he was a new Hitler out to dominate the world. Hell, he could be Hitler for all Spike knew, he thought with a smile. That fanatical, greedy bugger had certainly acted like a demon.

So Spike made Crete his provisional home, with its plentiful source of blood and vampires to kill, and with its beautiful cities, beaches and country side. At night he would roam, looking for a good fight, doing his part to decrease the numbers of the Sepatuccis clan. He knew that the new Watchers Council was aware of the aggressive clan because there was also a slayer assigned to the small island. After being there a month, he knew this slayer was pretty good, but even with his anonymous help, he thought they could use help handling the still growing clan.

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Let me thank again my beta, Isis.

For all the people that wanted to know what was happening with Buffy, here you go.

Chapter 4 – Her Side

November 1, 2005

With no rhyme or reason, there were times when Buffy would be sparring with the slayers-in-training, and she would be reminded of Spike. His memory haunted her night and day. A pest in life. A pest in death. She could see him opposite her, taunting her with that smart ass mouth of his, matching her move for move. He had always been her favorite opponent. Even when they were enemies, the chemistry and the rush were always there, verbally sparring as well as physically, off the cuff reactions and attacks, and energy born from his enjoyment of a good row, as he would say. The most memorable of fights was when she found out he could hit her without the chip zapping his brain. She licked her lips thinking of that night. Well matched, they had fought until they were in the abandoned house, fought in the house, and then tore down the house making love for their first time. Taking her memories with her, Buffy headed out of the gym to a more private place.

Later when Giles entered the gym, he found two girls practicing with swords. He had hoped to catch Buffy before she left. She usually worked out with some of the girls after the training session was over; but no such luck this night. “Girls, do you perhaps know where Buffy planned to go?”

Sandy shrugged while Mia shook her head. “No, she just left, but she looked sad again so she probably went to…”

Mia left the end of her sentence trailing off because her speculation was one of the subjects Buffy would not talk about. So out of respect, Mia left the destination unsaid.

Regrettably, Giles knew where the young girl was referring to, so he nodded his thanks and walked out of the gym, out into the night.

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In a grove of trees that was both small and dense, located near the new Watchers Council’s main building, Giles found Buffy sitting alone on a cold stone bench. Not surprisingly, she had a far away look in her eyes and tears were sliding down her face. He didn’t think she even knew he was there. Regardless of her silence, he had no doubt who she was thinking about. After watching his slayer for a couple of minutes, the watcher walked over and sat on the bench next to her. They sat in silence for a time. All the while, Buffy still did not acknowledge his presence.

Six months before, Buffy had a gravestone, a monument really, placed in the grove in Spike’s honor. She knew that the big bad would want to be near the new Hellmouth, close to the action. He would want to help with the cause, and without a doubt he would be there to watch her back. They were a team that’s time was over. The stone symbolized that he was gone. Now, after losing him over two years ago, instead of pain, she felt numb. Dawn had called Angel for Spike’s last name, so the first line read “William Winthrope.” Of course, below his real name was carved “Spike” in larger, bold letters. Buffy had thought long and hard about the last line. She thought of things like Champion, Warrior, Beloved, something or other. Even though they were all true, none of those labels fully described the multi-facets that were Spike. Finally, Dawn came up with the last line. Simple but true. “He was loved.” When the last line was agreed upon, both Buffy and Dawn cried through the night.

When the stone was finished, Dawn went with her sister to see it for the first time. And when they saw the cold stone, they sat down on the ground in front of it, hugged each other and poured out their sorrow again in tears. “He was loved.” When Spike had loved, he loved with all of his being He had reached out for love, but always came up empty-handed. Drusilla didn’t love him as she did Angelus. Dawn had loved him, but when he attacked Buffy, she shoved the love for him to a far corner of her mind. Now she knew that her love for him had never left. She now felt that she had lost a protective, older brother. And Buffy, she also buried her feelings for him, and when she finally told him in those last moments of his undead life, he hadn’t believed that she felt that way for him. That she was just saying the words to make him feel better before he sacrificed himself. So with Dawn and Buffy, he had loved them with all his being and again came up wanting. And they had lost any opportunity to tell him what they really felt. They cried for a warrior that fought the good fight, but also fought to be loved.

Giles finally broke the indefinite silence. “We have just received a report from Gen, the slayer in Crete, through her watcher, Samuel Dickinson. Unfortunately, they have reason to believe that the Sepatucci Clan of vampires is making an impressive resurgence.”

He waited patiently to give her time to think until she spoke; her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. “So you want to send another slayer to help out.” She shrugged a thin, pale shoulder. “How about Swanka? She’s done a great job with Tia in Miami. Send her to Crete, and we could send another SIT down there to take her place in Miami for some on-site training.”

“You are right of course that Swanka would indeed make a good choice. We do need to send another experienced slayer to this new and developing hot spot, and your choice has merit. But there was more to Gen’s report that should be taken into consideration.” Giles paused and took a big breath before continuing. “Even though the Sepatuccis are trying to create more minions and seize control of the area beyond the island, it seems that Gen believes some mysterious vigilante is helping her kill vampires. A situation similar to the help you had in Sunnydale. Not like the Scoobies and myself, but more like Angel and then …” Giles left Spike’s name unsaid. All those close to Buffy knew how much she missed him, and how painful it was for her when someone said his name. More often than not, she would visibly flinch and her eyes would glisten with unshed tears. No matter how much she wanted Giles to stop, he had to tell her all. “Er…Anyway, from my own contacts, they say the Sepatucci Clan has a contract out on a powerful vampire, whose name was not specified. Through his connections, Samuel has found out that since he is killing the clan’s members that the master of the clan wants this vampire dusted. Since all the vampires and other demons who try to collect the bounty have ended up dead, this contract hasn’t been fulfilled as of yet.”

Buffy shuddered with the wiggins. Giles knew that she was thinking of the blonde vampire. Her location was a dead give away. She just couldn’t accept that he was gone. When the first time word came to them about a vampire fitting Spike’s description, she raced to France and hunted the vamp down. She found him, looked at him, and then staked him. As more word of white blonde vampires were reported from the watchers abroad, Buffy hunted them down and no Spike, only dust on her clothes. Eventually she stopped; her hopes were gone, and she couldn’t stand the pain anymore.

Always a sure sign that Giles was getting nervous, he took his glasses off and briskly polished their lenses. “To confirm the speculations, Gen had already felt that the vigilante was a vampire because, although she has never seen him up close or even seen his face, she has caught brief glimpses of him three or four times walking away from piles of dust. Each time she was left with her slayer senses tingling. Her suspicions deepened when recently she was fighting in a dense grove of trees, outnumbered five to one. By the time she finished off two, she could hear a fight close by and assumed the other three had attacked someone else. But instead of vampires, she only found three piles of dust and looked back up in time to see far away her mysterious collaborator disappearing into the trees.”

Buffy gave a bark of laughter. “Gen should write fairy tales for spare money.”

Truth to be told, Giles wasn’t completely sure about what he was going to tell Buffy next, but he felt with every ounce of his watcher intuition that she needed to know. “Gen’s watcher could only tell us a couple more details about this vampire. She could tell that he was medium height, lean, and his hair was blonde.”

Buffy glanced up for the first time and looked Giles eye to eye, now seriously wondering what Giles was getting at.

“Buffy, Gen said that his hair is so blonde that it is almost white.” The watcher watched his slayer as the information sunk in.

Buffy didn’t know what to say at first. “She’s never seen his face?”

“I am sorry to say, no. She has only seen his back as he walks away.”

“Giles, it’s not him. Every vampire that wants to steal his reputation dyes his hair platinum blonde and wears a black duster. When I find the blonde, all they ever end up being is a lame-o idiot with a bad imitation of an English accent.” She gave a big sigh as she thought through the possibilities. “Send Swanaka. This would be a good situation for her to break some fangs.”

“But this time, the vampire is not playing at being the slayer of two slayers. He’s not playing at being the evil William the Bloody. The difference from the other impostors is that this vampire is helping the slayer. Very different indeed.” Giles watched the hope flare to life in her eyes but then fade back away to her look of pain whenever she thought of Spike. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears again.

“Giles, I can’t go. I looked into the first six rumors and only ended up staking vamps that reminded me of him. It only made me miss him all the more because I knew how much he would enjoy staking his impostors. I don’t even go out into the field anymore because no matter how much time has passed since his sacrifice, I still expect him to be there fighting with me. So I’m a teacher now. That’s it. No field work anymore. Call me grounded.” Buffy wiped at the tears that were now running down her face. “But even training the SITs is hard. I still can picture him that one night that he came up behind one of the girls in the cemetery, going all grrhh, scaring her to death to help with her training.”

Her words broke his heart, just as they always did when Buffy spoke of Spike. His opinion of Spike had made a u-turn when Spike willingly died to save everyone else. Now he respected the vampire after listening to the few times his slayer talk about Spike, his good deeds he did that he tried to hide behind his big bad reputation. Indeed his opinioned had changed. Giles started to put his hands in his pockets, but instead reached out and took Buffy’s hands in his own. A very un-Giles like gesture, but he knew both he and she needed the comfort from Spike’s loss. “You know that I think of you as my daughter.”

Buffy’s smile was small but genuine. “I am your daughter.”

Giles own eyes misted over, and he had to take a moment to speak over the lump in his throat. “I am honored. And as my daughter, I am going to ask you to trust me on this. You need to go to Crete.”

“Giles, do you know something you are not telling me?”

“No. I’m just asking you to trust my instincts on this one.”

Buffy smiled. “I refuse to get my hopes up. Just remember that I am doing this for you, dad.” Letting out a big sigh, she closed her eyes, resigned to make another fruitless search. “Make me flight reservations.”

“Right…ah…Dawn’s already made them. You leave tomorrow at 8:20 AM.”

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The whole gang turned out for the drive to the airport. Buffy had refused to even get into the car without assurances personally from Faith that all would be ok at the home front. When they pulled up to the curb at Cleveland Hopkins Airport, Xander hopped out to get her bags, but Buffy didn’t immediately get out of the car. Giles looked over at her while he still gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, “Buffy, I know this could be an exercise in futility and potentially very painful for you, but…the details from Gen are seemingly more accurate than any other time an impostor has been spotted. I can’t help but think that if Spike made it back from beyond, this vampire’s behavior rings true to Spike’s style when we saw him last.”

Feeling the sorrow but also hope surpassing her sister’s, Dawn spoke up from the back seat where she sat next to Willow. “Buffy, Giles is right. It could hurt, but it could be him. Are you willing to take a chance that you missed him?”

The eyes Buffy turned toward her sister said enough to make Dawn and Willow flinch. “If it is Sp…him, then why has he not come to me? Since we first met, that pest never left me alone.”

Willow reached up and touched Buffy’s shoulder. “Buffy, I know if I thought there was any chance Tara was back and out there, I would search forever. Dawn and Giles talked about the pain, but if it is him, think how happy you would be.”

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As the plane took off, Buffy wanted to jump up from her seat and run to the cockpit’s door, beating and yelling, “Turn around, I can’t take the hope and then the pain again. Turn back.”

The first leg of the trip from Cleveland to JFK airport in New York was rather short. Nevertheless, she got sick in flight, probably more nerves than motion sickness. She changed flights, and when settled, she took dramamine to help her stomach and mind and kicked back for the longest leg of the trip. During the flight to Crete, Buffy brooded enough to take the world title away from Angel. Actually, Angel’s attitude had changed for the better, thanks to Cordelia. A couple of months after destroying the first Evil, she headed to LA, to Angel. But it only took a couple of days to figure out that they both had moved on. Oh, they still loved each other, but it was a love of the past. There were no hurt feelings, and Buffy was happy that Cordelia had brightened up Angel’s life. All three parted friends and kept in close contact.

She hoped the drug would keep the dreams away, but the dreams came again. This time with a Greek island twist. Normally, she would be sitting on the bench in front of the marker she had erected for him. She would look to her left and see him coming towards her. She could see the white-blonde hair, his black t-shirt clinging to his chest, his duster billowing behind him, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, and she could see his sexy smirk. What she never saw was Spike reaching her side. She saw his hand that was reaching out to touch her, to hold her own hand, but never made contact. Before they touched, the dream would always end. This time, however, on the plane headed to the Mediterranean, her dream was different. She could still see his white-blonde hair, cigarette in his fingers, and his sexy smirk. But she could not see a leather duster, and his shirt still clung to him but was long sleeved, medium blue. There was another change. She was sitting in a lounge chair at night. She saw Spike coming as before, but this time he reached her, touched her, and… “please return your seats to their up right positions…” The dream may have been interrupted, but her hope was fortified.

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TBC

In the Sepatucci mansion, Vassilious walked through Argonia’s so-called throne room as he headed to one of the antechambers. He was followed by two minions dragging a young male between them. Dinner time for the mistress. One part of her room was dedicated to torture, one of his mistress’s finely honed skills which she took great pleasure. Thinking of her other great pleasure, he put his hands on the large, thick door, and paused, readying himself to push the door open and let himself in. Luckily he had good news, and she would thankfully be happy. However, making sure that his mistress was happy was only a minor problem and something he would gladly do. The larger problem was not the torture going on, which he also enjoyed from time to time inflicted on enemies, but the other possible scene behind that door. He had been a warlock before he was turned, and now wished that he could whisk the scene away like a broom sweeping dirt outside.

For one hundred and thirty-one years, Vassilious had traveled with his sire, Fredrick, and he had thought he’d seen it all. But he found out that his experience was sorely lacking. Understand, his sire had loved women, any type of women, and he had brought women into his bed frequently. And Vassilious had agreed with his master on that point. He had been heterosexual as a human and had remained one as a vampire. Even so, in over a century of his demonic existence, he had seen many various ways of unlife.

Then Argonia had killed his sire, pulling off all of Fredrick’s appendages before setting him on fire, and then when she took him on as a vassal, he saw even more varieties of sexual appetites. So, now after fourteen years of serving Argonia, in the antechamber he expected to see another one of her orgies. He had come to understand that other people enjoyed themselves that way. He accepted that some people enjoyed being with same or different sexes. Fine. He understood that they might like to be with both, and that was Argonia’s category many times over. Still fine - at first. He fell in love with his mistress at first sight and therefore accepted her behaviors. But still, he was only attracted to females which proved to be disastrous while being part of her clan. At the insistence of his beloved mistress, Vassilious was determined to try every way, every how, and every where. So he had leaped in feet first, sure that his love’s sexual appetite was the best possible way. But what he found out was, to use a well used expression, “to each his or her own.” But all roads came back to one. Argonia. He loved her with his whole dead heart, and therefore he would endure watching her with many others, which was becoming harder and harder. Knowing this, he could easily imagine what could be going on in the chamber, and it was not what he wanted to see. Taking an unneeded deep breath, he pushed the door open.

When he first entered, he signaled the ones dragging the male victim to take a young sorely used vampire off the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling and replace him with the fresh meat. “Put the vampire in his cell until he heals. Then we will bring him back for our mistress to play with again.” The unfortunate vampire was a spy from the Eucleus clan from Greece. Now the spy was covered in wicked looking burns due to Argonia’s specialty of burning her victim without setting him or her on fire. Just a lot of lovely blistering, oozing wounds. Vassilious saw nothing wrong with a little play with another rival vampire, but just didn’t see the fun in playing with his own food. He left Argonia to that alone.

Near the meat hooks, Argonia lay propped up in the center of a large, intricately carved bed. Large pillows littered the room as well as various sex toys and torture tools the master of the clan enjoyed. Whips, paddles, hand cuffs, dildos of various shapes and sizes, large lighters, fire irons, scalpels, and much more. Argonia’s head was thrown back, red hair falling all around her as a vampiress was enthusiastically working over the mistress’ clit with her tongue while another male was fucking the brunette vampiress from behind. At the same time, the mistress was pumping with her hand around the large cock of a blonde vampire standing next to her. This same male was leaning down, kissing his mistress’ open mouth. To the side, two other vampires were lying on the pillows, eagerly sucking on the other’s cock. Argonia enjoyed a good show.

Vassilious fought to keep his expression blank. The sight, though not uncommon of his beloved with five other people, cut him deep. “Mistress…Mistress Argonia, here is your dinner.”

“Fine, hook him up and leave us. This vampire’s cock is quite tasty, but you may have a turn tomorrow.” She turned, and with a firm grip, stroked the well endowed vampire one more time before engulfing his shaft with her mouth.

The muscles of Vassilious’ jaw worked furiously before he spoke again. “Sorry to disturb, Mistress, but…”

“Then this had better be good, or you and I can have a session with my favorite whip instead all this oral yumminess.”

“It is. It is very important.” At least now Argonia no longer had a prick other than his own in her mouth.

“So, spill already. Oh, no, not you, big fellow. You can’t blow your wad and go all limp on me yet.” She gave the vampire’s penis a kiss on the tip.

Sickened, Vassilious prayed that the following information would shift her attention back to him. “Your spy in Cleveland says that the Watchers Council is dispatching another slayer to Crete.”

Argonia gave a little laugh and waved off the vampire pumping into the girl between her legs. “That’s important? The current one is mostly killing fledglings, which we can always make more. This new slayer will do the same. Only that fucking vampire out there is hurting our number of elders. Even with a bounty out on his head, we can’t even find out what he looks like because his prey never escapes him to come back and tell. All we know is that he is a traitor to his own kind, telling us that he is a vampire, and we know that little bit from overhearing the slayer and her watcher.” Argonia waved Vassilious off with a flick of her wrist before looking down at the girl between her legs. “Give my clit a little nip, honey. Ah, ah, yes…again…”

“Mistress, that’s why they are sending not just any slayer. Word is that this slayer was carefully chosen and powerful. Word is that this slayer is one of the slayers that teach at their academy.” Vassilious watched as she deep-throated the young vampire. His jealousy boiled, and his voice came out harsher than he would have liked. “Mistress Argonia, if the rumors are correct, they are sending either the Sunnydale Slayer or the Rogue Slayer. Probably the Rogue Slayer since the other one doesn’t leave the Watchers Council anymore.”

She pulled back so fast that the male vampire yelped when her teeth scraped along the sensitive skin of his cock. “Really?...No, you’re right this time. The Sunnydale Slayer doesn’t leave that piece of shit academy, so that would leave us with the Rogue Slayer. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We have plans to make.” Roughly shoving the girl between her legs aside, she grabbed a robe and signaled Vassilious to follow.

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November 4, 2005

Spike knew that the Sepatucci Clan was growing increasingly bold and were proving to be smart. The minions sent out to look for food for their master’s inner circle were no longer staying in the limits of the island of Crete, knowing that if they killed too many on such a small island, it would be too obvious to the local authorities. Not that the police would do the clan any harm, but they could make the humans much more cautious and stay away from clubs and various areas. So the minions began taking discrete boat rides to cities such as Yithion and Kalamata on mainland Greece, to kidnap humans and bring the fresh meals back to their elders.

The changing situation was making Spike anxious, driving him to seek out more information. He frequented Nota-Bene Pub, a demon bar known to not be very sympathetic to the Sepatucci vamps; accordingly, rumors about the clan flowed like a Nascar on a race track. Then the rumor mill went into overdrive when word started racing around the city that, due to the growing Sepatucci clan, a slayer from the new Watcher’s Council had been dispatched to Crete. When he heard that news from his best informant, Spike raised his scared eyebrow but didn’t speak a word. The council must be taking the clan’s resurgence seriously, as they should. Two slayers along with him surreptitiously helping should take care of the situation. First make a dent in the population and then take out the master when he was not so well protected. Then the clan would start falling apart and finally disband. Taking out the strays would be like shooting rabid dogs in a cage.

Naturally on a Friday night, the pub was alive with conversations and speculations. But when word started to circulate that the slayer’s plane landed at Irakleio Airport, the bartender could hardly hear Spike order his AB negative over the den of the crowd. After being on the island for a while, Spike knew that Gen, the slayer originally assigned to Crete, was good but still relatively a novice. Since Spike knew Buffy’s watcher was now head of the new Watcher’s Council, he was sure Rupert’s choice of slayer to send would be meticulously thought out. That anal retentive bugger. The newly arrived slayer would undoubtedly be good but also experienced. Hopefully, this slayer’s abilities would be pushing the side of great. Since he knew Buffy was in LA with Mr. Brow Man, leaving Faith to watch over the Hellmouth in Cleveland, he couldn’t help but wonder if this slayer was one of the girls that he helped Buffy train. He had no idea how many had survived that final battle in Sunnydale since he hadn’t himself, but those should be experienced sixteen months later. Regardless of who the slayer was, he was going to steer clear. Wouldn’t do for the “fake William the Bloody of Crete,” his moniker given to him by the local demons, to be recognized by a slayer as the real Spike.

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When Gen was patrolling, hers and Spike’s paths only occasionally crossed; those times he caught site of her, he helped if he could but kept his distance. He often hit the pubs and clubs in search of prey. Of course, they were considerably more fun than the cemeteries and ruins, which gave him too much time to think about the past. So he would go inside, have a couple of drinks, enjoy watching the women dancing, and idly wait for a vampire to slip up and cross his path.

There were only two real drawbacks to the bars. One was the perchance of the island’s clubs for techno-music. Definitely not his preferred style. The second was more sweet and sour. The sour was that sometimes a blonde dancing would remind him of Buffy just as he had seen her for the first time, dancing in the Bronze. Those times brought the memories rushing back like snapshots. Those were the sweet and sour. He would order a stiff drink and watch the pleasure/painful slide show with Buffy in the starring roll and Dawn co-starring. He could actually laugh when he saw himself running down the Sunnydale welcome sign - twice, meeting the anointed brat, frying the anointed brat, and promising to bag his third slayer. Actually he had bagged her mentally and stored her away in his heart. Trying to kill her in actuality was something his soul bothered him about, but he pushed that back into a corner. If he hadn’t wanted to kill her, he would have never gotten the chip and then never got to know her. He remembered the awe and joy that she was the one that made the decision to have it removed and not replaced. Looking back now, he suspected that he would never have actually killed her anyway. He had loved fighting her too much, Spike thought with a smile. Subsequently he watched his memories of first meeting Joyce, later having hot coco with Joyce when Dru broke up with him, breaking into the Magic Box with Dawn, and even with the pain of Buffy dying; he loved the memories of taking care of the Bit over that summer. The rest of the memories, the intimate ones with Buffy, he reserved for later during the day in the privacy of his flat. The slayer that he started out hating and ended up loving could be seen in every one of his dreams in the night and in the day.

Even the happy memories turned sad by the end of the night. For some unknown reason, this night really bit into his soul. All he could see was Buffy in the Bronze. Buffy dancing with Xander, Buffy talking with her friends, Buffy playing pool with him, and Buffy kissing him by the staircase. He could see the tears start shimmering in front of his vision. “Bloody hell, going to cry like a bleedin’ babe in the middle of a club. So much for the big bad.”

As he shook his tears away, much to his relief, he would usually spot a vampire leaving with his or her “dinner.” Spike would follow. If they didn’t stop in the first dark walkway so he could dust the git, he would track them by the roadways or by roof tops until he found a good location to attack. He would try his best to send the prey scurrying away before his stake struck home on the daft vamp. Then he would have a smoke on the way back to the club or to another club, whatever struck his fancy, and he would start the process again. Hopefully without the tears. A vampire could hope, couldn’t he? Sad. So sad. Unlike others, Spike’s hope was to stay dry-eyed in public instead of hoping for a future and happiness. Maybe a hope or two for future but not a hope for happiness. Just existence and pain.

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Her first night on Crete, Buffy rested up, trying to conquer her jet lag. She spent the next day taking a couple of tours from a taxi driver the hotel recommended. In Cleveland, both she and Giles had already decided that the clan was more than likely keeping tabs on their resident slayer and her watcher, so wanting to keep a low profile, Buffy didn’t contacted Gen. Besides the ones agreed on with Giles, Buffy also had her own reasons. If she did find out that the vampire was Spike, she wanted their meeting to be them alone, and if he didn’t turn out to be Spike, she didn’t want Gen to witness her agony that was sure to come after staking the fake. But she and Giles did use Gen’s watcher reports and decided to focus Buffy’s attention on the largest city, Irakleio, and the cabbie claimed to be an expert of the city and surrounding area. So tours it was that first day.

The first tour was around and about the city. Just the thought of trying to find someone through Irakleio’s twisting and turning streets made her head spin, especially finding a particular vampire that didn’t want to be found. Luckily the town wasn’t huge, but a map and a small flashlight to read the map at night were on Buffy’s “must have” list she was compiling.

The afternoon was spent looking over the ruins in the surrounding countryside, including the Palace of Kronos and the Minoan Cemetery. During the tour at the palace, she did have to stop in a ladies room for a good cry. Before Sunnydale collapsed, whenever she went to a new city, she found herself wondering if Spike had been there during his long unlife. She wished he was the one showing her around. It didn’t matter that he would have been with Drusilla; all she wanted was to share in his memories, see the ruins through his striking blue eyes. She could feel him pulling her into dark corners to kiss her breathless. She would gladly go without breathing to be kissed in exotic places by him. Like a fool, she had put off showing her love for him until after the defeat of the First Evil. Spike would be there. Of course Spike would be there. She couldn’t get rid of him. Nobody had succeeded in killing him. But him. He had taken himself out. So no smirks, no unwanted honesty, no support, no unwavering caring, and no kisses to be had anymore. Buffy ended up in the restroom crying her eyes out.

Later, back in slayer mode, Buffy looked around the ruins again, and she figured out what the vampires liked about this island. The ruins made a perfect playground for demons of the night with so many nooks and crannies to hide out, or carry on their nefarious activities without being seen.

After she returned to her hotel, while eating her dinner, she made plans to find what she insisted calling the impostor, refusing to let herself think of the vampire as the real Spike. Her hopes of his resurrection had been crushed into dust too many times before.

The nearby ruins and cemeteries would be relatively easy to search. She would be able to feel any vampires close by, especially the vigilante vamp, who would be out hunting instead of hiding in some dark corner. Now inside the city was going to be more of a challenge. There was a tiny gnat sized chance that she would run into the fake Spike in what she now thought of as the Irakleio maze. Falling back on logic, (wouldn’t Giles be shocked about that) she decided to look for him where she would expect to find vampires on the prowl in a city.

Before she headed out that night, she bought a map and list of night clubs and bars from the front desk. The first club was small. Her choice of small was on purpose because it would be good for getting her feet wet in this new and very different city. By the time she finished her coke, she had looked over the club and only found one vampire who she staked in the dark, deserted hall that led to the restrooms. The second club was very much the same.

In Erotokritos, the third bar that Buffy searched, she glimpsed a blonde male. However, when she made her way over, her slayer senses told her that he wasn’t even a vampire. No tinglies. The next club was the largest she had been in so far, packed with a throbbing mass of people dancing, drinking, and having a good time. Considering her short height, this place was going to be more of a challenge to search, but her senses to discern vampires went off like a fire alarm going off in her head picking up signals from several directions. As she prowled, she noted three fledglings but decided to introduce them to her stake later outside. Buffy tried to stifle her hope when she spotted a blonde vampire. He was a little too short, his hair was pale but more golden than platinum, but she knew for sure that it wasn’t Spike when she saw this vampire’s face. His eyes weren’t a beautiful blue and his left eyebrow didn’t have the scar that she oh so wished to get the opportunity to stroke again. No, not her vampire but a vampire. She lured the vampire into a dark corner and walked away brushing dust off of her clothes.

Ten minutes later, she started picking up on a powerful vampire. Using the strong feelings she was receiving, Buffy glimpsed on the opposite side of the club a second blonde vampire moving along the edge of the crowd, but she was unluckily distracted when she noticed that the other three vampires she noticed earlier were leaving with human girls. ‘Damn, would you like a little salt to go with your human entrées?’ She smirked. The stronger vampire was pushed aside for later. Trying to make her way through the dancers towards the door, she got trapped behind a large group of what appeared to be tourists. Once she freed herself up and was approaching the door, she saw the blonde vampire pass through the exit ahead of her, and turn right. Even though she only caught a glimpse of this vampire again, her heart began to race. He wasn’t wearing a leather coat or wasn’t even wearing black. However, there was more right than wrong. This was probably the vigilante vampire. His hair was the right color, a white blonde, he was the right height, he was a vampire, and he appeared to be following the other vampires with their intended food. When she cleared the door, there was no sign of the blonde, but she could see the three vampires and their victims ahead before the pair turned left on a side street. Unfortunately, she then lost sight of the couples after making a few false turns, but suddenly the victims were running back towards her. When Buffy stopped them, all the girls could tell her was that a blonde man had suddenly appeared and told them to leave, which they had. Buffy followed the direction the girls had pointed and found three piles of dust but no sign of the white blonde savior. Buffy’s only consolation was that she had caught her first glimpse of the vigilante vampire.

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An hour before sunrise, Spike found himself at his favorite spot on Crete, the moonlit beach adjacent to a more modern hotel, to ponder the twists and turns in both life and unlife. Not the most original of place, but nonetheless soothing. The rhythmic sound of the waves relaxed him, making it possible for him to focus.

The first of the evenings topics of thought was always the same. Buffy. Where was she at that precise moment? What was she doing (sex excluded from that thought)? Was she well? How was slaying going for her? Was she safe? Was she happy?... The questions went on and on but always ended with the same question. Why wasn’t she in his arms? He knew the answer, but he loved to pretend that if just for a moment that his time back on earth had all been a mistake. She was with him instead of the big browed one.

This night the second subject of his thoughts demanded focus. In the same respect, this same subject also made it hard to relax and focus his thoughts. The subject? Slayers in general. One of the main subjects of his whole unlife. The watchers council had been smart after all, and the second slayer had arrived. Arrived alright. Instead of sensing her close by to him, she had sensed him first. Major faux pas which he couldn’t believe he had made. His only excuse was that he had been using his senses to track the vampires and their midnight snacks. Funny thing though, when he did pick up that tingling feeling that signaled a slayer, the signal was strong, which usually meant close. When he looked down from the roofs, expecting to catch a glimpse of her, he saw nothing. The second time he spared a glance, he could see a distant movement. ‘Bloody hell, if I can feel the bird at this far distance, she is strong. The council’s not fucking around any more, and right they are. A bloke can’t hardly walk down a street here without passing a fangy one. But this chit was no fresh out of slayer school just getting her knickers wet, or a slayer who was just past the novice level.’

When he had finished with the three fledgling numb skulls, he could feel the tingling from the second slayer growing. Not wanting a little tête-à-tête, he high-tailed it from the scene just as fast as the slayer was approaching.

Waves in and out. Waves in and out. He blew out smoke that was lost in the rays of the moon. Waves in and out. Spike felt his muscles relax. After thinking and replaying the evening in his mind, he came back to the feeling of power he picked up off the new slayer. This one had strength, enough strength to put a large dent in the vamp population problem, he’d wager a pound or two. Her strength also told him that he should to keep a good distance. ‘Even though I am a white hat, I’m still a vamp, which means I’m still a target for a slayer’s little, wooden dart.’

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Five stories up on a hotel’s balcony, Buffy looked out over the beautiful Krytiko Pelagos waters. Unbeknownst to Buffy, her thoughts mirrored those of the blonde vampire below, on the beach. She was replaying her experiences from earlier. The vampire she had tailed had been swift, powerful, and smart. She had been able to feel him from a distance both in the club and also during the chase. She knew without a doubt that the vigilante was a strong, master vampire.

So the vigilante was a master vampire, not just some crack pot vamp with warped visions of grandeur. No, this vampire knew what he was doing. Buffy could feel her hopes rising again. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it had felt like a particular vampire she had known. It felt like Spike. ‘Damn, if only I could have caught him. I could have either staked him or held on tight…I would have held on tight.’ For the first time in a long time, she was actually looking forward to hunting a vampire.

As she turned to walk back into her hotel room, her gaze caught a bright white circle moving between the beach umbrellas set up for hotel guests. She only caught one more glimpse before her vision was blocked entirely by the building. She knew the white “dot” was someone’s hair so blonde that it appeared white, but she strongly suspected that her imagination was just conjuring up her dearest wish. “Hey up there. Yeah, you, the Powers That Be. Are you just teasing me or what? I want him back. I want the wise cracking, cocky, swaggering, arrogant…sympathetic, gentle, there when you need him vampire.” Buffy’s composure began to slip. Tears made trails down her face as she pictured him standing with her, looking out over the water, teaching her how to stop and notice the beauty around her, brushing away the tears streaming down her face. “…That is if he can. And listen to me, you may have needed him before, but I need him here now.”

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Buffy ate dinner early at a picturesque café over looking the water. She was one of the only people eating at such an early time, but it was nice and peaceful. An hour before sunset, Buffy headed back to the large club where she had been lucky the night before so that she could walk the nearby streets, memorizing the area. She had no idea if he would be there again, but what she did have was a hunch.

As before, she felt vampires all around, but she didn’t see the blonde in the club until he was already heading out the door, following two female vampires with their arms wrapped around the waists of two unsuspecting males. Buffy got a good look at the vamps, but thanks to a couple that walked by and blocked her view, she only got a glimpse of the blonde. Again, when Buffy exited the club, the blonde was nowhere to be seen, but the vampires were only a couple of blocks away.

That’s when Buffy finally got the break she needed. A piece of a tile fell off the roof of one of the building, drawing her gaze up. Jackpot. She could see the blonde vampire making his way across the roof tops, chasing the two female vampires. As Buffy scaled the building next to the club and followed with her heart was in her throat. He again wasn’t wearing a leather coat, which actually confused her. All the other imposters wore a red shirt over a black t-shirt and a replica of the trademark coat, but not this one, not either night. Instead this vampire wore an emerald green, long sleeve shirt, not what an impostor would wear. Most importantly, this vampire moved like Spike. She had seen him move across the rooftops of Sunnydale with a feline grace. Not that she would have admitted it back in the days of Sunnydale, she had loved to watch him move, and the vampire in front of her leaped and held his balance just like Spike.

Her problem was that she wasn’t use to running across tile roofs and slipped a couple of times, letting him increase his lead. Luckily, she did spot in the distance where he left the roofs and had gone to the ground. However, Buffy found three piles of dust. But her luck was still holding up. Buffy could see him up ahead. She could see the smoke of a cigarette rising above his head, and she recognized the swagger, Spike’s swagger that she had never forgotten. Buffy was finally beginning to believe that Spike had somehow made it back to unlife. Seventy percent sure now that it was her lost vampire, what she wanted to do was run calling to him at the top of her lungs and find out if it was him. Unfortunately, Spike or impostor Spike obviously didn’t want to chat with anyone from his past, so she decided on stealth. Following the feel of power he was giving off, she paced him on the curving streets, never gaining. He must have sensed her also because he picked up his pace. Accordingly, Buffy’s short patience was soon running out. With frustration evident in her voice, she called out as he turned another corner, out of view. “Damn it, Spike, would…”

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In the club, Spike felt the strong tingling feeling he had picked up the night before from the new slayer. Accordingly, he tried to stay hidden and then quickly exited to take care of the vampires and their so called date. When he staked the vamps, he still could feel the slayer coming so he left quickly. The feeling felt familiar. Not as in familiar that it was some slayer, but familiar as if he knew that slayer. The council must have sent one of the original slayers in training. More reason to avoid her, especially since he helped train those first girls.

Behind him, Buffy never got to finish her call because even slayers were not immune to clubs up against the side of their heads. Spike never heard her call or even saw Buffy take the blow, fall unconscious to the ground, and then her body quickly carried away into the night.

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