Spike rolled over. He couldn't get back to sleep, lately, in place of the vivid dreams of Buffy, he'd been dreaming of Brody again. Every night for the last two weeks, ever since he'd begun sleeping with the Slayer. In the dreams Brody begged him not to forget her and reminded him that she was the only woman to love him truly, other than his mum. He shivered as a wave of sorrow hit him, a century and a quarter on and he was still dreaming of his beautiful fiancé.
As he rolled over he realised that he was no longer alone in the bed. Warmth was radiating from the space beside him. His eyes snapped open and saw something that he would never have expected, no matter how long he'd been on the Hellmouth. Brody lay next to him, exactly as he remembered her. Long, ebony lashes on huge, closed eyes that contrasted sharply with her ivory skin. She was petite with willowy, wiry limbs. Her face was angelic and her rosy lips were pursed in her sleep. Her honeyed tresses swept across his silk pillows and her shoulders. She was dressed in a white, gossamer Victorian nightdress.
Spike fell back out of the bed and tears sprang to his eyes. This couldn't be happening. It was a trick, a sick, perverted, trick. Who in God's name was doing this? And why? His heart ached for her to be real. No matter how much he loved Buffy, he could never love her as completely as he had the young girl in his bed. He backed himself against a wall and gathered his knees to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards as that hideous night flooded his memory. When the messenger had arrived to the door with news of Brody's untimely, cruel demise.
London, 1870.
RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP!!
William was roused from his restful slumber and dreams of the life he and his beloved would surely have together once they were wed. At first he lay in bed and ignored the door, the butler would soon sort out what ever was going on. He heard the door downstairs open and the Butler crankily address a young messenger. Then he heard his Mum's voice from the top of the stairs, across the hall. The Butler's steps thudded up the stairs as a wail of despair ripped through his mother.
William sat bolt upright, threw on a dressing gown and dashed out the door of his rooms. His mother sat crumpled on the ground with the Butler consoling her, she raised a tear stained face and looked at him with devastated eyes.
"Oh, William!" she whispered unsteadily. William's heart constricted as she looked at him with pity, sadness and pain, it exploded when she continued "Not our Brody."
"Brody?" he questioned and his mother nodded sadly. Fear gripped William, he direly hoped that his idea of what had happened was wrong and he sped across the landing. He gripped his mother's shoulders and shouted in a quivering voice "What about her!?"
"She's gone, dearest, she's lost to us forever."
William let go of her as if she were scorching and backed away. His hand slapped over his mouth as he tried not to be sick. He backed right to the edge of the staircase, lost his balance and tumbled down the stairs. He welcomed the numbing blackness that took him.
Spike hadn't woken for three days after that and he'd believed it all to be a dream. When he saw his normally jovial mother walk into the room wearing black and a matching expression of grief, he knew. It was real. Brody was gone.
And now some disgusting bastard was doing this to him. Letting him see what he could never have. Suddenly, for the first time ever he regretted his turning at Drusilla's hands. If he'd died as the good, innocent, mama's boy, poet William then his soul would be at rest. His clean soul would be with her. He would never go where she was now. Not after all the horrible things he'd done. Oh God! The things he'd done, if Brody had seen them, she'd be horrified. She'd be ashamed of him.
Spike sat in the corner, rocking back and forth, his eyes never leaving the torturous apparition in his bed.
Buffy trudged through Restfield Cemetery. Life was majorly sucking ass and she needed Spike's touch to feel. Lord, she needed it to feel something other than misery. For hours at a time she could just forget. She could forget her crappy job, her bratty sister who didn't seem to want to compromise, her pain from her mother's death, Riley's departure and return with a perfect life, her meddling friends and the loss of the serenity of heaven.
She barely looked at a fledgling as she staked it while stomping past. Buffy kicked Spike's door open and shouted loudly "Spike!"
No response.
Odd, usually he came a runnin' the second she walked through the door. 'Maybe he's in the shower or something…Ooooh! Fun!' Buffy thought.
Buffy heard a woman's shriek of surprise from downstairs as she continued her way into the crypt towards the ladder to the lower level. She frowned, what was another woman doing here? Spike loved her too much to be fooling around with anyone else, or at least he claimed to.
She jumped down into the lower level and saw a quivering Spike leaning against the wall staring with wide eyes at a gorgeous girl sitting up in his bed.
"Dieu!" the girl exclaimed as she looked about her "What is happening?" The girl looked over and spotted Spike. "W-william? Where in the name of the Lord are we?"
Spike failed to respond and the girl unfolded herself from the bed. She took a shaky step out of the bed and onto the floor. "William? Talk to me!"
Spike continued to stare blankly at her, the girl coloured with worry. "Pour l'amour de Dieu! Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?"
The girl noticed Buffy for the first time. "Mademoiselle? Qu'est-ce qu'il a?"
"Uh, sorry I don't speak French." Buffy stammered, unsure of what was going on.
"Oh! I apologise! I was just inquiring as to what is wrong with my fiancé? I presumed you were some of the new help from France." the girl said in a female version of Giles' speech, her head was cocked in a Spike-like manner and her beautiful blue eyes searched Buffy's face before turning immediately back to Spike.
Spike straightened when Buffy addressed the girl. "You can see her too?" he asked Buffy.
"Of course I can! Are you high?" Buffy said, confused and therefore angry.
"Brody." he mumbled reverently, his eyes pinned to the girl. "Oh, grace á les cieux!" he exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet.
Spike and the girl rushed to each other and he swept her into his arms. "C'est un miracle!" he sobbed into the crook of her neck.
"Sweet William! Why do you cry?" the girl asked but was silenced by Spike crushing his lips to hers in a joyous kiss. She cried in sympathy for the pain of her beloved, even if she did not know why he was saddened. Their tears mingled and ran into each others' mouths.
When Spike finally pulled away, remembering her need to breathe, she looked up at him in shock. "What has come over you William? And what in God's name have you done to your hair?" she pondered aloud, playing with a platinum curl.
He stroked his hands through her luscious locks and inhaled her scent; passionflower, lavender, honeysuckle…demon? Spike stared at her in surprise.
"There's demon in you, luv?"
"Yes. When did you start talking like that?"
"While ago. What happened to you?"
"I don't know! Where am I? Who's that woman? Why are you both dressed so strangely? When were you turned? What's going on?" she babbled, bewilderment breaking her down.
"Spike!" Buffy shouted, sick of being ignored, pissed with this girl for mauling what was hers, confused by everything that was happening. The two Brits turned to look at her. "Who the fuck is she and what is going on?"
The girl looked at Buffy in shock and Spike looked between the two women as if torn. He
then calmly addressed Buffy "Slayer, this is my fiancé." At Buffy's gasp he continued "Who died over a century ago."
The girl in his arms fainted and Buffy wasn't long following her.