A Serendipitous Beginning
by
Lisa Y. Drexel
Chapter One
~~~~~
All Good Things...
~~~~~
It happened so fast, that for the first time in his immortal life, Spike was helpless.
He knew this day would come. He raged against it, fought it, denied it and ignored it—but somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew she would die.
It was destined; she was the slayer.
But not that evening.
That night she was his mate, his lover—his date, as the eight of them met at the Bronze to celebrate not only Cordelia's and Xander's two year wedding anniversary, but as the last time the eight of them would be together—as friends and so much more—for Willow and Angel were leaving the next day to see the world.
There were no prophecies of doom or portends implying the end of the world—they were free to go out and have a good time as only people who faced death, destruction and evil daily, could.
It was a happy night.
No one was fighting—which in itself should've been an indicator to Spike that something was off. Xander and Angel weren't snipping at one another; marriage had softened Cordelia, so her snide comments were something of the past. Long ago, Willow and Oz had accepted their break-up and both were happy that the other was with someone that loved them. Amy, once uncomfortable as her role as lead witch in this ragtag group of 'white hats', was now in her element—at ease with not only her role in the ongoing war, but with herself as a witch and Oz's lifemate.
And of course, Willow and Buffy's relationship was still as strong as the day they realized they were best friends. Men never could interfere with a friendship as strong as theirs.
And we couldn't forget Spike and Angel. For years, Spike only managed to tolerate his sire for Willow and Buffy's sake. His anger and hatred never dimmed with the reappearance of the souled Angel—some times, it was even reinforced everytime the bloody asshole would pull some self-righteous stunt on Spike. Not even a day after Methos has left Sunnydale five years ago, Spike had Buffy do the ritual to revoke Angel's invitation into his home.
He had yet to invite Angel back over. That in itself irked the dark-haired vampire to no end. Which, until recently, only made Spike giggle with child-like glee at the thought of his ability of getting underneath Angel's skin.
But that was changing. It happened so slowly that Spike wasn't even sure when he realized that he was actually started to like the arsehole. It wasn't until Buffy pointed out—quite righteously in fact—that he and Angel actually had been joking with one another at neither one's expense, that it occurred to him that his hatred was lessening.
After a lot of thought, he realized she was right and knew immediately that he had Willow to thank for it.
As he watched her bounce in her chair that night—as if she were a little girl—as she talked of all the places she and Angel were going to visit, and observed Angel's easy grin at his love's expense, Spike swore he could see the former brooding vampire change before his eyes.
How could Angel not love her?
Willow was so much like Mike in that way. Like Mike had done with Methos and himself, Willow had taken the broken, guilt-ridden vampire and healed him with her soft heart and warm acceptance. And in the process, had somehow managed to bring out a playfulness and contentment that Spike instinctively knew hadn't been there since he had been turned. It had taken her nearly six years to do so, but somehow, Spike believed that he was finally getting to know Angelus O'Malley—the man underneath the vampire.
For years, Spike had watched, observed and studied his sire and now he finally figured the bloke out. The soul-filled, guilt-ridden Angel had so much darkness in him caused by the pain of his actions, that inadvertently he was much more like his demon counterpoint than anyone wanted to believe.
Willow single-handedly seemed to do what no being had been able to do before; exercise Angel's inner demons.
The affect was mind boggling.
Instead of the self-righteous prick that had been the bane of Spike's existence for over 200 years, there sat a vampire that could laugh, love, joke and even, Gods forbid, have fun.
Wonder's would never cease.
Spike actually liked the bloke now. Something, in all their years together, Spike never had done. Lusted after him—yes; feared him—yes; hated him—definitely. But like him? As Buffy would say, 'Get real.'
But it happened and Spike had Willow to thank for that. Just because she was herself, Spike now had a family.
If giving him his sire—the closest thing a vampire has to a father wasn't enough—there was always the gift of light she bestowed on him earlier in the week.
For five years, after finding out from Methos when he had been there, that there was a protection spell for vampires enabling them to go out during the day, Willow searched for it.
Ironically, it was an easy, small spell, that had been buried and hidden for thousands of years by an obscure sect of long dead sorcerers, because of its potential for evil. It had only taken Willow a little over a day to get all the necessary ingredients and her and Amy performed it in less than fifteen minutes, with Angel and Spike waiting nervously in front of them.
That same morning, Spike tested it by sticking his hand out the door.
When his hand didn't burn, he slowly inched out the door, with Buffy on his heels—every ready to save his life in case it failed, and together they say saw the sun.
Spike cried for the first time since Mike had left him that morning.
The spell was only good for two hours a day and worked best when the sun was low in the sky—but to Spike, it didn't matter. Two hours were an eternity to him.
The following day, they spent the morning at the beach—watching the sun rise. They made passionate love in the sand—getting those irritatingly granules just about everywhere and then went on a morning swim in the ocean, washing themselves off.
Spike felt reborn that day. Closing his eyes, he could still see the sky—that deep violet that slowly turned into the most wondrous blue he had ever seen.
Buffy told him that morning that that the blue-gray-violet which had taken his breathe away, reminded her of his eyes.
All he could think of when she said that was, 'My eyes look like that?'
He still couldn't believe it.
As he leaned back and lit a cigarette, watching everyone laughing—seemingly catching Willow's good mood, he couldn't help but feel good. He was happy.
Who would've thought that William the Bloody, the Scrouge of Europe, would ever be so content—so bloody in love and glad that he had mortal friends—that he wouldn't trade them for anything. Not him. Ten years ago, without a moment's consideration, he would've killed whoever had dared to say that to him.
He felt someone squeeze his knee and turned to Buffy. Her green eyes were filled with mirth as she slid closer to him to whisper in his ear. "Penny for your thoughts."
He leaned back and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her small, but deadly body onto his lap. She squealed in delight as he felt six pairs of eyes turn on them.
"Get a room, junior," Xander said, grinning. There was a time when he had said those same words to him, yet with anger and hatred. Now all they did was make Spike laugh.
"Are you sure about that, mate? From what I hear, you could use some pointers."
"Spike!" Buffy swatted him playfully on the chest.
Cordelia blushed.
And the most amazing thing of all, Angel laughed full-heartedly.
Which caused Spike to grope the warm woman in his arms even more— eliciting even more comments from nearly everyone at the table.
Yes, all was right with the world.
Which was why it had to go to hell so soon afterwards.
~~~
Buffy's last squeal, caused by Spike's cool hands caressing her bare stomach, was interrupted by a eerie change of the air—much like an electrical charge. He stopped mid-grope, his eyes instantly scanning the area. Buffy's body stiffened and she pulled herself out of his grasp to stand up. Her body instantly stiffened; his lover, mate and date disappeared and the Slayer took her place as she stood on alert—battle ready.
Spike glanced over at Angel and his sire nodded as they both stood up and walked up to Buffy. Spike heard a small growl and intuitively knew that Oz had shapeshifted into his wereman form—a strange combination of both wolf and man that ironically reminded Spike of Michael Landon in the movie, I was a Teenage Werewolf. The magic in the air rose, clueing Spike in that both Willow and Amy were readying themselves to help with whatever was coming...
All this happened in less than thirty seconds.
His last thirty seconds spent with Buffy at his side were in preparation of a battle.
He never even got to say good-bye.
Then out of nowhere—this huge demon materialized right in front of his lover. Buffy jumped forward, ready to fight. He and Angel were quickly on her heels—but the demon, over eight feet tall, with four sets of tentacles—reached out and scooped the slayer off the ground and threw her across the room against the brick wall before Spike could even grab her arm.
It was fast.
Faster than him.
Spike knew the sound of her breaking neck would haunt him for an eternity.
Then, behind him, he heard a soul-wrenching scream and half-way turned to see Angel collapsing onto his knees, crying out for Willow.
A bright blue light flashed in Angel's eyes--.
--then the vampires came.
A dozen of them rushed into the Bronze, grabbing anything mortal—killing those young teenagers on sight.
He heard Willow cry out and turned around to see her trying to pull herself out of Angel's grasp.
The demon that killed Buffy disappeared in a flash of white light.
Tables were turned over as Xander and Oz began tearing them apart to use the legs for stakes. Pockets were emptied of various holy items—spells were being invoked by Amy—
And Cordelia screamed, "Angel! Don't! Please God don't!"
And Spike heard a laugh that had haunted him for years and would do so forever—a laugh that he thought was gone for all time.
Angelus was back.
Spike turned, stake in hand to see Angelus scoop up Willow's broken body into his arms.
Spike did the only thing he could do at the moment.
Save Willow. Dropping the stake, he flew at his sire, fangs dropped, eyes red in fury and yanked the witch out of his grasp—praying that her limbs would stay connected to her body. He didn't think she would want to live an eternity without any vital body parts.
Angelus fell back stunned at Spike's strength—and the blond vampire felt a cruel grin form on his lips.
Cordelia, surrounded by a protection spell, watched the altercation with horror. "Get the others and get out of here—my house!"
"But—but Buffy—"
He growled, his eyes flashing. "Just do it, Delia!"
She nodded once and watched Spike take off into the air—straight through the skylight and disappear into the darkness.
He heard her yell for Oz and felt a small part of himself sigh in relief. At least they'll be alright.
He didn't stop until he was at his front door.
~~~
With the phone in his hand, he tried dialing the Summers-Giles home at least a half-dozen times before he managed to get his shaking under control enough to dial the number through its entirety. So distraught, he finally hyper focussed, ignoring everything around him—even the scent of fresh blood that drifted through the air—or the picture of Buffy's dead body slumped lifelessly against the wall—and tried preparing himself to speak to Giles.
Gods, he prayed that it was the watcher that answered the phone and not Joyce.
He couldn't handle Joyce right now—because he failed her and Buffy—by letting the slayer die.
The gods must've listened to him and Spike sent out a silent thanks as he heard the Englishman say hello.
Gods, give me strength...
"Rupert? It's Spike."
The Watcher must've known something was wrong. Was it that infamous link between the Slayer and her Watcher that clued him in? Or was it the tone of Spike's voice? Or maybe it was the pain wrenching way he uttered the man's name?
"Wh—what's wrong?"
Spike took a deep breath, his eyes staring blankly at Willow's body that laid dead on his couch. "Buffy's dead."
He heard the mortal sob quietly and sound of him sinking into a chair. "What happened?"
"A demon. A huge, piss-ass ugly thing that just appeared out of fucking thin air in the Bronze. We only had about 30 seconds warning. And it was only us that had preternatural senses that knew something was happening." His voice caught, as he saw through his mind's eye the three of them, standing side by side, waiting. "She had barely taken a step forward when one of its tentacles whipped out and snatched her into its grasp. Giles, it was so quick— I didn't even catch it moving. Not even two seconds later, she was dead.
"It threw her across the room—she hit the wall. Her—her—neck—bro—broke."
"Oh Lord."
"There's more, Giles. Gods help us, there's fucking more.
"Angel's gone."
"Dead?"
"Worse."
Silence. "Go on."
"He hurt Willow."
Spike heard Giles take a deep ragged breath. "Is she going to be alright?"
Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. His hands shook so hard, it took nearly a minute.
"No Giles, she isn't." He took a deep drag off of it, silently praying the nicotine would sooth the pain, anger and hatred in his heart. And the sorrow. The deep gut-wrenching sorrow. "She's a pre-Immortal and she died tonight. "
"How—how did you know? Or Angel for that matter?"
He blew out a lungful of smoke. "Mike told me. And Angel. Bloody hell, Giles, she actually sat Angel down and told him everything because even back then—before they were together—it was pretty bloody obviously how much in love they were.
"Giles, he tried to take her away. And I know it wasn't to play with her. He was going to take her head!"
"Oh heavenly Father," the watcher whispered, tears evident in his voice. "Are you going to call Mike or Richie?"
"Right after I get off the phone with you." Spike stabbed out the cigarette in the clean ashtray and wandered over to that blasted picture window he hated and nervously watched for his guests. They should be here by now. "And Giles, I think Dru and Morden are back. I felt something."
He turned around and leaned against the window sill and closed his eyes.
"Spike?"
"Yeah mate," he answered, his voice so tired—so utterly weary. Was it just an hour before that he was happy—groping Buffy purposely to tease Xander? An hour ago when Willow was jumping up and down in her seat, talking of how her and Angel's first stop in their travels was to be Egypt—where she and Angel could watch the sun rise over the Great Sphinx?
"We'll be right over."
"Be careful."
The vampire hit the disconnect button only to have it ring, causing him to nearly drop the bloody thing.
"What?" he growled into the receiver.
"Will?"
His knees collapsed and fell down onto the floor.
Mike.
It was Mike. Gods help him—it was Mike.
"Are you alright? Is Buffy okay?"
Blood tears ran freely down his face. No, he shook his head. He wasn't alright. He'd never be alright again.
"Where are you, luv?" he asked, his voice ragged and low.
"Seacouver."
"Can you catch the next flight down? Willow needs you." Finally a sob broke loose. "I need you."
"I'll be right down."
He closed the phone and folded his long body in half, clutching his stomach as finally succumbed to the sorrow that had been threatening to over power him. He'd done his duty. He saved Willow. Fuck everything else.
Gods, he'd never be alright again.
~~~~~~~~~~
to be continued in Chapter Two - All Beginnings Start With An Ending