Without a Past
By feistypumpkin
Summary: James "Spike" Courtland had no memories of himself or where he came from. The only thing that seemed familiar was grieving widow, Buffy Summers O'Connor. Why at the sight of her, do memories of passionate nights spent in her arms flash through his mind? Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Characters from BtVS and Ats belong to ME and the brilliant mind of Joss Whedon. Any other characters or ideas belong to Rita Herron. This story is based on the book Memories of Megan by Rita Herron. Rating: R
Some people will probably hate me for rewriting this story because regrettably, I have to make a few favorite characters into bad guys. Please bear with me.
Feedback would be nice!!!
Chapter One
"I'm sorry to inform you that your husband is dead, Mrs. O'Conner. His body washed up on shore a few hours ago." Detective Harris sat down in the chair across from Buffy, his expression grave.
Buffy clutched her stomach, the horror of hearing her fears confirmed seeping through her body like a virus. It had been six weeks since Angel had disappeared. Six weeks of not knowing.
Nausea rose to her throat at the images that stabbed through her. She dropped her head forward in her lap and tried to breathe.
"I'll get you a glass of water."
Buffy nodded, to numb to do anything else, while the detective hurried to the kitchen.
Seconds later, he returned and handed her the glass. Buffy sipped slowly, grateful for the wetness soothing her parched throat. "Do you know what happened?"
The cop's expression paled. Had he been there when they'd dragged her husband from the sea? Had he seen the body?
"Most likely drowned, but the coroner's doing an autopsy." Detective Harris shrugged. "I'm not sure how much he'll be able to determine..."
He let the sentence trail off and Buffy clenched the glass of water as if it were a lifeline.
"You said that he like to fish sometimes, to take his mind off his work. My first guess would be that he was out late an didn't realize how far he'd drifted off shore, got caught in the tides and fell overboard."
Buffy's gaze swung to his. "But Angel was an excellent swimmer."
"You know how difficult it is to fight an undercurrent, even for the best of swimmers. A bad thunderstorm came through that night, too."
She nodded, silently admitting Angel had been drinking a lot those last few weeks, and had been a daredevil when it came to the weather. He'd been drinking and secretive. And tired. And disturbed about something, but he wouldn't talk to her about it.
She'd known he was unhappy. Had worried he'd stopped loving her, that he planned to ask for a divorce, but hadn't gotten up the nerve.
Now she'd never know.
The detective shuffled, "We'll let you know as soon as the body is released so you can make plans for the burial."
Nausea gripped her again. There would be so much to do. She'd have to make funeral arrangements and tell the people at the research foundation. He'd never talked about his parents, so she didn't know how to contact them or if they were even still alive.
The cop gently patted her shoulder. "Well, let me know if I can do anything for you, Mrs. O'Connor. I'll let myself out."
"Thank you."
She forced herself to stand after hearing the click of the door and the police car drive away. Her stomach convulsed and she rushed to the bathroom, sank to her knees and let the tears fall.
The negative pregnancy test mocked her from the sink. Angel had wanted a baby and she'd felt like a failure when their attempts at conceiving had failed.
Now he would never have a child and she had nothing left of him but troubled memories.
And questions. Lots of unanswered questions.
By feistypumpkin
Summary: James "Spike" Courtland had no memories of himself or where he came from. The only thing that seemed familiar was grieving widow, Buffy Summers O'Connor. Why at the sight of her, do memories of passionate nights spent in her arms flash through his mind? Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Characters from BtVS and Ats belong to ME and the brilliant mind of Joss Whedon. Any other characters or ideas belong to Rita Herron. This story is based on the book Memories of Megan by Rita Herron. Rating: R
Some people will probably hate me for rewriting this story because regrettably, I have to make a few favorite characters into bad guys. Please bear with me.
Feedback would be nice!!!
Chapter One
"I'm sorry to inform you that your husband is dead, Mrs. O'Conner. His body washed up on shore a few hours ago." Detective Harris sat down in the chair across from Buffy, his expression grave.
Buffy clutched her stomach, the horror of hearing her fears confirmed seeping through her body like a virus. It had been six weeks since Angel had disappeared. Six weeks of not knowing.
Nausea rose to her throat at the images that stabbed through her. She dropped her head forward in her lap and tried to breathe.
"I'll get you a glass of water."
Buffy nodded, to numb to do anything else, while the detective hurried to the kitchen.
Seconds later, he returned and handed her the glass. Buffy sipped slowly, grateful for the wetness soothing her parched throat. "Do you know what happened?"
The cop's expression paled. Had he been there when they'd dragged her husband from the sea? Had he seen the body?
"Most likely drowned, but the coroner's doing an autopsy." Detective Harris shrugged. "I'm not sure how much he'll be able to determine..."
He let the sentence trail off and Buffy clenched the glass of water as if it were a lifeline.
"You said that he like to fish sometimes, to take his mind off his work. My first guess would be that he was out late an didn't realize how far he'd drifted off shore, got caught in the tides and fell overboard."
Buffy's gaze swung to his. "But Angel was an excellent swimmer."
"You know how difficult it is to fight an undercurrent, even for the best of swimmers. A bad thunderstorm came through that night, too."
She nodded, silently admitting Angel had been drinking a lot those last few weeks, and had been a daredevil when it came to the weather. He'd been drinking and secretive. And tired. And disturbed about something, but he wouldn't talk to her about it.
She'd known he was unhappy. Had worried he'd stopped loving her, that he planned to ask for a divorce, but hadn't gotten up the nerve.
Now she'd never know.
The detective shuffled, "We'll let you know as soon as the body is released so you can make plans for the burial."
Nausea gripped her again. There would be so much to do. She'd have to make funeral arrangements and tell the people at the research foundation. He'd never talked about his parents, so she didn't know how to contact them or if they were even still alive.
The cop gently patted her shoulder. "Well, let me know if I can do anything for you, Mrs. O'Connor. I'll let myself out."
"Thank you."
She forced herself to stand after hearing the click of the door and the police car drive away. Her stomach convulsed and she rushed to the bathroom, sank to her knees and let the tears fall.
The negative pregnancy test mocked her from the sink. Angel had wanted a baby and she'd felt like a failure when their attempts at conceiving had failed.
Now he would never have a child and she had nothing left of him but troubled memories.
And questions. Lots of unanswered questions.