A/N: Finally I managed to rewrite chapter two and post it. And within a week! Me sooo proud! :P You might have to wait for chapter 3 though. I'm going home for a funeral, and I don't know how much time I'll have for writing, but I'm hoping for the best and I'll try to post the next chapter before next wednesday. Until then, please leave a review. Thanks! Now, onwards and upwards. Enjoy.
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She was standing on the front porch, staring out in the night and trying not to think. At all. She wished her brain had an on-off button. That would've been neat. If she could just turn off her head for a moment, she wouldn't have to think about all this stuff. She could just take a break from all the badness that currently was her life.
The fight was tomorrow. They were at war against the first evil. And that was just one of the things that was driving her insane at the moment.
The potentials were going to die. Hopefully not all of them, but she knew there would be losses. And there had already been too many burials.
The betrayal came to mind. How her friends and her own sister had declared her incapable of leading them and run her out of the house. She had said that she was fine, and mostly she was already over it, but somewhere inside her it still hurt.
That was something she would have to deal with. Afterwards. Everything was put forwards in time, because she simply didn't have time to deal with it right now. "Later" was a word she had come to live by.
And then there were Spike.
The little cardboard box in the storage room of her mind labelled "Spike" also had a freakin' big red stamp on it reading LATER in capital letters.
She was so tired of that word.
This clearly wasn't working. All the effort she had put on not thinking had just led to the one thing she had tried to push to the back of her mind for the better part of two years. She didn't want to deal with this. Not now. All these thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of her was making her nacious.
He loved her. She knew he did. He'd come for her when all the others had turned their backs at her. He told her she was the one. That she was one hell of a woman. She wasn't doubting him. She never had. It was herself she didn't trust.
No. she wasn't going to think that way. Suddenly the fog in front of her eyes had cleared somewhat. The edge of her vision was still blurry, but she could see the larger picture.
She was done with later!
With a sudden strike of confidence in herself that she hadn't felt in several years, she turned around and made her way back inside her house, down to the basement. He was sitting on the cot, studying the medallion Angel had given her, but as soon as she made her way down the steps he rose to meet her.
And that's when her confidence disappeared.
Damn! She'd had a whole speech prepared in her head. She was going to tell him how grateful she was. How much he meant for this fight, for their cause. How much he meant to her.
How much she loved him.
But as she looked him in the eyes, the words fled. She stared into those deep blue pools and just fell mute. She had never been good with words. So she acted instead.
She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. Then she leaned forward until her lips was barely a breath away from his, and stopped. She wanted a sign, permission from him. She wanted to know that he wanted this to.
He clearly did, as he took charge from there on. He kissed her softly, as if he thought she was going to break. His hand hung limply by his sides. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the shiver that ran trough him when their lips met. She started trembling.
He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, but he didn't say a word. He was savouring the moment, afraid that if he said anything to acknowledge her presence or what just had occurred, she would simply disappear. He'd had this dream too many times before to really trust his senses. But when he felt her head shift and her lips started a soft trail of kisses from his cheekbone to the shell of his ear, and he felt her hands travelling down his abdomen and work their way under his shirt, his eyes snapped open. When he heard her soft whispered plea just by his ear, he seriously started to doubt his sanity. It wasn't what she said, but how she said it. Two simple words turned the world upside down for him, because she couldn't mean what he thought she meant. What he desperately wanted it to mean. Could it?
"Spike... please..."
Still afraid that this simply was a mirage, a play on his mind, he closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. When he opened them again he'd made a decision. There was a very real possibility that he would be gone by the day after tomorrow. He was almost convinced that he wouldn't make it out of this battle. If he only had this night left, then so be it. Carpe Diem and all that rot. Death, glory and sod all else, right?
He kissed her for real then, with all the pent up passion and frustration he'd felt since he'd come back from Africa. And she gave as good as she got. Stumbling towards the small cot they manage to get rid of their clothes, but as he laid her down on the mattress he started do doubt if this really was a good idea. Was he taking this too far? Was this something she would regret, or resent him for if they continued?
He studied her face for answers. What he saw there calmed hit fears, because in her eyes he saw no fear, sadness or doubt; only lust and something else his battered heart didn't dare to believe could be something more than the tentative friendship they had settled in since his chip had malfunctioned. She had initiated this. She wanted this as much as he did. He caved in. After all, he'd never been able to deny her anything.
Neither of them said another word that night. And by the next evening, she was in tears, and he was gone.
Until 19 days later.
***
Spike heaved a huge sigh when he finally managed to locate the key to his motel room in the left pocket of his leather duster. He muttered obscenities under his breath when he fought a losing battle against the lock. It was really kind of tricky to operate the tiny little key and try to fit it into the key hole when he was slightly intoxicated..
Or more accurately sloshed out of his bloody mind.
His already very strained patience flew out of the proverbial window and he used his vampire strength to simply turn the doorknob until he heard the crack of the lock breaking. Let them bill him for the damage later, right now he really didn't care. It wasn't like he wouldn't sleep soundly enough without the security of a locked door anyway. If something was out to hurt him it was probably not going to bother with a locked door anyway. More likely to kick the door from its hinges or punch a hole through the wall.
He stumbled into the tiny room and kicked the door shut behind him. He managed to make it out of his shirt, leaving him in his jeans and boots and collapsed on top of the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. He could already feel the unwelcome arrival of his old enemy sobriety on the edge of his consciousness. He wished for a bottle of whiskey. Or possibly three, but dawn was quickly approaching and he had no time to locate a liquor store. He had only arrived in the area earlier that evening and didn't know his way around yet. Not that he was planning on sticking around long enough to memorize the bloody neighbourhood map.
He really could have done with that shanshu-thing right about now. If it wasn't for his sunlight issues he wouldn't have this bleeding problem!
He was only slightly consoled by the fact that the big brooder he called a grand-sire hadn't reaped the benefits of the prophecy either. He wondered why that was. He guessed that the last apocalypse he and Angel had survived wasn't the big one, the one that the vampire with a soul would play a major part in. After all, the world hadn't ended this time either. Could it be that said vampire had to dust in order to claim the prize of humanity? He hadn't really given a thought to reincarnation, but it did make sense in a way. After his near descent into hell he would have preferred that option. Or maybe the vampire with a soul wasn't Angel or him, but had yet to make an appearance. Wouldn't that be a slap in the face of the great foreheaded one, he thought wryly.
He already knew that sleep wouldn't come easily. It never did these days. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to pass out, but he had hope anyway. He had been on the move for the last few weeks, and this was the first real bed he had slept in in five days. Maybe sheer exhaustion would do the job that alcohol couldn't tonight.
He stared up at the ceiling. He knew he couldn't go on like this. It had been six months since he left LA after the battle against the Black Thorn. He just upped and left, just shouting a quick 'goodbye' to Angel and Illyria as he stalked away. He'd jumped in to the nearest car he could hotwire and left the city limits as fast as he possibly could. The first month he'd toured the country, driving through every obscure hillbilly-town he could find, but staying clear of all larger cities. Then he'd abruptly changed his mind, stayed a few weeks in Chicago before feeling the nostalgic urge to visit his old haunts in New York. Ha stayed there for almost three months before leaving again, going back to touring the small communities and towns no self-respecting man would ever admit to even hearing about.
He had already decided it was time for a change of scenery. A change of continents. He felt he was in need of a new start. The only thing he had been concentrating on since he left New York was acquiring the money he needed to make the leap across the Atlantic back to Europe. And tonight, he finally had what he needed. Tomorrow night he would make his way to the nearest international airport. He planned on flying, but he wasn't quite sure how he would avoid the sunlight issue. Maybe pack himself in a crate and send himself of as cargo? If it didn't work he would have to resort to plan B and go by ship, but he'd rather not. It would take to long.
He didn't really know where to go yet. Europe was big! He could go anywhere from Reykjavik to Zagreb. He was leaning towards London though. He hadn't really been there since before the Boxer rebellion. He was pondering this as he was laying on his cheap motel bed. Finally he could feel his exhaustion overcoming him, and the last conscious thought in his head before sleep claimed him was that he at least knew where he wouldn't go;
He was staying the bloody hell away from Rome!
***
The next morning he cut his hair.
He ran his left hand through the really short brown fuzz covering his head. He couldn't remember the last time it had been that short. He guessed it never had.
He had felt the need to re-invent himself. It was high time anyway. It had been thirty years since the last time after all, and in the past he'd always tried to change his appearances every twenty years or so. But he knew he was going to miss the old look. The bleached blond bad-ass punk style had really been him. Or at least the him he had wanted to be at the time he'd adopted it.
He wouldn't do anything drastic. The haircut and a new jacket would have to do. He was way to attached to his tight jeans and boots to change them. And in his experience you could never go wrong with a black t-shirt.
He was going to miss the duster though. Even if the original had been blown to shreds in Rome.
And he was so not going to go there right now!
Shaking his head slightly to clear his mind from the gut-wrenching thoughts about his disastrous trip to Italy with the great poof, he turned around and took a quick look around the room. He didn't want to leave anything behind. He wasn't planning on coming back after all.
It felt odd leaving the states behind. He had spent a few good decades here after all. If he didn't count a few short trips to Europe with Dru, he really hadn't left the US of A since 1975. Thirty-odd years on the same continent. It was really high time to leave.
He left his room and made his way to the car, not bothering checking out. He had already paid for the room after all. At least now he knew where he wanted to go. London was waiting for him.
He was returning, like the prodigal son he wasn't...