Love's Serendipitous Path: Chapter Seven

Love's Serendipitous Path:
Sunnydale Side Up —St. Louis Side Down

Chapter Seven
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Only on the Hellmouth!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trip to St. Louis was actually uneventful and, dare I say, even boring.

Thank the gods.

I had alternating nightmares of Mike and Vachon returning a day early to find Buffy and I naked on Mike's futon—making love or that the serial killer would strike again, forcing Buffy's slayer instincts to the forefront right smack in the middle of Wolf's Bane and her ending up staking patrons indiscriminately.

I know that sounds like a shitty thing to say, but hell, after being alive for over 200 years and experiencing this Slayer's propensity for slayage, (and flashing back to a certain church's organ), I have to say that at least my fears, all though exaggerated, were well founded.

Neither scenario happened. Buffy behaved herself, Mike and Vachon remained in Toronto and I got to learn several mental blocking techniques and tricks from the General.

There was one thing that stayed with me from that trip, though. Even LaCroix was at a loss on how to shut the link down totally—without doing something that would permanently hurt me or Mike. Or worse yet, destroy the link totally. And I didn't want that. No matter how intrusive it was to mine and Buffy's life now, I had an eternity to consider—and I didn't want to spend it without the touch of Mike's mind in my mine.

Too bloody lonely.

So, after two days, we flew back home so Buffy wouldn't miss any school and finally, our lives began to settle down.

A couple days after that, Mike had called. She and Vachon had come back to St. Louis and when she saw the note we had left at her flat, she had come up with a plan. It was then decided, that if at all possible, she would page me 911 and her cell phone number as a way to give me some warning when she was challenged again.

So, I bought a bloody pager, welcomed myself to the 21st century and went on with my life.

By the end of that first week, we discovered that even a five-minute warning was enough to protect myself and anyone who happened to be near me during a Quickening, when Mike had finally met up with Abdollah Mughal and took the asshole's head.

Unfortunately for both Mike and I, after those first two challenges, many more followed. Morden did a fine a job ensuring that not only Methos had a bulls-eye painted on him, but her as well. That meant that Buffy and I actually became old pro's in dealing with my version of Quickenings—neither of us daring to voice the fear of what would happen if she lost a challenge.

Luckily, we never had to find out.

The months flew by after that. For the first time in three years, there had been no end-of-the-world prophecies in the spring time or master vamps aiming to take over the Hellmouth. Obviously, word got around that Sunnyhell was not only protected by the Slayer and her merry Slayerettes, but also by one souled demon-vamp and one tough Souled-One.

As Xander said one night at the Bronze, it would take someone with very large gonads to stir up trouble here.

Unfortunately, it didn't set my mind at ease. Buffy still went out nightly, slaying vamps and fighting various demons that found the Hellmouth's essence appealing. We had a lamia come and visit. She wanted to raise her dead lover (of a 1000 years) right through the Hellmouth. That was the gang's graduation present.

A month later, a couple of dark mage's came through town and one ended up being a necromancer. He raised a bunch of poor blokes that everyone would've preferred to stay dead.

But like the well-oiled machine that Buffy and company were, they took care of both of those problems with ease.

Let me rephrase that: well, almost with ease.

Brood-boy did get a stake in his gut by one of the mages. Willow had a fit and called upon some powerful magical forces to put both those blokes down.

No one, not even the Watcher or the blond witch, Amy, knew how powerful Willow really was until that moment. I'm sure, once she becomes Immortal, she'll be sought after just because of the magical properties of her Quickening.

If my 'sire' has his way, that won't happen any time soon. Angel watches her like a hawk—daring anything to even think of ending her mortal life. It's ironic in a way. Here are two 200-plus-year-old vampires, both in love with mortal women who are constantly in life-threatening situations, and we're doing everything in our power to defy the odds and keep them alive for just a bit longer.

But unlike Willow, Buffy doesn't have a return ticket. Once she dies, she dies. That's it. Mortal life is so short to begin with—much less a Slayer's life. It drives me batty to watch her leave every night to do her 'sacred' duty. I find myself hoping—actually even praying, that she'll come back to me that night alright. More often than not, I end up following her, which in turn brasses her off to no end. We get into more fights over my fear of her death than anything else.

It's hard for her to understand where I'm coming from. Long ago, she's accepted her short life—that's a slayer's destiny. She knows she already outlived the mean age of slayers. And she knows that every night she once again defies the odds when she returns home alive. But I bloody well haven't accepted it. And she can't understand that—especially since prior to my new 'self', I was known as the Slayer's Slayer. But that was the demon. It also was impersonal. I wasn't in love with either of those girls I killed and I sure as hell didn't care how old they were. And now, the two other women who held my heart, like Buffy, are both immortal. Even though they could eventually die—they didn't have a pre-set death sentence hanging over them.

If it wasn't her worse fear, I would bring her across in heartbeat. But she doesn't want to give up the sun or have to kill to live, and now that I'm a Souled-One, I can understand that as well.

Although I don't wallow in my guilt, it's there. Sometimes, when I'm out, I'll see something that will remind me of a life I took in those 200 years and for a moment, the guilt and pain crashes down on me, but I usually manage to shrug it off. I haven't taken a mortal life in over a year. That's at least 400 lives that have been spared my demon. I also know that the demon was what did all that killing. But I finally understand Angelus' guilt. When you carry around the demon's memories and you can see in your mind's eye you committing those atrocities, it's hard at the best of times, to separate yourself from its actions.

And even though I have my soul, that doesn't mean the lust to kill has disappeared. On the contrary, the bloodlust is so much more poignant now than it ever was before. I can see how Souled-One's fall into the trap of mortals just being a food source. It's easier that way to live with yourself. But unlike Souled-One's that have always been that way, I can see the difference. As a demon, my lust was for chaos, death and pain. My purpose was to create as much havoc in this realm, to make it easier for hell's realm to break through. Now, I'm just plain hungry. And I'll be damned if I'll do anything to help some heavy-ass demon take over this realm.

I like it here. I plan to stay.

So, all in all, I understand where Buffy is coming from. But that doesn't make it any easier for me deal with. I know what makes her a successful slayer is not only her strength and talent, but also she has more to fight for than most Slayers. She kept her friends. She's still with her family. It brings that fight against evil back home. It's what makes her the strongest one—but also the most vulnerable.

Which was proven the last time she was hurt.

Two werewolves put her into the hospital.

It's was the second night of the full moon—when the beasts are their most powerful and she didn't want to kill them. After getting to know Oz, I understand, but still, werewolves are not something to mess with. And she was the lucky recipient of a severe concussion for her trouble.

She was just fortunate she wasn't bit.

It was during that third night, while she was staying at her mother's recuperating, while I was patrolling, that I ran into probably the last person I expected on this earth.

It was late, near midnight and the Hellmouth was still in its quiet, if not uneasy state. Although I'm no longer a demon, after 200 years of being one, I still can feel its aura and its touch. It's like a thin cloud of mist that hangs onto everything it touches—trying to taint whatever is in its path.

As I hopped over the fence of the cemetery, that saying 'a calm before the storm' flittered through my mind and I groaned outloud. I hated when I started feeling all macabre and expecting the worse at every turn. But then I heard the distinct sound of clashing swords and cursed.

Sometimes I hate it when I'm right.

Swords. Holy Ground. Immortals.

Not a good combination on the best of days, and on the Hellmouth it could be the end of Sunnydale.

As I ran vampiric speed to the source of the sound, I heard someone yell loudly. "Bloody hell, this is Holy Ground, you fool. Do you want another Mount Vesuvius on your conscience?"

Well, at least one of the combatants has some sense, I thought to myself as I stopped behind the mausoleum, peeking over the side.

Once I saw the two Immortals, I instantly recognized one of them.

Methos.

Although I never had met him, I had seen pictures as well as the image of him in Mike's mind. Even though I was at least twenty-five feet from the pair, I could tell the Old Man was a bit tired and run-down. I guess a year on the run would do that to anyone—even, to my knowledge, the oldest being alive on earth.

And Kahn. The first thing I flashed on when I heard his name later, was that character from Star Trek and the second Trek movie. And even though this gent was definitely not as refined as Ricardo Monteblan or as good looking, he was bigger. Much bigger.

This was not good.

"I will take your head, Methos. Holy Ground or not—"

And I had to save the bloke—because if they managed to see the fight through its obvious end, not only would he die, but all of Sunnydale would be in danger as well.

Just fucking great.

Another clash of the swords signaled that they had started fighting again. I heard Methos curse in some ancient tongue and then slip into English. "Kahn! We are on the Hellmouth! Listen to me, man. A Quickening is not what this place needs!"

The six and half foot ox grinned at Methos as he swung his sword at him. Luckily for all, the Old Man managed to block it. I don't know how—Kahn at least had a hundred pounds on him and every bit appeared to be muscle.

I sighed, inwardly hating how easily I had gotten in the habit of doing so, and stepped out from behind the building. I lit a cigarette and stepped out of the shadows, close enough to the pair so that they could see me and my vampiric state, but far enough away that neither of their swords could come near my neck.

Casually, I leaned against a nearby tree and smiled at both Immortals. "It seems to me gentleman, that we have a problem here," I said, taking another drag off the cigarette. "Back in my demon days, I would've said, 'go for it—take a head! The more mayhem the better! And on the Hellmouth? Hell on Earth. I'd be home. But now—"

"But now, you die, blood-sucker," Kahn snarled as he whipped out a stake and in a flash threw it at me. I caught it in my free hand and shook my head.

"Now, now. Do we need any weapons for this?" I asked, tossing the stake aside. Then I felt it: my sire. Angelus was standing on the other side of the duo.

Kahn pulled out a cross. "I know all about you creatures," he spat, looking quite righteous and pure.

I chuckled softly as I heard Angelus step out into the moonlight. "Oh, you might know about us—but can you kill us and take his head?" He asked nodding at Methos.

The unlucky Immortal fumed. "You can't interfere! It's against the Rules!"

I laughed loudly this time. What a fool! "So now you start spouting off about the Rules of the Game. A pick and choose kinda thing, eh? But it doesn't work that way," I said, shaking my head. "I think you need a reminder. Remember the one that says no fighting on Holy Ground? And here, in lovely Sunnyhell, California, that means not here or the fourteen other cemeteries, forty plus churches, synods and of course, the Indian Burial ground in Baker's Woods."

"It's more like fifty, Spike. You forgot about the Mormon temple, the two Jehovah Witnesses temples and the two circles where the wiccans perform their rites," Angelus added, edging closer to Kahn.

I snuck a glance at Methos and caught a small smirk cross his face. I nodded once, tossed my cigarette aside and in a blink of an eye, I was standing right in front of Kahn. He lifted his sword, but I flew upwards, avoiding it, and dropped down on top of him, knocking him to down. He tried waving the cross in my face, but Angelus knocked it out of his hand, causing Kahn to hiss in pain. At the same time, I squeezed the hand holding the sword until I heard bones break and the sword fall.

Grinning, I stood up with the beaten Immortal in my grasp. His fear flooded my senses. His Immortal blood sung to me, drawing me closer to his neck. It had been over six months since I had fed from Mike; drinking her fermented blood paled to the hot, rich essence of his.

I growled in hunger as my fangs dropped once again. Glaring at Angelus, I silently dared him to say anything. A look of fascination and horror crossed his face, but his silence was all I wanted. Knowing that at least I would get a meal before the fight with my sire, I sunk my teeth into the mewling Immortal's neck and drank the elixir from the gods.

Five minutes later, the Immortal was dead and I was feeling great. "Damn, that was good!" I said as I started to wipe my mouth. I was stopped by Angelus' fist.

"Spike! You son-of-bitch! I knew it!" he yelled, spitting at my feet as I stumbled backwards from the impact. "You fucking haven't changed a bit!"

"Feel better now, Daddy?" I asked him, grinning at his discomfort. "You know as well I do, he isn't really dead. Bloody hell, I haven't killed anyone in over a year. I just couldn't pass up an Immortal. Taste too damn good. Besides, we had to kill him anyway—it takes longer for Immortals to recover from blood loss than a broken neck."

I turned from the brood-boy and looked over at Methos. The world's oldest living Immortal was casually leaning against a headstone, watching our altercation with a sardonic grin on his face. At that moment—without any other interaction with the man, I knew why Mike had fallen in love with him.

I strode up to him, hating the fact that I already liked the asshole and lit a cigarette. "Methos."

His eyebrow lifted as he straightened and tucked his sword under his raincoat. "And you must be Spike."

I nodded yes. "And the Brood-boy over there is Angel."

"Spike," Angelus growled as he walked over to us. "One of these days..."

I rolled my eyes at Angelus and sent a cloud of smoke his way. "Come on, Peaches, is that the way to treat your childe?" I teased him, still feeling a bit raw about his instant condemnation of me. I then directed my attention to the Immortal, pointedly ignoring bloody twit that's been the bane of my existence for the last 200 years and grinned. "So mate, you got a place to stay?"

~~2~~

"Beer?" Joyce Summers asked me for the second time.

I nodded, grinning. "It isn't for me, Joyce. It's for him." I pointed at Methos, who was leaning against the kitchen entryway, smirking.

"And this is?" she asked, her hand grasping the handle of the refrigerator.

I chuckled softly. "One of Mike's strays."

"One of Mike's what?" Methos asked, his head cocked. "I'd say, it was the other way around."

Joyce frowned, studying both of us, when suddenly her eyes widened. "Is he like Mike?"

I nodded, watching her yank the door open and bend down, pulling out a six-pack of bottled Heineken.

"You're just lucky that Rupert left these," she said as she handed me the beer.

"Rupert? Joyce, are you drinking with the Watcher again? Tsk tsk," I said waving a finger in front of her face, grinning at the blush that quickly covered her body. "Why don't you just get it over with and marry the bloke?"

She smacked me playfully on the arm. "Spike, what I do in my own free time is none of your business," she said seriously, only her eyes were twinkling. She leaned against the kitchen counter. "Besides, I hardly think you're one to talk."

If a vampire could blush, I would've. Getting teased by the slayer's mother was just another example of how crazy my life had become in the last year. Instead of responding, I turned to Methos, handing him the beer. "I'll be right back, mate. I'm going to check on Buffy and call Giles."

I was nearly at the top of the stairs when I heard Joyce begin her 'mother' interrogation of the Old Man. I chuckled softly. The bloke was so old, he probably didn't even remember his mother and suddenly 5000 years later he was going to receive the same treatment that everyone, with the exception of Giles, got once they walked through the Summer's front door. Good or evil may rule the world, but mothers never change, I thought to myself.

Then it hit me—Buffy's scent. The familiar aromas of vanilla and wild spring flowers called to me and I felt my fangs itch and my mouth water in response. Another reminder that no matter how much the inside of me had changed, my existence was still one of a predator.

I opened the door and peeked through the crack and was happy to see Buffy watching for me. Grinning, I stepped inside and walked over to her bed. "'Allo luv." I bent down and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Took you long enough," she whispered against my lips.

I reached for her hand as I sat down next to her. "Sorry pet, I was a bit busy stopping the Hellmouth from blowing."

She reached up and placed her hand on my cheek. "I know. Angel called and filled me in. Don't worry, he called Giles too."

"Bloody asshole," I murmured, thinking back about our disagreement in the cemetery. "Did he also tell you about me draining that Immortal bloke?"

She brought her other hand up, cupping my face as she nodded. "And I told him to shove it too. He was calling from Willow's—you should've heard her tear into him. Don't worry. Between Willow and I—we'll get through Angel's thick skull that you've changed." She grinned as her hands slipped down to my duster's lapels and pulled me down on top of her.

"Slayer—"

"Shhh. Just kiss me and remind me why I love you so much."

I chuckled softly and captured her lips for a second. I pulled just a fraction of an inch away. "I think I can do that for ya, pet," I whispered and once again our mouths met, this time in a passion-filled frenzy that if she hadn't been bed-ridden or we weren't at her mother's, would've easily led to a night of love-making.

Too soon for my liking, she pulled away, breathless, with a huge smile across her face. "Thanks," she said, dropping her arms around my back, hugging me tightly. "You better go. Angel was wondering if he could bring Willow over to your house, so that Methos could email Mike—or if she's available, chat."

I growled, shutting my eyes against the idea. "I don't want that wanker in my bloody home. Once invited—always invited!"

"I can revoke the invitation, hon. How do you think we kept Angelus out of Willow's and my house for so long?"

"You'll do that for me?"

She nodded, smiling. "As soon as Methos leaves."

~~3~~

It wasn't until three hours later, when Willow and Angelus left, that I finally allowed myself the luxury of relaxation. Even with all the changes that both my sire and I have gone through in the past two years, I've had over a hundred and fifty years of anger, hate and shame under my belt when it comes to him and I'll be damned if I'll just let it go just because we both not only have our souls now, but happen to know the same people. I really couldn't stand that self-righteous pillock that was just in my home and I still hated the unsouled Angelus with a passion that nearly rivaled my love for both Buffy and Mike. No matter how many parallels there were between my life and Angel's, I couldn't just forget how he systematically destroyed nearly everything that I held dear less than two years ago. And, probably because I have known him the longest, I had the misfortune of seeing more similarities in Angelus and Angel than differences. Both were creatures of extreme: one nearly pious in his martyrdom and the other just as cruel in his love of evil and mayhem. Both were obsessively loyal to a fault in what they believed was their 'side' and neither of them could deal with life's real obstacles—the ever-present shades of gray that is the only real truth in immortal existence.

It would be long time before I could actually deal with Angelus with anything other than animosity and I couldn't help but be anxious for the day when Methos left and Buffy could perform the uninvite spell. After that, it would be a cold day in Hell before I let that bastard in my home again.

Sighing softly, I locked the front door and picked up the remote by the door, and closed the blinds against the coming day. I finally turned around and nearly jumped at the sight of my guest sprawled out on the couch, watching me intently.

"You really hate him, don't you?"

I chuckled humorously. "That obvious, eh?"

The dark-haired Immortal nodded. "I would have to say yes to that," he said and then finished off the last of his beer.

I flopped down in a chair and brought my feet up on top of the coffee table. After lighting a cigarette, I stared at the now-covered pictured window and took an unneeded breath. "I just don't trust the bloke," I said softly. "And he's annoying as all Hell. Too bloody judgmental for my liking. Always has been." I turned and grabbed my wine glass, sipping the cool, fermented bloodwine.

I miss Mike, I thought to myself. I looked over at Methos. "So, how is she?"

He shrugged. "Happy to hear from me. Relieved that I'm okay and she hates the idea that I'm here with you." He frowned and leaned forward. "She wouldn't tell me what happened with you two—except that she was the one that left."

I nodded, hearing the unasked question, 'how could she leave you too?' "She wouldn't. Probably too embarrassed."

"So, what did happen?"

I felt a flicker of irritation run through me and for a second, I didn't want to answer him. So much of my baggage came with that response: my own emotional failings, lack of personal insight, the fact that I loved two women equally and for nearly a year, hadn't a clue. And Mike. Just when she needed someone to stand by her, be with her and love her, she was alone—facing battles that no young Immortal should have to face.

The only thing that didn't suck about the whole bleeding ordeal was the Slayer. For every obstacle and pain that I went through since Mike had left, Buffy had been there—to reassure and accept me—to love me—despite the link and my love for Mike.

And Mike was right. Buffy deserved happiness. More than anyone else I knew. Repeatedly the young woman saved the world and until I was there—mostly it was at a high personal cost to herself.

"Well?" he asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

Was I just brooding? I asked himself, frowning. Gods, I hope not... I shook my head and turned to him. "She left me about six months ago, mate. Got all bloody noble on me and decided it was time to let me in on the fact that not only was I also in love with the Slayer, but the Slayer was in love with me."

His eyes widened and nodded his head once, signaling that I should continue.

I rolled my eyes and fell back into my chair. "She gleaned that wonderful fact from the link—during an especially intense love-making session. Apparently I shared something that I had no idea I even felt." Suddenly restless, I shot up out of my chair and began pacing in front in him. "It wasn't until Buffy came real close to dying that Mike finally couldn't take it anymore. By this time, she knew of Buffy's feelings as well and felt that it wouldn't be fair to the Slayer if she remained with me—despite knowing that both Buffy and I were in love with each other. And since Slayer's rarely live past their mid-twenties and Mike was Immortal—it seemed like the only thing that Mike could do and still feel good about herself."

"She's so damn fair—it's excruciatingly painful at times."

I stopped mid-step and grinned at him. "Bloody hell, Old Man, you hit the nail on the coffin. Six months ago, I was still in shock. All I knew is what I felt."

"And that was?"

I laughed outright. "That I wished to Hell I still had my demon so I had the balls to keep them both—even if that did mean locking them up!'

The Immortal shook his head as smile curled his lips. "I don't know if I can handle the imagery, Spike. I saw a picture of Buffy while we were there," he paused, chuckling. He shook his head again. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't reformed either. It would've been a bloody good time, man."

"That it would. This pesky soul comes out in the worst of times," I said, still grinning. "Oh well, I fight the good fight now. It wouldn't do my reputation any good for me to slip back into my old habits—not to mention the thought of Mr. Pointy staking my heart."

"Mr. Pointy?"

"Buffy's favorite stake. It was the other slayer's—the one before Faith—lucky stake. The poor fool had such an empty life—she named the bastard." I stretched my long legs and turned to him. "So, Old Man, are you going to tell me what the hell you've been doing for the past year or am I going to have to torture it out of you?"

The Immortal's left eyebrow shot up as his eyes twinkled in amusement. "Afraid of Mike?"

"Damn right! I know her temper and from what I've gathered, she's gotten pretty handy with a sword!" I reached over for my wineglass and noticed it was empty. Sighing I stood up and grabbed the Immortal's empty beer bottle and went into the kitchen. After pulling out another bottle of bloodwine, I opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and reached for the unopened bottle of Jack Daniel's that Mike had left. With both items in hand, I returned to the living room and placed the bottle of bourbon in front of Methos.

"Mike's?"

"Yeah. She likes to drink when she's stressed—"

"—it calms her nerves," the Immortal finished softly. He looked up at me strangely and sighed. "Bloody hell, Spike, she really loves you," he muttered as his head dropped and he began to stare at the bottle. "All this time—I knew it, but I didn't really feel it."

"She loves you too, mate. And just as much."

The Immortal's head shot up and once again our eyes met. "Both of us?"

I nodded, feeling somewhat foolish reassuring him—my future competition, but I couldn't help it. I knew how much she cared for him and that her love had somewhat insinuated itself in me. Not that I loved the bastard, but that I respected him and her feelings. I shook my head at the craziness and cleared my throat. "But she knows you , too. She knows that you're not ready to commit and Mike can't handle not being the only one."

Methos' hazel eyes stared back at me, understanding flooding them. "That's why she left Sunnydale, isn't it? Even though she knew Immortal's tended to stay clear of the Hellmouth—that she would be safer here—because she couldn't handle watching you and Buffy together."

I nodded, ignoring the stabbing pain that I always felt when I thought of Mike with a pack of headhunters after her.

He chuckled without amusement. "What a tangled web, my man."

I couldn't help but agree with him.

~~4~~

A day after Methos left, Buffy performed the uninvite spell, making my home demon-vamp proof. I couldn't help but feel a bit relieved with knowledge that once again my home was just that: my home. No Angelus to barge in and take over. No taunts or recriminations. Just the peace that came from the security of knowing my own was indeed my castle.

Willow dropped by later that same night to pump me for info on Methos; where he had been and how he was doing—really. I knew she was doing it for Mike, but I couldn't help but feel as if I was betraying the Old Man's confidence, so I spilled what I knew with great reluctance. I told her almost everything—except where he was going to get his newest identity.

It was that first night, while he was telling me his tale of dodge and run that he had been doing for the past year, that it hit me: somehow Morden knew his aliases.

Mike and I already knew that Morden was the one that let it out that Adam Pierson and Methos were one in the same in the Immortal Community. And we also knew, from his own admittance, that he was from the future. What if somehow Morden got a hold of one of Methos' chronicles?

Once I voiced this thought outloud, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

I offered to call Aristotle, the vampire who created new identities for the Souled-Ones, and see if he would be willing to set something up for Methos.

The Old Man agreed. After the call was placed and a flight to New York City was booked, a cool chill caressed my spine, causing me to shiver. It was quickly replaced by a sense of calmness.

"Did you feel that, mate?"

The Immortal nodded slowly, sporting a strange mixture of disbelief and awe on his face. "I did."

Whether it was our preternatural senses or a sign from the gods, I realized then we just did something that I thought until then, was impossible: we changed fate and it felt as if fate approved.

Now maybe whatever Morden was using to pursue both Mike and Methos was now invalid. We can always hope.

Hey, those gods may like us afterall.