Chapter Twenty-Eight

From now on the story is set completely in 2004. The parts in the past are done.


As far as dying and being resurrected went, Spike thought dazedly when his mind was once again able to form a thought, this hadn't been so bad. Sure, it had been no picnic either… he could have done without the pain in his soul at seeing Wesley hurt like this. But the physical pain while feeling his body turn to dust had been brief and the reversal almost painless. So, all in all, not the worst death he'd had.

Or maybe Spike had just gotten better over time.

Though it was probably not something you could get better at, seeing that you're supposed to do it only once. Well, anyway, Spike thought, it was over and bloody done with and he had no intention of doing it again in the near future. With his luck he'd probably just stay dead the next time.

So, no more.

Spike shook his head to clear it of bollocks like this. Didn't matter anyway. All that mattered now was… making Wesley remember. He had to tell him that he loved him and then snog him senseless. Or the other way round; Spike hadn't made a fixed plan yet.

First he'd have to… well, Spike realized that he should probably open his eyes first. He did and… bloody hell, where was he? This wasn't Wesley's office at Wolfram & Hart. This was… what was this place?

He sat up straight and looked left and right. Cream-coloured walls were almost closing in on him. He could touch both sides sitting here. He'd ended up in some kind of cubicle, with a heavy blue curtain in front. Spike scrambled to his feet. Behind him, he noticed, the entire wall was a mirror. He stared at his stunned face for a second and made sure that he had all limbs intact and where they belonged, then quickly turned around and pushed the curtain aside.

On the other side of a small hall there were half a dozen more cubicles like his. He stepped out and felt his jaw drop.

"A changing room? Bloody hell!"

Spike hurried to the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner. His eyes grew wide. Rows of neat clothes wherever he looked, with people casually strolling around and browsing. He was in a bloody department store! How the hell had he ended up in a department store?

Spike left the changing area and fought his way through thongs of people. He had to ride two stairs upwards before he found the exit. On his way, he picked up enough snippets of conversation to learn that a) he appeared to be still in England (judging from the familiar accent) and b) Christmas had apparently just passed. A lot of these folks were trying to return Christmas gifts.

Spike couldn't figure out what year it was though, and he didn't want to sound like a lunatic asking around for the date.

Turned out that he didn't have to, for when he reached the exit a big banner caught his eye. "Grant opening on December 18th, 2003! Just in time for your Christmas Shopping at Debenham's!"

'Well,' Spike thought and stepped into a shady corner just outside the store. 'Means it's the right year, at least. Must be January now. But why the hell did I end up here? Why not back in Wes' office where this bollocks started?'

He had counted on reappearing right where he'd left. It would have made more sense than this. On the other hand, perhaps he should be more grateful for this random location. After all, he could have just as well ended up reappearing right where he'd been killed! In the Archive of the Watchers' Council.

'And wouldn't that have been a blast? Coming back right between the wankers! I'd never have gotten out of there, and I'd have probably ended up dead again when the building blew up… oh!'

Spike suddenly realized his mistake, and it made him almost stumble over his own feet. Of course! He threw a look at the store and, sure enough, the building was brand new.

Turns out he had reappeared right where he'd been killed. Only, the Archive wasn't there anymore. Neither was the Watchers' Council. The building had exploded last year, he knew that! And it looked like the City of London hadn't wasted any time and had sold the site to have a bloody Debenham's built!

Spike almost laughed out loud. But he quickly sobered up again. He had to figure out a way to get back to LA and to Wesley. And quickly!

If he knew Wesley (and he did), then the ex-watcher had been fretting and blaming himself for what had happened ever since performing the spell. Which, Spike realized belatedly, could be days, hours or mere minutes ago. He still didn't know the exact date of today, but he knew that his trip to the past had started on January the 8th.

A quick glance at an ATM next to him confirmed that it was indeed the 8th today. So Wesley in LA had just performed the spell and was now sitting there, staring at the empty space of his office, blaming himself.

"I need a phone!" Spike needed to speak to Wesley, now! He looked around, frantically, and his eyes fell on two women a few feet away. They were taking a smoking break from the looks of it.

Without a second thought Spike walked up to them. He put on his most charming smile. "Excuse me, ladies, but I need to make a phone call. It's an emergency. Do you know where...?"

The women looked up, then shared a quick look, then shrugged. "Sorry, no," the smaller one said. The other woman scanned the street. "There's one around the corner I think. We passed it on our way here."

She was pointing with her hand that held the cigarette and Spike realized that he hadn't had a fag in what seemed like ages. He was suddenly craving one very badly. "Err, you wouldn't happen to have a spare fag, would you?"

Again the ladies shared a quick glance, as if to communicate silently. Then the taller one shrugged and pulled a pack of fags from her pocket. She held it out for him and Spike took one, quickly lightened up and deeply inhaled the welcoming smoke.

"Thanks, dear." He smiled and saw her blush in return. "You're welcome," she mumbled.

"So, that way, huh?" Spike looked across the street, then up to the sky. It was heavily overcast with no spot of blue sky or sunshine anywhere in sight, thank god, and he thought he could risk a quick dash into the open without going up in flames.

"Yes, around the corner," the woman nodded.

"Ta, again. Bye, ladies."

"Bye." They both stubbed their fags on the ashtray and made their way down the street, all the while chatting in what Spike realized was German. He watched them go, stubbed out his own fag, and then braced himself before he ran across the street.


Wesley stood in front of Angel's desk, back straight and face impassive, and felt about as good as a schoolboy about to be berated for some mischief. But before Angel could say anything to the news of Spike's disappearance, the intercom suddenly buzzed.

Angel rolled his eyes and pushed the button. "What is it, Harmony?"

"Hi, boss!" The perky vampire chirped. "Is Wesley with you? I tried his office but…"

"Yeah, he's here." Angel beckoned Wesley closer.

"Great," Harmony sounded relieved. "Because Spike's really getting on my nerves with his…"

"Spike?" Wesley shared a stunned look with Angel. "Where is he?"

"He's on the phone and he says he needs to talk to you ASAP." Wesley felt as if a stone was lifted off his shoulders. Spike was alright, he hadn't gotten him killed after all! Harmony had meanwhile chatted on and he quickly cut her off.

"Just put him on, Harmony!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez, it's just Spike, not the president!"

The intercom made a crackling noise and then the phone beeped. Angel pushed a button to put the call on speaker. Wesley held his breath and sat down on the edge of Angel's desk.

"Wes?" Spike suddenly called out. "Wes, are you there?"

"Spike," Wesley leaned closer to the phone. "Where are you? What happened?"

Instead of answering the question, Spike let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, bloody hell. It's good to hear your voice, luv. Didn't realize how bloody much I missed the old you."

Wesley's eyebrow rose, but not as much as Angel's did. The vampire threw a questioning gaze at Wesley, who felt himself blush. He cleared his throat. "Spike, tell me what happened! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, luv. Bloody relieved to be back, to be honest. Not that the trip to the past wasn't interesting, especially since I got to know you good and proper, but… well, I think I prefer my lover to be a bit more rough around the edges, if you know what I'm talking about."

No, Wesley had absolutely no idea what Spike was talking about, and it showed on his stunned face. Angel stared at him, mouth open and not sure what to think, and the question mark in his gaze grew bigger and bigger. Wesley looked away and cleared his throat again. "Err, well…"

"Wes?" Spike had gone quiet as well. He seemed to have caught on to the fact that something wasn't ship-shape. "Oh, bollocks! You have no idea, do you?" His voice was soft, almost pleading. "You don't remember."

Wesley opened his mouth – to say what, he had no clue – but Angel beat him to it. "Spike," he bellowed into the phone. "What happened? Wesley just told me that you vanished into thin air and now you're back, babbling like mad. What is going on?"

"Oh, shut it, Peaches," Spike growled. "This is between me and Wes."

"No, it's not." Angel wouldn't have it. "Either you tell me what happened or I'm hanging up on you now. Your choice."

Spike let out a sigh. "Fine! So, Wesley did the spell, right?"

"Did it work?" Wesley wanted to know at once.

"Err, not so much, sorry pet. It did something though, and, well…" he broke off, suddenly unsure how to tell them what had happened. "I'll tell you all about what it did as soon as you've come pick me up."

Angel frowned. "Where are you, Spike?"

"Get one of your nifty little private jets in gear, Angel. I'm in London."

"What?"

"Pardon?" Wesley couldn't believe it. "Did you say London? As in… England?"

"You got it, luv. Greetings from home! Now, come and get me out of here. I've had about enough of the sodding place."

Wesley briefly wondered what that was supposed to mean. How long had Spike been in England? And how? And… huh? What? His head was spinning. He was glad that he'd been sitting down or else he'd have plopped onto his arse by now.

"Spike," Angel cut the silence at last, annoyance barely concealed. "I'm not sending the firm's private jet to pick you up. This isn't company business. You don't even work for Wolfram & Hart."

"And whose bloody fault is that, huh? Angel, come on!" Pleading crept into Spike's voice. "You gotta get me out of here."

"Why should I?" Angel was feeling stubborn.

"Because it was you that wanted me to try the sodding spell in the first place! And your employee mucked it up!" Spike felt bad for blaming Wesley but what else could he do? He needed Angel's help.

Angel saw Wesley stiffen from the corner of his eyes. He sighed. "Okay, Spike. I'll send a jet."

"Good," Spike nodded relieved. "Oh, and don't forget to put Wes on it."

"What? No, I'm not gonna…" Angel got cut off by Wesley's bewildered voice. "Why do you want me to come, Spike?"

"I'd rather… no, you know what? I'll tell you when you get here, luv."

Wesley searched Angel's face for confirmation and Angel, with another deep sigh, eventually nodded his consent. "Alright, I'll come," Wesley agreed, then looked at his watch. "I should be there in about ten hours. Can you get to Wolfram & Hart's private airport? It's…"

"Here's a better thought," Spike had just had an idea about how to kill the time. "When you're here, take a taxi to 14, Bonwell Street. The house at the end."

"Why?" Wesley frowned.

"Just get there, luv." Spike didn't want to reveal too much. "Promise?"

"Promise," Wesley replied automatically. "14, Bonwell Street. I'll see you there."

"Bye, luv."

Wesley nodded to Angel and the vampire hung up. Then he leaned back in his big chair and frowned. "Okay, what just happened here? Why is Spike in England? And why does he want you there?"

"I have no more of an idea than you do, Angel," Wesley shrugged and stood up. He was curious as hell. "But I guess I will find out soon enough." He walked over to the door and opened it. "Have the plane ready in half an hour. I need to go pack."

"What do you need to pack for? Wesley?" Angel stared at Wesley's retreating form. The door closed behind him. "You're not going on holiday after all!"

He shook his head and then picked up the phone to call for the jet.


As soon as Spike had hung up the phone, he realized the flaw in his plan. He'd thought, to kill the time till Wesley came here, he'd see what had become of his only living relative. He'd wanted to look up Henry and his family.

That's why he'd given Wes the address. Only, the flaw was, Spike had no way of knowing whether or not Henry still lived there. He didn't even know if Henry was still alive. He could have been one of the Watchers that had gotten themselves blown up in the attack of the First last year.

Spike felt a queasy sort of feeling in his stomach at the thought. He didn't want Henry to be dead and quickly tried to reassure himself. "Na, Henry's a smart one. Too smart for sticking with the Watchers all his life. He might have quit the Council, like my Wes did."

Never mind that Wesley hadn't really quitted; he'd been sacked. Perhaps Henry had been, too. He was too good for the Council.

"There's only one way to find out," Spike muttered and stepped to the edge of the pavement to hail a taxi. When shortly after one of the typical black cars slowed down and stopped in front of him, he got in and searched his pockets for some money. Thank God he'd nicked the change Wesley had forgotten to pocket when they'd been at the pub the other night.

"14, Bonwell Street," Spike told the cabbie and softer mumbled, "Gotta see some relatives."


TBC

In a first version of this chapter, the scene with the two women was totally different (and much more funny). But then I realized that I had written in a huge mistake: I had given them a smart phone so that Spike could google Wesley's number... only, I think there were no smart phones in 2004. Damn!