Spike bobbed and weaved his battered DeSoto through the early morning
commute traffic, cursing the fact that he hadn't gotten on the road sooner.
Yet, he knew how important it was for the Slayer sleeping at his side to
gather her belongings. It's a difficult thing to just uproot oneself from
somewhere they consider home. He knew the feeling. Leaving London had been
bittersweet. On the one hand, it was great to escape memories of William
Bennett and his miserable existence, yet it was hard to leave his home. And
that was exactly what Buffy was doing.
As Spike continued to drive, he changed out CD's from the Sex Pistols to the Ramones. He skipped tracks to his personal favorite, "I Wanna be Sedated" and cranked the volume up. Then turned it back down again. "Wouldn't want to wake her up, she'd just start bawlin' again. Then I'd start, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?" Not like he needed a reason to start up again. The pain was there; he just didn't have any more tears to give. Not yet. He looked over at the sleeping Buffy. He saw her eyes twitching beneath her lids, and her body shaking. "She's dreaming, and it's not about bunnies or beaches, dead cert." As if on cue, Buffy began to talk in her sleep.
"Angel, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault, I know. No, please don't leave me. I need you. No, no don't go. ANGEL!!" She shot upright as if struck by lightning, eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Was it all a dream?" she wondered. Then she looked around, befuddled by her surroundings until realization dawned upon her. It was all real. Slowly, she looked towards the driver's side of the car and who was sitting there looking at her. "Spike. I've attached myself to a cold blooded killer who may or may not decide that killing me is a much better idea than holing up somewhere in L.A. with the person who killed his lover. What was I thinking?" she thought. "Oh, yeah. He ran Angel through with the sword. HE sent Angel to Hell. We owe each other. I just hope that I'm doing the right thing." She sat up straight, tried to look through the blacked out windshield without success, and groaned. "How do you see through this?" she asked, trying to keep to small talk.
"Its not hard, once you've been doin' it for a decade or four", responded Spike, likewise not trying to get into deep conversation. "You get used to th' fact that you can't see much. An' if you think this is hard, try doin' it in th' rain or th' fog."
"Gee, sounds exciting. A lot like pulling teeth. Oodles of fun for all ages."
"Ha ha. Yer a barrel o' laughs, to be sure. Uhm.d'ya need food or something? I could stop somewhere, let you run in a fast food place, if'n you like."
"I could use some yummy goodness, to coin a Xanderism", replied Buffy. She instantly regretted making that comment. It brought up bad memories. Xander Harris was the last Scooby she saw before.she pushed the thought back to her subconscious before the pain came back.
Spike saw the look on her face. He'd seen that face before. Drusilla would look like that, on those rare occasions where she was lucid. Those were the times that the demon receded and the frightened little girl would come through. Those were the times that were hardest. Those were the times he had to take care of Drusilla the most. Only now, he doesn't have to anymore. His Black Princess was returned to the earth from which she came. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He suppressed a shudder, knowing that it would lead to more tears. "There's a Burger Barn up ahead, Slayer. Shall we stop?"
"O-okay", replied Buffy, finally regaining her composure. She looked Spike dead in the eye, summoned up a little bit more willpower and asked, "Why are you being nice to me? I mean, you and me, mortal enemies, ring a bell?"
"Yeah, well, it's like you said, Slayer, we've nothin' left in this bleedin' world. An' we're both at fault for it. So, th' way I figure it, misery loves company. 'Sides, it's not like we're bosom buddies or the like, we just have this in common an' we both need a shoulder to cry...to lean on. Since we've no one else, like you said, we gotta have each other, at least for now."
"Are you absolutely sure you're William the Bloody, the 200 year old killer of 2 Slayers?"
"I'm 118, actually, in vamp years. I was 26 when Dru sired me in 1880, so if you do the math, this body's been roamin' th' earth for 144 years."
"Oh, Giles said the Watchers' books put you at 200."
"Prob'ly 'cause they didn't want to admit a 20 year old rookie drained one o' their precious slayers."
"And, Drusilla sired you? I thought Angel was your sire?"
"Two different meanin's to that word. Yeah, Dru sired me, made me a vamp. But Angelus, he was the man in charge. Even though Darla sired him, HE was Sire. When I say Sire in ref to Angel, it's best to think "Master". Y'know, like THE Master."
"I didn't know that. Who makes all these rules?"
"I dunno, isn't it in the Slayer Handbook?"
"What, did everyone know about the Slayer Handbook but me?"
To Buffy's surprise, Spike began to snicker. The snicker grew into a chuckle, and then became full blown laughter. Side splitting laughter.
"Y-you mean to t-tell me that you've never read th' Slayer's Handbook? Hehehehe, that's bloody 'ilarious!"
"Don't start with me, you vile blood sucker!" Buffy began to slap Spike on the arms and chest. He began to swerve on the road.
"Bloody Hell, Slayer!" he exclaimed, game face sliding into place. "You're gonna get us both killed! Is that what you want, you annoying bint! You want some death!?" Suddenly, the slaps ceased. Spike regained control of the car, and looked around for any cops that might have seen the DeSoto swerving out of control. "Couldn't 'ave th' police pullin' us over right now. Be real interestin', a cop givin' a ticket to a pile of dust." Once he decided it was safe, Spike edged the car towards the exit leading to the Burger Barn. As he drove down the off ramp, he looked at Buffy again. She was pushed up as close to the passenger door as she could get, stake in her right hand. There was a look of fear in her eyes for a moment, then as quick as it appeared, her fear retreated in favor of anger.
"Put the fangs away, or I'll give YOU some death, you vile son of a bitch. Don't think you can scare me, you sick freak. I've woken up with bad hair days that were more terrifying than you!"
"Ooh, I'm so bleedin' frightened now. You think you can take me, Slayer? Try. Please. I'm bloody beggin' you. Take me out. Then try to get this car under control before you crash into somethin'. Go for it. Dance with me." He let his human face come forward as he leaned into her. "Here's yer chance. Take yer shot. See how far you get before I rip yer throat out."
"Spike, stop the car."
"I don't think. Yer not getting' off that easy."
"Spike. Stop. The. Car."
"Why? So you can run off into the sunlight and avoid the thrashin' you so definitely deserve?"
"No, the Burger Barn is right in front of us and if you don't stop, we'll crash into the front of the building."
"Oh, well then, since you put it that way", Spike said as he slammed on the brakes. The DeSoto screeched to a halt. "Well, what are you goin' to do? Sit there like a bleedin' dolt or go get some soddin' food?"
"I'll be right back."
"Sure. Right then, I'll be right 'ere waitin' for you."
Buffy was true to her word. She was only gone 5 minutes when she jumped back into the car, several bags of food in her arms. "Let's go", she said as she dug into the first bag, retrieving 2 breakfast burritos. "Want one?"
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
They drove in silence for a half hour before Buffy asked, "Spike, would you tell me more about yourself? The real you, not what the books say, and not your party line."
"Well, what do you want to know about?" Buffy was amazed at how Spike just flipped back and forth between blind short-fused rage and gentle calmness.
"What were you like.before?"
" 'Fore what?"
"You know, before.you died?"
"Oh, you wanna know 'bout William Bennett." As Spike said the name of his former self, his voice changed. Gone was the lower class cockney accent, he now spoke with a soft, yet clipped proper King's English accent that would have made Rupert Giles sound like a commoner. "I was born in 1854, to a very dignified and wealthy merchant father and a prim and proper mother. I was schooled at private boarding schools until I was 18, at which time I enrolled at Cambridge, where I studied economics and business. I was expected to take over for my father, but my heart wasn't in it. I was a gentle spirit, not inclined to aggressiveness. I was a romantic, and wanted desperately to be a writer. A poet, that's what I was. Unfortunately, I wasn't a very good one, so I spent the bulk of my time being a dignified socialite." He noticed Buffy's perplexed look. "I was a snob."
"Oh."
"Yeah, sounds like fun don't it?" he was back to Spike speak. "I was pathetic, sittin' around the foyer at the house o' whoever was throwin' the shindig o' th' evenin', writin' bloody awful poetry an' pinin' away for one Cecily Addams. She was th' daughter o' one o' th' House o' Lords. Y'know, like the Senate an' all that bollocks. Anyways, she was a decent lookin' chit, an' I wanted nothin' more out of life than to be her lovin' husband. But, alas it wasn't meant to be, and on th' same night she rejected me, I met."
"Drusilla?"
"Yeah, she was a weird bird, but she was attracted to me for some reason, I hadn't the foggiest at the time, but now, I think it was all the darkness in my soul at th' time."
"That makes sense, with her clairvoyant abilities, I'm sure she could tune in on what she was looking for, considering that she probably felt left out, what with Darla and Angel.Angelus."
"Give th' pigeon a bloody gold star. Hit th' nail on th' bleedin' head right there, you did."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, yer 'xactly right. That's what it was. She was lonely, an' wanted a playmate. An' that's what she got, at least until Angelus went all poofty an' got a bleedin' soul. Couple o' years later, I bagged my first slayer, Soul Boy hit th' road to brood or whatever he was doin' for th' last hundred years, an' Darla ran back to her 'Master' and his 'unlife partner' Luke. You ever meet that piece o' work? Dumb as a post, he was. An' all religious like, as if Vampirism was th' Second Comin' or somethin'. You ever fight him? Real big guy, ugly as all Hell, even for a vamp? Now that I think about it, he kinda resembled The Judge."
"Yeah, I remember that lame-o. I staked him my first week in Sunnydale, during the Harvest. He was strong, but that was it about it. I actually got him to think the sun had risen about 9 hours before it actually did. He's currently residing in a dust buster."
"Serves him right, th' soddin' git. An' he was th' Master's fav'rit too. Bet that wanker bloody cried a month over losin' that piece o' filth."
"The Master was plenty teed off, but then he got his 'Anointed One' and I guess he got all better."
"Oh, yeah, th' 'Annoyin' One'. He was a barrel o' laughs, that one was. He actually expected me, ME, to sacrifice my life for failin' him."
"How'd you fail him?"
"Still breathin', aren't you?"
"Ah."
"Still can't believe yer mum beat my arse that night. It was kinda funny, though. 'Get your hands off my daughter!' an' all that. Your mum's a brave one, dead cert."
"Yeah, Mom's a toughie. She didn't even cry when her and Dad divorced. She just sucked it up and did her best to make my life go well. She honestly thought Sunnydale was the best place for me to get a fresh start. Funny how that turned out."
"How's that?"
"Duh? Hellmouth ring a bell, or has all that bleach started to eat at your brain, instead of just your follicles? You know, they got this new invention. Its called Neutrogena. It'd probably help fix that damaged hair of yours" she smiled sweetly at him.
"Oh, yer a riot. A regular Lenny Bruce you are."
"Who?"
"Never mind, before yer time."
"Whatever. Look, we're at the city limits. At least, that's what I think the sign said. I just can't see through all this goop on your windshield."
"That's what th' sign said, Slayer. In a few minutes, we'll be in beautiful downtown Los Angeles."
"Buffy."
"What's that, Slayer?"
"My name is Buffy."
"I know that, Slayer."
"You can call me that, if you want."
"Is that what you want me to call you?"
"Yes."
"Right then, Buffy it is. Until you change it."
"Why would I change it?"
"Yer headed underground, luv. Wouldn't be smart to go by yer real name."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"I know."
To Be Continued.
As Spike continued to drive, he changed out CD's from the Sex Pistols to the Ramones. He skipped tracks to his personal favorite, "I Wanna be Sedated" and cranked the volume up. Then turned it back down again. "Wouldn't want to wake her up, she'd just start bawlin' again. Then I'd start, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?" Not like he needed a reason to start up again. The pain was there; he just didn't have any more tears to give. Not yet. He looked over at the sleeping Buffy. He saw her eyes twitching beneath her lids, and her body shaking. "She's dreaming, and it's not about bunnies or beaches, dead cert." As if on cue, Buffy began to talk in her sleep.
"Angel, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault, I know. No, please don't leave me. I need you. No, no don't go. ANGEL!!" She shot upright as if struck by lightning, eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Was it all a dream?" she wondered. Then she looked around, befuddled by her surroundings until realization dawned upon her. It was all real. Slowly, she looked towards the driver's side of the car and who was sitting there looking at her. "Spike. I've attached myself to a cold blooded killer who may or may not decide that killing me is a much better idea than holing up somewhere in L.A. with the person who killed his lover. What was I thinking?" she thought. "Oh, yeah. He ran Angel through with the sword. HE sent Angel to Hell. We owe each other. I just hope that I'm doing the right thing." She sat up straight, tried to look through the blacked out windshield without success, and groaned. "How do you see through this?" she asked, trying to keep to small talk.
"Its not hard, once you've been doin' it for a decade or four", responded Spike, likewise not trying to get into deep conversation. "You get used to th' fact that you can't see much. An' if you think this is hard, try doin' it in th' rain or th' fog."
"Gee, sounds exciting. A lot like pulling teeth. Oodles of fun for all ages."
"Ha ha. Yer a barrel o' laughs, to be sure. Uhm.d'ya need food or something? I could stop somewhere, let you run in a fast food place, if'n you like."
"I could use some yummy goodness, to coin a Xanderism", replied Buffy. She instantly regretted making that comment. It brought up bad memories. Xander Harris was the last Scooby she saw before.she pushed the thought back to her subconscious before the pain came back.
Spike saw the look on her face. He'd seen that face before. Drusilla would look like that, on those rare occasions where she was lucid. Those were the times that the demon receded and the frightened little girl would come through. Those were the times that were hardest. Those were the times he had to take care of Drusilla the most. Only now, he doesn't have to anymore. His Black Princess was returned to the earth from which she came. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He suppressed a shudder, knowing that it would lead to more tears. "There's a Burger Barn up ahead, Slayer. Shall we stop?"
"O-okay", replied Buffy, finally regaining her composure. She looked Spike dead in the eye, summoned up a little bit more willpower and asked, "Why are you being nice to me? I mean, you and me, mortal enemies, ring a bell?"
"Yeah, well, it's like you said, Slayer, we've nothin' left in this bleedin' world. An' we're both at fault for it. So, th' way I figure it, misery loves company. 'Sides, it's not like we're bosom buddies or the like, we just have this in common an' we both need a shoulder to cry...to lean on. Since we've no one else, like you said, we gotta have each other, at least for now."
"Are you absolutely sure you're William the Bloody, the 200 year old killer of 2 Slayers?"
"I'm 118, actually, in vamp years. I was 26 when Dru sired me in 1880, so if you do the math, this body's been roamin' th' earth for 144 years."
"Oh, Giles said the Watchers' books put you at 200."
"Prob'ly 'cause they didn't want to admit a 20 year old rookie drained one o' their precious slayers."
"And, Drusilla sired you? I thought Angel was your sire?"
"Two different meanin's to that word. Yeah, Dru sired me, made me a vamp. But Angelus, he was the man in charge. Even though Darla sired him, HE was Sire. When I say Sire in ref to Angel, it's best to think "Master". Y'know, like THE Master."
"I didn't know that. Who makes all these rules?"
"I dunno, isn't it in the Slayer Handbook?"
"What, did everyone know about the Slayer Handbook but me?"
To Buffy's surprise, Spike began to snicker. The snicker grew into a chuckle, and then became full blown laughter. Side splitting laughter.
"Y-you mean to t-tell me that you've never read th' Slayer's Handbook? Hehehehe, that's bloody 'ilarious!"
"Don't start with me, you vile blood sucker!" Buffy began to slap Spike on the arms and chest. He began to swerve on the road.
"Bloody Hell, Slayer!" he exclaimed, game face sliding into place. "You're gonna get us both killed! Is that what you want, you annoying bint! You want some death!?" Suddenly, the slaps ceased. Spike regained control of the car, and looked around for any cops that might have seen the DeSoto swerving out of control. "Couldn't 'ave th' police pullin' us over right now. Be real interestin', a cop givin' a ticket to a pile of dust." Once he decided it was safe, Spike edged the car towards the exit leading to the Burger Barn. As he drove down the off ramp, he looked at Buffy again. She was pushed up as close to the passenger door as she could get, stake in her right hand. There was a look of fear in her eyes for a moment, then as quick as it appeared, her fear retreated in favor of anger.
"Put the fangs away, or I'll give YOU some death, you vile son of a bitch. Don't think you can scare me, you sick freak. I've woken up with bad hair days that were more terrifying than you!"
"Ooh, I'm so bleedin' frightened now. You think you can take me, Slayer? Try. Please. I'm bloody beggin' you. Take me out. Then try to get this car under control before you crash into somethin'. Go for it. Dance with me." He let his human face come forward as he leaned into her. "Here's yer chance. Take yer shot. See how far you get before I rip yer throat out."
"Spike, stop the car."
"I don't think. Yer not getting' off that easy."
"Spike. Stop. The. Car."
"Why? So you can run off into the sunlight and avoid the thrashin' you so definitely deserve?"
"No, the Burger Barn is right in front of us and if you don't stop, we'll crash into the front of the building."
"Oh, well then, since you put it that way", Spike said as he slammed on the brakes. The DeSoto screeched to a halt. "Well, what are you goin' to do? Sit there like a bleedin' dolt or go get some soddin' food?"
"I'll be right back."
"Sure. Right then, I'll be right 'ere waitin' for you."
Buffy was true to her word. She was only gone 5 minutes when she jumped back into the car, several bags of food in her arms. "Let's go", she said as she dug into the first bag, retrieving 2 breakfast burritos. "Want one?"
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
They drove in silence for a half hour before Buffy asked, "Spike, would you tell me more about yourself? The real you, not what the books say, and not your party line."
"Well, what do you want to know about?" Buffy was amazed at how Spike just flipped back and forth between blind short-fused rage and gentle calmness.
"What were you like.before?"
" 'Fore what?"
"You know, before.you died?"
"Oh, you wanna know 'bout William Bennett." As Spike said the name of his former self, his voice changed. Gone was the lower class cockney accent, he now spoke with a soft, yet clipped proper King's English accent that would have made Rupert Giles sound like a commoner. "I was born in 1854, to a very dignified and wealthy merchant father and a prim and proper mother. I was schooled at private boarding schools until I was 18, at which time I enrolled at Cambridge, where I studied economics and business. I was expected to take over for my father, but my heart wasn't in it. I was a gentle spirit, not inclined to aggressiveness. I was a romantic, and wanted desperately to be a writer. A poet, that's what I was. Unfortunately, I wasn't a very good one, so I spent the bulk of my time being a dignified socialite." He noticed Buffy's perplexed look. "I was a snob."
"Oh."
"Yeah, sounds like fun don't it?" he was back to Spike speak. "I was pathetic, sittin' around the foyer at the house o' whoever was throwin' the shindig o' th' evenin', writin' bloody awful poetry an' pinin' away for one Cecily Addams. She was th' daughter o' one o' th' House o' Lords. Y'know, like the Senate an' all that bollocks. Anyways, she was a decent lookin' chit, an' I wanted nothin' more out of life than to be her lovin' husband. But, alas it wasn't meant to be, and on th' same night she rejected me, I met."
"Drusilla?"
"Yeah, she was a weird bird, but she was attracted to me for some reason, I hadn't the foggiest at the time, but now, I think it was all the darkness in my soul at th' time."
"That makes sense, with her clairvoyant abilities, I'm sure she could tune in on what she was looking for, considering that she probably felt left out, what with Darla and Angel.Angelus."
"Give th' pigeon a bloody gold star. Hit th' nail on th' bleedin' head right there, you did."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, yer 'xactly right. That's what it was. She was lonely, an' wanted a playmate. An' that's what she got, at least until Angelus went all poofty an' got a bleedin' soul. Couple o' years later, I bagged my first slayer, Soul Boy hit th' road to brood or whatever he was doin' for th' last hundred years, an' Darla ran back to her 'Master' and his 'unlife partner' Luke. You ever meet that piece o' work? Dumb as a post, he was. An' all religious like, as if Vampirism was th' Second Comin' or somethin'. You ever fight him? Real big guy, ugly as all Hell, even for a vamp? Now that I think about it, he kinda resembled The Judge."
"Yeah, I remember that lame-o. I staked him my first week in Sunnydale, during the Harvest. He was strong, but that was it about it. I actually got him to think the sun had risen about 9 hours before it actually did. He's currently residing in a dust buster."
"Serves him right, th' soddin' git. An' he was th' Master's fav'rit too. Bet that wanker bloody cried a month over losin' that piece o' filth."
"The Master was plenty teed off, but then he got his 'Anointed One' and I guess he got all better."
"Oh, yeah, th' 'Annoyin' One'. He was a barrel o' laughs, that one was. He actually expected me, ME, to sacrifice my life for failin' him."
"How'd you fail him?"
"Still breathin', aren't you?"
"Ah."
"Still can't believe yer mum beat my arse that night. It was kinda funny, though. 'Get your hands off my daughter!' an' all that. Your mum's a brave one, dead cert."
"Yeah, Mom's a toughie. She didn't even cry when her and Dad divorced. She just sucked it up and did her best to make my life go well. She honestly thought Sunnydale was the best place for me to get a fresh start. Funny how that turned out."
"How's that?"
"Duh? Hellmouth ring a bell, or has all that bleach started to eat at your brain, instead of just your follicles? You know, they got this new invention. Its called Neutrogena. It'd probably help fix that damaged hair of yours" she smiled sweetly at him.
"Oh, yer a riot. A regular Lenny Bruce you are."
"Who?"
"Never mind, before yer time."
"Whatever. Look, we're at the city limits. At least, that's what I think the sign said. I just can't see through all this goop on your windshield."
"That's what th' sign said, Slayer. In a few minutes, we'll be in beautiful downtown Los Angeles."
"Buffy."
"What's that, Slayer?"
"My name is Buffy."
"I know that, Slayer."
"You can call me that, if you want."
"Is that what you want me to call you?"
"Yes."
"Right then, Buffy it is. Until you change it."
"Why would I change it?"
"Yer headed underground, luv. Wouldn't be smart to go by yer real name."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"I know."
To Be Continued.