Title: GOOD ENOUGH FOR BUFFY (1/2)
Author: Bonnie
Email: bondav40@yahoo.com
Rating: PG13
Summary: Sequel to "Playing House." Spike goes on a quest for humanity. This was written before season 6 finale.
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.
"So then the brunette has spent almost all her money buying the bull and has to send a telegram to her sister asking her to come and pick it up with a trailer."
"The blond, right?"
"Well, yeah. Stick with me here," Spike gave Buffy a little pinch on the ass, and continued the story. "She goes to the telegraph office and dictates: "Come and meet me at the station with the trailer. I've got the new bull." The telegraph operator says it'll cost $5.00 to send the message, and you know she only has...."
"$1.00 left after buying the bull, uh-huh. Does this joke ever get to the punch line?"
She could imagine Spike scowling above her, as she pressed her smile against his chest. "Patience! You're always in a rush. Now do you want to hear this or not?"
"Well actually...."
"Shut up. So anyway, the brunette – you remember they're sisters, right?"
"Does that have anything to do with the point of the story?"
(Silence) "Well, anyway she has to cut down the message," he continued in a rush. "So she tells the operator to just write one word 'comfortable.'" Spike paused and waited for a reaction. "Get it? Comfortable!" He chuckled.
"Um, I think you missed a line or something."
"No I......Oh wait, yeah I did. The telegraph man asks, 'Comfortable?' What does that mean?' and the brunette answers, 'My sister reads real slow!' Funny, eh?" Spike tickled her side to get her laughing.
Buffy wiggled and slapped his hand away. "Just a minute. Something's still not right, here."
He sighed in frustration, "Say it out loud real slow. Com-for-da-bull. Now do you get it?"
Buffy was silent another moment then said, "That is the lamest dumb blond joke you've told me yet! Where do you get these?"
"Off the internet."
"Well, stop going online then. And, sweetheart, if you have to tell me goofy jokes, why are they always blond jokes? You and I are both blond....or at least I am."
"Cause they're funny." He began poking through her hair, checking out the roots.
"That's debatable." She squirmed out of his arms, pulling his hand out of her hair and pinning it above him. Climbing on top of his hard, nude body, she put an end to the joke-telling with a deeply satisfying kiss. Before she got him too aroused (which didn't take much for Spike), Buffy slithered back down beside him again.
Nestling her head on his chest she murmured endearingly, "Jackass."
"Bitch," he replied with affection.
One of Spike's arms was wrapped around the Slayer, pulling her close to him, his hand resting on the swell of her hip. He reached his other hand over and began rubbing her back, up and down in long slow strokes. Buffy felt like purring with contentment. Her eyelids began to droop and her thoughts to unfocus, when her lover's quiet voice startled her awake.
"Times like this I almost feel good enough."
"Hm?" she asked, sleepily. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Good enough for you. It almost seems like this is.....right," he remarked off-handedly.
Buffy's eyes flew open and she pushed up onto an elbow to give Spike her patented Buffy-glare. "What are you doing? Fishing for trouble? Don't you dare start that self-effacing bullshit. You are more than 'good enough' for me, and our being together is just fine, or it will be if you'd shut up and let me get some sleep!"
Spike smiled and wrapped a curl of her golden hair around his finger. "Excuse me if I'm a little confused," he teased. "I'm just 'an evil, soulless thing' and don't know any better. Maybe you can explain. Have the rules changed now? Am I not 'beneath you' any more?"
"You're never going to let it go are you?" Buffy grabbed his throat with both hands as if to squeeze the non-existent breath out of him.
"Never," he answered cheerfully, then babbled on, "Don't get me wrong, I like being beneath you, but I like being on top of you, too. And inside goes without saying."
"Seriously, Spike," Buffy ran her hands up from his throat to cradle his face, tracing the finely cut bone structure with her thumbs, "Please don't joke about it anymore. I've apologized 'til I'm blue in the face and it kills me every time you bring it up that I could have actually said such cruel things to you."
"But they're true." He gave a surprised little laugh. "You know they're true. I AM an evil soulless thing and I am beneath you. You're like an avenging angel of good and I'm a demon. You can camouflage it all you like, but facts are facts, luv."
The blond girl shook her head in denial and began to protest, but he put a finger to her lips.
"Listen, pet, I didn't mean to get you all stirred up. I was just saying is all. Just commenting on how grateful I am to be here in your bed instead of laying on a slab in a cold crypt somewhere. Saying I'm happy....with you."
"And I'm happy with you." Buffy felt her lower lip begin to tremble and eyes well with tears. She blinked hard and lowered her head back to Spike's shoulder to hide her emotional state. He listened to her sniff and gulp a little and wondered what he had said to upset her so. After 100 plus years of existence, women were still an enigma at times.
He reconsidered bringing up the topic he'd intended. If this interchange had bothered her, his half-formulated plan was going to send her over the edge.
"'Night, Slayer." He kissed the top of her head and smoothed back the hair from her forehead. God, he loved playing with its softness.
"Goodnight," she replied in a whisper. "Love you."
Now there was a miracle. Buffy saying she loved him. It made Moses parting the Red Sea look kind of insignificant.
Spike lay perfectly still, listening to her breathing slow and deepen until it turned into that familiar little rasping snore. What a love! She never would believe him when he told her about it. When he was sure she was sound asleep, he pulled his arm out from under her and crept silently from the warmth of their bed.
Downstairs and to the laundry room he moved stealthily. From the top cupboard and under some folded rags he drew an ancient, leather-bound book. The title, in gilt letters, was scratched and faded and in some long-dead language. Bits of the pages crumbled at Spike's touch, as he perched on the edge of the dryer and opened the moldy volume to continue his research.
Silent hours passed. Nothing disturbed the night but quiet house-sounds and the turning of pages. After a bit, the vampire pulled a crumpled pack of smokes from the shelf behind the fabric softener sheets and lit one up. There was no need to give up all one's vices for the sake of love. As long as he kept the second-hand smoke away from Dawn and Buffy, they conveniently overlooked the faint tang of tobacco that often permeated the laundry room.
"Bloody Etruscan dialects," Spike complained as he deciphered a complex passage dealing with reanimation of corpses. "Where's the Watcher when you need him."
The rare text was one Spike had lifted from Giles' collection many months ago, before the wanker had returned to England. The bespectacled librarian had been in a frenzy when he began packing and found this book and several others missing, but finally had to give up the search and leave for home without them. For a long time the books had remained hidden in Spike's crypt, almost forgotten, but recently he had finally begun the long delayed task of plowing through the difficult tomes. The mental whip that drove him on was, "There has to be a way."
Over a month ago, Angel had turned up here in his newly human state, trying to win Buffy back. And, although the girl had convinced Spike that her love was all for him now and he should stay with her, he hadn't forgotten the very excellent points his sire had made about their future together. Long-term, this romance was hopeless. Something had to change, and that something was Spike. If he couldn't bring himself to leave her, he would have to find a way to become what she needed.
Spike had begun his nightly campaign of searching for any reference to restoring vampires to their mortal state. He hadn't enlisted the aid of any of the gang because he didn't want to share his quest with Buffy until he had some concrete information to offer. The stubborn woman was as blind to his lack of humanity now as she had been quick to bring it up before. Tonight he had come close to sharing his thoughts, but her denial that there was any problem to be overcome had stilled his tongue. Wrapped in new love, she refused to face facts.
But Spike was determined to face them for her. He would do whatever needed to be done, try what had to be tried, to correct his soulless state. Restoring the soul would not be enough, however. Human life would have to accompany it. That was the only thing that would make him good enough for Buffy. Kids and someone to grow old with, isn't that what all these humans wanted?
Suddenly the vamp's eyes were riveted to the page. He read the passage that had caught his attention through, breaking it apart piece by piece to make sure he had translated correctly. He read it through once more. This could be.....no, it couldn't be that simple! Spike devoured the information yet again.
"What are you doing?" Dawn spoke through a yawn from the doorway. He dropped the book and jumped off the dryer at the sound.
"Christ in a sidecar, what the hell are you doing? You bloody nearly gave me a heart attack."
Dawn opened the door the rest of the way and came padding into the room, stopping to pick up the book he had dropped. "What are you reading? Hey, isn't this one of the books Giles was looking for?"
"No! Give me that. What are you doing up, anyway? You should be in bed."
"Can't sleep. Hungry. Is there any of that chocolate mousse left from dinner?"
"Why don't you go and see," Spike said, snatching the book from her hands.
Dawn put her hands on her hips and slightly cocked her head in a stance that mirrored her older sister. "You should know by now you can't hide anything from me. I invented sneaky. What's up?"
The blond vampire glowered at her, set the book down on the appliance behind him, and crossed his arms.
"Come on. You tell me or I tell Buffy. Spill!" she demanded.
He rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "Oh, bollocks!" He clenched and unclenched his jaw a couple of times, then asked, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course! I haven't told anyone that Janice went all the way with Brad Stiller."
"Well, you just told me didn't you?"
"You don't count. I mean I haven't told anyone at school. Jeez Spike, what could be such a big deal....just tell me already."
"I'm....I'm looking for a way to become human." It sounded lame saying it out loud, but Dawn didn't doubt the possibility for a second. Her eyes grew huge and she jumped at him to pull him into a bear hug.
"Oh my God! I can't believe it. This is.....this is friggin' unbelievable!"
He smiled as he extricated himself from her grip. "Yeah, well, it's not done yet. Don't know if it even can be done."
"Angel...." Dawn began.
Spike snorted, "He's a 'special' case. Marked by God or some such rot. Prophecies and all that. The normal rules don't apply to him. It's going to be a little harder for me."
"Well, did you find anything?" Dawn asked, starting to leaf through the disintegrating pages of the book.
"Actually, I might have." He stood next to her and turned to the page he had been studying. "Right here, it says.... 'One whose breath has ceased to flow, who is....er....has not the mark of Yaweh,' that's God, 'untouched by time and barren of life, moving through eternity in bloodlust. To such as this a....a....favor?....no, blessing be shown. A blessing be shown. A casting out and a drawing in. May this newly pure vessel be filled again with the Spirit showered out over all.' That's it. That's all I've got so far."
"Wow. That's......cryptic. What do you think it means?"
"When a vampire is made, a demon enters and the human soul is expelled. But the soul still exists somewhere....floating around in limbo, I guess. So - reverse it. Cast out the demon and summon back the soul."
"But, Spike....." Dawn said hesitantly. "Will you still be you? Or will you be who you were before? What happens to your personality?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "I still have all the memories of William and some character traits. I guess the demon part of me is all mixed up with the human that lived in this body before. Hell, I don't know how it works, but I've got to do something!"
"Well," Dawn said soothingly. "It sounds possible. But who do you think could do it? Maybe a priest or shaman? There's St. Mary's over on Fifth Street. We should talk to the priest there."
"Bit, 'we' shouldn't do anything. Whatever I decide to do, I'll do alone, and I don't know what my plan is yet."
"Oh come on! You're just like the rest of them. You think I can't be useful at all! Well, believe me if I've learned one thing from hanging out with the Scoobies it's how to do research. Oh, I know! I'll go to Father Whoever at the Catholic church and say I'm doing a report on possession and exorcism for school. If I sound all scholarly about it, I can milk all sorts of information out of him. What do you think?"
Her young face was alive with excitement, and Spike had to smile back. There was no way he was going to burst her bubble as the rest of the 'team' had so often done. Surely there'd be no harm and maybe even some help in letting her ask questions on his behalf. He took the book from her hand, and gave her a curt little nod.
"Sure, sweetness. I'd appreciate the leg-work. Just remember….."
"I know how to keep my mouth shut, Spike. Don't even say it." She gave him a quick hug. "This is so exciting! There's no way I'm getting back to sleep tonight."
"As long as I don't hear you complain about getting up for school in the morning, I don't care how long you stay awake. Move along, girl."
"'Night, Spike." She padded out of the room again. He waited until she'd left to secret the book in its hiding place, smiling affectionately at her youthful enthusiasm. That Dawn was a little firecracker when she wasn't whining.
He lit another cigarette and stepped out the back door into the energy of night to savor it. A breeze stirred his rumpled hair and he lifted his nose into the air to scent out the many kinds of prey that roamed the night. His blood began to rise at the thought of the chase and kill. How he missed tearing into a jugular and feeling the rich, ripe blood flooding his mouth and filling his senses. Just the thought set him panting and the smooth human features shimmered into the ridges of his true demon self. Ah, this was no good. There could be no relief for him tonight or any night. Shaking his head, he forced the demon down. He went back inside the house, which suddenly felt like a cage, to pour a mug of cold animal blood and chug it down with a grimace.
Carefully rinsing all traces of blood down the drain (the girls hated to see it), he set the mug in the sink and returned to the cozy love nest he shared with Buffy. He stood beside the bed for a moment, watching her sleep and remembering why it was worth it to be neutered. Then he slipped into the warmth beside her, pressing her precious soft flesh against him; holding her tightly the night through as he lay wide awake watching the quality of light in the room slowly shade toward morning.
**************
Dawn was good as her word over the next few days as she researched the topic of exorcism on the net, at the library, and with Father Ryan, who was a font of information, AND kept her mouth shut as promised. On the pretext of working on a paper for literature class, Dawn spent hours pursuing Spike's goal. Every night she shared what she'd learned, and by the end of the week had convinced the vampire to contact a Native American shaman living in Arizona, whom she had discovered in her online search.
"I don't know," Spike frowned at the web page Dawn showed him. "It sounds a little 'Miss Cleo'. How do we know he's legit?"
"Hey, holy guys have to make a living, too. I think his site is very tastefully done. It's not like it blares, "Exorcisms R Us." Believe me, in all the reading I've done Sam Fairman's name has come up again and again. People refer to him as an expert and seem to really believe in him. Anyway, it can't hurt to at least give him a call. Come on."
Spike grumbled a little more, but picked up the phone.
A day later he was speeding through the desert in his blacked out car on his way to his destiny, tape deck blaring the Ramones. A curtain of smoke shrouded the inside of the vehicle which had reached an unbearable 105 degrees under the blazing sun. Spike didn't notice the heat, as he sang along to the music, nervously tapping the beat out on the steering wheel.
He had left Buffy with a vague story about visiting an old friend. Actually, he hadn't spoken to her so much as left her a note. He knew he couldn't look in those beautiful hazel eyes and tell a believable story, and he knew that if he didn't make a move right away he would never be able to tear himself away from her. There would always be an excuse to put it off one more day and one more day. It frightened him that he might lose himself completely in the struggle to become something better, and that he might lose her love in the process.
Dawn had hugged him fiercely that morning before she left for school.
"You're going today, aren't you?" she'd whispered. "Don't you think you should at least talk to Buffy about it first? We don't know what this....this operation is going to do to you, how it might change you. Talk to her! Don't just leave."
"Don't worry. I'm just checking this guy out for now. I'll be right back, the same old Spike."
"Well....just in case something happens....." Dawn placed a photo of herself and Buffy on the kitchen counter. "Put that in your pocket. Our address is on the back so you can find your way home again." The coltish girl gave him one last searching look, then picked up her backpack and headed off to school.
"Dawn left on time for a change?" Buffy said, rushing through the kitchen and grabbing her toaster strudel as she passed. "I have to go in early today. Starting a new tiny tots gymnastics class at 7:00 and I can't be late. See you." She brushed a quick kiss across his lips and started to fly, but he caught her in a vise-like grip and held her back.
"You kiss me good and proper or you're going nowhere," he groused, and proceeded to demonstrate the kind of lip action he wanted, pinning her between his body and the kitchen counter and devouring her with affection.
After a minute she broke away, laughing. "Enough, Spike. Enough. I really gotta go. Love you." She smiled at him like the sun breaking through winter clouds, the kind of smile he used to dream of receiving from her, then was gone.
"That's the last time I'm going to see that girl," he thought gloomily, then tidied up the kitchen before writing his note.
So now, here he was storming through the sandy landscape an hour before sunset, riding on E because he couldn't stop to fill it up, and hoping the witch doctor Dawn had picked out for him wasn't a big fake.
*************
"What do you mean there's just a note." Willow's voice was concerned as she tried to calm Buffy down over the phone.
"What do you mean what do I mean. It's just a note. It says he's gone to visit an 'old friend' for a few days and will be back 'sometime' soon. What the hell is that?!! He didn't give me any warning about this. Never mentioned it," Buffy's voice was starting to rise in panic again.
"Dawn....?"
"She doesn't know anything. Went to Janice's after school. There was a message on the machine. The house was dark and then....there was this note. Wil, I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. Something awful's happened. I just know it," Buffy's voice trailed off into a whisper and tears. Willow could barely make out her last choking words. "He's not coming back. He's left me."
"I'll be right over. Just stay there."
Buffy set down the phone with exquisite carefulness, as her legs crumpled beneath her and she slipped, almost in slow motion, down to the floor. 'That kiss this morning. It was a goodbye kiss. He's gone. Gone. Left me.' She drew her knees up to her chest, hugged her arms around them and let out a long, keening wail of misery.
************
It was almost midnight when Spike arrived at the little ranch style house in a neighborhood of similar houses. He looked at the perfectly ordinary home then back at the address he had written down. He stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell. In a few moments the door was opened by a stout, middle-aged man with weathered brown skin and black hair shot through with silver. He was dressed in a sweatshirt which proclaimed his allegiance to Arizona State and a pair of jeans. His broad face cracked in a smile, which showed startlingly white teeth.
"Hey there! You the guy that's been looking for me? Come on in. I'm Sam Fairman.." He stuck out a hand. Spike shook it uncertainly. He wasn't accustomed to such human formalities.
"I'm…um….William."
"Well, William, I don't know if I can give you what you need or not, but let's go sit down, have a cup of coffee and talk about it." The shaman led the way through the living room where Spike caught a glimpse of eclectic styles of furniture and piles of books on every available surface, then into a tiny kitchen.
"Take a seat," his host said. He grabbed a pair of mugs and poured out some coffee, then sat at the kitchen table across from the vampire. Spike was busily taking in every detail of the magic master's home and finding it quite a surprise.
"Like the kitchen? I just refinished the cabinets." Sam gestured at the oak cupboards. "Man, what a job that was!"
"You don't have a lot of…..uh…..tools of your trade lying around, do you?" The commonplace appearance of the home was making Spike doubt the man's credentials.
"Naw. Chicken feet and gourd rattles, pah. They're just props. The real power comes from in here," the dark-haired man tapped his temple with an index finger. His brown eyes scanned Spike and read him like a book. "You were expecting maybe a teepee and me in a loincloth? Believe me, my body would not be a pleasant sight in that!" He laughed heartily and Spike gave a tentative smile, then reached into his coat pocket for a pack of smokes and shook one out.
"Do you mind?" he asked.
"Hell no. I'll join you." The shaman rose and went to retrieve a carved pipe and tobacco pouch from the other room. Sitting down again, he lit Spike's cigarette, then puffed his pipe into life. The sweet aroma of cherry tobacco soon permeated the room.
"I'm a little unclear on what exactly you want me to do for you, William. You were kind of vague on the phone. Resurrection? Exorcism? Why don't you tell me the whole story so I can see what we're dealing with here?"
"You're not going to believe me."
"I've seen some pretty strange things in my career. Try me."
Spike shrugged and succinctly mapped out his story from his turning through the present in a handful of sentences. It amazed him that his whole bloody life could be condensed into such a short paragraph. "Listen, I'm here because I understood you can do exorcisms," he finished. "Do you? Have you? Cause if you're wasting my time….."
"I've done my share," Sam was suddenly quiet and serious. "I know you're really nervous so let's get started, eh? Let me have a look at what's going on inside that brain of yours." Before Spike could respond, the medicine man stood again, walked over and placed his hands on the blond head. Silence fell over the room, disturbed only by the tick of a clock and the pht, pht sound of the shaman's pipe, as it billowed aromatic smoke through the kitchen.
Spike felt his eyes beginning to weigh heavy. His cigarette, forgotten, burned steadily down in his hand. 'Something more than tobacco in that pipe,' he though idly, as his mind spun lazily away through space. The anxieties he had allowed to build within him over the past few months, drained away at the master's touch.
"Hm…."
"What?"
"I can feel that man-made bit floating around in all the organic matter, but it ain't working. I can tell you that. Whatever signal it may have been giving out before, it's dead now."
"WHAT?!!"
"Yep. Not activated. I couldn't tell you for how long, but you've been going without for at least a little while now."
"That's impossible! I haven't felt any different. I haven't tried to…."
"You haven't attacked anyone because you're conditioned now," the shaman's voice was quiet and hypnotic. "There's more....Listen." Spike waited patiently as the vibration of the hushed room deepened and the silence began to take on an almost palpable quality.
"I feel....conflict," the master intoned. "A dark force, full of savage violence which controls this body, but also.....something.....pure and light, struggling to make a place for itself. Have you had headaches recently?"
"Yes."
"That's symptomatic of this internal struggle. There is a great battle.......A soul which has floated, disembodied is trying to re-enter, to reclaim what was lost. A great force of love is driving it, supporting it. But the demon is reluctant to give up its host."
Spike listened in a drowsy stupor and wondered vaguely what in the hell he was doing here. It was true. Damn right he didn't want to be expelled from this body into some realm of hell.
"But this demonic force is no longer strictly evil. It has metamorphasized into something new. Savage it may be, but not cruel. Paradise lost can be regained."
"Huh?"
"Angels cast from heaven for the sin of pride became the beings called demons. It can be reversed."
"You telling me I could become a fucking angel? No thanks!" Spike shook his head to clear it from the haziness and glared up at the shaman, who let his hands drop to his sides.
"Yes. I think maybe I can help you," Fairman stated simply. "But you're going to have to put yourself in my hands and trust me. Do you? Trust me?"
Spike hesitated, then nodded.
"Good," Sam nodded back. He resumed his seat and took a long drink from his cup of coffee, considering the complexities of the creature seated across from him. Finally he spoke. "There are a number of things going on in there, and we could try a couple of solutions. The most obvious method would be what you suggested, cast out the demon and invoke the old soul to enter. That's pretty straight forward and I think I could make it work."
Spike's stomach dropped at the words. It was what he had both hoped for and feared.
"But then you wouldn't be you, eh?" the shaman said with a smile. "You don't really want to be banished from this body. Am I right? So I'm thinking some kind of purification is in order. Maybe a melding of the disparate parts of you, demon and human soul, to make an integrated whole."
"Get in touch with my inner human? Oh, that's rich," Spike scoffed.
"You're not as Bad as you think you are," Sam teased. "The demon has been forged and changed by love into something....other. Now it's just a matter of convincing it....you....to embrace the soul, welcome it in, and become an entirely new being."
Spike considered that. It sounded better than his original plan, which he'd never been really thrilled about thinking he'd be on the losing end of the deal. "Would....would I still be me? Would I have all my memories?"
"Don't know. Never tried anything like this. Who knows, I might muck it up entirely and just obliterate you." The man chuckled, but his client glared menacingly. "Aw come on, lighten up."
"Anyone ever tell you you have a shitty bedside manner?"
"I'm just letting you know this isn't 100% guaranteed, but I wouldn't make an attempt if I didn't think I could do it." The shaman smiled reassuringly. Spike wasn't reassured. "You got someplace to stay around here? If not you can bed down out in my shed. Think about it for a couple of days, and decide what you want to do. Maybe there's somebody back home you need to call? Just don't run up my bill, okay."
"Yeah. That'd be good. Don't need to make a call, though." The idea of speaking to Buffy was formidable. He knew the sound of her voice might make him drop everything and run home to the shelter of her arms.
Spike rose from his seat, then paused as it occurred to him they hadn't discussed payment. "How much is this gonna cost me?"
Sam waved a hand. "Gratis. Anything for the sake of love. I'm a sucker for a good love story. Maybe there'll come a day you or your lady can help me out."
The vampire was touched but he'd be damned if he ever let that show, so he curtly nodded his thanks and allowed himself to be led outside to a small tool shed. Its thin metal roof seemed frighteningly little protection against the Arizona sun that would soon be blazing in the sky.
*************
Dawn regarded her haggard looking sister over her morning glass of orange juice, eyes wide and innocent.
"Are you sure he didn't say anything....ANYTHING you can think of......yesterday when you talked to him before school?" Buffy grilled.
"Nope. Just the usual, 'Mind the teacher' and "Come straight home.' It's his mantra. His mother must have said it to him growing up. It's kinda cute," Dawn tried to sidetrack the conversation.
Tears sprang again to Buffy's eyes as she realized how little she had ever bothered to find out about Spike's past. She'd been so afraid to brush against the evil he'd done as a vampire, that she'd never thought to ask about his human life, and he'd never volunteered anything. They had kept their relationship perpetually in the now, since the future was a taboo subject as well. Oh, the hundreds of questions she would ask now if she could only have him back again.
Her dread had grown increasingly since the previous evening. She had cried herself out on Willow's shoulder, broken the news to Dawn, who seemed suspiciously unsurprised, and then lain wide awake and dry-eyed in her bed the rest of the night, cursing the stupid vampire. Meanwhile, the certainty that he would not return burned like molten lead in the center of her belly.
"Well," she cleared her throat, "if there's something you're not telling me, Dawn, now's the time...."
"Buffy, has it occurred to you that maybe the note means exactly what it says? He'll be back within a week. I'm sure of it. Jeez, have a little faith."
Again, her sister thought the teenager sounded unnaturally bright and confident. What was up here? The Slayer pierced her younger sibling with a dangerous glare and began the questioning in earnest.
*************
Spike cried out and woke with a jerk in the sweltering mid-afternoon heat of the shed. In his dream, Glory/Buffy had been torturing him again, only this time she had been pulling him apart piece by piece, tossing the bits gaily around like confetti. "You won't need THIS anymore; a severed finger shot across the room. And THAT never looked good on you anyway; playing hackysack with his balls. There won't be a smidgeon of you left when I'm done here," she whispered through her ruby red lips. Her eyes widened in sympathy. "Poor wittle Spike. Lost it all for the sake of love." She reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, gave it a twist and growled, "How touching!"
He sat up clutching his chest, feeling for that non-existent heartbeat. "This is bloody insane! What the hell am I doing here?" He leaped up and threw on his clothes and shoes. "Getting out, that's what. If I'm not good enough for her, well that's just too damn bad. She knew what she was getting when she took me in." His bootlace broke as he yanked it hard. "Fuck! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." He screamed in rage. The metal walls reverberated with the sound.
Spike covered himself with the duster then made a mad dash to Fairman's house. He crashed open the front door without knocking and spilled into the front hall.
"Hey there. Look who's up," the shaman glanced, unperturbed from the book he was reading. "I picked up a little something for you to drink if you're hungry. Was that you makin' all the noise just now? I thought....."
"Look. I changed my mind. I'm not interested. I'm leaving now."
"Well, that's up to you," Sam paused, then added thoughtfully, "But if you were going to leave, why didn't you just do it?"
"What?" Spike searched his mind for the reason he had come in here instead of heading straight for his car. "Because....because it's rude to just leave?"
"Come on now. I don't think worry about being rude ever bothered YOU before." Sam let that thought hang, while he rose and went to get his guest a fresh bag of blood. "Why don't you sit down and have a little something before you hit the road."
Spike trailed after him into the kitchen and sat at the table again. He numbly took the mug that was thrust into his hands, and gazed at the red liquid within. Suddenly the sight and smell of it turned his stomach.
"No thanks. Not hungry," he said, pushing the cup across the table.
"That's just as well. These kinds of things tend to work better after a fast," Sam replied.
The vampire sighed and gave up the pretense of having a will of his own. It was all about Buffy now and he might as well submit to whatever was going to happen.
Sam smiled sympathetically, again reading him like a book, "Love got you by the shorthairs, huh?"
"Let's get this the hell over with," the vampire said. "What do you have to do?"
***************
Buffy gripped the steering wheel of Xander's car with white-knuckled intensity. She never had liked driving. Even these wide-open desert roads where there wasn't another car in sight made her uncomfortable. Besides, she was busy inventing the many ways she was going to make Spike suffer for what he'd put her through once she'd caught up with him. Beating the crap out of the patronizing wanker was just the beginning of it. How dare he make a decision that affected both of them without consulting her at all? And to add insult to injury, Dawn knew all about it!
It hadn't been too hard to crack the girl once Buffy realized she knew something more than she was letting on. Dawn's initial excitement over Spike's plan had shaded to fear when she thought about all that could go wrong if the attempt failed. Suddenly the adventure of the vampire seeking his humanity seemed a dangerous folly. Buffy's frightened face brought her down to earth with a thump and soon Dawn was sharing everything and apologizing like crazy.
"Just go to school," the Slayer said through tight lips. "I don't want to discuss this with you now. You can tend to yourself afterward. I won't be here."
"Please, Buffy, I want to go with you. This is all my fault! I shouldn't have helped him with this hare-brained scheme."
"No. You shouldn't have. And no, you're not coming with me."
"It seemed like a good idea.....Spike made it sound so reasonable. What if we never get him back?" Dawn began to whine.
"I don't have time for this. Go." Buffy rose and went for the phone, while a chastened Dawn set off for school.
Xander had been unthrilled about the idea of lending his old clunker to Buffy, but after all this time he knew better than to stand in the way of a Slayer on a mission. She steamrolled right over his protests and had his keys in hand in less than a half an hour.
"Just remember she leaks oil so you have to check it now and....Buffy are you listening to me?" The engine was roaring as she over-fed it gas. "Oh God, protect my little Tessie." Xander called down a blessing on his poor car as Buffy backed jerkily out of the drive and onto the street.
Now, twenty miles from her destination and more than twenty-four hours behind Spike, the blond girl continued to drive like a fury. She shouted out curses and things she'd say to him when she got the chance, mixed with prayers to God to make him be safe and whole when she found him.
*****************
"Three.....two.....one. Now you're totally relaxed. Couldn't move a muscle if you tried. Just floating and hearing my voice."
"I don't think you can hypnotize me, mate," the vampire muttered.
"Try lifting your arm," the shaman said quietly. Spike struggled to pull his arm free from the bands that seemed to be tying it to the floor.
"Can't," he answered.
"That's right. But it's good. Don't fight it. You need to be awake and aware, but totally at rest and in tune with me. Okay?"
"Mm-hm."
"Good." The holy man began to chant Navajo words as the smell of burning sage grew stronger in the room and smoke hazed the air. The song wove itself into Spike's head and he suddenly felt that he understood the words, that he understood a great many things....the kind of things that usually float on the edge of perception. His consciousness expanded, opening like a flower to the great white light Sam Fairman was channeling into him.
His awareness extended beyond this body, this room, this little world, to embrace the universe and more. It was a heady experience and humbling. As a vampire he had been so arrogantly sure of his powers and superiority over weak humans. Now he saw what a shallow and broken creature he had been; empowered with nothing that mattered and living in ignorant darkness. Only he had been lucky, the blazing light of love he carried for Buffy had pierced the cocoon and brought the beginning of healing.
The shaman, continually chanting, reached his hands out and placed them over Spike's heart. In the vampire's vision, where all beings and things were fabricated of energy, Sam's hands glowed like a white-hot fire. Spike gasped in shock at the touch, remembering that Glory bitch poking around in his insides. The fire flooded from the healer into his patient, burning away darkness and decay and leaving behind a steaming trail of purity. Spike felt a loss of consciousness and struggled feebly to hold on to the parts of him that were being stripped away. At the same time, he became aware of another entity near him; something vaguely familiar but long forgotten. This must be the prodigal soul come home to roost.
'Is there going to be any of ME left? I'm a demon, damn it. This is so wrong,' the shreds of his mind protested.
'Stop struggling. Embrace it.' the shaman silently instructed.
'Sod off. Get out of my head. I don't want this.' He flailed against the tide of fire.
'Just think of her,' came the response. 'Hold onto that thought, then take the next step.'
Spike fixed the most beautiful picture of his beloved he had in the forefront of his mind and concentrated on it. It was from just a few weeks ago, when she had been at the beach all day with her friends. She had rolled in late in the afternoon, flushed and sweaty with sun-streaked hair – just glowing with life, as he was waking for the evening. Bouncing down next to him on the bed, sprinkling him with sand, she laughed and chattered about the gorgeous day. White teeth flashing in her tanned face, hazel eyes sparkling; he was entranced by her beauty and barely registered her words. 'Wish you could have been there.' she finished. 'Me too, luv,' he had replied and felt an aching loneliness, knowing he never would share a day like that with her. Happy, sun-dappled Buffy. That was the goal he mustn't forget.
'I'm ready,' he sent a mental message.
'Take it in,' the master replied. 'Join with the soul. Become one.'
Inside Spike flexed and reached out the tentacles of thought energy toward the glowing form, which effortlessly accepted his grasp and flowed into....through...him. They were joined, entwined, separate but unison at the same time.
'Not so bad,' he thought. At that moment all his bodily functions kicked in at once, and he passed out of conscious thought.
****************
Xander's old Datsun came to a screeching halt, parked with one wheel up on the curb, the motor chattering to a stop long after Buffy had left the car and was halfway up the walk to Fairman's house. As Spike had done the evening before, she looked at the house and rechecked the address on the computer printout Dawn had given her. Ablaze with righteous fury, the Slayer decided if this quack had messed up her honey she was going to disembowel him. She knocked sharply on the door. Waited. Knocked again. What the hell? They'd probably gone out into the desert to some mystical site to perform whatever insane ritual......The door opened.
Sam Fairman blinked in surprise at the vengeful golden goddess on his front porch.
"Where is he?!" she snarled, pushing past him into the house.
"Shhh. Calm down. He's okay. Just resting." The shaman took her arm in what was meant to be a comforting grip. She coldly stared him down and he dropped it. "Over here...."
"Spike?!!" She caught sight of him, neatly laid out on the hooked rug that covered the living room floor, a heavy wool blanket tucked in around him. "What did you do? What the HELL did you do to him?" she yelled, running to his side and dropping to her knees.
"It's all right. He's only sleeping," Fairman soothed.
She reached out to stroke the contours of his pale face and drew back as though stung.
"He's hot!" She watched the slight rise and fall of the blanket that covered him. "He's breathing!! Oh my god. You did it," she whispered. Sinking back on her heels, she pressed both hands to her mouth and simply stared, wide-eyed in shock.
Sam moved quietly into the room behind her, seated himself and waited for her to speak. Finally she was able to manage a few questions.
"When....How long ago.....? What did you do?"
"He's been like this for about an hour. I practiced a ritual purification and called back the soul that was banished from this body."
"And what about Spike? Is he still in there somewhere? Who will he be when he wakes up?"
"I'd like to tell you everything will be fine and he'll be just the same as always, but I honestly don't know what to expect. Some elements of the being you knew will be there, but others may be missing, and his memory might be totally stripped. I just can't give you an answer. We'll have to wait and see."
Buffy opened her mouth to protest? chastise? argue? continue to seek reassurance? but never had the opportunity to find out which it was as the figure by her side began to stir. A moan and flutter of eyelids caught her attention. She clutched his hand and peered into his face. "Spike? Spike, can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes."
He obeyed, staring blankly up at her.
"Hey," she breathed. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"
The blue eyes watched her lips move, scanned her face, but registered no recognition. Buffy began to feel uneasy.
"It's me, Buffy. Don't you know me?"
He continued to gaze at her with the wide-eyed innocence of a newborn lamb or a brain-fried newly human vampire.
"Sweetheart, it's me!" she was truly panicked now. His lips opened slightly as though to speak, but no sound emerged. He blinked and began to look around the room.
The Slayer turned to the shaman in fury, "What have you done? You broke him!"
(To be continued in two alternate versions)
Author: Bonnie
Email: bondav40@yahoo.com
Rating: PG13
Summary: Sequel to "Playing House." Spike goes on a quest for humanity. This was written before season 6 finale.
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.
"So then the brunette has spent almost all her money buying the bull and has to send a telegram to her sister asking her to come and pick it up with a trailer."
"The blond, right?"
"Well, yeah. Stick with me here," Spike gave Buffy a little pinch on the ass, and continued the story. "She goes to the telegraph office and dictates: "Come and meet me at the station with the trailer. I've got the new bull." The telegraph operator says it'll cost $5.00 to send the message, and you know she only has...."
"$1.00 left after buying the bull, uh-huh. Does this joke ever get to the punch line?"
She could imagine Spike scowling above her, as she pressed her smile against his chest. "Patience! You're always in a rush. Now do you want to hear this or not?"
"Well actually...."
"Shut up. So anyway, the brunette – you remember they're sisters, right?"
"Does that have anything to do with the point of the story?"
(Silence) "Well, anyway she has to cut down the message," he continued in a rush. "So she tells the operator to just write one word 'comfortable.'" Spike paused and waited for a reaction. "Get it? Comfortable!" He chuckled.
"Um, I think you missed a line or something."
"No I......Oh wait, yeah I did. The telegraph man asks, 'Comfortable?' What does that mean?' and the brunette answers, 'My sister reads real slow!' Funny, eh?" Spike tickled her side to get her laughing.
Buffy wiggled and slapped his hand away. "Just a minute. Something's still not right, here."
He sighed in frustration, "Say it out loud real slow. Com-for-da-bull. Now do you get it?"
Buffy was silent another moment then said, "That is the lamest dumb blond joke you've told me yet! Where do you get these?"
"Off the internet."
"Well, stop going online then. And, sweetheart, if you have to tell me goofy jokes, why are they always blond jokes? You and I are both blond....or at least I am."
"Cause they're funny." He began poking through her hair, checking out the roots.
"That's debatable." She squirmed out of his arms, pulling his hand out of her hair and pinning it above him. Climbing on top of his hard, nude body, she put an end to the joke-telling with a deeply satisfying kiss. Before she got him too aroused (which didn't take much for Spike), Buffy slithered back down beside him again.
Nestling her head on his chest she murmured endearingly, "Jackass."
"Bitch," he replied with affection.
One of Spike's arms was wrapped around the Slayer, pulling her close to him, his hand resting on the swell of her hip. He reached his other hand over and began rubbing her back, up and down in long slow strokes. Buffy felt like purring with contentment. Her eyelids began to droop and her thoughts to unfocus, when her lover's quiet voice startled her awake.
"Times like this I almost feel good enough."
"Hm?" she asked, sleepily. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Good enough for you. It almost seems like this is.....right," he remarked off-handedly.
Buffy's eyes flew open and she pushed up onto an elbow to give Spike her patented Buffy-glare. "What are you doing? Fishing for trouble? Don't you dare start that self-effacing bullshit. You are more than 'good enough' for me, and our being together is just fine, or it will be if you'd shut up and let me get some sleep!"
Spike smiled and wrapped a curl of her golden hair around his finger. "Excuse me if I'm a little confused," he teased. "I'm just 'an evil, soulless thing' and don't know any better. Maybe you can explain. Have the rules changed now? Am I not 'beneath you' any more?"
"You're never going to let it go are you?" Buffy grabbed his throat with both hands as if to squeeze the non-existent breath out of him.
"Never," he answered cheerfully, then babbled on, "Don't get me wrong, I like being beneath you, but I like being on top of you, too. And inside goes without saying."
"Seriously, Spike," Buffy ran her hands up from his throat to cradle his face, tracing the finely cut bone structure with her thumbs, "Please don't joke about it anymore. I've apologized 'til I'm blue in the face and it kills me every time you bring it up that I could have actually said such cruel things to you."
"But they're true." He gave a surprised little laugh. "You know they're true. I AM an evil soulless thing and I am beneath you. You're like an avenging angel of good and I'm a demon. You can camouflage it all you like, but facts are facts, luv."
The blond girl shook her head in denial and began to protest, but he put a finger to her lips.
"Listen, pet, I didn't mean to get you all stirred up. I was just saying is all. Just commenting on how grateful I am to be here in your bed instead of laying on a slab in a cold crypt somewhere. Saying I'm happy....with you."
"And I'm happy with you." Buffy felt her lower lip begin to tremble and eyes well with tears. She blinked hard and lowered her head back to Spike's shoulder to hide her emotional state. He listened to her sniff and gulp a little and wondered what he had said to upset her so. After 100 plus years of existence, women were still an enigma at times.
He reconsidered bringing up the topic he'd intended. If this interchange had bothered her, his half-formulated plan was going to send her over the edge.
"'Night, Slayer." He kissed the top of her head and smoothed back the hair from her forehead. God, he loved playing with its softness.
"Goodnight," she replied in a whisper. "Love you."
Now there was a miracle. Buffy saying she loved him. It made Moses parting the Red Sea look kind of insignificant.
Spike lay perfectly still, listening to her breathing slow and deepen until it turned into that familiar little rasping snore. What a love! She never would believe him when he told her about it. When he was sure she was sound asleep, he pulled his arm out from under her and crept silently from the warmth of their bed.
Downstairs and to the laundry room he moved stealthily. From the top cupboard and under some folded rags he drew an ancient, leather-bound book. The title, in gilt letters, was scratched and faded and in some long-dead language. Bits of the pages crumbled at Spike's touch, as he perched on the edge of the dryer and opened the moldy volume to continue his research.
Silent hours passed. Nothing disturbed the night but quiet house-sounds and the turning of pages. After a bit, the vampire pulled a crumpled pack of smokes from the shelf behind the fabric softener sheets and lit one up. There was no need to give up all one's vices for the sake of love. As long as he kept the second-hand smoke away from Dawn and Buffy, they conveniently overlooked the faint tang of tobacco that often permeated the laundry room.
"Bloody Etruscan dialects," Spike complained as he deciphered a complex passage dealing with reanimation of corpses. "Where's the Watcher when you need him."
The rare text was one Spike had lifted from Giles' collection many months ago, before the wanker had returned to England. The bespectacled librarian had been in a frenzy when he began packing and found this book and several others missing, but finally had to give up the search and leave for home without them. For a long time the books had remained hidden in Spike's crypt, almost forgotten, but recently he had finally begun the long delayed task of plowing through the difficult tomes. The mental whip that drove him on was, "There has to be a way."
Over a month ago, Angel had turned up here in his newly human state, trying to win Buffy back. And, although the girl had convinced Spike that her love was all for him now and he should stay with her, he hadn't forgotten the very excellent points his sire had made about their future together. Long-term, this romance was hopeless. Something had to change, and that something was Spike. If he couldn't bring himself to leave her, he would have to find a way to become what she needed.
Spike had begun his nightly campaign of searching for any reference to restoring vampires to their mortal state. He hadn't enlisted the aid of any of the gang because he didn't want to share his quest with Buffy until he had some concrete information to offer. The stubborn woman was as blind to his lack of humanity now as she had been quick to bring it up before. Tonight he had come close to sharing his thoughts, but her denial that there was any problem to be overcome had stilled his tongue. Wrapped in new love, she refused to face facts.
But Spike was determined to face them for her. He would do whatever needed to be done, try what had to be tried, to correct his soulless state. Restoring the soul would not be enough, however. Human life would have to accompany it. That was the only thing that would make him good enough for Buffy. Kids and someone to grow old with, isn't that what all these humans wanted?
Suddenly the vamp's eyes were riveted to the page. He read the passage that had caught his attention through, breaking it apart piece by piece to make sure he had translated correctly. He read it through once more. This could be.....no, it couldn't be that simple! Spike devoured the information yet again.
"What are you doing?" Dawn spoke through a yawn from the doorway. He dropped the book and jumped off the dryer at the sound.
"Christ in a sidecar, what the hell are you doing? You bloody nearly gave me a heart attack."
Dawn opened the door the rest of the way and came padding into the room, stopping to pick up the book he had dropped. "What are you reading? Hey, isn't this one of the books Giles was looking for?"
"No! Give me that. What are you doing up, anyway? You should be in bed."
"Can't sleep. Hungry. Is there any of that chocolate mousse left from dinner?"
"Why don't you go and see," Spike said, snatching the book from her hands.
Dawn put her hands on her hips and slightly cocked her head in a stance that mirrored her older sister. "You should know by now you can't hide anything from me. I invented sneaky. What's up?"
The blond vampire glowered at her, set the book down on the appliance behind him, and crossed his arms.
"Come on. You tell me or I tell Buffy. Spill!" she demanded.
He rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "Oh, bollocks!" He clenched and unclenched his jaw a couple of times, then asked, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course! I haven't told anyone that Janice went all the way with Brad Stiller."
"Well, you just told me didn't you?"
"You don't count. I mean I haven't told anyone at school. Jeez Spike, what could be such a big deal....just tell me already."
"I'm....I'm looking for a way to become human." It sounded lame saying it out loud, but Dawn didn't doubt the possibility for a second. Her eyes grew huge and she jumped at him to pull him into a bear hug.
"Oh my God! I can't believe it. This is.....this is friggin' unbelievable!"
He smiled as he extricated himself from her grip. "Yeah, well, it's not done yet. Don't know if it even can be done."
"Angel...." Dawn began.
Spike snorted, "He's a 'special' case. Marked by God or some such rot. Prophecies and all that. The normal rules don't apply to him. It's going to be a little harder for me."
"Well, did you find anything?" Dawn asked, starting to leaf through the disintegrating pages of the book.
"Actually, I might have." He stood next to her and turned to the page he had been studying. "Right here, it says.... 'One whose breath has ceased to flow, who is....er....has not the mark of Yaweh,' that's God, 'untouched by time and barren of life, moving through eternity in bloodlust. To such as this a....a....favor?....no, blessing be shown. A blessing be shown. A casting out and a drawing in. May this newly pure vessel be filled again with the Spirit showered out over all.' That's it. That's all I've got so far."
"Wow. That's......cryptic. What do you think it means?"
"When a vampire is made, a demon enters and the human soul is expelled. But the soul still exists somewhere....floating around in limbo, I guess. So - reverse it. Cast out the demon and summon back the soul."
"But, Spike....." Dawn said hesitantly. "Will you still be you? Or will you be who you were before? What happens to your personality?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "I still have all the memories of William and some character traits. I guess the demon part of me is all mixed up with the human that lived in this body before. Hell, I don't know how it works, but I've got to do something!"
"Well," Dawn said soothingly. "It sounds possible. But who do you think could do it? Maybe a priest or shaman? There's St. Mary's over on Fifth Street. We should talk to the priest there."
"Bit, 'we' shouldn't do anything. Whatever I decide to do, I'll do alone, and I don't know what my plan is yet."
"Oh come on! You're just like the rest of them. You think I can't be useful at all! Well, believe me if I've learned one thing from hanging out with the Scoobies it's how to do research. Oh, I know! I'll go to Father Whoever at the Catholic church and say I'm doing a report on possession and exorcism for school. If I sound all scholarly about it, I can milk all sorts of information out of him. What do you think?"
Her young face was alive with excitement, and Spike had to smile back. There was no way he was going to burst her bubble as the rest of the 'team' had so often done. Surely there'd be no harm and maybe even some help in letting her ask questions on his behalf. He took the book from her hand, and gave her a curt little nod.
"Sure, sweetness. I'd appreciate the leg-work. Just remember….."
"I know how to keep my mouth shut, Spike. Don't even say it." She gave him a quick hug. "This is so exciting! There's no way I'm getting back to sleep tonight."
"As long as I don't hear you complain about getting up for school in the morning, I don't care how long you stay awake. Move along, girl."
"'Night, Spike." She padded out of the room again. He waited until she'd left to secret the book in its hiding place, smiling affectionately at her youthful enthusiasm. That Dawn was a little firecracker when she wasn't whining.
He lit another cigarette and stepped out the back door into the energy of night to savor it. A breeze stirred his rumpled hair and he lifted his nose into the air to scent out the many kinds of prey that roamed the night. His blood began to rise at the thought of the chase and kill. How he missed tearing into a jugular and feeling the rich, ripe blood flooding his mouth and filling his senses. Just the thought set him panting and the smooth human features shimmered into the ridges of his true demon self. Ah, this was no good. There could be no relief for him tonight or any night. Shaking his head, he forced the demon down. He went back inside the house, which suddenly felt like a cage, to pour a mug of cold animal blood and chug it down with a grimace.
Carefully rinsing all traces of blood down the drain (the girls hated to see it), he set the mug in the sink and returned to the cozy love nest he shared with Buffy. He stood beside the bed for a moment, watching her sleep and remembering why it was worth it to be neutered. Then he slipped into the warmth beside her, pressing her precious soft flesh against him; holding her tightly the night through as he lay wide awake watching the quality of light in the room slowly shade toward morning.
**************
Dawn was good as her word over the next few days as she researched the topic of exorcism on the net, at the library, and with Father Ryan, who was a font of information, AND kept her mouth shut as promised. On the pretext of working on a paper for literature class, Dawn spent hours pursuing Spike's goal. Every night she shared what she'd learned, and by the end of the week had convinced the vampire to contact a Native American shaman living in Arizona, whom she had discovered in her online search.
"I don't know," Spike frowned at the web page Dawn showed him. "It sounds a little 'Miss Cleo'. How do we know he's legit?"
"Hey, holy guys have to make a living, too. I think his site is very tastefully done. It's not like it blares, "Exorcisms R Us." Believe me, in all the reading I've done Sam Fairman's name has come up again and again. People refer to him as an expert and seem to really believe in him. Anyway, it can't hurt to at least give him a call. Come on."
Spike grumbled a little more, but picked up the phone.
A day later he was speeding through the desert in his blacked out car on his way to his destiny, tape deck blaring the Ramones. A curtain of smoke shrouded the inside of the vehicle which had reached an unbearable 105 degrees under the blazing sun. Spike didn't notice the heat, as he sang along to the music, nervously tapping the beat out on the steering wheel.
He had left Buffy with a vague story about visiting an old friend. Actually, he hadn't spoken to her so much as left her a note. He knew he couldn't look in those beautiful hazel eyes and tell a believable story, and he knew that if he didn't make a move right away he would never be able to tear himself away from her. There would always be an excuse to put it off one more day and one more day. It frightened him that he might lose himself completely in the struggle to become something better, and that he might lose her love in the process.
Dawn had hugged him fiercely that morning before she left for school.
"You're going today, aren't you?" she'd whispered. "Don't you think you should at least talk to Buffy about it first? We don't know what this....this operation is going to do to you, how it might change you. Talk to her! Don't just leave."
"Don't worry. I'm just checking this guy out for now. I'll be right back, the same old Spike."
"Well....just in case something happens....." Dawn placed a photo of herself and Buffy on the kitchen counter. "Put that in your pocket. Our address is on the back so you can find your way home again." The coltish girl gave him one last searching look, then picked up her backpack and headed off to school.
"Dawn left on time for a change?" Buffy said, rushing through the kitchen and grabbing her toaster strudel as she passed. "I have to go in early today. Starting a new tiny tots gymnastics class at 7:00 and I can't be late. See you." She brushed a quick kiss across his lips and started to fly, but he caught her in a vise-like grip and held her back.
"You kiss me good and proper or you're going nowhere," he groused, and proceeded to demonstrate the kind of lip action he wanted, pinning her between his body and the kitchen counter and devouring her with affection.
After a minute she broke away, laughing. "Enough, Spike. Enough. I really gotta go. Love you." She smiled at him like the sun breaking through winter clouds, the kind of smile he used to dream of receiving from her, then was gone.
"That's the last time I'm going to see that girl," he thought gloomily, then tidied up the kitchen before writing his note.
So now, here he was storming through the sandy landscape an hour before sunset, riding on E because he couldn't stop to fill it up, and hoping the witch doctor Dawn had picked out for him wasn't a big fake.
*************
"What do you mean there's just a note." Willow's voice was concerned as she tried to calm Buffy down over the phone.
"What do you mean what do I mean. It's just a note. It says he's gone to visit an 'old friend' for a few days and will be back 'sometime' soon. What the hell is that?!! He didn't give me any warning about this. Never mentioned it," Buffy's voice was starting to rise in panic again.
"Dawn....?"
"She doesn't know anything. Went to Janice's after school. There was a message on the machine. The house was dark and then....there was this note. Wil, I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. Something awful's happened. I just know it," Buffy's voice trailed off into a whisper and tears. Willow could barely make out her last choking words. "He's not coming back. He's left me."
"I'll be right over. Just stay there."
Buffy set down the phone with exquisite carefulness, as her legs crumpled beneath her and she slipped, almost in slow motion, down to the floor. 'That kiss this morning. It was a goodbye kiss. He's gone. Gone. Left me.' She drew her knees up to her chest, hugged her arms around them and let out a long, keening wail of misery.
************
It was almost midnight when Spike arrived at the little ranch style house in a neighborhood of similar houses. He looked at the perfectly ordinary home then back at the address he had written down. He stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell. In a few moments the door was opened by a stout, middle-aged man with weathered brown skin and black hair shot through with silver. He was dressed in a sweatshirt which proclaimed his allegiance to Arizona State and a pair of jeans. His broad face cracked in a smile, which showed startlingly white teeth.
"Hey there! You the guy that's been looking for me? Come on in. I'm Sam Fairman.." He stuck out a hand. Spike shook it uncertainly. He wasn't accustomed to such human formalities.
"I'm…um….William."
"Well, William, I don't know if I can give you what you need or not, but let's go sit down, have a cup of coffee and talk about it." The shaman led the way through the living room where Spike caught a glimpse of eclectic styles of furniture and piles of books on every available surface, then into a tiny kitchen.
"Take a seat," his host said. He grabbed a pair of mugs and poured out some coffee, then sat at the kitchen table across from the vampire. Spike was busily taking in every detail of the magic master's home and finding it quite a surprise.
"Like the kitchen? I just refinished the cabinets." Sam gestured at the oak cupboards. "Man, what a job that was!"
"You don't have a lot of…..uh…..tools of your trade lying around, do you?" The commonplace appearance of the home was making Spike doubt the man's credentials.
"Naw. Chicken feet and gourd rattles, pah. They're just props. The real power comes from in here," the dark-haired man tapped his temple with an index finger. His brown eyes scanned Spike and read him like a book. "You were expecting maybe a teepee and me in a loincloth? Believe me, my body would not be a pleasant sight in that!" He laughed heartily and Spike gave a tentative smile, then reached into his coat pocket for a pack of smokes and shook one out.
"Do you mind?" he asked.
"Hell no. I'll join you." The shaman rose and went to retrieve a carved pipe and tobacco pouch from the other room. Sitting down again, he lit Spike's cigarette, then puffed his pipe into life. The sweet aroma of cherry tobacco soon permeated the room.
"I'm a little unclear on what exactly you want me to do for you, William. You were kind of vague on the phone. Resurrection? Exorcism? Why don't you tell me the whole story so I can see what we're dealing with here?"
"You're not going to believe me."
"I've seen some pretty strange things in my career. Try me."
Spike shrugged and succinctly mapped out his story from his turning through the present in a handful of sentences. It amazed him that his whole bloody life could be condensed into such a short paragraph. "Listen, I'm here because I understood you can do exorcisms," he finished. "Do you? Have you? Cause if you're wasting my time….."
"I've done my share," Sam was suddenly quiet and serious. "I know you're really nervous so let's get started, eh? Let me have a look at what's going on inside that brain of yours." Before Spike could respond, the medicine man stood again, walked over and placed his hands on the blond head. Silence fell over the room, disturbed only by the tick of a clock and the pht, pht sound of the shaman's pipe, as it billowed aromatic smoke through the kitchen.
Spike felt his eyes beginning to weigh heavy. His cigarette, forgotten, burned steadily down in his hand. 'Something more than tobacco in that pipe,' he though idly, as his mind spun lazily away through space. The anxieties he had allowed to build within him over the past few months, drained away at the master's touch.
"Hm…."
"What?"
"I can feel that man-made bit floating around in all the organic matter, but it ain't working. I can tell you that. Whatever signal it may have been giving out before, it's dead now."
"WHAT?!!"
"Yep. Not activated. I couldn't tell you for how long, but you've been going without for at least a little while now."
"That's impossible! I haven't felt any different. I haven't tried to…."
"You haven't attacked anyone because you're conditioned now," the shaman's voice was quiet and hypnotic. "There's more....Listen." Spike waited patiently as the vibration of the hushed room deepened and the silence began to take on an almost palpable quality.
"I feel....conflict," the master intoned. "A dark force, full of savage violence which controls this body, but also.....something.....pure and light, struggling to make a place for itself. Have you had headaches recently?"
"Yes."
"That's symptomatic of this internal struggle. There is a great battle.......A soul which has floated, disembodied is trying to re-enter, to reclaim what was lost. A great force of love is driving it, supporting it. But the demon is reluctant to give up its host."
Spike listened in a drowsy stupor and wondered vaguely what in the hell he was doing here. It was true. Damn right he didn't want to be expelled from this body into some realm of hell.
"But this demonic force is no longer strictly evil. It has metamorphasized into something new. Savage it may be, but not cruel. Paradise lost can be regained."
"Huh?"
"Angels cast from heaven for the sin of pride became the beings called demons. It can be reversed."
"You telling me I could become a fucking angel? No thanks!" Spike shook his head to clear it from the haziness and glared up at the shaman, who let his hands drop to his sides.
"Yes. I think maybe I can help you," Fairman stated simply. "But you're going to have to put yourself in my hands and trust me. Do you? Trust me?"
Spike hesitated, then nodded.
"Good," Sam nodded back. He resumed his seat and took a long drink from his cup of coffee, considering the complexities of the creature seated across from him. Finally he spoke. "There are a number of things going on in there, and we could try a couple of solutions. The most obvious method would be what you suggested, cast out the demon and invoke the old soul to enter. That's pretty straight forward and I think I could make it work."
Spike's stomach dropped at the words. It was what he had both hoped for and feared.
"But then you wouldn't be you, eh?" the shaman said with a smile. "You don't really want to be banished from this body. Am I right? So I'm thinking some kind of purification is in order. Maybe a melding of the disparate parts of you, demon and human soul, to make an integrated whole."
"Get in touch with my inner human? Oh, that's rich," Spike scoffed.
"You're not as Bad as you think you are," Sam teased. "The demon has been forged and changed by love into something....other. Now it's just a matter of convincing it....you....to embrace the soul, welcome it in, and become an entirely new being."
Spike considered that. It sounded better than his original plan, which he'd never been really thrilled about thinking he'd be on the losing end of the deal. "Would....would I still be me? Would I have all my memories?"
"Don't know. Never tried anything like this. Who knows, I might muck it up entirely and just obliterate you." The man chuckled, but his client glared menacingly. "Aw come on, lighten up."
"Anyone ever tell you you have a shitty bedside manner?"
"I'm just letting you know this isn't 100% guaranteed, but I wouldn't make an attempt if I didn't think I could do it." The shaman smiled reassuringly. Spike wasn't reassured. "You got someplace to stay around here? If not you can bed down out in my shed. Think about it for a couple of days, and decide what you want to do. Maybe there's somebody back home you need to call? Just don't run up my bill, okay."
"Yeah. That'd be good. Don't need to make a call, though." The idea of speaking to Buffy was formidable. He knew the sound of her voice might make him drop everything and run home to the shelter of her arms.
Spike rose from his seat, then paused as it occurred to him they hadn't discussed payment. "How much is this gonna cost me?"
Sam waved a hand. "Gratis. Anything for the sake of love. I'm a sucker for a good love story. Maybe there'll come a day you or your lady can help me out."
The vampire was touched but he'd be damned if he ever let that show, so he curtly nodded his thanks and allowed himself to be led outside to a small tool shed. Its thin metal roof seemed frighteningly little protection against the Arizona sun that would soon be blazing in the sky.
*************
Dawn regarded her haggard looking sister over her morning glass of orange juice, eyes wide and innocent.
"Are you sure he didn't say anything....ANYTHING you can think of......yesterday when you talked to him before school?" Buffy grilled.
"Nope. Just the usual, 'Mind the teacher' and "Come straight home.' It's his mantra. His mother must have said it to him growing up. It's kinda cute," Dawn tried to sidetrack the conversation.
Tears sprang again to Buffy's eyes as she realized how little she had ever bothered to find out about Spike's past. She'd been so afraid to brush against the evil he'd done as a vampire, that she'd never thought to ask about his human life, and he'd never volunteered anything. They had kept their relationship perpetually in the now, since the future was a taboo subject as well. Oh, the hundreds of questions she would ask now if she could only have him back again.
Her dread had grown increasingly since the previous evening. She had cried herself out on Willow's shoulder, broken the news to Dawn, who seemed suspiciously unsurprised, and then lain wide awake and dry-eyed in her bed the rest of the night, cursing the stupid vampire. Meanwhile, the certainty that he would not return burned like molten lead in the center of her belly.
"Well," she cleared her throat, "if there's something you're not telling me, Dawn, now's the time...."
"Buffy, has it occurred to you that maybe the note means exactly what it says? He'll be back within a week. I'm sure of it. Jeez, have a little faith."
Again, her sister thought the teenager sounded unnaturally bright and confident. What was up here? The Slayer pierced her younger sibling with a dangerous glare and began the questioning in earnest.
*************
Spike cried out and woke with a jerk in the sweltering mid-afternoon heat of the shed. In his dream, Glory/Buffy had been torturing him again, only this time she had been pulling him apart piece by piece, tossing the bits gaily around like confetti. "You won't need THIS anymore; a severed finger shot across the room. And THAT never looked good on you anyway; playing hackysack with his balls. There won't be a smidgeon of you left when I'm done here," she whispered through her ruby red lips. Her eyes widened in sympathy. "Poor wittle Spike. Lost it all for the sake of love." She reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, gave it a twist and growled, "How touching!"
He sat up clutching his chest, feeling for that non-existent heartbeat. "This is bloody insane! What the hell am I doing here?" He leaped up and threw on his clothes and shoes. "Getting out, that's what. If I'm not good enough for her, well that's just too damn bad. She knew what she was getting when she took me in." His bootlace broke as he yanked it hard. "Fuck! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." He screamed in rage. The metal walls reverberated with the sound.
Spike covered himself with the duster then made a mad dash to Fairman's house. He crashed open the front door without knocking and spilled into the front hall.
"Hey there. Look who's up," the shaman glanced, unperturbed from the book he was reading. "I picked up a little something for you to drink if you're hungry. Was that you makin' all the noise just now? I thought....."
"Look. I changed my mind. I'm not interested. I'm leaving now."
"Well, that's up to you," Sam paused, then added thoughtfully, "But if you were going to leave, why didn't you just do it?"
"What?" Spike searched his mind for the reason he had come in here instead of heading straight for his car. "Because....because it's rude to just leave?"
"Come on now. I don't think worry about being rude ever bothered YOU before." Sam let that thought hang, while he rose and went to get his guest a fresh bag of blood. "Why don't you sit down and have a little something before you hit the road."
Spike trailed after him into the kitchen and sat at the table again. He numbly took the mug that was thrust into his hands, and gazed at the red liquid within. Suddenly the sight and smell of it turned his stomach.
"No thanks. Not hungry," he said, pushing the cup across the table.
"That's just as well. These kinds of things tend to work better after a fast," Sam replied.
The vampire sighed and gave up the pretense of having a will of his own. It was all about Buffy now and he might as well submit to whatever was going to happen.
Sam smiled sympathetically, again reading him like a book, "Love got you by the shorthairs, huh?"
"Let's get this the hell over with," the vampire said. "What do you have to do?"
***************
Buffy gripped the steering wheel of Xander's car with white-knuckled intensity. She never had liked driving. Even these wide-open desert roads where there wasn't another car in sight made her uncomfortable. Besides, she was busy inventing the many ways she was going to make Spike suffer for what he'd put her through once she'd caught up with him. Beating the crap out of the patronizing wanker was just the beginning of it. How dare he make a decision that affected both of them without consulting her at all? And to add insult to injury, Dawn knew all about it!
It hadn't been too hard to crack the girl once Buffy realized she knew something more than she was letting on. Dawn's initial excitement over Spike's plan had shaded to fear when she thought about all that could go wrong if the attempt failed. Suddenly the adventure of the vampire seeking his humanity seemed a dangerous folly. Buffy's frightened face brought her down to earth with a thump and soon Dawn was sharing everything and apologizing like crazy.
"Just go to school," the Slayer said through tight lips. "I don't want to discuss this with you now. You can tend to yourself afterward. I won't be here."
"Please, Buffy, I want to go with you. This is all my fault! I shouldn't have helped him with this hare-brained scheme."
"No. You shouldn't have. And no, you're not coming with me."
"It seemed like a good idea.....Spike made it sound so reasonable. What if we never get him back?" Dawn began to whine.
"I don't have time for this. Go." Buffy rose and went for the phone, while a chastened Dawn set off for school.
Xander had been unthrilled about the idea of lending his old clunker to Buffy, but after all this time he knew better than to stand in the way of a Slayer on a mission. She steamrolled right over his protests and had his keys in hand in less than a half an hour.
"Just remember she leaks oil so you have to check it now and....Buffy are you listening to me?" The engine was roaring as she over-fed it gas. "Oh God, protect my little Tessie." Xander called down a blessing on his poor car as Buffy backed jerkily out of the drive and onto the street.
Now, twenty miles from her destination and more than twenty-four hours behind Spike, the blond girl continued to drive like a fury. She shouted out curses and things she'd say to him when she got the chance, mixed with prayers to God to make him be safe and whole when she found him.
*****************
"Three.....two.....one. Now you're totally relaxed. Couldn't move a muscle if you tried. Just floating and hearing my voice."
"I don't think you can hypnotize me, mate," the vampire muttered.
"Try lifting your arm," the shaman said quietly. Spike struggled to pull his arm free from the bands that seemed to be tying it to the floor.
"Can't," he answered.
"That's right. But it's good. Don't fight it. You need to be awake and aware, but totally at rest and in tune with me. Okay?"
"Mm-hm."
"Good." The holy man began to chant Navajo words as the smell of burning sage grew stronger in the room and smoke hazed the air. The song wove itself into Spike's head and he suddenly felt that he understood the words, that he understood a great many things....the kind of things that usually float on the edge of perception. His consciousness expanded, opening like a flower to the great white light Sam Fairman was channeling into him.
His awareness extended beyond this body, this room, this little world, to embrace the universe and more. It was a heady experience and humbling. As a vampire he had been so arrogantly sure of his powers and superiority over weak humans. Now he saw what a shallow and broken creature he had been; empowered with nothing that mattered and living in ignorant darkness. Only he had been lucky, the blazing light of love he carried for Buffy had pierced the cocoon and brought the beginning of healing.
The shaman, continually chanting, reached his hands out and placed them over Spike's heart. In the vampire's vision, where all beings and things were fabricated of energy, Sam's hands glowed like a white-hot fire. Spike gasped in shock at the touch, remembering that Glory bitch poking around in his insides. The fire flooded from the healer into his patient, burning away darkness and decay and leaving behind a steaming trail of purity. Spike felt a loss of consciousness and struggled feebly to hold on to the parts of him that were being stripped away. At the same time, he became aware of another entity near him; something vaguely familiar but long forgotten. This must be the prodigal soul come home to roost.
'Is there going to be any of ME left? I'm a demon, damn it. This is so wrong,' the shreds of his mind protested.
'Stop struggling. Embrace it.' the shaman silently instructed.
'Sod off. Get out of my head. I don't want this.' He flailed against the tide of fire.
'Just think of her,' came the response. 'Hold onto that thought, then take the next step.'
Spike fixed the most beautiful picture of his beloved he had in the forefront of his mind and concentrated on it. It was from just a few weeks ago, when she had been at the beach all day with her friends. She had rolled in late in the afternoon, flushed and sweaty with sun-streaked hair – just glowing with life, as he was waking for the evening. Bouncing down next to him on the bed, sprinkling him with sand, she laughed and chattered about the gorgeous day. White teeth flashing in her tanned face, hazel eyes sparkling; he was entranced by her beauty and barely registered her words. 'Wish you could have been there.' she finished. 'Me too, luv,' he had replied and felt an aching loneliness, knowing he never would share a day like that with her. Happy, sun-dappled Buffy. That was the goal he mustn't forget.
'I'm ready,' he sent a mental message.
'Take it in,' the master replied. 'Join with the soul. Become one.'
Inside Spike flexed and reached out the tentacles of thought energy toward the glowing form, which effortlessly accepted his grasp and flowed into....through...him. They were joined, entwined, separate but unison at the same time.
'Not so bad,' he thought. At that moment all his bodily functions kicked in at once, and he passed out of conscious thought.
****************
Xander's old Datsun came to a screeching halt, parked with one wheel up on the curb, the motor chattering to a stop long after Buffy had left the car and was halfway up the walk to Fairman's house. As Spike had done the evening before, she looked at the house and rechecked the address on the computer printout Dawn had given her. Ablaze with righteous fury, the Slayer decided if this quack had messed up her honey she was going to disembowel him. She knocked sharply on the door. Waited. Knocked again. What the hell? They'd probably gone out into the desert to some mystical site to perform whatever insane ritual......The door opened.
Sam Fairman blinked in surprise at the vengeful golden goddess on his front porch.
"Where is he?!" she snarled, pushing past him into the house.
"Shhh. Calm down. He's okay. Just resting." The shaman took her arm in what was meant to be a comforting grip. She coldly stared him down and he dropped it. "Over here...."
"Spike?!!" She caught sight of him, neatly laid out on the hooked rug that covered the living room floor, a heavy wool blanket tucked in around him. "What did you do? What the HELL did you do to him?" she yelled, running to his side and dropping to her knees.
"It's all right. He's only sleeping," Fairman soothed.
She reached out to stroke the contours of his pale face and drew back as though stung.
"He's hot!" She watched the slight rise and fall of the blanket that covered him. "He's breathing!! Oh my god. You did it," she whispered. Sinking back on her heels, she pressed both hands to her mouth and simply stared, wide-eyed in shock.
Sam moved quietly into the room behind her, seated himself and waited for her to speak. Finally she was able to manage a few questions.
"When....How long ago.....? What did you do?"
"He's been like this for about an hour. I practiced a ritual purification and called back the soul that was banished from this body."
"And what about Spike? Is he still in there somewhere? Who will he be when he wakes up?"
"I'd like to tell you everything will be fine and he'll be just the same as always, but I honestly don't know what to expect. Some elements of the being you knew will be there, but others may be missing, and his memory might be totally stripped. I just can't give you an answer. We'll have to wait and see."
Buffy opened her mouth to protest? chastise? argue? continue to seek reassurance? but never had the opportunity to find out which it was as the figure by her side began to stir. A moan and flutter of eyelids caught her attention. She clutched his hand and peered into his face. "Spike? Spike, can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes."
He obeyed, staring blankly up at her.
"Hey," she breathed. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"
The blue eyes watched her lips move, scanned her face, but registered no recognition. Buffy began to feel uneasy.
"It's me, Buffy. Don't you know me?"
He continued to gaze at her with the wide-eyed innocence of a newborn lamb or a brain-fried newly human vampire.
"Sweetheart, it's me!" she was truly panicked now. His lips opened slightly as though to speak, but no sound emerged. He blinked and began to look around the room.
The Slayer turned to the shaman in fury, "What have you done? You broke him!"
(To be continued in two alternate versions)
