Ten
Thousand
by wisteria
8. The Pnyx
On a Greek hilltop a few hours before sunrise, he felt
his soul. It took on many shapes and colors, shifting and swirling
as his vision clouded and his still blood sang.
Or maybe that was the wine.
Part of his soul was lying a few feet away, laughing so hard that her
speech was nearly incoherent. "What is the –" gasp, "airspeed velocity
of an unladen swallow?"
Spike caught his breath and shot back, "African or European?"
Lucy rolled over, her laughter nearly loud enough to wake the whole city.
They'd been quoting Python for a half hour, and before that it was a discussion
of the outrageous price of movie tickets and ideal ways to get back at those
who pissed you off. He didn't suggest biting and draining as an option.
Avoidance of certain topics was tricky, but he managed.
After a moment, she said, "Loo time," then for the second time that night,
she stumbled over to the portable toilet about fifty yards away.
He drank the rest of his Aghiorgitiko, then took the opportunity to refill
the pint glass with blood. Red just like the wine, and Lucy didn't
seem to notice the difference.
Staring up at the stars, he almost felt like a man. Drunk and high
on life, it was easy to forget that he didn't have to breathe, or that he
had to find somewhere to stay before sunrise.
He felt good.
Lucy had, of course, offered to let him crash on her floor, but that presented
too many problems. She'd want to know things, then, like who exactly
he was and why he couldn't go outside in the daytime. As far as she
was concerned, he was just an ordinary Brit traveling the world before going
back to his job in California. He didn't want her to know more, because
then it would break this soap-bubble of happiness and camaraderie they'd
developed in only a few hours.
But talking to her without giving it all away had been hard. He
wanted to ask what she knew of her great-great grandparents, his sister
and brother-in-law. Not that he really wanted to know, but it was
just another facet of the connection they shared, the one she didn't know
anything about. He wished she looked more like him, but the gene pool
had been diluted over five generations, and like him, she could've been anyone.
A stranger.
So, after she finished updating her website, he'd followed her up to her
dig, a bottle of wine and two glasses in tow. They'd talked and talked,
neither expecting anything of the other. Just an easy companionship
of two people who knew they'd probably never meet again, and who wanted to
just relax and have a good time.
She returned, wobblier than she'd been an hour ago. The wine bottle
was nearly empty, after all. He refilled her glass, and she muttered,
"Thanks."
Spike remembered another time, months ago, when he'd drank with Buffy
over a long night. It had been incredible to have her there with him,
expecting nothing and turning to him just for comfort and honesty.
And then, too soon, the bottom fell out and he'd entered that exquisite hell.
He wondered when the bottom would fall out of this new life he was creating,
if it ever would.
Lucy lay back, looking up at the stars. He did the same, glancing
at her every few minutes. The ancient ruins of the Pnyx surrounded
them, pegged by the twine and stakes of her organization's dig. Forever
and ephemerae juxtaposed, just like him and Lucy, really.
He took a long sip of the blood, his hand as steady as possible, so he
wouldn't spill any. His clothes wore the dirt of hundreds of miles
since Aswan, and his whole body felt used and put away. But tonight
he felt clean.
"You never did tell me about your girlfriend."
Spike blinked and glanced over at Lucy, who was leaning up on one elbow
and looking at him.
He closed his eyes. "Not my girlfriend."
"Fuck-buddy?"
He would have winced, except for the slur of her voice. "Something
like that." They were quiet for a few minutes. He watched a car
pass by, its headlights flashing across them before moving on. It
was the first sign in hours that the world was still alive.
Then he said, "And you?"
"His name was Jeffrey. We were madly in love, then he slept with
my sister, got her pregnant, and ran off to join the priesthood. A
few months later, his best friend Steve killed him when he found out that
Jeffrey had been secretly plotting to take over his fish-and-chips shop.
Now the baby's being raised by our mum, and Shelley ran off with Steve."
Spike was nearly speechless. "That's one hell of a story."
"Yeah, I thought so too when I saw it on EastEnders last year."
They laughed for a bit, then she said, "No, it's much more boring.
Jeffrey and I were together all through uni. Then I got the grant to
come out here, and he stayed back in Reading. We grew apart.
Happens all the time."
Spike didn't have much a response; he'd never been one to just let things
die out. Loved until the bitter end, usually marked by her dumping
him. First Cecily, then Drusilla, and now Buffy. Three women didn't
constitute much of a pattern, really, but that was the way things went for
him.
But he still loved her, in spite of the bitterness of their end.
Lucy continued, speaking more to herself than to him. "It's strange,
though. I've shagged half the available men in Athens, and I keep telling
myself that I'll find someone else, another Jeffrey. But it never
works out. The sex is usually pretty good. Then, either I don't
call or they don't, or else they go back home or take up with someone else
in town." She paused to take a sip of her wine. "Not that I'm
blaming them, because as often as not I'm the one who's cutting things off.
It's just hard to find someone, right? Someone you can be with."
Spike hadn't really been in a similar situation, so all he said was, "You're
young. You'll find someone. Just have fun while you're here.
Youth is fleeting."
"Not for you," she muttered.
That caught his attention. He looked over at her. "What?"
Lucy raised one brow. "That's not wine in your glass, is it?"
He nearly grinned. Smart thing, his girl. "Nope."
She looked back up at the sky. "It's alright. I had a thing
with a vampire last fall. Didn't last long, since I had to kill him."
Spike laughed. "Why's that?"
"He kept trying to bite me during sex. Got very creepy. Then
he wouldn't leave me alone. So, I pretended to let him in for one last
shag, and I shoved a wooden spoon in his chest."
"Good girl." Funny that he was congratulating her, but hey.
Killing his own kind? Story of his life for the past two years.
Lucy put on a stern face. "Just so you know, Spike, this dig is
full of stakes, so don't try anything."
"Don't have to worry about that. Biting hasn't been my thing for
a couple of years, especially since I fell in love with her." He paused.
"And for another reason, but that's neither here nor there."
She sat up and stretched. "You fell in love with her? The
fuck-buddy?"
"Yes, and yes."
"So, which was it? Love or shagging?"
Good question. The alcohol and blood had loosened his tongue, and
he found himself saying, "I love her madly. She makes me feel like
I can be a man, like I'm really alive when I'm with her. She's just
the most amazing creature on earth." He picked up his glass and emptied
it, his mouth suddenly dry. "She never loved me, though. She
only slept with me because her life was a mess, and for a while it was enough
because I thought she loved me back even if she didn't realize it."
When he fell silent, Lucy asked, "Don't leave me hanging.
What happened?"
God, all the hurt came rushing back. Part of him wanted to shove
off and go hide in a corner somewhere. Another part wanted to get every last
bit off his chest. Finally, he said, "It all got to be too much.
I did something evil. Turned her off me forever. So I went to
Africa and got myself a soul. She'll never take me back, but at least
now I won't be able to hurt her again."
The world fell silent. Spike could almost hear the whisperings of
the centuries of people who'd been on this hilltop before them.
Her voice echoed as she said, "Wow."
"It was nothing."
But wasn't it, though? Wasn't giving up your entire persona as a
vampire something? Then he realized what he'd said, and it startled
him. On the trip over, he'd thought that it would be so easy:
get the soul, then go home to her, chest puffed up and proclaiming, "You
can love me now."
He remembered huddling under the blanket on the airplane, trying to sleep
but unable to stop thinking about what having a soul would be like.
The panic when he thought maybe he'd turn out like Angel. He'd shrugged
it off. He was too strong for that. Like he'd told Clem in that
e-mail, the soul was supposed to just be window dressing.
But this thing with Buffy... it was too complicated for that, and Spike
realized that he was too. The soul was creeping up at him with tiny
nibbles instead of the gnawing bits and chunks he'd thought was the chip.
It had been so easy to blame her for it all, but it was so difficult now,
after all he'd seen since that cave. If the soul was just window dressing,
why did he feel such a pull toward humanity? Why was he making connections
with strangers?
Why aren't you going home to her?
Took him a moment to realize that the words had come not from his own
thoughts, but from Lucy.
He looked up at her. She was staring back with a curious expression
on her face.
Spike shrugged and said, "Don't know, pet. Got too much to sort
out first."
The quiet that followed was a marked contrast to the previous hours spent
laughing and drinking. The world sighed along with him.
Finally, Lucy stood and picked up the detritus of their evening.
"Unlike you, I have to work tomorrow. The offer still stands.
My flat's tiny, but the curtains will keep out the sunlight, and my flatmate's
back in Thessaloniki visiting her family."
Spike looked up at this strange creature who had wormed her way into his
heart. He'd never wanted anything to do with his family. Thought
he'd just come to Athens, peek in on her if he could, and be on his merry
way. Now they were connected, even if she didn't know just how.
She was his legacy, and he was so proud. Never expected for her to
become a part of his soul.
And then he thought of all the other little parts. Buffy.
Dawn. The odd sort of life he'd made for himself in Sunnydale before
it all fell apart. He wasn't ready to go back, but he missed them
all the same.
Maybe when he was able to go home, all the pieces of his soul would fall
into place. He'd leave behind the one named "Lucy", but that was okay.
He could see himself sitting at Clem's computer, e-mailing her and reading
her online diary. Keeping tabs on his kin.
Spike stood up and tested his drunken legs.
He smiled at her and said, "Thanks."
Best thing about being in her apartment was the books. He had no
idea how she'd amassed so many on her shelves, or how she planned to get
them all back to England when she returned. Only problem was that her
tastes were nothing like his. Lots of classy romances and "modern literature".
He'd love to get his hands on some good Asimov right about now.
Still, she'd told him to take what he wanted and leave money to replace
them. That was easy. He already had plans on that end.
So Spike chose a half-dozen that looked mildly interesting, then rearranged
his backpack until they were stowed beneath the blood and the black clothes
that were so filthy that he couldn't bear to wear them a moment longer.
Maybe he'd find a posh hotel in Prague and send them out to be cleaned.
Now he was stuck in those hideous khaki pants from Aswan. At least
Lucy was able to give him a slightly-less-awful dark blue shirt left over
from an old boyfriend.
He'd come to Greece still looking like the Big Bad. Now he was leaving
as a frat boy. Laundry moved to number two on his priorities list.
Plans were taking shape, though. He did some phoning around and
found an overnight train to Budapest, where he could get a connection to
Prague. He booked a private couchette and winced at the exorbitant
cost, but at least it would keep people out of his way.
Sunset was coming, and he had two more things to do.
Lucy had left for work that morning with all his cash, and she returned
at lunchtime after converting it to Euros. Spike found a pen and paper,
then wrote, "Thanks." He added the e-mail address that Clem had set
up for him. Below the note, he left around $200. He had plenty
of money anyway, and he got the feeling that she didn't. It was the
least he could do. He resisted the urge to sign the note, "Love, Uncle
Spike."
He'd miss her. She said she had to work late and then go to a dinner
with some of the professors on her dig, but Spike decided that was a good
thing. Goodbyes were awkward. Best to just leave.
The sky outside the window grew dark, and Spike steeled himself for the
last thing he had to do.
It was late morning back in Sunnydale. Dawn was probably at school,
and he assumed Buffy would be at work. At least, he hoped so.
He dialed a long sequence of numbers and waited for the connection to
go through. Three rings, then Dawn's cheerful voice.
Hi! We're off being fabulous right now, so you'll just
have to wait and talk to us later. Leave your name and number, and
we'll get back to you. Bye!
Spike felt her familiar voice wrap around him like a blanket.
He smiled and hung up the phone.
Time to catch a train.
END, Chapter
Eight
wisteria@smyrnacable.net
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