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