"It is good to be merry and wise,
It is good to be honest and true;
'Tis well to be off with the old love
Before you go on with the new." – Anonymous (modern version of an old song)
The vehicle careened dangerously across the road as Spike abruptly found himself in the driver's seat of his car. "BLOODY HELL!" he yelped as he frantically spun the wheel to avoid oncoming traffic. The car swerved out of control and crashed into the pole, causing him to bang his head on the steering wheel. The sign bearing the words "Welcome to Sunnydale" fell to the ground and the DeSoto rocked to a standstill as he jammed his foot down on the brake.
He touched his forehead gingerly, grimacing as his fingers came away smeared with blood. That was fantastic, that was. Two minutes on the job and he was already injured. Knowing the minor wound would heal in seconds didn't make him feel any better.
Absolutely furious, he scrambled out of the car and yelled at the sky. "Oy! When I said I wanted to get back to my first time in Sunnydale, I didn't mean behind the bloody wheel of the car! What're you trying to do, kill me?" It was probably Xork's idea of a practical joke and he wished more than ever he'd taken the opportunity to slap the hairy midget around before being shunted back here.
"Spike? What's happening? Why are you screaming at the stars? Are they telling you bad things?" The soft, lilting voice came from inside the car and Spike froze. If he'd had a heartbeat it would have stopped in his chest.
It was Drusilla, peering out at him in confusion from within the confines of the DeSoto. She was just as ethereally beautiful as he remembered, her pale eyes shining in her kittenish face, lustrous brunette hair spilling past her delicate swanlike neck down to her white shoulders. Wearing an impractical but shimmering cream-colored gown, she seemed to glow in the dim traffic lights overhead.
But she was definitely a fly in the ointment. When he'd asked to be sent back to this time, he'd forgotten about his princess. Well, she wasn't that big a problem, all things considered. In this time, she was weak and helpless, barely able to go anywhere without help and supervision. He didn't care about her anyhow. It was the Slayer that was his main concern.
He was tempted to stake her right here and now. But the helpless look in her limpid eyes stirred memories of all the lovely nights he'd spent cuddling with her, rolling around in blood and generally wreaking mayhem on the unsuspecting human populations of the various towns and cities they visited. The familiar unholy bliss bubbled up inside and he didn't have the heart to do her in.
He wondered why it should be so hard to destroy his princess when he'd been perfectly willing to dust her for the Slayer's sake the last time Drusilla blew into town. Well, he didn't have time to sort out the mystery now. If he wasn't going to get rid of his dark princess, then he needed to keep her and the Slayer separated. All he had to do was stash Drusilla someplace and see to it that she kept out of the way. And he knew the perfect place for it…
Here he was, back in good ole Sunnyhell. It had been the scene of the most crushing failures and defeats of his unlife. Getting his ass kicked repeatedly by the Slayer, trapped under a falling church organ that landed him in a wheelchair, watching his beloved Dru renewing her sick, sordid affair with that ponce Angelus, having that sodding chip stuck in his head by those Initiative wankers and being forced to stay in Xander's crummy basement were only some of the sour notes struck by returning to this place. When he thought about it, he realized how much he hated this little burg.
But he thought that there had been a lot of great times, too. Being with the Slayer topped the list. After that—well, he couldn't really dredge up any good memories other than those. The killing had been good but he could think of other places that were much better in terms of taste, richness and variety. Drusilla had bagged a Slayer but she hadn't even bothered to tell him 'cause she'd been so wrapped up in his damned Grandsire.
It had been occasionally fun tormenting the Scoobies but that was outweighed by the humiliation he'd had to put up with from being impotent and forced to rely on them for protection and food. Still, it had been home for the last four years and that gave it a faint feeling of nostalgia. Not that he'd ever admit to fond reminiscences about this place to anybody, even Buffy. He was too macho for that sort of sentimental crap.
Well, he'd spent enough time absorbing the night air. Time to get down to business. After parking the car, he toddled off with Drusilla to find the Annoying One's lair.
Yep, it was just as he remembered it. There was that dumb, lying poncy git nattering on about being in attendance at the Crucifixion while the others stood around in abject poses worshipping that idiot child. What a sorry lot of gits they were. But they were all he had to work with so he'd just have to make do. The first thing he had to do was get the undead kid out of the way.
This time he came in and marched straight to the throne, sinking to one knee. "Is it out of the way for a stranger in town to pay his respects?" he said in a falsely deferential tone. The demon standing by the boy's side had tensed slightly but otherwise didn't make a move.
The boy tilted his head in curiosity. He thought this new vampire's accent was strange and why was his hair that funny color? "Who are you?" he asked.
"Your replacement." Before anyone could move, he flew up and buried the stake he'd hidden under his coat into the boy's chest. The kid's mouth dropped open and he crumbled into dust. The vampire by his side flew at him with a roar but Spike ducked the first clumsy windmilling blow and the stake shortly found a new home for itself in his heart.
Spike swept away the Annoying One's ashes, plopped down on the empty throne and looked around with a smirk. "Right. Anybody else want to challenge me for this seat then let the one with the biggest wrinklies step up and try it. Any takers?" His amber eyes scanned the room. These were your typical run-of-the-mill minions without an ounce of spine or courage. He remembered how easy it had been ruling them before. They shouldn't pose any problems for him now.
He leaned back in the chair, utterly at ease. "Now that that's sorted, first things first. I hear you lot have got problems with the Slayer. Don't bother about her; I've killed two of them in my time. I think I can handle this one on my own." Drusilla chose this moment to come wandering in and he crooked his finger, beckoning to Lucius. "See her?" he said, pointing to the delicate creature. "She's my precious, she is. You lot take care of her and see that she doesn't come to any harm. She's a bit on the daft side so I'm trusting you to see to it that she don't hurt herself or do anything stupid. You let one hair on her head be harmed and you join the ashes on the floor. Got it, mate?"
The minion nodded hurriedly. He didn't know this vampire's reputation but he'd taken out their leader and his bodyguard in the twinkling of an eye. He wasn't going to be the one to face up to him. Seeing he'd gotten the toothy underling properly cowed, Spike swung his legs off the throne and grinned, exposing his fangs. "Now that the boring toddler is gone, what say we have us some fun? Anybody for takeout?"
Killing the delivery boy was regrettable but he had to convince these cringing subordinates that he was still a badarse. After letting Drusilla get the first taste, he'd been forced to finish off the boy. Actually, draining the bloke had been rather fun. It was so glorious, sinking his teeth into a throbbing jugular instead of sipping out of a cup, feeling the struggling body, hearing the boy scream and the wildly pounding heartbeat slow to a thready, faltering murmur and then lurch to a stop. Briefly, he was worried because it was so enjoyable. Shouldn't his soul be torturing him over this?
He stopped walking along the street and frowned while he considered his recent kill. He searched for the slight twinge of guilt that had been nagging him almost incessantly ever since he'd gotten his soul re-attached and his eyes opened wide in shock as the truth hit him.
His soul was gone. He could feel it nowhere in residence and he wanted to scream in frustration. Naturally his soul wasn't here. It was just as the furred one had said; he'd been returned to the past just as he had been in this time period: at the top of his game, no chip, no harassing army wankers to avoid, no stupid Scoobies as friends—and no animating essence. He was the big, bad soulless bastard he'd used to be before Sunnydale had messed up everything for him.
So why did he still feel the overpowering love for Buffy? Well, he'd loved her before he'd gotten that damned soul glued back into his body and all his memories were still very much intact. So it made sense that his love for her was still there.
Would the lack of a soul be such an obstacle? Uneasily he recalled the aborted rape attempt on Buffy's bathroom floor. Xork hadn't mentioned that and he'd been profoundly grateful. Of all the things he'd done to Buffy as a soulless beast, that had shamed him the most.
Well, he wasn't going to let a little thing like the absence of a soul stop him. He was still William the Bloody and he had a mission to perform—or die trying.
"Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite…" - William Blake, "The Clod and the Pebble"
But, crap, without a soul, he wasn't as focused as he'd been. Coming into the Bronze to find the Slayer, he found himself bombarded with the scents and sounds of teenaged pheromones and human heartbeats. Pulsating jugulars lay in hot mortal bodies all around him and he had to tamp down the overwhelming urge to sink his fangs into the nearest bared neck.
[Get a grip, mate! Cool the bloodlust and focus!] Shaking off the call of the blood singing to him from all directions, he scanned his eyes around the club. There she was, dancing with the whelp. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl at seeing the Harris boy so close to his girl. But he kept in mind what the furred freak had said. He wasn't here to join hips with the Slayer but to keep her alive. So he had to make friends with her. He had to appeal to her before he found himself on the business end of a stake.
Spike recalled that she hadn't killed him the first time he'd shown. She was too occupied with the minion he'd sicced on her and worried about what he'd told her. Now he only had to convince her right from the start he was one of the good guys.
He walked up to the vampire at the bar. "Go get something to eat." Then he spoke to someone else, loudly enough for the Slayer to overhear him. "Where's the phone? I need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite someone."
He remembered this part: watching Buffy take the bait, sneaking out after her and hearing that dim minion he'd selected spill the beans about Saturday. But witnessing it again was a whole new experience, colored as it was by his overwhelming love for her. God, it was wonderful, seeing Buffy in action. Even at this early stage, she was still a lethal little beauty. So caught up was he in observing her graceful moves, he nearly missed his minion's cry for help. "Spike, gimme a hand!"
Buffy shot a sharp look in his direction and their eyes met. Even knowing she didn't care for him in this timeline, it still struck him hard to see nothing in her eyes except wary contempt. Then she looked up as Xander tossed her the stake. Snatching it out of the air, she plunged it into the minion's chest in one smooth motion.
Unable to help himself, he applauded. "Nice work, luv." Seeing the gathering antagonism in her eyes, he held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. I don't bite."
She hefted the stake and stalked towards him, fatal power and grace in every move. He was on the point of creaming himself just looking at her. "Not after tonight, you won't."
"Easy, luv. I'm on your side. I came here to help." Seeing that her expression didn't change, he thought quickly of what to say to stop her from attacking him. "You've got help from Angel, right?"
She paused, confusion replacing the hostility. "Angel? You know Angel?"
"Sure. Me and him, we go way back. I just want to help, like he does." Damn, it was hard to concentrate with her standing so close. Seeing her, smelling her familiar vanilla odor and hearing the well-known rush of her heartbeat brought all his old feelings of lust rushing back. He wanted nothing so much than to grab her and start pounding her into the ground. His pants tightened at the thought and he shifted back into the shadows to hide his erection from her eyes.
"Why?" she demanded. "You're a vampire, aren't you? And don't bother lying about it. I can tell from here." She lifted her nose and sniffed ostentatiously. "Crypt odor, death, coffin breath, blood stink and ashes. Yep. Vampire, all right." She advanced again, faster, and he began jogging backwards.
"Oy, I don't stink!" Realizing that wasn't as important as his imminent demise, he threw out desperately, "Look, I've got a soul!"
That stopped her in her tracks. "A soul? You've got a soul? What, were they holding a yard sale on them or something?" Then she glanced at the ashes of the dusted vampire behind her and became suspicious again. "Then why was that vampire calling for you? Did he have a soul, too?"
"No, he thought I was gonna help him. But I was the one who put you on his tail, see? Remember hearing me in the bar?" he pointed out.
She thought for a moment. "Oh yeah. I did remember hearing a weird accent. So why didn't you just come up to me and ask for my help? Or, better yet, just stake the vamp yourself?"
He stared at her in disbelief. He couldn't recall the Buffy he'd first met being this stupid. Of course, he hadn't exactly had a long, in-depth conversation with you then, either. "Right. Like you'd have listened to one vampire telling you about another. 'Sides, if I'd come to you, you'd probably have staked me."
Buffy shifted her grip on the stake she held. "Still a possibility."
Spike decided to make her an offer to show his good intentions. "Just hear me out and then you can stake me if you like."
"Okay, Brit vamp. Start talking."
He relaxed minutely when he saw she wasn't in slaying mode. "It's like this, see. I've come to warn you about Angel. He's got a bit of a problem with that soul of his."
She raised an eyebrow. She was interested but unimpressed. "A problem? Such as?"
"It's not really securely tied down. If he has one moment of happiness, he'll lose it and then his badarse alter ego Angelus will return. You've got to get him out of town so that doesn't happen."
She stared at him and then let out a snort of disbelief. "That's what you've come here to tell me? That another vampire who just happens to have a soul like yours is gonna lose it because of happiness? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
"It's true, luv! All you need to do is ask that Jenny Calendar woman!"
"Jenny Calendar? What does she have to do with it? And what's the idea of calling me 'luv?' Do I look like your girlfriend?" Buffy glared.
He was tempted to reply in the affirmative to that but she was starting to look brassed off and the last thing he wanted to do was antagonize her again. "Just go talk to the bint. She'll tell you whether I'm lying or not about that soul. Now if you want me to prove my good faith…" He took a risk and stepped closer to her. "I'll lead you back to where the Anointed One's minions are hiding and we can take 'em all out." He flicked a glance at where Xander and Willow were hovering in the background, anxiously taking in everything that was happening. "You can even bring your little cheerleading squad along if you think they'll help."
"Hey! Who're you calling a cheerleader? You're the one with the painted nails and dyed hair!" Xander retorted.
Buffy glanced down at his fingernails and she burst out laughing. Spike gritted his teeth and crammed his fists into his pockets. He'd forgotten how intolerable it was having the whelp around; maybe during the rest of his 24-hour window, he could find a way to kill the lad without the Slayer knowing. "You shouldn't talk about fashion, Xander. You look like the traveling circus lost one of their clowns."
"Says the rock star wannabe and loser," Xander sniped.
He didn't miss the fleeting smile that darted across Buffy's face before it resumed a stern expression. The idea that she enjoyed Xander's taunts at his expense was galling. Before he could come back with another insult, she snapped her fingers at him. "Less quippage with my friends, more convincing of the Slayer. You're coming with me to meet Angel and he'll tell me whether this talk of your soul-having is on the level."
Shit! That was the last thing he wanted. He hadn't seen Angel for almost a century after his soul had been returned by those damned gypsies but he'd been able to tell at once that the poof choking the life out of the donut boy hadn't been Angelus. If Angel looked at him, he'd know right away that the story about the soul was bogus. Then it was only a toss-up as to whether he staked Spike or the Slayer did.
"Look, Slayer. That's not such a good idea. Me and the great po—I mean, Angel didn't really get along back in the day. I don't think he'd be really thrilled to see me."
"Why not? If you're both the dynamic duo of souled vampires, I think he'd be thrilled to see you, fake Billy Idol leanings aside," Xander called out.
The boy was really starting to get on his nerves. He ground out, "Having souls don't make us compatible. I mean, this moron on your little squad has got a soul and already I don't like him. Angel and me didn't always rub along together. Listen, Buffy…"
Willow spoke up then. "And that's another thing. How do you know our names?"
He blinked. He hadn't been expecting anything from her; she'd been so shy and withdrawn back in this time. "What?"
The redhead continued, flushing from his intense stare. "Well, you called her Buffy and him Xander. H-How do you know who we are? And how do you know about Jenny Calendar? What's so special about her?"
Buffy's eyes narrowed. Those were very good questions and she could see they made the Billy Idol wannabe nervous. Something was definitely off about his story. And what was with the creepy looks of lustiness he kept throwing her? Major ick factor. "She's right. I'm not exactly listed in the phone book under 'Slayers for Hire.' How did you know my name and that I was the Slayer?"
"How did Angel know?" he shot back. "He was selected to help you and whoever's in charge of these things gave him the info. Well, I got my sources, too." He edged closer, lowering his voice in an insinuating manner. "I know you, Summers. I know things about you even your friends don't know."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, clearly daring him to prove his claim.
He was about to start off by telling her about the birthmarks on her body, the sort of things she liked to do in bed and the noises she made during sex. But this Buffy was still a virgin. That kind of information was likely to outrage her rather than convince her he was on the level. "Well, you've got a pink pig called Mr. Gordo that keeps you company at nights. Your favorite scent is vanilla and you prefer pancakes to waffles and your hair dye is…"
"Hold it! I don't dye my hair," she protested hotly.
He rolled his eyes at the obvious fib. "Oh, come on, luv, I can smell the hair dye from here."
Ignoring Xander's snicker, Buffy sputtered, "You're-you're a lousy liar! And, as for the rest, that's nothing a good stalker couldn't have come up with. I'm not going anywhere with you and you can either come with us to see Angel or this conversation ends with you looking up at me from the ground."
He hesitated and that was all the excuse she needed. She lunged and he avoided her by pivoting and kicking out with one leg. They circled each other and he just barely ducked the board Xander swung at him from behind. Crap, he'd nearly forgotten about the not-so-useless sidekicks. He was outnumbered and he had to get out of here before one of the jokers got in a lucky swing and staked him. Dodging Buffy's next swing, he swung her into the arms of her little team and lit out as fast as he could.
As he ran, he mentally scolded himself. Confronting Buffy with her friends in tow was an obvious mistake. He'd allowed them to distract him into making snide comments instead of telling Buffy what she needed to know about the upcoming Feast of St. Vigeous and where the Anointed One's minions could be found. He had to get her alone, away from outside interference from her well-meaning but idiotic teammates.
He especially had to avoid meeting up with Angel. He'd gotten in one punch the first time he and his souled Grandsire met here in Sunnydale. He doubted he'd be that lucky again. To make matters worse, he still had to deal with the Annoying One's minions. He could take on one or four. But let the whole lot of them attack him and he'd be ashes. And they were still prepping for that damned feast.
He took a roundabout route, one designed to avoid both the Slayer and any wandering minions. Then he stood under a tree, lit a fag and began to consider his options. He had less than 24 hours left and he'd already squandered time by meeting Buffy at the Bronze. But at least he'd set the ball rolling with Angel. She'd go talk to him about that poncy soul of his, get into a little confab with that gypsy woman and then she and Angel would miss their connection.
He grinned triumphantly to himself. Without Angel in the picture, she would concentrate more on her slaying—and himself. True, he had less than 24 hours to make a better impression but he was confident he could do it.
"Now let's see. Who's next that I can talk to?" He narrowed his eyes and flicked ashes from his fag onto the ground. Of course! He'd go to see that poncy Watcher. The man would be too smart to let him indoors. But if he talked to him, warned him about the Feast of St. Vigeous, the tweedy librarian could look it up in one of his musty books. That would convince the Slayer he was telling the truth. They would prepare for Saturday and, without his impatience hustling things along, the minions would wait this time and not jump the gun. Buffy would take them out easily. Naturally, he wouldn't be here by then but that wouldn't matter as much as getting the giant poof out of the picture.
He jogged off at a trot towards the Watcher's house. Maybe if he was lucky he could still catch the old codger at home.
Buffy, Xander and Willow walked through the streets. Buffy had taken off after the fleeing vampire but had quickly lost him. Worried about leaving her friends alone on the dangerous streets of Sunnydale, she'd given up the pursuit and returned to join them.
"D-do you think anything he said was true? A-about him having a soul, I mean?" Willow asked, her eyes darting around the streets for more approaching vampires.
"I'm more worried about what he told us about Deadboy. I didn't know his soul was on such a short leash. How come Deadboy never mentioned anything about that, Buffy?"
"I-I don't know. And I don't think we should just be accepting the stories of strange vamps, do you? I think we should hunt up Giles and get him to spill about the Blonde Vampition's claim to soul having. If this vamp's got a soul like he said, there's got to be some record of it, right?"
"I-I don't know, Buffy," Willow murmured uncertainly. "According to the Watcher's files, Angelus was an awful vampire and then he just disappeared and was all avoidy with other vampires. No one knew why until Angel told you about his having a soul."
"Yeah and he didn't tell you that until after Darla attacked your mother. You get the feeling Deadboy likes hiding things from you, Buffy?" Xander tossed in. He didn't trust this new vamp any more than Buffy did. But, if he had some dirt on Angel, Xander was all for having it spilled. Maybe then Buffy would get her head straight about her undead boytoy.
"All right. I'm going to go have a talk with Angel about Mr. I'm-Part-Of-The-Soul-Bandwagon. You guys go and talk to Giles." Buffy had had enough of Xander's carping. If there was any information to be learned about Angel, she wanted to do it away from the nasty tongue of her friend.
"Hey! Why do we have to be the ones to talk to Giles? He's your Watcher!" Xander yelled after her. Buffy ignored him and sprinted off in the direction of Angel's apartment. Xander walked along with Willow, grousing under his breath about crazy women having vampire addictions. Willow as always ignored his rants about Angel and accompanied him to Giles's house. She was curious to hear what he'd have to say about that vampire. She didn't think he'd be so happy to hear Jenny Calendar had been hiding things from him, though. Maybe they should keep that part of the story out of it.
Spike pushed open the door and frowned. Why the hell did the Watcher always have his door open like this? You'd think after everything that had happened to him on the Hellmouth he'd be more careful. The vampire stepped forward only to run smack into the invisible barrier. Oh, right. In this time, the Watcher hadn't invited him into his house. He raised his voice and called out. "'Ello? Anybody home?"
The Watcher came forward, his sleeves rolled up, and wiping his hands with a towel. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at seeing the bleached blond on his doorstep. "Hello? Can I help you?"
"Well, actually, it's more a case of me helping you, mate. Can I come in?"
The man went still, looking the vampire over cautiously. Finally he asked, "That's a good question. Or rather, are you able to come in?"
"Look, just thought I'd ask. I want to be polite and all," Spike grinned. That was one of his charming smiles, the ones he used to get invited into people's homes. The Watcher was more on the ball than most because the expression didn't sway him. He stepped back and all signs of hospitality vanished from his face.
"The door's open. If you can't come in, then you'd better leave…if you're really interested in politeness, that is. And I don't think you are," he added, his voice now stripped of any hint of friendliness.
There was a tense silence as the two measured each other and then Spike shrugged his shoulders. "All right, mate, you got me. I'm a vampire. I didn't want to tell you 'cause, well, didn't think you were in the habit of inviting vamps into your home."
"A very astute observation," Giles observed dryly. The Watcher disappeared and Spike raised his voice in protest.
"Look, before you get a stake or crossbow or whatever doohickey you've got stashed away, I just wanted to tell you something." The Watcher returned with a crossbow pointed unwaveringly at his heart and Spike forced himself to remain calm. "I wouldn't risk coming here to your place if I meant to do mischief since the Slayer would kill me if I hurt her precious Watcher."
Giles's hands tightened on the weapon. "You know about the Slayer…and that I'm her Watcher? That's not exactly conducive to making me trust you."
"All right. You don't have to let me in. But hear me out. I've come to warn you that Angel and Buffy are getting a little too cozy for their own good. He's going to get pelvic with your Slayer and that means his little soul is gonna go bye-bye. When that happens, you'll have a lot more to worry about than yours truly." Spike smelled a well-known odor drifting to him on the air and gritted his teeth. Bloody hell, wasn't he going to be allowed any moment without interference from Buffy's tagalongs?
However, his shocking news caused Giles to blanch and he lowered his weapon slightly. "W-what? What the—what do you mean about Angel and Buffy? Who are you, anyway?"
"That's what we'd like to know," Xander said coolly from behind Spike. "You just cut out from the Bronze, run away from Buffy with your tail between your legs and, now here you are getting chatty with the G-man. Boy, you're a fast mover."
Spike turned and saw Xander and Willow standing behind him, both of them clutching stakes. It was ridiculous, really. In this timeframe, he could easily disarm and kill both of them. But there was no doing that without getting on Buffy's bad side. Besides, the armed Watcher at his back meant this was a tense situation. He had to find a way to defuse it and fast.
Deciding to ignore the two of them for the time being, he re-focused on the other Englishman. "Who I am isn't important. I'm just a messenger, see? Your Slayer and that poof with the hair gel can't be allowed to stay together. One moment of happiness and the git loses his soul and Angelus comes back. I don't want that and I'm sure you don't want that either. You go talk to that Jenny Calendar and she'll tell you what's what. She'll tell you if I'm lying."
Giles's eyes narrowed at the mention of the female schoolteacher and he brought the weapon up again. "Ms. Calendar? What does she have to do with it?"
"She's a gypsy, that's all. She's a descendant of the original gypsies who stuck Angelus with the soul in the first place. She knows all about this curse thing. You talk to her; she'll tell you."
Giles appeared to wrestle internally with this news. "That may well be true. But that's still no reason to let you go. And you still haven't told us who you are."
"By the way, do we really need to know that?" Xander piped up. "Since when do we hold confabs with vamps or ask for intros before we stake 'em?"
"You're not staking me, whelp, and I wouldn't advise you to try it. You're a piss-poor fighter and you couldn't take me even if I had both hands tied behind my back," Spike sneered.
Evidently Xander decided to test that statement because he charged at Spike. The vampire threw out one fist almost lazily and saw it connect with Xander's cheekbone. The boy yelled with the pain and staggered back, clutching his injured jaw. Willow cried out and ran to hold her friend, glaring daggers at the vampire.
Spike merely smirked at her anger. Gee, the redhead was cute when she was mad. But she didn't have any magical power now that he could sense and he wasn't afraid of her. He'd forgotten the Watcher, however, and became aware of his mistake when he felt a sharp blow at his back.
"SHIT!!" he shrieked and spun halfway around with the force of it. Looking back in shock and rage, he saw Giles notching another arrow onto the bow and realized the berk had shot him. Snarling in fury, he took off before the man could reload, paying no heed to the two Scoobies still on the front stoop.
Damn, none of this was going how he'd planned. He'd managed to brass off Buffy's team, make the Slayer suspicious of him and get himself injured—and all in the space of two hours. How the hell had this gotten so messed up?
Unfortunately, the pain from his shoulder was overriding everything else, including the ability to think clearly. Lucky for him the Watcher was a lousy shot at this time. Otherwise, he would have been dust by now. Pausing behind a dumpster near a local Doublemeat Palace, he tried reaching around to pull out the offending piece of wood. No dice; it was in at too awkward an angle. He couldn't reach it at all. There was only one thing to do.
Bracing himself in front of the wall, he gritted his teeth and shoved back as hard as he could. He couldn't quite hold back a screech of agony as the arrow was forced through the front of his body just under his shoulder. He snapped off the tip and then pushed backwards until he could grasp the arrow and pull it through completely.
He sagged forward, gulping needlessly, as the pain shivered through his body like a live thing. Bloody hell, it hurt like fire and the agony combined with the blood loss made him feel as weak as a kitten. He would need a fresh kill to bring him up to snuff. Too bad he hadn't taken the opportunity to feed on the Harris boy when he had the chance.
Oh well, he'd just have to find someone else, wouldn't he? Still, he couldn't help the nagging feeling that all this was going on a permanent record somewhere. What was it Xork had said? That everything he did, said and thought was being recorded on a kind of celestial ledger? Maybe even the death of that unlucky sod of a delivery boy would be chalked up against him. Like he didn't have enough problems.
Right then. He'd just head on in to Willy's. The man was always good for a pint of the good stuff. A bottle of O neg should fix him right up. It would also give him time to re-group and think about his next move. It was also unlikely the Slayer would be on the premises. He never recalled her coming there in the early days. Patting his pockets to see if he had enough money, he staggered in the direction of the bar.
Willy's was bustling as always. He stood in the doorway and re-acquainted himself with the look and feel of the joint. The distinctive scents from at least a dozen different species of demon were enclosed in the tight space and he realized that scent was another thing missing from the Waiting Room denizens. It was just one more element contributing to the overall deadness in the atmosphere.
Willy's was a sleazy little dive, a crummy hole in the wall compared to the grand pubs of England, but it was full of his people. Still, seeing a place that was crawling with demons put him a little too much in mind with the hell he'd left behind and the recollection of that place raised a faint nausea in his throat.
As he stood there hesitating, a Sh'garish demon ten feet tall shoved its way past him and snarled, glaring at the vampire out of purple eyes. "Get out of the way, bloodrat."
Spike growled back, the prospect of a fight managing to allay his worries about his task. "Do you know who you're talking to, arsehole?"
"No and I don't think I care." The demon loomed over him, menace coloring his tones, and those nearest them began edging away to avoid the inevitable confrontation.
Shit, that was right. He'd just blown into town and none of these demon blokes knew him or his reputation. After he'd established himself as the badarse he was, none of them had dared to challenge him. But that wasn't the case now and he couldn't afford to be slowed down by additional injuries or distracted needlessly in a brawl.
He threw up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and smiled in what he hoped was an ingratiating manner. "Sorry, mate. My bad. Didn't mean to bother you. I'm just jonesing for a drink and was in a bit of a mood. You know how it is."
Evidently the Sh'garish wasn't willing to let it go. He poked Spike hard and snarled, "No, I don't know how it is. I just know I've been tripping over you damned vampires ever since I got into this town and you're really starting to piss me off. You things aren't even true demons; you're just human corpses with a demon shoved inside you."
The Sh'garish leaned over Spike and made exaggerated sniffing noises. "You all reek of humanity. You look human, sound human and play with humans. Call yourselves demons? Don't make me laugh." He shoved Spike again, harder this time, and followed up with a vicious right hook to the jaw.
Spike dodged and swung back and his blow connected with the creature's throat, causing it to grunt and reel backward. The bar exploded into an uproar as various other creatures either took bets on the outcome or lunged into the fray. Unfortunately the Sh'garish had friends—five of them, all as big, nasty and tough as he was. They grabbed Spike and heavy fists covered in thick, armorlike skin pounded away at him for several minutes. Then, to the cheers of the other barflies, he was hauled up and unceremoniously dumped out the front door.
Lying in a crumpled heap on the unforgiving pavement, Spike tried to stay still until the world stopped spinning around him. God, he hurt. Every single inch of skin felt ripped, shredded or simply throbbed with an ache that he could feel behind his eyeballs. By the way his chest grated with each movement, he probably had a broken rib or two. Barely able to move, he staggered upright, leaning heavily against a lamppost for support. Blood was pouring from an open cut into one eye and the other was already swelling up until he could hardly see out of it.
He didn't know if he could make it back to the lair. In any case, it wasn't advisable. Drusilla and the little toadies were waiting for him, yes, but he was only recently established as their new leader. Seeing him returning bloody, battered and broken his first night out in Sunnydale wouldn't exactly work towards keeping them frightened of him, would it? He had to get healed up and quickly.
He needed blood. He hadn't been able to get any at Willy's, the butcher shops were all likely closed and the hospital was too far away. There was only one means now and he was too banged up to care about the consequences.
Lurking in a dark alley, he peered out and saw and smelled the teenager hurrying along the street. The kid was small but he was better than nothing. Besides, Spike was in no shape to take on larger prey that might put up too much of a struggle. Charging out, he grabbed the boy and dragged him into the alley. Clapping his hand over the terrified kid's mouth, he proceeded to tear into his jugular.
There was no time for finesse; this was a straight kill. Gulping and drawing hard, he drained the boy down to the last drop. Mmmmm, the boy was sweet and tasty, like all the young were. Virgin, too, judging by the pure, untainted flavor. Strange—the victim smelled familiar but he couldn't be bothered to dwell on that now. He was probably one of the school kids from the old Sunnydale High, maybe even one of the warm bodies he'd been close to earlier this evening.
This was the second human life he'd taken this night but that Xork bastard hadn't said anything about not killing humans while he was here, had he? No, he'd laid down the rules nice and simple and there was nothing in them against draining the occasional human or two. He had to think of the big picture. He was trying to save an entire town. What was a couple of mortal bodies compared to that agenda?
He lifted the lifeless body and stuck it in a nearby dumpster. No sense risking the Slayer finding him in the alley with it. If Angel found it, he'd be able to identify the fang marks on the boy's neck and finger him as the culprit. Stowing it in the dumpster would delay or prevent discovery of his unsouled status long enough until he was pulled from this timeframe or altered it.
Licking his lips and belching loudly, he paused for a moment to savor the warmth rushing through his frame. The blood had been terrific and all his wounds had healed. Now, however, he had another problem. The red stuff was flowing straight to his nether regions and causing a rise of the old Adam. He had to, ahem, find a way to relieve the tension. Seeing Buffy at the Bronze, smelling her scent, having her within his reach and being able to do nothing about it had been frustrating in the extreme. The blood he'd taken had made him high as a kite and hornier than a teenaged virgin at a Sharon Stone movie.
He ran silent as a ghost until he could find another secluded out-of-the-way spot. He found a stand of trees fairly close together and some distance from the street. They'd provide ample cover. He cast an eye about to see if he had company and then unzipped his pants.
Closing his eyes, he settled in for a good wank while he thought about the time he'd had sex with Buffy against a tree in her very own front yard. That bit of sport had had the elements of the dangerous and forbidden. The idea that he could have the Slayer on her own turf right under the noses of her neighbors had been a sick, erotic little thrill, one he'd replayed in his mind over and over again. Only the time on the balcony of the Bronze had topped it.
He bit his lip and stroked harder, murmuring to himself. "Yeah, Slayer. That's it. Oh, you've got the best mouth, you have. Just like that, Goldilocks. Harder, Buffy, harder!"
"Spike?" He gave a yelp and nearly tripped over his lowered pants as he tried simultaneously to tuck himself back in and turn on the unexpected intruder. Damn this town, a bloke couldn't even wank off in peace!
"Drusilla! Pet, what are you doing out? You know you're too weak to travel." What the hell were those minions thinking, letting her wander around loose in her condition? Mentally, he made a note to stake that useless ponce Lucius when he got back to the lair. He zipped up his pants and squinted at her. How had she gotten this far into town anyways? That delivery boy must have been more of a pick-me-up than he'd thought.
Her eyes drilled into him, madness making them gleam with a peculiar intensity. "You're not my Spike," she said flatly and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise.
Holding out his hands to her, he crooned in the gentle, soothing tones he reserved for her alone, "Pet, you're not well. You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back to the others."
She drifted away from him, hugging herself as if she felt cold, and started swaying from side to side. Her eyes became unfocused while she stared at him as if seeing invisible things hovering over his face. "Not of this world, time out of mind, got the Slayer in his head, making him blind," she sang.
Sod it all. She knew. His princess always had the gift of second sight and somehow she knew he wasn't the same monster who'd fallen in love with her. It was vital for him to remain calm and get her back to the lair where she'd be out of harm's way. "Nice one, luv. But you can save the poetry for later. We've got to get you back to our new digs." He reached for her again only to pause when she hissed at him.
"You're lying. Miss Edith told me my Spike is gone. Got a soul; lost a soul. You've had others whispering in your ears. You've had things stuck in your brain. Fire and cinders were floating around you. You've got your mind full of her. Full of the Slayer, you have. That's why you're here. No dancing in the sweet liquor of this one, oh no. He thinks he can save her. Thinks he'll get Heaven all tied up in pretty ribbons and handed to him on a platter. He doesn't care about his little poppet any more. My knight's left his Drusilla." Her face crumpled and she started weeping, a high-pitched wail that rose in pitch and volume until dogs in the distance began howling.
"Now that's just not true, my dainty black plum." The noise didn't abate; she would attract attention soon, supernatural or otherwise. There was no use for it. He was going to have to knock her out if he was going to handle her. As if sensing his intention she turned and began running away from him. Hell and damn. He hoofed it after her, determined to catch her before she did something stupid. But the erection throbbing away in his pants was still there, a powerful physical ache to match the pains he'd received earlier, and every step he took only exacerbated the pain.
"Drusilla! Come back, pet! It's not true. I love you!" he cried after her. Instead of slowing, his voice seemed to act as a spur, driving her onwards. She veered into one of the cemeteries and he cursed silently. With his bad luck, they'd probably run into the Slayer again on one of her patrols. Somehow he didn't think she'd buy a story about Drusilla having a soul. The mad vampire was also running faster than she should have been able to, given her weakened condition. She was slowly but steadily pulling away from him and he redoubled his speed, trying to narrow the gap between them.
She wasn't listening to his pleas and finally he lunged at her in a desperate attempt to bring her down. He collided with her fragile form and the two of them crashed to the ground. She twisted under him, screaming and flailing at him with her fists. She was stronger than expected and he had to grab both wrists to keep her from clawing out his eyes. One knee was jabbed with brutal force into his crotch. The agony coupled with his only slightly flagging hard-on was too much. He doubled over, the pain so intense he literally couldn't speak, and she wriggled out of his reach.
"What have we here? The Billy Idol rip-off is attacking a helpless girl. Golly, sorta pokes holes in that 'I've got a soul' speech you were making earlier. What do you think, Angel?"
He looked up to see a pair of expensive boots just at eye level. Buffy was standing over him, stake in hand, looking decidedly happy to see him and not in a good way. Angel was standing a little farther off. Drusilla was purring and trying to cuddle up to him, something Buffy didn't miss. Spike was delighted, both at the uncomfortable look on his Grandsire's face as he tried to ward off the clinging lunatic and the jealousy he could see in Buffy's eyes.
"Come along, pet. Angelus doesn't want to play with you tonight. You'll just have to have him tie you up and spank you some other time," he called out and smirked when he saw Angel glare at him.
"Angel? What's he talking about? And who is she?" Her gaze sharpened and Spike could see her Slayer sense kick in as she gave Drusilla a closer look. "She's a vampire, isn't she?" Buffy asked, her eyes swinging between the peroxide blond and the brunette vampire trying to stroke her boyfriend.
"That she is, luv. One of Angelus's very own get. Slayer, meet Drusilla, Angelus's mad Childe," Spike said in a mockingly polite tone.
"And don't forget, your Sire, Spike," Angel growled. "And what's this I hear about your having a soul?" Dark eyes bored into his skull and Spike inwardly quailed. "You don't have a soul, Spike. What kind of game are you playing?" the tall vampire said, absently grabbing Drusilla by the arm so she couldn't escape.
"Do too! Don't listen to him, Buffy. He's just lying out of jealousy," Spike flung out in desperation. This was all bollixed up. His Buffy had been a lot readier to believe him after he'd been with her for awhile. This Buffy was a clueless bint with her head stuck too far up the great poof's rectum to listen to anything he had to say.
"Buffy, believe me. He doesn't have a soul. I can see it in his eyes." Angel sniffed in Spike's direction and growled. "He also reeks of human blood. He's fed on humans and recently, too, by the smell of him. Isn't that right, Drusilla?" Actually, Angel was smelling something more than Spike's usual aggression towards himself and his hunger for Slayers. There was a heavy scent of lust in the air and it wasn't coming from just Drusilla. He sniffed in Spike's direction again and his eyes narrowed.
"Yes, my prince brought me a tasty little snack, all warm and singing with delicious jam running through him. He licked the lollipop after me and crunched it down to the chewy center." Drusilla giggled insanely and Buffy rolled her eyes at the idiotic chatter.
Angel nodded grimly. "Drusilla may be mad but she wouldn't lie about that, Buffy. You have to be careful with Spike. He's got an obsession about Slayers. He's killed one of them already. That's probably why he's in Sunnydale—to make you number two."
"Actually, I killed two. You've really been out of the loop since you got that soul, eh, Angelus?" Spike bragged. Too late, he realized that wasn't the best thing to let slip when you had an armed Slayer in your presence.
Buffy's head whipped around and she clutched her stake. "Is that right? So I guess all that talk about bringing me home to meet your folks was, what? Your clumsy attempt at a trap? How stupid do you think I am?"
Given that she'd walked into Caleb's little vineyard with barely a second thought, Spike thought she was being rather full of herself. "That wasn't a lie, lu—Buffy. I really wanted you to help me kill those minions. Why else would I have asked you to bring the pep squad along with you?"
"Maybe you thought they'd make good appetizers for your vampy friends. Don't worry; if they're as dumb as you, I shouldn't have any trouble flushing them out." She glanced at Angel holding the struggling Drusilla and frowned. "Shouldn't you be staking her already?"
"That's right, Angelus. Go ahead and stake her. It's not like you care about her. It's your fault she's completely balmy. She didn't ask to be made a vampire. But you stalked her, drove her crazy and turned her just so she'd continue to suffer forever. Then, when I came along, you dumped her in my lap so I could take care of her when you were too bored to bother." Spike was eager to take the opportunity to plant the seeds of doubt in Buffy's mind about her boyfriend. Let's see how much of a champion she thought Angel was when she learned the truth about him.
Disbelief flooded Buffy's eyes as she looked at Drusilla. The creature may have been mad but she was all over Angel, her purrs louder and more pronounced as she gazed adoringly into his eyes. "Ooh, my Daddy is here. But he's not the same. He's been changed just like my knight. Horrid thing a soul is. My sweet William is going to get one, too. Aren't you, my lamb? Going to get a dirty little soul to scamper and itch all over his skin."
She peered over at Spike and giggled, the tinkling sound floating eerily in the night air. Then she eyed Buffy. "Careful, Slayer. He's after you. Wants to lick and croon in your ears dark little lullabies, he does. He'll make you howl for him and bring it all crashing down around your head."
Her face shifted and she hissed. "But you can't have him. He's my prince!" She lunged towards Buffy only to stagger as Angel staked her in the back. The madwoman fell to the ground, wide eyes trained on her Sire. "Daddy?" she whispered. Then there was nothing left of her save an outline in ashes on the moldy graveyard dirt.
Spike experienced a brief pang of loss as he witnessed her demise. "Bye, Dru. It's been fun." Then he shrugged and turned away—only to find the Slayer in front of him.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked in dulcet tones. And then the stake was shoved into his chest.
"Crap!" Spike staggered and grabbed at his chest. His eyes searched his torso and he frowned. "Wait a minute…"
"Well, well, well. Look who's back." Spike looked up and despair crashed down on him. He was in the Waiting Room again and the three-eyed female behind her partition had a twisted smile on her face as she faced him. "Come back for more, have you?"
He marched up to the desk only halting when he saw the familiar threatening blankness settle over her face. "Oy! You there. I have to get back to my caseworker."
The malicious glee she'd shown at his reappearance had flown away to be replaced by her usual indifference. "Fine. You have to get another ticket and wait your turn to be called again."
"Now hang on! I'm not waiting around here again! I need to see my caseworker, Xork-What's-His-Face and I need to see him now!" Spike couldn't take another eternity of waiting in this place.
The three eyes rolled in her head as she heaved a sigh. "Sir, we all have a tremendous workload to deal with here, in case you haven't noticed. Your caseworker has many other cases to handle not just yours. You'll just have to grab a number and wait your turn again." She pointed towards the dispenser and screeched out, "NEXT!"
Spike grabbed his number (again obscenely long) and threw himself down in the nearest chair. It looked like he was doomed to another eternity of waiting until he was called again. He didn't bother looking up as other beings were catapulted, shot into or fell into the waiting area. Like the other miserable wretches in this place, he had no energy left to spare for anything or anybody but himself.
"Sod it, I don't even know if everything worked out all right," he mumbled to himself.
"He is changed to a god he who looks on her,
godlike he shines when he's seated beside her,
immortal joy to gaze and hear the fall of
her sweet laughter...
Limbs are pierced with fire and the heavy tongue fails,
ears resound with noise of distant storms shaking
this earth, eyes gaze on stars that fall forever
into deep midnight.
This languid madness destroys you…,
long day and night shall be desolate, broken,
as long ago ancient kings and rich cities
fell into ruin." – Gaius Valerius Catullus, no. 51 of The Poems of Catullus, translated by Horace Victor Gregory
TBC