Title: Many Roads

Author: Lily Ann

Contact: saywardluckett2000@yahoo.com


**This is the slightly revised version posted on 9/21/03, Basically the same with some of the choppier parts smoothed out. Sorry, darlings. It was 4 A.M and I was asleep at the keyboard.***




Many Roads

by Lily Ann



Chapter 6: One Day More



Buffy kept her eyes fixed on Spike's boots throughout the telling, not quite brave enough to watch his reaction to her tale. He shifted once or twice, otherwise didn't move or talk until she was finished. Not that it took very long. There was surprisingly little to tell. At fifteen, she simply dropped away from the world. Caught the school bus one morning and rode it into a long, black tunnel that opened, years later, on adulthood. She didn't remember falling ill, seeing monsters everywhere. Chasing them with table legs and tree branches. Raving on about super powers, moonlight, and spells. They said she did all that and more. Succumbed to a fantasy that swallowed her youth and left a maddening mystery in its place. The secret of where she'd been. Why she returned. How she'd...become.


Long past embarrassment, she recounted what she knew of the institution years. Her time there, and eventual release. The after-days, full of fleeting grace. A time of promises and rebirth, brief enough to break her heart. Buffy spoke of her visions and flashes of memory. Her strange fears and sense of displacement. How a whole other universe was unfolding in the corner of her eye. How she followed the girl-ghost and found the book that led her to Aurora and Spike.


Once the floodgates were opened, words flowed. Buffy found her voice, released the story to someone else's ears for the first time, barely stopping to draw a breath, and it felt good. Incredibly freeing, to finally unburden herself. But, she still didn't have the courage to look him in the eye. If they weren't so cuttingly blue, sharp enough to rip a hole in her every pretense, than she might have been braver with him, more honest. But, this was a different world. They were strangers, and he was frighteningly intense. So, she dropped whites lies like pebbles, neatly hopscotched right over the major issue of their connection. Didn't tell him that she suspected–no, knew, with a woman's unerring instinct–that they'd been lovers in that other shared reality. Wondered, all the while, if he'd see through it.


If he did, Spike didn't let on. Just listened patiently, arms crossed. Lean and relaxed, with his upright slouch and sun-kissed halo of curls. It was going well, Buffy thought giddily.


She should have known better.


Finishing with, "...and that's how I ended up here," Buffy nervously bit at her lip. Waited through a long, pregnant silence. Began to suspect he'd fallen asleep when the seconds stretched into infinity.


They might have stayed that way forever, frozen in bright sunlight, if Spike hadn't let out a tiny snort.

Finally lifting her eyes, Buffy found him smiling. It wasn't a full-blown smirk, not yet, but the potential was there. Blooming around his lips. Buffy wasn't exactly sure what hackles were, but she felt hers rising. Fervently wished he would say something to buffer the amusement factor she was sensing with growing alarm..


No such luck.


He had a way of leaning back to look at her, full of studied disdain. It made him look taller, harder. Kind of menacing, and Buffy's hackles instantly broke into a round of calisthenics.


Spike coughed into his hand. Mock politeness, she noted with dismay. Not good. He was gearing up for something. His voice, though, was a river of honey. Betrayed nothing.


"Let me suss this out for a jot , sweet p–" He corrected himself. "Sorry. Buffy." He managed to make her name sound more ridiculous than the endearment. "Check if I've twigged on proper. You say," he coughed again, "that you had visions of my Aurora." There was something sweet about the reverent way he named his creation, and Buffy liked him again for about a half second. Unfortunately, he had to add, "While you were cracking up in the funny farm."


Quietly seething, but unable to deny it, despite the rude phrasing, Buffy nodded.

"You were completely off your chump, then, right?" At her blank look, he clarified. "Wacko, pet. Crackers. Barmy as a--"

"I get it," she ground out, halting the vocabulary parade, and Spike snickered. If he was going to stand there like Mr. Cool Guy, Buffy decided, she wasn't going be outdone. Haughtily crossed her arms. Flicked her hair and stuck out one hip. Drew on the persona of a California girl, her last, best defense. I'm nonchalant, dammit.

Spike stuck his tongue out a little, upping the stakes about a million points. Buffy simmered with outrage. Waited, with her jaw clenched, for more insults. She knew they were coming, but, still managed, somehow, to be completely shocked by the rudeness that followed.

Spike laughed at her.

Great, ringing peals of mirth that bent him double and probably routed birds in Scotland.

Buffy wasn't naive. It had to happen eventually. Her story, to fresh ears, probably bordered on the absurd.. But they'd known each other for all of ten turbulent minutes! she reasoned bitingly. He could have spared her feelings, held it in for awhile, instead of wavering like a sapling in the wind, holding his sides with one hand and wiping at tears with the other. Occasionally, waving helplessly at nothing in particular, like his hands were trying to express what his voice could not.

"Oh, shit," he finally gasped. Wound down, to her immense relief, only to begin again. "Sorry, sorry."

"No, you're not!" Her attempt at chastisement only fueled his glee, and Buffy began to weigh the pros and cons of violence. "Feel free to stop anytime. Really."

Heading the edge in her voice, Spike reigned himself in with great effort. "That was fucking great," he finally wheezed, watery eyes sparkling. "How much did the blokes at the pub pay you? I'll double the dosh if 'n you scamper back and tell 'em I'm in hospital cause I stroked out." He started to hobble away, one hand still pressed too his stomach. "Limey bastards, the lot. Trying to have me on."

"Wait!" Buffy rushed forward and grabbed his arm. Could this get any worse? she wondered. He thought she was some kind of roving prankster.

"Hey, now! Watch the hands!" Understandably freaked by her boldness, he shook her off, backed away. "Joke's over, love." He scanned the woods. "''N'less there's a camera crew waitin' on us?"

"No! No cameras! No pub! No...limey bastards!" Buffy's head felt heavy as a bowling ball, about to roll right off her shoulders. "Look." She pulled the stub of her airplane ticket out of her back pocket. "This isn't a joke. I'm not a candy gram and I'm not crazy." She hesitated. "Things are...are happening to me. Things I don't understand."

Spike didn't look impressed. "Sounds like a personal problem to me, sweetheart."

The sneer in his voice cut Buffy to the quick, but she tamped down on the hurt, forged ahead. Put as much force in her argument as she could muster. "You can laugh at me till you rupture.. Point and giggle. Put a big cone on my head. Sell tickets, if you want.'Cause I can take it. Going with the flow has taken on huge new meaning in my life." She pinned Spike with a look."But, keep this in mind. We're not totally in control here, William. Something's moving us around like...," she searched for the write words, "...like chess pieces. You, me, Faith. God knows who else." She shrugged helplessly. "I know I didn't wind up here by accident. And neither, I imagine, did you."

She thought she had him when he swung easily around. Considered her with raised eye brows. "We're pawns, then?"

Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably." She shivered, hugged herself. "Do you dream, Spike?" It was a bold question.

Something dark flashed in the frozen blue of his eyes, brief, but telling. Nostrils flared and lean muscles tightened. The body language was not hard to read. Spike was both angry and in complete control. Coiled up like a rattler ready to strike. Afraid of...something and damn pissed off about it. Buffy almost smiled. Why, he's an open book. But then, he stalked toward her, body tense with purpose, and everything else, including words, slipped out of focus. There was only him, covering ground more quickly than any man should. No longer a shadow creature, rampaging across her dream-scape, but flesh, blood, bone, and eyes. All focused entirely on her.

She should have stepped back, held up a warning hand, but Buffy never even considered running. Instead, she was drawn forward by his gaze, the force of that unwavering attention a magnet she could not, would not resist. Surprise, and a hint of appreciation, flickered across his stone-carved features when she stepped up to meet him, head held high, and Buffy could hear her own heart beating unevenly in her ears, felt sweat form on her upper lip, despite the coolness of the day. He was not very much taller than she; they were almost nose-to-nose. But the power in him was unmistakable. Spike was thin and menacing as a whipcord, and twice as sharp. Buffy couldn't suppress the tiniest of shivers.

She'd been afraid many times in her life, but didn't know it could be so intoxicating.

Spike appeared to be studying her. Buffy bristled a little, lifted her chin. Not your bike, here. Hold the appraisal. But he was determined to look at her, it seemed, and Buffy did her best not to squirm. Finally, he lowered his head. Slowly, oh slowly, and Buffy couldn't help herself. Lifted up a little, swaying closer to his scent of wood smoke, shampoo and sweat. To that plump, blood-red lower lip that was inches from her ear. Almost touching. Buffy turned a little to receive whatever words he cared to leave there.

"I think you should go."

Crushing disappointment instantly welled up in her chest. Buffy couldn't breathe, idly wondered if she was hyperventilating. Shoving Spike away, she stared at him in utter betrayal. Reason tried to cut in: How can he betray you? He doesn't even know you. But she saw only his hard eyes and twitching jaw. The face of rejection.

"I have nowhere to go." She had nothing left, not even a good argument. Just the stark and bitter truth.

Spike grabbed the motorcycle, wheeled it into the tiny garage. Shut and locked the door. "You're a resourceful girl. Got all the way here, didn't you? Somethin's bound to turn up."

Buffy furiously blinked her eyes, savagely forced back tears. Not gonna cry in front of him. She repeated it like a mantra.

"You could ring up your folks. They're probably already searchin' high and low for their lost lamb."

Buffy shook her head fiercely. "Never."

"Suit yourself." Spike started to walk away. "Ta."

Buffy had just enough fight left in her to make a rather urgent request. "Can I use your bathroom first?" She hated the way her voice sagged like a day-old balloon. Deflated of all energy. Adrit.

"I suppose,' Spike sighed. "But I'm countin' the silver after you naff off."

"Well, gee, I've been promoted to thief. Thanks bunches." Buffy followed him across the lawn. "Are you this charming to all your visitors?"

"Just the ones that happen to be bug-shagging bonkers."

"I told you, I'm not crazy." Rough floorboards groaned as they passed over the front porch that smelled like earth and pine oil.. Too bad the man isn't as agreeable as the house, Buffy thought mournfully.

Spike swung the door open. Eyed her suspiciously. "Don't try anything."

"Oh, shut up." Buffy was too exhausted to banter properly. "I'm not interested in decor by Daniel Boone, so your stupid things are safe."

"You fancy taking a leak in the woods, don't you?" Spike bit back. "Cause I'm about to show you the bloody road on the end o' my foot."

"What a gentleman," Buffy parried sarcastically. "Syphilis has better manners."

The kitchen was small and bright, like Buffy had imagined it would be. Spike busied himself with propping open the door, occasionally mumbling under his breath. She caught the word 'bitch' once or twice, muttered low and fierce.

"I heard that."

"Your ears aren't as buggering messed up as the rest of you, then."

While he was occupied, Buffy stole a glance around his space. It wasn't terribly woodsy, despite her snide comment, except for a large fireplace and some oak furnishings. The wildlife prints on the wall and a small clay sculpture of a rabbit.

Spike noticed her looking. "My step sis made those. Talented little dollybird, yeah? Had her in mind when I made Aurora." He led her down a narrow hallway. "Only super power she's got, though, is the ability to leap her pap's wallet in a single bound."

Buffy just sniffled and wiped at her nose. Ignored Spike's look of disgust.

They reached the bathroom and Buffy stepped inside. "Thanks," she said woodenly, closing the door in his face.

Safely inside, Buffy sank down and buried her face in her hands. Let the sobs finally come, low and harsh and long overdue. Swabbed at her face with a ball of tissue then let the soggy mass drop to the floor, just to be spiteful.

She wept for several long, cathartic minutes. Almost had herself pieced back together when a violent knock rattled the door on its hinges, followed by Spike's disembodied voice. "Are you crying in my bathroom?"

"No!" Buffy shouted, finally losing control completely. "I'm papering the fucking walls! Leave me alone!"

Her hysteria must have made him back off, because the house went very quiet. Ten minutes passed, time enough to gather her shredded dignity, use the toilet, wash her face. Feeling slightly more human, she stepped into the hall, followed it back to the living room, where she caught the tail end of a phone conversation. And felt her blood heat back up to a rapid boil.

Spike had his back to her, with the phone cradled between his neck and shoulder. Engrossed in regaling somebody with her humiliation, he didn't hear her approach.

"....I'm tellin' the truth! An honest-to-God stalker! Sallied up my drive with the most crackpot story anyone ever tossed my way ... I kid you not! Right now, she's criking in the--"

Buffy depressed the button on the phone rest with a shaking finger. "Excuse me!"

Spike whirled around with a startled, "gah!" Dropped the receiver on the floor, where it set up a distressed hum.

Poking a finger in his cotton-covered chest, Buffy pushed until he backed up. Followed this retreat with her advance, engaging him in a curious two-step across the hardwood. "For the gazillionth time, I am not crazy," she sputtered. "And, you know what else, bucko? I wouldn't stalk your skinny behind if it belonged to...to somebody I'd stalk!" To her horror, Buffy felt her face begin to crumple like rice paper. Struggled to get her final volley out before the storm hit. Stretching up on her toes, she leered in Spike's face, which was a new experience, but definitely worth it. "Do you know what you are?" He just gaped at her, so Buffy went ahead and told him. "You're a...a very shirty person!"

With that, she turned and fled back down the hall, leaving Spike slumped against the fireplace.

************************************************************************

He was waiting for her when she crept out of the bathroom, nearly an hour later. Half-cloaked in shadow. Fingers templed under his chin like a punk philosopher. It was this lack of raging that had finally drawn her out, curious and a little fearful at what she'd find outside her haven, where she'd seriously considered spending a year or two, just hunkered down beside the commode. But such facies were fleeting. Her life didn't allow for them. Besides, the shower curtain had a whale on it, which was way disturbing. Le tacky.

So, she ventured, once again, under the drawings of wild sheep and red deer . A watercolor labeled 'Sunset Over the River Idle.' Two sketches of the church in town, 'St. James the Lesser,' each dated about a year earlier. Saw him in the big recliner, with one knee pulled up. Looking tussled and very, very young. It was several long seconds before either of them spoke. He went first, seemingly never at a loss for things to say.

"Did you know you busted my phone, princess?"

Buffy hadn't noticed it lying in his lap. "Actually, you did." She conjured up a small smile. "I was just the divine instrument of breakage."

He glanced at her, eyes dark with rue."Wasn't in our hands, then, huh?"

"Nothing ever is, Spike."

He leaned forward slightly. "S'not acceptable to me, ducks.. Always made my own way, took the paths I fancied, Didn't have, or want, blathering fate shoving a map up my arsehole." He fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket, and twirled it in his fingers, agitated . "Whole bloody concept of destiny gives me turns."

Buffy laughed. "Agreed. The Suck family's made it their compound."

The afternoon sun had gone in, throwing long shadows about the room, and Buffy was speaking mostly to an outline of a man. But, when he turned his head, she saw that flash of fear again. "Don't want to be a pawn, Buffy."

"So, don't." Buffy hitched herself a little closer, and their knees brushed fleetingly. "Be the knight," she teased, "I can totally see you as the dueling cavalier."

Spike guffawed in appreciation."Bloody armor's impossible to get out of, they say. Probably led to a lot of blokes having accidents." He eyed her. 'What about you, missy?"

"Me?" Buffy pretended to think. "King, of course."

Spike laughed. "I was right, see? You are bodged in the head."

They fell silent for a moment, listened to the never ending rounds of the clock hands. Finally, Spike scraped a hand through his hair, drawing her attention with the nrevous gesture.. "M'sorry I was such a wanker 'bout it, though. My mum, God rest 'er, raised me a sight better than that."

"Apology accepted." Buffy ducked her head. "Sorry about the syphilis crack."

"S' alright. Better than being compared to the Clap."

Buffy laughed, but, urged by that ceaseless ticking, she stood to go.. "I'd better get moving."

"Wait." Spike stood, held up a staying hand. "It's past the time you should be bimboing about the countryside. And it's gonna piss down rain, any minute." He gestured to the window rapidly filling with clouds . "Kip here for now and I'll take you to town tomorrow. Hitch you a ride with the commuters. Have you back in London by elevenses."

Buffy's pride was tattered, but intact, and she put up token resistance. "Thanks, but....I don't know if that's such a good idea. You, me, and the yelling isn't really distant memory yet." Her tired body, meanwhile, was screaming at her. Accept, you twit! Accept!

"I promise to be behave."

Buffy snorted. "And I'll conduct a thorough search for pods under your house."

"Will you quit arguing the toss and buggering agree?"

Buffy regarded him curiously. "Why?"

"Cause...ah, hell." She hadn't thought it possible for him to look embarrassed, but there it was. In the set of his mouth, the roaming eyes, "Because I made you spring a leak, alright?"

At first, she thought he was referring to something weird and vaguely sexual. Then it dawned on her. "You're upset because I cried?"

"Well, yeah. No need to advertise."

Buffy couldn't stop staring at him. "That's, um, really sweet. Really." Wow, Buffy thought. Just...wow. She'd been in his presence for less than a day and already discovered a soft spot. A sudden urge to reach out and ruffle that bright hair had her sitting on her finger tips. He was as changeable as weather, she was discovering. Rarely in the same mood twice. Stormy one minute, bright the next.

"You'll stay, then?"

Buffy looked around, eyed the fireplace and pretty, paneled walls. The television that was bigger than the couch. Then she looked outside to the gathering storm. "I'd like that. Thank you."

He clapped his hands together. "Smashing." Noticing her rubbing her arms for warmth, he lifted an eyebrow. "What happened to your kit?"

"Huh?"

"Your clobber."

"What does any of this have to do with hitting me?"

"Clothes!" Spike finally exploded. "Clothes, you dozy mare!"

"Well, why didn't you just say that?" Buffy rolled her eyes. "They got lost. I told you that, remember?"

Spike scratched his head. "After the plane, right? Before the bloke in the alley."

"Right." Buffy shrugged. "There wasn't much in there, anyway. A couple of blouses and...other things." She blushed.

"You can say knickers, pet."

"Fine." Buffy felt her color rising. "Knickers. There, I said it."

"No cardie?"

Buffy ran that through the Spike translator. "Nope. No sweater."

Spike looked appalled. "You came to England without a sweater?"

"Well, pardon me. I thought England was like...England, not Antarctica."

Spike sighed. "Come with me."

Buffy followed him to what looked like a spare bedroom, but the computer in the corner proved that it was probably where he wrote. As in the living room, there were a lot of books. Books stacked on shelves, books piled in closets. Gathering dust under the desk.

Spike flung open a trunk, rooted around in its depths while Buffy watched with interest. "Here," he finally declared, handing her a long, plaid shirt. "You can wear this."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "But it's flannel and its, um...yours." Buffy ran a hand through her hair. "That came out wrong."

Spike put his hands on his hips, shirt and all. "This isn't Bloomingdale's."

"Well, duh. But hat's flannel." Buffy set her jaw stubbornly.

Spike heaved another sigh. "And mine. I get it."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"Yeah, you did."

"Did not!" Buffy slid the last word in. "So there!"

Spike groaned."Would you stop having an eppy and put the fucking thing on?" Buffy didn't move, and he finally threw his hands up in the air. "Freeze your spoiled little bum off, then." But, after watching her shiver for two more minutes, he appeared to come to a decision. Walking to one of the closets, he wrenched it open. Inside was a row of women's clothes, about Buffy's size, neatly arranged on hangers.

She shot him a questioning look.

"My ex's," he ground out, face averted. Obviously pained. Buffy switched her gaze back and forth between him and the clothes, which were rather nice. Very nice, actually..

But totally, completely, absolutely not her style. Donna Karan? Phhht. So last year.

Grabbing for the flannel, Buffy slid the closet door shut, trapping whatever demons dwelled there inside, Steered Spike away from it.

He stopped her in the doorway."Thank you."

"No problem. Lumberjack is the look this year. All the cool kids are doing it.?" She began to roll up the dangling sleeves.

Back in the living room, Spike flicked on the TV, hovered a little as Buffy eased herself down on the couch.

"Watch the stories, yeah? I'll fix you a nosh."

She watched through drowsy eyes as he bumped around the kitchen, yanked open drawers and rattled plates like they offended him. "Sure you don't want to ring your mum? Phone's right there." The refrigerator squeaked open, somewhere beyond her line of vision, accompanied by more questions. "Or clean up, maybe? No offense, pet, but you look like you've been through the wrecker...."

His prattle was comforting, somehow. Like she'd heard it all her life. But, her weary body was even more beguiled by the lure of sleep. Sinking into the couch cushions that smelled of cigarettes and pine. Heading the siren's song of rest.

TBC