Disclaimer: None of the BtVS/AtS belong to me. All are in the care of Joss
Whedon/Mutant Enemy/et al. But when I take over the world, Spike will be
mine!
Rating: M for the moment. Rating will change – depends on Spike.
Archive: After the Farewell, Fanfiction.net Want it? Email me.
Summary: Set after BtVS finale. No spoilers (if you've seen the final ep
that is). Spike's back. Human? Vampire? Souled? Who knows.
I'm not psychic. I don't see dead people. Hell, I can't even pick the numbers for the lottery. But when my phone rang, I knew who it would be. So just call me 'intuitive'.
It was a short conversation. Mainly because he was drunk again and was stumbling over his words. But I got the gist of it quick enough. And I knew where he'd be. The usual place. So I got into my car and drove off into the night to find Spike.
It didn't take long. His usual haunt wasn't too far from my place – which I used to think was the reason he always called me at times like this. But then, he also called me when he was farther away too, so I guess it wasn't. I'm still not too sure what the reason was.
As I drove along Belle Street, I tried not to look at my surroundings. Belle Street wasn't the healthiest of places to be, if you know what I mean. Every second shop front was of the "adult entertainment" variety, and every first shop front was either a bar or a liquor store. And lots of dark alleys. Lots of dark scary alleys that were a whole different world to what congregated out the front. Belle Street even smelled different. It carried the smell of despair and lost hopes, a sharp tang that tickled the throat and stuffed up your sinuses. And over riding all that was the stark scent of fear.
I saw him exactly where I knew he'd be. Sitting in the gutter, bent over, head on his knees. I pulled over to a stop and waited for him to notice me. No way was I going to park and get out of the car. Not here.
Slowly, Spike looked up and squinted at me. I just looked at him. He blinked then pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a little and took a few staggering steps towards the car.
I turned my head away and focused on a young kid across the street. I didn't want to watch Spike fumble around the door handle, trying to get in. The young kid over the road had his arms flung wide and was spinning slowly, round and round and round. Staring at the sky. A loose lipped grin on his face. He was singing to himself. The car windows were up and I couldn't hear what he was saying. I don't think I really wanted to. He may not have been singing – it might have been a chant, or maybe he was just talking to himself. Whatever. Don't suppose it really matters – the kid just wasn't all there in any case.
I could hear Spike fumbling with the door handle. He managed to pull the door open, losing his balance and falling against the car. I listened to his muttered cursing. He fell onto the passenger seat, slowly pulled his legs in, and then finally slammed the door shut.
"Seat belt", I said.
"Bloody belt," Spike muttered. "S'broken. Won't work." He was fumbling with it.
"Yep," I grunted and leaned over to click it into place.
"Ta pet," Spike said and turned a bleary drunken grin on me.
I just looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. That attention grabbing white blond hair of his was in disarray. And he stank. Stank of alcohol and cigarettes and god only knew what else. I could see old stains on his black t-shirt, crusty dark patches. There was a hole near the knee of his dark jeans. I suppose it was a good thing Spike liked black clothes – who knew how more disgusting he'd look if he actually wore light colours.
I didn't return his grin and he frowned.
"Ah now pet," he said quietly. "You're mad at ol' Spike aren't you?"
I put the car into gear and pulled out into the traffic. I took him back to my place. Spike's current place of residence was some roach infested broken down hovel. Not exactly the sort of place I wanted to visit. We were both quiet on the drive. Me because I was trying to figure exactly why I kept doing this. Spike because..well, who knows. He was probably keeping his mouth shut so he wouldn't throw up in my car.
I parked in the lot and got out, waiting for Spike to untangle himself from the seat belt. He was still swaying and I locked the doors of the car and turned towards my apartment. Then I turned back and grabbed hold of his arm. I doubted he was going to make it under his own power. Leaning on me, we made my way towards the lobby of the apartments and the elevator. Damn but he was heavy. And he still stank.
Once inside the apartment, I threw my keys on the hall table and maneuvered him towards the couch. He fell full length on it and just stared up at the ceiling.
"Coffee?" I asked as I moved past him to the kitchen. He looked like he needed it.
"Never touch the stuff," he muttered.
"Maybe you should," I muttered back. In any case, the coffee was more for me. I doubted if I was going to get much sleep for what was left of the night. When Spike was like this, he generally wanted to spend hours talking. Him talking, me listening. But something had to be done before I sat next to him to listen to him rabbit on about his life.
"Upsadaisy," I said brightly, grabbing him by the arms and pulling. He came off the couch like a shot and plowed into me.
"Wha-?" he mumbled. "You stink, Spike," I told him, half dragging, half pushing him towards the bathroom. "No way am I gonna let you reek up my place."
I managed to get him into the small room and leant him up against the sink while I turned the shower on. Full blast cold water. Then I took hold of him, pivoted him and shoved him into the shower. He shrieked as the ice cold water hit him.
"You're tryin' to kill me!" he wailed, trying to get out.
"Stay! Spike, you stink of booze and cigs and I don't know what else. You either shower it off or you go home."
He subsided and looked at me sullenly. I had him. I knew he didn't really want to go home. He wanted to sit on my couch and invite me to his little pity party. I left him to it and returned to the kitchen. Stared at the coffee pot until it was ready.
Why did I do it? Why did I help him like this time after time? He was a drunken sod with no future ahead of him. And he would more than likely pull me down with him. Did I really want to spend my life rescuing him from bars? Putting up more and more bail money? Listening to the pathetic sob story he made of his life? My life wasn't easy as it was. Why did I insist on complicating it with some ex-vampire who didn't give a shit about himself let alone anyone else?
Because a few years ago, when I'd hit rock bottom, Spike had been there for me. And now that he had slipped, and was losing it, I had to bring him back. Like he'd done for me.
A few years ago, if you had said to me that not only would I be spending my time rescuing some pathetic drunken ex-vamp – let alone be grateful to said vamp for what he had done to me – I'd have laughed. And then carted you off to the loony bin. Vampires don't help people. They eat people. They drink your blood and probably tear the rest of your body apart just for fun. They don't turn up like some bleached blond angel and save your life.
Okay, so Spike wasn't a vampire any more. Funny thing is, he wasn't sure what he was. He wasn't human either. Not vampire, not totally human. But he still retained a lot of the vampire qualities. Except the blood drinking part of course. The strength, the immortality (so far), the rapid healing.
Yeah, he had a soul. Soul. If I heard him ramble about that one more time, I was going to scream. He had the soul of a bastard. All those years of mayhem and killing and torturing and pain had stuck with him. He may have lost the vampire demon part of himself, but the rage was still there. The black evilness of Spike the Bloody was still there. Hidden deep, but occasionally it stuck its rabid little head out for a look see. And I don't think Spike really wanted to let go of it. He liked being the Big Bad. He liked the fact humans, and some other vamps, were scared of him. When he was really in his cups, he liked to relate to me some of his antics. Truthfully, he scared the shit out of me at times like that. And I would wonder once again why the hell I stuck around.
But he had been there for me. And for some reason I couldn't let go of that. So sue me. Call me a sucker for sappiness. He had pulled me out of the dark abyss I had been there, and I felt I had to do the same for him. And even though I would never ever admit it to him, I had a soft spot in my heart for him.
I was sitting on the couch, coffee on the little table in front of me, when Spike emerged from the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and was holding his clothes in front of him. He walked straight past me and into the utility room off the kitchen that held my washing machine and dryer. When he came back, he was wearing a pair of my sweat pants. The guy was so skinny that he could actually fit into a girl's pants.
Sitting next to me, he took up his mug of coffee and just stared at it.
"It won't kill you," I said with a small smile.
"What will?" he replied quietly and drank.
We didn't know. Spike had been involved in many situations that would've killed a human.
"Thanks for getting me," he mumbled then.
"At least I didn't have to post bail this time," I said, leaning back into the cushions. "I'm kind of running low on cash lately."
"I pay you back," Spike turned to me. "I always pay you back."
"Yeah. You do."
We were silent for a bit, drinking our coffee. Spike was hunched forward on the couch, his mug to his lips. I was more relaxed, just waiting for him to start talking. I was prepared for the usual – how he had been such a Big Bad, and now look at him. How pathetic he was. How all the other vampires would have killed themselves laughing if they could see him now.
But he surprised me.
"Why do you do it?" he said in a whisper. He wasn't looking at me. "Why do you keep coming out and collecting me? Why don't you just leave me to rot?"
I blinked. I hadn't been expecting this. We never spoke about this. He just called me from whatever hellhole bar or jail cell he was in and I went and got him. I'd sober him up, listen to his pity talk and then he'd leave. Until the next time. Why I did it had never been discussed.
I didn't know how to respond. I never was one of those girly girls, who liked talking about feelings and emotions. I didn't even really like talking about myself and my history. Most of the people I knew didn't know much about me, besides what I did for a living. The majority of them didn't even know where I lived. I kept to myself. Mostly through choice.
"Got nothing better to do on a Saturday night," I shrugged, trying to turn it into a joke. "Not like I have a line up of guys at the door, desperate for my company."
Spike didn't smile.
"It'd be easier," he said. "Get me out of your life. Not so complicated then."
"What if I like a complicated life? Who wants a boring life? And besides, if you really thought that way, you wouldn't be calling me."
He looked at me then.
"Guess so," he said.
"When you going to stop, Spike?" I asked him. "How long will this go on? Why don't you just go bloody find her?"
"Buffy," he whispered. He put his mug on the table and dropped his head into his hands. He whispered her name again. I put my arm around his shoulders and leant into him.
"Just go find her," I told him. "Stop trying to find some way of killing yourself and go to her."
"She doesn't want me," he said. "She never wanted me."
I sighed.
"Then forget her," I whispered. "Forget about the Slayer and live your life. Stop letting her ruin it. It's been ten years, Spike. Ten years of you destroying yourself over her. Let it go. Please."
"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "I've tried. I've tried drinking her away. I've tried fighting her away. Nothing works. She's in me, Serrie. She's in me so deep I just can't get her out."
This is the bit I hated. Listening to him talk about Buffy. He could sit for hours, talking about nothing but the Slayer. How he loved her, how she didn't love him back. But she'd let him into her life for a while. And he'd thought he could make her love him.
Spike still loved Buffy. And I hated her. I hated this woman who had unknowingly destroyed Spike. Who had driven him to what he was now.
I knew Buffy. More accurately, I knew of her. I was an ex-Sunnydaler. Everyone had known of the girl who tried to make that town safe. No one spoke of it. We all pretended it wasn't real. That there really were gangs on PCP who destroyed the high school and wrecked havoc. I had been at school at with her. Same year, different classes. I would watch her, the Slayer and her friends. I remembered Xander Harris. Total goofball, but I had always thought he was sweet. There had been a time when he had tried to ask me out. I wondered often now what would have happened if I had said yes. If I hadn't already had a steady. I wondered if I would have been brought in on the Inner Circle of the Slayer and her friends. But I ran with a different crowd. We circled each other, but never got close. I knew more about them now, thanks to Spike. He spoke of the Scoobies a lot. Buffy mainly. But sometimes he'd mentioned Xander, or the redheaded witch Willow. And Mr Giles, the librarian at the high school. I never had much to do with him. Sometimes I'd have to ask him about a book, when I was in the library. But I really didn't do much study in the high school library. I did most of it in the main library in town. Most of the students were the same. It was unspoken that the library was the domain of the Slayer and her friends. We didn't avoid it because they made us, or we felt threatened by them. It wasn't like avoiding a certain table in the cafeteria because the jocks had claimed it and would harass unknowing students who found their way there. It was more because we didn't want to know about the strange things that happened around us, and more because we felt we didn't want to disturb the Slayer while she protected us. I didn't go around wanting to be like them – I wasn't like Jonathan who would hang about the Scoobies like a desperate little puppy. But I would watch them sometimes. And wonder about their lives.
Besides, I had had a major crush on Mr Giles for a long time and I always felt flustered around him. And boy, hadn't Spike had a field day with that little piece of information.
Ten years was a long time to love a person who didn't love you back. Perhaps that was part of the old vampire side of Spike. They had eternity. Ten years was nothing to them.
I put my feet up on the coffee table and leaned back.
"So what you gonna do?" I asked. "Keep on like this? Getting drunk, fighting, being thrown in and out of jail? I don't think I'm going to be able to keep bailing you out when I hit sixty, Spike. Probably won't even be let out of the nursing home."
I tried making a joke, but Spike wasn't laughing. He just shook his head.
"She thinks I'm dead," he told me. "And who knows if she's even still alive? Slayers don't really have a long life expectancy. The Hellmouth may be closed, but there's still vamps and demons and the rest. You should know, pet."
I stiffened and sat up straighter. Bastard. It had been eight years, and while I would never forget (never EVER forget) I tried to not remember. I never wanted to go back there again.
"Then don't bloody find her," I said harshly. "Keep on trying to kill yourself, Spike. There's no one who'd care anyway, right? You're not the Big Bad anymore; you're not the vampire who terrorized whole countries. You're just some pathetic fucking drunk who doesn't even realize that people laugh at you. They see you sitting in the gutter, covered in your own blood and stinking of booze, and they just step right over the top of you. No one's scared of you anymore, Spike. No one screams when they see you in the dark. They don't run from you. They just sneer and laugh and keep on walking. Keep wasting your life pining for the fucking Slayer. I don't give a shit anymore."
I grabbed the empty coffee mugs and stalked into the kitchen, flinging them into the sink, not even caring when I heard them smash. I stood there, trying to calm down, trying to stop the tears welling up in my eyes. I hated emotion. I hated crying. And I wasn't going to let this bastard make me cry.
He came up behind me, soft footed as always, and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn't say anything, and I knew that was as close as I was going to get to an apology.
"Do what you like. You always do," I said. "I'm going to bed. You know where the extra blankets are kept."
I dreamed that night. Black death clouds swirling in the night. Stars exploding, showering a rain of fire upon the world. Searing pain tearing through my body. Demons grunted and called and roared. A blood river rushing along the street, lapping up against the doors of small white building. A demon's scream echoed from inside. Two young girls grunting and yelling, their fists and feet a blur as they fought the demons. Stench of death hovering in a cloud around them. Blood and viscera spattered over the floor, the walls, over everything. The demons were shrieking and bellowing, the two girls were fighting in a vicious battle for their lives. And the lives of those around them. Slipping in the blood and gore, one of the girls went down. A demon was on her instantly, ripping and tearing. Bodies littered the room. Small bodies. Police sirens behind me. And above all the sounds and the smells and gore, the screams and wailing of children.
Eight years I've had that dream.
I'm not psychic. I don't see dead people. Hell, I can't even pick the numbers for the lottery. But when my phone rang, I knew who it would be. So just call me 'intuitive'.
It was a short conversation. Mainly because he was drunk again and was stumbling over his words. But I got the gist of it quick enough. And I knew where he'd be. The usual place. So I got into my car and drove off into the night to find Spike.
It didn't take long. His usual haunt wasn't too far from my place – which I used to think was the reason he always called me at times like this. But then, he also called me when he was farther away too, so I guess it wasn't. I'm still not too sure what the reason was.
As I drove along Belle Street, I tried not to look at my surroundings. Belle Street wasn't the healthiest of places to be, if you know what I mean. Every second shop front was of the "adult entertainment" variety, and every first shop front was either a bar or a liquor store. And lots of dark alleys. Lots of dark scary alleys that were a whole different world to what congregated out the front. Belle Street even smelled different. It carried the smell of despair and lost hopes, a sharp tang that tickled the throat and stuffed up your sinuses. And over riding all that was the stark scent of fear.
I saw him exactly where I knew he'd be. Sitting in the gutter, bent over, head on his knees. I pulled over to a stop and waited for him to notice me. No way was I going to park and get out of the car. Not here.
Slowly, Spike looked up and squinted at me. I just looked at him. He blinked then pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a little and took a few staggering steps towards the car.
I turned my head away and focused on a young kid across the street. I didn't want to watch Spike fumble around the door handle, trying to get in. The young kid over the road had his arms flung wide and was spinning slowly, round and round and round. Staring at the sky. A loose lipped grin on his face. He was singing to himself. The car windows were up and I couldn't hear what he was saying. I don't think I really wanted to. He may not have been singing – it might have been a chant, or maybe he was just talking to himself. Whatever. Don't suppose it really matters – the kid just wasn't all there in any case.
I could hear Spike fumbling with the door handle. He managed to pull the door open, losing his balance and falling against the car. I listened to his muttered cursing. He fell onto the passenger seat, slowly pulled his legs in, and then finally slammed the door shut.
"Seat belt", I said.
"Bloody belt," Spike muttered. "S'broken. Won't work." He was fumbling with it.
"Yep," I grunted and leaned over to click it into place.
"Ta pet," Spike said and turned a bleary drunken grin on me.
I just looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. That attention grabbing white blond hair of his was in disarray. And he stank. Stank of alcohol and cigarettes and god only knew what else. I could see old stains on his black t-shirt, crusty dark patches. There was a hole near the knee of his dark jeans. I suppose it was a good thing Spike liked black clothes – who knew how more disgusting he'd look if he actually wore light colours.
I didn't return his grin and he frowned.
"Ah now pet," he said quietly. "You're mad at ol' Spike aren't you?"
I put the car into gear and pulled out into the traffic. I took him back to my place. Spike's current place of residence was some roach infested broken down hovel. Not exactly the sort of place I wanted to visit. We were both quiet on the drive. Me because I was trying to figure exactly why I kept doing this. Spike because..well, who knows. He was probably keeping his mouth shut so he wouldn't throw up in my car.
I parked in the lot and got out, waiting for Spike to untangle himself from the seat belt. He was still swaying and I locked the doors of the car and turned towards my apartment. Then I turned back and grabbed hold of his arm. I doubted he was going to make it under his own power. Leaning on me, we made my way towards the lobby of the apartments and the elevator. Damn but he was heavy. And he still stank.
Once inside the apartment, I threw my keys on the hall table and maneuvered him towards the couch. He fell full length on it and just stared up at the ceiling.
"Coffee?" I asked as I moved past him to the kitchen. He looked like he needed it.
"Never touch the stuff," he muttered.
"Maybe you should," I muttered back. In any case, the coffee was more for me. I doubted if I was going to get much sleep for what was left of the night. When Spike was like this, he generally wanted to spend hours talking. Him talking, me listening. But something had to be done before I sat next to him to listen to him rabbit on about his life.
"Upsadaisy," I said brightly, grabbing him by the arms and pulling. He came off the couch like a shot and plowed into me.
"Wha-?" he mumbled. "You stink, Spike," I told him, half dragging, half pushing him towards the bathroom. "No way am I gonna let you reek up my place."
I managed to get him into the small room and leant him up against the sink while I turned the shower on. Full blast cold water. Then I took hold of him, pivoted him and shoved him into the shower. He shrieked as the ice cold water hit him.
"You're tryin' to kill me!" he wailed, trying to get out.
"Stay! Spike, you stink of booze and cigs and I don't know what else. You either shower it off or you go home."
He subsided and looked at me sullenly. I had him. I knew he didn't really want to go home. He wanted to sit on my couch and invite me to his little pity party. I left him to it and returned to the kitchen. Stared at the coffee pot until it was ready.
Why did I do it? Why did I help him like this time after time? He was a drunken sod with no future ahead of him. And he would more than likely pull me down with him. Did I really want to spend my life rescuing him from bars? Putting up more and more bail money? Listening to the pathetic sob story he made of his life? My life wasn't easy as it was. Why did I insist on complicating it with some ex-vampire who didn't give a shit about himself let alone anyone else?
Because a few years ago, when I'd hit rock bottom, Spike had been there for me. And now that he had slipped, and was losing it, I had to bring him back. Like he'd done for me.
A few years ago, if you had said to me that not only would I be spending my time rescuing some pathetic drunken ex-vamp – let alone be grateful to said vamp for what he had done to me – I'd have laughed. And then carted you off to the loony bin. Vampires don't help people. They eat people. They drink your blood and probably tear the rest of your body apart just for fun. They don't turn up like some bleached blond angel and save your life.
Okay, so Spike wasn't a vampire any more. Funny thing is, he wasn't sure what he was. He wasn't human either. Not vampire, not totally human. But he still retained a lot of the vampire qualities. Except the blood drinking part of course. The strength, the immortality (so far), the rapid healing.
Yeah, he had a soul. Soul. If I heard him ramble about that one more time, I was going to scream. He had the soul of a bastard. All those years of mayhem and killing and torturing and pain had stuck with him. He may have lost the vampire demon part of himself, but the rage was still there. The black evilness of Spike the Bloody was still there. Hidden deep, but occasionally it stuck its rabid little head out for a look see. And I don't think Spike really wanted to let go of it. He liked being the Big Bad. He liked the fact humans, and some other vamps, were scared of him. When he was really in his cups, he liked to relate to me some of his antics. Truthfully, he scared the shit out of me at times like that. And I would wonder once again why the hell I stuck around.
But he had been there for me. And for some reason I couldn't let go of that. So sue me. Call me a sucker for sappiness. He had pulled me out of the dark abyss I had been there, and I felt I had to do the same for him. And even though I would never ever admit it to him, I had a soft spot in my heart for him.
I was sitting on the couch, coffee on the little table in front of me, when Spike emerged from the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and was holding his clothes in front of him. He walked straight past me and into the utility room off the kitchen that held my washing machine and dryer. When he came back, he was wearing a pair of my sweat pants. The guy was so skinny that he could actually fit into a girl's pants.
Sitting next to me, he took up his mug of coffee and just stared at it.
"It won't kill you," I said with a small smile.
"What will?" he replied quietly and drank.
We didn't know. Spike had been involved in many situations that would've killed a human.
"Thanks for getting me," he mumbled then.
"At least I didn't have to post bail this time," I said, leaning back into the cushions. "I'm kind of running low on cash lately."
"I pay you back," Spike turned to me. "I always pay you back."
"Yeah. You do."
We were silent for a bit, drinking our coffee. Spike was hunched forward on the couch, his mug to his lips. I was more relaxed, just waiting for him to start talking. I was prepared for the usual – how he had been such a Big Bad, and now look at him. How pathetic he was. How all the other vampires would have killed themselves laughing if they could see him now.
But he surprised me.
"Why do you do it?" he said in a whisper. He wasn't looking at me. "Why do you keep coming out and collecting me? Why don't you just leave me to rot?"
I blinked. I hadn't been expecting this. We never spoke about this. He just called me from whatever hellhole bar or jail cell he was in and I went and got him. I'd sober him up, listen to his pity talk and then he'd leave. Until the next time. Why I did it had never been discussed.
I didn't know how to respond. I never was one of those girly girls, who liked talking about feelings and emotions. I didn't even really like talking about myself and my history. Most of the people I knew didn't know much about me, besides what I did for a living. The majority of them didn't even know where I lived. I kept to myself. Mostly through choice.
"Got nothing better to do on a Saturday night," I shrugged, trying to turn it into a joke. "Not like I have a line up of guys at the door, desperate for my company."
Spike didn't smile.
"It'd be easier," he said. "Get me out of your life. Not so complicated then."
"What if I like a complicated life? Who wants a boring life? And besides, if you really thought that way, you wouldn't be calling me."
He looked at me then.
"Guess so," he said.
"When you going to stop, Spike?" I asked him. "How long will this go on? Why don't you just go bloody find her?"
"Buffy," he whispered. He put his mug on the table and dropped his head into his hands. He whispered her name again. I put my arm around his shoulders and leant into him.
"Just go find her," I told him. "Stop trying to find some way of killing yourself and go to her."
"She doesn't want me," he said. "She never wanted me."
I sighed.
"Then forget her," I whispered. "Forget about the Slayer and live your life. Stop letting her ruin it. It's been ten years, Spike. Ten years of you destroying yourself over her. Let it go. Please."
"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "I've tried. I've tried drinking her away. I've tried fighting her away. Nothing works. She's in me, Serrie. She's in me so deep I just can't get her out."
This is the bit I hated. Listening to him talk about Buffy. He could sit for hours, talking about nothing but the Slayer. How he loved her, how she didn't love him back. But she'd let him into her life for a while. And he'd thought he could make her love him.
Spike still loved Buffy. And I hated her. I hated this woman who had unknowingly destroyed Spike. Who had driven him to what he was now.
I knew Buffy. More accurately, I knew of her. I was an ex-Sunnydaler. Everyone had known of the girl who tried to make that town safe. No one spoke of it. We all pretended it wasn't real. That there really were gangs on PCP who destroyed the high school and wrecked havoc. I had been at school at with her. Same year, different classes. I would watch her, the Slayer and her friends. I remembered Xander Harris. Total goofball, but I had always thought he was sweet. There had been a time when he had tried to ask me out. I wondered often now what would have happened if I had said yes. If I hadn't already had a steady. I wondered if I would have been brought in on the Inner Circle of the Slayer and her friends. But I ran with a different crowd. We circled each other, but never got close. I knew more about them now, thanks to Spike. He spoke of the Scoobies a lot. Buffy mainly. But sometimes he'd mentioned Xander, or the redheaded witch Willow. And Mr Giles, the librarian at the high school. I never had much to do with him. Sometimes I'd have to ask him about a book, when I was in the library. But I really didn't do much study in the high school library. I did most of it in the main library in town. Most of the students were the same. It was unspoken that the library was the domain of the Slayer and her friends. We didn't avoid it because they made us, or we felt threatened by them. It wasn't like avoiding a certain table in the cafeteria because the jocks had claimed it and would harass unknowing students who found their way there. It was more because we didn't want to know about the strange things that happened around us, and more because we felt we didn't want to disturb the Slayer while she protected us. I didn't go around wanting to be like them – I wasn't like Jonathan who would hang about the Scoobies like a desperate little puppy. But I would watch them sometimes. And wonder about their lives.
Besides, I had had a major crush on Mr Giles for a long time and I always felt flustered around him. And boy, hadn't Spike had a field day with that little piece of information.
Ten years was a long time to love a person who didn't love you back. Perhaps that was part of the old vampire side of Spike. They had eternity. Ten years was nothing to them.
I put my feet up on the coffee table and leaned back.
"So what you gonna do?" I asked. "Keep on like this? Getting drunk, fighting, being thrown in and out of jail? I don't think I'm going to be able to keep bailing you out when I hit sixty, Spike. Probably won't even be let out of the nursing home."
I tried making a joke, but Spike wasn't laughing. He just shook his head.
"She thinks I'm dead," he told me. "And who knows if she's even still alive? Slayers don't really have a long life expectancy. The Hellmouth may be closed, but there's still vamps and demons and the rest. You should know, pet."
I stiffened and sat up straighter. Bastard. It had been eight years, and while I would never forget (never EVER forget) I tried to not remember. I never wanted to go back there again.
"Then don't bloody find her," I said harshly. "Keep on trying to kill yourself, Spike. There's no one who'd care anyway, right? You're not the Big Bad anymore; you're not the vampire who terrorized whole countries. You're just some pathetic fucking drunk who doesn't even realize that people laugh at you. They see you sitting in the gutter, covered in your own blood and stinking of booze, and they just step right over the top of you. No one's scared of you anymore, Spike. No one screams when they see you in the dark. They don't run from you. They just sneer and laugh and keep on walking. Keep wasting your life pining for the fucking Slayer. I don't give a shit anymore."
I grabbed the empty coffee mugs and stalked into the kitchen, flinging them into the sink, not even caring when I heard them smash. I stood there, trying to calm down, trying to stop the tears welling up in my eyes. I hated emotion. I hated crying. And I wasn't going to let this bastard make me cry.
He came up behind me, soft footed as always, and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn't say anything, and I knew that was as close as I was going to get to an apology.
"Do what you like. You always do," I said. "I'm going to bed. You know where the extra blankets are kept."
I dreamed that night. Black death clouds swirling in the night. Stars exploding, showering a rain of fire upon the world. Searing pain tearing through my body. Demons grunted and called and roared. A blood river rushing along the street, lapping up against the doors of small white building. A demon's scream echoed from inside. Two young girls grunting and yelling, their fists and feet a blur as they fought the demons. Stench of death hovering in a cloud around them. Blood and viscera spattered over the floor, the walls, over everything. The demons were shrieking and bellowing, the two girls were fighting in a vicious battle for their lives. And the lives of those around them. Slipping in the blood and gore, one of the girls went down. A demon was on her instantly, ripping and tearing. Bodies littered the room. Small bodies. Police sirens behind me. And above all the sounds and the smells and gore, the screams and wailing of children.
Eight years I've had that dream.