Crossing into unchipped country (12/?) by dutchbuffy2305
Rating: R
Timeline: Around AtS 5.09 or 5.10
Author's note: Thanks to my wonderful betas...
Author's website:
Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk
"What was he like, Buffy? The other Spike?"
Buffy sits stretching idly and watches Willow work the vortex generator. Willow delicately manipulates settings that apparently only witches can sense.
"Different. Wild. Evil."
"Uh-huh. I sense a certain…lack of disapproval in your voice, Buffy Summers."
"I meant, obviously, that he had no chip and no soul, and he'd never fought by our side."
Buffy turns around and raises her arm up behind her head, pulling with the other arm until it creaks. The gradual loosening of winter's hold on Cleveland has made running a daily exercise once more. She's just come back and is keeping Willow company while she stretches and cools down. Willow's preparing the dimension device for Spike's return; she and Xander don't want to take any chances with the unchipped Spike when he returns. If he returns.
"Come on, Will, quit the fishing expedition. Ask outright if you wanna know something."
Willow looks at her from under her lashes. "We talked about this before, Buffy. Wicked energy?"
"What do you want me to say, Willow? Was I in love with the original Spike? I guess. Do I mourn him? Yes. Do I wish I could move on? Maybe. Not with Jean Pierre the would be magician or Lorenzo the black belt, anyway. Talk about lame."
"That must have made Spike happy, that you loved him back."
Buffy shakes out her arm muscles fiercely, concentrating too hard to be able to look Willow in the eye. "I kinda told him at the last minute."
She throws Willow a quick look. Willow looks back with a softness in her eyes that makes Buffy squirm inside. "I thought you two were making the most of your moments together in the basement. I'm sorry, Buffy."
There's not much to say in answer to that.
"Look, Buffy, I'm done. See the change in frequency?"
"Huh. Not really. And did you program in the extra thingy Ethan told me about, the exchange thing because there is no Spike in this universe?"
"Yeah. I used a drop of my blood. No other Spikes in any universe whatsoever will be harmed by the execution of this spell. Hey, remember Lorenzo? I though he was particularly good looking. What was it exactly that was lacking with him?"
Buffy flicks her towel dangerously close to Willow's grinning face. "Wicked energy. Need I say more?"
"I rest my case. Did you get to see what Ethan used to protect your new Spike?"
"Not my Spike," Buffy says automatically. She tries to replay before her mind's eye Ethan's actions in the stuffy little room behind Kakistos great hall. "I don't think I did, or I didn't know what I was seeing. Why? Everything went well, didn't it?"
"Sure. I just did some research on the Gatekeepers, and it's not wise to get on their wrong side, is all."
"Nothing happened last time. I'll just make sure never to use these gateways again."
"Sounds sensible to me," Willow says absently, checking her work one more time. "What is the alternative Spike after, Buff, do you know that?"
"No. He wouldn't tell. But if it's the gem of Amarra he won't find it."
Willow makes a face. "He could find it in his own dimension, couldn't he?"
Buffy shrugs. "Let's not mention it at all, huh? Anyway, he certainly wasn't invincible when we fought the Gatekeeper, so I feel safe in assuming he doesn't have it. I can't think of anything else he'd want here."
"Me neither. Except you."
"No way, Will, no way. Not this one!" Buffy says, but Willow's words set off a thrill down her spine and her heart does a drum roll.
*
Buffy enters her bedroom and throws down her bag. Normally the sun has already set when she comes in at this hour, or the heavens are grey and somber with imminent snow or rain, but now the last rays of the sun shine on something white just outside her window. She opens it - it takes Slayer strength to do that - and leans out.
The lone tree in their depressing little yard, which she's so far seen as a white ghost, or a black dripping skeleton, has transformed itself into something straight off a Japanese scroll. The bare dark brown branches are dotted with the cutest little white flowers. The setting sun gives them a pink sheen as they curl around the writhing bark, a veil that clads their nakedness with beauty.
Growing pretty petals, preparing for spring. She decides it's a symbol for herself. This is who she'll be. It's a sign.
She goes to sleep with the window and curtains wide open. She opens her eyes again after a while and finds the room glowing with sourceless blue light. It sucks the color out of her furnishings and her hands seem grey. She gets up and walks to the window. Spike is lying on one of the thin branches of the little tree, arms behind his head, staring up at the moon. He's bare chested and bare footed and the top button of his jeans is open. She says something to him but can't hear her own words. He hears them anyway and grins at her.
He holds up his bare arm, pale blue in the full moon's spotlight and she sees he's hurt. Black fluid drips out and spatters on the white blossoms.
"You should put a band-aid on that, Spike. Simpsons or Powerpuff girls?"
"Bart please," Spike says faintly. He holds out his arm for her but it's too far away.
She can see the branches shine through his pale torso, he's fading. No, she has it wrong. He's hollow. He's made of glass and the moonlight fills him up, gives him substance. She leans out of the window further, perilously close to losing her balance. Too late. She falls. She sits bare-assed in her front yard, surrounded by cartoon band-aids. She looks up at the sky. Spike is gone, and so is the moon. Mocking laughter sounds from the utter darkness around her.
"He's mine," a forgotten voice says. "I drew my starry hair around him like a veil and you will never find him."
Buffy stands up, she's not going to take this lying down. She stumbles into a hole she hasn't seen. She tries to get up again but silent black stuff rushes in, filling up the hole, and she can't swim. The lid slams on with a soft click and she's back in the coffin.
"Spike! Spike! Help me! Get me out!" she screams but the sound is muffled and weak.
She'll have to do it herself, like last time. Grimly she sets to work for the thousandth time, she has the routine down pat now. Rip the satin with the little blade she's never without these days for just this emergency, punch through the wood, claw through the earth. When she emerges coughing all is still black. She has to save Spike. She jumps up as high as she can, she has to storm the bastions of heaven. At the third try she catches the hem of the night's black garment and tears it down. Grateful stars twinkle down at her and there is shining Spike, lying unscathed in his twiggy bower.
"Took your sweet time, Buffy. Did you forget about me?" he chides her.
He turns his head away in sad reproach and the night darkens again. A hot wind strikes up and blows Buffy away.
She awakes gasping in bright spring sunlight. She's way too hot under her thick duvet and sweating with heat and fear. She throws it off and lies listening to the frantic pattering of her heartbeat. That was some nightmare. She hasn't had digging-herself-out-of-the-grave dreams in a long time.
She goes to check on her flowering tree first thing. It's still there. The blossoms are bright pink. Weren't they white last night? Maybe someone has bled watery ghost blood on them. She shivers in spite of the mild temperature.
A shower and new spring clothes make her forget the momentary wiggins and all is so utterly normal at breakfast that the nightmare seems just that, a random dream because she was too warm. Willow and Kennedy bicker, Andrew and Xander discuss obscure comic books and Dawn is reading. This means she can sip her coffee and eat her yogurt in peace.
Funny that she expected something to be different. Dreaming of Spike, of course. Doesn't mean anything, because she does that all the time. Rational thought doesn't lift the heaviness from her heart. Could she have saved Spike? Forced him away from the cave with her? She rolls her shoulders and plans to go out for a long run tonight after class. Nothing better than a hard workout to dispel deep thoughts and vampire cooties.
That evening, she's lacing up her running shoes in the hall when a car rumbles to a halt outside. The laces snap and she's on the porch before she knows she's moving. It feels as if there should be a Buffy-shaped hole in the door and little dust clouds hovering. Wile. E. Buffy.
Her Roadrunner is standing in her yard already, deep black against the dusky sky. Behind him the blotched pink of another DeSoto makes for an incongruous fashion statement.
"Spike!" She cringes inwardly at the transparent joy in her voice.
"Slayer."
He doesn't move, just stands there with his hands in his pockets. Buffy's running shoes have stuck to the path and she sways but doesn't go forward.
"Hey," she starts again. "You're back. You got your prize?"
"Yeah."
Spike shifts the lapels of his duster. It's ripped in many places. Buffy would like to know what happened to it but her tongue is as paralyzed as her feet.
"You still got the portal device? I'm ready to get back home."
"Spike. You could…" Buffy begins, but Spike swiftly steps forward and puts a finger on her lips.
"Don't say it, Slayer. Wouldn't lead to anything good, don't we both know that?"
Tears prick in her eyes. Spike sighs and brings his hand around her face to cup her cheek. Buffy leans into it for the few seconds he allows his hand to remain there. There's still an arm's length of empty space between them and Spike makes no move to bridge the gap. She swallows. He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. He inclines his head in the direction of the car, where Buffy now sees a dark shape sitting on the passenger seat.
"Who…" but she doesn't really need an answer. Of course he'd go and fetch her.
"Aren't you afraid she's gonna dump you a fourth time, Spike?"
Oh God, she sounds like a jealous ex.
Spike is unfazed and looks at her calmly, though his feet are starting up a little shuffle. "I'm not the remake, Slayer. I have every confidence I'll manage to keep her in line."
"But you can't know that for sure!"
"You never can, with love."
"So you still love her, six years after her death. Wow."
"I do. I'm love's bitch and proud of it too."
"I'd want to be someone like that," Buffy says wistfully.
"And very bad you'd be at it, Slayer. You've got all the empathy of a park bench. You're a leader, a wanter, and you'll find someone to take care of these wants for you. As long as you admit to them, is all."
He's really going to leave. He's going to take Drusilla and leave forever. By the sinking of her heart she knows she expected something else. Foolish heart. She might have known. Men leave, even the real Spike did.
"Slayer? The portal device?"
"Yeah. Sure. I'll go get Willow."
There is a silence after that and Spike looks at her as if he's waiting. She replays the last thing she said in her head and scurries back into the house.
"Willow! Spike's back!"
Willow comes down the stairs, with mussed hair and still buttoning her blouse. "What?"
"Can you get the dimension thingy? Spike's back, we need to get him to his own world. He's taking Drusilla."
"He's taking who? Right. Okay. I'm on it."
Willow returns with the device floating a few inches above her hand. If you're a witch you don't need a pencil. Buffy walks back outside, Willow close on her heels. Safe behind the Slayer, although these days Willow could probably zap Spike with a look at twenty yards.
"Tell your witch I want the car as well."
"I'm standing right here," Willow says.
Buffy can hear what expression she has on her face. "Never mind, Willow. He has a different view of human beings from our Spike."
"Huh. Well, I'm ready."
A tall shape, her head crowned with a mantilla and comb, moves faster than her eyes can blink and stands next to Spike. She cradles a stiff unmoving creature with spotty orange and white fur. A dead cat?
A high voice speaks. "Spike, the stars are calling me their daughter and I must see them better to hear what they are riddling about me. We must be off now or they'll be cross with us."
"See?" he says. "I'm needed. Goodbye, Slayer."
He grabs Drusilla's hand and strides off a few paces, but then turns and holds up a finger, as if he almost forgot something. He opens the trunk of the car and heaves a tall oblong package out of it. It's a dark green tarp, wound and wound about with several colored nylon ropes, orange and blue. Duct tape is used in many places to seal loose flaps shut.
"Little present for you. Do with it what you will."
Spike lopes off to the other side of the car and opens the door for Drusilla, who's still stroking her motionless furry companion and staring at the cloudy April sky, her head thrown ecstatically back.
She graciously folds herself in the passenger's seat and sits regally waiting until Spike is back at her side. He drives off in a roar of faulty exhaust pipes. Buffy watches Spike and Dru pull away. She doesn't see what Willow does, but the car doesn't even reach the end of the driveway. It shimmers blue and vanishes. Long after it's disappeared the sound of the Sex Pistols and the rumble of the old engine still echo down the street. Well. She's almost sad it's over. Weirdest adventure ever.
Maybe Willow says something to her, she's not sure, but Buffy hears her go back into the house. She's still staring down the empty street. The sun has set completely now and although the sky is still pale purple, the only things she sees are streetlights and the glowing curtained windows of neighboring houses.
"So he's going back to 1985?" Xander says right behind her.
Buffy jumps up. "Jesus, Xander, you startled me."
"I suppose you were too enthralled with what his majesty was saying?"
"Why d'you call him that?"
"It's the way he acted, as if you'd obey his every command. That alone would clue me in he wasn't our Spike. Come, it's getting chilly and Willow is brewing mead."
"Mead? What's mead?"
"I don't know but it smells good."
They turn to get back inside, but the package gives off a small grunt. Buffy jumps in surprise for the second time in two minutes. The package almost blended with the driveway surface in the rapidly falling darkness.
"What the hell is that?"
"Present from Spike," Buffy says. "I dread to think what's in it. His sense of humor is not refined. You got a knife?"
Xander puts on his can do face and produces a Stanley knife. "Take care, Buffster, I keep them wicked sharp."
"You are the Yoda of tools," Buffy says gravely.
She starts sawing at the multiple orange nylon ropes and the duct tape and the triple folded tarp that Spike has wrapped his present in. It's getting chilly, and although the hard work is keeping her body warm, her feet are getting really cold.
"Come on, Xander, help me get it in the house," she says.
The others are all snugly ensconced inside, so together they lug the protesting present up the front yard and onto the porch. They can't get it in, so it's a vampire. Why the hell would Spike give her a vampire as a gift?
"I don't wanna invite it in, Buff," Xander says worriedly. "If this misfires…"
He's right. She waves him in, indicating that hot chocolate would be very welcome. The package sighs. Maybe the vampire would like chocolate as well, although the ones she's met generally prefer blood. She tries to rip straight through the three layers of tarp, but it's hard going with her little knife, however sharp it may be.
Xander comes out with mugs of hot chocolate and a saw.
"Let me do this Buffy," he says importantly. "This is taking too long. You get warmed up, okay?"
"Thanks, Xan." Buffy says. "Give a shout when you need help, but don't stake it. That's my call."
She goes inside and leans against the radiator in the kitchen to get warm. April, they call it. The trees seem to agree that it's spring, but it's not a temperature a normal human being would call mild.
It's very silent out there. She gets a nervous feeling and since she's all warm and toasty again goes back outside.
Xander saws.
The saw slips for a few seconds and the vampire utters a muffled yelp.
"Shut up!" Xander says nervously.
Then Buffy takes a turn. She saws and cuts and wrestles with the miles of duct tape Spike has used to wrap the demon up. She hears her friends talking and walking about in the warm comfy house. Damn Spike and his damn present. She could just stake it, or leave it on the porch all night. The sun would take care of it in the morning. She sighs but sticks to her work. She's not completely sure but she doesn't think Spike would give her something useless or annoying.
Finally her knife cuts through and she can rip off a triple thick flap of tarp. She lugs the package under the porch light and drops it with a thud when platinum curls are revealed. What the? This looks like another Spike. Where on earth did Spike find yet another version? She saws on with a vengeance, and after another quarter hour the complete and only slightly cut head of a Spike is revealed. The rest of his body's still trussed up like a turkey and his mouth and nose are taped shut. When he sees her his head falls back. He just looks at her for a long time and then turns his face. Thanks a lot, Spike two, she really needed to meet Spike three.
"Xander!" she bellows.
Xander comes out, wiping his mouth. A sickly sweet odor wafts from his cup. Willow follows after him.
"Look guys, another version of Spike."
"I don't really get all these Spikes, Buff. How come there are so many?"
"Willow?"
Willow puts on her lectury face. "Every time someone makes a decision, a universe in which the decision is different splits off. So you get all the possible universes."
"So what decision did this one make, Buffy?"
"How should I know? Version two killed me when we were still in high school, before Angel turned into Angelus and everything. This one may never even have met me. Willow can find out what kind this one is and send him back," Buffy says.
"And if it's a souled version? Wouldn't you consider keeping him?" Willow asks.
Buffy shakes her head. "Like a pet? Believe me, I have my belly full of other Spikes after having had number two's company all across America."
Buffy feels a need to punish this Spike well up, she'd like to get in some payback for the indignities she suffered on that journey. She leaves the tape on his face undisturbed and starts sawing away at his ropes. What possessed the other Spike to use orange nylon rope? Nothing harder to cut, dammit. She has to bite her lip from time to time when she catches the worried, impatient look in Spike's face. Serve him right. Where did the other Spike find him, she wonders. From what time line? He could be from anywhere, any alternate universe.
She relents and tears off the duct tape with a quick jerk, remembering from childhood experience that that hurts the least.
"Buffy," is Spike's first word.
How dare he call her that! The use of that name is reserved for one Spike only. Buffy slaps his face in a fit of uncontrolled fury. "Slayer to you, you creep."
She'd like to kick him, punch those false blue eyes, destroy the cheekbones and the pretty skin. They're beautiful packaging for lies and deceit, and as thin and flimsy as tinsel and tissue. She's fallen for it once, and she's learned her lesson. She can't trust her instincts, which are loudly telling her once again that this is Spike and go for it, girl. She needs an instinct transplant, a gut makeover. Her hands tremble and she feels sick. She could almost rip his head off with her bare hands at this moment. Almost. She suspects that if she couldn't kill a Spike she knew for certain was evil, she might have a little more trouble with this unknown quantity.
She slams the Stanley knife into Xander's hand. "You finish him," she says curtly to Xander. "I'm going to run like I planned, or I won't be responsible for my actions.
"But Buffy…" Xander protests weakly, but she's off after another yank on her laces.
TBC