Crossing into unchipped country (13/?) by dutchbuffy2305
Rating: R
Timeline: Around AtS 5.09 or 5.10
Author's note: Big hugs to my amazing betas.
Author's website:
Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk
In the past few days Spike's been hit on the head, swaddled like a dead baby, starved, jolted and shaken. Seeing Buffy again and then getting slapped in the face for saying her name is just the last of a series of incomprehensible occurrences. He knows Drusilla has something to do with it because he caught a whiff of her distinctive scent perfuming the air and heard her talk, but why she would dump him on the Slayer's doorstep? Beats him. The man he's heard talking he couldn't identify. English, that's for sure, and there was something familiar about the timbre of his voice, but that's as far as he gets.
Buffy turns away from him after her stinging words, her face set and tight, and walks up to the street. Spike can hear her footsteps accelerate and within moments she's out of earshot. This is one reunion scenario he's never imagined, not in his lowest most hung-over mornings, or even when he was a disappearing ghost skulking in Wolfram & Hart's abandoned offices. Uncertainty, tears, indifference, all these possibilities have crossed his mind. But to slap him in the face and run off? So much for thinking her last words to him were true, and that she'd finally welcome his love.
The witch stands over him with her arms locked and an impressive glower directed at him. What's he done to her? Last time they spoke they were on a cautiously friendly basis, although he now remembers he was angry with her for kicking Buffy out of the house. She doesn't smell scared or angry, if doused in too much Allure, and she's looking good, chic and classy in her Italian outfit, glowing with recent sex. He thinks with the annoying Potential, but he isn't sure. She's clearly worked through most of that pesky guilt.
"What's Buffy so cheesed off about? Time of the month? No, scratch that, I'd smell it if she was," he asks Willow.
Neither one of the Scoobies answer him. Of course. Loyal to Buffy again, covering her lapses.
"Like the new color, Willow. Nice highlights," he says. Anything rather than just listen to Harris sawing away at all those ropes. Xander isn't looking as sharp and sleek as Willow. The weight loss is good, but his face looks worried and pasty. The smell of old booze seeps out of his pores.
"Have we met?" Willow replies frostily.
Spike gapes. Old pain comes rushing back. The Scoobies ignoring, him, pretending he hadn't fought a summer by their sides. Right. Feeling free to ignore him now that Buffy has given the example. He's no longer a meek hanger-on of Buffy's, though. They may not have changed, but he has.
"What the fuck? First Buffy, now you, pretending we don't know each other? Why don't you explain to me why you all seem to have grown stakes up the arse? We fought together, defeated the First. I died. Little friendliness wouldn't hurt!"
Willow's gaze sharpens. "What? How do you know that? Our Spike died a hero, yes. Burned up the Turok Han. You're not him, because you're here. Don't try to fool us. I'll find out where your universe split off from ours, but you might as well tell us yourself."
"Are we speaking the same language here?" Spike asks. Now he's getting pissed off. "What dimensions are you talking about? I guess I left this one when I died, but the rest of the world went on as scheduled. I was resurrected by the amulet, okay? Returned in LA in Angel's office. Been there ever since, fighting the good fight, just like before. Dunno how I got here, but…"
Xander has stopped cutting. "How many eyes do I have?"
Oh, right, play twenty sodding questions with him. "This isn't a movie, you nit! You've got one eye because I pulled the preacher off you in time to save the other one. Happy now?"
Willow kneels beside him. Her face has lost its set, determined expression and she's really looking at him now. "Is it you, Spike?"
"Who else!"
"Didn't you see who kidnapped you? Didn't you see that was another Spike?"
Another Spike? She seems completely serious. "Are you having me on? What other Spike?"
Xander nods at Willow. "His nose and mouth were taped shut. He must have been in the trunk the whole time from LA to here, you know? Gee, Spike, I bet you're real hungry."
"Yeah, that too. Mostly brassed off though. Explain more."
Xander helps him sit upright. He's still swaddled in the stiff indestructible tarp like a bloody mummy, but at least he's not lying flat and helpless on the ground anymore.
Xander and Willow exchange looks. "Okay, here goes. Buffy was accidentally sucked into another dimension by a device I was studying. There was a Spike there, who'd never been chipped or souled, and Sunnydale was never destroyed. You remember when Buffy went to the shadow men dimension? We got an exchange student too, a vamped Buffy," Willow says.
Whoa. The thought of his Buffy vamped makes his insides cramp. All that glorious life gone cold and sluggish in her veins. He shakes it off and nods to Willow to go on.
"Well, she and the other Spike found another device in that dimension and traveled here. The Drusilla from that other place had been killed by the other Buffy - you still following? - and the other Spike found the Drusilla from our dimension and took her back to his."
Spike's head is reeling, but he's gotten the gist. Drusilla. He should feel something, but it's been so long since he's even thought of her. That part of his past has been closed for years now. "So Buffy thought I was another Spike from a different dimension and that's why she was t-ed off at me?"
"Yeah, she and the other Spike got really friendly and she…" Xander stops after a pointed look from Willow.
All the puzzle pieces fall into place. Buffy's hurt and disappointed look, her haste to get away from him. She not only thought he was the wrong Spike from another dimension, even if she'd gotten the right ID he'd still have been the wrong Spike. What should he feel now? Peculiar, for starters. It would be pointless to be jealous of someone who's basically him, just not burnt and burnished in the same fires, but he decides he is. And mad. Here he is, a self made hero, went through the most horrific trials for his lady, and then she decides she prefers the original version. Enough to make a man bitter. If she thinks he's gonna come after her like he always has before, she's wrong. No more.
The orange rope finally parts and he can move his arms. About time. He holds out a hand to Xander. "Let me do that. Super strength, remember?"
Xander hands him the Stanley knife. "The Buffster shouldn't have taken off like that, Spike. Won't she be surprised when she gets back and finds you!"
Spike doesn't answer but concentrates on getting out of the damn tarp as fast as he can. At last it's sufficiently loose that he can wrest his legs out of there. It's a good thing vamp muscles don't need stretching.
"Can I use your phone?"
"Sure," Willow says. "Who're you gonna call?"
"Angel. Gonna ask him to send the company jet to pick me up."
Spike has to wait at the door. Xander hurries past him and invites him in. "Company jet? Dead Boy's got a company jet? Wow. But - You're gonna leave already? Buffy won't like that. She'll mellow when she finds out you're the A-brand Spike. And why don't you stay a few days and tell us all about your adventures? It's not every day an old friend rises from the dead!"
It's like a punch in the gut. Xander calls him friend, who'd have thought? Dying gets you friendship points apparently. But it's not enough to keep him here. He really wants to be gone before Buffy gets back, lick his wounds in peace. Put away his dreams of going to Europe, surprising Buffy and living happily ever after. Sentimental sod. Prat. He's been hanging around Buffy for years, changed his very nature for her and gotten nothing but a grudging 'I love you' before he died. His alter ego is in her company for one trip and she falls for him head over heels. More than a man can be asked to endure.
"Sorry, Harris. It's not about you and Willow. Don't wanna see Buffy is all."
Xander actually puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. I get it. I'll drive you to the airport."
Spike has to avert his eyes to avoid an unmanly moment. "Thanks. Appreciate that."
Dawn and Andrew walk in when he's in the middle of his conversation with Angel. He finally managed to reach him after enduring many moments on hold from the switchboard and squeals from Harmony because he's been found. Andrew's eyes nearly pop out of his head when Spike nods at the boy and holds up a hand in greeting. Then the silly little twat goes and faints at Dawn's feet. Dawn just gapes and looks at Xander for a hint about what's happening here.
Spike holds up three fingers. He's almost done, and Angel is sending the jet over. Grudgingly, true, but he's doing it.
"Dawn?"
"Spike? Real Spike?"
"Yep, it's me. Back from the dead."
"Wow. How? Where's Buffy?"
He can see Dawn vibrate, hesitating whether she'll hug him or not. They had never returned to the terms they used to be on before his soul, but there was definite thawing before he died. So he holds out his arms, figuring he can take a rejection, and she surprises him by rushing into his embrace. The sensation of her tall and curvy form pressed up against him tells him quite plainly he shouldn't hug Dawnie like a little kid anymore. She squirms out quickly, embarrassed already. Still not quite grown up, his Nibblet, but close. She looks stunning, more beautiful than ever.
Andrew wakes up from his faint and props himself up on his elbows. "Spike? Is it you? I can't believe it. You're like Jean Grey, I kept hoping you'd return and be, like, even better. Are you better than ever?"
Spike hesitates but goes over to Andrew and holds up his hand. Andrew grasps it with two of his and lets himself fall against Spike's chest when he's been hauled up.
"Oh Spike. I missed you so much."
Yeah, well. If only Buffy had reacted like that, huh? But overly dramatic or not, the boy is sincere and he'd be cruel to ignore that. He claps Andrew on his shoulder and gently disentangles himself.
"Wow, Buffy must be so happy!" Dawn says.
Xander makes a face. "Buffy's gone off in a snit, Dawn. She doesn't know it's the real Spike this time. Well, she'll be really surprised when she gets back."
"Please, people," Spike says. "I'd prefer it if Buffy didn't know. I'll give her a call someday, promise. I'd really like to go back to LA and live my life there. I've got evil to fight, pretty girls to rescue."
"You could fight evil here," Willow says.
"S not your offer to make," Spike says, but he's grateful for it nonetheless. He smiles at her. "How are you doing, Will? Still seeing Kennedy?"
She nods.
Maybe Buffy will change her mind when she's worked out her anger, be happy to see him. Maybe. But he's not prepared to wait around humbly again, eat crow as long as he can be near her, like before. He's his own man now, he's got important stuff to do.
He looks at the four young humans staring at him. The weight of their expectations and hopes is plainly shown in their gazes and it does bother him to take off like this. No, he's not gonna give in. Sunnydale and the people he knew there belong in his past. He should look ahead, plan for the future and not hanker after what he can't have.
"Xander? That ride you promised?"
"Right. Dawnie, the keys?" Xander says, shaking himself out of his staring.
"I'm coming along!" Andrew says.
"Yeah, me too," from Dawn.
Willow nods. "Count me in."
Spike looks at them and suddenly misses a face. "Hey. Where's the demon girl? Out dying her hair?"
The look on Xander's face tells him enough. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, mate. She was a good woman. Forthright. Stood up for herself."
He can see emotions warring on Xander's face and remembers with a pinch that Xander has a grudge to bear on that account.
"Yeah, she was," is what Xander says. "More than I gave her credit for."
They nod restrainedly at each other. Spike looks at Willow. He hopes he didn't make another gaffe like that when he asked after Kennedy.
Willow seems to get his silent query and shakes her head to assure him. "Kennedy is just visiting her folks for a few days. She's fine."
"The other little girls? Faith?"
"Faith is in New York with Robin. Amanda was killed. The other's are mostly in England, with Giles. He's resurrecting the Council and creating a school for Slayers. We've been in Europe too, most of this fall, rounding up other new Slayers."
Spike nods. "Angel said that's where Bu…you guys were."
There is really no reason to wait anymore. Slowly the little group starts moving. Dawn hands Xander the car key, Willow gets a coat and finally they troop to the car. Spike tells them some of his LA adventures, the werewolf, the ghost, Harmony.
"Harmony? Harmony Kendall?" Willow screeches. "Ew. Are you two back together again?"
"God no," Spike says. No need to tell her about the interrupted fling, though. Everything will get back to Buffy in some form; he has no illusions about that.
"Can I count on you to keep silent about me?" he asks them all when the first signs to the airport appear.
Sitting in the car like that with five adults gives him enough scent information to assess that Andrew and Dawn are sincere when they promise not to. Only Willow hesitates. "Buffy's my best friend, Spike. If she really wants to know…"
"Fair enough."
When Xander's Lexus slides into the airport parking lot there is only about half an hour to kill until the jet arrives. Angel's instructed him to wait in a certain airport bar, where he will be collected by a W&H official who'll deal with security. The Scoobies decide to wait with him, which Spike appreciates more than he'd like to admit.
Andrew wins the fight for the bar stool next to him and looks at him with that fawning gaze of his. Annoying little git.
"Spike, you are my shining beacon of heroism. Whenever I have a difficult decision to make I think to myself; what would Spike have done, and it works every time."
"Look me up in LA some time," Spike hears himself mutter to his dismay. "We'll go hunt demons together."
"Cool!" Andrew says and drains his Zima in one adoring gulp. While Spike is patting his back and passing the extra paper towels Willow has requested from the barkeep he sees a triplet of eerily identical pinstriped men approach. They can only be W&H lawyers. They need one look to identify him, which impresses him mightily, and head straight towards him.
"Mr. Spike?"
He nods.
"Follow us, please."
The Scoobies all hug him, one by one. He's had enough sentimental moments this past hour to last him a lifetime, and the funny thing is, he's been so thoroughly conditioned that their scents don't trigger the faintest hint of bloodlust. Not like when he meets new people, when he has to work a little to keep the hunger at bay. They're family, in a way, doesn't matter if he likes them or not.
"I don't know if I can hold out to Buffy under torture," Xander tries to joke, "but I'll try, pal."
Pal, friend, Mr. Spike. How the world has changed from Fangless, Captain Peroxide and soulless creep, huh? He thinks it ought to mean more, but it's only a drop on the hotplate of his feelings. Only Buffy's love can douse that burning lump of coal inside him where he used to have a heart. He'll just have to grow past that, won't he? Never mind. He'll be in LA within in the hour and see his bed before sunup.
The plane has its usual annoying array of tiny bottles. He's sure he's sent Harmony a memo about stocking the jet with a case of Glenfiddich, but she must have forgotten about it. He'll have to confine himself to the JD and American beer in his own cupboard, then.
To his surprise the limo that's waiting for him in LA doesn't drive him to his apartment as he directs. It stops at the Wolfram & Hart building.
"Mr. Angel is waiting for you, sir," the doorman who opens the car door instructs him.
Yeah, he didn't figure anyone less than that would give out these orders to the company cars. Angel is sitting in his gigantic office, managing to look small and forlorn in its chilly monumental expanse. Poor old git. He never says he's lonely, but Spike can tell anyway. Who wouldn't when the people you love die or leave you one by one? It's mostly just him and the old fellow these days, with an occasional guest appearance from Wes.
"Sit down," Angel instructs him curtly.
He seems mad, but then he never exactly gives off friendly vibes, so Spike ignores the anger and settles himself on Angel's desk. He roots around in the bottom drawer and finds the Laphroaig. Gets himself and Angel a hefty shot and claps his hand on the meaty shoulder.
"Good to be back."
Something moves in the heavy still face. "Why don't you just tell me what happened, Spike? You thought we wouldn't find out?"
Spike is nonplussed. "Find out? Find out what? That I'd been kidnapped?"
This time Angel actually turns his head to look at him. He's beginning to resemble an aged tortoise in his spare slow movements, peeking distrustfully from under his heavy stiff shell. They should get out together more, kicking demon ass would do him a world of good.
"That you've been on a killing spree with Dru, of all people. What did you do, get rid of the soul?"
Spike is speechless. It's clear that his other self must have been the one doing this, and for the first time he really believes what Willow and Xander have been telling him. All right, the evidence is damning, but Angel should have asked for an explanation before accusing him.
"You're sitting right next to me, Liam. Don't tell me you can't sense the soul on me. I know you still have yours."
"That's what's bothering me. I know we can still do evil with our souls, believe me. But what possessed you to do it? Dru? Hey, I'd understand. It's hard to remain good."
Angel is looking at him expectantly. If he just confesses his sire will give him absolution. In a sudden blinding flare of anger he smashes the shot glass with its last sip of whiskey against the wall.
"No you nonce," he says, "In fact it's not hard for me at all to do good. I made a choice and I'll stick to it. You should have researched more carefully. Buffy traveled to another dimension where there was another Spike. He's the one's been after Dru and causing mayhem your town."
Beyond a faint deepening of his perpetual scowl Angel doesn't react. "Really?" he says. "Very inventive."
"Oh please. Call Buffy, or Willow, Xander, Dawn and Andrew. They've all seen us both. And there's no need to do anything about this, because the other Spike has returned to his home dimension. And he's rid you of Dru in the process. One less responsibility."
"Dru's not my responsibility!" Angel protests.
"No? Your get, isn't she?"
"Angelus's get," Angel continues stubbornly.
"This is ridiculous," Spike says and walks off. He can't take it right now. He just wants to go home. Angel does have a way of making it hard to look after him or give him a bit of company. Home is telly and beer, and a medium hard bed to lie in. They know where to find him if they need him.
When he gets to his apartment he discovers he doesn't want to go down there after all. It's only a barely habitable basement, it's not home. He climbs up on the roof and sits smoking and thinking the rest of the night, staring at the luminous city fog, the lights stretching away on all sides, the occasional plane rumbling overhead. He leaves when the night has paled into lilac and the horizon is about to flame into orange fire. For a second he thinks of staying on the roof and to hell with everything, but it lasts no longer than that. He can't, not just yet. He's not finished. Also, he's been a fool, as usual.
What did he expect? Something else, something impossible. For Buffy to fall weeping around his neck and profess eternal love. The lonely night out here has made crystal clear that that is never going to happen. She's the Slayer, first and foremost, acts instead of thinking. It's what he accepts and therefore loves about her. Buffy didn't know he was alive, expected someone completely different and freaked. He shouldn't blame her. She's moved on, and so should he. Grow up, be his own man instead of hankering after happiness through someone else.
Angel needs him. The whole team needs him. He'll visit Charles, offer Wes some help with Illyria and keep his poor old sire alive a bit longer, attach him more firmly to the world.
He'd told Xander he'd give her a call and he hadn't meant it at the time, but now he decides that he will. Perhaps they can meet sometime and try to be friends. Time he gave up on what he'll never get, time to move on. Start thinking about another girl. His bed is empty and lonely, and he knows there'll be a lot of offers if he lets it be known he's interested again. The idea doesn't appeal just yet, but he's sure it will some day soon.
TBC