Chapter 20 - A Change of Scene
The news that we've got a flight tonight comes quickly, and adds further momentum to my packing. Spike has finished his, apparently, and has been sitting in front of the TV ever since. I get the impression, as I pass through on my way to the kitchen, that he's not actually watching at all. At least, his expression doesn't change to match the canned laughter, and when I glance back towards his face, it actually seems rather glazed.
It's so frustrating. Someone I love is hurting, and I want to go and hold him, comfort him, but I know that's actually the worst thing I can do right now. He coped with it last night because he was so exhausted, emotionally and physically, but now, at best he'd push me away, and at worst he'd tolerate my touch even if it burned him worse than holy water used to.
I'm actually relieved that we're not going to be here tonight. The idea of spending a night in my room wondering how he was coping in his - well, let's just say I don't want to think about it. Then, on the other hand, it's not going to be easy for him to be with me either, but I'm sure there's something we can arrange that'll make him more comfortable.
Wes and Gina arrive late afternoon with tickets, a cell phone for Spike, and more advice than I can take on board. There's also a little extra for each of us - a pin that can be hidden in just about any piece of jewellery, which will interfere with any listening devices we happen to encounter. Apparently they're a product of both Fred's and Wes' old departments, so they should be proof against both electronic and mystical spying.
Spike's attitude changed as soon as the others arrived, and he's now attentive, and asking questions I hadn't thought of. I even get the impression that Wes is impressed, and that's not easy to do.
Wes starts to give us a quick run down on Spike's 'history', handing over his passport.
"Your name is William Ashcroft, and you are a British citizen. There's also a green card in the bundle, so there shouldn't be any problem about you remaining in this country in the longer term."
Spike's eyes widen at the name, and he seems to be trying to say something, but Wes doesn't notice as he's checking things off on a list in his notes.
"How did you find out?" he asks, his voice quiet.
"What? The name? Oh, I've known for some time. It was one of the things Giles asked me to find out for him - although he didn't tell me why he wanted to know. It turns out that, once he had your name, and knew when you died, he was able to do some hunting around your family history. Your family has consisted of a single line since your death. Your cousin, another William, inherited from your mother, and the most recent member of that family, another William Ashcroft, died childless in an unfortunate accident five years ago. The circumstances were such that there wasn't a body to identify.
It was the perfect blueprint for giving you an identity and a past. Using that information, I got the experts at Wolfram and Hart to make the required changes, and it now appears that you survived the accident. The money, however, is a complete fabrication, and I've arranged temporary changes to your history to show that it was the bequest of one Jane Daventry, an older woman you worked for. The money is actually expenses paid to you by Wolfram and Hart, but the details are there in case anyone asks."
William Ashcroft. I think about the name, and decide it suits him. He just looks shocked to hear it again after so long.
"I want a different name," he says at last.
Wes looks surprised. "Why? I thought you'd be most comfortable with your own name."
"Because I don't deserve it. Why d'you think I bloody revelled in being called Spike? Because I'd already done enough harm to the name when I killed my own mother, and I wasn't about to do any more."
"I'm sorry, Spike, I can't change it in time for your trip, and I had assumed that you would use this identity in the future, but if you wish, once this job is complete, I can arrange a new identity for you."
He doesn't look convinced.
"Spike," I say, "You've got another chance here. Use the name, and make your life something your mother would have approved of, that would have made her proud."
He laughs at that, but it's a laugh that says he doesn't think it likely.
"Doesn't seem like I've got much choice then, does it? But it's hard to imagine what I could do that would make up for vamping and then dusting her."
"Your motives for that, they were, well, understandable. She was dying and you wanted her to live."
"And I turned her into a monster that'd put even bloody Angelus to shame. Yeah, I did her a real favour."
He gets up then, and leaves the room.
"The rest of it is pretty simple," Wes continues after a moment. "And it's probably not that important. I'll leave it now. Tell him I'm sorry. I didn't know he would be upset. I only knew that his mother had died at around the time he was sired. There were no suspicious circumstances cited at the time of her death, there are even records of a burial."
"He must have arranged that for her," I realise. "I don't know how he did it, surely there were some checks, death certificates and so on?"
"I'm sure there were, but then it's always possible to terrify someone into doing something. And Spike's always been, well, resourceful."
When Spike returns a few moments later, he's changed. He's still in jeans, but now it's teamed with one of the shirts we bought him, this one in a dark purple colour. If he's still upset about the name, he's doing a good job of hiding it.
"So, when're we leaving for the airport?" he asks.
"In a few moments," Wes replies, checking his watch. "In fact, if we're ready, we might as well leave immediately."
Despite leaving earlier than we intended, we still only make the airport just in time. Our goodbyes to Wes and Gina are hurried, and we dash to check in. Once that's complete, we're directed through security to the first class lounge for the short wait.
Spike seems to have changed during the ride here, because his arm is around my shoulders with casual familiarity while we sit. The only give-away is the fact that I can feel the tension in his body. He's scared to relax in case - well, I don't know for sure what he thinks might happen. It's not like he's likely to attack me in a public place, now is it? I can't imagine even Lilah would think that would help with anything.
The rest of the journey is pretty much like that. The first class treatment might have been more enjoyable if I hadn't been so worried about Spike, but I'd tend to doubt that anyone but me noticed that anything was wrong. He played the part perfectly, rarely out of contact with me, and stopping occasionally to place a kiss on my forehead or cheek.
At last we arrive, the door to our suite is closed, and we're alone. I check out the various rooms, while Spike grabs his bag and takes it into the bedroom. The main room is huge, has a large screen TV, a bar, several very comfortable-looking chairs and what looks like some sort of music system. I go from there to the bathroom, and now I'm really impressed. The tub is huge, and I mean big enough for, well, for things I shouldn't be imagining right now. It's sunk into the floor, and it looks like it's got a jet option. Ranged along one edge are shelves holding an array of pots and potions that're going to take even me a while to get through. I pick one at random and inhale its fragrance. Rose. Pretty much a standard, but lovely just the same.
If I don't get out of here now, I can see it's going to take a while, so I go to take a look at the bedroom. And it's not what I expected. I just assumed there'd be two beds - you know, standard hotel feature. Having said that, the one that's the focal point of the room is huge. It's draped with white lacy coverings, and it's easily the biggest I've seen. Spike must see me looking because he speaks.
"It's ok, Buffy, I'll sleep in the other room, or on the floor."
"Spike, look at the bed, would you? It's big enough I could get lost in it. We can share, and there's no need to get closer than either of us is comfortable with, ok?"
He looks like he's about to argue, then his shoulders relax and he sighs. His expression seems odd considering. If I had to say what I thought it meant, I'd say he's relieved.
"You hungry?" I ask. It's getting late to be eating, but I didn't eat much on the plane, and I'd like something.
"Yeah," he admits. "Want to go out or just get something sent up?"
"I think just get something sent up. I'm kinda tired too, and we've got tomorrow to have a look round."
He nods, and picks up the card next to the bed.
We order some sandwiches, and they arrive remarkably quickly. We go into the living room, and Spike eats his while fiddling with what I took to be a sound system.
"This is pretty good," he says, a hint of enthusiasm back in his voice.
"What, the sandwich?"
He looks at me with that almost pitying expression he always used when someone didn't get something he thought obvious.
"No, this. Looks like I can get pretty much anything I want. The hotel's got a huge collection of MP3s, and I can play them here. Some of these tracks I haven't heard since …"
He stops then, and looks down.
"Since when?" I ask.
"Since Sunnydale, when you and Soldier Boy blew up my collection."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Sorry."
"You didn't really have any choice. I know that. Just, well, didn't feel very clever then."
I must be looking puzzled because he continues.
"Didn't know what those eggs were for. Was keeping them for a mate, like I said, but this mate didn't bother to tell me they had to be kept cool. And he didn't bother to tell me what they were for. All I knew was that I was going to get two hundred bucks a day for storing them."
"You didn't know they were dangerous?"
"Said that, didn't I?'Sides, I'd hardly store something that dangerous anywhere you or Dawn were likely to come, now would I? Might not be the brightest in the box, but I wouldn't take a risk with either of you."
"So, why'd you do it? I mean, I never got the feeling money was that important to you."
There's silence then, and he's shuffling his feet. I cast my mind back to then. That was the time of the dreaded chicken hat. And then I remember. He said he could get money. He said I didn't have to work at the Doublemeat.
"You did it for me, didn't you?"
He doesn't deny it. "Couldn't stand seeing you working in that place. It was wrong. Broke my heart seeing you there, having to deal with the pillocks that came in, always tired, trying to do everything."
"I wouldn't have taken the money, you know."
"I know, but I'd have found a way, something. Even gone to Angel if that's what it took. But then the eggs got blown up, and there wasn't any money, and you said …"
"It's over. I remember."
"And then, selfish git that I am, I spent my time trying to get you back, to make you see, and then other things sort of took over. And you know how that ended."
"Yeah, I know. And that's the point. It ended. It's over. And then we got a chance to start again."
"And who's to say it won't end the same?"
"You do, and so do I. We've both got choices here. It's up to both of us to make sure we don't make the same mistakes again."
He nods then, and turns his attention back to what he's doing. A moment later, the sound of the Ramones is filling the room.
"I'm going to take a bath," I tell him over the noise.
He nods, but seems pretty oblivious to anything other than the music.
The bath is just what I needed. There's a shower cubicle too, and it's a generous size, complete with sprays at various levels, but when it comes to decadence, you can't beat a bath complete with bubbles. As I lie there, I think about what's going to happen, and wonder how long it's all going to take. I mean, all I know is that we're supposed to turn up here, and that somehow, I'll be contacted. What I don't have any idea of is the time it's supposed to take. I mean, it could happen tomorrow, or it could take weeks.
I stifle a yawn and decide I'd better get out before I fall asleep. I dry myself, and pull on the pyjamas and wrap I brought. The pyjamas were a last minute addition to my case, and not new. They're pretty enough, Chinese style top in a satiny material, and pants to match, and they're a lovely shade of dark green. The wrap is black, and was actually bought to go with some of my newer acquisitions, but I suspect if I get into bed in some of those, that Spike'll run a mile.
I go into the bedroom and pull a brush through my hair. The hairdryer supplied is pretty efficient, and in no time I'm ready for bed. I take a look out into the living room when I'm ready, but Spike seems lost in his music. At least he's found some headphones, so I don't have to listen too. I walk to where he can see me and mime my intention to go to bed. He nods, and goes back to moving his mouth in time to whatever is playing.
I go in to the bedroom and make myself comfortable on one side of the bed. Within seconds I'm missing Spike. While the circumstances were far from ideal, the simple fact of sharing a bed with him just felt so good and natural, and I just know that I'm never going to be happy sleeping alone again.
It's much later when I hear him. While I was sleeping, he's come to bed, and he's lying as far from me as he can, but he's shaking, murmuring, sounding afraid. And then, without warning, he's thrashing about. Instinctively, I move towards him, holding him in my arms, and having to use a surprising amount of strength to prevent him from falling off the bed. Almost immediately he stills, and his breathing slows, but now I'm back where I want to be, holding him, and he doesn't seem to have any objections. I consider letting him go and returning to my own side of the bed, but I'm so sleepy that it just seems simpler, to say nothing of much more pleasant, to just close my eyes.