Title: Little Orphant Annie
Rating: PG - 13
Disclaimer: These things are not mine. The characters are Joss's, the gobuluhns are James Whitcomb Riley. Beccagirl did a fabulous beta.
Description: Spike meets a face from the past, but not quite the one he was looking for.
She looked at the mirror. Cracked. Seven years bad luck. Might be an improvement around here. The young blonde woman stared, and her own tired face stared back, split by a hairline fissure above the small sink in the back of her cramped office. Just one more thing to fix around here, she thought. Well, it would have to wait. Probably forever. There had been so much to do today, with work, and then an old friend stopping by out of the blue to lend a hand. Well, that part was nice. The cryptic conversation was another story. She wondered if the poor guy had finally gotten in over his head. There was no knock, just a voice in the doorway behind her.
"Looking for a gun."
No face but hers in the mirror either, although it stood with a clear angle toward the door. This placement was not an accident. "You're in the wrong place," she answered, reaching a hand into a space in the pipes behind the glass. "We do things differently around here."
"Charles Gunn. Need to touch base with the bloke, had a hunch he might have spent the day in these parts." Something in the accent and inflection caused her body to stiffen as she turned. Then an odd shooting pain came at the base of her neck, and she knew, before she saw the pallid face and white-blonde hair framed in her doorway.
"People live here," she said. "How did you get in?"
"Friendly kid at the door. Friendly," said the vampire, stepping into her office. "Not too bright."
Anne raised a stake from behind her back and thrust it forward. "I don't want trouble. But step any closer, and you're the one asking for it."
"Easy, love." The vampire stepped back to look at the nameplate on her door. "Easy, Annie. Wouldn't do to dust the big champion before his suicide mission. Now, be honest, what gave me away? Is it the hair?"
"Spike," the girl called Anne said quietly. "You were Spike. I was called something else, it doesn't matter. Don't you remember?" She tilted her head to one side and brushed the long hair off of her neck. Spike moved through the door, and a few steps closer, the scent of whisky floating around him. Anne's body quivered from her skull to the base of her spine to her weak knees. But she stood motionless as he came near enough to catch a hint of two matching white scars on her neck.
Spike rocked back on his heels, looked at the stake, the scars, the ceiling, her face. The scars again. "Look, love. I'm not one to deny that I've done a lot of damage to a lot of people. But, fact is, back in my biting days, if I'd come close enough to you to do that --?" He jabbed a finger toward her scar. "We wouldn't be having this chat, would we?"
"You really don't remember. We were in a basement. There was a girl."
He frowned, as if it were starting to come back. "The Slayer."
"The Slayer was there. But there was another girl. You'd just started to bite me when Buffy put a stake at her back, and said if you didn't let us go -- let me go -- she'd kill -- Griselda? Priscilla? God." Anne shook her head. "I would have known the name then."
"Drusilla," Spike said sharply, and then his nose twitched, visibly taking measure of Anne's scent.
"Right then," he said, and added with contempt, "You were one of those groupies. That whole business was Dru's fancy. I bloody well wasn't gonna lose the woman I -- Dru -- wasn't gonna lose Dru over such a lame gig." He rolled his eyes. "I didn't even wanna bite the whelp when it was all done with. I think he was defective or something. Dru was sick for a week after. And besides, that boy band hair? The bloody earring? Well, you must have seen them together. You don't suppose she fancied him, do you?"
"Uh. . ." Anne backed up, searching for another weapon. She wasn't sure she had the strength or skill to stake a vampire as fierce as William the Bloody, but maybe she could find some way to knock him out. His disconnected, irrational rambling was scaring her more than straightforward threats. He looked at her as though he was really expecting her to say something, really wanted to know what she thought. "Well, even if Drusilla turned Ford?" Anne ventured. "I'm sure it was nothing. That's just something vampires do. . .from what I remember. It's not necessarily intimate."
Spike went on as though he hadn't heard her. "Her falling for Angel was bad enough. But at least he's -- well, he's -- how do you come up with one word for Angel?"
Anne couldn't help it. It was like a train wreck or a 600-pound gorilla in the corner. Even her search for heavy objects came to a halt, and she had to ask. "Drusilla fell for Angel?"
"What?" Now Spike stared at Anne as if she were the crazy one. "No! I mean, okay there was -- no! Are you listening, girl? I'm talking about Buffy." "What kind of vampire," Anne choked out, "worries about whether a slayer might have, six years ago, had a teenage crush on somebody he killed?"
"Somebody Drusilla killed!" Spike objected, then paused. "Maybe I'm just a bit sentimental from all the bad poetry I've heard today, but do you think I should call her?"
"Drusilla?"
"No! Buffy! But --" Spike frowned and brought a hand to his chin. "Now that you mention it. Long as I'm banking down the old flames. Don't ask me to explain it, but Lorne says mobile phones are all the rage with the dark ones. If Dru's got a number, you can bet the Wolfies have it on file. I'll call Buffy first of course." He stopped, worry flashing in his eyes. His stance pained, as if a sudden weight had been thrown around his neck, a millstone dragging him down from that momentary spark of hope. "Well that may not be the safest idea, don't really need her rushing out to stake me in the middle of an apocalypse, but maybe I might be able to get a hold of Niblet. See if she could pass on a message, if ya know... Well it's worth a shot at least." He turned to go.
"You're not gonna try to bite me?"
"Bite you?! Is that what you thought --?" Spike squared his shoulders, thrust his chin up, and said, "I'd never bite you." He hesitated. "Again." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Soul? Buffy? Me? Burnt up saving the world? Any of this ring a bell?"
Anne shook her head.
"Good God, does Angel not tell his people anything?"
"I'm not his people," said Anne. "And even with frequent updates, I couldn't stay on top of this situation. It's like I'm living behind the scenes of some long-running, undead soap opera, and I only get to tune in for an episode or two every couple years. Any wonder I'm confused?" "Oh," Spike said. "Sorry about that. I'd stay around and give you the update, only the whole last precious moments on Earth thing. Maybe for real this time." He waved at her. "Ciao!"
"Spike!" she called after him. "Weren't you just looking for Gunn?"
"Oh," Spike waved his hand dismissively. "Boring old last day on earth stuff. I was gonna see if he wanted to break some windows, hotwire some cars, wreak a bit of havoc for old times' sake. But he missed his chance. Got a call I ought to be making."
Anne was starting to piece his words together with the things Gunn had told her this afternoon. "You're on a suicide mission -- with Charles Gunn?"
Spike raised a finger to his lips. "Kind of secret. Big world-saving thing. Well," he frowned and looked at the ceiling, almost talking to himself. "Not completely sure that we're actually saving the world. Or even that there will be a world to save but --" Then decisively, out loud. "You know, I guess I left the thinking part to Angel. A frightening thought. But I figure -- if Angel says it's do or die, well, it's do or die." Spike shrugged. "Hey, I've died twice."
"Me too," Anne said, then, to Spike's questioning look, "Not died, died, but -- a new name, a new life. You never know when there's a chance to find another one."
"No," Spike said quietly. "I suppose you bloody well don't." He moved to leave, then hesitated. "About the biting --" Spike pointed to his neck. "I don't know that 'sorry' begins to cover this sort of situation."
Anne hesitated, then said, "You were a different man. In a way, I almost wonder if I should thank you."
"Come again?"
"That night turned me around. It was like my rock bottom."
"Rock bottom," he laughed bitterly. "Yeah, that's me. How many bloody girls get to use old Spike as their rock bottom?"
"In a way, you're the reason I'm here."
Spike looked around at the cramped office, the faded wallpaper and rickety furniture. "Don't thank me too hard."
"It's the right place for me," she answered. Silence fell between them, until Anne said. "Go on, now. Save the world. May you live to write a bad poem about it."He gave her a faint smile. "Little Orphant Annie. You know that one?"
"Gob-uh-luns 'll get'cha, ef you don't watch out," said Anne.
"Right," he said. "So do me a favor, love. Watch out." And just like that, he was gone.
Anne looked at the mirror. Cracked. It would have to wait. There would be so much to do tomorrow.