Atlanta
Spike's flight to Atlanta had gone surprisingly well, and he'd gotten out without much trouble at all, found the plane he'd take to LA and sat down in his seat, his few belongings in a bag on the hat shelf. The airport was actually pretty nice in the evening, with all the lights and everything.
The calling, as he referred to it, had only gotten stronger, and now he was pretty sure it was caused by some sort of magics. Probably done by Red or her girlfriend.
All he could do right now, was wait for the plane to take off.
Nikki had quickly become accustomed to the 21st century airport, and she had no trouble finding her way around it, as she didn't even have any baggage except a plastic bag with some newly purchased clothes.
Her hair had been curled down and was now more wavy than afro. It had also been cut in a nice layered hairdo, as the original cut didn't look all that astonishing when the afro was taken down. Nikki was wearing some nice dark red boots with two-inch heels, as she liked to appear taller than she was, accompanied by some dressed down worn-looking jeans and a dark blue comfortable sweater that made her look very young.
As she made her way to the plane, the thought of how stupid and farfetched this was hit her, like it had done many times on the plane to Atlanta. But the thing was, what else could she do? The feeling of doing the right thing, of getting her answers in this Sunnydale place had become even stronger, and suddenly she remembered why the place sounded familiar. Her Watcher had told her that it was a town built on a Hellmouth. This new discovery confirmed her suspicions about this being the only right thing to do.
She got up into the plane and a stewardess showed her where her seat was. The man occupying the seat next to her was looking out of the window, but he seemed strangely familiar somehow.
The smell hit him first. A Slayer, and it wasn't Buffy. On the same plane as him, a vampire. Not a good combination.
He'd only heard of the other one, the rogue one, Faith. It must be her.
But as the smell got stronger, it changed a bit. It smelled like a slayer, but in a way older and a bit worn down. She was coming closer, and he decided to pretend to be looking out of the window, as if eye contact would've given him away.
She stopped at his row. Shit, she'd probably sensed him. Or then the Powers that Be just saw some strange irony in seating a Slayer beside a vampire.
He could feel her sitting down due to the shift of the seats.
A few moments later, the woman turned to him, clearing her throat.
"Hi. I'm-" He realised that he couldn't sit staring out of the window for the whole flight, and turned around.
He didn't recognise her at first.
Nikki's breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened with fear.
Her killers features were etched into her mind for all eternity. The bleached hair, though outgrown now, the sharp cheekbones, the face she'd reluctantly admitted as one of the most handsome she'd ever seen.
William the Bloody.
It seemed like the murder had only happened hours ago. And for her, it was the truth.
He saw her terrified look and remembered that night on the subway. That look was the exact same he'd been given twenty-five years ago. By her, Nikki. His second Slayer.
The regret hit him with more power than all the other people he'd killed. The sadness, the want to make up for it, and the absolute naked truth that said he'd never be able to do so.
The Slayer he'd killed during the boxer rebellion was easy, she wasn't very trained and she was unexperienced. But Nikki, she'd been something else entirely. He'd followed her for months, becoming more and more intrigued. She was a very good fighter. Had been at least. Maybe, no, surely better than Buffy. Nikki hadn't had a whole group of friends to help her. She'd only had her Watcher.
When he regarded her, the same feeling he'd had back then when he saw her came rushing back.
The feeling of an equal fighter. He couldn't quite describe it. It was a feeling of uncertainty at the same time being comforting and soothing.
His thoughts were quickly interrupted by strong hands around his neck.