Chapter 2

Spike exited the office building a few minutes later and began walking down the street towards his small apartment. "Stupid bloody ponce of a grandsire. Thinks I'm the one that's stupid…" Spike ranted to himself. "Phtttt…Calling ME bloody selfish, he's really one to talk. I mean, I give and give and bloody give some more!" Spike kicked a can nearby to emphasize his point, "And yet he still has the bloody nerve to call me selfish. I cared for her for how many months…?", he trailed off noticing that the few passers by were giving him strange looks. He was tempted to switch his face and really give them all something to stare at but instead he returned to kicking the can. Even the can was mocking him; he could almost hear the word selfish in its rattle, causing him to kick it that much harder. He was so involved in bouncing the can off of every wall in sight that he almost walked straight past his own block of apartments. Slamming the door behind him he took a long breath, he had to focus if he was going to get any packing done at all. Best to start in the bedroom, he thought to himself. He had to get this all done quickly before Angel changed his mind about letting him go to Rome.

He shoved his clothes into a bag, still fuming over his argument with Angel, "How dare he?" The drawer in his bedside table that always stuck did nothing to help his mood. He ripped the drawer out of the dresser and threw it against the wall with a roar, a shower of trinkets rained down upon the floor. Spike knelt and started gathering them up. "What right does he have to say that about me? He knows nothing about me, never took the bloody time. Stupid bloody ponce, what's he gonna tell me next? The old fuddy duddy probably reckons I'm dead inside. Well technically I am, but that's beside the point! I care about her, I loved her, I would have done anything for her. ANYTHING! And that son of a bitch has the nerve to call me selfish!" Spike started emptying the drawers full of clothes onto the bed, a lot of them missed and fell to the floor, so when he paused from his rant, he realized he was surrounded by clothes, and the only patch of floor he could see was the bit he was standing on.

Looking at the bed almost completely covered by clothes he'd never realized he owned, Spike saw a small suspicious package that he didn't recognize. It was rectangular and wrapped in brown paper, with his address scrawled on the front. Having already been blown up once that night, Spike really wasn't in the mood for games. He cautiously picked up the package, moved some clothes out of the way and sat down. If he was going to get blown up again, the least he could do was to make sure he was comfortable this time. He slowly unwrapped the package listening carefully for any ticking sounds, but instead of discovering a bomb he found a small piece of paper and a tape. The paper, scrawled with the same handwriting as the address, read:
'Thought you might like a copy of this!
Andrew xXx'

Spike realized he had never opened the package, never mind watched the tape. He threw a few more clothes and other treasured possessions into the bag, and, once there was enough room, he climbed onto the end of the bed and sat back to watch the tape. The first thing to flicker onto the screen was an image of Andrew.

"Oh, hello there, gentle viewers. You caught me catching up on an old favorite. It's wonderful to get lost in a story, isn't it? Adventure and heroics and discovery—don't they just take you away? Come with me now, if you will, gentle viewers. Join me on a new voyage of the mind. A little tale I like to call: Buffy, Slayer of the Vampyres."

Spike laughed at Andrew's awful accent, Vampyres indeed. He heard Anya calling through the door to Andrew, "For God's sakes, Andrew. You've been in here for 30 minutes. What are you doing?!"

"Entertaining and educating."

"Why can't you just masturbate like the rest of us?"

Spike laughed loudly, he should have watched this sooner, he'd almost forgotten what it was like, hanging around that bunch of nutcases. The snide comments, the fighting over who had drunk the last of the milk, how could he have forgotten this?

The next clip was of himself.
"I thought I told you to piss off with this bloody camera, yet here you are again with that thing in my face. Would you sod off before I rip your throat out and eat—"
"OK, Spike. The light was kind of behind you."
"Oh, right. Uh, what? Is this better then?"

He could remember the boy nodding his head in agreement.
"I thought I told you to piss off with this bloody camera, yet here you are again with that thing in my face. Would you sod off—?"
For some reason he even now found it funny, he'd been so bored inside that house and had only just returned from being flat-out, bug-shaggin' crazy! So when Andrew had come to pester him about an interview he'd been more then happy to help.

The next scene to fade in was all the Slayers in training having breakfast.
"It's morning in Sunnydale… " Andrew tried to begin but was interrupted.
"Who the hell's got the low-fat milk?"
"It's morning in Sunnydale, and the women of command central take the time to fortify themselves for the day ahead." Andrew tried to continue again, but was interrupted by a hurt Xander this time.
"Hey!"
"Women and Xander," Andrew corrected, then added, "Hey, I'm gonna do your special intro later. 'The man who is the heart of the slayer machine.'"
Xander looked flattered and blushed, "Oh Yeah? The heart?"
Andrew once again attempted to continue his melodramatic voiceover, "Things are tense in command central this morning. Buffy is clearly concerned with some unknown danger, and the air is filled with foreboding."
"Oh, um, we're out of Raisin Bran." Dawn spoke over Andrew.
Anya turned to Dawn, "I'll put it on the list."

It was then that it hit Spike. He didn't know how many of these girls were alive, he was pretty sure Dawn had survived, otherwise Andrew wouldn't have told him that Buffy was in Rome with Dawn. But the others? Xander…Willow? All the Slayers in training? How many had died? He tried to remember who Andrew had mentioned when he had come up to L.A. Spike had a sinking feeling that people had been missed out of that list, but he'd been too busy to listen. Now he wished more then ever he'd stopped to mourn them. Then Andrew's voice from the tape cut through his thoughts, and looking up he saw, staring straight at him through the screen, arms folded and looking very angry, Buffy.

"…..she's beautiful, with a lion's heart and— and the face of an Angel. She's never afraid 'cause she knows her side will always win. Buffy and Spike have some kind of history…"
Spike stared in awe at the tape, he pressed pause and looked at her through the grainy picture, she was there, really there. His mind flashed to the last time he had seen her. The golden light on her face, she looked so strong, determined, her eyes full of tears as she whispered that she loved him.

He knew she didn't mean it, couldn't have, Buffy just knew that he was going to die and wanted to make his final moments pleasant. Well…as pleasant as skin and muscle burning away from the bone, while organs exploded in his chest and his eyeballs melted into the sockets could be.

He hit play and continued to watch the tape, not bothering to listen to the commentary. Just watching her move, so beautiful, so graceful, he would do anything for her, he died for her and would do it again. She was living, breathing perfection, she was in a word…amazing. His entire body ached in loneliness as if now it was only just accepting that he had missed her. The camera zoomed in on her face and he paused it, the picture was blurry and slightly out of focus, but it was her. He could see her face, her mouth, her nose, her eyes. He looked up into the TV in awe. He traced the outline of her face, "What am I doing? You don't need me, you never needed me. You're happy in Rome, with Dawn…all cozy with the Immortal. Angel's right…I am being selfish." Spike sat staring up at her for a second longer unable to take his eyes away. He slowly reached up and turned the TV off; his blue eyes filled with tears; as he turned and they fell, he wiped them away and reached for his bag.

He sat sobbing for a few seconds more, before managing to pull himself together. He took out a few of his shirts, folded them and stood to put them away. But as he shut the drawer, he felt the room start to spin. It started slowly at first, but eventually gathered speed, first turning one way and then switching to other. "Bloody hell! Who started up the soddin' tilt-a-whirl?" he said to himself as a wave of nausea hit him and the spinning increased in speed. Holding his breath, trying not to retch, Spike squeezed his eyes shut; he'd never enjoyed fun-fair rides.

The air whipped faster around his head, and his eyes shot open. He saw the colors around him merging into one, lines of harsh color making his dizziness worse. His hands grabbed for the things around him but he found nothing solid. Still, the room spun faster and faster, he wasn't sure if he would pass out or puke first. Then the room suddenly stopped, and he lost any sense of balance that he'd had. Spike fell heavily on his ass, the last thing he was aware of before losing consciousness was his head hitting the floor, hard.
TBC...

A/N: Sorry for the long wait in the update for this story!!! But thank you all soooo very much for reviewing!!! I promise that I will try to be a bit more timely w/ my updates, but no absolute guarentees!! Special thanks to my best London pal, Kitty & her mum for helping me though!!!! Anyway...hope you all enjoyed this chapter, please continue to review & let me know your thoughts!!

A/N 2: Spike will be on the plane by chapter 4 the latest & soon thereafter in Rome, I promise that much. Also, next chapter will have a bit more action for those of you who are waiting for it. That's all...hope you guys still like it!