AN: Dedications: To Fish, for unknowingly giving me the inspiration on what to nickname Greg.
Three days later found Spike in an alley on the outskirts of LA, surrounded by five vampires. Five very pissed vampires.
He had stalked a lone hunter through part of the city, waiting for him to turn into a secluded spot so that he could dust him without involving any of the humans around him. The vampire had led him on a merry chase, finally turning into a deserted alley. The deserted alley that had come alive with the undead as soon as Spike moved in for the kill.
"You've hunted us for too long, boy," the apparent leader, a statuesque red head hissed.
"Really? Less than a week and I already have you runnin' scared? Yay me."
The vampiress snarled at him. "A week? Yes, that may be how long you've been after me, Hunter, but we both know that you've been actively dusting my kindred for much longer. It ends tonight. I will be the one to bring you down."
"'Kindred?'" Spike scoffed. "You a White Wolf fan, pet?"
With that the fight was on. He managed to stake two of the minions, obviously newly raised, right away. The other two were harder, more experienced in the ways of battle. But, they were chosen for brawn, not speed or cunning, and they too were quickly finished.
Finally, he danced with the master. She was good; she actually could have given him a run for his money...if he had both his legs and spine crushed, that is. But, as everyone knows, the white hats always win and tonight was no exception. He soon had her pinned to the ground, arm behind her back in a painful hold while he used one hand to search her pockets.
"So, pet," he said conversationally as he pulled out a small clutch bag. "What's your name?"
"Rose," she growled.
"Pretty name. Been undead long?"
"Longer than you will ever live."
He gave a wry chuckle. "Oh, I don't know about that. I'm pretty hard to kill. Been around longer than you might think. I will tell you one thing, though. I'm not this Hunter you've been after. I've only been in LA about a week. I am a bit famous, though, if I do say so myself. Name's Spike, maybe you heard of me?"
The vampire gave a growling laugh. "You're just one more human in the never-ending cycle of idiots who think they can defeat us. You'll learn, human."
"Used to go by the name William the Bloody, back in the day." The vampiress was suddenly still, apparently straining to hear him now. "Course, I was originally giving that moniker because I was a bloody awful poet."
"Impossible," she snarled, bucking against the knees that held her down. "You're human."
"Neat, innit?" he smirked as he rammed the stake home and fell the few inches to the asphalt.
He dusted his knees as he stood up, cursing the dust that managed to sink between the very fibers of the cloth. The next thing he knew, he was lying several feet from where he had stood, pain blossoming in his head.
"Bloody hell," he snarled as he clamored to his feet. Before him stood yet another vampire, this one snarling in sheer rage.
"You killed Rose!" the vampire growled as he swung a pipe at Spike's head.
"And you killed Kenny," he quipped back, causing the enraged vamp to take another swing, this one glancing off his shoulder.
"In all fairness, mate, she did start it. I was just a bloke mindin' his own business when she attacked me."
The vampire took another swing, forcing him to lean far back to avoid the pipe.
"Course, my business was huntin' vampires, so I guess, in a way, I did start it."
The vampire snarled and tossed the pipe away before diving at Spike.
"Really must work on those anger management issues," he quipped as he scampered away from the creature's path. He ignored the part of him that reminded him that taunting a vamp wasn't the smartest of ideas.
"Course, you also need to work on hygiene and fashion, too. Livin' for an eternity is no excuse not to brush you teeth, mate."
The vampire apparently went non-verbal at the taunt, instead growling and causing spittle to fly from his mouth.
As he dodged another tackle, Spike vaguely heard the sound of a motorcycle at the head of the alley. All of his concentration was on the vamp, though, and he could spare no more than a quick prayour that the sound didn't signal the arrival of more vamps.
He spotted a broken pallet against the wall of the alley, one piece sticking out helpfully. With a wicked smirk, he turned his back to the wood and faced the vampire.
"Toro, toro, toro!" he said gleefully as the vamp once again charged him. This time he waited until the last second to move aside, giving the vamp no time to avoid the deadly piece of plank. Dust instantly filled the air.
Sensing yet someone else standing in the alley and remembering the sound of a motorcycle, he turned with deceptive calmness to look at the newcomer.
"You gonna take a swipe at me too?" he asked, scarred eyebrow raised as he appraised the man.
"Nah," he said, tucking a stake into his pocket. "Just making sure you had it under control."
The newcomer didn't look like much. Human, mid to late twenties, about the same height and build as Spike. A scarred and beaten leather motorcycle jacket hugged his upper body. He sported short dark hair and a scar on his jaw.
"I did," Spike said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the offered backup. "Got a name?"
"Greg Scales," the newcomer said. "Hunter, to the vamps."
Spike nodded. "Yeah, the bint here, er, this pile that was the bint, at least, thought I was you. Was a bit disappointed when I corrected her assumption."
"And you?"
"Spike." Greg's lip quirked at the name, reminding Spike of all of his original human insecurities. "William."
"No last name?"
He wasn't sure what made him say the name that instinctively came out of his mouth. The name he hadn't used in well over a hundred years. "Roch-" Instantly realizing what he said, he continued. "-dale. William Rochdale."
"Well, Spike Rochdale, how about we go somewhere and get a bit of coffee."
"Could do with a spot. Know a place nearby?"
Greg nodded and led him out of the alley. Kicking up the stand to an older cycle, he pushed it along the sidewalk. "Café just around the corner has decent coffee and some of the best apple pie around. And it's pretty quiet, so we can talk without people thinking we're crazy."
"That a common problem?"
"In this area, at least. We're far enough from LA proper here that people forget that we are part of LA. People in the 'Burbs like to think that they're above the rest of the world, especially here."
"And, of course," Spike said, knowing this tale, having heard it a thousand times before in a thousand different places. "None of them know what's out there."
"'Xactly," he said as he reparked the bike and led Spike inside. They sat at the booth in the back and ordered coffee. Spike also got a slice of peach pie, having never tried it. Once their order was delivered, they started the conversation back up.
"How long you been doing this?" Greg asked.
"'Bout four years, I guess. Didn't want nothing to do with it, at first. Wasn't my problem, ya know? I actually did everything in my power not to get involved. Then, suddenly, I was. You?"
"Nine years." He ignored Spike's grunt and continued. "I was eighteen when my best friend tried to kill me. Freaked out, ran. Couldn't run far enough, though. Had to dust Benny, had to help save the day. Been doing it ever since."
"By yourself? Not a smart way of doing it."
"Mostly," the Hunter nodded. "Had a few friends here and there. They'd all run away eventually; couldn't handle the pressure. And you're one to talk. You were soloing it too."
"Had a group I worked with. We got separated. Well, I got separated. Been trying to track 'em down, but it takes time."
"And when you find them?"
"Dunno," Spike shrugged. "Got a lot of history, me and them. Maybe they don't want me back."
"History?"
Spike glared at his potential ally. "Personal."
Greg nodded, letting the subject drop. "You don't usually hunt in this area."
"Nah, jut' tracked one fledge from downtown. Got ambushed, you know the rest."
"Could always use the company, if you're ever in the area again."
Spike regarded him. "Dunno. Like working alone."
"So do I. Tell me, what are you?"
Spike shifted uncomfortably. "Dunno what you mean."
"You're faster than a human. Possibly stronger. I saw you fight, remember?"
Spike concentrated on the crumbs of his pie, gathering them up on his fork, delaying answering the question. "Far as I know, I'm human. When I was separated from the group… Somethin' happened to me. Not sure what. I woke up like I am now: strong, fast, agile. Got a problem with it?"
"Nah," Greg shook his head. "No problem. Just like knowing who and what my allies are."
"Not one of those bloody wankers that think anything different is bad and should be destroyed?"
His companion's head shook once again. "In the real world you quickly learn that not everything is black and white. I've known demons that had more humanity than some humans. Even worked with a half-breed demon once. Nice guy, could drink anyone under the table.
"I usually patrol the area around the Hemery Heights community. Sundown to about three. Wouldn't mind a little company, if you're interested."
Spike considered him for a moment. Was the man on the level? Was he really ok patrolling with a person he had only just met? His gut feeling told him that this man was on the up and up. Trusting his instincts, he nodded.
"Where and when you wanna meet?"
"How about Hemery High right before sundown? The school's big, so it's hard to miss. And the fledges that went there before they died like to visit their old stomping grounds. I usually manage a couple there every few nights."
Spike nodded and quaffed his coffee. "Tomorrow, then," he said, throwing a few bills on the counter. "Should warn you, though, I tend to use the vamps as a money source."
Greg smiled. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
The two men nodded at one another and parted ways, Spike back to his motel, Greg back to his life as the Hunter.
Spike was about to let himself into his room when he saw the note taped to the door. Giving it a quick glance, he crumbled it and turned to the office and manager within.
"Got some people asking about you," the man said with no preamble once he saw Spike.
"Tell 'em anything?" Spike asked suspiciously.
The manager snorted. "Do I look like an idiot? Most the guys in here don't want to be found. I'd lose all my business if I opened my mouth."
Spike nodded. "What did they look like?"
"Suit, tall, blonde, snooty accent. Looked down his nose at me the entire time."
"English?"
"No, just snooty. Didn't ask for you by name, described you."
Spike nodded once again. "Thanks, mate. Be gone tomorrow."
The manager shrugged. "Whatever."
The thousand he got off the master vamp from the night before was enough, combined with what he had squirreled away, to ensure a rush job on his new ID. By mid-afternoon he had a birth certificate, social security card, passport, and driver's license in the name of William Rochdale. According to the papers, he had dual citizenship for Britain and the US, something that added to the price considerably but explained away his accent.
With the few hundred he had left, he rented a new room closer to the Hemery Heights area. It was a bit rattier, but the money he pressed into his new landlord's hand would ensure his privacy.
A trip to the library netted him a library card and no response from the witch. Not that he expected one, really. Red was too smart to take the e-mail at face value. She would have shown it to the rest of the Scoobs, possibly contacting Angel to see if he knew anything about it. Unless the slayer and her pals were in LA already, they would send the poof to look for him. And, if it was a hoax or if he had turned evil again, Peaches would be able to take care of the problem.
He read while he waited for dusk. He read the latest book in the series Dawn had always raved about. He had ended up reading the previous books that awful summer that Buffy was gone, simply to try to keep the younger Summers distracted. A boy destined to save the world, surrounded by magic and big bads. Change it to a girl and the character would be a slayer.
He walked to the school that evening. It was a large school, big enough to handle four grades at a time. The open architecture reminded him of the old Sunnydale High, before the slayer had blown it up.
Greg was waiting for him. They sat on a low stone wall and watched the sun go down. Time to go to work.
The school was easy to break into. Greg only had to give a certain door a good shove. The door didn't latch right, he explained. The faculty didn't know, but all the kids did.
The halls echoed oddly as their boots rang on the floor. The acoustics designed to reduce the noise of hundreds of feet conversely amplified the sound of four. Strange.
There were no vamps there that night, but there were plenty in the parks and cemeteries nearby. Greg soon learned to rely on Spike's ability to sniff the undead out, literally. The ex-vampire's senses were sharp enough to tell the difference between a fledgling and a master. He thought he could guess their ages to within two years if he tried. Not that he experimented with this skill. It wasn't polite to ask vampires their age.
On the way to get coffee and to divide up the night's "earnings," they saw a small demon running through the park they were passing through. Spike cocked his head to the side, looking after the small creature.
"What was that?" Greg asked.
"Dunno, Fish-man," Spike answered, having decided that Scales' personal nickname would be Fish. "Looked a bit familiar, but went by too quickly to tell."
Curious, they both started in the direction the creature had taken. Both knew that despite its size, it was possibly very dangerous. Contrary to what all men say, sometimes size does matter.
Spike quickly caught its scent and tracked it through the park. It had left a trail of fear stench so wide that he was surprised Fish couldn't smell it. He caught sight of a trembling bush and realized that that's where the little creature was hiding. Before he had a chance to approach it, a new noise had him whipping around.
A man stood behind him and Greg, shotgun clenched in his hand. He was taller than Spike and broader in the chest. He wore an odd combination of clothes, furs, and skins. He stank of death and Spike instantly knew that this was what the demon had been running from.
"Get out of the way," the man said, his voice gravelly. "I'm tracking a dangerous beast."
"Really?" Greg said, rocking back on his heals and affecting an air of naivety. "Coyote come down from the mountains, maybe?"
"Much worse. You probably have never heard of it. It's called a Qoarth, nasty sombitches that will rip the guts right out of ya. Now, move, before it gets away."
Spike instantly recognized the name. Qoarths were a huge race of demons, fierce-looking and deadly, but only if attacked. Even then, the attacker would have to draw blood before their intended victim would do more than defend himself, a feat that was near impossible given their skill in martial arts. If the creature he was chasing was a Qoarth it was very young, no more than a baby, and totally defenseless against this human.
"Qoarth, huh?" Greg continued after catching the look in his companion's eye. "What'd it look like, maybe we saw it?"
"Trust me, if you had seen it, you'd be dead. Qoarths kill without warning, mercy, or provocation. Unless you want to be its next victim, I suggest you move out of the way."
"Why," Spike said, adopting an American accent. "That there sounds like a dangerous creature. We'd be glad to help you, Mr…?"
"Cain. Now move."
"Cain, huh? Heard of a man named Cain once. Bounty hunter. Last I heard, he was huntin' werewolves three days a month. Wouldn't be you, now would it?"
Cain growled out a reply and raised his gun to his shoulder. "Mister, unless you want to be filled full of holes, I suggest you move."
"Interesting creatures, werewolves," Spike said conversationally, slipping back into his normal accent. "Totally harmless twenty-seven days a month. Can only hunt them for their pelts during the full moon. And then you have to skin them alive, because the minute they die they turn human again. It's not a full moon, Mr. Cain. What are you doing out from underneath your rock?"
Cain shrugged. "Mans gotta make a livin' the other twenty-seven days of the month, doesn't he?"
Spike eyed the shotgun trained on him, debating whether or not he wanted to risk getting shot with his new living status. "True," he said, apparently relaxed. "And Qoarths bring in quite a penny on the black market. Long as you have no compunction with killin' a peaceful, sentient being. I don't think you have a problem with that, do you, Cain?"
The bounty hunter snorted. "Next you're going to tell me that they're harmless little teddy bears."
"Never said that," he denied, shrugging his shoulders. "Can be peaceful and know how to fight. 'Sides, they don't look much like bears."
"Move," Cain snarled, motioning with his gun.
Spike took a deep breath and launched into action, snatching the gun from the man's hands and using the end to lash him across the face. Cain slumped down with a groan.
Greg looked at him, eyebrows raised.
Spike shrugged. "Don't like blokes that pick on little kids."
Greg continued to stare at him as he checked to make sure that the man was out. "Why don't you see if he has anything of use while I try to convince the kid to come out of hiding."
Spike knelt down by the still trembling bush. "It's OK to come out now, little one," he crooned softly, imitating the natural tones of an adult Qoarth. "We took care of the mean ol' bounty hunter."
It took several more minutes of the almost singing to get the demon child out of the bush and Spike quickly checked it over, looking for injuries. The soft lavender skin that indicated it was female was unmarred bar for a few scratches. The four legs that ended in delicate hooves shook in fear, but held her slight weight with no problem. Her slender arms hugged her torso, hiding the scraps of fabric that made up her tunic. Her eyes were huge, the dark purple irises overwhelmed by her black pupils. Her deep purple hair hung in straggly lengths, but he suspected it shone like royal velvet when it was clean and brushed. Most noticeably, the ornate collar and matching belt gleamed with precious metals and stones.
"Well, hello there, Princess," Spike muttered, his breath catching in his throat. She would be beautiful when she grew up. Beautiful by human and Qoarth standards.
He heard Greg's breath catch behind him at the sight of the child, but chose to ignore his new friend in favor of reassuring the terrified child in front of him.
"Do you speak English, Princess?" At her blank look he gave a sad smile. "I'll take that as a no. That'll make things a bit harder, you see, since I've not spoken Arthian in quite awhile. Let's see what I remember, yes?"
With that he started to fumble through the words he needed to convey that she was safe, that he would help her. It was a struggle to keep his frustration with his limited vocal cords out of his voice, as such frustration would only scare the child, but judging by the slight relaxation of her face, he succeeded in getting his point across.
After a few minutes, he picked the small being up in his arms and cradled her against his chest. A few more sounds, voiced low in her ear, had her pointing in the direction from which she came, away from the heart of the city.
"Speak quietly," Spike said to Greg as they came up beside him. "Qoarths have very sensitive ears and loud noises can hurt and frighten them."
"She's beautiful," his companion whispered, gazing at the child in awe. "Like a purple centaur."
"Centaurs are their distant cousins," he explained. "Both species are known for their great skill in battle and for their incredible loyalty. Qoarths have an intricate language of sounds that extend far beyond the human perception. It's impossible for me, or anyone really, to speak it correctly."
"How did you learn the little you know?"
"Oh," Spike shrugged. "It's amazin' what you can pick up in a couple of years."
Greg looked skeptical, but did not call him on it. "Where are we going?" he questioned as they left the unconscious bounty hunter behind.
"Princess here says her home is in this direction. She's young enough to be totally defenseless, which is no doubt why Cain chose her to hunt. She's really no more than a baby, maybe twenty years old, if that."
"How long do they live?"
"Dunno. Never thought of asking."
They left the suburbs and continued walking into the hills surrounding the city. Princess was quiet in his arms, occasionally rubbing her head against his shoulder in the universal sign of affection. Or of an itchy face.
"What was she doing all the way in town if she lives out here?" Greg finally asked after they had traveled for several miles without seeing any signs of civilization.
"Dunno. Hoping there's an adult who can speak English when we get her home. I just hope we don't get her home only to find out that her mother or father is chained up somewhere, waiting for Cain's bullet."
Greg nodded his head, wincing at the thought that such a beautiful creature could be murdered for nothing more than greed.
Eventually they came to a small grotto. Spike paused, looking around the seemingly magical place, before following the pointed finger to the hidden entrance to a large cave. In the almost total darkness, he thanked whatever gods had granted that his night vision remain the same as it had been when he was a vampire. It was the only thing that kept him from falling and dropping his precious burden.
They rounded a bend in the tunnel and came upon a lighted corridor. Not needing the child's direction now, he continued on until he saw the two burly guards standing at an ornate gate.
Upon seeing him, the nine foot tall Qoarths leveled their spears at him, faces stony masks. These adult males did not look much like the child he carried. These were full warriors, hardened in battle and sporting the scars to prove it. The one on the left had a scar that ran the length of his face, just missing his left eye and arching down to connect with the corner of his mouth. The one on the right had whip marks on his flanks and back. He had been a slave at one point.
The child woke up from the light doze when she sensed his sudden stillness and rubbed her eyes with dirt encrusted hands. Seeing the guards, she gave a happy little trill and wiggled, trying to get down.
"Hush, Princess," Spike crooned as he patted her back. "I'll set you down, just give me a minute."
Putting deed to words, he gently set her on her hooves and released her. She pranced to the ex-slave guard and raised her hands high, emitting a soft sound he could only assume was a demand to be picked up. The giant obliged her, setting his spear against the wall beforehand. With the child safely in his arms, he rumbled something to his companion and strode through the gates.
Seeing that the little princess was in safe hands, Spike turned to the last guard and hesitantly spoke in his own language. When he got no response, he nudged Greg in the ribs and started backing away, only stopping when the guard raised his spear once again and muttered a clear stop in his musical language.
"What's happening?" Greg whispered.
"Not sure, actually. He said to stop, so I stopped. Don't feel like getting up close and personal like with that spear."
His companion nodded, understanding his hesitation completely. He wasn't sure he could even lift the spear, much less pull it out of Spike's body if it went in.
Another male came through the gates and Spike was quick to notice the bracers on his wrists. They, like his daughter's ornaments, were heavy with gold and gems. The bracers highlighted his dark tone, so deeply purple it was almost black. His carriage was one of power and command. The kind you are born to and the kind you fight to earn. All these things told Spike that the creature before him was the king of this clan of Qoarths.
"Thank you for returning my daughter," he rumbled in accented English. "You have done me and my clan a great service. What is the reward you seek?"
Taking a steadying breath, Spike allowed his experiences with the gentry of his homeland to take over and bowed deeply. "Milord," he stated quietly. "My companion and I only wish to know that the Princess is safe. Returning such a gem to her home is more than reward enough."
The king regarded him with his black eyes, dissecting what he said, looking for lies in the intonation of his voice. Finally, he nodded.
"You speak the truth, being. Because of this your reward shall be great. It shall not be measured in material wealth, but in knowledge. Lanthia, the daughter you have returned to me, is a powerful seer. On the journey here, she dreamt of your destiny unfolding before you, being. You are the one long spoken of in the prophecies of our cousins, the centaurs. The creature of the dark that rebelled against his nature. For a century it was believed that it was the cursed vampire that was spoken of, until we heard of your deed in Africa."
"Surely you are mistaken, Milord. Prophecies are for slayers, not me."
The king gave him a baleful glare for the forceful denial before reciting the rhyme in question.
"The thrice-dead slayer,
The thrice-tasked dead.
The two are joined forever,
The forces of light are led.
The End of Days are over,
The First bends its head.
Neither dead, nor of the living,
The soul draws breath.
Alive but not living,
The Slayer longs for her Death.
To live, to die, to live again,
They restore balance with every breath."
Spike growled at the king, a rather impressive sound, considering he was human now. "Fuck that!" he snarled, forgetting to moderate his voice for the Qoarths' sensitive ears. "No! I didn't bloody well go through all of that so that just to watch her die again!"
The king looked at him for a moment, his triangular ears twitching as they recovered from Spike's outburst.
"Whoever said you would?" he finally murmured.
"You, you bloody purple ponce! You said she longs for her death. That she's given up."
The king held up one hand, stalling Spike's tirade. "I'm terribly sorry. That is the problem with prophecies, you know, they never come right out and say what they mean. Especially ones in the form of rhyme. Has anyone wondered why people write prophecies in such a way? Terribly rude of them.
"William," he said, shocking Spike. "You are not to watch her die; you are her Death."
Spike growled once again, glaring at the creature who had offended him. "You need to go back and look into your buggerin' crystal ball again, then. You read your tea leaves wrong, because there is no way I will ever, ever be the cause of her death!"
The king sighed, running a large hand over his face. "Let's try this again, shall we? We'll dispense with the poetry and I'll speak plainly, yes? You are not the cause of your slayer's death. You are the reason for her to go on living. You are her darkness, she is your light, together you are one."
Spike looked at him for a moment before laughing quietly. He could hear Greg shift uncomfortably behind him, confused by the proceedings.
"You got the wrong bloke anyway, Milord," he stated, remembering both his manners and the beginning of the ditty. "She hasn't died three times."
"Yes, she has," the king stated calmly. "Our seers have watched her very closely since her first death. After Africa, we researched your past most extensively. You, in your life of darkness, took the lives of two slayers. Your slayer died twice, once at the hands of the Master, once in self-sacrifice, to balance out these two deaths. The lives you cut short were given to this young woman that you love."
"And the third?"
"Happened at the same moment that you received your soul." Spike stumbled, remembering the flash of unbearable pain that had coursed through his body when his soul was returned to his corpse. "We believe you also killed a potential slayer. That is the death that balances out the slayer's last death.
"When you sacrificed yourself, much as she once sacrificed herself, balance was restored. Your unnatural life for your death. Your life was returned to you, yet to ensure that you would be a worthy mate for your love, you retained a bit of the darkness that makes you who you are. You still hold a remnant of the demon that inhabited your body for so many years. Enough to make you stronger, but not enough to induce the weaknesses inherent amongst vampires.
"Do you understand now, William? You and she are balanced. Your dark to her light."
Spike nodded numbly, for once unable to come up with a quick turn of phrase.
"You two will do great things together, William. Defeating the First and freeing the slayer line from the bonds that man forced on it was only the beginning. You both think that you know what you are, what's to come. You have no idea. This is just the beginning.
"Now," he stated, straightening his shoulders and giving his withers a shake. "Your time in our caves is over. You have returned to me something precious and I have rewarded you. You must leave this place in peace, as you came."
He turned to go, only stopping when Spike's voice reached him once again.
"We'll never be complete, the two of us, if I have what you're sayin' right. Never complete unless we are together, yes? Where is she? Do you know? Can you tell me?"
The king gave him a benign smile. "No, William. There are still trials before you, trials before her. You will find each other, do not worry. It has been written."
"Prophecies are tricky things," Spike reminded him.
"Not to those who can See, William. And this has been Seen. You will find her and she will find you." He disappeared through the gates, leaving the two men alone with the guard.
Silently, they made their way back to the surface, each's thoughts whirling at an amazing rate, taking in what they had seen, what they had heard.
Spike finally spoke when they had traveled halfway back to where they had found the young princess. "Suppose you'd like an explanation?"
"Wouldn't hurt."
"Do ya know what a slayer is?"
Greg nodded. "I met one when I first started fighting. One girl in all the world, etcetera etcetera, etcetera. She was just a kid, even younger than I was. She ran away from her duty, moved to some little town a couple of hours away."
Spike nodded and did some quick calculations in his head. "You met one nine years ago, right mate? I suppose it's possible that you met the one that came before, but the timing is right, as is the place. Her name's Buffy, right?"
Greg stared at him in shock, stumbling over a rock in his distraction. "She still alive?" He gave a derisive snort. "Course she is, she hides from the badies."
"Don't know her very well, do you? She didn't run away to hide… Or maybe she did, but she jumped right from the frying pan into the fire. That safe little town she moved to? Nuh uh. It was the Mouth of Hell. Literally."
The rest of the trip consisted of Spike filling in the blanks in Greg's knowledge of the Slayer's life. Her friends, her deaths, her triumphs. He shied away from speaking about her love life, dodging his companion's questions about how a vampire, even an ex-vampire, could have a soul mate in a slayer.
"And what about you, mate? You gonna tell me how you know the girl?"
Greg took a deep breath and began his own story. "When I met Buffy, I was drunk off my ass. It was a pretty much a constant condition at that point in my life. I had finished school the year before, had a dead-end job working in a garage, and my life pretty much sucked. The only friend I had was Benny, and he got turned the night I met her. The next night I found him climbing the wall outside my window, asking me to invite him in. Not a great day.
"I booked the next night, but I guess Benny told his master that I would be a good addition to the 'family.' They wrecked my van and almost got me when she showed up. Rather bad first and second impressions, what with being drunk then passing out at her feet. It didn't help that everyone called me 'Pike' at the time."
"Pike?"
"Yeah," he said, giving a shrug. "Came from the whole 'Scales' thing, same as you calling me 'Fish.' Anyway, I started helping her out. Her watcher was killed by the master we were up against, Lothos, and she just kinda quit. Decided that she was going to go to the school dance come Hell or high water.
"Course, she didn't know that Lothos' lair was in the basement. He and his minions attacked the dance, demanding Buffy. She took on him and his second, Amylin, and I protected the idiots at the dance. And I ended up throwing Benny into a circuit box. The sparks roasted both him and the school gym.
"Buffy got blamed for the gym burning down, never mind the fact that we had trapped all the minions inside at the time. Between that and her parents getting a divorce, she decided she'd had enough. Her job was over. She walked away and never looked back."
Spike shook his head at both Greg's tale and the similarities between her life before and at Sunnydale. That was his girl, going to the dance, taking names, and kicking ass.
"She told me about that night," Spike said, remembering the talking they had done the night before the Hellmouth collapsed. He knew that she had told him so much about her life because she had expected to die. She wanted to make sure that someone remembered who she was, that she was more than the slayer. He had been honored that she chose him.
"Said she almost bought the farm before the electricity cut out. It was enough to shake her from Lothos' thrall. You saved her life, mate."
Greg grunted. "I've been patrolling ever since, trying to make a difference. Once I got a taste for protecting humanity, I was hooked."
"Seems all the slayer's blokes feel that way. Her little Scoobies, they were nothing more than scared kids when I met them. She changed them, gave them the courage to fight. Her love for them kept them together, kept them strong. They fell apart when she wasn't there. They remind her why she keeps fighting."
He stopped beside his companion's cycle and gazed up at the high school. "And this was where it all started. Where one special girl was called. Girl who changed the world." He shot Greg a smirk and left him in silence.