A/N : Wow, the response to this fic has amazed me. I really hope I can continue to write this story well enough that all you fabulous readers and revewiers continue to enjoy it!
(For disclaimer, etc. - see chapter 1)

Chapter 2

"Bloody hell" Spike gasped as he stared at the woman in front of him.

It was Buffy, he was sure of it. Though her hair was much darker than it had been before and of course she'd aged a little in the five years that had passed, it was still clear to the vampire that this was the woman he had loved for so long, and believed he'd lost. If nothing else convinced him, her scent gave the game away, he would never forget that for as long as he existed.

"Are you okay?" she asked him with a frown, "You're looking at me a little weird" she said, backing up a step. She'd figured she was pretty safe offering help to a fellow guest at the hotel. She planned to stop just long enough to help him use his key card, and get him into his room, but now he just kept staring at her and on closer inspection he did look kinda dangerous in his black clothes and with his bleached blond hair. He was obviously gorgeous, she wasn't so blind she didn't see that, but that didn't mean he was a nice guy.

"Buffy, you... I don't... how did you...?" Spike tried to form a sentence, and it was strange to him to not be able to find words. He was so use to having an answer for everything.

"Okay, I don't know who Buffy is" the woman told him as she took the key card from his hand and inserted into the slot in the door. There was a buzz and a click as the lock turned over and she pushed the door til it opened slightly, "I think maybe you should go lie down or something. You look... pale" she said, noting he was indeed very white, almost as if he were dead.

"If you're not Buffy" Spike frowned, "What do you think your name is?" he asked.

"I... I'm Joan" she said awkwardly, leaving off her last name on purpose and wondering if she should have told this stranger even that much. He could be anybody, some psychopathic pervert or whatever, pretending to be sick and confused just to get her in his room and do stuff to her that you read about in newspapers. All kinds of awful things happened to young women in LA at night, still this guy would have to be a supremely talented actor, Joan thought, to looked so stunned by the very sight of her.

"Really, I think you should sit down, er..."

"Spike" he filled in his name when she drew a blank, looking almost incredulous about the fact he'd had to remind her.

It seemed he thought she was someone else, someone who should know him. Clearly this Buffy he assumed her to be was someone he cared for very much. There were actual tears in his eyes right now, and whether they were from the shock or the disappointment from her not being his girl, Joan wasn't entirely sure, as she manoeuvred him into his room and made him sit down on the end of the bed. She made sure the door stayed open, just in case a swift exit was needed. She also decided it was probably best to stay on her feet and not sit down beside him.

"I don't get it" Spike shook his head as he rested his elbows on his knees, "Or maybe I do" he laughed painfully, "Bloody nasty joke someone's playin'. Soddin' powers trying to make me bleedin' sack of hammers, I reckon" he chuckled and Joan backed up closer to the door. Maybe this guy was on drugs or something, he looked like he could be the type, and she figured you didn't get a name like Spike without being more than a little rough around the edges.

"Can't be you, can it?" he said, looking up so suddenly it made her jump slightly, "Can't be her, she's... she's gone"

"I don't know who you lost, but I'm sorry" Joan said awkwardly, "I mean, obviously because you lost her, but also because... well, I'm sorry seeing me upset you. Do I look a lot like her?" she checked, wondering why she was even asking, but a little curious about this guy now. There was something weirdly familiar about him and as much as part of her wanted to run away, the other part just wanted to stay here in this room and talk to this stranger because she knew it was safe. She didn't know how she knew, she just sort of did.

"Bloody spittin' image, luv" Spike sighed, "You could be twins"

He shifted his body, hand going to the back pocket of his jeans as he pulled out a beaten leather wallet. Joan watched as he pulled out one faded, dog-eared photograph and stared at it for a moment, with such longing in his eyes her heart almost broke for him. When he held the picture out to her, she wasted no time in taking it from him, eager to see just how similar she was to this Buffy who he pined for. She got the shock of her life when she finally saw what appeared to be herself only blonde and with the biggest grin on her face. She might have been looking in a mirror but for the hair and that wasn't as unfamiliar as it might have been. The strangest mixture of feelings shot through her then, making her shiver as she glanced between the picture and Spike.

"When did she...?" she began to ask, unable to say the actual words, in case it was too painful for him.

"Five years ago" he answered softly, apparently knowing what she meant anyway, "Just over in fact" he noted, "Five years, fours weeks, and two days" he said in automated fashion, since he clocked the time exactly as a machine might. He knew Dawnie could do the same thing, probably with hours, minutes, and seconds included too. They both missed Buffy so damn much, even now.

"Five years..." Joan echoed repeating the rest of what Spike had just said inside her mind. Back tracking, she pinpointed the date, 22nd May 2001, "Oh God" she gasped the picture falling from her fingers to the carpet as her hand went to her mouth.

Spike picked up on the change in her scent and instantly looked up at her. She was scared, overwhelmed, in some sort of shock. Surely there could only be one reason for that.

"Buffy?" he said cautiously as he got to his feet. Somehow this was her, he'd been almost certain before but told himself he was imagining it. The poor girl was scared of him when he got all intense on her, and the Slayer hadn't been afraid of him in years, not after the first couple of times they'd fought way back in the beginning, even then she'd had a knack for covering her fear. She genuinely had no idea who he was it seemed, but the way she reacted to the photograph and more so hearing how long Buffy had been gone, he just knew this was her.

"No" she said firmly, though it was muffled by her hand as she backed out of the door, "No, no, it's not me, I'm not... no!" she yelled, suddenly bolting.

Spike called her name behind her, running as far as the door before stopping. The poor chit was petrified and though he desperately wanted her to be Buffy, there was still a good chance he was wrong. After all, as much as it always pained him to remember, the Slayer was dead, had been for over five years now, and dead girls don't just reappear like that, with a different name and haircut. Life, and indeed death, just didn't work that way.

Besides, even if it was her, he wasn't going to get very far by chasing her through a busy hotel. If she got really spooked, started screaming or whatever, she'd wake the whole place up and then there would be all kinds of trouble, like Spike getting arrested for being a perv or a weirdo, something he could well do without right now.

He turned back into the room and picked up the photograph, the girl had dropped before making her hasty exit. He looked at the face of the woman he adored for a moment, before closing his eyes and finally letting tears escape down his cheeks. Whether he was crazy or if Buffy had just come back into his life in some new form, he wasn't certain yet, but either way it had dragged up far too many memories he'd rather have kept hidden.

The Slayer was one of the very few weaknesses Spike had, and he hated her just a little but for that. Mostly though, he still loved her, and knew he would for as long as the Powers That Be allowed him to walk the Earth. It was some prize idiot who decided vampires could not love without a soul. If that were true, Spike knew his heart wouldn't be breaking all over again as it was right now.

Joan fought to unlock the door of her hotel room with the key card in her hand. When it eventually worked and let her inside, she slammed the door shut and ran straight for the bathroom where she threw up in spectacular fashion into the toilet.

Moments later she sank to her knees by the tub, curling herself up in a ball as she tried to breathe evenly. Tears streaked down her face, taking carefully applied eye make-up with them as memories she'd sooner forget flashed through her mind in double-quick time.

Though she still had no idea who Spike was, or why he called her Buffy, one thing he had said rang a bell in her mind, in fact it rang a big frickin' gong, and in no good way at all. Joan hated to think of the time five years ago when she was forced to began her life over again, since she had no recollection of the way it was supposed to be.

23rd May 2001 - Cleveland, Ohio

"Are you okay, dear?"

She heard a voice and opened her eyes to find a kindly looking woman, probably somebody's grandma, standing over her with a look of concern on her face.

"I... I don't know" she answered shakily as she tried to properly focus her eyes. Nothing looked familiar, not even the body she was in. Her clothes were torn, her hands were dirty, as if she'd been rolling around in a filthy alley. It was only when she turned to look she realised she really was sitting in the space between two buildings, the morning sun blinding her when the elderly lady before her shifted to let it through.

"You got a name, sweetheart?" she asked, and it started to become obvious that far from being some sweet little grandma on her way to the grocery store, this woman probably lived in the gutter that she herself was currently sat in. She didn't let her mind linger on that too long as she worried more about the fact she couldn't answer the question posed to her.

"I don't think I remember" she said, panic rising as she realised that her name was not the only thing she couldn't recall.

No family or friends sprung to mind, no address where she might live, no number to call. In her state of panic she didn't notice the old woman get hold of her arms and check her for marks where needles might have administered drugs. When she found none, her frown deepened. She knew how to cope with the kids that got high round these parts, but this little princess didn't seem to fit here.

"What's the last thing you remember, honey?" she asked the young woman gently as she scrambled to her feet looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a Mack truck.

"I don't... I can't..." she muttered, tears forming in her eyes by now, "Where am I? How did I... How did I get here?" she begged to be told but the little old lady had no idea how to answer such questions.

"Hey, don't get upset, dear, we'll figure this out" she promised, leading her by the arm as they crossed the street and then walked on further down the road.

The whole time, the young apparently amnesiac woman watched every car go by, stared at every building, hoping to figure out where she was and why, praying she could remember anything at all.

By the time they arrived at the hospital she was in floods of tears and a nurse was dispatched to look after her, as the police were duly called. There was no telling what had happened to leave this girl in a gutter without her memory or any personal belongings. Even the poor young woman herself didn't know.

Joan cried all over again as she recalled that awful first day, found in the street by a kindly homeless lady and deposited in a hospital where she must face doctors, police officers, and a barrage of questions she couldn't even begin to answer.

From that day to this, she never remembered a single thing about the life she'd had before. Now she was wondering if this stranger named Spike had been a part of it.

The question now was, did she really want to know for sure?

To Be Continued...