Authors Note: Sorry again for the long wait. I suck. That's all there is
to it. But I did lose this chapter when my comp died, had to rewrite it. I
really don't think it's as good as I originally did, but hopefully, it'll do.
A tiny bit shorter than previous chapters. Also, try to remember that
everything will be from Spike's point of view. At least until I figure out if
I want this to be an AU season seven fic or not. But for now, I'm just
taking him from Africa to crazy-in-the-basement. Things might get a little
confusing. Bear with me?
***********************************************************************
Chapter Four: Must Embark
***********************************************************************
"What is love without the pain?
And what is light without the dark?
To savor the sun there must be rain,
'ere we come home, must embark."
--Rhoni Lake
There was very little in this world Spike hated more than Texas.
An hour ago he had been kicked awake from a dreamless sleep by his good pal
Neil, who then tossed him a rolled-up wad of cash, proclaiming that there had
been 'a change of plans'. Seems the officials at the Panama Canal had been
tipped off to a boat matching their description, and the ship's mage was
currently on leave. Thus, they were turning around, after kicking Spike off,
of course.
At least he got some of his money back. He'd never make it to California
with less than half a tank of gas and a brand new shiny conscience.
Things never really did go as planned. This he expected. But to be lost
in a town like Port Arthur, in the middle of a thunderstorm? It had taken
him nearly an hour to find a highway leading in the general direction he
wanted to go. The rain apparently was encouraging people to stay off the
roads, his little patch of black was empty.
He pulled into a small truck stop about 15 miles out of town. The cashier
gave him an odd look as he entered, dripping all over her nice clean floors.
He summoned up his best glare and pre-paid for his gas like a good boy and
bought a pack of smokes, not like they would be any use at the moment.
As the woman was getting his change, another customer came up beside him,
staring. Spike gave the man a sideways glance, and earned a smile.
"You're cold." A statement.
Spike blinked.
"Uh, yeah."
The cashier raised an eyebrow and dumped his change on the counter.
Scowling, he gathered it up, and left, feeling the eyes of the other man
bore into him.
He pulled back out onto the road, tires buzzing annoyingly in the puddles
until he got up enough speed. The storm was turning the world into a gray
landscape, coming down in sheets, with fat, cool drops that stung his face
as he sped on. It had started off being annoying; he'd been soaked to the
bone moments after he stepped off the boat, but now it was pleasent.
Peaceful. He could make out the thunder over the steady roar of the bike,
the scent was clean. He was already wet after all, why not enjoy it?
Trees begain to appear, lining the narrow road. Some branching out to
canopy over his head, giving brief respite from the stinging drops. He
hadn't seen anyone else in over an hour, which was odd, but he didn't know
this place, so it could be common.
He pulled the throttle, and the bike jumped forward, moving faster.
The man at the gas station had unnerved him for some reason, put him on edge.
He was thinking, which wasn't good in his current state. He could think
when he got home. Until then, the process of getting there should keep him
occupied. He'd hoped. But the long, silent-except-for-the-rain road was
providing very little distraction, and his mind chose to wander, trying to
place the man for some reason. And to his annoyance, wondering if he was
rude to the cashier.
His thoughts were cut off abruptly when lightning flashed, and revealed a
woman standing directly in front of him. He saw her as if the moment were
captured on film, her dark hair plastered to her face, a long white dress
flapping wetly in the wind.
There wasn't time to stop, he was going at least 80. He pulled the brake,
trying to turn at the same time, and ended up laying the bike down, cracking
his head against the asphalt. He skidded, the bike flying into the ditch
without him, and then rolled to a stop on the shoulder, groaning.
Pushing himself to his feet, he limped back toward the woman, holding his
once again aching ribs. He really, really hadn't needed that.
"Hey!" He called, swiping rain out of his eyes. "What's that about?
Nearly got me killed...."
He trailed off, as she turned around, regarding him with sad, lost eyes.
The front of her dress was covered in blood, blending and flowing with the
rain, turning into a pink puddle at her feet. He stepped closer, checking
her over for any wounds.
"Are you all right?"
She shook her head. She was growing paler by the second, still looking
down at her feet.
He reached out to grab her, meaning to pull her from the road, and she
jumped back, finally looking up at him. He stopped, and she pulled her lips
back to smile, but all that came out was a rush of blood. Her head lolled
back, revealing a ragged wound in her throat, spilling blood down her dress.
He took several steps back, drawing in a gasp, when she crumbled to the
ground. After all, what was one to do in such a situation?
"You deny us, vampire?"
Lightning flashed again, and the white-eyed man from the beach in Africa stood
before him. Spike stumbled back, losing his balance and falling to the ground. Mud
and rain splashed up around him.
"You would deny us, beast?" The man screamed, his Creole accent sending a
shiver of recognition down Spike's spine.
The scene was illuminated again, and the road was crowded, full of people,
packed so tight he couldn't see between them. Something warm splashed on his
face, and he watched in horror as he was drenched in blood that was falling from
the sky. His stomach heaved, and a tightness sparked in his chest.
He didn't realize he was off the road until his back hit a tree.
The white-eyed man inched closer, the crowd murmuring and pushing in behind
him, shifting in time with the rain.
"Only in the deed, beast."
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the rough bark with
a thump, biting back a scream.
He opened his eyes again, and saw only black for a moment.
Then he realized his cheek was pressed against the asphalt. And the taste
of the blood in his mouth was his own.
He pushed himself up, shaking, looking around. Empty road. Normal rain.
The front tire on his bike still spun lazily. He reached back gingerly and
touched the split on the back of his head. The fall must have knocked him
out. Wicked dreams had followed.
He got to his feet, and righted his bike, muttering a prayer to whoever
would listen to a creature like him. He fired it up with little trouble, and
started back down the road.
Just a dream, just a dream.
Then why had he crashed, if the woman had never been there?
Too much thinking.
He knew the white-eyed man, he realized.
In the 40's, when he and Dru had toured the Americas. New Orleans had
been a brief stop. They had gone to a Voodun priest, for fun, to have their
fortunes told. The man had been blind, but Dru said he could see better than
she could. Spike had laughed, and asked for his future. The man had looked
at him, and frowned, before speaking slowly.
"You will love more than you will be loved. Heartache and sorrow and pain
will be the tastes you know."
Dru had laughed when he broke the man's neck.
The tightness in his chest turned to pain. Who knew that guilt could be a
physical sensation? Trying to claw its way up his throat, it seemed.
He didn't much like the rain anymore.
to it. But I did lose this chapter when my comp died, had to rewrite it. I
really don't think it's as good as I originally did, but hopefully, it'll do.
A tiny bit shorter than previous chapters. Also, try to remember that
everything will be from Spike's point of view. At least until I figure out if
I want this to be an AU season seven fic or not. But for now, I'm just
taking him from Africa to crazy-in-the-basement. Things might get a little
confusing. Bear with me?
***********************************************************************
Chapter Four: Must Embark
***********************************************************************
"What is love without the pain?
And what is light without the dark?
To savor the sun there must be rain,
'ere we come home, must embark."
--Rhoni Lake
There was very little in this world Spike hated more than Texas.
An hour ago he had been kicked awake from a dreamless sleep by his good pal
Neil, who then tossed him a rolled-up wad of cash, proclaiming that there had
been 'a change of plans'. Seems the officials at the Panama Canal had been
tipped off to a boat matching their description, and the ship's mage was
currently on leave. Thus, they were turning around, after kicking Spike off,
of course.
At least he got some of his money back. He'd never make it to California
with less than half a tank of gas and a brand new shiny conscience.
Things never really did go as planned. This he expected. But to be lost
in a town like Port Arthur, in the middle of a thunderstorm? It had taken
him nearly an hour to find a highway leading in the general direction he
wanted to go. The rain apparently was encouraging people to stay off the
roads, his little patch of black was empty.
He pulled into a small truck stop about 15 miles out of town. The cashier
gave him an odd look as he entered, dripping all over her nice clean floors.
He summoned up his best glare and pre-paid for his gas like a good boy and
bought a pack of smokes, not like they would be any use at the moment.
As the woman was getting his change, another customer came up beside him,
staring. Spike gave the man a sideways glance, and earned a smile.
"You're cold." A statement.
Spike blinked.
"Uh, yeah."
The cashier raised an eyebrow and dumped his change on the counter.
Scowling, he gathered it up, and left, feeling the eyes of the other man
bore into him.
He pulled back out onto the road, tires buzzing annoyingly in the puddles
until he got up enough speed. The storm was turning the world into a gray
landscape, coming down in sheets, with fat, cool drops that stung his face
as he sped on. It had started off being annoying; he'd been soaked to the
bone moments after he stepped off the boat, but now it was pleasent.
Peaceful. He could make out the thunder over the steady roar of the bike,
the scent was clean. He was already wet after all, why not enjoy it?
Trees begain to appear, lining the narrow road. Some branching out to
canopy over his head, giving brief respite from the stinging drops. He
hadn't seen anyone else in over an hour, which was odd, but he didn't know
this place, so it could be common.
He pulled the throttle, and the bike jumped forward, moving faster.
The man at the gas station had unnerved him for some reason, put him on edge.
He was thinking, which wasn't good in his current state. He could think
when he got home. Until then, the process of getting there should keep him
occupied. He'd hoped. But the long, silent-except-for-the-rain road was
providing very little distraction, and his mind chose to wander, trying to
place the man for some reason. And to his annoyance, wondering if he was
rude to the cashier.
His thoughts were cut off abruptly when lightning flashed, and revealed a
woman standing directly in front of him. He saw her as if the moment were
captured on film, her dark hair plastered to her face, a long white dress
flapping wetly in the wind.
There wasn't time to stop, he was going at least 80. He pulled the brake,
trying to turn at the same time, and ended up laying the bike down, cracking
his head against the asphalt. He skidded, the bike flying into the ditch
without him, and then rolled to a stop on the shoulder, groaning.
Pushing himself to his feet, he limped back toward the woman, holding his
once again aching ribs. He really, really hadn't needed that.
"Hey!" He called, swiping rain out of his eyes. "What's that about?
Nearly got me killed...."
He trailed off, as she turned around, regarding him with sad, lost eyes.
The front of her dress was covered in blood, blending and flowing with the
rain, turning into a pink puddle at her feet. He stepped closer, checking
her over for any wounds.
"Are you all right?"
She shook her head. She was growing paler by the second, still looking
down at her feet.
He reached out to grab her, meaning to pull her from the road, and she
jumped back, finally looking up at him. He stopped, and she pulled her lips
back to smile, but all that came out was a rush of blood. Her head lolled
back, revealing a ragged wound in her throat, spilling blood down her dress.
He took several steps back, drawing in a gasp, when she crumbled to the
ground. After all, what was one to do in such a situation?
"You deny us, vampire?"
Lightning flashed again, and the white-eyed man from the beach in Africa stood
before him. Spike stumbled back, losing his balance and falling to the ground. Mud
and rain splashed up around him.
"You would deny us, beast?" The man screamed, his Creole accent sending a
shiver of recognition down Spike's spine.
The scene was illuminated again, and the road was crowded, full of people,
packed so tight he couldn't see between them. Something warm splashed on his
face, and he watched in horror as he was drenched in blood that was falling from
the sky. His stomach heaved, and a tightness sparked in his chest.
He didn't realize he was off the road until his back hit a tree.
The white-eyed man inched closer, the crowd murmuring and pushing in behind
him, shifting in time with the rain.
"Only in the deed, beast."
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the rough bark with
a thump, biting back a scream.
He opened his eyes again, and saw only black for a moment.
Then he realized his cheek was pressed against the asphalt. And the taste
of the blood in his mouth was his own.
He pushed himself up, shaking, looking around. Empty road. Normal rain.
The front tire on his bike still spun lazily. He reached back gingerly and
touched the split on the back of his head. The fall must have knocked him
out. Wicked dreams had followed.
He got to his feet, and righted his bike, muttering a prayer to whoever
would listen to a creature like him. He fired it up with little trouble, and
started back down the road.
Just a dream, just a dream.
Then why had he crashed, if the woman had never been there?
Too much thinking.
He knew the white-eyed man, he realized.
In the 40's, when he and Dru had toured the Americas. New Orleans had
been a brief stop. They had gone to a Voodun priest, for fun, to have their
fortunes told. The man had been blind, but Dru said he could see better than
she could. Spike had laughed, and asked for his future. The man had looked
at him, and frowned, before speaking slowly.
"You will love more than you will be loved. Heartache and sorrow and pain
will be the tastes you know."
Dru had laughed when he broke the man's neck.
The tightness in his chest turned to pain. Who knew that guilt could be a
physical sensation? Trying to claw its way up his throat, it seemed.
He didn't much like the rain anymore.