Authors Note: Um...hi? Kinda useless to apologize for abandoning something 9 FREAKING YEARS ago. I was, I believe the term is 'Kirpeked', when season seven started. I sorta made a new years resolution to finish it, cause I still feel guilty for abandoning it. I won't be pimping it anywhere, I am not editing the previous chapters, even though my writing style has likely evolved over the years. I hope it's not too disconcerting. So if you subscribed to this 9 years ago and suddenly get an update email, I don't blame you for not know what the heck is going on. Many, many thanks to my ever fantastic super beta badfishmuser, without whom I would never have had the courage to actually post this.

Chapter Five: Lost Horizons

"Well you should have known better
Dead thoughts and lost horizons
And to take it further
It don't get any better
Well out here on the border
Ain't nobody asking questions
No I don't need a miracle
But I could use a push in the right direction."

-Interstate, The Refreshments

` Spike didn't notice when the rain had stopped. He didn't even remember finding the interstate, or the last several hours of blacktop melting behind him. Shutting down his brain hadn't been something he'd done on purpose, but as he roared down an exit, racing the soon to be rising sun, he was grateful.

The front tire of the bike was wobbling a bit as he pulled into the hotel parking lot; something must have gotten jarred in the crash. It took a moment for him to find his feet once he parked. His muscles were still vibrating from the road, making him feel even more disconnected and lost. A bell twinkled merrily as he entered the lobby, the stench of day old coffee assaulting his nose as he made his way to the counter. He still smelled of wet leather and asphalt, something to be expected after coming so up close and personal with it. Now that he was on solid ground, he was weak and exhausted. His legs felt like something had been slowly taking pieces of their structure, making them liable to fold and collapse at any moment.

The front desk attendant looked up from the magazine she was flipping through, her dazed, bored look transforming into rapt attention as she saw him. She was young, and flirty in that fearless way that all attractive, young people tend to be. Here he was, dragging his suddenly souled self halfway across the states with just his own will-power and what was left of two hundred dollars, and she was batting her eyelashes at him. Even a month ago, this would have had him grinning at her and getting a discount with nothing more than a few well placed curls of his tongue. But he was sullen and quiet as she jokingly asked him what he was running from, her eyes glinting, a breath away from labeling him a 'bad boy' even though he likely looked deader than he actually was, which was saying something. He gave a grunt in response, hoping it would be enough, as he thumbed through the bills to pay for the room.

There was something off-putting about her the second he laid eyes on her, but he couldn't quite...At first, he thought it was cause her hair was roughly the same colour as Dawn's, though not half as shiny. But the thick Texas accent quelled that comparison quickly, and it took a moment to...

He inhaled, perhaps to answer a question he couldn't remember her asking, and it hit him. His eyes found the injury that smelled like day old blood: five jagged stitches across the second knuckle of her left hand. She followed his eyes and laughed, showing off her war wound, explaining something about washing dishes more carefully, but he wasn't listening. He was trying not to double over at the sudden clenching of his stomach; the violent warring of hunger and nausea that left him dizzy for a moment. A white hot spark of pain flashed along his throat, as if he'd swallowed something large and sharp. He fought to control himself, and she continued to talk, oblivious to his reaction, which he was insanely grateful for. Some things just couldn't be explained away in casual conversation.

"So where you headed?" filtered through his whirling thoughts, and he focused for a moment.

"Uh, California."

"Oh, I've always wanted to visit Cali-forn-i-a." She pronounced the word as if she were spelling it and he forced a toothy smile. He grabbed his key on it's dirty white key chain with a suddenly trembling hand.

She noticed it that time.

"Hey, you okay?" Her pretty little mouth formed in a delicate frown.

"Long ride. Tired." He forced his teeth to show again, and turned away, leaving the dingy lobby without further parading his weakness in front of her.

So he made it finally to the room, slamming the door and panting to steady himself while his stomach continued to churn. Latest mind-fuck of having a soul; he was starving, but couldn't stomach the thought of eating. Lovely. When had he last eaten? Christ, when had he left Sunnydale?

Wasn't important. Get soul, get home. He could go for a long while yet without eating. He was just adjusting, it took a bit of time, didn't it? Least he wasn't eating rats.

He didn't even turn on the lights as he stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to calm himself. He wasn't even halfway there. He needed to get his shit together and fast, or he wasn't going to make it. Another couple of purposeful breaths, and the trembling had stilled somewhat. He drank a few gulps of water, rinsing the taste of his own blood from his mouth; another reminder of the slip up on the road.

He must have dozed off right before the crash, dreamed the girl up from the depths of his subconscious. It was the only thing he could think of, the only reasonable explanation for what had happened. The other, less inviting one was that he was cracking up, which was completely unacceptable. He hadn't gone and fetched himself a soul just to lose his mind.

Adjusting, that's all. Buck up, mate, you've made it this far. A little under two nights drive and you'll be home. Then you can worry about going round the bend.

He desperately needed sleep. Considering he hadn't been awake for more than 6 hours, he thought he should be more alarmed at how exhausted he was. He turned toward the bed, fully intending to crash face down across it and be unconscious until sunset, when he jerked back in surprise.

For a fraction of a second, the bed had appeared to already be occupied. Just long enough for him to blink, and it was gone. He caught a flash of long reddish hair, dark clothing, and...

He was just tired. The bed was empty, there was no blood covered corpse strewn across lily white sheets. Sleep was the only thing in the cards for tonight.