Chemistry of an Apocalypse

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters.

Normal.

Everyone says normal is what’s best. Best for me, best for the world. Just best. You could be yourself if everything could go back to normal.

Funny word.

What about being a slayer is normal? Is it the super strength? The stamina? The healing? While all of these attributes may be the norm In the Hellmouth’s scattered across the globe, they are still a minority.

Not normal.

I tell a man I love him and he leaves. I tell a man I love him and he dies… twice. I thought it was a bit extreme. When I told Spike that I loved him, I knew. I knew he would die. There would be no miracle to have him reappear in my life. I had accepted it. Knowing this didn’t make it any easier to deal with. There was no comfort knowing he died to save the world. There was no comfort in knowing that I secretly wish that I had let Angel wear the amulet.

I found comfort in seeing The Immortal. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to leave me. What better prize than a slayer on your arm? He also wasn’t going to love me. Not like Spike. He wasn’t going to be on the receiving end of my affection. He knew it, I knew it. It was comfort. I spent his money, and he was viewed positively by the public who knew him. Can’t be evil if the Slayer approves, right?

I used his money to buy my comfort. That’s right, I comforted myself right into a huge loft with an amazing view, a wardrobe that I would have killed for back in Sunnydale, and into an advance version of a highly anticipated cell phone that was topping the “must have” list all over the world. Of all the things that brought me any of that comfort that I was seeking, it was the cell phone. The small design received a total of one call in its short life.

Angel called and told me of a problem they were having. An apocalypse, is there anything else? He went over game plans, strategies, ultimately we came up empty handed. My heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t my fight. He didn’t even want me to come help. I sat on my bed and listened to him try to think of ways to save himself, the world… but mainly himself. Those thoughts of the amulet came back to me and I envisioned Angel burning in the ray of light, not Spike. I don’t hate Angel, but it would have been a sacrifice I was more willing to accept.

I don’t know how long the call would have lasted had it not happened. If the person on the other end of the phone had knocked before coming in to bug Angel I would never have known. If they hadn’t been so impulsive, so unwilling to do what somebody told them to do… I would be further along in the grieving process. However, they don’t listen. More often than not, they never did.

“Angel, you good for nothing ponce! Get off of your bloody phone and-“

Those were the last words I ever heard Spike say.

I never said a word to anyone. Ran to the airport, hopped a flight back to the U.S. as close to Los Angeles as I could get. Less than twenty four hours. That’s how long it took me to lose him again. When the flight landed Angel was waiting for me. He knew I was coming.

Apologies.

No “Hello”, no “Nice to see you.” Only apologies.

How does a person deal with losing a loved one twice? Not easily. It was all over the news. “Woman loses it in airport!” I was in the news for days. Every time they mentioned a casualty from the L.A. doomsday they showed me. They showed my phone flying across the hall as I tried to think of anyone to call. Angel was smart, he never touched me. He even tried to warn Security. They didn’t listen.

Angel used his remaining contacts to get me out of jail. I don’t remember what happened exactly. I didn’t care. I was shipped out of the States soon after. A wallet full of money from Angel and a lighter. That’s all I had on me when I landed. The private jet that flew me here landed at night. A short man standing in front of a car held out a hand to take my luggage. I laughed and climbed in the car.

I never asked where I was going. It didn’t matter. An envelope sat on the seat next to me. Untouched. It stayed that way. I knew The Immortal would take care of me. I knew that my destination was bound to be yet another amazing loft with anything I could possibly ask for. I also knew that when he moved on to his next best thing he would forget about me and my new home.

When I arrived the answering machine was already blinking with messages from Dawn. She doesn’t know. Dawn just believes that her sister went crazy. Fine with me. She had been living with Andrew before I left and that’s where she will stay. Someone needs to have a healthy relationship. No need to know that Spike died.

Twice.

Without calling.

After returning the calls I sat back on the couch. My belongings had been shipped from Rome. “A touch of home. Stay as long as you want.” a note in familiar handwriting. Simple enough. Although there was nothing to hint that The Immortal knew that Spike had been alive, I had a feeling he did. I’m sure if I had read the note in the car that it wouldn’t even be a question. I didn’t bother to unpack the boxes. I didn’t plan to stay long at all.

My top priority was to find a job. Judging by the accent the driver had and the odd sense of humor life throws at me, I needed to find a job in England. It seemed only fitting that I should start over where he began. The rest of the night went by quickly. I only dug deep enough in the boxes to find a couple of outfits and toiletries.

I never really fell asleep but the time passed by at a merciful rate until the sun came up again. I pass the car and the driver waiting outside and head towards the rush of cars further down the street. The walk brought me to a main street and a long expanse of stores. General stores, clothing stores, restaurants, you name it and this street has it.

Out of all of the stores that I passed only one had a sign saying they wanted help. Which brings me here, “Forgotten”. A small bookstore filled with classics, hard-cover and paperback, old and new. Buffy and books are still unmixy things but I need quiet. You never see a small bookstore overflowing with people.

The shop is tucked between a tiny café and an even smaller tobacco store. Running my fingers over a shelf I make my way to the desk near the back. It is stacked with books, leaving little room for the old cash register.

“Hello?” I say aloud. It sounds more like yelling since the place is quiet.

“No need to be so loud. I’m right here.” A balding man pokes his head out from behind one of the shelves. “Can I help you with something?”

“Your sign says you are looking to hire. I’m new here and I think this would be a great place to start.”

“Here? This isn’t really the place a young woman is going to be meeting new people. Most people that come through here are old enough to be your father.”

“I’m not looking for a job where I can meet people. I just want a nice and calm place to work.” He looks me over and I feel a bit self conscious. Tugging my coat belt tighter around me I shrug. “Look, I’ll be honest. I don’t read books. I have skimmed a couple of old Journals but that’s about it. The only real job experience I’ve had is working at a fast food place and pulling an occasional shift at an occult store. I don’t have a degree, not that I think it would be relevant for this job. I can’t even really give you references since my home town is now a crater back in the United States. While my past may not be stellar, I am dependable. Isn’t that what every employer is looking for?”

The man’s face doesn’t change as he stares at me. I could have sprouted a second head and I don’t think his expression would have changed. With a sigh I turn to leave. It would have been a turn of luck for me to work here but I have a sinking feeling I’ll be stuck working fast food for the remainder of my freakishly long life span for a slayer.

“You’ll need to start bright and early tomorrow, 7 a.m. I would have preferred someone who has read a bit themselves, a passion for books, but I fear that they all have jobs already. I’m not a great boss, the pay won’t be spectacular but you’ll have enough for living expenses and then some. As I said before, there aren’t many customers but the loyal ones that I do have will need to be put first before anything else. You will learn what they like, so that when they come in looking for a book you won’t think they are referring to a movie. Those things will rot your brain.”

My insides are jumping around with glee at the job offer. Sure the boss isn’t ideal, but I’ve dealt with evil principals and monster co-workers. Piece of cake. I rush forward and hold out my right hand. “Thank you, sir. I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers.”

He has an inward cringe, as most people do, when he realizes my name isn’t a joke. “Arthur Beesley.” Typical. He shakes my hand with a firm grip before turning back to his books.

“Seven in the morning. I’ll be here.” My hand barely touches the door before he calls out to me.

“Just where are you going? Your first paid shift starts tomorrow, but you are to help me out today. Get the hang of things.” I want to ask just what I need to know about putting books on a shelf but I bite my tongue. I need this job. He takes a peek at his pocket watch and I’m reminded of Giles. Never could wait to get rid of me when he was a librarian. “Mr. Pratt will be here in just a moment to pick up a book he asked for the other day. Nice man, he will be your first customer. Go get his book, it is on the desk in the back room.” He gestures to a door that is half closed behind him.

The book is handwritten in a journal fashion. A quick browse through the book shows poetry. On each page is inked poetry with no name to be found. How do you find a book like this?

The quick jingle from the door opening in the shop nearly causes me to drop the item in my hand. The owner starts chatting up a man that I’m assuming is Mr Pratt.

“I would like you to meet the new person who will be helping me out here since my wife’s condition has declined. Miss Summers?” He calls out. Holding the book with two hands to make sure I don’t drop it, I make my way out. My focus is on the floor.

“Hello Miss Summers. William Pratt.” A hand pops into my view as I shift my attention upwards. That voice. Not as harsh an accent, but it sounds like…

“Spike?” The features are the same, the eyes, the nose, and the lips. All the same. The contours of his face are a bit softened but he looks just like him.

“Pardon? I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else. I have had a few nicknames but none of which are, what did you say? Spike?” My heart sinks.

Stupid Buffy.

I mentally scold myself to stop staring. Taking his hand in mine for a quick shake I start to pick at the differences. The hair is a dark blonde, curly, but not completely unruly. He has no scars, the accent is different. Spike would never have been caught in a sweater and slacks,

Not Spike. Just some ordinary man who happens to have one of those faces that makes me see Spike.

“Well, don’t dawdle Miss Summers. Hand him the book. I hope it’s the one you asked for. I am fairly certain it is.” Mr. Beesley snatches the book from me and hands it to Mr. Pratt.

William Pratt.

William.

Spike.

“Miss Summers why don’t you go grab the duster from behind the desk and clean off the shelves? I’ll be with you shortly.” Knowing when I’m being dismissed I head over to do my task.

I listen to their conversation as I only half-heartedly dust off the shelves. A hand travels into my pocket and I rub the lighter I carry around. As Mr. Pratt leaves with a short nod and a smile, it hits me. That sun that he just walked into, it just killed any hope that I could have had that it was Spike.

Chapter Two

Seven days.

Seven days since I have been living in this town.

Seven days since I have picked up a phone to talk to anyone. They’ve called, they’ve whined, I didn’t care. How many times have I picked up their pieces? When was the last time I dealt with anything on my own? That’s right. When I sent Angel to hell. Took that guilt on all by myself, far from Sunnydale.

Seven long days since I have seen William Pratt. I know it’s wrong to want to see a guy just because he looks like a dead lover. I’ve had a hard time talking myself into believing that he has nothing to do with Spike. I dropped a couple of hints towards Mr. Beesley. Turns out that he has known William since he was a child. That was all he would say.

Customer confidentiality? I can say I’m not a fan of it. The customer information is kept in a file cabinet in the office. Just a little slayer strength and the lock would be broken. I know his phone number is in there. I feel like a stalker sitting here staring at the door.

With a sigh of disgust I tear my gaze away from the office and focus on finding a book someone called and was looking for. Mr. Beesley needed to go back home and care for his wife. It took little convincing that I could stick around for a customer to show up and pick up the book they wanted.

The book is by a person whose name I never even try to pronounce and is resting against another book by another author that I’ve never heard of. Triumphant, I return to the desk and sit back and wait. My stomach growls as the time ticks past noon. The need to be at the store for seven in the morning puts a damper on breakfast. Even an inactive slayer needs more than a coffee and a scone to tide them over all day.

At the thought of food, I can smell the pastries from the café next door. Chewing on a piece of gum from my purse, I flip through the book. It starts out with a word I don’t know and I close it. No good.

Movement by the door grabs my attention and I look up. A woman in a stuffy suit walks in.

“Hello, I believe you have a book for me? Reserved under Helen.”

Helen? My mind refuses to cooperate as I attempt to remember the person who called earlier. The attempt is useless and I just hand over the book in front of me. I offer up a small smile as she looks the book over. Her well manicured fingers smooth over the first page and it reminds me just how grubby mine are beginning to look. Generally, fighting the evil things breaks my nails before they get long enough to the point where they need to be clipped and filed down.

The rumbling from my stomach interrupts the silence as she looks over the book. A slightly annoyed look on her face causes me to grimace. I want to shout that I’m only hungry. I never told her to hurry so she really doesn’t have a reason to be miffed in the slightest. Her red hair covers half of her face when she looks down to rummage through her purse for the money to pay. The way her hair falls lets the oversized pearl earrings she has on peek out. I never understood the women who wear the earrings that are bigger than their ears.

She hands me more money than needed and tells me to feed myself so I don’t make customers feel awkward. The slayer in me that is begging for some violence watches her retreating form and wants to give her a nice swift boot up the ass, but again, I let the moment pass.

A brief glance at the clock says it’s half past twelve and I believe that I’m due for a lunch break. Quickly, I shove the money into the cash register and pocket the extra that “Helen” left for me.

I lock the door to the shop after turning around the “Will be back” sign. The line at the café is a bit long so I continue down the street a bit until I find a sandwich shop.

Just who do I see standing near the front of the line? Why, none other than William. Biting on my lower lip I try to work up the courage to say something to him.

Anything.

“Hey, move it!” A man behind me grumps as he shows me that the line has moved while I was thinking. Just about everyone turns around to look, including William.

“Miss Summers? Nice to see you here.”

My face burns red and I close the gap between myself and the customer in front of me. He motions for me to come stand with him and now just about everyone else gripes about cutting in the line. I don’t give a damn though as I walk up to stand next to him in line with my back to the rest of them.

The teenager working behind the counter gives me a glare before turning to William, “What would my favorite customer like today?” The girl doesn’t miss a beat before batting her eyelashes. If he notices the flirting he doesn’t acknowledge it when he orders two of the specials.

“Trust me, they’re great. I have been coming here nearly weekly to get one since it opened a few months ago.” Months ago I was dining on food made by my own personal chef so it’s rare that I find anything up to my standards. I try to hand him the money from my pocket before he pays but he just waves it away. “If I didn’t want to pay I wouldn’t have invited you up here. The truth is that I could use some company.” The girl grumbles at that and slides a tray with two sandwich plates over. William slides a chair out from a table outside the shop and gestures for me to sit down.

Before he sits down across from me he slides off his leather jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair. The material makes me think of Spike, but I doubt anyone could have made him wear a coat that wasn’t as long as he was tall. All of those times that we had sex and I never bothered to remove that item of clothing, I admit, I was stupid.

“So what brings you out here? Pretty woman like you could work anywhere, why Forgotten?”

Because I want to get lost in the world? Because for once I don’t have to be anything?

“My life back in the U.S. was hectic, I was always needed for something. The book store is a nice change of pace. Quiet, laid back, just what I need.” He nods and takes a bite out of his sandwich. When he moves his head the sun causes his dark blonde hair to look a bit lighter. “What about you? You have an accent so I’m assuming you have been around here a while.”

“All my life. Now that I’m working on getting published this place is proving to be useful. Not many distractions around here to keep me from my work.”

“So you’re an author?” I ask.

“Working on it. I do that in my spare time. I teach Kickboxing to pay the bills.” We finish eating in silence. My mind keeps racing with thoughts of sparring with Spike. Every time I think of something that sets William apart from Spike there is always something that makes him so similar. No matter how many similarities there are between them I am always faced with the ultimate deal breakers. The sun and his past. He has a life here, memories, long known acquaintances. He’s not my Spike.

“Do you have any family around here? I just don’t know what could cause a person to completely uproot her life and leave everyone else behind?” I push the last couple of chips around on my plate, taking a moment to think about an answer. He pushes his plate to the side and rests his arms on the side of the table. “Just tell me if I’m being too forward.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t really have someone to talk to, not anyone that doesn’t already have an opinion of me. No family, no friends, just me. There wasn’t much to leave behind. My mother… she passed away, and my father? Well, he left us a long time ago. Really, the only person I could be concerned about would be my sister, but she has someone in her life and she doesn’t need my drama to muck things up for her.” William’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “No need to say anything. So, how about that kickboxing?”

The sun hits the side of his face showing off the blue of his eyes. The gleam he gets at the mention of kickboxing is borderline adorable. “Do you?” he asks.

“Not really, I can kick some ass but I’ve never had kickboxing training or anything.”

“Some sort of street fighter?” he snickers as he looks me over.

“Don’t knock it, my size has nothing to do with how well I fight.”

With a playful tone in his voice he extends a challenge for later on. It doesn’t take long before warning bells begin to go off. My pesky conscience screams that I’m just trying to replace Spike. I know that I should really leave this guy alone but before my conscience takes over I eagerly accept.

He hands me his card with the address of the gym that he teaches at and we part ways. The rest of the day drags on. A total of two paying customers find their way into the store each only buying one book. As I’m ringing up the totals for the day I figure out how a store like this stays in business. A whopping four books were sold but it came to a three digit number. Old books are where it’s at apparently.

Mr. Beesley called just before closing time to inform me that he wouldn’t be coming in the next day. He doesn’t give me an explanation but it also doesn’t take a genius to figure out it is because of his wife. My heart clenches at how normal it is for a man to take care of his sick wife. However, he is all business as he tells me what I’ll need to do for the next day and who I can expect. I stuff the directions I wrote down in my purse and close up.

I grab a quick bite to eat next door before making my way to the address printed on the back of William’s card. Several wrong turns and a couple of correct ones later I end up in front of a building with tinted windows preventing anyone from looking inside. I double check the address on the door with the one on the card and enter. A small beep goes off as I walk inside and sets of eyes turn and look at me.

I search the room until I see William drinking from a bottle of water in the corner. “Looks like you started without me.” I say. He wipes away the sweat that has beaded on his brow and lets out a laugh.

“Don’t worry about me. It seems as though you are just going to be making this easy for me, unless you have a change of clothes.” I look down at myself, stretchy jeans, comfy top, and slightly heeled boots. I shrug off the shoes and slide them to the side.

“Don’t worry about me either. It’s not like I’m dressed for it, but I doubt it will make a difference.” The cocky tone in my voice reminds me just how excited I am to be doing this. I stretch a little in preparation as William leads us to a side room.

We fall into an easy routine of punches and blocks, too easy. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he isn’t trying his hardest.

“Come on, William. Kick my ass!” The jabs start coming faster and I get a little giddy. So far I’ve really only been on the defensive and just for the fun of it I swipe his legs out from under him.

He is on his back for a minute laughing out loud. “Fighting dirty, I like that.” He jumps back to his feet and his momentum picks up a bit. I find myself glancing at the mirrors on the wall and watching the fight. “I get it, you know how to fight but you could at least have the decency to pay attention like I put up a bit of a fight.”

I twist back to take a look, only to find a fist stop right in front of my face. I take a step back and put my hand around his fist, moving it away revealing a quirked eyebrow.

“Where’d you learn?” I ask.

“I took lessons for as long as I can remember. When the owner passed away a couple of years ago, I took over.”

A kickboxing author that looks like Spike, who’d believe that?

Making my way towards the door my feet get knocked out from under me. Instinctively I reach out and grab the culprit pulling William down with me. An simple technique that is more than helpful. When fighting anyone, you don’t want them standing when you’re not. The move has me pinning him to the floor with my heart thundering in my chest.

“You have amazing reflexes.” He breathes out.

My hands on either side of his head and legs straddling his waist, I reply “Yeah, if only I could control them.” I meet his steady gaze with my own and my breath catches at how my body responds the same way it always did around Spike. Quickly, I look away and climb up off of William. “Sorry.” I mumble as I extend a hand to help him up.

He has a look of reluctance as I let go of his hand the moment he is standing.

Bad Buffy. This is exactly what I knew I should be afraid of. A person with my kind of baggage doesn’t need to be dragging down a perfectly normal man.

“I’m going to go change then lock up. I’ll only be but a minute.” William excuses himself before heading into a back room. I swallow down a confirmation that I will stay and wait and smile.

Once the door closes I slip into my shoes, grab my purse, and make a run for the door. Just as I grab the handle a picture catches my attention. A young boy around the age of 13 standing next to man holding up some sort of plaque. The unmistakable features of the boy with the unruly curls belong to Spike.

No, Buffy. William.

With a sigh and a shake of the head I pull open the door and slip into the darkness outside. I rest my head against the cool brick of the building listen as William calls out my name a few times. I try to peek through the tinted windows but I can’t see anything. I hear my name called out once more closer to the door and I take off. I could have easily walked back in and said that I just needed a breath of fresh air but he doesn’t need to be lied to. The fact that I had even thought about it just confirms that I am someone that nobody really needs in their lives.

I run my way down the streets to my home and only stop when I see that the limo parked outside is now gone after a week, but has been replaced by a town car.

“Buffy!” An angry voice calls out to me from my doorstep and I let my breaths even out from the run before meeting the next problem head on. My sister.