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Deep Inside
By Heather Martin
*You can lie to others. You can lie to yourself. But you can’t lie to your dreams .*
Spoilers- Grave
Disclaimer- Joss owns all the characters from Buffy TVS
Distribution- Sure, just ask
Summary- Anyone know what dissociative fugue amnesia is? Well, Spike develops such a case after his sudden shiny soul, along with the unexpected return of humanity. He just can’t cope, so he pretends to be somebody he‘s not. As for Buffy, she lies to herself that Spike’s absence hasn’t effected her. But at night, she cannot keep him out of her dreams. What will happen to these two lost souls? Will they ever find their way? And will it be together?
This occurs after Grave. The time between episodes are unclear. Pretend that everything after ‘As You Were ‘only spanned a couple weeks. If you think about it, that makes sense. Seeing Red, Villians, 2 to Go, and Grave all happened in a couple days.
Note- I am not an expert on dissociative amnesia. So, I’m guessing here on how Spike’s mind is gonna work. If anyone has any knowledge on such an illness please contact me, I’d love to know.
Oh, and I’m going with the notion that Spike doesn’t know how to speak African. In Villains, he replied to what that one guy said, but I think he could have been guessing at what he was saying.
Chapter 2
When dusk set in, he started to walk. It wasn’t long before he reached a village. The people there stopped and stared as he went by. Some looked frightened, and others amazed.
A dark-skinned man stood outside a hut. He pointed straight at him and went off, talking in an unknown language.
“Uh, sorry mate, don’t speak . . . whatever it is you are speaking,” he told the man.
That only caused the man to talk more frantically. He didn’t know any of it, but he thought he caught the word ‘vampire’. He shook his head and pushed it aside.
“English. Anyone here speak English?” Spike scanned the villagers. Some of them jerked their head away when his eyes shifted their way.
One of the people stepped forward. He was better dressed than most of them, actually having shoes on and all. “I am the only one here who understands you,” he informed.
“Oh, great, a linguist. Look, I’m rather confused here.” He pointed behind him, toward where he came from. “I woke up over by this cave and . . .”
The man’s eyes widened. “You are the vampire they have been boasting about. You have survived the trials.” His voice was full of wonder.
Spike snorted. “I’m no sodding vampire. My stomachs been growling for some solids for hours. All I want is a telephone. Got one of those?”
“We do not have such technology. I can drive you to town,” the man offered.
“Yeah, that would be bloody brilliant.” It hit him at that moment that he did know something about himself. He’s been talking for a while now, using British terms. He was from the good ol’ mother country. He was overcome by relief. At least he found out something.
*-|-*-|-*
Buffy inspecting the crowd, trying to spot a familiar red-head. She struggled not to think, because that led to uneasiness. Beside her, Dawn was more concerned about her chipped fingernail paint.
All of a sudden the slayer recognized her long-time friend approaching. She took Dawn’s hand and pulled her in the direction of Willow. “Will!” she called, waving.
A giant grin spread over Willow’s face. She came forward, giving Buffy a warm hug. Another woman with long black hair followed behind the witch, but at a slower pace.
“I missed you so much, Buffy!” Willow exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Buffy answered.
They pulled away. The raven-haired woman smiled at them. Willow gestured to her. “Uh, Buffy, this is Cleo.”
“Oh, uh, hi.” Buffy reached out a hand.
Cleo shook the offered hand. She studied the slayer with curiosity. “Hello, you must be the slayer. I am pleased to meet you.”
“On the phone you didn’t mention anyone coming with you,” Buffy said to Willow.
“Sorry, I must have forgot. Cleo is one of the coven members. She‘s going to help me ease back into life. And make sure I’m ready to.” The last part was said more softly and with embarrassment.
Buffy got it. Willow was under probation.
“I hope it is not a problem, me accompanying your friend,” Cleo commented.
“No, not at all. The couch folds out into a bed if . . .” Buffy started to say.
Cleo shook her head, holding up a hand. “No need. It has all been arranged.”
“O-Oh,” Buffy replied.
Willow finally noticed Dawn. The teen had been standing there silent, hoping to be overlooked. “Dawnie, hey.”
A glare was sent from Dawn. “Hi,” she said coldly.
Willow’s eyes fell to the floor.
“Let’s go,” Buffy suggested.
“Yeah,” Willow agreed.
*-|-*-|-*
The man drove Spike toward town. He owned a beat up, rusted, truck that barely ran.
They were going down the road when Spike abruptly yelled, “Stop!”
The man cursed, pushing on the pedal. The vehicle came to a halt.
Spike jumped out, racing toward the object that had grabbed his attention. On the side of the road was a parked motorcycle. Draped over the handlebar was a leatherjacket. He fished into the pocket and then revealed two keys. One was on a key chain that had the number 11 on it. He guessed the other went in the ignition of the motorcycle.
(AN- the jacket is a new one that he stole or something)
“Mate, is there a motel round here?”
“Yeah, in the town I’m taken you to,” the guy answered.
“Ok then. Mind if I put my wheels in the back of your pick-up?” Somehow he knew for a fact that the motorcycle was his.
“Go ahead.”
Spike managed to heave the cycle into the back of the truck. The man drove him to the motel. He went to room 11 and unlocked the door.
The place was a dump. Basically there was a mattress and a nightstand. He searched the room for belongings. He found a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a passport, and a wallet. Inside the wallet was a drivers license with his picture on it.
(AN- I know you have to have ID to get a passport and driver‘s license. Let’s pretend Spike got a fake birth certificate and stuff, ok?)
William Shayne. Sex, male. Duh. Height, 5’ 10“. Age 28. 148 lbs. Hair, blond. Eyes, blue.
None of the information on the card meant anything to him. They didn’t spark some kind of recollection of his past. He had a name, age, height, and weight, though. And to his surprise, an address. Sunnydale, California. Sunnydale? Where the bloody hell was that?
He went in search of the motel office. He found it with no trouble. Inside, the carpet was coming up and the walls were chipping. Geez, he couldn’t wait to get to some developed country. This place was the pits.
A man was behind the counter. He looked over at Spike expectantly.
“Got a map?” he asked. “Uh . . . mappo? Pictures on paper to show where things are.” He did a few gestures, as if it would help the person to understand what he was searching for.
The man shook his head. “I speak English. Enough to know what a map is.”
“Oh, good.”
A wrinkly map was handed over to the blonde. He examined it. “This is Africa. Got any American maps, mate?”
He was given another map, in better shape than the first. Must not have been used as much. He used a finger to scan his way over to the west. California. As much as he tried he could not spot a town called Sunnydale.
Spike raised his head. “Ever heard of Sunnydale?”
Confusion filled the motel owner. He stared, blankly.
Spike snickered. “Course not.” He gave the map back to the man.
He went back to his room. He gathered his few belongings and headed out the door. Time to leave this hell hole. He’d go to England. He must have been born there, and maybe he‘d find some family or friends.
_____________________________________________
So, there is the revised version. He found a Sunnydale address on the license, but can’t find it on the map (too small). Thanks everybody for voting on where you want this to lead. I’ve decided to have Spike continue to England, but have some dreams also.