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Author's Chapter Notes:
I know. Another story? I can't help it. I beg of you to leave feedback though. This story is running through my head day and night and it would be great to hear some feedback. The title is actually from the song "Chemistry of a Car Crash" awesome song by Dangerous Insects (now known as Shiny Toy Guns) in case you thought it sounded a bit familiar.

Last but not least, I am in need of a beta for this story. A quick turn around time is a must since i am extremely impatient.

I apologize for this unbeta'd chapter.

Enjoy!
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.





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