Chapter One
Spike stood with the palms of his hands flat against the pane of glass separating him from the unconscious figure of Buffy – his lover – hell, his saviour. His thumbs ticked metallically as he fidgeted.
If his heart could beat, he knew he’d be having a heart attack right now. The monitor showing the signal of Buffy’s heartbeat had been flat for five minutes. She was dead. The Slayer. His lover. The mother.
Unable to stand it any longer, Spike turned away and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, in an effort to stop the threatening tears from escaping. As always, he was careful not to press too hard at his right eye, not wanting to damage the camera that had given his sight back to him.
He leapt almost a foot in the air when someone rapped sharply on the glass behind him. Whirling around, he felt the familiar slight bout of nausea as the camera struggled to react to such a fast movement. When his focus cleared he came face to face with the doctor who had performed the procedure on Buffy. The man pulled down his surgical mask and grinned at the shell-shocked vampire and pointed to the bed. This time his mechanical eye had no problem in remaining in focus as he slowly followed the doctor’s outstretched arm.
His knees went weak and once more his palms found the glass, this time to support him.
The doctor turned to face him again and mouthed the words ‘she’s fine’ before walking back to tend his patient. As Spike watched Buffy, she stirred and rolled over, her eyes fluttered open and when she saw Spike she smiled weakly. The bed she was on was wheeled away and Spike left the observation room and hurried to where he’d been told that she be taken after the procedure.
Pushing past a nurse who was coming out of the room, Spike was at her bedside in two long strides. Needing to feel the warmth of her skin to truly believe that she was all right.
“Hey, you,” said Buffy, softly.
Spike sat in the bedside chair with a thump and this time couldn’t stem the tears.
Shifting in the bed, Buffy reached out and stroked his hair with her right hand. “Shh, I’m okay. Spike! Look at me – I’m fine.”
Spike sniffed a couple of times before he obliged and turned his face to hers. Even his expressionless eyes couldn’t take away the pain etched across his face.
“I saw you die, Buffy. You were dead.”
“Oh, honey. I know it must have been tough, but I’m free now, Spike. The calling has passed on to some other girl.”
When the idea had first been broached, Buffy couldn’t see the point of it. When she’d been a teen, she’d died – drowned by the Master – and another slayer had been called, but for some reason when Kendra had been killed another hadn’t been activated and Buffy was back to being the sole slayer again.
Now, they told her that because she was older that the Slayer line would be passed on more strongly and they were convinced that if the new slayer was subjected to the same controlled death, then another would be created. From Buffy’s point of view it was a win – win. Another slayer could take over all of her duties and if the techs were wrong and that girl was unable to pass on the calling, then at least the world had a younger slayer until Buffy died. Either way, Buffy got to stop patrolling and doing the Initiative work that Spike understandably despised.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” asked Spike, leaning closer and inhaling deeply, filtering out the alien hospital smells and savouring her familiar scent.
“I’m fine. They said I can go home in another hour or so.”
“Thank fuck for that,” muttered Spike.
As his worry for Buffy dwindled, his anxiety at being in a building owned by the Initiative began to climb.
“I’d love a soda,” said Buffy, knowing the effort it was taking for him to remain still. “The nurses told me that there’s a vending machine down the hall.” She smiled as Spike leapt to his feet.
“Okay, I’ll get one.” He didn’t need to ask. He knew her favourite flavour.
He strode out of the room and pulled the door closed behind him. A sniff of the air soon told him which way he needed to go. Digging into his pockets to find the coins for the machine, he wasn’t looking where he was going but he stopped short as a familiar scent washed over him. It took all of his strength not to bolt. Instead, he slowly raised his head and came face to face with the last person he ever saw with his own eyes.
“See you haven’t lost your touch, Seventeen,” said Maggie Walsh.
“S-Spike,” he muttered, cursing inwardly at the stammer.
The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. The old slayer got herself a little lap-dog and gave it back its pet name.”
For the first time in years Spike wished he could vamp out, but the hardware in his skull, though mostly dormant these days, prevented it completely. It couldn’t prevent the low threatening growl though.
Totally unfazed, Maggie smiled malevolently. “Oh, pack it in. You know full well that you’re powerless against humans.”
Spike tried to sidestep her but she blocked the way. “You ought to get your owner to send you in for an upgrade. We’ve got a much higher definition camera nowadays.”
“It’s fine. Good as new!” This time he was successful in his attempt to pass the woman.
“That’s nice to know,” said Maggie under her breath as she walked away.
Spike didn’t look back, but if he had he wouldn’t have been reassured by the look on the woman’s face. It was plain to see. She wanted Seventeen back.
Buffy sat at the kitchen table and watched as her men ate their dinners. All three eating spicy wings as if they had been starved for a week, Craig had a bottle of beer, Cam, a Dr. Pepper and Spike, vodka laced A- positive. It was a celebration. The new slayer had had her heart stopped – just as Buffy had a couple of months ago and the Watchers’ Council had just confirmed that another had been called. Buffy was now officially and completely retired.
From now on the world would have an army of Slayers to protect it, which she had to admit was kind of ironic now that the Initiative caught hundreds of demons each year. Despite rescuing Spike from them, years before, she couldn’t deny that its development and growth had helped her life.
She rested her chin on her hand as she put her elbow on the table and gazed at her sons. The Initiative had enabled her to have her sons and live long enough to see them grow.
“Mom! Quit staring at me!” protested Cameron, the youngest.
“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” corrected Spike automatically, before taking a long deep swallow of his drink.
“Aw, c’mon, Spike. Give me a break. She’s gone all mushy on me.”
Spike swivelled his head to take in her expression and grinned. “He’s right. You are looking all bloody soppy – what gives?”
“Aren’t I allowed to look at my boys?” replied Buffy, smiling broadly.
“Yeah but I’m in High School, Mom,” continued Cam. “You haven’t looked at me like that since I was in kindergarten.”
“He’s right,” added Craig.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay! I’ll stop. It’s just – well I can’t quite believe that my work is done. Now all I have to do is worry about you and…” She gave Spike a truly lascivious glance.”
“Please, Mom! TMI! TMI!” cried Cam.
They all began to laugh and Spike resisted the urge to pinch himself. Here he was – a soulless vampire, living the life that William had craved.
When Spike woke, he fumbled on the bedside table for the remote control switch for his eye. He turned it off when he went to sleep as otherwise the slight vibration in it kept him awake. But he hated waking up blind each day. With a sigh, he pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
His strangled cry woke Buffy.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”
Her warm hand slipped into his.
“My—I—the eye—it’s not working,” he croaked.
“What?” Buffy turned on the light and took the controller gently out of his hand. She pressed the button as she stared at his face.
Spike shook his head. “It’s broken, Buffy. We knew it could do this.” He forced his voice to remain even.
“We can get it fixed – I can call Jerry,” said Buffy, referring to Spike’s former handler now working in administration. “I’m sure he can organise it.”
“No.” Spike voice was low but firm.
“But—”
Spike threw the covers back and got out of bed, stopping halfway to the door with his back to her.
“I’m not going back in there for them to do something else to me.” He whirled around. “Isn’t this enough?” His voice rose as his gestured to his eyes. “I know I look like something from a fucking bad sci-fi show. A freak! Look at my hands! Jesus, Buffy, how can you want me to go back in there?”
And I thought he’d adjusted nicely. Buffy climbed off the bed. “Spike, calm down, okay? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Do you really mean it? You’re my bleeding owner after all – you could send me back!” His face snapped to the side as she slapped him and he staggered sideways hitting the wall.
“Don’t you ever throw that at me!” roared Buffy. “Have I ever treated you like property?”
Spike slumped against the wall and shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
Buffy was at his side in an instant. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re freaked out – I get it. But shit, we share a bed! I love you. Don’t ever think that I don’t or that I’d make you do anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to be happy.” She wrapped her arms around him and he clung to her. “I know that this is your worst nightmare.”
“I’ll be okay,” Spike mumbled into his hair. “Just—I can’t—”
“Shh,” soothed Buffy. She guided him back to the bed and they sat there for a long time, just holding each other.
He adjusted to his return to a world devoid of light with alarming ease. The layout of the house was familiar to him and Cam soon learned not to leave anything lying on the floor where it might trip the vampire. Outside, he could walk with Buffy, guided by the scents around him, but he never went out alone. As a tracker he had only gone outside with his handler and he knew he was too vulnerable to attack if unaccompanied. One plus side was the annoying vibration the working eye gave out was now still. But it broke his heart that he could no longer see the faces of Buffy and her boys.
About six weeks after the eye failed, Spike was at home alone when the doorbell rang. Halfway to the door, he froze. The strong aroma reaching his nose was one he hoped he’d never smell again.
The Initiative.
“Open up!” a harsh male voice called. “We know you’re in there, Spike. Buffy’s been hurt. She needs you.”
The leader of the Capture Squad covering California winked at his colleagues as he spoke.
“S-she’s hurt? How?” replied Spike, walking closer to the door.
“Look, we’re coming in, okay? She gave us her key.”
Spike took a step back as the lock clicked undone and the door swung open with its usual squeak. Some of the tension left him – they’d used his proper name and if they had a key they must be telling the truth, right?
Wrong.
Something hit Spike’s shoulder and before he had the chance to draw breath to yell out, his legs gave way and he fell heavily to the floor.
The men swooped into action. Spike was bundled into a light-proof body bag and carried out by two of the men. Two more hurried to the door into the backyard. They opened it and poured a large pile of vampire dust onto the ground just outside it. A forged note in Spike’s spidery scrawl read, ‘I’m sorry to leave you and I love you so much it hurts, but I just can’t live in the dark any longer – not even with you. Tell the boys I love them. Spike x’. If Spike could see it he’d be unable to tell the difference.
Their leader glanced around as his crew left and nodded curtly.
Job done.
Cam let himself into the house and threw his schoolbag onto the couch as he walked over to turn the TV on.
“Spike! I’m home!”
He frowned when he got no response and made his way into the kitchen.
“Spike?”
Shrugging, he opened the fridge and took out a can of Dr. Pepper, waiting for Spike to groan, wherever he was – the vampire hated the smell of the stuff and since he lost his sight, it affected him even more. But there was no groan. Then he saw it. A piece of blue paper, torn from the pad kept next to the telephone. Cam pulled it across the table with his fingertips. Spike had left a note. He smiled, fully expecting it to be along the lines of ‘I’m with your Mom – back soon.’
But it wasn’t.
The can of soda fell out of the boy’s hand and he whirled around – trying to think of what to do – where to go. Where would a blind vampire run away to? Cameron’s mind refused to register the true meaning of the note. The door to the yard was ajar and Cam couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed it before. The back yard was shaded at that time of day and Cam pulled it fully open and strode outside.
His first step was into something soft, and he glanced down. His white Converse sneaker was covered in grey powder. The boy lifted his foot up and peered at it.
“What the—”
He moved backwards – eyes unable to look away from the pile of dust.
“No!”
Sobbing, the boy’s legs gave out and he sank to the ground.
“Spike!” he cried, before he buried his head in his hands and wept for the vampire he’d loved like a father.
The house was in darkness when Buffy finally arrived home. Puzzled, she flipped the light switch and called out, “Spike? Cam?” Her heart increased its rhythm with a lurch. “Guys?”
A slight noise in the kitchen drew her attention and she walked cautiously down the hall. She may be retired and the wrong side of forty but she was still a slayer. A figure was huddled on the floor and she raced towards it.
“Cameron! Oh, my God! Are you hurt?”
Her son shook his head as she knelt beside him.
“What happened?” she asked gently, trying to keep the rising panic from showing in her voice.
Cam twisted his body and clung to her like he used to do when he was young and frightened by nightmares. Buffy wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
“Oh, baby. I’m here. It’s all right. I’m here now.”
She could feel him shaking his head against her shoulder.
“Not all right,” he rasped. “He’s gone, Mom.” He clung to her even harder as he began to sob in earnest again. “Spike’s gone!”
“What?” Buffy pushed Cameron back until she could see his swollen tearstained face. He looked much younger than his seventeen years – a child again – not almost a man. “Where is he?”
For a reason she didn’t immediately understand, Cam let his eyes fall onto his grubby sneaker. The mother in her had Buffy opening her mouth to complain how dirty he’d managed to get them, when realisation hit.
She shook her head violently. “No. It’s not true.” She struggled to get control over her spiralling emotions. “Whoever did it – I’ll kill them – I don’t care who it is – they’re dead,” she said tonelessly.
“He did it to himself, Mom. He left us. No one took him away.”
He thrust the crumpled piece of paper into her hand. Taking it, she stood up, reaching for the light switch near the door frame, and squeezing her eyes shut against the glare. She blinked rapidly and then peered at the note. It was Spike’s handwriting – there was no mistake about that. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek as she remembered how much he hated the fact that he could no longer write neatly. She glanced to the door and saw the grey powder spread on the ground.
The bastard!
Her anger surprised her. She expected to fall apart and join her son back on the floor but instead she burned with rage that Spike had left her alone after making her fall in love with him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was a vampire for Christ’s sake! He was supposed to be with her all of her life and her children’s lives.
Seeing his mom begin to shake, Cameron pulled himself together and stood up, wincing as his limbs protested at the movement after so long and a cramp his hit left calf. He rubbed his eyes and sniffed several times.
“Mom?”
He almost stepped back when she turned to look at him and he saw the fury blazing in her eyes.
Buffy forced a tight smile onto her face. “I’m okay.” She glared at the pile of dust. “I’d better get rid of that, and take your shoes off or you’ll have it all through the house.”
“But…”
“Cam, just do as I ask, okay?”
Being the son of a slayer meant that he’d grown up knowing that there was absolutely no point in arguing with his mom when she was in slayer mode and right now, she looked about ready to tear the head off anything that stood in her path.
Silently, he bent down, unlaced the sneakers and stepped out of them, leaving them where they were. Buffy squeezed his hand as he passed but neither said a word. He retreated to his bedroom, running up the stairs two at a time when he heard Buffy take the dustpan and brush out of the closet. The bedsprings squeaked as he threw himself on the mattress and buried his head in the pillow.
Downstairs, Buffy swept up every grain of dust and threw it and the trainers in the trash. Then she scrubbed the floor until she could be certain that no trace of Spike remained. Only then did she allow herself to cry.
to be continued...
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This story involves Spike and Buffy being apart for most of it. Though they both will feature in almost every chapter. There are two main original characters and plenty of supporting one. In chapter one I have played with canon in that when Kendra died - Faith wasn't activated. This veers from canon from S2
Chapter End Notes:
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