She woke up to someone carrying her. She could feel the slight movement of his steps, feel his arms—definitely a him—supporting her.
On instinct, she started moving and pushing away.
And he immediately set her down, carefully lowering her feet to the ground, one hand still on her back. “Didn’t figure you’d be out long,” he said.
She took a step away. “What?”
Why was she standing on a deserted street with this guy in the middle of the night? Why wasn’t she…wherever she was supposed to be?
“It was a bad hit, but not too bad,” he was saying. “No blood, at any rate.”
“Blood?”
“Yeah. On your head? Head wounds are bad news by themselves, but I know you hate getting blood in your hair.”
“Well, who wouldn’t?” she echoed. But she gingerly touched her head, surprised when her fingers encountered a swollen, sensitive spot. “What’s…what’s going on? Why am I here?”
He frowned at her. “Buffy?”
Why was everything so…so… “Is that my name?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”
“Why would I be kidding?” she asked, waving her hands.
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Nothing?” he repeated, voice rising. “Well, try again.”
She frowned, throwing her arms up. “Nope.”
“Well, that’s just bloody brilliant.”
“Excuse me? Why do you get to be annoyed? I’m the one who can’t remember anything—and hey, I have no idea who you even are, buddy. And what do you mean someone hit me?”
He took a deep breath. “I never said someone hit you, I said you took a hit, all right? You tripped and knocked your head on a headstone.”
“A headstone? Why were we walking around a cemetery in the dead of night?”
“Cemeteries are…romantic.”
A lone car drove by, breaking the silence that had fallen.
“Uh-huh.” She took another step away. “Well, uh, listen, not that this hasn’t been great and all, but I should go.”
“Now, hold on—” He reached for her, but then stopped. “You can’t just run off on your own like this.”
“I don’t know you. What if you’re the one who kidnapped me?”
He glared. “No one kidnapped you.”
“Well, how do I know that?” she said, crossing her arms. “And has anyone ever told you that you look like bad news? What’s with all the black?”
“Buffy, you need to go to hospital. Now you can either go with me, or we can call an ambulance. Though I’d rather not pay for the ride.”
Buffy—she supposed her name was Buffy, at least for now—considered. She really didn’t remember anything beyond a few moments ago. She certainly didn’t remember this guy or why she was with him.
“Look,” he said, “you can call yourself if you like.” He pointed to her jacket pocket.
She frowned, and then reached in. There was a cell phone. Okay, so some psycho probably wouldn’t let her keep her phone. Not to mention that he seemed to know where she kept her phone, so he probably knew her. And okay again, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to start off by herself when she had no idea where she was. Or who she was, apparently.
“Fine,” she said.
“Good,” he said. Then he gave her a reassuring look. “We’re not that far away from the apartment. Let’s walk back and get the car.”
Buffy didn’t say anything; she just nodded and gestured for him to start walking.
They walked beside each other in silence for one block.
“Is anything coming back yet?” he finally asked.
“No! Geez.”
“All right. Just askin’.”
“Are we even in America?”
“Yeah,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I think I sound American,” she said. “But you don’t.”
“Huh, you’ve got general knowledge. That’s something, I s’pose.”
“Goody for me. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Spike.”
Buffy sighed. “Of course it is.”
When they reached the apartment complex, she paused. “So…I live here?”
“We live here.” It seemed like he was watching her carefully for a reaction.
“Oh.”
Then he was just watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” His face shifted, and he held out a hand. “Keys.”
Buffy patted her pockets, and found a small key ring with several keys on it. She tossed it to him, and he led her over to a small white car and opened the passenger door.
Maybe she was a little too slow at walking over, because he snapped, “I’m on your side here, love.”
“This is just weird, okay?”
Buffy got in the car, and then he—Spike—got in the driver’s seat. He started the engine, and then they were pulling out of the parking lot.
He reached around to the backseat with one hand, dug for a moment, and then threw something in her lap. “Here, maybe this will jog your memory.”
It was a purse. Inside she found makeup—lots of makeup, she must like makeup—receipts from the grocery store, pens, a crystal, hair clips, a brush, and a wallet. She opened the wallet. Driver’s license. Buffy Summers.
“Are we in Los Angeles?” she asked.
“No. Used to live there. This is Sunnydale.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Buffy looked back at the license, puzzling over the bare facts it contained. There was also a student ID card in the wallet. So she was in college. There was some cash and one credit card.
Huh. Her life in a bag.
At the hospital, Spike checked her in and summarily turned her over to the nurse. Though that was more her doing than his. He’d asked her if she wanted him to stay, and she replied with, “Why? It’s not like I know you.”
“Fine,” he said tightly. “Got some calls to make, anyway.”
They did tests and took blood and asked her questions. Eventually they moved her to a room because they wanted to keep her overnight. A pleasant woman with curly hair arrived and introduced herself as Buffy’s mother and fussed over her, which was nice, but weird.
Spike just lurked in the hallway.
As far as she could tell, he never left, because he was there when she woke up the next morning as well.
She woke up to a conversation.
“…her particular sort is very unusual.”
“That’s what they tell me.” Spike’s voice.
“Is there any chance it’s something related to what you were doing last night?” the other man asked. “Magical?”
“It was just a vamp. Just a fall. Nothin’ special.”
“There’s every chance she’ll snap back quickly, then. Just as long as there’s nothing else we should be doing.”
“I must be dreaming,” Buffy said. “Did you say magic?”
“Magic you didn’t break your neck,” Spike said. “Morning.”
He and the other man were sitting in two chairs on the opposite side of the room. The unfamiliar guy was older and wore glasses.
“So, are you my dad or something?” Buffy asked.
“What? Er, no,” he sputtered. “I’m Giles, a—a family friend.”
“A family friend that comes to the hospital?”
“A close family friend,” he said. “Your mother went to get you breakfast, I believe.”
“She’s been here all night,” Spike said to him. “Even though I told her there was nothin’ she could do when I called and woke her up. Thought she should know when it happened, though.”
“So what about my dad?” Buffy asked. “Mom never brought him up, so I didn’t ask.”
“They’re divorced,” Giles said.
“Neither one of you is on speaking terms with him,” Spike said. “Gambling problems,” he added, before she could ask.
Her mother reappeared with breakfast then.
Breakfast also included the doctor coming in and talking to all of them. Buffy was being released, because there wasn’t anything that warranted her staying in the hospital. They said her memories could come back at any time, and that familiar surroundings would help. She had an appointment in a few days for a checkup, but other than that, there wasn’t a lot they could do.
Basically, there was no way to fix her until her brain decided to fix itself. Which was all kinds of wonderful, of course.
Also, she’d heard ‘amnesia’ so much that it no longer sounded like a word. Didn’t this sort of thing only happen to people on soap operas?
While her mother and Giles were dealing with the paperwork of checking her out, Buffy ended up with Spike at reception. She was still in the wheelchair that the nurse had brought her down in. Spike sat down in one of the waiting room chairs.
“So, I guess I’m supposed to go home,” she said. “Familiar surroundings and all.”
“That’s what they said.”
“So, I’m supposed to go home with you.”
His expression looked carefully blank. “Or your mum. Whichever.”
“Mom said I didn’t actually live with her that long here. I mean, if we’re going for familiar surroundings...” she trailed off. “Yeah, I don’t remember you, but it’s not like I remember her, either.”
“True,” he said. “But I’m a strange man you don’t remember. She’s a nice lady you don’t remember.”
“It’s not like you just picked me up off the street.” Buffy frowned. “Well, you know what I mean. Everyone seems to agree that we live together. You’re not just some lone wacko who told me to go with him. So...I’ll come home.”
She thought he looked slightly relieved, but it was hard to tell.
“You do want me to, right?” she asked.
“Of course I want you to come home.”
“Cause I could understand if you didn’t. I don’t even want to deal with me.”
His head tilted slight to the side as he stared at her. “Buffy, there’s no dealing.” A smile graced his lips. “It’s you.”
The conviction he said that with was sort of...wow.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Just as quickly as it had happened, the moment was over. But it was something. It was the first time she’d caught a glimpse of whatever life she used to have.
Buffy nodded. “Let’s go home.”
[Reviews - 30]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 4694 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Hi, everyone! Remember me? *waves* I've actually had this story in my head since I finished writing Sideways a year ago. I just...never got around to it. But here I am with it now! It will probably be four or five chapters, and will be updated every few days. Thank you to Slaymesoftly for beta'ing!