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Regaining Memories -- Part 2



Once again, thanks for all the comments! On ff.net and in my inbox, they are all appreciated. I'm glad you're enjoying the fic, please keep letting me know what you think of the story.
 
Regaining Memories -- Part 2
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Marti Noxon, Twentieth Century Fox Productions, UPN, Sandollar Television, and Mutant Enemy own BtVS. No copyright infringements were intended. This is my story and not meant to copy the show.
 
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Spike thought to himself.
He was standing outside the Bronze, now called the Golden Stake, trying to work up enough courage to enter. People swept past him, shoving him back and forth as they moved inside or outside the club. It had been almost one hundred years since he'd been in this town and stood this close to all of those memories that he'd kept locked up in the depths of his mind.
Spike closed his eyes, taking a deep, yet unnecessary breath. Already, he could envision Buffy and himself sitting in the Bronze, arguing about everything. He could picture Dawn perched on a stool, her head bobbing to the beat of the music. Anya and Xander would be out on the dance floor while Tara and Willow talked back and forth about things that only they understood, their conversation filled with giggles and smiles. Yes, those were the good times and the days when Buffy's gang accepted him.
"Bloody hell," he cursed. "Here goes nothing."
He took a step inside the club and was almost blown away by the feeling that he got. Yes, the slayer was inside the club somewhere. He was almost forced to take several steps away from the doorway… from the strong presence that he sensed somewhere inside the club.
As Spike made his way past people and toward the dance floor, he was instantly reminded of that night in the Bronze when he saw a young blonde dancing on the floor with her friends, Xander and Willow. That was the first night that he'd ever seen Buffy, and he was bent on killing her.
It was only when he reached the dance floor that he realized that he wasn't imagining the scene where he had first seen Buffy Summers. "Bloody hell," he cursed underneath his breath. In the middle of the dance floor stood the Slayer. She was dancing in the center of a small circle, laughing and joking with her friends.
She was...
"Buffy," Spike gasped. If his heart had actually been beating, it would have stopped the moment he saw her.
The current slayer looked just like Buffy Summers.
"No," Spike said to himself as he started to turn around. "I can't do this. I can't talk to a person who looks just like Buffy, I can't." He started making his way out of the club. Once outside and in the alley where the Bronze was located, he hurried to his car. "I knew that this was a stupid idea," he mumbled. "I should have never come back to this bloody town."
"Hey you!"
Spike froze, his eyes widening. That voice. That tone of annoyance was a tone that only she possessed. Spike slowly turned around to look at her, knowing that he had no choice. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, when he saw her.
"Haven't I given you guys enough warning?" she asked. "Time and time again, I tell you not to come to the club! That's my territory." She took a step towards him, beginning to raise the stake in her hand. "You vamps never learn, do you?"
Behind the Buffy-look-alike stood two other people, a redheaded girl and a tall, brown-haired boy. "Need any help, Anne?" the boy questioned.
"No thanks, Alex, this shouldn't take long," Anne replied. She looked Spike over and took notice of his black leather duster and dark outfit before saying, "God, do you scream 1990s or what?" She'd never seen this vampire before; most these days were fledglings that wouldn't make it past their 100th birthday, but this vampire seemed older. Maybe it was a feeling inside of her, but she knew that this vampire had history.
Spike thought. "There's been a misunderstanding, love," Spike said confidently, finally finding his voice.
Anne's face flashed with an expression of confusion. That voice...it was British; she could recognize its similarity to her Watcher's. But she'd heard that voice somewhere else before; she was sure of that. "Right, because I'm sure that you vampires always get turned around and *that's* why you show up here uninvited."
"I'm here to help you!"
"You're a vampire!" she shot back at him. "Let me clear this up for you. We're mortal enemies. We don't get time-outs to help each other."
Spike opened his mouth, the words not coming out. Spike thought, recalling the night when he'd formed an alliance with Buffy in order to bring Angelus down. "Look, love," Spike started again. "I...I was sent-"
"By who? The Powers That Be? Sorry, but you're no Angel."
"Angel?" Spike questioned. "That poofer is still alive?"
"What? What are you talking about?" Anne asked, now confused by what Spike was saying. However, her assumptions were true; this vamp definitely had some age on him.
"Angel, the vampire with a soul..." Spike started.
"No, that was before my time," Anne replied quickly. She tried to direct the conversation back towards business. "Who are you?"
"The name is Spike."
"Wait....Spike? As in...*the* Spike?" she asked.
"The one and only, love." Spike replied, trying to keep a deadpan expression on his face. The whole scene was like being transported one hundred years back in time, and he was having a conversation with Buffy all over again. "And you are...?"
"Anne Winters," she said matter-of-factly.
Spike closed his eyes, cursing the Powers for a second. "Well, aside from the whole threat thing, it's a pleasure to meet you."
She smiled at Spike before she turned toward her friends. "It's okay guys; he's on our side...somewhat." Anne glanced back, informing him," My watcher has talked about you. He says that you killed two slayers and then fell, head over heels, in love with one." Spike lowered his face, his eyes filling with shame. "God, it's true, isn't it? I...I didn't believe it because I didn't think that vampires could love. I just thought that it was some myth about you, that's just-"
"Are you just going to stand here and babble all night long, love?" Spike asked, unable to take hearing her babbles much longer. Spike thought.
"Oh, sorry, I have a tendency to do that," Anne explained. "Anyway, this is Wilona, and this is Alex."
"Nice, you've got yourself a Scooby gang, too."
"Too? What's a Scooby gang?"
"Listen, I'm in town for a while. I'd like to talk with your watcher and then maybe help you train," Spike explained.
"Train? For what?"
"The fight of your life, love."
 
~~~
 
"So...what do we know?" A deep voice called out. "Has it started?"
"We think so, sir," a tall man replied. "We should be getting a-"
"We've got a source now," another replied. A man dressed in a business outfit walked through a short hallway and into the main room. A group of elderly men was sitting around a table, the obvious leader positioned at the end of the table.
"And what did this source say, Eric?" the man who was sitting at the end of the table asked. The man talking was the great-grandson of the infamous Quentin Travers. From his grandfather to his father, and now to him, Quincey had been brought up through the strict training of the Watchers Council. Now he was the leader, and he too knew what would happen if this prophecy came true.
"They say that it's started. Mr. Travers, the prophecy has started," Eric explained, looking at Quincey.
"Damn," Quincey Travers said. He scratched his forehead and sighed. "That means that everything has been set in motion. Dammit!"
"So what do we do, Mr. Travers?" one of the men present at the tables asked.
"What else *can* we do?" Quincey asked, his voice resigned. "We stop it."
 
~~~
 
Wilona and Alex had gone home before Anne took Spike to her watcher's house. Anne knew that her watcher would love to talk with Spike. Andrew Kenyon, her watcher, would probably ask him a million questions before he let Spike leave his apartment.
As they made their way over to her watcher's home, Anne tried to talk with Spike. "So...," she began, "who was the slayer that you...well, y'know?"
"You mean that you don't know?" Spike asked, surprise evident in his tone. "I figured that everyone would have told you all that stuff."
"No, I'm pretty much in the dark about things like that," Anne said. "I don't really mind. I just...fight the evil that he tells me to."
"He?"
"Andrew, my watcher," she replied. "He's easy to get along with, but sometimes he just refuses to answer my questions. I tried talking to him about Buffy Summers once, but he refused to tell me anything about her."
Spike's suspicions were correct then. He could tell that this slayer knew nothing about Buffy. However, Anne's watcher must have had reasons as to why he never spoke of her. "Yeah...well, that slayer was...unique," he managed to say.
"Did you know her?" Anne asked him. She looked over at him and noticed that his eyes were lowered to the ground; he didn't answer her question. "Oh look, we're here," she said a few steps later. She slid her key-card through the slot and walked through the main gate. "Oh boy, Andrew is going to love this," she muttered.
"You on a first name basis with your watcher?" Spike wondered.
"Of course...aren't they all?" Anne questioned, confusion in her expression and tone of voice.
"Not all of them," Spike murmured underneath his breath. He closed his eyes and for one, brief instant could almost hear Buffy yelling her watcher's name at the top of her lungs.
The front door opened, and a tall, brown-haired man stepped out through the doorway. He looked as though he was in his late twenties or early thirties; nonetheless, he wore a pair of glasses on his nose and dressed in a simple, but formal outfit. Spike thought to himself.
"Anne!" he greeted happily. "Nice of you to drop by before midnight for a change."
"Thanks, Andrew," she replied. "Andrew Kenyon, I want you to meet Spike."
"Ahh, went out and got yourself a boyfriend?"
Anne blushed and tried to hide her smile. "No! This is Spike...*the* Spike! You know...the whole, killer of two slayers and so on. C'mon, I know we talked about this; I was actually listening that day."
"Oh...Oh!" Andrew said, taking off his glasses and looking at the bleached-blonde vampire that stood a few inches behind Anne. "How...well, it's an honor to meet you."
"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Spike said sarcastically.
"It's not too often that you see a vampire who has lived over two hundred, much less three," Andrew said. "Uh...won't you please come in?"
Spike stared and looked at him in shock. "You're just going to invite me in?"
"Well...I know all about you Spike, I figure that I can trust you," Andrew replied, stepping aside and allowing Spike to pass. "So, what brings you back to Sunnydale?" he asked as he and Spike walked into the living room.
"Back?" Anne questioned. She stood in the doorway, but she took a step closer when Andrew began talking to Spike.
The two men chose to ignore Anne's question. "Look, mate...I was...well, I guess you could say that I was sent."
"Sent? By who?" Andrew asked, sitting down to look at the vampire. Andrew knew all about Spike from reading Rupert Giles' journals about Buffy Summers. Hell, every watcher after Buffy had mentioned something about her, wishing that their slayer could live up to what Buffy had done. Yes, he knew all about all the rumors that Anne was the reincarnation of Buffy; he just didn't want to believe them. Now with Spike, Buffy's vampire lover here, Andrew might have to change his mind.
Spike looked up at Anne, not wanting to speak about Buffy in front of her.
"Oh, I guess that this is...manly business talk," Anne said, realizing that she was not wanted for this meeting. "I'll, uh, just go upstairs and change out of my party clothes." She turned around and closed the door behind her, leaving Spike and Andrew to themselves.
"I...I was sent by...Buffy," Spike revealed, lowering his voice in case Anne decided to listen in on the other side of the door.
"Buffy? But she's...well, she's-"
"Yeah, she's...dead, I know that," Spike said. "But, this felt so real. She said that I had to go see the slayer, Anne. I...I didn't know that she would look ju-just like her. She sounds...she sounds just like her, too."
"Yes, the Watcher's Council is aware of this," Andrew spoke. "Although I'm not too fond of the Council, I finally talked them into looking into reasons why Anne is...well, she's Buffy. Maybe it was just your subconscious telling you that-"
"Look, I know a message when I see one. This was from Buffy. She said that something big was coming up and that I needed to see the current slayer," Spike stated. "I didn't want to come here to this town; you think I did? There are just too many memories here, and..." his voice died off. "I take it that she doesn't know anything about this? She even said that she was in the dark about the whole Buffy situation."
"No...no, I don't tell her about Buffy's past. She doesn't even know that you were...with Buffy. I know what happened between you. I studied some on it while I was in training, but-"
"There's no way that you could know what happened between us, Watcher," Spike said gruffly, coldness in his eyes.
"Fine, fine. Look, all I'm saying is that...she can't know. Something bad could happen if she were to find out everything, okay?" Andrew asked him. "I don't know what her reaction would be to all of this."
Spike nodded, agreeing to not speak with Anne about Buffy. "Look, I don't know what's coming, if *anything*, but if something does come, it won't be good. Being on the hellmouth is never good."
"And what do you propose that we do about that?" Andrew asked
"Well, I can help her train. Not that you aren't great with training a powerful slayer or anything, mate, but I think that I'm better qualified for the job," Spike said. "And you...you and the Scooby gang can research any upcoming prophecies or what all."
"Scooby gang? What's a Scooby gang?"
"You know...Red and the whelp. They can help you," Spike informed him.
"Whelp?" Andrew asked, confusion in his tone. "Ahh...Alex," Andrew said, shaking his head in the air but his face still showing confusion. "Anyway, it's late...well, for me it is, and I should be off to bed." He rose from the couch and started to step away from the seat.
"Right...uh, does Anne need to get home or anything?" Spike asked.
"No, she lives two floors up," Andrew explained. "She's in her own little apartment. Her mother died a year ago, and she's been by herself ever since then. It's just remarkable how well she can handle herself."
"What'd her mother die of?" Spike queried.
"Cancer. It really was a sad situation, but she seems to have recovered quite nicely," Andrew replied.
"Well then, tell the little chit good night for me, uh?" Spike said, moving towards the door. "I can get back over here after sunset tomorrow…maybe find a place to start training with her."
"Oh, we have a gym downstairs, a good place for her sparring."
"Good, then," Spike acknowledged. "G'night, mate." He opened the front door and walked out, closing it behind him. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, feeling a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. he mused. He liked the watcher. For some reason, Andrew reminded Spike of Giles. Maybe it was just his stiff, English ways, but he was inwardly glad that Anne had such a relaxed and modern watcher.
Anne.
Bloody hell, she was Buffy. There was no mistaking that the girl three floors up in the house behind him was Buffy Summers; Spike knew that to be fact. he asked himself.
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