Each night he vanished into the night in search for the redhead vampire and each morning he’d returned to his room disappointed. He knew he was getting closer, missing the bitch by mere minutes every time. It was as if he could feel her fading presence as she slinked further out of grasp. Still, he was persistent, his will remained unbroken and he knew that one night he would finally rid the world of the vampire known as Willow.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the world was temporarily aflame in a burst of orange and pink, he eased off the bed and headed for the door; his body alerting him to the fall of night as if being Slayer meant he came with an alarm clock installed in his body. Spike riffled through an open duffle bag and quickly produced a faded black T-shirt and pulled it over his head to complete the monochrome selection that was jokingly referred as his work uniform. Before leaving the dank quarters, he strapped a black leather sheath to his right forearm and loaded it with a dagger, a stake was tucked into his back left pocket and a slightly crumbled pack of cigarettes in the right.
He stepped outside just as the last faint rays of light desperately fought to stay alive and slammed the paint chipped door closed behind him without bothering to lock it; wasn’t as if there was anything important inside anyway. Scanning the pothole filled parking lot for any possible danger, Spike stalked towards the spot where he’d parked the Desoto, which was across the lot in the only brightly lit area. He quickly gave the darkened area one last scan before opening the heavy door with an audible groan from the hinges, mentally reminding himself to oil the doors when he returned home…if he returned home, that is.
This time around there was no delusions in Spike’s mind about the capability of this particular vampire. He knew exactly what he was up against, knew how dangerous she was and knew deep in his heart that only one of them would emerge from their final fight. With a heavy heart and weary expression, he pulled the smokes out of his pocket, lit one and inhaled deeply while sliding into the car; a moment later, after several failed attempts at coercing the engine to turn over and a few descriptive words of choice, he flew out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires and puff of smoke.
Fifteen minutes later, he eased the car into a narrow parking slot in front of a seedy dive bar in the not-so-friendly side of town; a place known for cheap liquor and even cheaper women, nightly drunken brawls and most importantly, the last place his prey had been spotted. Three nights ago the bartender, a stringy haired middle age man with a beer gut poured over the top of a pair of decades old jeans a few sizes too small for his portly figure, admitted to seeing the vamp in question in his bar on more than one occasion over the past couple of days.
Tonight, however, seemed to be his lucky night because as he rounded the corner, which was heavily darkened with shadows due to the light being busted, Spike saw his prey exit the bar arm in arm with a stringy haired blonde with gangly legs that was teetering precariously in a pair of high heels. While it was still very early in the night, only half an hour past the seven o’clock sunset, Spike noticed the drunken sway and staggers of the blonde and figured she’d most likely been at the bar since it opened several hours earlier. He stayed several feet behind the couple, watching as Willow struggled to keep her victim upright as they headed away from the bar.
About seven blocks later, Spike slipped into the alcove of a rundown business when Willow suddenly stopped and looked back in his direction. For a moment, he thought he had been noticed and would have to carry out his plan in the middle of the street, but after a quick scan of the area she turned and continued to haul her prey down a weed infested walkway towards what appeared to be a condemned residence. With peeling grayish blue paint, undoubtedly faded after years of sun exposure and little to no upkeep, busted windows and a front door that was hanging on for dear life, the house resembled something straight out of a horror movie and yet, Spike followed stealthily behind the couple as they disappeared inside the darkened house; swallowed by the intimidating shadows that engulfed the building.
Standing on the dilapidated front porch, holding his breath when the rickety boards creaked ominously beneath his well worn and scuffed boots, Spike leaned towards the door ever so slightly to see if it was safe to enter behind them. He watched as the hemline of Willow’s long black skirt swirled around the doorframe as she pushed the inebriated blonde into the next room and only then, did he continue inside the musty living room and fought off the sneeze that threatened to expose him.
Quietly, he followed in their direction until the faint whispers and giggles of the drunken woman could be heard from behind a closed door at the end of a narrow hallway. Grabbing the stake out of the back pocket, he poised to strike and swiftly kicked the already broken door down. He crossed the threshold as Willow whirled around, her red hair flying like a cape and golden eyes of fire flashing at him with a combination of surprise and heated ire.
“Spike!” Willow spat with scorn as if the very mention of his name left a bad taste in her mouth. Victim forgotten, she took a step in his direction and ground out, “You’re supposed to be dead! Killed at the hands of my wayward childe!”
“Yeah, it didn’t stick.” Spike snarked; his usual taunting attitude slipping out despite the boiling rage that churned inside, consuming his heart until it was black with hate. “Course, one could say the same about you, yeah?” Taking a step to the left, Spike carefully circled the room and thus, caused Willow to move away from the forgotten victim as she fought to stay out of Spike’s reach. Toeing the fallen blonde with the tip of his boot, he refrained from leaning over to check on her status for fear of being attacked. After several sharp stabs in the ribs, she moaned and Spike realized that her unconscious state was due to alcohol and not an attack by Willow.
“Aw, little Slayer here to save the day.” Willow mocked, inching her way towards the open door as if preparing for a cowardly escape. “Is business so slow in Sunny-Hell that you had to come all this way to save the innocent?”
“Don’t give a piss about the innocent, just trying to clean the room out a bit before our lil’ dance begins.” Twirling the stake in his hand, Spike moved forward swiftly just as Willow bolted out the bedroom door. Following on her heels, he darted out his free hand and snatched the thick chain that circled her pale neck and gave it a tug in his direction. Pulling her thin frame flush against his body, Spike leaned down and whispered, “ ‘s a bit rude to leave the party early…the games haven’t even begun.”
Adrenaline coursed through his body as she struggled against his hold, her hands grasped his arm and sharp nails penetrated the flesh as she tried to claw her way to freedom. It was in that moment he realized his mistake, a second too late, because her bony fingers had wound themselves around the tight leather of the dagger sheath and were working to free the custom made knife from its confines. Spike released his hold on Willow’s neck and struggled to try and break the hold that she had around his forearm. Using all of his strength to pull against her hold seemed like a good idea at the time, until the strap broke and sent him flying backwards to land in the middle of the hallway on his ass. “Bugger.”
“It just didn’t seem fair for you to have all the pretty toys.” Willow murmured as she lovingly caressed the ornate dagger in her small hands. Licking her lips, a wicked glint shining in her amber eyes, she started forward and closed the gap between them.
Spike waited, like a prey playing dead, until she got close enough to kick out his legs and knock the vampire to the ground. Pouncing, he straddled her, managing to grab hold of the hand that held the knife and pin it down by the wrist, but also losing his stake in the process. Their eyes locked in a heated glance, both burning with fury, as Willow struggled beneath him, trying desperately to get out from beneath his hold. Spike slowly inched their hands together, trying to move them in a position to grasp both of her wrists with one hand and free the other to search for his stake; which was the exact moment Willow bucked upwards, using her supernatural strength to send Spike flying over her head to crash back onto the floor in a jumbled heap.
“No wonder she left you, Slayer.” Willow taunted as she stared down at him in disgust, “No vampire wants someone as weak as you.”
Buffy flashed in his mind at Willow’s words, images of her smiling and laughing, writhing beneath him in passion and snoring softly as he watched her sleep, caused tears to burn in his eyes. He saw her face as she apologized and struck at his neck, felt the despair and hurt as she sipped at his blood, overwhelming sorrow that engulfed him when he realized what she had done to save their lives, and the pain that filled his world since she’d been gone and knew that Willow’s words were false. Snarling viciously, Spike pushed himself off the dusty floor and said, “What she didn’t want was you and that pathetic git you call a sire. She came to me despite whatever ties she supposedly had to the ones that created her, gave up whatever sick twisted relationship you three had to be with me. And that’s what tears you up inside, isn’t it? ‘s not that she wanted me, it’s that she didn’t want you. Buffy didn’t want YOU!” Spike screamed, his voice rattling with the force of his emotions as he charged the visibly upset vampire, pushing her backwards until they were back in the room where the dance had begun and slammed Willow against the wall hard enough to shatter the window next to them.
His hands encircled the thin, pale column of her neck, lifting Willow off the ground by several inches; his grasp tightening enough to reduce her words to mere grunts as she clawed frantically at his hands, leaving bloody trails in her wake. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, spilling onto his arms as she silently pleaded for her life and without any regret Spike pulled back his left arm and slammed his fist against her chest, pushing with all his might he shoved through the flesh and bones, borrowed blood spilled over his forearm along with thicker bits of insides as he drove his hand towards the shriveled heart that lay still in the center of her chest. When his fist reached its destination, he grasped the withered organ and jerked, splattering his shirt with blood and gore as he ripped it from her chest. A surprised expression crossed her lovely face before her body exploded into a cloud of dust, sprinkling to the ground to mix with the grime that already rested there.
A tear trickled down Spike’s dust covered face, cutting its way through the powder that was once Willow, as he sank to the floor on his knees, paying no attention to the semi-conscious girl in the room. Disbelief filled his mind, and a confusing loss tore at his heart. Now that Willow was gone what was his purpose? His hatred and need for vengeance was the only thing that had kept him alive, made his feet lead him in the direction of his beloved’s murderer…the only thing that gave him the will to live. Burying his head in his hands, he sobbed for the woman who held his love even after death, for the life he would never have and the pain that tormented his soul.
Four days later, he was in the kitchen looking for something to eat when his father came through back door. He had only been home for three days and the tension between them was still so thick you could cut it with a plastic knife, but they were muddling through the heartache and pain as best as they knew how. Nodding to the elder Giles, Spike asked, “Was feeling a bit puckish, you want me to make enough for the both of us?”
“Actually, William,” Rupert murmured, avoiding the questioning stare of his only child as he placed several take out bags onto the counter. “I picked up dinner while I was out. Italian’s good, yes?”
“Yeah,‘s fine, but how much were you figuring on me eating?” Spike ribbed good naturedly as he sauntered over to check out what was in the bags. “I mean, you’ve brought enough to feed a bloody army.”
“Yes, well, we’rehavingguests.” Rupert spit out as he stuck his head inside the cabinet to pull out plates and glasses. Setting the dinnerware on the counter, he turned to face his son who had stopped unloading the takeout trays from the bag and was glaring at him. “I’ve invited Ms. Calendar, the woman I told you about the other day that I’ve been um…courting…well, I asked her to dinner, along with one of the young ladies that is in her care.”
“Oh, bloody hell, man!” Spike shouted, throwing up his hands in disbelief. He couldn’t believe the audacity of his father sometimes! He’d only been back in town for a few days, had yet to spend any time with his friends outside of the short visit the day he’d returned and now his father was blatantly setting him up on a blind date? “I cannot believe you would do this to me! After everything I’ve been through lately!”
“I know what you’ve been through lately, Spike; you aren’t the only one who has lost someone he loves.” Giles murmured; the pain of the loss of his late wife seared through his heart briefly. “That’s why I invited them. You need to get out, meet new people, spend time with your friends and move on. It’s hard, yes…but, it’s life.” He paused for a moment, figuring his temperamental son would have something to interrupt with, but when Spike’s eyes glazed over with tears and his head dropped, he continued. “The young lady that’s coming tonight has experienced loss, too. Not what you’re going through, but painful enough. Poor dear is suffering from amnesia and has no family or friends to help her through the confusion and heartache. I thought that you of all people might be able to help her, be friends at least, and offer her a shoulder to lean on.”
Spike sniffled; looking up at his father as he angrily swiped at the tears on his cheeks and opened his mouth to say something when the doorbell chimed. “I guess that’s our guests, I’ll go get it.” He turned and headed towards the foyer, pulling the hem of his shirt up to dry the residual wetness off his face before answering the door.
“Good afternoon, you must be Ms. Calen…” He said as cheerily as possible as the door opened to reveal a slender woman with gleaming raven hair, but the greeting was cut short by the sight of the young lady standing next to her. His heart clenched, his breath was suddenly hard to catch as the tears sprang back to life in his eyes.
The late afternoon sun made her hair shine like spun gold, falling in soft waves around her angelic face; her skin was glowing a sun kissed bronze beneath a simple yellow sundress that left her shoulders bare beneath the golden strands of hair. Speech eluded him as he stared openmouthed at the woman before him, his mind not capable of understanding how she came to be on his front porch…in the sun, no less.
His knees gave out and Spike allowed his body to follow suite, sinking to the floor in front of her. Looking up, the tears finally spilled over the dark lace of eyelashes as he whispered in disbelief, “Buffy?”