He had spent the past two hours on the front porch, hiding in the shadows and avoiding the drama that was unfolding in his living room. Spike had attempted to go in there earlier, but had failed miserably when her tear filled green eyes had zeroed in on him without an iota of recognition. Feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach, Spike had quickly retreated to the safety zone of the front porch.
Spike took a final drag off his cigarette, leaned forward to crush the glowing ember beneath his boot and obediently tossed the crumbled end into the empty jar his father had provided for an ashtray. He raked his hands over his face and said with a hoarse voice, “It’s not her. It can’t be.”
Rupert glanced at his son and his heart clenched as he took in Spike’s melancholy appearance. He hated the helpless feeling that washed over him at the sight of his son’s pain and wished that healing his pain was as easy as slapping on a band aid; the way it was when he was just a young boy. Rupert knew first hand the heartache and depression that consumes your entire being when the person you loved with everything you had suddenly wasn’t in your life anymore. However, he knew nothing about what his son was going through at the moment and therefore, had no earthly idea how to assuage his pain.
Rupert crossed the small front porch to stand next to where Spike was perched. He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze of reassurance before taking a seat next to him on the bench. “We don’t know that for sure, Spike. While it is highly unlikely that a vampire would be brought back to life, we must take into account that we live on the Hellmouth and strange incidences have been known to occur.”
Spike replied with a disbelieving snort. “Sorry if I just can’t quite come to terms with the idea that the bleeding Powers That Fuck with Everyone would allow something nice to happen to me or anyone I care about.” He paused long enough to light yet another cigarette and grimaced at the near empty pack that had been purchased early that morning as he made his way home after patrolling. Ignoring the disapproving stare from his father’s eyes, Spike took a long drag and exhaled slowly, savoring the sting of smoke in his lungs. “She didn’t even know me, Dad. Nothing was there when she looked at me.”
“That is a bit daunting, I agree. However, since you missed basically the entire discussion after her first initial reaction to you, I have to say that there’s hope, Spike. Buff…er, Joan admitted that there was something familiar about you, like your eyes, for instance. Maybe, had you decided to spend a bit more time with us this evening, she may have remembered something?” Rupert offered.
“Stay in there? Not bloody likely. Just looking at her ripped my insides apart.” Spike spat out. He took another drag off the cigarette and shook his head. “That woman might look like my Buffy, but that’s where the similarities end. Being in the same room as her, knowing that she’s not mine…no, it’s just too hard.”
Unable to stand the emotions rapidly swirling inside his body, Spike pushed off the bench and stalked across the porch to stand at the edge near the stairs. Tears stung in his eyes, his chest burned with anxiety and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Staring out into the darkened neighborhood, he wondered how many times a heart could break before it shattered completely.
Spike choked back the lump in his throat and hoarsely called out, “I need to patrol.”
Without looking back at his father, he clambered down the stairs and stealthily prowled down the quiet street in search of something to take his frustration out on.
Spike wished he could say that his presence in the south part of town was an accident. Sadly, he could not. Several hours after he had bolted from the painful conversation with his father, tearing away from the front porch as if it were on fire, his feet had seemed to carry him towards the area of town where “Joan” was currently residing; as if his feet had a mind of their own.
His trek had provided a decent amount of stress relief, having crossed the path of several hungry vamps in need of a good dusting. However, as he approached the block that held the two story clapboard residence where his true love’s twin resided, Spike’s heart raced and his brow beaded with perspiration. As he exited the nearest graveyard, brushing the dusty remains from his latest fight from the front of his black clad body, he spotted the petite blonde casually strolling down the dimly lit sidewalk. Swearing to himself, Spike quickly strode down the cracked cement and pulled up next to the oblivious woman.
“What in the bleeding hell are you doing out this late at night…alone?” Spike asked roughly, his voice barely above an angry growl. Her green eyes fearfully flickered up at him before instantly flashing to anger as she glared at him. Mentally, he had to remember that she had no recollection of the dangers that prowled the darkened streets of Sunnydale and thus, had to force his hand to loosen the grip around her tiny bicep. Mumbling his apology for frightening her, Spike resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to pull her into the safety of his arms and shakily stepped away from her.
“Do you make it a habit to scare women?” Joan finally asked when her heart had calmed down from fright. Thinking to herself that this was the second time in under twelve hours that this strange man had done just that. She also fought to ignore the instant spark of desire that flamed to life as he stared down at her intensely.
“Just the one’s who are too bloody ignorant to keep their asses inside in the middle of the night.” Spike retorted sharply with a cocked brow. “Hasn’t anyone ever warned you about danger that lurks the streets at night?”
Joan snorted loudly with disbelief and rolled her eyes at Spike. “Dangers? Please, what’s going to get me? An overzealous Girl Scout?” She snorted again, refusing to believe that boring Sunnydale had anything remotely dangerous about it. “The next thing you’re going to try to tell me is that you’re the boogey man or something, right?”
“No, kitten…I’m not the bad guy here.” Spike muttered softly, silently cursing himself for allowing one of his many pet names for Buffy slip out. “But, I promise there’s a lot more to SunnyHell than your innocent mind could fathom. Just consider yourself warned and stay the hell inside at night, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.” Joan replied tartly, flashing Spike a quick smile that unknowingly caused his heart to clench in pain. “So, wanna play the role of knight in shining armor and walk me home?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let you walk alone, now would I?” Spike grumbled. Turning in the direction of her house, he stalked forward and stuffed his hands in his pockets in a lame attempt to not reach out and take hers in his and caress the soft, warm skin. Eyes straight ahead, he gruffly asked, “Why are you out this late, anyway? It’s not like there’s much to do around here during normal hours, much less this early in the morning?”
“It’s peaceful and I needed time to think. Tonight’s festivities sort of shattered my cool exterior. I wanted some time to myself to sort things out.” She replied honestly. Since leaving the Giles household, her thoughts had been scattered all over the place and she had literally felt as though her head was going to explode from stress. “Believe it or not, being in a household full of women isn’t the best place to get a little bit of peace and quiet.”
“No, I imagine it wouldn’t be.” Spike muttered as they rounded the corner and ended up in the shelter’s front yard. While several decades old, the light blue home had been taken well care of and was one of the few residences on the block that also boasted a manicured yard of bright green grass and dozens of blooming flowers. It possessed a quaint, cozy feel about it; as though it knew the pain and heartache the few residents still held in their hearts and sought to protect them from the harsh reality of life. “Well, this is you, right?”
“Yeppers. Though, it’s not like we really know who I am.” Joan sighed wistfully as her mind was once again plague with worrisome thoughts. She hated feeling like this, like her entire life was dangling just out of reach. But one look into the sad, but achingly beautiful face of her escort quickly reminded her that she wasn’t the only one suffering through this absurd identity crisis. “I’m sorry, Spike.”
“Sorry? Why would you be sorry?” Spike asked gruffly.
“This insanity isn’t easy on me, so I know it has to be killing you. So, for that I’m sorry. I just wish I knew who I was, so that maybe we can both move on with our lives, ya know?” Joan nervously chewed on her bottom lip, not knowing that that very trait was something that Buffy did often when anxious.
Spike watched her curiously, allowing his eyes to open up and see past the obvious physical likeness to Buffy, but also the slight mannerisms and habits that went along with the attractive packaging. Joan moved the same way as Buffy did, although her movements were just a tad more awkward, as though she wasn’t yet comfortable in her own skin. She had a tendency to chew on her bottom lip when nervous and became just as fidgety as Buffy did when she was unsure of herself. When she looked up into his eyes, he could almost sense the essence of Buffy for a brief moment when Joan’s head cocked playfully to the side as she studied him. But most of all, the longer he stood next to Joan he could feel the all too familiar tingle in his belly that only Buffy had been able to produce.
Spike didn’t want to feel this way about Joan. It angered and confused him, which instantly brought forth the gruff exterior that had lingered in him in Buffy’s absence. Tearing his gaze away from hers, he motioned toward the front door with a nod of his head. “It’s late. You should go inside.”
Joan felt the change in his demeanor and cringed as his sudden anger washed over her. Nodding in agreement, she turned towards the stairs to head inside. “Thanks for walking with me, Spike.” She waited for a moment, hoping he would ask her to stay outside a bit longer; maybe even talk to her about this Buffy that she looked so much like. When he didn’t, Joan’s shoulders sagged in defeat and she trudged up the stairs and slipped silently into the darkened house.
Spike leaned against a nearby tree, hiding in the shadowed area to watch over Joan until the safety of the rising sun allowed him to leave his perch and head home. The rough bark dug into his shoulder and he cursed the fact that it was too hot to wear the thick leather jacket hanging in his closet that would have cushioned the jagged edge. His arctic blue gaze was weary as he watched a light flip on in the window above his head, signaling her arrival in the safe confines of her bedroom.
As he waited patiently for morning to slowly creep over the horizon, Spike’s thoughts wandered back to their conversation in the graveyard. Maybe he really was the bad guy in this situation. If she truly was Buffy, why else would he want her memories to suddenly appear? To have her one chance at a normal, healthy life stripped away and be tossed back into a one that revolved around death and mayhem.
Maybe the best thing for everyone would be to leave her alone and let her be happy?