Chapter Twenty-Seven
Awakenings
Spike stalked down the sleeping streets until he found an ATM machine. He withdrew as much cash as he could. He then walked a little further to where he knew there was a taxi rank. Even at this hour in the morning, he knew he’d have no problem finding one there. Sure enough, a cab was waiting as he walked around the corner.
“Heathrow, mate,” said Spike, sliding into the back seat.
“Heathrow it is,” replied the cabbie.
Spike pulled the duster tightly around him. He should have gotten a shirt but he hadn’t wanted to risk waking Buffy. He knew that she’d be upset at him leaving, but he hoped that she’d understand. He’d call her tomorrow so she didn’t worry when he didn’t return. He couldn’t risk being near her; he was terrified and revolted at how much he had wanted – needed – to taste her blood, and now that he knew where the vampire was, he had to go. He ignored the little voice in his head that reminded him that it would be a much better idea to go back to Sunnydale with Buffy, Rich and Tara there to help him. The voice that told him that all he was doing was running away.
He growled quietly, earning a sharp look from the cabbie as he glanced over his shoulder at him. He shifted in his seat to make sure that he wasn’t in line with the cab’s rear view mirror. He didn’t want to get kicked out because he’d scared the poor git half to death when he noticed that he didn’t have a reflection.
He threw the notes for the fare at the cabbie and jogged to the departures area. He paused long enough to locate the desk that he needed, and then walked briskly to it. He concentrated hard to keep his eyes blue; he didn’t want to have to hide behind his shades. He needed to play the celebrity thing to the hilt. He gave his sweetest smile to the woman behind the desk.
“Hello, love. When’s the next flight out to L.A.? I need to get a first class ticket on the first plane available. Bit of an emergency.”
The woman pressed a few buttons on her computer. “Um…there is one that has just given the final call, but it’s too late for that one. Your baggage would take too long. The next one is at ten am.”
“I need to be on this flight now. I haven’t got any bags.” Spike let his duster fall open revealing his bare chest. “In too much of a hurry to even get a shirt on. I can run pretty fast. C’mon, pet, get me on it, yeah?”
The woman looked at him properly for the first time. “Ooh! You’re Spike.”
Spike leaned on the desk. “That I am, love. Now can I get on the plane?” He read the woman’s name tag. “I’m desperate here, Sharon. Help me out, please.”
“Hold on one moment,” she said as she picked up the telephone. “I’ve got Spike Norman from The Dingoes wanting to get on the flight. He has no baggage. Can you take him?” Sharon giggled at the reply.
Spike didn’t blame her. His sensitive hearing had picked up the ‘I’d take him anytime’ response. Luckily that was also followed by ‘yes – get him here ASAP!’
Sharon smiled at Spike, “We can get you on the flight. So if I can just have your card please.” Spike handed her his credit card.
“Look, I don’t want any attention at the other end. Can you leave my name off the passenger list, or at least not put my real name?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Thanks, Sharon. One other thing - can you book me on the first flight to Edinburgh - this time under my name please?”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Trying to throw the bleeding paparazzi off the trail,” he said. “If they think I’ve gone to Scotland then they won’t look for me in California, will they?”
Sharon quickly processed that transaction too. Then she gave Spike his boarding card. “Please go straight to the plane, sir. It’s waiting for you.”
“Will do, love.” He winked a sparkling blue at her and jogged off to the gate.
He did make a quick detour though and bought a t-shirt as he passed one of the shops. Once on the plane he took off his duster and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He didn’t miss how the stewardess stared at him when he did. The sweet scent of her arousal hit his nostrils. He grimaced as he looked down at his chest. He’d just grabbed the first shirt that had been his size. It was a black t-shirt – no problem there – but the front was emblazoned with the union jack; hardly inconspicuous.
It wasn’t until the plane was in the air that Spike began to think that his bright idea of going to confront the vampire alone wasn’t as bright as he’d thought.
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Ethan was awoken at three thirty by the shrill ringing of the telephone.
“Hello?” he muttered.
“Ethan, we’ve got more shots of Spike Norman. He ran out of the house at about half past two, then went to Heathrow and onto a flight to the U.S. He travelled under the pseudonym of Thomas James, but also booked a seat on a flight to Scotland under his own name. He’s running from something and trying to make it look like he hasn’t left the UK.”
Ethan was instantly awake. “That’s fantastic. I’ll make sure that he’s picked up at the other end. Thanks. Get the photos to me as soon as you can. This is going to make us rich.” He couldn’t help but get excited.
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Spike couldn’t settle. He fidgeted in his seat. He was hyped up and wished that he could do something other than just sit there trying to watch a lame film about ice-skating. His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that he knew that Buffy would love it. Buffy. Was he right to run? All he knew was that he had to keep her safe. He closed his eyes at the memory of the livid bruise he’d left on her neck. Why were things still changing for him? He thought that he’d be okay once Drusilla had been staked. Even though it had looked like he wouldn’t return to normal, he really thought that things would stabilise. But sitting here, he was disconcertingly aware of the heartbeats of those around him. He rubbed his hand across his face. This just couldn’t be real. Vampires! Fucking vampires. Spike groaned.
“Are you all right, sir?” the stewardess asked politely.
“Huh?” Spike looked up. “Oh, yeah. I’m okay.”
“Can I get you anything, sir?”
“Um, a pen and some paper, if you’ve got it.”
Spike had realised that in his rush to leave, he’d left behind the pad that he always carried with him to write lyrics in. He wanted to write something. It might be the last he ever wrote. He hoped that he’d have the courage to kill himself before he ever tasted human blood.
“Certainly, sir.”
The stewardess returned moments later with a notepad and a pen.
“Thanks, love.”
Spike pulled his feet up onto the seat; one advantage of first class travel – huge seats. He chewed at the pen before beginning to write.
I wish I were with you but I couldn’t stay
Every direction leads me away.
Pray for tomorrow but for today
All I want is to be home.
Spike felt tears tracing lines down his face as he wrote. He brushed them impatiently away.
Stand in the mirror, you look the same…
“Bollocks!” Spike threw the pad across the plane.
All the other passengers turned to glare at him. The stewardess sighed and walked to Spike. She’d heard that he was different from the usual rock stars that they had to put up with, but apparently not. She picked up the pad and handed it back to him.
“Keep it, I don’t bleeding want it,” snarled Spike. He was never going to get his life with Buffy back. Nothing else mattered.
The stewardess didn’t miss a beat. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No,” said Spike, more reasonably, but as she turned away he changed his mind. “There is something you can get for me, please.”
“Sir?”
“Vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. Oh, and a can of Coke.”
“It’s going to be one of those flights,” thought the stewardess as she fixed Spike’s drinks.
“Ta, love,” Spike said as she left him a quart bottle of vodka, can of Coke and a glass with ice in it.
The ice didn’t have time to melt before Spike knocked the first shot back. He’d barely splashed any Coke in it at all. He grimaced as the liquor seared its way down his throat. He swiftly followed it by another. He hadn’t tasted vodka since he was seventeen, but nothing else was going to help him to find the oblivion that he needed.
The stewardess was pleased to see that at least Spike Norman was quiet when he was drunk. She watched him drinking steadily for some time before he fell asleep. She moved the drinks so that he wouldn’t knock them over should he stir in his sleep.
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Angel rolled over and groaned. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew that he hadn’t dreamt the weird shit that had happened. He opened them anyway and saw that dusk had fallen. He cursed as he tried to get up. His back was aching from lying on the floor of the ruins of the old manor house.
“I’m too old for this,” he muttered as he got up.
He brushed his clothes down and put a hand on his stomach as it growled loudly. He needed to eat and soon. He had no idea that he’d actually slept for several days. He climbed over the rubble and headed for Revello Drive.
Angel payed close attention to his surroundings this time. The strange smell still persisted. Apart from the manor, everything else he passed looked the same. Had Dru done a spell that had gone wrong and destroyed the manor and her with it? He could feel her loss. But that didn’t explain the dis-invite that Buffy had done.
He saw lights on in the lounge room as he walked up to the front door. He paused before knocking. He couldn’t believe that he was shut out of what was essentially his home, too. He sighed and knocked loudly. He heard footsteps approaching. The door swung open.
“Giles, thank God,” said Angel when he saw him.
“Angel?” said Rupert, incredulously backing up a little. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, Giles? Is Buffy here?” Angel peered over Rupert’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. He caught only a faint scent of her.
Rupert pulled the door half shut. What on earth was Angel doing here? And the sniffing…? Well, that was just odd.
“I don’t see how that is any concern of yours,” said Rupert firmly. “Why have you come here? When did you get out of prison?”
“Prison? Giles, are you feeling all right? I haven’t been in prison. I need to see Buffy. I tried to see her the other night, but I couldn’t get in.”
“So it was you who attempted to break in?” said Rupert. “I think that will violate your parole, so unless you want me to call the police, I strongly suggest that you leave.”
“Look, Giles, just let me see Buffy,” said Angel. He was struggling to remain civil with the Watcher.
“She doesn’t live here and even if she did, she wouldn’t be here. She is on holiday in England.”
“What?” This was getting more bizarre by the second.
“Who is it, honey?” asked Joyce as she limped into the hallway.
“Joyce!” exclaimed Angel, “But you’re dead!”
“Right! That’s it. Leave now or I will call the police. I will not have you threaten my wife.”
“Wife?” repeated Angel stupidly. “But Buffy…”
“She is not here. She is on holiday with Spike. Now leave.”
“Spike?” Angel’s mind reeled. “He’s dead, too.”
Joyce had come to stand beside Rupert. “He is alive and well, no thanks to what you did to him. Now get the hell off my porch!”
Rupert slammed the door shut. Angel stood there for a moment but then walked away. Clearly things were very different. He was beginning to think that he must have gone back in time somehow.
“God, I need a drink.”
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“I didn’t even know that Angel was out of prison,” said Joyce as they settled back in the lounge room.
“Neither did I,” replied Rupert. “I suppose it has been nine years, perhaps that was long enough. I still don’t know why you didn’t let me call the police.”
Joyce took a sip of the coffee that Rupert had made for her. “I just don’t want to get involved. He didn’t actually do anything tonight, did he?”
“What, apart from threatening you?” said Rupert. He was furious about giving in to Joyce but the Summers women were notorious for getting their own way.
“He didn’t actually say that he was going to harm me,” said Joyce. “He said ‘but you’re dead’ and he did look like he’d seen a ghost. I don’t think that he’ll be back, and if he does come back you can call the police right away.
“I don’t like the fact that he came here, not one little bit,” grumbled Rupert.
Joyce went over to where he was sitting on the couch. She snuggled up to him and kissed him. “I know something that will take your mind of it.” She stroked her hand down his chest and to his crotch.
Rupert laughed and took hold of her hand. “I think that will work very well.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. He scooped her up in his arms and walked to the stairs.
“Put me down! You’ll hurt yourself,” protested Joyce.
“I won’t,” he replied calmly.
He carefully mounted the stairs and dropped her onto the bed in their room, and then collapsed onto it next to her, gasping for breath.
“Ooh, I think you were right. I think I’ve pulled my back,” he groaned.
Joyce slapped his arm. “I’m not falling for that.”
Rupert grinned and wrapped his arms around her. “Was worth a try! So what was it that you had in mind? Where were you?”
Joyce put her hand on to the bulge in his pants. “About here.”
Laughing they quickly undressed and Joyce was right, it did take Rupert’s mind off Angel.
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Spike woke with a start and a yell. His eyes flashed amber for a second until he remembered where he was. Luckily no one saw them. He groaned and reached for another drink. He jumped as the stewardess announced that they would be landing shortly and went through the routine of seats in the upright position and seatbelts to be fastened. Spike quickly downed another couple of shots before the drinks were cleared away for landing.
Once they were on the ground Spike stood up and swayed violently.
“Uh, oh. This could be tricky.”
He took a deep breath and held firmly onto a seat until he felt steadier.
“You can do this, Spike.”
He tottered off the plane and though the VIP lounge. He sat down gratefully as he ordered a car and driver. He planned on staying in a hotel rather than going home. He pulled out his cell and sent Buffy a text.
GONE SCOTLAND – NEED SPACE – BACK TOMORROW. LOVE YOU X
“Love you,” he muttered as he put his phone away.
“Your car’s ready for you, sir.”
“Oh, right. Thanks, mate.”
Spike stood up then he put his hand to his head as the room spun slowly for a second. He got to the car without mishap and felt rather proud of himself.
“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.
Spike giggled, “Um…a hotel.”
“Which one?” the driver asked with a sigh. Freaking celebrities.
“You pick. I don’t care.” Spike slumped lower in the rear seat.
“But don’t you live in Sunnydale?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going home, am I?” replied Spike. “Hotel, don’t care which.”
“Okay,” the driver said as he pulled out into the traffic.
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Angel needed blood. If he didn’t eat soon, his demon would be making its presence felt, soul or no soul. He made his way to the butcher’s, not wanting to risk going across town to the hospital for expired human blood. The shop was closed but a quick thump with his shoulder and Angel was in. He felt guilty for stealing it but there wasn’t anything else that he could do. He found the blood and drank his fill, tidily throwing the empty bags in the trash can. He pulled the door closed and was pleased that it stayed shut so the break in wasn’t as obvious as it could have been.
He decided that he needed somewhere to sit and try to work this out. He paused for a moment trying to think of somewhere to go. He smiled when he thought of just the place, and started walking purposefully towards it.
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Spike groaned. He was beginning to sober up. Not good. Not good at all. He squinted out of the window of the car as it crawled along a back street on the way to the hotel the driver had decided to take Spike to.
“Stop the car!” he yelled, startling the driver, who brought the vehicle to a halt with a squeal of the brakes.
“What is it?” the driver asked, looking back at Spike.
“’M getting out here,” replied Spike, his hand scrabbling at the door handle.
“I thought you wanted to go to the hotel?”
“Need a drink,” said Spike. “Going there.” He pointed at a building with a neon light flashing on and off above the door.
“Um…I’m not sure that you want to go in there. Why don’t I take you to the hotel? They’ll have drinks there.”
Spike pouted. “Want to go in there. How much do I owe you, mate?”
The driver was worried. He was certain that if Spike Norman hadn’t been totally wasted that he wouldn’t have entertained going into such a place. I mean, the guy went home to Buffy Summers. Why would he want to go there? But at the end of the day he was only the driver and not the guy’s father.
“You’ll be billed for the trip, Mr. Norman. You don’t pay me now.”
“Okay,” said Spike, finally mastering the door handle and climbing out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, mate.” He slammed the door shut and the driver watched him weave unsteadily into the bar.
The driver shook his head wearily; he’d never stop being surprised at the difference between the public persona and the true persona of celebrities. With a last look at the neon sign, the driver pulled slowly away and disappeared down the street.
Spike walked straight up to the bar. He was pleased to see that it didn’t have mirrors behind it like some did. He pulled out a fifty dollar note and put it on the bar, keeping his fingertips on it as he hitched his ass onto a stool.
“What can I get you?” asked the barkeep over the loud music.
“Vodka - plenty of it and plenty of ice.”
“Anything else?”
“No, just keep ‘em coming, okay?”
“You got it.”
“Have one yourself, mate.”
“Thanks, I will.”
The barman couldn’t believe his eyes – Spike Norman – in here! He would never have guessed.
Spike had been in there for several hours when someone sat on the stool next to him.
“Do you want a dance?”
“Huh?” Spike kept his eyes on his glass, turning it slowly around.
“You look lonely. I thought that you might like to dance?”
A hand was placed high up on Spike’s thigh. He looked at it curiously and then back at its owner. He nearly fell off his stool when he saw that the hand belonged to a man. It’s not that Spike was homophobic or anything, it’s just that he was most definitely straight.
“Um,” he said eloquently. “I’m just here for a drink, mate.”
“I could join you for the drink. My name’s Greg.”
“Thanks, Greg, but I’m wanting to be on my own. Got stuff to work out. You can take your hand off my leg anytime that you like though.”
With a disgruntled moan, Spike’s admirer walked away. Spike shrugged and went back to drinking.
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Angel turned into the back street; he was almost at his destination. He glanced at the building and stopped short.
“What the hell?”
Willy’s bar was still there, but it was no longer a demon bar. That part didn’t surprise Angel; he’d had no scent of a demon since he had found himself in the middle of the street. What surprised him was the huge neon light in the shape of a penis – not to mention what happened as the lights flashed! The wording below it proudly proclaimed:
WILLY’S – THE ANYTHING GOES – BEST GAY BAR IN TOWN!
Angel shrugged. He needed alcohol and this was probably as safe a place for a vampire to drink than anywhere else. He pushed open the door and winced at the volume of the music. Perhaps not the best place to try to think things through. He couldn’t hear himself think.
His attention was drawn to a disturbance at the bar. It looked like one of the customers was cutting up rough. A bleach blond was being refused a drink and wasn’t happy about it. Angel froze. The bleach blond turned slightly towards him.
“Spike!”
Tbc
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Banner by dawnofmeAuthor's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to my betas Carol and dawnofme,
The lyrics in this chapter are from the Foo Fighters' song 'Home' taken from the album Echoes and Silence, Patience and Grace - if you haven't heard it - you should!
The lyrics in this chapter are from the Foo Fighters' song 'Home' taken from the album Echoes and Silence, Patience and Grace - if you haven't heard it - you should!
Chapter End Notes:
Reviews keep my plot bunnies happy!