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Author's Chapter Notes:
I’m dying to write Tosh’s memories of his childhood! Anyone interested?
Never Alone by Lilachigh


Chapter 19 Memories



‘Spike! Look out!” Buffy launched herself off the bed as one of the tentacles lashed forwards and wrapped itself round Spike’s arm. With astonishing power it dragged the vampire across the room until he got his other hand round the door frame and hung on, roaring in anger, vamping out into game face.

Buffy dodged the second tentacle and gazed wildly round the room. She needed a knife, an axe, something sharp. There was nothing.

“Spike - I need a weapon!”

But the vampire was busy keeping himself from being pulled out of the room. She saw a flash of fangs as he buried them in the tentacle and green pus like slime oozed out of the black skin.

Then as she grabbed a chair and began smashing it down on the second tentacle, Spike’s grip weakened and he was hauled bodily through the door.

“Slayer!” She could see him fighting to stay on his feet and she leapt after him. Outside, was a scene from a nightmare. The demon’s tentacles were black and shiny, but its fat, pulsating body was covered with coarse black hair - a cross between a spider and an octopus.

Six more tentacles were flailing the air, propelling the beast down the corridor, then suddenly, Spike’s fangs were working once more and with a high pitched scream, it dropped him and the tentacle was pulled back inside the body, dripping a green liquid that smelt of sewers and death.

But the other seven tentacles were just as vicious and reached eagerly for its prey. Deep in the hairy body, Buffy could see a red and purple mouth opening and shutting with a heavy sucking, squelching sound.

Spike had rolled clear and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nice little friend, pet,” he shouted. “One of yours?”

Buffy ducked as a black horror with shiny suckers underneath it swung towards her with the speed of lightning. “Very funny,” she shouted back. “Why haven’t you got any weapons handy? I need an axe.”

Spike leapt to one side, vaulting over the yards of black muscle that were coming dangerously close to him again.

“Told you before, sweetheart, vampires carry our weapons with us - you have to reach for - ” Then he stopped, his eyes widened, the game face vanished, and he clutched his head as the new scar throbbed violently.

But this time, he wouldn’t let it stop him remembering - those words, his tone of voice, the smell of beer, the taste of Buffalo wings, music, dancing, cigarette smoke in the air, a girl who hated him - “Buffy - ” he started in a whisper, then went crashing to the ground as a tentacle smacked him on the back of the head.

Buffy dodged again and jabbed fiercely at shiny black skin with a stake, but she was beginning to feel desperate. This creature seemed to be growing more tentacles and she still didn’t have a cutting weapon.

Then, suddenly, the door at the end of the corridor was flung open and three demons, two big and one very small, hurtled through.

Long ears flapping wildly, their faces contorted from their usual happy smiles, Clem and his wife attacked the octipider with a knife and - oh joy - an axe.

“Elsa - Clem - I need a weapon!”

Elsa pulled another knife from her belt and tossed it to her. Buffy had a brief view of the demon couple chopping desperately at a tentacle that was even now trying to pull Spike towards its mouth. And to her amazement, there was the toddler, Tosh, running in to make little cuts and then diving out again before anything could touch him.

Buffy leapt forwards towards the octipider’s heaving body. Her fist smacked down hard on the hairy mass and as it spun its mouth towards her, the knife in her hand flashed down with all her Slayer power behind it,

There was another high-pitched scream, the tentacles squirted back inside the body and with a curious, heaving motion, the demon creature spun and slid away, back down the passage that led towards the Hellmouth.

Spike picked himself up, groaning, and the four adults stared at each other, panting, their hands and arms covered in the stinking green blood.

Only Tosh seemed quite happy: he’d found four inches of tentacle that his father had sliced off and was busy hacking it into tiny pieces with his little knife.

Clem waggled his long ears at Buffy. “That was close. What was it?”

“I didn’t wait to be introduced,” Buffy replied dryly. “I’m only too pleased you and Elsa were around to help. Spike didn’t have a single weapon in his room that I could find.”

‘Only too pleased to help,” Elsa said shyly. “Clem told me how you saved Tosh. I can’t ever thank you enough, Buffy. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him.”

Buffy’s smile was warm. “Well, Spike helped too - a bit!” She turned to grin at the vampire, then hesitated. He was standing, leaning against the wall, looking at her with a very odd expression on his face.

“Ewwww., I know, this stuff stinks,” she said. “Can I use your shower, Spike? I reckon Clem and Elsa will be busy for hours getting themselves and Tosh clean!”

The platinum head nodded. “Sure. Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll just check its gone - whatever it was.”

His voice sounded odd, Buffy thought. As if he was miles away, thinking of something else completely. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Fighting with him by her side was so exhilarating, made her realise all over again that he was back, alive , that all her dreams and prayers had come true.

And so what if he didn’t remember her. Did it matter? She loved him; that would never change. Even if he had been having sex with a stranger, there was no need for her to feel guilty, because she had been making love to the man who’d won her heart against all the odds.

“Is it a big shower?” she asked cheekily and then frowned as he muttered, “What, oh no, not really. You go first. Plenty of hot water. I must just....make it safe....Tosh....back in a second, Slayer.”

Spike walked slowly along the passage way, trying desperately to stay and appear calm. Once down in the darkness of the underground tunnel system, he leant against the cold wall, then slid down it until his head was resting on his knees.

The pain was thundering through his brain again, but there, underneath the agony, were the beginnings of bright pictures. None of them made much sense. There didn’t seem to be any pattern or order to them. A red headed girl, a guy with dark hair and a silly smile, a beautiful young teenager with long black hair.

Fighting, jeering, kissing, no, no, no, now a thin, dark haired woman in a long white dress was running her fingers over his face. She’d been important to him once, but not now. And another vampire - a quick bright flash of broad shoulders, dark hair, eyes that could see right through you.

Then the pictures faded and the cold of the passageway surrounded him once again. Spike shuddered. Was he remembering his past or was this all a dream? But surely you didn’t feel emotions like this in a dream when it was past.

Fear, anger, hate, jealousy, power, and above all, the emotion that came roaring to the surface whenever her face swam into focus inside his head. Those green eyes, blonde hair - long, curly, short, tied up in a pony-tail, under a silly woollen hat, matted with blood, tangled with dirt, with sweat, sticky with - oh god, sticky with his cum when her mouth had been round his dick.

But all the time the emotion was there, too, love for Buffy Summers, the Slayer.

The woman he’d shagged so carelessly hours ago had, he knew, at some time been the love of his life. He couldn’t remember any details, but the brief pictures kept coming.

And yet he’d treated her like - well, there was a word for girls who enjoyed sex with strangers and he’d believed her to be just such a person. He’d thought she was hot, aching for it, a randy little girl who was begging for it, had wanted a good seeing to and oh boy, had he been overjoyed to give her the good hard fuck she so obviously required.

There had been no tenderness, no delicacy, just hard thrusting, making her come and then - he groaned again. He’d finger-fucked her into a screaming mess. Deliberately pushed her over the edge, thinking this was what she wanted.

And he hadn’t been wrong. Even now his prick tightened and pushed against his pants at the memory. If ever a girl had wanted fucking, then the Slayer had today.

But he could see all too clearly in his head her reaction when they’d finished, the look of pain and - yes, betrayal, in her eyes. He hadn’t understood then and with all the business of rescuing Tosh, there’d been no time to ask questions. But now....

He rubbed furiously at the scar where the pain was now subsiding and with it the flashing pictures that his words earlier had conjured into being.

‘I told her my body remembered her, even if my mind didn’t,” he muttered, but that was no excuse. it didn’t even sound genuine - it sounded like some bloody pathetic chat-up line that the dark haired guy would have used - God what was his name? - he forced the pain back into his head and with it came another memory - ‘Xander Harris!” he gritted the words out loud.

Spike brought his hands up in front of his face and stared at them. Pale, strong fingers. Scars and cuts and grazes all over them, liberally covered with demon blood at present, but earlier she’d let him use them on her, let him touch her.

He brought them to his mouth and even through the green slime he could smell and taste her arousal still buried in the pores of his skin. He remembered how hot and tight she’d been., how he’d brought her to climax without even thinking about it, knowing instinctively what she wanted, what she liked, where to put each pressure point inside her body to make her scream.

He groaned. For a fleeting moment he’d had a memory of the woman he’d loved, and it was the same woman he’d pounded against the rock wall. But he hadn’t loved her then, had he? So what did that make him?

None of this made sense. He was evil, a vampire. So why did he feel ashamed of what he’d done? She knew what he was, she hadn’t said no. He just wished - oh soddin’ hell, how he wished they hadn’t done that.

He froze suddenly as he heard a stone rattle and footsteps. And he realised that he would know that step anywhere. He could smell shower gell, wet hair, the fabric conditioner on one of his old shirts that she’d pulled on.

And as she sank to her knees beside him in the dark, he knew, too, that she was naked underneath it. And he could have wept for all he had lost.

to be continued,





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