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Intermission:

After leaving on the bike in a ferocious pace he went to the first bar he’d come to. His mind was in a fury. How could they make him leave? Buffy needed him, just as much as he needed her. Throwing money down on the counter, the bartender offered him the bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass which he left.

Spike strode to the back to a darkened corner. Women in scantily clad clothes looked him over hungrily but he was pretty certain the scowl on his face told them to back off. Opening the fresh bottle he relished the burning of the liquor as it fired his belly. Trying not to think of the beating of his newly active heart, he didn’t think he could handle the pain of its ache. He should be by her side right now, talking to her, trying everything possible to get her to come back. Now that they had their precious Angel back and all human, they evidently didn’t need him anymore. Well he wasn’t going to settle for it. He was going to march back up to that house and either make them see reason or he was going to tear them apart, limb to limb.

Finishing the bottle, comforted by the feeling it gave him he strode back out to the bike, turning it back around the way he came. Using break neck speed throughout the winding roads to the mansion he made it back in less time than when he’d left. Parking the bike a few houses away he stormed up the street hoping they weren’t ready for a sneak attack. He was wrong.

Ten feet into the driveway Spike felt the barrier but didn’t care. Taking a few steps back he ran full force into it, only to be bodily flown away. The witch had some serious mojo on the place. After fifteen minutes of trying to force his way through with no success Spike felt his heart shatter like crystal and he slid to the ground deflated and defeated.

From where the tears came he had no idea and for the second time in one night the flood gates holding all his emotions burst. Only this time he wasn’t with Buffy, he was on a cold driveway unable to be near the woman that gave his dark life light.

Inside Dawn stared out the window tears rolling down her eyes, for him. She wanted desperately to go to him, to let him back in the house and beg for his forgiveness. It wouldn’t do Spike any good. He was the last of all of them to start a new life, and if she had to force it upon him she would. Even if he hated her forever, she would stand by her decision. Spike had to learn to live, not for Buffy, or her, or even the Scoobies, he had to learn to live for himself. It wasn’t going to be easy, the stubborn ass didn’t know how to do easy. Once he had drunk himself silly and crawled out of the gutter he would regain his strength, at least she hoped he would.

Dawn watched as he cried and it tore her apart inside. It was just Buffy, the nurse and her, now in the house, Wesley, Willow and Fred had left shortly after Spike. She was glad she wasn’t alone, having never really like being in the house by herself. Dawn had heard the stories of what Darla and Drusilla had done and couldn’t even go into the den for that reason. She couldn’t see the carnage but she could sense it. Turning from the window as Spike got back on the bike sullenly this time unlike the first, she whispered words for his safety. Once in her room she fell into an exhaustive sleep.

******
Spike drove to the Hyperion, only to have it barricaded the same as the house, they even blocked the entrances through the sewer. Feeling abandoned by the people he considered his family devastated him. With slacked shoulders and heavy heart he went to the first liquor store he spied and bought four bottles of tequila figuring it would help him drown his sorrows better than the whiskey had. Across the street was a flea bag motel that he checked himself into after stowing the bike safely behind the building.

Finding his room at least clean and serviceable he threw his bag on the bed. Opening a bottle, he sat at the scarred table and started drinking. After two bottles were empty, the rage started building inside. The urge to smash and bash was beginning to roll off him in waves like the smell of the liquor was doing to his body. Opening the third bottle then grabbing the fourth and the bike’s keys he made for the door, drinking the bottle as he went down the stairs then throwing the empty container in the dumpster. Gunning the bike, he took off for the really bad part of town, the place where he was sure to find some nasty buggers to destroy. At the stop light he made a right and headed toward Beverly Hills.

The dawn found Spike bleeding and broken staring out over the ocean waiting for the sun to finish the job that the nest of Fyarl demons. Opening his final bottle of tequila he stared at the ocean’s waves hitting the shore, pounding the sand like his heart and head were doing right now. Not wanting to look at his demise he closed his eyes and drank deep from the bottle, not even caring whether he choked or not. In three more slams he finished the bottle letting it drop from his hand beside him on the soft sand. Just as the sun’s rays flashed across the sky Spike’s brain gave out and he passed out unconscious on the sand.

This had become Spike’s routine from the time his new found family had kicked him to the curb. He’d get drunk, patrol, get drunk again and pass out either at the hotel or on the beach. The next night he’d do it all again until the month of February had flown by and he hadn’t even realized it. With it brought rain which seemed the clear the smog filled air along with Spike’s head. He awoke the day of Leap Year and finally started to take stock of his life which lead to one last depression filled drunk that once again saw Spike passing out as dawn broke over the ocean.





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