July 24, 2005
She had defied all odds, not only passing her eighteenth birthday, but making it to the ripe old age of twenty-four. She had battled vampires, demons, witches, a Frankenstein monster, a goddess, Ubervamps and the First Original Evil and had prevailed. Was it because she truly was not just the Chosen One, but thee Chosen One, or was it simply very, very good luck?
It was ironic, really. Buffy was no longer the only Chosen One now. A year ago Willow had channeled powerful magic, and every Potential Slayer had been transformed to a full-fledged Slayer, complete with the enhanced qualities that made them such effective demon killers. This army of Slayers defeated the First Original Evil and saved the World. It was this same army that now fueled the rebuilding of the Watcher’s Council and protected the World from Evil.
Buffy could now sit on the sidelines, teach, and give orders. Without the safety of the world riding on her shoulders alone, she took time out and enjoyed life, moving to Italy with Dawn, and bringing a new man into her horizons. This time it wasn’t a vampire, but still, a Slayer such as herself could not settle for just an ordinary man (as Riley Finn could attest), but an Immortal. An Immortal, who had power, charm and money at his disposal. And for once Buffy allowed herself to be carefree, as she danced many a night away in the arms of her lover.
So, what happened? Bad luck? Over-confidence on her part? But one night, someone got lucky. Just as Spike had predicted those many years ago, all that was needed was for one of them to have a good day. The legend, the myth of Buffy the Vampire Slayer was no more; now there was only a vampiress, who had once been the most successful Slayer of the ages.
**
September 10, 2005, Los Angeles, California
“Bloody hell, Illyria!” Spike threw his game controller down, but managed to restrain himself from standing and jumping up and down in frustration. “You were a bloody goddess, who conquered numerous demon worlds, and you can’t get the simple fact of pushing the blue button to reload your gun?”
“The blue button is small and in an awkward position on this mechanism.” She held up the game controller and studied it with a head tilt.
“Right.” Spike took a swig of beer. It helped calm his nerves. “We keep dying because you can’t find the blue button to reload. Bl-oody, fucking, hell!” he mumbled, as he again considered that perhaps he needed to expand his circle of friends.
Sighing, he looked around the dingy, basement flat, which he, and unfortunately, ex-demon goddess Old One, Illyria called home.
With the death of Wesley, Illyria had found herself orphaned, and although the Watcher’s Council and Wolfram & Hart had made her offers of asylum, she had refused both. She was wily enough to know that the Council did not trust her, and in truth, wanted her only for study. And Wolfram & Hart was the body responsible for Wesley’s death, so she would always see them as the enemy. After thee battle she found that Spike was the one and only being she was familiar with, so she latched on to him, knowing she needed someone in her life.
“All right,” Illyria said, after she experimentally pushed the blue button a few times. “I’m ready.”
“Right then.” Spike grabbed his controller and focused on the television screen. “Let’s. . . .”
A pounding on the door interrupted any further game play.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Spike exchanged a puzzled look with Illyria. As far as he was aware of, there was no one left in LA, who knew either one of them.
“Human,” Illyria announced, sniffing the air.
“Yeah, but is it a human carrying an automatic assault rifle?” Spike rose from the couch cautiously.
“Human weapons!” Illyria was disdainful. “They cannot kill either one of us.”
“Bullets hurt like hell, love, and if the gun has a wooden stake on the end. . . .” Spike peeked out the eye hole in the door. “I’m dust. Bloody hell!” He immediately recognized the dark haired woman outside his door. “It’s Faith the Vampire Slayer, an official Watcher’s Council member. Wonder if she’s here to reward us for all of our hard work cleaning up the Wolfram & Hart demons here in LA?”
“Ask for more video games,” Illyria said with all seriousness. If she couldn’t conquer the world anymore, she could at least pretend.
“Right.” Wrenching the door open, he greeted Faith with a, “you’re interrupting my video game, so this better be good.”
“And a hello to you too, Spike, and yes, I’m good, thanks.” Faith gave the vampire a grin, as she pushed her way past him.
“Fine, then,” Spike slammed the door shut with a bang. “Why don’t you come it, and make yourself at home? But of course. . . .” A thought suddenly struck him. “If you know how to play Warfare then pull up a chair and grab a controller.”
“Do I know how to play Warfare? Buddy, move over, cause the champion Warfare player just hit town.”
“Bloody great!” Spike was ecstatic; perhaps he had found a partner, who could actually reload her gun. “Give me that.” He had to wrestle the game control out of Illyria’s hands.
“I know how to play the game now,” she argued. “It’s the blue button. . . .”
“Give it a rest, pet, and let me see if the Slayer here. . .” He peered over at Faith. “Is as good as she says.”
“Hey, I don’t make idle boasts.” Faith watched the interaction between Spike and Illyria with interest. “I backup everything I say.”
“Right then, let’s do it.” Spike threw himself down on the couch, fingers and thumbs readied.
Twenty minutes passed, as the two battled it out on the television screen. After proving that she could reload her weapon, Faith took a moment to start finding out what Spike and Illyria knew. “So, I suppose the two of you heard the big news of the vampire world?”
“Nope.” Spike’s fingers flew, as he shot down a helicopter. “The vampire population here in LA is almost non-existence. Most of them left town before the Wolfram & Hart Armageddon.”
“Well, that’s about to change.” Faith shot-off a missile launcher at some on-coming tanks. “Because a clan of them are coming this way, led by none other than your pal, Angelus.”
“Is that what the Poof was doing? Gathering a clan?” Spike feigned a polite disinterest, hiding the fact how hurt he had been, when Angel had skipped town as soon as they had regained control of LA. The Mighty Poof had abandoned him again.
“I talking thee Angelus.” Faith momentarily took her eyes off the television, to glance over at Spike. “Not Angel, the vampire with a soul, but the evil twin. And wanna know how he lost his soul? He experienced a moment of perfect happiness with the now turned vampire, Buffy Summers.”
That bit of news flummoxed Spike to the point, where he forgot to push the blue button to reload, and consequently died.
“Blo-ody Hell!”
“You were supposed to push the blue button,” Illyria said, pointing to the game controller.
“Wha-, Jesus!” Jumping up, Spike began to pace, trying to process the information, that Faith had just told him. “Buffy, and Angelus, and. . .fucking hell!” he swore, as the heartbreaking realization that Buffy chose Angel over him sunk in. “Stupid cow, hope she enjoys the psychotic ponce,” he muttered softly.
A few moments passed, as Spike tried to rein in his feelings, while both Faith and Illyria watched him closely.
“So,” he finally managed to say in a semi-steady voice, “what brings Poofy and Slutty to LA?”
“Well, that’s the interesting part, or. . . .” Seeing the expression on Spike’s face, Faith quickly amended her statement. “One of the interesting parts. A few days ago, we managed to capture one of their followers, and after an interrogation, he told us that Angelus was on his way to LA to reclaim his Childe. Now, our first thought was Connor, but he and his human family had relocated out of LA right as Wolfram & Hart were unleashing all their beasties.”
“But Angelus might not necessarily know that,” Spike pointed out, as he walked over to the frig for another beer.
“I think he does, because he’s the one, who told Connor to get himself and his family out of LA. As I understand, it was right after the two of them killed Hamilton, and the offices of Wolfram & Hart began caving in.”
“Okay,” Spike said thoughtfully, as he twisted the cap off the beer bottle. “Then Drusilla must have strolled into town. Kind of surprised she hasn’t showed up on my doorstep yet.”
“Nope.” Faith shook her head. “We’ve been keeping tabs on her, and for more than a year now, she’s been in Mexico, Central and South America but hasn’t stepped back into the States since May of last year.”
“Maybe he made a new Childe right before Buffy got to him and stashed him here in LA.” Spike began throwing out any wild idea.
“Nope, want to guess again, Sp-ike?” Faith asked with a rise of the eyebrows; innuendo evident in her voice.
“Bollocks!” Spike spit out. “I am not Angelus’ Childe! Bloody Watchers were always getting that wrong. Drusilla is my sire,” he enunciated slowly.
“Whatever.” Faith had little to no interest in what long-dead watchers had written. “But our snitch’s exact words were ‘Angelus is headed for LA to reclaim his Childe,’ and you are the only person here with a blood tie to Angel.”
“Pft.” Spike snorted in disbelief. “Your snitch is either telling you some whoppers, or is a pea-brain and doesn’t have the foggiest of what Angel is really up to. Because everyone knows that Angel barely tolerated me, and Angelus couldn’t stand me, so I’m the last person he’s coming to find. Unless. . . .” And idea struck him. “He’s coming for her.” He pointed a finger at Illyria. “Wants to recruit an Old One to his side.”
“Angel is a fine warrior. I would fight with him again.” Illyria immediately stated, which caused Faith to look at her worriedly, and Spike to close his eyes in exasperation. Just what he needed, a reason for the Council to get jittery about Old Blue.
“No, love,” he quickly jumped in before Faith could say anything. “You don’t want to fight with Angel because he’s a boring old fart, remember? He doesn’t allow video games, pizza and beer, and hates the telly. And if we can’t have telly, we can’t watch Passions anymore.”
Illyria contemplated what Spike had just said with a head tilt, while Faith covered her mouth to hide a snicker.
“Then we should leave LA,” Illyria said with certainty.
“That’s right.” Faith saw her opening and took it. “Come with me to England. You’ll get out of LA and can team with us to stop Buffy and Angelus.”
“Stop them?” It suddenly hit Spike that a battle was brewing, that would soon escalate into another war, and the two sides were Angel, his former mentor, and Buffy, his former lover against the Watcher’s Council and an army of Slayers. And he needed to choose a side.
**
September 11, 2005
“How about Vegas, love?” Lying in bed, Spike was waiting for the sun to go down, before Operation Get Out of LA could be put in action. He had spent the last hour, mulling over where he and Illyria could run off to. It was the only solution he came up with since he had decided that neutral was the only way to go in the new war that was about to begin.
“Not far enough,” Illyria answered, as she never took her eyes off the television. She was once again trying to conquer the world, but this time through a video game.
“You sure?” Spike raised his head to look over at her. “And by the way, do you even know where Las Vegas is?”
“Las Vegas, Nevada is a city 429 kilometers north east of LA. The greater Las Vegas area has a population of. . . .”
“Alright!” Spike interrupted loudly. “I get your point; you know where Vegas is. And how is that you know so much about that city?”
“Wesley had me memorize the world atlas.”
“Boy, Old Percy sure was a fun guy to be around,” Spike mumbled softly, so Illyria wouldn’t hear. Since the death of Wesley, she wouldn’t listen to any criticisms of him. “So a city, which is farther from LA than Vegas,” he said, thinking hard. “Okay, how about San Francisco?” At Illyria’s shake of the head, he tried again. “Portland? Seattle?”
“Canada,” she announced, as she finally turned to look in Spike’s direction.
“Canada! Jesus!” Spike had never been in Canada, and knew very little about that country. “What? You mean like Toronto?” It was the only Canadian city that came to mind.
“No big cities. We have to go north, far north.”
“Just how far north are we talking about?” Spike asked suspiciously. He knew he wasn’t going to like her answer.
“To the Artic Circle. Alaska would also be satisfactory.”
“Are you bloody nuts?” Spike sat up straight. It made it easier to yell at Illyria. “There’s nothing up there but cold and snow, and more effin’ snow. No bloody way!”
“You want to escape from both Angelus and the Council, then that is where we have to go.” Illyria turned back to the television.
“Blo-ody hell!” Spike fell back down on his back, arm thrown over his face. Unlife could be such a bitch. “If I have to go to the Artic Circle,” he shouted out, “I’m nicking me a satellite dish.”
**
September 12, 2005
They had hit the road in the early hours, and despite Spike’s trepidation about Illyria’s driving, she had managed to make it as far as Salem, Oregon. Taking a short break, they filled up the tank of the all-wheel drive Dodge pickup and had a quick nosh.
“So, how’d you learn to drive?” Spike asked, as he sipped a mug of pig’s blood, while eating a plate of warmed up buffalo wings. Besides the pickup truck, the two had also stolen a truck bed camper, fully equipped with a queen size bed and all appliances. They had then added a television, game system, and a satellite dish that could be mounted on top. With many parts of LA still in shambles, it wasn’t hard for a demon goddess and a vampire to help themselves to what they wanted.
“Wesley taught me.” Illyria had her own plate of buffalo wings and was sipping a coke. She liked the fizzy bubbles of carbonated drinks and was fast coming to the conclusion that there were a few worthwhile things in the twenty-first century.
“Well, it’s good to know that ol’ Percy taught you a few useful skills.” Spike had a momentary feeling of gratitude for Wesley. “Anyway, I’ll take it from here. Hopefully, we should be well into Canada by dawn.” Folding up his paper plate, he began cleaning up the kitchen table in the camper.
“You’re unhappy.” Illyria not only sensed Spike’s discontent, but realized something was amiss, when he began to tidy up.
“Just, just. . . .” Spike floundered a bit, searching for the right words to describe what he was currently feeling. “We had a fine gig in LA, so yeah, I’m regretting that we have to leave there.”
Cocking her head, Illyria studied Spike intently. “Why are you so set on running from Angel? After all, it was not so very long ago that we fought by his side.”
“That was Angel, pet,” Spike explained. “We’re now talking about Angelus, a whole different man.”
“How is he different?”
“Angel has a soul; Angelus does not,” Spike said with a sigh. The last person he wanted to be discussing was Angel.
“Explain to me what a soul is.”
“It’s-it’s. . . .” Spike had to think a moment, and try to remember what exactly a soul was. “It’s the spiritual part that separates a man from a demon.”
“Angel was a vampire, a half-breed. He was not a man.” Illyria spat the word man out. In her mind Angel was an equal, and being equal to her was anyone that was not human, since human meant inferior.
“Well, he, I. . .fuck this!” Spike realized that there was no satisfactory way to explain the difference between a souled Angel and Angelus to Illyria. “I can’t tell you what the metaphysical difference is between the two; just take my word that Angelus is a total nonce, and that we don’t want to deal with him.”
“Yet he haunts your dreams.” Illyria continued to stare at Spike.
“Haunts my dreams!” Spike’s expression was total shock, which he quickly tried to hide with a half-assed cocky grin. “You’re nutters, love. The last person I dream about is the Old Poof.”
“You called out his name today in your sleep. I could hear you, while I was driving.”
“You could hear me? Bloody hell, why weren’t you listening to music turned to full volume like normal people do when they’re driving? Fuck-ing hell!” Spike crossed his arms around his body. “Anyway, it was nothing. Just some drea. . .nightmare about Angelus coming. . .well, you know what.” There was no way he was going to admit that his dreams consisted of Angelus, calling to him, arms open. “It was that fucking Faith and her bloody rubbish about Angelus coming to LA to claim me.”
“He calls to you, and you want to go to him,” Illyria stated with certainty. “So why are we running?”
“I don’t want to go to him!” Spike’s voice raised in volume. “The last person I want to see is that psychotic nutjob, and I especially don’t want to see him with Buffy, who by-the-way was my girlfriend, but the bint goes and chooses him over me.”
Illyria said nothing more, but continued to stare at Spike, and her stare said it all, you are a liar.
“Sod off.” Spike did not to discuss the matter anymore. He didn’t want to think about his dreams because then he would remember the longing he felt. The longing to run into Angelus’ arms and swear his undying loyalty.
****
Finis