Authors: 2writers4spike aka mabel_marsters & dawnofme
Warning: Mentions of Spike with others.
Betas: seapealsh & slaymesoftly. Thank you so much!
Anticipation: a: a prior action that takes into account or forestalls a later action b: the act of looking forward ; especially : pleasurable expectation
Summary: Having no idea how it happened, Spike finds himself back in 1977, reeling from a newly acquired soul and more guilt than most could handle. After dodging Drusilla, his main focus is getting back to his own time and back to Buffy in Sunnydale so that he can atone for all he's done. That is, until he sees the newly born slayer in 1981 and goes off in a new direction. Can he stop the events that brought misery to Buffy's life, or will he be forced to watch destiny destroy the woman he loves all over again?
Disclaimer: We own no part of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. We write this purely for fun and not financial gain. No infringement of copyright intended.
banner by dawnofme
When the doorbell rang, Buffy glanced up from her homework but went right back to it. Lying on her stomach with her legs up and her elbows pressing on the mattress to hold her head up, she frowned down at her History textbook. Buffy couldn’t care less about the French Revolution, but she had to get this stuff done. Merrick had given her a boatload of material to read about being a slayer to occupy her time while she was grounded, but since she’d been called to her destiny her grades had been slipping.
She tried to concentrate on her textbook, but the voices drifting in through her open bedroom door piqued her interest. A man with a heavy southern accent mentioned her high school and her name. After shutting her textbook, she got up and hid in the hall where she could see and hear what was going on.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” her dad said. “Please, have a seat.”
Mr. Jones sat down and pulled some papers out of his briefcase. She scrunched her nose at the man’s fashion sense. Who wore tweed anymore? Besides Merrick.
“I wish I were here on happier business, but the school has asked me to contact you about your daughter.” The man scratched his lip just above his red mustache and looked at her parents with kind eyes.
Her dad put his arm around her mom’s shoulders and said, “What has she done now?”
“It’s not what she’s done, but what she’s been saying. She…” he hesitated. “She is insisting that vampires exist.”
Speaking of vampires, Buffy edged closer to the living room and narrowed her eyes at Mr. Jones.
“Buffy has been telling us the same thing. About vampires. That they are real,” said her dad.
“Why isn’t Ms. Jenkins here to tell us this?” Joyce asked. “She’s still Buffy’s counselor, right?”
“Yes, she is. But she’s on leave for personal reasons and your daughter’s case has been given to me,” Mr. Jones said, not missing a beat.
The hair on the back of Buffy’s neck began to rise, the tightening in her gut intensified and she was now pretty sure what he was. With her heart pounding in fear for her parent’s safety, she raced back to her room, threw open her closet and dug around in a box on the floor. She grabbed a stake and went back to her spot in the hall.
Buffy had no idea how she was going to get that vampire out of her house without her parents getting hurt. On one hand, if she engaged in battle right there in her living room her parents would know she was telling the truth, but on the other hand, they could end up getting hurt. She couldn’t chance it. She had to figure out a way to get the vampire out of the house.
“We’ve found strange weapons in her locker and her talk about killing vampires concerns us,” Buffy heard Mr. Jones tell her parents.
“So what is the school’s recommendation?” Hank asked.
“I know this is tough for the both of you, but we suggest that she be temporarily placed in a psychiatric hospital for evaluation.”
Buffy ran into the room, brandishing her pointy stake. “Get out of my house right now!”
Joyce gasped and they all stood up. Mr. Jones held a hand up in a defensive manner. She didn’t see deadness in his eyes like all the other vampires she’d been face to face with. There was sadness in those blue eyes and she backed up, lowering the stake. Was she wrong about him being a vampire? Her instincts said he was, but her eyes told her something different.
“What are you?” Buffy asked. “Because I know you aren’t a counselor from Hemery.”
Joyce pointed at her. “Are…are those the type of weapons that you found in her locker?”
Buffy glanced down at her stake and then quickly hid it behind her back. Mr. Jones ignored her parent’s rapid-fire questions and orders for Buffy to put the wooden stake down. He just stared at her, swallowed a couple of times and then he said, “I’m here to help you, Buffy.” And the way he said her name did something to her insides, similar to the way it felt when Troy had caressed her stomach one evening.
“I don’t know what you are, but I know you aren’t human. Leave. Now,” Buffy told him.
“Don’t you talk to him like that,” her dad said. “Give me that weapon, right now.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. Not until Mr. Jones leaves.”
“Yes, well, it is time for me to go.” He gathered his papers, never taking his eyes off her, and then held the briefcase close to his chest. He addressed her parents and said, “Please, think about what I’ve said. I only want to see your daughter well and safe.”
Her dad rushed her and yanked the stake from her hands and she panicked as Mr. Jones went by her. Buffy watched him as her mother held the door open for him. Her father left the room with the stake and she prepared to go hand to hand with the creature, whatever he was, if he threatened her mom. Joyce watched him go out the door and then stared at Buffy as if she’d grown an extra head. Buffy ignored her and kept her eye on the retreating form of Mr. Jones. He paused, turned and then vamped out.
“Mom! Look! He is a vampire.”
She tried not to sound hysterical, but failed. Buffy was desperate for her parents to believe her. By the time her mother looked, Mr. Jones had turned back to his human face, and then he walked away.
*~ * ~ * ~*
Spike parked his car across the street from the psychiatric hospital and glared at the rusty Impala down the street. He now had his answer. He’d gone by the Summers’ residence, but found the car gone and the house dark. Buffy’s parents obviously hadn’t wasted any time; they’d had her admitted during the day. What he wanted to know was how Angel had found out. He jogged across the street and approached the vehicle.
“Get out!” Spike snarled.
Angel, looking more confident and better groomed, stepped out of the car and glared at him. “Go away, Spike. I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not here to help you, you git. And how did you know Buffy was here?”
Angel grabbed Spike by the coat and threw him against the wall, using his bulk to press him against it. “I followed her watcher. And you never learn, do you, William? You never could respect your elders.”
Spike pushed him away and sneered. “No, I just don’t have any respect for you.”
“I don’t have time for your crap. The Slayer must be going crazy in that place. I’ve got to find a way to get her out of there,” said Angel as he stared up at the high, bar covered windows.
“Leave her be. She’s safe there.”
“Safe from what?”
Angel turned in a circle, scanning the area. “I thought she was here with you?”
“She’s not. We haven’t been together for years. She knows that we’re both trying to help Buffy, and Dru wants her dead. That is why I orchestrated this stay for Buffy here.”
“You did what?” Angel growled, taking a menacing step towards Spike.
Spike pointed a finger at him. “You’re the one who drove Dru crazy before you turned her and then made her terrified of these places. It’s the safest place for the Slayer until I can figure out what to do with Drusilla.”
Angel looked down and then shook his head. “The Slayer isn’t going to be able to do her job if she’s locked up in there.”
“I know. I hate that it had to be done, but I need time. When was the last time you saw Dru?”
“Last I saw her, she was at the cemetery down the street. I thought she was waiting for you to show up. I left when I didn’t see Buffy and Merrick there and as I drove by here, I saw Merrick go in to the hospital.”
“I hope he advises her to stop talking about slaying and vampires,” Spike said, gazing up at the windows.
He wondered how well she was taking all this. Did they have her strapped down? Were they already giving her drugs? He hoped not. Anything that happened in there would be his fault. More determined than ever, he stomped towards the cemetery.
“Where are you going?” Angel asked him.
“I’m going to find Dru and take care of this once and for all.”
Spike wasn’t in the cemetery for more than two minutes before he found her, wandering near a mausoleum. She glared at him and then took off. He gave chase, but once he was past the cemetery gates, he lost sight of her. Growling in frustration, he paused and inhaled deeply, trying to get a whiff of Dru’s scent. He walked slowly, letting his nose lead him and ended up out of the cemetery and down the street.
Movement out of the corner of his eye as he passed a warehouse caught Spike’s attention. Instinctively he knew it was his sire. He tested a side door, made sure no one was looking and then stepped inside the dark and cluttered space. Metal shelves filled with wooden pallets lined the walls and more pallets and debris were stacked and scattered haphazardly all over the room.
“Where is she, Spike?”
Drusilla’s smooth voice came from the far corner, but she was hidden behind a large metal container.
“She’s out of your reach now. You might as well give up and go away.”
He saw her white dress before he saw her face as Drusilla came out of hiding and said, “Never. Not until she’s dead.”
“She’s in the asylum. Unless you want to get locked up too, I suggest you leave town.”
Fear clouded her eyes for a brief moment and then she shrugged. “She can’t stay in there forever and I have all the time in the world.”
“Leave, or I’ll have to kill you,” he said, trying to sound as detached as he could.
Spike desperately wanted her to just get out of town. He didn’t want to have to hurt her. Before he could say anything else, she was on him. They fell to the ground and it was all he could to do to deflect her razor sharp nails as she clawed at him. He managed to get his feet under her, and with all his strength, he kicked her away. She went flying, landing heavily against one of the metal shelves.
With an angry yell, she tackled him again just as he was standing. She shoved at him. Spike grunted when he hit the wooden pallet with so much force that it broke and splintered. He slowly looked to the left and blinked. A large and very sharply pointed tip had just missed piercing his back and his heart. His side burned where it had grazed his skin.
Jumping up, he went on the offensive, attacking with brutal force. She retreated a few steps, but gave as good as she got. They had fought side by side for so long that they knew each other’s every move. Drusilla gripped his shoulders and they turned, exchanging positions. She shoved at him, but he stood firm to deflect her kicks and blows. Spike ran at her and using flat palms, he gave her a good shove.
Drusilla lost her balance and fell back onto the pallet that he had broken. His eyes widened when he realized that the sharp point of the splintered wood had pierced her body. He raced towards her only to hear a tiny whimper as she exploded into a fine dust.
Stunned, he stood with his hands out and watched as fine particles of the gray dust landed in his white palms. She was gone. His sire, the first person to show him any attention, the first woman he’d ever truly fallen in love with was gone. And by his hands.
*~ * ~ * ~*
Something woke Buffy up. The fog in her brain prevented her from thinking straight, but she knew someone was in the room with her. She was vulnerable on her back, but try as she might, she could not turn over or even open her eyes. Footsteps came closer. She didn’t know where she was or what was going to happen next. If she could have managed to open her mouth, she would have screamed, but even that task proved too hard.
“I’m so sorry,” an unfamiliar man’s voice said in an English accent.
She got one eye open, but all she could see was the shadow of a form leaning over the bed in her darkened room.
“The danger is over now and I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of here fast. Just… Tell them what they want to hear. Demons, vampires, slayers: they don’t exist for these people. You have to lie to them.”
A cool hand touched her arm. Buffy wanted to grip it and ask him who he was, but he just patted her slowly and she still couldn’t talk. She heard his footsteps fade away and then she fought to come fully awake. The effort to move wore her out, the drugs in her system too strong, and as she slowly faded back into a deep sleep, she convinced herself that she’d just dreamed up the mystery man. Strangers didn’t just walk into her room, tell her there was no danger, and then pat her on the arm.