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Treacle-Antlers
This is not happening.
If he repeated it enough times to himself, with his eyes tightly closed, he could almost begin to believe it. But then she would clear her throat or make another one of those lighthearted, chipper little comments she'd been making for the last half an hour and the illusion would be shattered again. It was happening. It wasn't a fantasy and, despite seeming to be a reality that had little do with his own, it didn't appear to be going away any time soon. He opened one eye again, darted another furtive glance at the familiar profile of Buffy's long dead Mum and closed it again. No. It was all real. She was real. This whole world was real and somehow or another Red had shoehorned him into it.
A noise close at his side made him start with alarm, throwing himself backwards in his seat defensively. Joyce's green gaze was tinged with amusement, one hand patiently extended towards him.
"Cherry drop?"
He took one, trying desperately to appear calmer than he felt, and unwrapped it slowly. He saw her watching him with a faint smile and suddenly realised how odd his behavior must seem. A grown man, a foreigner, hitchhiking alone, nervous of a friendly, smiling woman. Tried to take deeper breaths, calming himself. Think, Spike. Ask questions. There had to be some plan in action here, something Red had in mind for him. She wasn't a bad person was she? Not any more. Just...misguided. And they were friends now weren't they? She wouldn't do anything to...well not deliberately anyway. Tried to recollect what she'd been saying to him just before it had happened. Something about his being selfish, you're cheating. That squirrel-sharp look, the way she'd smiled at him. If you had nothing else, Spike? He swallowed nervously before remembering the identity of his companion. Red obviously hadn't sent him here completely clueless and he wasn't alone. Maybe Joyce was his guide, the link that would lead him back to his real life. His life with Buffy. He frowned.
This was a test wasn't it? Someone was testing him, trying to see if he was deserving of happiness. And it wasn't just Willow. Oh she'd been the instrument sure, but of what? Of whom? The Powers that Be. Had to be. Always sticking their oar in, messing about with people's lives. Not content to see him slaving over his hot new soul, now they wanted him to jump through hoops? Wanted to see if he was as bleeding penitent as he thought he was? Well fine. He'd work this out, he'd do the math, whatever it took to see this thing through.
"So...er...Joyce...you want to tell me a bit about yourself? Family? Any young kids? Daughters?"
He saw her smile waver for a second, a hint of wary suspicion,
"Why do you ask?"
Oh right. Probably not an appropriate question from a weird-acting loner vagrant. Tried to think how he could win her confidence. What was it she was always wanting to talk to him about before? Oh yeah...
"What d'you do for a living? You got a job?"
He watched as she ran a hand backwards through her curls, relaxing a little,
"Well...yes, I help with the running of a small gallery. Just three days a week. It's not a big deal or anything...but, well...you know."
She glanced at him and he noticed for the first time her strange hesitation, the air of uncertainty in her eyes. That was odd. He hadn't known her very well of course but she'd always been so confident, so full of vitality and enthusiasm. Especially when it came to her work.
"You like it?"
She flashed him a small smile. Again, a little hesitant.
"It's okay."
Okay? Not a word he could ever imagine Buffy's Mum using in connection with her passion. He frowned again, troubled by something else as well. They were driving to LA but there was no baggage in the car to suggest a visit.
"You live in the city?"
She nodded and his heart sank. In this reality then Sunnydale wasn't part of the equation, the Summers were still living in La La Land. Maybe he'd only traveled back in time.
"What's the date today?"
The words came out a little sharper than he'd intended but she answered anyway, politely enough.
"It's the twentieth."
"Of what?"
She blushed and he realised she must think he was drunk or a drug addict or something, not even knowing the month.
"The twentieth of November."
"What year?"
Hesitation and now her eyes darted to his face, concern and compassion.
"It's two-thousand and two. Didn't you know that?"
He shook his head. O.K. Same year just a different reality. One in which the Summers didn't live on the Hellmouth. She was still looking at him though, worried.
"You sure you're O.K?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Just got a bit...disorientated...you know?"
Her face was a pleasant mixture of pity and kindness and he forced a smile, not wanting to disturb her any more than he already had. She had to trust him, had to help him fill in the blanks. Tried to think of something she'd believe,
"Was in the..er..Gulf you see. Sometimes the memory isn't what it was."
"Oh. I'm so sorry."
Her voice was tremulous, a little consternation but her hand came out and covered his own warmly before returning to the wheel. At least that hadn't changed. She was still the big softy he remembered. The one always willing to open her door to a wayward vamp with a penchant for hot chocolate and marshmallows. He looked away, staring at his reflection in the darkened window. At least in this reality Buffy hadn't lost her precious Mum.
Joyce cleared her throat again, reaching down beside him to turn up the heater. The warm air flooded around them and he shivered, only now realising how cold it was. She smiled as she caught his eye. Good. She liked him. Was beginning to trust him. Now if he could only think of a way to cadge an invitation, a way into the Summers household. A way to Buffy.
"You asked if I have a family?"
Her voice broke into his thoughts and he felt his throat tighten as he noticed the deep sadness, the sudden guarded pain in her eyes. He moistened his lips, trying not to give in to the sudden feeling of dread her tone created in him.
"Yeah. Have you?"
She drew a breath slowly and let it out. And why hadn't he noticed them before, he thought curiously. The lines of grief, so clearly etched on her face. She didn't really need to say it at all but he knew she was going to. Knew she was going to destroy his whole world.
"I did."
Two tiny words but he could feel their weight crushing down on him. The breath freezing in his lungs as he fought to control his rising horror, the pain in his chest. Red's voice again; I mean...the soul isn't worth the paper it's printed on without her is it?
"What happened?"
His voice sounded hollow even to his ears and she allowed herself a sad little smile.
"I had a daughter...but she died. About six years ago now."
If you couldn't have Buffy, if you had nothing else.
"There was a fire at her school, in the gym. Some kids were in trouble."
She's your prize isn't she?
"She helped get some of them out but she was...they said she must have got trapped or knocked out."
The pain went too deep for tears, just a cold ache in the pit of his stomach that felt horribly, sickening familiar. No Buffy. Pain. Buffy didn't exist. Pain searing him. Then a second stab almost as deep as the second, but colder, sharper. Dawn. No Dawn either. No L'il Bit and her infectious smile. She had never even happened. And why was this happening? What was he supposed to learn from this? How was this supposed to teach him anything? He heard Joyce draw another deep breath, reach into the dash for a tissue to wipe her eyes.
"Sorry. It still...." she grimaced weakly, "She was...a very special girl."
He felt himself nod but didn't really know why. There was no reason to do anything, feel anything. Buffy was dead. Dawn was...never was. He had no one. Nothing. No way of knowing what his purpose here was, no one to help him return to his own reality. If Buffy had died before even reaching Sunnydale there was no hope. Sunnydale was just The Hellmouth. The Scoobies, the Magic Shop, the home on Revello, none of it was there. Red had never learnt anything about magic, Giles would never have left England. There was no way back.
He thought about hell. Maybe this was it for him. His own personal hell. An appropriate punishment for a vampire who, for over a hundred years, had chosen the life of a lone wolf, keeping company with no one but his Drusilla, who was also alone in her own insane way. He'd spurned the role of Master Vampire, chosing instead to live on his wits and fists without the aid of fledglings. But the thought of it now? Of a life without friends, without family, without Buffy, felt like a loss he couldn't bear. He swallowed cold saliva, his mind whirling as he tried to think of an escape route, someone he could talk to, a familiar face, some way to get himself out of this whole hideous mess. Someone who might consider helping an ex-vampire in distress as part of his job description.
His eyes darted to the window at the familiar LA street names that were flashing by, hand jerked, leapt out, catching the sleeve of Joyce's cardigan with a sudden fervour.
"Can you...you can drop me here. On the corner."
The car slowed at a light and he darted a sudden look at her, realised he had no way of finding her again, no idea where Buffy's family had lived before the move.
"Your gallery...where is it?"
She smiled, handed him a card from the dash.
"Drop by anytime. I'll buy you a coffee."
Her eyes searched his face for a moment, full of kindness, and he gulped. Touched the back of her hand with a fingertip.
"Joyce...I'm so sorry. About Buffy I mean."
Her eyes filled with tears then and he had to turn, had to go before he started blubbing himself too. Jumped out into the darkened street and headed down an alleyway, hoping he'd be out of sight before she realised that she never told him her daughter's name.
*************************
A backstreet paralell to Sunset had taken him down a long shallow slope, past darkened doorways and alcoves that should have seemed perilous to a mere mortal, a young man of no great height or bulk who searched the shadows with a bold, slightly desperate expression. Almost four hours had yielded nothing, other than the usual sorry collection of bums and demon drop-outs the City of Angels always had to offer. All equally as hopeless, all equally as clueless. No one knew the name.
Weary and incredibly hungry Spike felt his initial burst of hopeful inspiration draining away from him. He had been so sure. So much would have changed but he was so certain that he would find him in this area. Buffy had died in LA the first year of her calling so why would he ever have left? He frowned, wishing his vampire sense of smell and internal radar were still intact. A slow circuit of the strip had taken the last of his energy and his heart was heavy in his chest, and he'd just begun mentally preparing himself for a long night hiding in the gutter when he spotted something.
A ragged, slightly disheveled figure crouching low in the shadows to the side of shop entrance. If he hadn't been looking closely he would have taken him for a run-of-the-mill vagrant, some poor soul who'd lost his footing on the ladder of life. The dark head went down and came up, tearing at something. Couldn't see what he was clutching but it looked to be rat or small dog. His stomach turned over as he remembered the stories, the rumours he'd heard that he'd always believed were exaggerated. A wild, insane creature so full of self-loathing that he became a walking affront to his whole race. But it couldn't be him....there was just no way. No way he would ever let himself get like this. He took another hesitant step forward and the animal jerked to life, stumbling away from him. In the light of the streetlamp he saw the hideous, dirty tangle that was the vampire's hair and swallowed. Horror and hopeless desperate fear suddenly overwhelmed him. No hope then. There really was no hope.
"Hello Angel." he said quietly.
TBC...