Where in the World is Buffy Summers? – Chapter 1

Title: Where in the World is Buffy Summers?
Author: missus_grace
Rating: PG13-R
Notes: Of course, this won’t be finished today. But anyone who knows me can tell you that I always finish my WIPS, and usually within a month of posting. So if the beginning intrigues you, please stop on by my LJ to see how the story progresses. And if you want to know why I’m not done I’ve got three words for you: children and Elton John (as in going to a concert instead of slaving away at the keyboard).
Summary: After the episode “Destiny” in AtS Season 5, what if Spike had gotten on the boat that took him to France, looking for Buffy? But there are certain people who don’t want them to connect. How far will Spike go to find the woman he loves? 

He leaned over the railing and watched the moonlight shimmering on the water below. Several years had passed since he’d last been on a ship, but you would never know it. He still looked the same; would never age, much like the ocean below. But inside he felt old. Weary. He thought he’d done his bit for the world, but the world wasn’t done with him.

Sighing, the man contemplated the unlit cigarette in his left hand. He hadn’t smoked much since the soul, and it was difficult to find a place to light up anymore. Bloody health-nuts had taken over and kicked all the nicotine addicts out of public places everywhere. He could light up now, if he wanted to, even if he wasn’t on the tiny piece of deck reserved for smokers. He was his own vamp now, chip-free and balls reclaimed. He could rip the throat out of anyone who tried to stop him from smoking anywhere he pleased. He wouldn’t, of course, but he could.

Not that he’d do anything to jeopardize his journey at this point. All he knew was that she was in Europe. Would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but she was the Slayer, after all, and liable to make some kind of a noise wherever she was. So he put the fag back in his duster pocket and contemplated sitting in a deck chair for awhile, but the buxom brunette with too much everything (hair, make-up, and perfume) was making come-fuck-me faces at him and he wanted to get away from her.

Although he desperately wanted to sink into a warm, willing, body, he couldn’t, not after the fiasco with Harmony back in the office. He still wasn’t sure what came over him; at least he didn’t want to admit it. He’d just needed to touch someone, and be touched in return. After all those weeks of being non-corporeal he needed something to make it real. To know he existed after all. Harmony hadn’t been a bad fuck; she was good enough for him years before, but even in her crazed-induced fever she’d hit the nail on the head; she was just a poor substitute for who he really wanted.

So here he was, making his way slowly to Europe. He couldn’t fly, so he was doing it the old-fashioned way; sailing on a ship down the coast to Central America, through the Panama Canal, then up the Atlantic and through the Strait of Gibraltar, which would take him into the Mediterranean and onto France. He’d thought about heading to Merry Olde first, look up the Watcher in Bath, but when Angel said she was in Europe, he was sure she’d be in France. She’d talked about it before, when they still talked; even had a bit of high school French. She wanted to see Paris, take in the fashions, passions, and culture. So it would stand to reason that’s where she’d be.

He’d been there, knew which demons to contact for information, and felt comfortable starting his search there. A small part of him wished he’d asked Angel for her exact whereabouts, but he didn’t want to give that pillock the satisfaction of seeing him beg for that scrap of information. Besides, maybe Buffy would be impressed that he looked so hard for her.

So he went back inside and found the laid-back bar where it was dark and the music was real, found a table for one in the corner and prepared to drink away another night.

^^^^^^^

WOLFRAM & HART – Los Angeles

Angel stared at the pink memo paper in his hand. The number for Rupert Giles at his estate in Bath was neatly printed in the Wes’ precise handwriting. He knew the Watcher wouldn’t want to hear from him; that much had been made clear when what was left of the Sunnydale contingent pulled up outside the Hyperion while his team was clearing out. He’d tried to explain why he took the job at the law office, but Buffy and Rupert couldn’t see past the “demon” and “evil” labels the Senior Powers had cultivated.

His one ally, Faith, had been at the hospital with her new man, and Fred had as much luck as he’d had with Buffy and Giles, trying to convince Willow that they were going to effect change from the inside. The red-headed witch was sticking with her friends, even though as the smartest one in the bunch, she should have understood. In the end, the bus had left and he watched Buffy ride out of his life, for the time being.

But he knew, and he’d felt it when he last saw her in Sunnydale, that they would be together someday. Despite her lame cookie dough speech, he could feel the love they shared singing through his bones. That’s why she was so disappointed right now. But once his business here was concluded and she knew exactly why he’d done this, she would understand and all would be forgiven. He was sure of it. And he didn’t want Spike mucking it up.

He’d seen how fresh and raw her grief for the younger vamp had been when the survivors came to L.A. He also knew that Spike loved her more than she loved him, so Angel had let him go without a fuss, even letting him have a car. He had things to accomplish here, and he was counting on the fact that Spike’s plans never worked how he wanted them to. Besides, if he got through to Rupert, Spike might not catch up to Buffy for quite some time.

Even though the Slayers had left with a “Don’t call us and we won’t call you” attitude, Giles chief among them, he knew the man would want to know that Spike was back and heading for Buffy. Ghost Spike had told him that Rupert had tried to get him dusted back in Sunnydale, and they’d bonded a bit over Giles hating them both. And if Angel felt a slight twinge of guilt over what he was about to do, he ignored it, knowing that keeping Spike and Buffy apart was the best thing for everyone, even Spike. If Angel was going to end up with her, it was best that Spike get over Buffy and move on.

So he dialed the number, and 20 minutes later it was done. He’d explained Spike’s “resurrection” to Giles, and had hinted broadly that he wasn’t sure of Spike’s motivations. Let him think that he didn’t know if the soul was still there, just told him Spike was his old, annoying self. Giles was going to get Buffy out of Rome and back into the states somehow, and by the time Spike would have figured that out, he’d be following a trail that led nowhere.

What Giles didn’t know was that Angel had placed an operative on Buffy, just so he could watch out for her from afar. If anything happened, he’d be the one riding to her rescue. He just needed to know she was alright. And if Spike got anywhere near her, Angel’s man would know. He went to bed that night assured that nothing would threaten his future with Buffy.

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/139130.html