Fic: Finding Spike (4/4)

Title: Finding Spike
Author: Sandy S.
Form: Fanfiction
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss.
Summary: Set in season five of AtS. What if Buffy met up with Spike after “The Girl in Question”? Part Buffy POV, mostly Spike 3rd person…
Word Count: ~10,000 words (total for all four parts)
Dedication: For the wonderful __tiana__! :o)
Author’s Note: Finally, after 10 years, I finished this fic… :o) Perfect timing since it’s the 10th anniversary of seasonal_spuffy! Happy Anniversary!

I’m so excited about posting day that I’m up at 4:30 AM…lol. I have lots more fiction to post…

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

 

Finding Spike, Part Four

So I lied to Spike when I told him I’d wait for his call. As soon as we got off the phone the second time, I called L.A., talked with the Slayer in charge, Thia, and arranged for her and her fellow Slayers to help in whatever way necessary in the impending fight. They already had a few witches who were monitoring the supernatural energy that was gathering near the big city, so they knew something was up.

And as soon as I hung up with Thia, I called Giles and borrowed his credit card to purchase a flight to L.A. I couldn’t leave Spike and his makeshift family without help. This was too big to leave untouched.

Dawn agreed to stay behind with Giles, and Willow agreed to join me in L.A. She was worried about what such a large influx of power would do to that part of the world, and she knew it could go either way.

Plus, Spike just said he still loved me, and I wasn’t going to let him die. . . not again.

 

* * *

Waking up from a bout of unconsciousness or sleep, Spike groaned in the darkness of the sewer where he’d been hiding since the sun came up. His injuries were many and deep, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been underground. All he knew was that the rat he ate, reminiscent of his meals in the Sunnydale High basement, was not enough to heal his wounds.

Pushing himself up from where he had been reclining, he put his palm to his forehead and winced. His head was pounding, but he knew he had to get moving. Plus, the stench in the sewer was almost unbearable. He vaguely remembered that an unstoppable ray of early morning sunlight had shown through the tiny hole from one of the grates above, and now he only saw the inky blackness of night.

His right hand clanged against an object that emitted the sound of metal scraping over concrete, and he fumbled for and found the hilt of the sword he’d acquired somewhere along the way during the tidal wave of demons and various other monsters that had swarmed over Angel, Illyria, Gunn, and him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen any of his comrades. They’d all been separated in the thick of the fight.

Spike easily found the rungs of the ladder that led up to the grate, but climbing the rusted metal rungs was another story. Each step hurt and required enormous effort, and he mentally cursed himself for falling asleep because it made the pain settle into his muscles.

After what felt like an eternity, his hand found and shoved aside the grate, and with a renewed burst of energy, he pulled himself onto the sidewalk where he tottered back and forth for a moment before finding and leaning against a nearby pole.

Somehow, the light from the street lamp above survived the battle, and the yellow luminance fanned out over the eerily quiet road before him.

Mounds of shadowy, unmoving, sometimes unidentifiable bodies lined the sidewalks and street in any direction that he looked, and the air was infused with the tangy scent of blood and spilled guts. The only sound was the stray hum of flies or some other insect. God help whoever had to be the clean up crew on this one. It made helping Buffy stow the demon bodies that didn’t collapse into goo or disappear upon death in Sunnydale look like child’s play.

Spike stared left and then right, trying to decide which direction to take. He wasn’t sure what his aim was other than to possibly find someone or something alive, preferably someone he knew. Hell, he’d even be grateful for the company of the blue god king at this point.

“Sod it,” he mumbled and headed left.

His arm already ached from carrying the sword, but he was unwilling to let the weapon drag on the ground for fear that something might come at him out of the dark. He thought he could handle whoever or whatever attacked him as long as he had a heads up that they were coming.

He walked so many blocks that he lost count, stepping over bodies and slopping through gore, before he heard something beyond the buzzing of flies.

Holding his side, which had a gaping wound that would not stop oozing dark blood, Spike stopped and listened.

The sound recurred, and he located the direction of the noise, which was coming from between two buildings. He strained to see any movement in the darkness. Even with vampire vision, he couldn’t make out a thing, so out of sheer obstinacy, he wielded the sword and crept toward the source.

The noise he’d detected became clearer as he reached the alley behind the buildings, and the piles of bodies were higher and deeper. Pieces of brick and metal were strewn everywhere. Someone or something was struggling to move and was making little grunting and scuffling noises. When he really focused hard, he thought heard a heartbeat, but the darkness was all consuming. He couldn’t see a thing.

Spike decided to take a risk and summoned a more confident tone than he felt, “Hello? Who’s out there?”

The silence returned. Spike felt a sense of dread, but then, a familiar voice spoke.

“S-spike? Is that you?”

Spike almost couldn’t believe his ears. He hadn’t heard that voice since he was in Sunnydale. “Red?”

A blue pinprick of magically created light suddenly appeared, growing and expanding to the size of a plum, and Spike could make out the witch’s pale face peering out from beneath a huge scrap of metal that was pinning her to the ground. A dark gash was slashed across her cheekbone.

She grimaced and then grinned at him. “Are you ever a sight for sore eyes! Sorta ran out of juice for a bit, and I think I lost consciousness at some point.”

Spike half-reluctantly set the sword aside and picked his way over the stacked up bodies of dead demons surrounding the trapped redhead. “Same thing happened to me. You’re the first person I’ve run across that’s still breathing. Hold on a sec. I got you.” Hiding his physical pain, Spike hefted the thick, solid, and extremely heavy metal slab and flung it off the witch. The metal thudded against the bodies beside her. “Buffy tell you to come?”

“What do you mean?” Willow sounded genuinely confused as she slowly sat up and tested out her limbs. She flinched at the pain in her left wrist, but for the most part, she was whole. Good thing she’d used the last surge of magic to help her to cushion the impending crush. “She didn’t tell you?”

Spike offered his hand to Willow, and he helped her over the largest hump of bodies until they were on even ground again. “What do *you* mean?”

“She came with me.”

Alarm shot through Spike’s chest. “What?!” He immediately regretted how loud his exclamation was.

The blue orb floated between them, highlighting the small worry line between Willow’s eyes. She repeated her question, “She didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t tell me!” he whispered in a pseudo-shouting voice. He shook his head. “I made all those promises to her. I should have made her promise me that she wouldn’t come out here.”

Willow gently touched Spike’s forearm with her undamaged hand. “She wouldn’t have listened. She loves you.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “She told you?”

“She didn’t have to. I already knew. She’s my best friend.” Willow marveled at how oblivious Buffy and Spike were about each other’s feelings for one another. “I’ve known since Sunnydale.”

“Oh.” Spike coughed and grimaced at the surge of pain in his side.

Willow studied the blonde vampire. “You’re really hurt. We should find the others.”

“How do you know there *are* others?”

Willow put her palm over her heart. “Connected to the earth, remember?”

“Right.” Spike managed a half-grin. “And Buffy?”

“Very much still alive,” the witch reassured him. “Several other Slayers died but not Buffy.”

Spike’s shoulders sagged in relief. “We should get out of here. Staying in one place could attract whatever leftover beasties are still kicking.”

“I’ll lead the way.” Willow closed her eyes, pulled on the slowly recharging magic, and sent a mental message to Buffy. When she opened her eyes again, she said, “This way.” She pointed in the direction from which Spike had come.

He gave a quiet snort. “Figures. And Red?”

“Yeah?”

“You were pretty spot on with your visions and extrasensory stuff about Angel.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Thanks. Just trying to help. I was so sorry to hear about Fred. I wish I could have been there.”

Spike thought of all the responses he could give that would require too much exertion when his brain still wasn’t functioning on all cylinders. Instead, he focused on what he could decipher from her tone, settling on, “I know.”

Spike and Willow travelled over the battle’s wasteland for what felt like hours. Once they passed the place where Spike thought he’d started, they found a few stray survivors, Slayers and demons. The vampire and witch effectively slew the demons and kept moving. Two of the rescued Slayers lagged behind, limping and leaning on one another for support. A third Slayer floated beside Willow, a soft blue glow pulsating around her as she silently glided along. Spike tried not to look at the unconscious girl because honestly, it was a little unsettling.

Fingertips of sunlight soon began to creep over the horizon, and Spike wondered if they’d ever find another recognizable face, much less Buffy, before he had to go into hiding again.

Before he had given up the ghost, no pun intended, he heard footsteps pounding on the pavement. Willow glanced at him and managed a tired smile before dropping back to join the other girls. The third Slayer drifted away with her.

A small form barreled out of the fading shadows, and he staggered with the weight of the familiar person in his arms.

“Spike. Thank god.” Buffy’s voice was muffled against his chest. Not changing positions, she called out, “Hi, Willow! You okay?”

The witch replied, “Peachy with a side of keen. Spike helped me out.” Then, she resumed her conversation with the Slayers behind them.

His physical pain forgotten for a moment, Spike held Buffy close and inhaled her distinctive scent, grateful to simply be touching her again.

One of the Slayers glanced at Buffy and Spike as she passed them with Willow and the two others in tow. Willow hurried her on.

After several seconds, Spike drew back and studied Buffy’s face, which was bruised and smudged with dirt. “Are you hurt?”

Buffy dismissed her injuries, “Not really anything a good sleep won’t fix. You?”

“Same. Could use a spot of blood.” Buffy stroked his cheek, and he leaned into her touch, but then, anger flooded him, and words came flowing out before he could stop them, “I *told* you to stay in Rome. You could have gotten yourself killed!”

With an ironic smile, Buffy gestured around them at the chaos. “What? And miss all this?”

Spike brushed past her and charged onward, scanning the area for potential shelters. This time, he let the sword drag on the ground, his surge of emotion draining his remaining resources. “This was not your battle to fight.”

Catching up to the pissed off vampire, Buffy crossed her arms. “And yet, you were perfectly willing to accept the help of other Slayers!”

Spike glared at Buffy. “Because I knew you were safe in Rome!”

“Don’t you go all overprotective on me. We’ve had this conversation before!”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Under Red’s spell. This is different.” Willow’s her-will-be-done spell seemed so long ago, and yet here they were, rehashing bits of it as if it was yesterday.

“How is it different?” Buffy stepped in front of Spike, forcing him to halt.

Spike felt heat as his eyes met her green ones, and he said with deliberate slowness, “Because you love me and I love you. It’s a mutual thing and it’s real. . . at least that’s what you said, and it’s all the more reason I can’t bear the thought of you dying again.”

“You think I could stand for you to die again either?” Spike stared at her. “Yeah, that’s right! I went through losing you, too! *That’s* a mutual thing!”

The truth was raw and naked and tangible. Spike wasn’t sure how, but somehow, they had gone straight to the heart of the matter within minutes of being in one another’s presence.

In a heartbeat, if he had a heart that worked, Spike reached out and pulled his Slayer forward, kissing her hard and long and full of every ounce of feeling he could summon. Buffy matched his intensity, wrapping her arms around his neck and tumbling down the rabbit hole of their memorable passion, a connection they’d rekindled not long ago. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, and he met her move for move, sending shockwaves of desire rocketing over her skin and through her core.

When she finally needed a breath, she quietly gasped for the much needed oxygen and smiled up at him. Spike couldn’t tear his gaze away from her and realized that despite his injuries and fatigue, he would take her here and now if here wasn’t in the middle of a field of blood and guts. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t done so before, but that was the past, and Buffy deserved better. Hell, he deserved better.

Suddenly, all Spike’s aches and pains and exhaustion came rushing to the forefront, and he slumped forward over the piercing agony that came with his torn midsection.

Buffy steadied him and slipped an arm around his waist. “We need to get you some blood.”

Accepting the assistance mostly because it meant that Buffy would continue to hold him, Spike squinted up at the brightening sky. “And some shade.”

“Well, I brought a cooler with some blood.” She nodded her head forward. “I dropped it over there when I saw you. And as far as shade, everyone is just around the corner. . . well, two blocks around the corner. We’re set up in an abandoned record store. There’s a cot with your name on it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Big enough for both of us?”

Buffy was tempted to whack him, but she didn’t want to hurt him more. “Maybe we can scoot two together.”

Spike suddenly remembered his comrades. “You seen any of. . . “ For some reason, he couldn’t bear to say their names out loud, not after everything they’d been through.

Snagging the cooler from the ground and unzipping it, Buffy handed him a lukewarm packet of blood. “Angel’s fine. He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it. Gunn. . . is that his name? He’s not doing as well, and we’re hoping Willow can help. Illyria. . . well, I’m assuming she’s being Illyria, all awkward and eye-stare-y. She’s easily confused by puns. And she’s really really blue.”

Spike accepted the blood. “That’s Blue for you. She was magnificent on the battle front even with her powers all tamped down. Never saw such violent head smashing and ripping of limbs in rapid succession.” Caught up in the memory, his gaze drifted off and the corner of his mouth went up. Buffy gave him a look, and he added, “Anyway, I was glad she was on our side. Guess she was a tad upset about the Watcher.”

Buffy watched as Spike briefly vamped and punctured the bag of pig’s blood with his teeth. As he drank, she said, “I can’t believe Wesley’s gone.”

Spike paused and then said with open earnestness, “And Fred. She was the kindest of Angel’s crew. She tried to help make me corporeal again. I’ll never forget that.”

Buffy gently touched his shoulder and re-zipped the cooler. “Angel asked about you. He seemed worried.”

Spike huffed. “That’d be a first.”

Buffy sighed. “Well, he did. He told me to tell you thank you when I found you.”

“He did, did he?” Spike felt a whole mix of feelings that he expected and didn’t expect to feel for Angel, including faded jealousy, an ever present competitiveness, genuine concern and kinship, loyalty from days long past, and something akin to compassion. He wasn’t sure how or if he wanted to convey that to Buffy.

They started moving again with Spike sipping blood and Buffy carrying his sword. As they passed the first block and he finished eating, she tucked the sword hilt against the cooler’s strap and pushed her hand into Spike’s free one. “I love you, you know?”

Spike squeezed her hand. “I love you, too.”

Buffy bit her lip and took a deep breath, feeling the same trepidation she felt just before she confessed her love over the phone. “Want to come back to Rome with me?”

Spike regarded her, and his immediate response was yes, but he found himself saying, “After I help make things right here.”

“Then, I’ll stay and help, too.” She sounded resolute.

“What about the trial?” Spike didn’t want to know too much but had to ask.

“It’s wrapping up. . . finally. Plus, Dawn would be more than happy to come out here for summer break.”

Spike thought about his tiny apartment. . . if he still had an apartment. “I’m gonna need a bigger place, pet.” He was pleased that he’d asked a question without asking one.

“We’ll look for one together.”

“Oh, we will?” Spike liked this determined side of Buffy most of the time.

“Although you can make any place cozy, I’d prefer the place to have things like say. . . hot running water.”

“I think that could be arranged, love.” Spike was already imagining the showers they’d take together.

“And oh! A walk in closet.” She skipped a little.

“How long are we planning to stay here again?”

“I dunno. Depends on how long you feel like you need to be here.” She made a face. “And how long it’ll take to clean up this mess. This is a lot to clean up. And what’re they gonna tell the people in L.A.? This is *so* much different than Sunnydale. The denial will have to be huge.”

Spike smirked. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Rome is nice. It’ll be nicer if you’re there, too.”

Focusing on each other and less on the horror all around them, Spike and Buffy’s light banter continued as they rounded the corner and headed into their future together.

The end.

Hope you enjoyed! :o)

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/527020.html