Title: It’s Written in the Stars
Genre: Mystery, angst, memory loss, hurt/comfort
Setting: Post ATS series. Non comics
Rating: MA for language and mentions of violence and sex
Prompt: For seasonal_spuffy
Disclaimer: The charachters belong to Joss and Co. This story line is mine though.
Summary: Buffy and Spike wake in an unfamiliar room, injured from an unremembered battle, with faulty memories of their past.
‘Let the healing power begin. Let my will be safe again. As these words of peace are spoken, let this harmful spell be broken.’
Willow looked around the crypt. The demons had vanished. Anya and Xander were standing, checking each other for injury. Buffy and Spike were… Buffy and Spike were still embracing each other, still kissing. Oops. That wasn’t right. Not right at all.
“Spike! Wake up.” Buffy shook the vampire hard, only to get a groan in return. “Spike!” She hit him across the face. His eyelids fluttered and he drew in a sharp breadth. She shook him again. “Come on! For god’s sake! Wake! Up!”
Spike’s eyes flew open and he lurched to his feet, or rather he tried, but he collapsed almost immediately, on gaining his feet. He let out a scream of pain. “Oh shit, Spike! Shit! Stay down. I just want you to wake up, not hurt yourself more.”
“Slayer?” He groaned again. “Fuck what’s wrong with my legs? Shite, they feel like someone’s smashed ‘em with a sledge hammer.” Spike struggled to sit up, leaning back heavily, on his elbows. He looked down the length of his body, toward his feet. The left turned out at a completely unnatural angle. The right at least, still pointed in more or less, the right direction but he could clearly see his shin bone, poking through a hole in his jeans. “Crap!”
“That’s all you have to say? Both your legs are broken and you say ‘crap’?” Buffy sighed and looked around the room they were in. It appeared to be a plainly furnished hotel room complete with a double bed, a small table and two chairs, a two seater lounge and a flat screen on the wall. A bar fridge stood under a bench that was fixed to the far wall. A microwave sat on the bench, next to a sink with two taps over it. At the end of a bench was a door, which, she hoped, led to a bathroom. There was no phone visible.
“Where the fuck are we? And what the fuck happened?”
“Yes, swearing is so of the good, in this situation. I don’t know and I don’t know. In that order. I’ve gotta use the bathroom. Then I’ll see if I can find something to fix your legs.”
“Fuck, something for the pain would be good.”
“Yeah. Just stay where you are.” She ignored his raised eyebrow and made for the door. It did open into a bathroom, thank whoever, and she made quick use of the facilities. As she washed her hands in the small basin, Buffy stared at her reflection. She had a lovely shiner, a split lip and a bruised cheek. She felt the pain blossom as she looked in the mirror and catalogued her injuries. Her left arm was quite sore, though not broken. Her head felt like someone had hit her with an axe. Damn. Spike. Spike was a mess. Whatever they’d been fighting, it was obviously big and powerful.
She opened the cupboard under the sink and found a surprisingly large first aid kit. She hauled it out and carried it back into the main room. Spike had dragged himself across the room, to the fridge, the contents of which, were now partially strewn around the floor. He himself, was busily upending a bottle of some sort of alcohol. Bags of blood lay on the floor. A couple of them appeared to have been drained. He looked up at her.
“Do us a favour, love, and heat a couple up for me.” He indicated the blood bags by his side, with his head, before putting the bottle in his hands, to his lips again.
She put the first aid kit on the bench, bent and retrieved two bags of blood and turned toward the microwave. As she opened it and placed the bags inside, she looked down at the packets strewn on the floor. Sandwiches, fruit and chocolate bars lay amongst the bags of blood. She started the microwave, then turned and began picking up the stuff from the floor and putting it back in the fridge.
“Before you go all miss Betty tidy girl, maybe you should see if the front door is unlocked and maybe take a peak outside, see where we are.”
“Well, maybe if you weren’t such a pig, I wouldn’t have to pick up the food that might have to last us, who knows how long.”
“Point. Just, the legs are a bit painful and I reckon I got a few busted ribs as well. Need to feed to heal.” He grimaced as he tried to shift a leg.
“Oh. Sorry. Of course. Found a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
“Bloody big one for a hotel room.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Buffy walked across to the other door in the room and tried the handle. It turned and the door opened on to a verandah that overlooked a car park. It was bright day but there was a roof over the verandah and the sun did not make it to the door. She looked down at the car park. It was empty. It looked unkempt, with weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. She looked down the verandah. There was no sign of anyone around. She heard the microwave ding and went back inside, shutting the door behind her.
“Well, what’s out there?”
“Nothing. We’re in some sort of Motel, on the second floor. Car park is empty and looks overgrown. No-one about that I could see. No traffic going by on the road, either.”
She opened the cupboard over the sink and found it filled with crockery. She took down two mugs. She pulled the drawer under the bench open. It was filled with cutlery and cooking utensils. She took out a sharp knife to open the blood packets.
“Don’t need it in a mug, Slayer. Just pass ’em to me, thanks.”
She did as he asked, then turned to continue her exploration. The next cupboard yielded an electric kettle, and the makings for tea and coffee. She filled the kettle, plugged it in and switched it on. The third cupboard was filled with tinned food, packets of biscuits, macaroni cheese, pop tarts and weeta-bix. This was just getting weirder. She opened the fridge again and took stock of what it contained. There was at least another dozen bags of blood. There were six packets of sandwiches, four apples, four oranges, four pears and half a dozen cans of soda. The shelves held a carton of milk, several miniature bottles of alcohol, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a dozen assorted chocolate bars. She opened the freezer and found found frozen waffles and ice-cream, chocolate ice-cream. Weird did not begin to describe it.
The kettle whistled, causing her to jump. She reached across to switch it off and accidentally jostled Spike’s leg. He let out a moan. “Oh, god. Sorry, sorry. We’d better have a look at that, now. See what we can do.”
“Yeah. That’d be good.” His words slurred a little and faded to nothing. She looked at him just as he fell over to the side. Damn! Bending down, she found he’d passed out. She looked at his legs and thought it was probably better that way. She picked up the empty blood bags and the scotch bottle and took them to the bin. At least he’d got some blood into him so that he could start healing. She had a feeling she was going to need some help before they got out of this. Her stomach rumbled. First things first, food and drink for her. She opened the fridge again and took out a packet of sandwiches and a soda.
Spike began groaning as she finished splinting the shattered left leg. She’d already taken care of the right, managing to get the bone back into place, before splinting and bandaging it. Lucky the chairs at the table had fairly straight wooden legs. She’d had to cut both jeans’ legs open, to get at the wounds. She’d also cut his shirt off, to reveal almost black bruising, along the left side. He’d been right about the ribs. Several of them were broken. He also had a deep, penetrating wound on the left side of his chest. When she rolled him on his side she found that the wound had gone all the way through. His right wrist was broken, as were three of the fingers on the right hand. In short, Spike was a bit of a mess and a total liability.
She supposed she ought to try and get him on the bed. She got up from the floor and cleaned up the mess of opened wrappers and cut tape left from her ministrations. She went to the bed and pulled down the covers. Pressing down on the mattress revealed it to actually be pretty firm, not bad for a cheap motel. She went back to the unconscious vampire and bent down to pick him up. It wasn’t easy, but he really wasn’t much taller than her, and he was surprisingly light. He groaned again, but did not waken as she laid him on the bed.
She sat on the side of the bed and thought about what to do next. God, she wished she could remember what had happened to them. The last thing she remembered, she’d been in an apartment, with the gang. They’d been researching something. What was it? She couldn’t remember. It was like trying to wade through grey sludge. She shook herself and looked across the room, noticing another pair of doors. A closet perhaps. Might as well check it out, she thought.
The doors opened to reveal a closet, with hanging space on one side and shelves and drawers on the other. It was filled with clothes. She pulled out a folded pair of blue jeans. Her size. She pulled another pair, this time black. Men’s. Looked like they’d be Spike’s size. The top drawer held women’s underwear. Very sexy underwear. In her size. The second held socks and pajamas. There was a suitcase in the bottom of the closet. It had a luggage label on it. She pulled it towards her. She felt a wave of dizziness run over her.
The label read, ‘William and Buffy Pratt’. What the heck! She clicked open the locks. The case was empty except for grains of rice. Rice! Rice! Oh my god. What have we done? Then she noticed she was wearing a ring on her finger. A plain gold band on her left hand, on her wedding finger! She clasped her left hand to her chest, felt a lump there and realised something was on the chain around her neck. She pulled it out. It was a silver skull ring. It was vaguely familiar. She felt it was important. She held it between her fingers, thinking. She got a flash of Spike, kneeling before her, holding something out to her. Ugh!
She pushed the case back into the closet, stood and closed the doors. She walked across to the cupboard beside the bed. There was a drawer there and she pulled it open. Inside it was a wallet, a man’s watch and a silver lighter. She picked the wallet up. It had a license in it. In the name of William Pratt, with Spike’s picture on it. Born in London. Thirty years ago. There were credit cards with the same name. She put it back and picked up the watch. Turning it over, she saw the inscription engraved into it. ‘S. Love 4 eva, B.’ She looked from it to Spike, laying soundlessly in the bed beside her. It couldn’t be.
She moved around to the other side of the bed and opened the drawer beside it. Inside was a woman’s wallet. She pulled it out and with shaking fingers, opened it. The license showed her smiling face. The name was Buffy Anne Pratt. She sat on the bed. What was going on? She looked at the wallet again. The address on the license was not Sunnydale. It was some hotel in Los Angeles. Oh, this was definitely not of the good. Had Willow done another spell? She looked into the drawer again. There was a pair of sunglasses, a bracelet, a couple of chains with crosses on them, a stake. There was also a cell phone. She grabbed it and flipped it open. Dead. She looked for a charger. None.
Beside her, Spike groaned awake, eyes flicking open in panic, senses alert for attack. Slayer! He threw an arm out instinctively, connected with flesh and immediately roared, as his chest flared into bright red, agony. He reached up with his right hand to grab the headboard and roared again, as broken fingers knocked into the solid board and a shattered wrist reminded him, not to use that hand. He looked across the bed and saw the slayer, Buffy, sitting up on the floor and rubbing her shoulder.
“Geez, Spike. Panic much? Just what I needed, thanks. Now I can having matching black eyes.”
“Well don’t sneak up on a vampire.” He looked down at his legs, saw the bandaging. “A badly wounded vampire.” He grimaced.
“Do you remember anything? Where we are, what we’re doing here? How we both got hurt?”
He sat staring at her, blinked once, shook his head. “Remember waking, on the floor. Blood. I drank some blood.”
“Don’t forget the Spike emergency coping mechanism. You polished off a bottle of scotch while I was in the bathroom.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, course. So you splinted me legs and,” he felt the bandages around his torso, “me ribs. Got me naked at last, eh, Slayer?” He waggled his eyebrows and let a suggestive smirk play across his lips.
“Pig! I had to cut your clothes off, to fix you.” She stood up and stalked across the room. Away from him, on the bed, with just the remnants of his jeans and the bandages she’d put on him, covering his body, his almost naked, hard, delicious body. She watched him, rubbing his hand, then struggling to sit up and back, against the headboard of the bed. She watched the play of his muscles across his abdomen. She felt the strangest urge to run her hands across his chest, down his arms. She wanted to take a nipple into her mouth, suck on it. She felt herself getting wet. She felt all those feelings and thoughts seemed very familiar, as if she had actually performed all those actions before, often. Oh, god. What! Was! Happening!
As the pain from his various injuries subsided again, Spike opened his eyes and looked across at the slayer. No. He looked at Buffy. She was so beautiful. he loved her hair. Loved to run his fingers through it. He loved the taste of the sunshine on her skin. He loved the taste of her quim. He… What! The! Fuck! He drew the air into his nose, held the scents there, tasting them, feeling them. He smelt her current arousal and his, smelt his blood and hers, smelt the lotions she had used under the bandages, the injuries on both of them, that were already healing. Smelt… His mouth fell open and he stared at the girl, in shock.
“What? What! What’s wrong, Spike?”
“I’m, I’m all over you and, and you’re…, you’re all over me.”
“What are you talking about, you stupid vampire?” She looked at him. He was shaking his head, eyes closed, clearly upset or confused over what he was thinking.
“Slayer. Er, Buffy, we’ve… Oh god, I can’t say it. God, no. Not the slayer. I’m a fucking vampire. No way I’d do a slayer. Fucking, no way!”
“What are you babbling about? And stop with the cursing! And what do you mean by ‘do a slayer’, jerk. Just tell me or so help me, I’ll stake you good.”
He took a deep breadth, let it out a little shakily, scrubbed his hand through his hair. She loved those curls, always wished he’d stop using so much gel. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. What was going on here? All these fake thoughts. As if she’d ever touch the evil, stupid… but she knew, suddenly she knew. She’d more than touched him and he’d more than touched her. Her mouth fell open as he opened his and confirmed her sudden insight.
“ We’ve made love, Buffy. A lot. I’ve I’ve tasted you. Your skin, your sweet juices, your… blood.” His voice had dropped so low she almost missed the last word. But she knew what he’d said. She knew it was true. “ You’ve tasted mine. You’ve I think… we’ve… I’m not sure. You’ve tasted my blood. I can feel a connection. With you. Oh, god. What the fuck have we done, Slayer? What have we done?”
They stared at each other, emotions flashing across their faces. Confusion, horror, fear, wonder, love, lust, back to horror. Her head whirled. She dropped onto the sofa behind her, her legs suddenly no longer capable of holding her up. She leaned back into the cushions, tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. This was so bad. This was the worst situation she’d ever been in. Worse than the Master, worse than the mayor. Oh god. She’d been having sex with an evil, unsouled vampire. She’d let him drink from her. She’d drunk from him! She remembered the licenses. Apparently she’d married him!
“What? What now, Slayer? Can see something else’s on your mind.”
“I think… I think we’re married.”
“What! …Bloody, sodding hell! Take that back! We are NOT married! No bloody way! Nuh uh. Nope! Not ‘avin’ that!”
“In the draw, beside you. Wallet.” She gestured toward the draw. He reached for it but his right hand was of course bandaged and splinted. He went to use his left hand and groaned when the movement caused his ribs to remind him they were currently floating in more pieces than they should. Buffy got up and walked to the bed, opened the drawer and pulled out the wallet. She flipped it open so Spike could see the license. He spluttered, took the wallet from her and stared at his picture, beside that name.
“How…. Who told y… Bloody fuck. No-one knows that name. No-one.”
Buffy walked to the other side of the bed and retrieved the wallet from the drawer there. She sat on the bed beside Spike and leaned back against the wall. She opened the wallet and showed him the license inside it. With her picture on it.
“Buffy Anne Pratt?… Buffy Anne Pratt!… Oh, god… Oh, god. We’re buggered. Someone is playing one huge joke on us.”
“Ya think? And how come you can keep saying god and your mouth doesn’t burst into flames?”
“More’n one god in the universe, Slayer. Bugger!” He frowned in thought. This was shite! It was unthinkable. “Guess we better work out our next move.”
“Yeah. I thought I might go down to the office. See if there is anyone around. Maybe check out the area.”
“Sure that’s wise? I mean, something obviously got us good.” He held up a hand to stop her interjection. “I can smell your blood, your injuries so I know it wasn’t just me got hurt, Slayer. ‘N I ain’t goin’ to be much use to you for a bit.”
“Yeah. But we can’t just sit here. I’ll heat you up some more blood. The sooner you heal, the better.” She rose from the bed as she said this and went to the fridge. She took two bags from it, put them in the microwave and started it up. “How long does it take to heal broken bones? You were in that wheel chair a long time.”
“Thanks for remindin’ me.” He added ‘bitch’ under his breath. “Bones take a few days, maybe a week, if you feed well. Depends on how badly broken they are.”
“So, why were you in that chair for so long then? It was weeks after the church when I first saw you.”
“I said, if you feed well. Dru was a bit… forgetful and then Angelus… Well, let’s just say, the medical attention was a bit more lacking than yours.”
“Yeah. So, what else we got here, then?”
“Well we got a few days of food and blood, that is depending on how much you need to get over your injuries. Giles never really mentioned that side of things. You know, other than a vampire can drain a person in a couple of minutes. So, that’s what, eight pints.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t need that much to um, exist. Just, you know, you open a vein, you don’t want to waste it.”
“Hey. You brought it up. Older vamps, we only need a couple of pints every couple days really. Unless we haven’t fed for a while or got bad injuries. Can actually go without feeding for a couple of weeks if we have to, or longer. Just get weaker, the longer we go without.”
“Uh huh. So, you’ve had four bags, before you crashed. There’s another twelve or so, in the fridge. How much you want now?” The microwave finished and she turned to retrieve the bags from it.
“I’ll have the two you just done, ‘n put another two in. Lost a fair bit of blood, as well as the broken bones to mend. That’ll get me on a good start to mending.”
She took the bags across to him and went back to heat up two more as he’d asked. She heard his face change and the snick as his fangs broke the plastic, the sucking as he fed. She’d thought it would repulse her, but strangely it didn’t. She looked back to watch him. His game face seemed, god, it seemed normal to her. Like she knew it well. Just how long had they been together? He looked up and saw her watching him. He looked away. Was he embarrassed to feed in front of her?
Spike saw the slayer watching him and felt a flush of… what, embarrassment, shyness? At the thought, he almost choked and looked away quickly. He knew that she’d watched him feed before. He knew it as fact, just as he knew she’d fed him herself, not just from a mug, from her. Oh, this was just too much. To be neutered, unable to hunt, ridiculed and chased by his own kind. He remembered the shame, the horror when he realised what the army wankers had done to him. He remembered the desperation when he finally went to his enemy. For help.
But this. He was mated to a slayer. Yes, he felt the pull of a mutual claim. He knew they had mated in every way a vampire can. He just didn’t understand how it was possible. His sworn enemy! He hunted her kind, as she hunted his.
‘I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won’t you push her away?’
‘But I did, pet. I did it for you’
‘You’re all covered in her. I look at you… all I see is the Slayer.’
Oh god, no! Had Dru really seen this? Had this been his destiny all along, to be with the slayer? He looked across the room at the girl, no, the woman, standing in front of the microwave, preparing food, for him. He looked at her long golden hair hanging down her back. He looked at her body and realised, he knew that body. Intimately. In every way a man can know his partner, his wife, his mate. He was royally buggered. He loved her. He loved her more than life. He snorted. All right, unlife. She was his equal in every way. She’d given everything she was, to him. He’d give everything for her. Everything!
Buffy’s mind was a whirl of confusion, spinning so much faster than the plate inside the oven, she was standing in front of. How could she, the slayer, sworn enemy of vampires, be married to one. Without a soul. He had no soul. Angel had a soul. Angel was good. Spike had no soul. He was evil. He killed people. Okay. The soldiers had done something to him and he couldn’t hurt people now. But, he still drank blood and he still wanted to kill people. Didn’t he? What had so changed, that she could be with him. She remembered being in the bathroom at Giles’ place, Spike in chains in the bath. She remembered he’d escaped, remembered catching him. She could see him kneeling before her, smiling. She was smiling. She was happier than she thought she’d ever been.
‘Just say yes, and make me the happiest man on earth.’
‘Oh, Spike! Of course it’s yes!’
The microwave dinged again. She opened it, retrieved the bags and took them to Spike. He looked up at her, a tiny smile playing around his lips. She looked into his eyes, so blue, so… oh she didn’t know what. Age, she saw age in them, knowledge, pain, truth. She saw truth and she saw, …she saw love. She felt connected to him, in a way she’d never felt before. It, it was almost like she knew how he felt. She could feel the confusion, the doubt, the fear and over all of it, she could feel his love. For her. She dropped the bags onto his chest, put a hand to her mouth and took a step back.
‘But I can’t help thinking — isn’t that where the fire comes from? Can a nice, safe relationship be that intense? I know it’s nuts, but.. part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting.’
‘I have feelings for you. I do. But it’s not love. I could never trust you enough for it to be love.’
‘Trust is for old marrieds, Buffy. Great love is wild … and passionate and dangerous. It burns and consumes.’
‘I love you.’
‘No, you don’t. But thanks for saying it. Now go! I wanna see how it ends.’
“Love? Buffy? Talk to me.”
She stepped further back. He grabbed his legs, swung them over the side of the bed, put his hands onto the mattress to push himself up. She saw what he was doing.
“No! Spike! No!” She leapt across the room to him, put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down, gently. “No Spike. You’ll undo the mending that’s begun. I’m sorry. I, I was.. just.. remembering.. Things.”
He sighed, put his hands up to hers, took them between his and held them between them. “I know. Me too, pet. Me too.” He snorted a little laugh. “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?” His smile widened a bit. She looked at his bottom lip and had the urge too take it between her teeth and just bite down, a little, taste him. “Know it was one of Red’s spells. What started it, anyway.”
“Yeah. You’d come to us after the initiative had chipped you.”
“Sodding watcher’s bathtub.”
“God, I was such a, such a bitch, wasn’t I?”
“Nah. Well, yeah. It’s one of the things I love… It’s one of the things I love about you, Buffy. You speak your mind.” He smiled up at her. Such a smile. It went to her heart, her soul. She could bask in that smile and feel warm and safe. Because she felt the love in it. She smiled back.
“Yeah and you talk crap. Smart mouth, to hide a smarter head. Fooled me for a long time, you did. Hiding from the world, William.” She heard his sharp intake of breadth. “Yes. I remember it all, Spike. Or should I say, William Pratt, nineteenth century gentleman and sometime poet, refused by the woman he loved and sent to his death by the hurt it caused. Sired by Drusilla the Seeress and mad ho, trained by Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, into one badass vampire who went on to kill thousands over a century of carnage.”
“Shh. Let me finish. I do remember Spike. I remember when we first met. I remember when you came back to Sunnydale because your girlfriend had dumped you. I remember you came again and got caught by the initiative. I remember our fights, neither of us ever managing to kill the other. I remember Willow’s spell.”
“You wanted Wind Beneath Your Wings and a ceremony in the park!”
She smiled. “We did have that, when we got married. Six months ago.”
“We did?” He looked into her eyes, smiled. “Yeah, we did.”
“Are you remembering? How you changed, for me? Got a soul, for me? How you loved me?” She looked at him and saw that his eyes were not looking outward. Saw he, too was looking back, remembering.
‘Why does a man do what he mustn’t? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev— to be a kind of man.’
‘She shall look on him with forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved.’
He took a breath. “Yeah. Yeah pet, I remember. I, …god, I died. …Burned. …To save the world. William the sodding Bloody, sacrificed himself. For the ones he loved.” He shook his head. “God, what a prat!”
She whacked him. “You were a prat! But not for that. For that, you were a champion. My champion. And I lost you. Just when I found love, I lost it.” She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. He reached a hand up and wiped it away. Fondled her cheek. She straightened and smacked him again.
“Hey! What’s that for?.”
“You were a prat! You came back and didn’t tell me. You bastard. A whole year you let me suffer. Let Dawn mourn for you. A. Whole. Year!” She accompanied each word with another whack. He grabbed her hands, held them to his chest and drew her down to him.
“Yeah. But I seem to remember you comin’ in on a wave of slayer might and smiting the enemy and savin’ your’s truly’s hide, in a dim dark alley, in LA.” He murmured against her lips. “Seem to remember, you forgave me for my stupidity.”
“Yes. Yes I did. More fool me, then.” She pressed her lips to his, opened her mouth to his tongue. He let her hands go to reach his arms around her as she did the same. She leaned into him and together they toppled back onto the bed. She felt him grimace, remembered his injured ribs and pulled back. He held her tighter.
“No. Spike. No! William!” Her shout stopped him. “You’re ribs are pulverised, Spike. They need to heal. Not to mention your legs and arm. We’ve obviously got a big bad on our trail, one who’s been messing with our memories. We can reconcile when you’re feeling better. When we remember what we’re doing here.”
“Feelin’ better, now, Mrs Pratt. Need a bit of lovin’, from my beautiful wife, to see me right.” He watched the colour rise in her cheeks at his words. She was so bloody cute and he loved her.
“I’ll make you a deal, Mr Pratt. I’m going to hit the shower and you have a rest. Then, I might see to you, when I come out. In the meantime, drink that blood I so lovingly prepared, with my own two hands and lie back and rest. And you can put the pout away, and stop batting your lashes at me.”
Originally posted at https://seasonal-spuffy.dreamwidth.org/821016.html