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*Shortly after New Year’s, random bar outside LA*
Spike downed his drink and let himself enjoy the burn all the way down his throat. He’d been running all over the US for the past month and he hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of getting out-of-his-mind, blind drunk, so he had taken a decision to slow down for this one day, drink away his troubles, and pick it all up again the next morning.
And what a day that would be. The Summers family was moving to Sunnydale. It was all coming together and he was terrified. In fact his hand was trembling when it brought up the next shot up to his mouth. He allowed the alcohol to spread through his body, the warmth of it helping dull the aches and trembles.
His pager beeped. Someone was trying to get a hold of him, but for tonight he didn’t want to care. He’d done all he could for now, so, as far as he was concerned, he was free to do as he damn well pleased.
~~~***~~~
*The Magic Box, almost a month before*
Spike was spending his time waiting for Ms. Calendar to arrive by cataloguing all the differences he could detect between this year’s version of the store and the one he was more familiar with. It was clear that Giles and Anya had set up the shop much better than the current owner. And there should be a lot more books. Instead of having three rows of different herbal tea variants—none of which would do a lick of good as either tea, or magic components—there could have been a library as Rupert set up, filled with books on the dark arts, demons, and history.
Spike had expected different from the clan that managed to do the almost impossible and cursed Angelus with a soul. Speaking of which they didn’t even seem to have an Orb of Thessulah anywhere in the shop. Which meant there hadn’t really been a backup plan in place for Angel’s going Mr. Hyde.
It reminded him of the many, many times the Scoobies barely scraped by with their happy-go-lucky attitude towards being prepared. Apart from the Watcher none of them gave much serious thought to what could be hiding behind the next corner. That’s not to say he was any different, as he preferred to live his life from minute to minute, without anything resembling a long term plan. At least, anymore of a plan than ‘do whatever to please the girl.’
Yet another thing that had to change.
He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed the shopkeeper creeping up behind him. “What can I help you with, Sir?” At least Spike knew the guy’s Eastern European accent wasn’t fake, unlike half of the merchandise.
Spike snorted and leaned against a gaudy display case with counterfeit voodoo dolls. “See, I have this hypothetical for you. There’s this really sadistic bastard, does this really stupid thing and gets put into a gimp suit. The people who did this nice thing play the voyeur for the next century or so. Unfortunately along come some wankers who like to mess things up and start loosening the ties keeping his suit on. So my question would be this: imagine you’re one of those Peeping Toms and you have the gimp becoming Ol’ Sadistic Forehead again. What do you do?”
The guy’s face was priceless, and reminded Spike he still had no idea what his name was. Not that he cared all that much. He’d barely remembered the name of the computer teacher until he’d checked the class schedules.
“Who are you and what do you want?” The guy was taking tentative steps backward, his left hand sliding behind him to what must have been some kind of weapon. He got points in Spike’s book for that. At least he wasn’t a complete wanker.
“Why don’t we wait for your cousin to show up and, in the meantime, I’ll tell you some stories from the good old days.” He was sure their tribe must have boogieman stories about the evil vampire they cursed and why that was necessary, but they couldn’t have known even a thousandth of all the vile crimes the Forehead had performed for centuries. By the end of his tales from the crypt the shopkeeper was more than willing to help Spike find a way to find Angel’s curse and maybe improve it, making his soul permanent.
As bad as Angel was, Angelus was an even bigger threat. And if Buffy and Angel were really ‘meant to be,’ at least she wouldn’t be scarred for life by it. Well, more than anyone would be scarred by being around the Great Gel Helmet for too long. Spike felt like dry heaving just thinking about it.
~~~***~~~
*Middle of nowhere, Nebraska, a couple of week later*
The sounds from the cabin were definitely not those of a happy family. The father yelled at the mother, the son at the daughter, and the father at everyone all over again. Even the dog outside was barking up a storm, although that could have been his way of announcing there was a vampire on the premises.
All of a sudden a great noise came from the woods nearby, complete with broken branches and howling. The men in the cabin hurried out with their shotguns, took the dog with them and went to check up on the threat to their livestock.
Spike waited a few minutes and strolled to the now-quiet door. He knew the demons he’d hired would lead the two men on a merry chase for at least an hour, so he’d have time to say his peace. He could only hope he managed to be convincing.
As soon as he knocked on the door a woman answered it. She was thin, gaunt even, with dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and a pale complexion that almost gave Spike a run for his money. Despite all of that one could still tell she must have been a looker in her day. She also bore a strong resemblance to Tara, down to the quiet calm she exuded. Once upon a time someone like that would have set his teeth on edge.
She eyed him up and down. “Yes, may I help you?”
He put on his most charming smile. “Mrs. McClay, it’s an honor to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of great things. May I come in? There are some matters to discuss about your health coverage.”
She frowned and wavered. After a few seconds she took a step back and opened the door wider. “My husband handles these things, but please come in. He should be back soon.”
Spike managed not to grin at that. If everything went according to plan he would be on the way back to Sunnydale by the time the men returned.
He’d barely made two steps inside the house when he spotted her.
Tara.
The pang he felt was so powerful he almost bent over. He’d always had a soft spot for the shy good witch, but seeing her, or at least the younger version, brought up all the feelings of loss he hadn’t been able to process back in Sunnydale since he was newly souled and the First was looming over everything.
He hadn’t mourned her, and she was one of the few humans he knew who deserved his tears—excluding his long list of victims, of course.
She was hidden half behind a support beam, her whole body betraying her discomfort at having a strange man in her parental home. What’s more Spike’s knowledge of her allowed him to realize the exact moment she read his aura and discovered his true form.
Bugger.
He was sure one day, someday, one of his plans would actually go, well, according to plan. He bet there was some rule about probabilities that dictated it. But the way things were going, he’d be better off playing roulette blindfolded in one of the most crooked casinos in the world. He had too much on his mind to try to remember which one that was.
As it was, there was only one card he had to play. It was time to tell his story again. Truth be told, he was getting tired of hearing himself tell it. At least he was almost done introducing himself to this universe. The rest of the world could just go bugger itself and learn of his future actions, never mind his past.
***
Spike got up to leave, since he was sure the males of the clan would be coming home soon. He couldn’t really complain, as he’d managed to achieve his main goal.
“I’ll take Tara tomorrow to the town hall to help her start her emancipation. I’ll talk to Jolene to keep it between us until the time is right. Then she’ll be free to move to Sunnydale.” Mrs. McClay was white as a sheet, but Spike was impressed by how well she’d taken the news of her impending death. Just as Spike had thought she’d react, her maternal instinct took over and recognized he was trying to help her daughter have a better life than what her father would allow her to have.
“I promise the Guardian, Jenny, and Giles will teach Glinda magic the right way. There are people there that will love her as their own. I’ve seen it.” He squeezed the woman’s hand. “She’ll be happy, and I give my word I’ll protect her ‘til I’m dust.”
“I believe you. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do.” She looked over at Tara. “I just want what’s best for you.”
Tara hadn’t stopped crying silently since midway through Spike’s story, when she’d found out the circumstance that had led her to Sunnydale. She just nodded and threw herself into her mother’s arms.
Spike’s heart broke for them, but he took solace in the knowledge he’d done all he could to make their last days together really mean something.
And Tara would be free of her toxic family that much earlier.
He wiped his eyes and left without saying anything else. He’d done all he could here so it was time to go home.
~~~***~~~
*Shortly after New Year’s, random bar outside LA*
Another sound from his pager. Spike downed the remaining beer in his bottle, growled in displeasure, and checked the screen. For a moment his mind went to his memories of the future. He’d need a cell phone as soon as possible, but for that he needed more resources than the few well placed bets and poker winnings had netted him. He blinked and shook his head to clear it. He was supposed to call Giles. ‘999’ it said. That meant emergency for a Brit.
Spike grumbled once more and went to the public payphone. He really wanted a cell phone now. As soon as someone picked up at the other end Spike barked in the receiver. “What? I’m on a bloody one-day vacation, and as far as I know this year’s Apocalypse won’t be until May, or something.” He frowned. “Or was it June? Anyway, it’s half a year away, so what the fuck is the problem?”
He could imagine Giles clean his glasses with disapproval etched on his features. “I’m really sorry to disturb your alcohol intake, but—”
“Well, a merry freaking new year’s to you too.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Giles cleared his throat. “The- the thing is I have come across a text mentioning a series of prophecies in the Pergamum Codex.”
Spike snorted. “Is that how you’ve been spending your new year’s Rupert? You couldn’t have asked the Gipsy bird out for a round of drinks?” His answer was a series of splutters. “At least you could’ve gotten piss drunk while thinking of Merry ‘Ol. The rot in that book is what got the Sl— you know what? It doesn’t matter now. We’re months away from anything to worry about, and the way I’m thinking, we’ll be rid of old Bat-face long before that.”
“That is good to hear. However the real reason I contacted you was to let you know what my research has turned up regarding the Powers and their representatives.”
Spike’s ears perked up at that. He really wanted to have a word with those wankers. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy he had a chance to make Buffy’s life better, easier, and safer. He hated being used with a passion, though.
“There are some so-called Oracles that can be contacted via a portal underneath a post office. I haven’t been able to find out exactly which one yet. There does, however, appear to be some sort of sacrifice requirement.”
“I’m sworn off the virgin bloodletting gig.”
Giles chuckled. “I’m quite confident the representatives of the Powers that Be will not be asking for anything so… barbaric.”
Spike grunted. From his perspective he wasn’t so sure about that. Then again this year’s Giles knew nothing about the sacrifices being a White Hat entailed. All the girls, the friends, and the innocent bystanders that had died because of something or other that the almighty Powers dictated.
Still, a simple chat shouldn’t cost more than a rib or so. Although… those ribs could be dangerous enough, if you believed the book of Genesis.
“Don’t worry about it, mate. I’ll find it, now that I know what it is I’m looking for.” There was a whisper of a memory about that somewhere in the shadows of his mind. Maybe with one less drink he would have been able to listen in, to remember what he sort of knew. He shrugged, although Giles couldn’t see him. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
Giles’s tone changed, turning almost pedantic. It was the tone he took with the Scoobies many times during their research parties. “I have spent the better part of the week after Boxer’s Day to find out all I could on this matter as you said you wanted a method to contact them before Buffy moves to Sunnydale.” A tone of Ripper broke through. “So may I once again excuse my interruption of your libations, but this is more important than whatever it is you’re wallowing in. Now sober up, beat up whatever demons you need to, and find out where the Oracles are. Do it so you can get this out of your system and come back to aid my Slayer.”
Spike smirked. “Consider it done, mate.” He ended the phone call and rolled his shoulders. There was work to be done until morning. “Happy new year, indeed.”
~~~***~~~
*Oracles’ plane of existence*
“Have you brought a gift?” The woman Oracle asked.
“A gift? Of course, why not?” He threw a bag at the Oracle’s feet. “Inside are all of Dru’s dolls. She always said they whispered the future to her, so I figured ‘birds of a feather’ and all that.”
The male looked down his nose at the bag while the female waved her hand and nodded. The bag floated away down the hallway behind the beings.
“We accept your thoughtful gift. What is it you wish to know about your future?”
Spike fought to keep his snort in. His future? Were they pulling his leg? Still, he didn’t want to end up a frog, or a snail, or some other slimy thing, so he kept his opinion to himself. There was a question he was dying to ask about the future, though. “Will the copy of me left in the other universe make it okay?” What he wanted to ask was much more specific, but he lacked the courage to do it.
The male frowned. “Don’t waste our time asking for things we care noting about. If that is all you want to know, you may leave now.”
“I think I’m owed an answer about that, mate.”
“The journey will be hard, but the answer to the question you wanted to ask is yes.” The female had tilted her head, which gave Spike the impression of a bird of prey watching its target. The owl to his mouse.
Her answer, though. His stomach filled with butterflies at the implication. Could it really be? Buffy and him? He closed his eyes and shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on parallel future might-have-beens. He still had questions to ask and his time was running out. “Why did the Powers bring me here, now? What do they want from me?”
“You already know that. The Guardian was instructed to answer that question. You are wasting our time.” Spike was willing to bet the male would have checked his watch, had he been wearing one.
“You lot stole mine, so call it tit for tat and answer the bloody question, please.” His temper was rising and he was very close to letting his mouth run wild.
“You were needed to correct some events, you were tested, and you were retrieved. What more do you wish to know?” The female had straightened her head and looked at him with disdain.
Spike had had enough. “You know what? You’re right. This is all a waste of time. You can’t tell me anything I want to know and I just realized I don’t want to know what you could tell me about the Powers’ plans for me. I’ll just go do what I think is right and I’m sure your bosses will let me know if I fuck things up. Probably do it mid-Apocalypse, but I don’t bloody care anymore.” He raised his arm and pointed at the Oracles. “You lot could have done this right, talked to me when you yanked me from one reality and shoved me in another. You decided to let me go about things best as I could, so that’s what I’ll do. Don’t come crying to me if I don’t follow your guidelines, because spoiler alert, you gave me none.”
“Insolent maggot.” The male flicked the fingers from his right hand and Spike flew back through the portal that had brought him to their realm.
He decided he deserved the pain. He should have known the ‘Powers that Love to Screw you Over’ would be useless and cryptic on top of that. He spat some blood on the ground. Tomorrow his new future would start in earnest.





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