His Slayer, Again

Category: Futurefic, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Crossover (Time Machine)

Warnings: het, BDSM (very mild), character death

Characters: Ensemble

Pairing: Buffy/Spike, Dawn/Spike (friends)

Summary: Spike goes back in time to prevent Buffy's death. BtVS/ Time Machine crossover

Sequel to: His Slayer

Author Notes: Inspired by Saber Shadowkitten and Brighid.

Story Notes: Spoilers for everything through BtVS 6 and AtS 3. Minor BDSM (less than the show).

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, United Paramount Network, and Fox Television. This work is not for profit, and no ownership of aforementioned copyrighted material implied, nor any infringement intended.


* * *

PROLOGUE

The cold chilled Spike to the bone, seeping through a black leather duster that had seen better decades. He was in New York City, on a particularly dark Tuesday night. In January. *Never thought livin' in Sunnyhell would spoil a bloke.* And it was true. The Hellmouth had actually been good to Spike. But only after it claimed his soul-mate for the third time.

The sole reason Spike had continued his existence at all was that the new Slayer needed him. Giles said it had never happened in recorded history, a Slayer being called after her 18th birthday. But it sure as hell happened in Sunnydale. Dawn had been called, not after her sister's death--that summoning had already been used on Kendra--but after Faith's. Giles and Willow figured it had to be some sort of connection with the Slayer blood that flowed through Dawn's veins because of Buffy. Not only had the new Slayer been made human using a small bit of Buffy's life energy and memories, but she had blood bonded with Buffy after a nearly disastrous confrontation with a angry hell-goddess. The Watcher figured that had jinxed it for the formerly green and glowy Key.

So, in the ultimate cosmic jest, a girl who shouldn't have even been alive was protecting the world from vampires, demons and the forces of darkness. Spike smiled a little. He loved irony. Over a century of murder and mayhem in the company of an insane lover had given him a truly rare appreciation for it, as well as the macabre. But the smile was wiped off his face when he remembered the source of the irony was a young woman he had sworn to protect.

He would never have left her side in balmy 71 degree Sunnydale, had Giles not sent him on a mission 'of enormous importance, to secure a magical artifact that could well change the balance of power between Good and Evil.' *Rah, bloody rah. It's always down to the soddin' wire, fate hanging by a bleedin' thread. That's just how it is.* Spike was loathe to leave his little dark haired Slayer; it had turned into a shouting match with Giles before he agreed.

So here he was, in below-freezing weather, lacking a proper hat, scarf, and mittens, searching for a homeless man that knew the location of some bauble that would help the forces of Good beat back the forces of Darkness. Again. *Don't even know if it's worth the bloody effort anymore.* Spike shook his head in disgust. He'd told Buffy differently, years ago, but he didn't know if he wanted to save a world where the most beautiful and precious things were the first to be destroyed. *Must be that soul gettin' uppity again.*

Spike realized he was never this morose when Dawn was around. The Nibblet was always good for a joke, or a hug, or a foodfight. The last of which, in Casa de Summers, meant cleaning up empty bags of blood, squashed curly fries, and skeletal remains of spicy buffalo wings.

The vampire's attention was suddenly directed outward, away from his thoughts of home. Movement in an alley, the flash of a familiar face, provoked him to jog towards a gap between two buildings up ahead. *Is that Faith's old Watcher?* "Wesley! Wait up, mate!"


* * *

CHAPTER 1

Spike entered the poorly lit alley a half-dozen paces behind the man. "Oi, Watcher!"

The man turned around. "Yes?"

Spike felt disappointed. It wasn't Wesley, after all. The similar profile, the outdated clothes... "You're with the Watcher's Council, then?"

"No, no. I just... watch. People. There's nothing else to do, you know. At least watching people you can remember what it was like, when you were alive."

The other's choice of words brought Spike's attention to a razor-sharp focus. "What do you mean, mate?" Spike took a moment to give the fellow a proper once-over. The clothes were wrong, too stuffy for even Giles' council buddies. And the man looked...thin. Not underweight, thought he didn't look like he could weigh more than Spike, but worn. Tired to the point of being used up. And empty, as though there was nothing left worth living for. Spike knew that look. He'd caused it, someti in in the 'bad old days.' This is what he must have looked like after he lost Buffy. Worse, even. This fellow appeared past the point of despair. Just...there.

"Just that when you've lost all that's important, the center of your existence, nothing else really matters."

"Too bloody right," agreed the vampire. Spike recognized something in the other. A loss so profound it screamed out silently, with every action and word. "You loved her, and she was taken from you by the bloody Powers That Be, with no concern to whether the world would be able to continue without her."

"Yes, yes, that's it precisely." The other man's voice approached something resembling normal inflection. "But it doesn't matter. All the times you try to save her, she always dies again."

Spike soul ached in agreement. He tried to reach out to the other. "I know, mate. Every night, in your dreams. A dozen different ways to save her, things you never thought of at the time that let you save her before you wake up to this nightmare."

"No." The other leaned against a wall, tired. "I mean, every time I go back, she dies a different way. It doesn't matter."

"Wait." Spike felt hope rise up inside, more that he'd dared in a long time. "What do you mean, go back?"

The other man smiled, but his suffering twisted it into something grotesque. "Let me show you."


* * *

"What's this, then?" Spike was looking at the contraption in front of him with a little disdain. He had thought the bloke might have been a sorcerer, or maybe have a necklace like demon-girl used to. The machine Spike saw was not what he expected. *What a piece of junk!*

"This is my temporal displacement vehicle." The man sounded nearly proud. "But it didn't save her."

"It's a time machine, then?. I was expecting somethin' a bit more DeLorean, and a little less H.G. Wells."

The man smiled tiredly. "Yes, Herbert did always have a tendency to embellish."

Spike met his eyes, struggling not to hope, but failing. "What do you want for it?"

"You don't understand; you can't save her. This is worthless."

Spike's eyes turned golden. "WHAT do you WANT?"

The dark-haired man took half a step back in surprise, then steadied himself. "Nothing. I want nothing. See for yourself, it's worth nothing."

"Show me how it works."


* * *

Spike grilled the fellow until he felt he understood the controls completely, and had a rudimentary understanding of the physics of the craft. He sat in the control chair, looking down at the scientist. Who was still talking.

"Now remember, the flux capacitance crystal is your source of power. Without it, you're stuck sometime forever."

"Yeah, mate. I won't leave home without it. That's it, then?"

The other man nodded, then started to speak again. Knowing the other would just try to further dissuade him, Spike started to pull the lever back.

"You don't understand." The inventor tried one last time to appeal to Spike. "You can't change fate!"

Spike grinned. "Personally, I prefer 'there is no fate but which we make.' Ta." The crystal-topped lever slid smoothly towards Sp


The man watched as Spike, surrounded by a sphere of energy, faded from sight. "He just doesn't understand."


* * *