Cretian Escape

Chapter 2

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Before he bought some clothes that properly fit, straight away Spike bought a plane ticket to New York. He was on the wrong bloody side of the ocean separating him from Buffy aad tad to get across ASAP. He was exceedingly lucky to obtain a seat on the next American Airlines flight, which took off in a le mle more than six hours. Spike didn’t care what time the plane left, even at high noon would be ok. He would have chanced the sunlight to get to the states as fast as possible.

Since it would be a while before he could board the plane, he bought better clothing, a duffle bag to store clothes he wasn’t wearing, a pack of cigarettes, and other odds and ends.en Sen Spike ran his hand through his hair, he remembered that he also needed his hair cut and dyed, but he couldn’t very well waltz into a salon for humans and have to explain why he couldn’t be seen in a mirror. Falling back on a memory when he and Dru had visited Madrid, he headed over to a part of the town demons frequented to obtain a fake passport and tend to his hair.

As his hair was being cut and died, he thought about what he was going to tell Buffy and the Scoobies for that matter. ‘Surprise, I’m trying to beat Buffy’s record of coming back from being dead.’ Giles in his upper crust accented voice will ask, ‘And exactly how did you accomplish this feat?’ ‘Well, two ponces screwed up a spell with the medallion, and bang, I was back, naked, standing in their house outside of Madrid. Right funny how these things happen. Go figure.’ And Xander, ‘Yikes, we can even burn you to ashes, and you still come back.’ Dawn may have been of the same opinion as Xander since she had already threatened to light his bed on fire while he slept for almost raping Buffy. Well, someone beat her to it. Willow would want to know the spell. And Buffy…He had no idea how she would react. They had become so close those last days in Sunnydale that he hoped for some kind of warm welcome, but he was going to protect his nose just in case she lets her fist do the speaking for her. Realizing that not only had he missed the slayer but also all her slayerettes, Spike found himself laughing as he paid for his hair cut and had the passport picture takene wae walked across the street to a demon bar to get some blood, wait for his new passport and pass the time until his flight.

When the bartender, a demon with white skin, bluish silver horns and silver eyes served Spike his drink, he nodded towards Spike’s head. “You’re the third “Spike” we have had in here over the last couple of months. Enough already.”

Spike set his drink back on the bar with a thump and lit up a cigarette. “Pardon me, mate, but I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You know, vam vamps like you impersonating “Spike”… “William the Bloody”. That’s what you’re doing with that glowing hair and bad British accent, right?”

‘Glowing hair? Bad accent?’ Still not understanding what the bleedin’ hell the bartender meant, Spike smoothly lied. “I don’t think so, mate. I liked that Billy Idol bloke’s look, and I’ve done this look ever since.” Since Spike had often been told that he took his look from the singer, so why not use that to his advantage for once. “So, you have me curious, chief. What’s this rumor going through the demon’s shriveled grapevine?”

“The real Spike is gone, of course, burned up in the Hellmouth of Sunnydale, and good riddance to that traitor of his kind. Nonetheless, five months ago, back in February, a rumor started going around that this particular master vampire had returned from hell like his grandsire, Angelus, before him. Unlike his grandsire, he returwithwithout that ridiculous soul. Word is that he’s meaner than ever before, leaving red rivers of blood to dance in. Gossip also has it that he’s suppose to be somewhere in Russia. Anyway, some vampires decided to cash in on the rumor of Spike’s return, bleached their hair, bought leather dusters and called themselves William the Bloody. I just assumed you were trying to cash in on his reputation also.”

Another demon two stools down joined in on the gossip. “Some say he is looking for Drusilla, but she certainly isn’t in Europe.”

‘Drusilla is no doubt still in South America,’ Spike thought, ranting about the stars, fairies, dolls and eating the yummy populace. He had enough of that gig. One of his imposters could have her. “Sounds like there are quite a few Spikes running about killing, causing havoc. Good thing I’m headed to the states.”

“Nah. The slayers find those stupid blondes and take them out. They quickly made it clear that they take exception to impostors using Spike’s name for evil. They consider him a martyr for the good guys. It’s…It’s disgusting.” Contrary to the demon’s opinion Spike silently crowed with glee. Let Angel get such a memorial when he finally turns up his toes.

A Stha’te demon sitting to Spike’s right, jabbed him in the ribs with the human equivalent of an elbow. “Speaking of slayers and the states, you’re not going to LA are you?”

Spike shook his head. “No. No intention of even getting close.” That was certainly the truth.

“Good thinking. I was there for awhile, but it just wasn’t safe. Tell you what, someone needs to take Angel and his slayer out. Then LA would be safe for us demons again.”

Now they had Spike’s attention. “So LA is tough?”

“If you’re a demon, going to LA is the equivalent to putting you head in a guillotine. What with the blonde, viscous slayer helping him, *stay away*.”

The bartender proceeded to do what bartenders do and wipe the bar with a towel. “I hear she’s blonde, beautiful, but very lethal.”

After he absorbed the loathsome information, all Spike wanted to do was get pissed fast and until he passed out. ‘His slayer…No. No longer his. But, no matter what she was doing or who she was with, Buffy would always be ‘”the” slayer. Not just omongmongst all the slayers. And so, the slayer had gone to her Angel,’ he thought as he snubbed out his cigarette.

When he had been with her those lasts few weeks, he hadn’t wanted to believe that Buffy still loved Angel, but deep down Spike knew that it was a possibility, especially after he saw Buffy and the poof snogging the night before Spike died. He had already known that he was going to get killed in the Hellmouth, and he assumed ouldould go to hell. In fact, it was a shock that he didn’t. Regardless of where he ended up, he had no intention of staying away from Buffy for long. If his grandsire found his way back from hell, then so could he. In his case, he had fought and won his soul, so escaping hell should be a walk in Hyde Park. But no, he had stayed in that medallion, feeling as if he was still feeling like he was burning as he healed, but he knew it would be worth the torment and pain if he could eventually make his way back to her. Then BOOM, he was out and in those two wankers’ house. After getting his bearings, in true single-minded, goal focused Spike style, his only thought was how to get back to Buffy. But he was a soddin’ ponce yet again when it came to her. Even though he told himself not to, this time he had been foolishly hoping that she would wait for him, or she would be trying to find a way to get him back. Before he burned to dust, he shouldn’t have believed that her words, “I love you,” had been sincere. Words he strongly suspected were used to make him feel better before his sacrifice. He told her that he hadn’t believed then, but what he hadn’t told her was that he still held hope. Good thing he hadn’t believed her because now she was back in the arms of Angel, her so called soul mate. No big shocker there.

He asked the bartender for a glass and a bottle of tequila and then walked to an empty table in the darkest corner of the bar. After three fast shots, he reached with a shaking hand, which had nothing to do with alcohol, into to his pocket and pulled out his airplane ticket to the states. He stared at it through the next shot. Before he drank his fifth shot, tears fell, and he didn’t care who saw. After the sixth, he laid his forehead on the table and enjoyed the coolness of the table and the soothing numbness that had seeped into every cell of his body. Playing on the juke box, he recognized a song that he had heard played at the Bronze numerous times. But now as he listened, the lyrics bit in deep.

*Please come now I think I’m falling
I’m holding on to all I think is safe
It seems I found the road to nowhere
And I’m trying to escape
I yelled back when I heard thunder
But I’m down to one last breath*


Tears fell down, splashing on his table again. “It seems I found the road to nowhere.” His road no longer led to Buffy. Nothing mattered now.

*Hold me now
I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking
That maybe six feet
Ain’t so far down
I’m looking down now that it’s over
Reflecting on all of my mistakes
I thought I found the road to somewhere
Somewhere in His grace
I cried out heaven save me
But I’m down to one last breath*


“…I’m thinking that maybe six feet under ain’t so for down…” Six feet down did sound appealing but the problem was that he could survive buried. Tearing up air airplane ticket into small pieces of paper, the small pieces of his heart floated to lie unwanted on the floor. For one of the only times in his undead existence he showed restraint. He knew he couldn’t even be on the same continent as the slayer because he knew he couldn’t help but go to her. And thus fuck up her life as he had before and before and before....

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TBC

I want to thank everyone that reviethe the last chapter. I am always nervous about a new story, and you made me feel much better.

Thanks
Dana