Future Written in Blood ((Complete))

Thanks to everyone that have reviewed and emailed me so far. The feedback has been very helpful and much appreciated. Big thanks again to Isis for beta-ing the story!

Chapter Two: Droplets from Hell

By early afternoon, Spike could see the Mecca of the Nevada Desert calling all wayward gamblers, or really, any foolish bloke with a dime. Oh, how he would have loved to run down that famous “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign. Nonetheless, Spike doubted his Desoto would win that little battle of steel as easily as when he had plowed down the one in Sunnydale. Plowed down twice but who’s counting? Well, him, of course. So with his trademark grin, Spike made a mental note to make it three times on his way back home.

Home? When the bloody hell had Sunnyhell become home? But then he pictured a pair of brown eyes looking at him with such trust. Silly bint had wheedled her way into his cold and assumed to be dead heart. Bugger it, a human, no less, but Dawn was the only one, human or demon, that looked at him as if she wanted him ar. O. Over the summer, Big Sis had relaxed her restrictions concerning Dawn’s visitations to Spike’s crypt, and Buffy had even allowed Spike in the house occasionally to watch the tapes of Passions. The Nibblet was just as hooked as Spike now, providing lively discussions concerning the characters and plot twists.

Thinking over the past summer, Spike didn’t understand his own actions, let alone the slayer’s and preferred not to dwell on it. After he had helped the Scoobies fight and then destroy that Bimbo-Bitch Glory, Spike patrolled for Buffy in a veiled effort to give the sisters more time to spend together. The past spring had been a very rough time for them what with losing Joyce and then almost losing each other fighting Glory. Later when they found out how little money Joyce had been able to leave after paying the doctor bills, the Slayer had been forced to get a job. When Spike wasn’t patrolling for the Slayer, he was at Revello Drive watching out for Dawn and helping with homework from summer school. The homework part was without a doubt done on the sly.

As patterns began to develop, the gang grudgingly accepted Spike as an ally, not a friend or a Scoobie, but a business associate. As the weeks of summer passed, the animosity that had previously existed between the slayer and the master vampire began to fade, evolving into a respehat hat neither would want to admit.

Surprisingly, the night the mortal enemies buried the proverbial hatchet was anything but monumental. Rather ordinary, in fact. Dusk was slowing falling, and Spike was fit to be tied. That was how Buffy found him, pacing and ranting around the upper level of his crypt. “What’s wrong, fang face? Double dose of caffeine or nicotine?”

“Just a little nervous energy plus the bleedin’ telly was on the fritz today. Completely missed Passions.”

“Truly a tragedy, MacBeth.” Buffy had just stopped by to ask for some information, but it was always such fun to banter with the smart-mouthed vampire. Actually, after sizing him up, she concluded that he could use some exercise instead. “You look like you’re about to come unglued. Well, Mr. Hyper Vamp, why don’t you give me some help tonight?” And so it began, at first they only patrolled together once or twice a week, but that number slowly crept up to four or five times a week. Any old excuse would do. Both were fully aware of how well they worked together as a team, and both were secretly enjoying the arrangement. Regardless, neither would have ever admitted how much fun fighting side by side had become.

So if Spike had to blame something or someone for his soddin’ attachment to Sunnyhell, it would have to be the Platelet with her unabashed acceptance of him which later lead to a new thrill. A scary high for any vampire, the adrenaline rush that came from fighting beside the Slayer. How bloody ironic, the Slayer of Slayers was getting off on helping the current Slayer patrol the Hellmouth. Spike supposed that it could get weirder but wasn’t sure how. Hell, it wasn’t boring.

*****

After driving around for a bit taking in the changes to Vegas, Spike found a small off-the-strip casino with a covered parking garage to start his current mission. He had several hours in which to build up his poker game blunt before he placed a bet on the fight. Strolling through the lobby, the vampire walked past all the happy meals on legs, who had dollar signs clouding their greedy eyes, and was astounded by how many bite sized youngsters were running amuck. Las Vegas, the City of Sin, had certainly changed since he and Drusilla had visited last. Hell, he had never taken that Harmony bint. Couldn’t trust that one in a place like this. Besides, that bubble-headed bird would probably have gotten too confused to find her own way out of a casino like Ceasar’s Palace. Spike rolled his eyes, in an gesture that would have made the Nibblet proud, just thinking about Harmony.

When the vampire sauntered into the casino proper, Spike stood for a moment taking in the sights and trying to see if any table appealed any more than the others. Then a spinning roulette wheel over his right shoulder caught his eye. Not his usual game, but he had done quite well trusting his instincts so far. He watched the dealer in charge of that particular table and instantly liked her because she was joking and patiently explaining the rules to a pair of young newlyweds trying to place bets. Then Spike saw the little white ball drop into the black eight. The only problem was the ball had not been spun for that round yet. So he took out a twenty and casually laid it on the eight.

The dealer acknowledged the new player politely, “Color or single chips, sir.”

“Neither. Let it all ride on the eight.”

An old blue hair walked up next to Spike, jabbing him with her pointy elbow, forcing her way up to the table and making Spike happy that her sharp appendage wasn’t made of wood. While he watched the wheel spin, Spike took a step back and lit a cigarette, making sure to blow smoke the old bat’s way. The little, white ball went round and round, bounce, bounce, bounce and then it was sitting on the eight. Twenty dollars was now seven hundred. Spike collected his winnings and prepared to bet again, ‘Yeah, bloody good choice of tables, mate. Think I’ll stay awhile.’ Even better when the blue haired bat toddled off, heading towards a different table.

*****

Back in Sunnydale, Buffy swung by Spike’s crypt to get him for that night’s patrol. She had arrived a little earlier than usual. Buffy had just finished a hard day and was looking forward to starting the usual bicker-fest with Spike early. That usually cheered her up, especially if she could out snark him a couple of times before they even made it out of the crypt.

And she knew just the trick to get things rolling. With a smile on her face, she sharply flung open the door to Spike’s crypt letting in sunlight. But when Buffy didn’t hear any cursing as light flooded the crypt, she stepped in and looked around. There was no edgy vamp to be found; in fact, he place appeared deserted. No pacing evil blood sucker. No snide remarks thrown her way. Just…nothing.

Thoroughly annoyed, Buffy flung herself down into the vampires favorite piece of furniture which was optimistically referred to as a chair. She could smell him as if he were sitting beside her, his unique masculine scent of smoke and leather surrounded her. More disappointed than she cared to admit, Buffy sat and pouted, not that she would have admitted that either. Where was that wayward vamp? Maybe he would be back shortly. Maybe something had happened to him. Laying her head back on the back of the chair, Buffy decided to wait. Just a few, though. Not like she couldn’t deal without him or anything, but he had known that they were going to patrol together that night. Knowing him, he was probably doing this just to tick her off.

*****

At the same time that Buffy was fuming over Spike, the vampire was thinking about the younger Summers, Dawn, as he drove over to the MGM Grand. “The Nibblet would have loved this. All the people to watch, sites to see.” Spike had been steadily winning all afternoon. He did not have premonitions on every spin, and on the spins he didn’t, he played conservatively. Black/red or even/odd. But when a Polaroid moment let him know what was coming, he took full advantage, eventually running his winnings up to $600,000 at a high stakes crap table. Just to be on the safe side, he would lose some to make sure none of the pit bosses thought he was using a system or cheating. Wouldn’t do to get thrown out on his arse before he could collect his winnings, now would it? But keeping a low profile just wasn’t one of Spikes strong points so he moved from casino to casino from time to time, avoiding mirrors or overly suspicious pit bosses. After placing a $500,000 bet on the fight’s underdog at the MGM, Spike took the remaining blunt over to New York, New York, to try his luck at the black jack tables.

*****

By 7:30 PM, an hour and a half before the fight, Spike had run his $100,000 stake at the New York, New York, up again and placed another $500,000 bet on the fight before heading over to check out the Hard Rock Casino. Damn good sounding casino, that. He was back up to $400,000 playing craps before he placed his last bet before the fight began. Now he was sitting in a sports bar dividing his attention between a TV showing the broadcast of the fight over at Ceasar’s Palace and another TV showing several beauties in their bikinis lying out at the casino’s pool. That it was night didn’t seem to matter. No doubt because the birds knew they were being filmed and broadcast through out the casino. So Spike sat back, nursing a crown and coke, enjoying the women practically naked who appreciated a voyeur and waited for his money to multiply at 1 to 21 odds. During the eighth round, the others in the bar watched in stunned silence as Esteban felled the champ, but to Spike it was old news. He had a hotel manager at his elbow offering to comp a suite before the vampire could even collect his winnings. Vegas loved a winner and especially loved keeping that winner and his money in their hotel.

*****

Back in Sunnydale, the Slayer stomped her boots up the front steps of her house. The night’s patrol had been slow. Watching your finger nail polish dry kinda slow and undoubtedly the bleach blond vampire’s fault. Evil blood sucker, even if it was only bagged blood lately. Had he found some demon to kick ass without her? Probably took any bad guys out before they made it her way. Just to annoy her, of course.

Buffy came in, banging the front door, and found Dawn, Willow and Tara watching TV in the living room. Willow and Tara had been rooming with them for the last week and helping with the bills.

“Hey, Buffy. How was patrol?”

“Boring with a capital ‘B.’” She flopped down limp into an empty chair. “Mrs. Bernhart type boring.”

Willow grimaced, “You mean World History, Mrs. Bernhart? Mrs. I-lecture-till-blue-in-the-face-and-keep-going Mrs. Bernhart? Now that’s way boring and beyond.”

“Did you see Spike?” Dawn asked her sister. “He said he would try to get by later.”

“Nope. No sign of said vamp, which is so not a good sign. Neither hide nor fang of him in any of the cemeteries. Maybe I should have checked Willie’s.”

Oh, a worrying Buffy was very interesting, especially when it was over a certain vampire who also happened to be a total hottie. Dawn decided to fan the small, smoldering fire she suspected in her big sister. “Maybe Harmony’s back, and they’re out partying.”

“Eew! Could have done without that visual.” Buffy scrunched up her nose in displeasure but looked a bit worried.

The mention of any of Spike’s ex’s never brought out Buffy’s nicer side. Thinking that she might see a little smoke coming out of Buffy’s ears, Dawn fanned some more, “Yeah, he could do better. Major hottie like he is.”

“Dawnie, two words. Evil vampire. Remember them whenever you think of Spike.” With that, Buffy stomped off in the direction of the kitchen and try not to picture Spike as a major hottie, but way hard not to.

Dawn rolled her eyes to disguise her tactics from Willow and Tara but happily noted Buffy’s lack of venom directed at the said evil vampire.

*****

After collecting on his bet, Spike stepped out into the MGM Grand’s parking garage a much richer vamp. He had already collected at New York, New York, and was now headed back to the Hard Rock and his free suite. Already a little drunk from the numerous comp drinks, Spike tried not to sway while looking around the parking level. ‘Where the hell was the damn DeSoto?’ He would have had the valets park it if he hadn’t thought the overly helpful ass-kissers would clean off the paint covering his windows. Not to mention, he had consumed way too many drinks to properly explain the pints of blood still stored in the back seat. ‘Where the friggin’ hell is that car?’ Lighting a cigarette, Spike made it around a corner and was brought to a stand still by a blade in the face.

“You’d better freeze, blondie, or we’re gonna be your worst nightmare.” A shaky voice came from the low life holding the equally shaky knife.

‘Only if I have nightmares of pathetic heroine junkies. Gesh, people look down on vampires for their addiction to blood.’ The vampire calmly took in the situation he suddenly found himself embroiled. Giving a long suffering sigh, Spike grimaced, ‘I need my wheels, not this shit.’ A bloke that looked to be around eighteen was holding an academic-type at knife point while his chum held a similar blade in Spike’s face. Spike could feel sobriety coming on and had no patience for that. Totally pissed, Spike casually flicked his fag onto the guy’s chest, making the punk take a step back from him. “No, *I* will be your worst nightmare for the rest of your life.” Spike brought his demon forward, baring his fangs, “That, of course, being the couple of seconds left of it.”

The first guy in front of Spike dropped his knife, but the other exchanged his weapon for a gun, fear making him bolder. “What the fuck are you, dude?”

Praying the soddin’ chip in his head wouldn’t fire, Spike growled and took a step forward, hoping intimidation would be enough for these fried pillocks. However, the puke got nervous, pulled the trigger and winged Spike.

“Bloody friggin’ hell!” Spike looked at the new slice in his upper arm, “I’m not a werewolf, you silly git. No silver bullet is going to work here, mate.”

Fear having finally soaked into their smack soaked brains, the-would-be thieves fled like they had seen…well, a vampire.

As Spike shook off his game face, the victim that had been left behind spoke up. “Uh,…Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Really – DON’T mention it. In fact, don’t mention it to anyone, especially me. Now be a good little professor and bugger off.” This said, Spike ignored him and inspected his gash. What was it? A full moon? Friday the 13th? Nowhere on William the Bloody’s resume did it say, “good Samaritan.” That woman, Carol, had been ok, but he really didn’t want to make a habit of this.

However, the man didn’t take the not-so-subtle hint but instead took a step towards Spike. “I bet your not going to an emergency room to have that looked at.”

“Got it in one, Einstein.”

“I’m…Well, I’m a surgeon. A vet actually, but I specialize in surgery. Would you let me stitch that up for you?”
Spike slowly looked the man up and down, judging, evaluating. Finally coming to a decision, Spike spoke up, “No, but you could cut something *out* for me.”

*****

When he awoke, the vampire didn’t bother to crack open an eye lid. He could already feel the morning sun trying to creep around the drawn shades of his room. No need to look. Hell, his eyes were even fuzzier feeling than his memory was when he thought back over the last twelve hours. Frightening thought, indeed. Spike could vaguely remember meeting the doctor in the lobby of the Hard Rock forty-five minutes after saving him from the two muggers at the MGM. And lucky for the vampire, the doctor had a strong sense of gratitude since the doctor had not been happy about the far from sterile location. Needless to say, the vet finally caved in the face of Spike’s stubbornness. As they set up the temporary operating room, Spike was pleased to discover that the advantage of using an animal doc instead of a human MD was that vets have portable x-ray machines. Thus making it possible in a hotel room to locate the irksome piece of hardware lodged in his brain.

The night before, his alcohol saturated brain had flitted briefly over the consequences of this impromptu surgery. So what if the vet was going to dig around in his head, and he certainly wasn’t worried about a possible infection. There had to be some advantages to being dead. One just happened to be that bacteria had no desire to take up residence in his undead corpse.

However, the consequences that would follow when he got back to Sunnyhell gave him pause. Spike didn’t doubt that the Nibblet would be happy for him. She had no fear of him, a soft heart, and hated it when he took a jolt in the noggin. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure about the two witches’ reactions. But no big in that department. On the other hand, Spike had no doubt that the whelp would go ballistic, which put Harris’ reaction firmly in the plus category.

But, bugger it all to soddin’ Hell, the Slayer would stake him. No doubt about it. Or she could try, Spike thought with a smirk. In fact, that also maybe in the plus column since he would be able to fight back. Not to mention that the Slayer was always calling him an animal. If the silly bint were right, who better to fix his little problem than a vet? Shrugging off his concerns, Spike laid down on the dining, pseudo-operating table, and let his eyes drift closed as he felt the doc set to work.

Spike’s last coherent thought as he went under was that the saw bones better not have left a big incision and that hopefully it would heal up fast. After all, he didn’t have to tell the Scoobies that the chip was out, but visible evidence would certainly not help his case.

Awake now, Spike rolled over onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the sofa and absently turned on the TV. Maybe the drone of the telly would help distract him from his throbbing headache which had followed close on the heels of the surgery and was intensified by the effects of his spectacular hangover. Success, the sight of the beautiful blonde on the telly lying out by the pool with the miniscule patches of her bikini covering strategic locations captured his attention, but he still couldn’t keep his eyes open. If he could have thought straight, his last thought would have disturbed the vampire greatly. The little dish looked familiar…The Slayer. That beautiful bird looked like Buffy. Not in a drink-her-blood or snap-her-neck type of way, but in a lick-all-over-her body type of way. However, not even that disturbing thought kept him awake and he fell into a troubled sleep.

*****

A furious battle was already underway. Buffy, Xander, and Willow had been patrolling in one of the most active cemeteries in Sunnydale and were currently fighting off four werewolves. Yes, it was a full moon, but they had certainly not been expecting this kind of fight that night. There had been no mention on the streets of any werewolves currently residing in Sunnydale. In fact, demon gossip had been rather subdued the last few nights. As a result, the ambush had come as a complete surprise and quickly escalated in its intensity.

The slayer methodically, but with considerable effort, took out two of the shaggy beasts and was currently fighting a third, while Xander and Willow held the other one off, waiting for the Slayer to finish and help them. The events played out as if part of a bad “B” movie. Presently fighting where she could also keep an eye on her friends, Buffy was horrified to watch her friends’ opponent dodge one of Xander’s blows and slip in under Willow’s defenses. In one horrific swipe, the werewolf quickly clawed out her throat. Frozen, Xander looked down at Willow’s blank, staring eyes before a fifth werewolf appeared out of nowhere, jumped on his back, visciously sinking in his elongated canines into Xander’s neck. Still fighting her own opponent, Buffy helplessly watched as Xander’s flesh was ripped away with deceptive ease in a split second.

All the images blurred together as Spike’s vision clouded, and he saw no more. He was never happy to dream of the virtuous Scoobies, but this time had been different. Spike knew that this dream was a glimpse into the future just as surely as he had known that the white ball was going to fall into the black eight at the roulette table the previous day. This had been second sight, not an annoying little broadcast of his active imagination as his dreams usually were. Red’s dead, staring eyes stayed with Spike long after he woke up from his dream.

Stunned, Spike laid on his back thinking. Well, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it, to lose the whelp? No, but the witch didn’t deserve such a nasty end. However, the portion that bothered him most was that he hadn’t been able to see if the Slayer had won out in the end. Despite his throbbing headache, thoughts of the Slayer’s possible death had Spike up and pacing. It was currently daytime, and the dream had been set at night. On the other hand, judging from his recent gambling experiences, the vision would become an actuality sooner rather than latter. He had some time, but too little considering he was currently in a different state.

Regardless, his mind just wouldn’t leave it alone. Was the Slayer alive or dead? Or more accurately, *would* she end up alive or dead? Sod it, so much for a little R & R in Vegas. Spike quickly threw on a shirt and hunted for his keys. “Time was wasting. Gotta make tracks back to Sunnyhell.”

TBC

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Thanks, Madrog
madrog@ev1.net