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These dens always turned Spike’s stomach. Though, he supposes, not every vampire is lucky enough to be swept up in a murderous quartet the minute they’re sired, and be catered for completely. To call the four loving might be a stretch, but Spike was certainly never alone. By the time he was, he had no need to seek out the willing, but usually dreary, inhabitants of vamp buffets. He was more than capable of making his own catch, and the four had hooked him on the chase.
And then came Sunnydale.
Spike tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Safe to say, everything changed in Sunnydale.
It’s been a while, but the sudden, weeping chasm in his chest is no less painful than the last time. Can’t turn his mind from her. It feels too much like turning his back, and he refuses to forget her. Can’t look it full in the face either.
The streetlights pass, and gradually, it ceases. He focuses again on the girl from Sunnydale who is very much still here, and still giving him orders.
The Slayer reckons there’s info to be had in the feeding den. He cruises down the next few alleys and tucks his car in. He’s a shadow as he walks the last streets. It’s obvious when he gets to the right one; he can smell the blood from outside.
Curling his tongue behind his teeth, he turns on the confidence as he steps inside, running his eyes over the rooms like he owns the place. In fairness, it’s not unwarranted. He could take them all out if he so chose. Hopes he gets to, when all this is done.
A stocky vampire slides in front of him. Making a show of looking down at him, Spike slings his hands into his pockets.
“Looking for anything… particular?”
Spike quirks a brow.
“S’pose I am. Spot of blood, sure, but how about… company?”
The guy’s yellow eyes narrow.
“Answer’s no; you’re a first-time customer. Blood only. Company rules.” He smiles widely, fangs on show.
Interesting policy. Feeding on the humans is okay, but they draw the line at sex?
Taking it in stride, Spike shrugs. Not like he was planning on taking up the lad or lass they offer him for… extra services. Was only hoping for somewhere secluded. Perhaps he can still work it in.
“Not that sort of company,” he rolls his eyes. “Conversation, y’know? Forgive a bloke getting’ lonely sometimes.”
The other one eyes him.
“I’m sure someone will be delighted to see to you. First time in this kinda place?”
“Might be,” Spike ventures, unsure if he should be offended, as the man takes his shoulder and leads him through the first dull, smoky room.
“Ah, I don’t mean anything bad by it. New guys like you always ask for a friendly face. Hard to make steady friends in this world when you’re like us, no?”
Spike hums something that might be agreement, peering around as they walk. A few amber eyes follow him through the haze, but most of the figures aren’t paying attention. The fumes from cigarettes and incense make for a heady, overbearing scent, the smoke clearly a deliberate screen of privacy for the multiple occupants of each room. The place is dark, long abandoned by the living – or at least those with something to lose – but at least it doesn’t seem to be damp or leaking. Candle flames hover in brackets and corners, their bulbs of light swallowed up in the smoke around them.
“’Course, we can find better company in our own kind,” the man is saying. “We’re a bit over-full tonight, but it’s always agreeable to pass the time with our other guests. You’ll strike up connection in no time, ‘specially a dashing bloke like you.”
“Thanks, pal,” Spike smiles sarcastically. They skirt around a vampire, kneeling and feeding from someone’s arm, before he pulls the smaller vamp to a halt by his arm. Before he can open his mouth, Spike leans in. “I appreciate the advice, but I’m not looking to wait. And I’d rather not share. Maybe you could, y’know, speed things along for me?”
He flicks his eyes down, and the other vamp follows warily. The suspicion clears from his face when Spike pulls the amulet Buffy gave him surreptitiously from inside his jacket, just long enough to give him a good look at it.
“Is that…?” He looks up, wide-eyed. Just like Buffy said. It’s part of the bounty this nest owes to the local vamp-lord wannabe. The vampire swallows, nods and smiles nervously. “Well, of course, sir. Follow me.”
Walking faster now, he takes two quick turns until they’re standing at the base of a narrow, dank staircase. More bodies, pairs or more, lightly moving in a daze of blood and booze which he does know well, are silhouetted along the thin hall.
Someone else lurks from the steps.
“Eddie!” Spike’s guide calls. “Eddie, get Cinder. She’s gonna want to see this.”
Spike quirks a brow, watching with interest as this ‘Eddie’ disappears into the shadowy upper floor. His guide ushers him up, ahead of him, and he’s happy to oblige.
The warmth of bodies dies away as he climbs. The smoke is thick and stifling in the stairwell, but he doesn’t need the air.
People are exchanging quiet words somewhere nearby – quiet but heated. He moves towards them, the haze in the air thinning as he treads his way down the creaking landing.
“This better be good.”
“He said you’d want to see. It must be the bounty.”
One of the parties clears their throat pointedly, and the two lapse into silence as Spike approaches.
“I assure you, you’ll get everything you came for,” the first vamp says from behind him. “And you’ll handle payment up here. We’ll, er, leave you to it…”
The imposing figure of Eddie turns as Spike reaches him. Sharing a glance with the vamp behind Spike, he shuffles out of the way, revealing a figure leaning against the wall, arms folded.
Spike stops.
The footsteps fade away behind him, and he forgets them in an instant. The very floor beneath him fades, the gravity of where he is, his intel mission, eluding him in a heartbeat.
A booming, clawing, deafening silence pulses in his ears. The darkness shifts dizzyingly around him, world tilting, zooming in. At the centre of it all, staring, expectant, unimpressed…
is Ash.
“Let’s not play games. I’ve been told you have something of interest. Are you willing to show it to me, or do you want a drink first?”
She tilts her head, and his eyes fall from her face for the first time. Marled, layered scars line her neck where she flexes it in the cloudy candlelight.
Not a vampire. His first, nauseating fear is dispelled as he breathes in sharply, the thick aroma of the house bringing with it blood, and a heartbeat.
It’s hers. The way he tunes in instantly is yet more proof; he knows her, even if from another life, it’s her heart thumping away in her chest, his Ash standing in front of him.
“Ash,” he breathes, fool that he is.
Her face closes in an instant. The arms across her chest tighten and she straightens from the wall.
“What did you say?”
Spike closes his mouth, trying to pull his eyes back into his head. Think, for god’s sake. She quite clearly has no idea who he is, and he’s supposed to be here for a reason. He sees her eyes shift to where the vamps just left. He can’t wind up getting kicked out – certainly not now.
The distrust in her eyes stings. He makes himself reel in his instincts to make her feel better, crack a joke. She doesn’t know him, and right now, for all intents and purposes, he doesn’t know her.
“Never mind, pet. Not trying anything funny here.”
He holds his hands up. Her eyes only narrow.
“Who told you about this place?”
“A man hears things, you know?”
She doesn’t shift, and he knows he’s going to have to do better. Find some excuse for the use of her name. Even now, he knows she’s sharp enough not to let that slip by her.
“Fine–” he stops himself, this time, from calling her ‘pet.’ “I can tell you more, but I’d really rather do it someplace private. And no, I don’t need a drink.”
Taking a moment, she trails her eyes over him, up and down. He’s grateful for the time, but sees it for what it is. Stuns him a little, in fact. He may have no idea how she’s come to be here, but it’s not exactly somewhere humans aspire to end up. He’s not sure he’d find one happy backstory in the building, and suspects hers is no exception.
Yet here she is, still human, somehow respected in this place. To what extent she holds power over these vamps, he doesn’t know, but it’s more than most.
And, faced with a vampire she’s never met – someone she can assume to be powerful in his own right too, given his cargo – she makes him wait. She seems, if not comfortable here, then confident. It’s a hardened version of his Ash, from years ago. The way she holds herself is the same, the set of her shoulders sending him tumbling back to a now-destroyed demon bar in a now-destroyed town, where she faced down demons larger and stronger than herself with sheer force of will.
She’s clearly had to find that power sooner, this time around.
At last, she nods coolly and steps back. She stands by a doorway, letting him enter first.
The room is bare, floorboards creaking beneath his boots. A desk is shoved into one end, a crucifix hanging above it. An iron framed bed is in the other corner, a nightstand with nothing but a tall decanter of some clear liquid – holy water, knowing her – and one extra chair makes up the contents of the space.
She shuts the door.
Spike stands in the centre, not going for the chair. Ash eyes him, before moving to lean against the desk. His chest aches as he watches her. How many times has he closed his eyes to remember her face? And now it’s alive again in front of him, her suspicion clear as day. Curiosity, too, though. He learned to read her a lifetime ago.
“I’ve got a feeling I can trust you,” he says, “so I’ll be upfront. I’ve come to offer you this.”
He takes out the amulet and hands it to her without pretence.
She takes it, unable to hide the raise of her brows, the surprise at his easy compliance. While she turns it over in her hands, Spike’s eyes don’t leave her face. One half of him is firmly planted in this moment, nailing down his pretence at neutrality, at being a stranger. The other half is still floating away in awestruck wonder somewhere.
Her inspection reaches its end when she squints at a small mark on the back. Pressing her thumb over it, she mutters a few words, then hisses and pulls back. The burning mark of the demon who made it.
“You’re good for it, I’ll give you that,” she says, setting the amulet behind her. He doesn’t protest. “What I’m still not clear on is what exactly ‘it’ is.”
“Information, luv. Care for a chat?”
She weighs him up for another moment designed to let him feel the force of her scrutiny. He revels in it.
She swings a leg over the chair in front of her and sits, rests her arms on its back expectantly.
“Name’s Spike,” he says, sinking into his own seat. “And the Slayer sent me.”
“Buffy herself is watching us,” Ash muses, calculating eyes sharpening on him. “Should we be worried?”
“Never said it was Buffy.”
“You said it was the Slayer. There’s plenty of them, but only one comes with a ‘the’ attached.”
“Perceptive.” As always, he thinks but doesn’t say out loud.
“Slayers don’t often give advance warnings. Can I assume she’s not going to murder half our business within the day?”
“Your ‘business’ is hardly a respectable cause, pet. Would you really be opposed?”
His tone is playful, not a threat. Still, she pulls herself slightly straighter.
“No one wants to be here, Spike. So ask yourself why they are. I just try to make sure it’s safer in here than it would be out there.”
“Are you safer?”
She doesn’t grace him with an answer.
“Just saying, luv. Seems as though you’re not at the beck and call of these guys. What’s keeping you here?”
“We aren’t here to talk about my life choices,” she says. Before he can find another way to dig closer, she ruthlessly pivots the topic and goes on. “Or if you are, I have to disappoint you. Information on other people, however, I might be able to provide.”
“Right. Course. To business, then.”
They talk. She seems amused by him, more than anything. Gets a smirk on her face when she connects the dots.
“You’re after Garlrog?” She asks, before he’s even mentioned the bugger by name.
“You guys owe him, I know that much. See, he’s not known for his forgiving nature. We thought maybe you’d appreciate a little help on that front.”
“You want my guys to act as bait,” she says bluntly. “You do know how many groupies Garlrog has ready to come down on us if we’re found out?”
“Woulda thought maybe having the Slayer backing you might ease your mind a bit. She’s not exactly known for losing her battles.”
Ash sighs, glaring at the wall.
“I’ve never met you. I shouldn’t trust you, but I do. Makes me suspect I should trust you less.”
“I’d wager you haven’t got this far by ignoring your own judgement of character.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Get back to me when you’ve figured that one out, hm?”
Ash closes her mouth, one corner quirking. He wants to laugh at her, to nudge her shoulder and tell her he can see her chewing on the idea, knows when he’s won an argument with her. He drags himself back from that ledge.
She’s his and not. She’s in a vamp den, calling the shots apparently, and clearly very aware of the web she’s in the midst of. She knows the most dangerous demon in the area by name. He’s willing to bet she’s been in a room with him, maybe even bargained with him. A life he can only begin to guess at – and yet. And yet it’s just like her to throw herself into places she shouldn’t belong, to look demons in the face as if she’s forgotten she’s supposed to be their prey, to try and make a difference where she can.
And through it all, she moves like his Ash. Emotions dance over her face in a way he can read, her every reply exhilarating the way it was before.
He forces his breathing even and gets on with it.
It’s only as he’s leaving that she changes.
“Spike…”
His dead heart swoops in his chest. Suddenly he’s not sure this isn’t a dream, the way she says his name, soft and searching. Like she knows him, like before, like she never left…
It’s surreal, that the voice is in this room and not in his head.
Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he turns back to her in the doorway. She’s standing again. She unfolds her arms and lets them drop.
“How do you know my name?” She asks. It’s the most uncertain she’s sounded this whole time.
He knew she wouldn’t forget. Chewing his tongue, he eyes the wall, as if the answers will suddenly appear framed there. He sighs, shoulders rising and falling deeply. Hesitantly looks back.
“You, uh… been in a fire lately?”
Her brows scrunch together in utter confusion.
“What does that have to do with–?”
“Just, when you do, you’re gonna see something, and it’s not gonna make much sense at first. When that happens, you find me, alright?”
She watches him, for a long time. At length she seems to decide he isn’t going to say any more. She lets out a resigned breath.
“Alright.”
He nods. He only lets himself have one more moment to take her in. It’ll never be enough.
He turns and closes the door behind him.
No one disturbs him on his way out, but he is followed. Protocol, perhaps. Seems like Ash would have the power to order it, but he certainly has the power to throw them off, so he does. He’s thankful, in a way. It makes him focus right up until he’s circled back around to his car, instead of spiralling while he’s still wondering the back alleys.
He gets in and stares at the wheel.
Finally, he lets it hit him. Steps away from the door he’d been jamming shut and lets the contents tumble out, a dam splitting until he’s drowning in the memories, gasping through them.
She’s here. She’s here.
He can’t think, not yet. About how she ended up in a place like this. What brought her here, where her good-for-nothing parents are, if they’re anything like the last ones. About how he can get her to trust him without the truth, about how the truth would make things worse. About how he can keep her safe in this place crawling with demons, and the trap they’re about to snare her in.
No, he can’t think, that comes later. All he can do is slump forwards against the wheel as if he’s winded from a fight. Squeeze his stinging eyes shut and remind himself he doesn’t have to remember her face any more.
She’s here. She came back.
He can’t think, but it’s enough to know.
He needs her to stay this time. And he needs to tell Buffy.