Back-Story: Lover's walk. Spike returns from South America and kidnaps Willow and Xander. He's brought them both back to the burnt out factory. Xander is laid out on Dru's bed, with a head wound, while Willow sits nervously by him. This is where things start to change:

*****

Spike's POV:

I've just decided on my plan. I've kidnapped Willow and now she's going to do a love spell. Yep, that's the way to do it. That's how I'm going to get Drusilla back. I pick up Willow's box of supplies and go to open the door. Wait a mo... What's this? I pull out the large book inside, turn it over and read the title: "Witchcraft."

I flick the book open and read - "Time Reversal Spell." Hey, that's even better. A time spell! I could go back in time, kill that bastard Angel before he ever shags the slayer and Drusilla will be mine eternally. It's fucking brilliant! She won't have ever left me; she would never have pined over her sire. It's a stroke of bloody genius.

I wrench the door open and stride in. The little red head sits apprehensively on the edge of the bed looking after that punk kid, Xander. I shove the book into her hands, at the open page.

"You are going to do a spell for me."

"Uh, you want me to do a love spell?" Willow asks, her voice quivering in fear.

"No! I don't want a useless love spell! I don't want her back after she's shagged a chaos Demon! Are you brain dead?" My god! Do I have to explain everything!

I go over to the dresser and grab a new bottle of whiskey. I uncork it and take a long, calming swig. "I'm gonna get back what's mine! I want it the way it was before that bastard tainted her." I lean over and breath whiskey air into Willow' face. "You are going to do a time spell!" I take several more good swallows, and grin her.

"A time spell!" she yells, "But you can't... you can't mess with time... there are consequences and stuff..." she blubbers.

"What are you trying to say! You can't do it?" I grab her throat, dragging her up and pressing her against the hard wood of the bedpost. "Or you won't? Believe me, I can make you do it." I smash the bottle against the bedpost, the broken neck till in my hand. With terrified eyes, Willow gasps, as I press the broken glass to her throat.

"Yes, I'll do it!" she cries in a panicked voice.

I lean towards her, morphing into my true face. "You lie to me, and I'll shove this through your face! You want that?"

"No..." she mumbles, terrified of me. Oh fuck, she smells good. I'd love a quick bite, but maybe later, now I have a job for her. She's going to make everything perfect in my world. I'm going to have Dru back, and get rid of that Angel pillock forever.

"I'll shove it right through to your brain!" You know, just to make sure she knows I'm serious.

"No, please, no... I'll do it now! Please don't hurt me... please..."

I shove her aside and lean against the bedpost. I am so bloody ingenious. Women do anything I tell them. Willow gets down on her knees and starts reading over the requested spell.

"I... err... need some... lavender and something old..." she informs me nervously.

I'm just so evil. Right lavender... that's easy. I open one of the abandoned trunks and pull out a potpourri bag. Dru always liked her clothes smelling od lavender. Something old... ah, I pick out of the burnt wreckage a broken doll's face. I dump them before her and plonk myself down on the floor. Willow looks nervously up at me and with a shaking hand, collects the ingredients.

"You're doing it now!" I remind her.

"Yes... Yes... I'm getting it ready." I watch as she moves her hands over the objects and whispers something in Latin, I think. "err... you have to hold the objects, one in each hand," she mumbles, still utterly terrified of me.

I pick up the lavender bag and porcelain face. Willow starts to mumble the spell in a language I don't recognise. Over and over she repeats the incantation, and I'm getting pretty bored.

"Come on, you're just messing...

< Bright flash of purple light >

"... about..."

What the fuck! I jump up off a cobbled street and look around. Its night and I seem to be standing in a dirty alley. The fumes of human waste assault my nose and I can hear the sounds of rats scurrying past me. Where the fuck am I? This is not Sunnydale a year ago! This place smells like... like... Bloody hell! I'm in London! I drop the ingredients and charge down the alley. I come to a halt at the end, next to a toyshop, and in the window is a doll. The doll Dru had! Bloody Hell! The little witch duped me!

I take a deep whiff of London air and I know I'm home. I kinda missed the old place, but something isn't right. There are no factories around, no fumes of Steam engines and mills. It's almost pre-industrial. I wonder what the date is? I walk down the street, but pass no people. It's late at night and this quarter of the city is deserted. Out of the blue, from behind me, a woman's voice laughs out. I follow it into another darkened alley.

Up ahead I make out a finely dressed woman, but she looks kinda weird. The dress has like huge wings on the sides, making her look like she's got hips 4 feet wide! She has blond locks flowing down her back in perfect ringlets. I get this sudden chill, and she reminds me of someone. The woman turns and growls at me.

Darla! With a snarl she attacks me, her long fangs snapping at my neck. I push her off, but she's hardly phased by my defence and backhands me, hard. Shit, it feels as if my eyeballs are exploding. I stumble back, hitting the wall and grab the nearest weapon. A broken piece of wood from some crate. Darla screams and charges again, I bring my arm up and shove the wooden stake right into the bitch's heart. Darla explodes into a million particles of dust.

Not a bad day's work! I laugh, as I brush her remains from my clothing. I always hated the bitch. Well, I'm off to find Drusilla. I bet this can't be much earlier that the 1850's. Drusilla's doll couldn't be much older than she was. Still, London looks really bizarre, and I think I'm a little lost.

"Well, well, you have really screwed everything up, haven't you?"

"What the fuck...?" I turn around and face a short, uninteresting looking man. He looks like I do - well, I mean he's dressed in clothing like mine. Well, not like mine, but the same era. I wouldn't be seen dead in a Hawaiian shirt like that, or the fedora hat. "Who the hell are you?"

"The name's Whistler. I'm a demon and I work for the Powers that Be."

"So?"

"You do realise that you have just destroyed the whole shebang?"

"Huh?"

"The future. It's all gone. You are a fugitive in time now. Lost here in the past."

"I don't give a shit," I laugh, "now just tell me where Drusilla is and I'll be on my way."

"She hasn't been born yet; she won't be for another 100 years."

"What?" This time the badly dressed demon has my attention. "Err... what year is this?"

"1752."

DARLA! I just fucking killed Darla. My grandsire in 1752! Oh... Shit! What the fuck do I do now? I've just killed my Grandsire - *before* she turned my sire - Angelus. Oh god! Oh... fuck... what the... oh shit... I'm still here, still 100% solid. I can feel my own body... Oh fuck! Hey, maybe this works like Back to the Future; I have a little time to fade away... bloody hell... Wait... stop panicking. I've gotta to calm down... FUCK! What am I doing to do... bugger!

Calm... Calm... Get a fag... Oh, great no bloody fags! They haven't been invented yet! Oh blast! Damn... Calm... gotta calm down. Right no fags, no Darla, no turning of Angelus, no me! Fuck... No... calm... gotta think.

"Fuck! I'll kill that bloody witch!" I kick the wall and the stone almost breaks my bloody toe. "Fuck!"

"Willow sent you back in time to when that doll was made - 1752. Angelus gave it to Drusilla. For that spell you needed something made in the year you wanted to travel back to." He gives a laugh and grins at me. I snarl back and bare my fangs. "You can't kill me. I'm immortal and my blood would taste pretty disgusting to you."

"What the fuck do you want from me then? Why are you telling me all this?"

"We have a proposition for you."

"Huh? I don't work for the good guys, remember? I'm evil, the big bad...this ringing any bells to you?"

"I know who you are, Spike. You are stranded here in time; you messed up the future and destroyed the Power's warrior."

"I only just killed that bitch Darla. Shouldn't you be congratulating me for saving the world from that bitch and her psychopathic Childe?"

"Angel is the Power' champion. Angelus was turned in 1753, you have just killed his sire and now that's never going to happen."

"You mean I just killed Angel? Yes!" I give a little victory dance, but the demon doesn't seem to be amused. Oh, wait a sec... Angel has to Angelus first - Shit!

"Also with his demise, you will be vanishing soon too;" he grins and cocks his hat in a gesture of goodbye.

"What?" Now I'm all ears. "What do you mean I'll be vanishing."

"Darla is dead, Angelus won't be turned, and your Drusilla will never become a vampire. Unless... nah, you don't want to hear that. You're evil."

"What... hear what?" Okay, so I'm getting a little desperate.

"We give you a second chance. You will continue to live, exist in this dimension, but you will have to perform one task."

"What... Anything!" All right, I'm begging. I might be the big bad, but I don't want to die - well, cease to exist.

Whistler gives me a sly grin and hands me a ticket. It's a boat ticket from Liverpool to Dublin, Ireland. "You continue to live your un-live to the full, but first you have to turn Liam."

"Who the fuck is Liam?"

"He's the human that shall become known as Angelus, and in the fullness of time, he'll once again become the Power's champion."

"No! No fucking way! Angelus is the bane of my bloody existence. I hate him, I despise him, and there is no way I'm siring him!"

Whistler reaches out to take the tickets back. I pull back. Wait... If I don't do this I'm screwed. If I do it, then I'm going to have psycho Angelus nipping at my heals, wanting his daddy. Shit! I don't want to die, I like my un-life. I like killing, screwing, and killing, and... I want to live - well, un-live. Also I get to be the sire of the Scourge of Europe - that might be interesting. Oh, what the hell!

*****
Part 2:

"Okay! Fine. I'll bloody turn him, okay!" Whistler smiles and I snarl at him.

"You have until the 3rd of May 1753 to get to Galway and turn Liam. Remember! Fail this and you'll be staring into oblivion for eternity."

April 1753: I hate this fucking century. Why the hell couldn't Liam have been born in my time! I mean, how can men wear these bloody breaches? There`re... well, there just not decent, and damn embarrassing. There's no way to hide your erection in these tight things. God, I miss my jeans! Also I have to wear sock things with braces on. Shoes not boots. I don't mind the fine waistcoats, and jackets, but come on! Why the hell did they invent breaches? I look like a poof!

Also, I hate Ireland. It's cold, wet and dull. Well, England's like that... but Ireland worse. It's... It's full of the Irish! I hate this country. I hate this century. I want to go home! *Sulk*

I've made Galway in good time. It's April and I have a month to find and turn Liam. Bloody Angelus! I can't bloody stand him! Okay... gotta calm down. Okay - all I do is sire Liam, then I can bugger off and leave him to his own devices. Right. I know he was turned in an alley outside a tavern. All I have to do is find said tavern, which shouldn't be hard, then Liam. It's easy!

15 April: I never knew there was so many bloody taverns in Galway. How was I supposed to know it`s a growing town? I haven't spotted anyone like him. Maybe I've got the wrong area. Shit, what do I do? Fuck... No, stay calm... Villages... I'll check the surrounding villages. This better bloody work... I don't want to be non-existent. There's no fun in oblivion.

In the end, I stay in a little tavern just outside Galway. I'm getting pissed off with all the taverns I've visited. Also, people have started to think I'm a little peculiar. I guess I am kind of strange, I check out every young man that enters the place. They are going to think I'm fucking queer soon, and I`ve never been a bloody sodomite. Don't they lock people away like that in this time or something? Shit... I hate this. I hate Willow! I hate Angel - it's all his bloody fault!

It's getting late, when suddenly I notice the start of a fight. I might get some entertainment tonight after all. I look on in interest, as a tall, longhaired man starts shouting at a willowy youth at his table. I can't see the man's face, but his physique is strong and well built. I bet he's some potato farmer. I signal the barmaid and she brings over more of the horrid ale. Haven't they invented Guinness yet? I watch the tall potato farmer drunkenly hit his companion and shouts something with a strong Irish accent. The unconscious man's friend then takes a swing at the potato farmer and he hits back. His new opponent is just as big and as strong as he is, so they start wrestling it out.

The potato farmer is hit in the face and he's thrown across my table. I grab my ale quickly out of the way and I stare in disgust at him. I really would like to have a fight right now. I'm about to say something to that effect, but suddenly, I catch sight of his face... Angel? The same eyes and features of Angel/Angelus stare back at me and he grins. There is devilment in the young man's face and he snatches up my ale. I can't say a word; I'm in shock! He drinks my ale down and goes back to fighting. That I assume was Liam. Liam brawling in a tavern and yes, he`s peaked my interest. This might not be so boring after all. I've never seen this side of Angelus before.

The barmaid comes over with my new mug of ale and sets it down. I curl my nose at the horrid smell.

"Who is he?" I ask, pointing pre-Angelus out. The barmaid looks over at the fighting form of Liam, and I swear she licks her lips in anticipation. I bet she has sampled the wares.

"Who, that one?" She points out Liam.

"Yes, he stole my ale."

"Liam, the local rake. He'll seduce any woman that looks at him, and then he'll abandon them in the morning."

"I won't have a problem then, will I?" I laugh. The barmaid smiles and gives another longing look at Liam.

"You won't be getting money out of him either," she says coolly, as she collects the empty mug. "Unless it's his father's silver."

So this Liam is a rake, scoundrel and thief. I like him already. I wonder what the hell happened to turn him into that bastard who Angelus becomes. I bet it was that bloody bitch, Darla`s fault. I watch as Liam continues to fight his opponent, but he's knocked out cold when someone breaks a bottle over his head. It looks like I won't be meeting him tonight.

The next evening, I leave my room at dusk and visit the local area. I need to find out where this Liam lives. Its not a very large village, and I discover Liam is the son of some fabric merchant. They do pretty well, and have a maid. Business isn't as well as it could be, mainly due to the fact the father won't trust his son to work for him. I found out from the village whore that there was some scandal about Liam swindling from his father's business. He accused another man, who his father proclaimed innocent and called worthier than his own son. Liam's father was said to be dismayed by his son's dishonour, local men would refuse their daughters hand in marriage to him, nor would they trust him to work with them. They said he had the devil within him, and his poor father, in his mercy, tried to cure his son of that. The locals called him a scoundrel and a thief, completely untrustworthy with any money - or around their daughters. The whores called him a damn good fuck.

That night, I observe Liam's antics at the tavern. He drinks far more than what`s good for him, and later departs with the local tart. I follow them out and she takes him to her hovel. Outside, I listen to them fucking away, then a couple of hours later; Liam emerges looking dishevelled and even more inebriated. I intend to follow him home, but he doesn't go there. He walks down into an old cemetery and sits on a small hill overlooking the tall gravestones.

"If yer wanting to rob me, I've got no money," he says softly.

I'm surprised that he knew I was here. There is sadness on the boy's face, and he picks up a stone, throwing it into the cemetery grass. I think he was aiming for the grave markers.

"I've no intension of robbing you, I'm new here and I believe I am lost." I step out of the darkness and walk over to him.

"Yer, English. We don't get any foreigners in these parts. Yer will find nothing of interest in this god-forsaken place." He picks up another stone, throwing it further this time.

"You seem to find the graveyard very interesting."

Liam laughs and gets up. I follow him further into the cemetery and he stops before a small grave marker.

"This would be me brother. A twin in fact. He was born seconds before me, but he died. My Da wishes he had lived instead of me, then he wouldn't have such a disgrace for a son." Liam gives a little sob, and bends down.

I don't have chance to talk to him, because he starts violently to heave up all his earlier booze and meal. Oh, just great! I hate humans. I can't leave him here, since I'm not able to let him die too soon, so I decide to drag him home. I drop him off on his doorstep, stinking of booze and sex.

This Liam wasn't what I expected. He's nothing like Angelus or Angel for that fact. He's a lonely, broken boy, who's trying to kill himself with sex, booze, and bar fights. No wonder he let Darla turn him. I mean he would have had to! He's big, strong and could have fought her off if he`d put all of his effort into it. As far as I remember, I believe Darla used to say that Angelus was waiting for her to turn him. That she had offered him the world and he'd accepted death.

On next night, I arise early, and since it's only just spring, it's dark around 4pm. I decide to take a walk into the countryside to rid myself of that tavern stench. I'm getting sick to death of smelling like bad ale. I make a quick kill for dinner, and walk back past a small pond and spinney of trees. Under one of these trees I spot Liam. He's sitting in the long grass, with an easel across his knee. He's busy drawing - trying to finish before the last of the light disappears completely.

"Liam!" A young girl runs across the field and waves at him. "Liam!"

I move into the trees to watch this meeting. I have no idea who this girl is. Angelus never mentioned any siblings. Well, apart from the dead twin, I discovered last night. The girl is petite and pretty. I think it has to be his sister. She has the same dark brunette hair, and the large brown eyes.

"Liam, it's time for dinner. Da won't be pleased if you're late again. Liam!" she shouts running up to him.

Liam looks up from his drawing. His face shocks me. The left side is bruised, and he has a split lip, which is swollen. I notice that his hands are cut and bruised, his knuckles raw with broken skin. What the hell is this? I can't believe that Angel or Liam would take this abuse from anyone. Not even in the bar fight I witnessed, did he get these types of injuries.

"I'm coming, Kathy," the young man sighs and gathers his tools. Kathy gives him a smile, and he smiles in return, his whole face brightening in a way which I`ve never seen. It makes him look... nice. There is obviously love in his face for this young girl. She takes his hand and leads him back home. I follow them back to their house, and listen in at the window. I can hear dinner being prepared and a soft-spoken woman asks what Liam has been doing. He says he's drawn the local lake and... Suddenly, a door crashes open.

"So ye have finally graced us with yer presence! Yer only seen to eat the food set before ye. Ye never think how it was put there. By hard work - Mine!" I hear pots break and a gasp. "Yer good for nothing. I'm ashamed to have thee as my son!" I hear more pots smash and the outer door is thrown open.

"Yer'll do some chores before you sit at my table and eat my food. Yer absolutely useless, Liam!"

Liam is thrown through the door and his father slams it shut as he steps out. Liam lies in the dirt a moment, before carefully kneeling up on his knees. Why doesn`t he fight back? He`s just kneeling there, taking it!

"I've find yer been stealing again from me, boy. There are five silver spoons missing now!" Liam's father pulls out a box of pastels and charcoals, throwing them at Liam's feet. "Is this want you've been spending my life's work on. Rubbish!" He stamps his feet on the artist's instruments and they break into tiny pieces. Liam cries out, but he is silenced by his father's backhand.

"Take yer shirt off, boy."

For a second Liam hesitates, but then gives a weary sigh. This has been a usual occurrence for a long time, it seems. Liam unbuttons his shirt and bares his naked back to his father. The grey haired man pulls off his wide leather belt and wraps his around his hand.

"I'll beat some sense into ye yet, boy. It's all I can do for ye." The old man actually looks sad as he starts to whip his child. I think he believes that this will set young Liam on the straight and narrow. From what I know, it's only making his son hate him more. After twenty lashes, Liam's father buckles up his belt and goes back into the house, slamming the door closed on his son.

When Liam is sure he's gone, he goes over to the broken box, and carefully starts picking out the surviving artist materials. There are tears running down his face and his body trembles with shame and anguish. I leave my hiding place and kneel beside him. My fingers carefully pick out an intact pastel. When I hand it to him, I look up in frightened eyes.

"Thank you... if ye be wanting me father, he's inside," Liam speaks softly, but with a cold edge.

"It's not your father I have come to see. I met you the other night; I'm visiting to see if you have recovered."

Liam gives me a confused look. I think that maybe he was too far drunk to remember me.

"I thank ye for helping me." He collects his pastels and wraps them in his shirt. When he turns, I see the bleeding lashes on his back and something breaks inside me. I feel... sorry for him. Which is really unacceptable, because I hate Angelus.

"Your back needs cleaning, come." I have no idea why the hell I said that to him. I hate him... remember! All I have to do is turn him and then bugger off. That's all. So why the hell am I helping him? Liam hesitates for a moment, but then follows me away from the house and back towards the tavern.

Liam is shivering by the time we get there, and not just from the cold. I check there is no one around, then I take him up to my room. There is water in a small jug with a basin, left for me by the mistress of the house. I wet a cloth and press it to the weeping wounds on his back. Liam gasps and pulls away. I notice the cuts are deep and they could get infected. I don't want him getting blood poisoning before I turn him - makes the blood taste bad.

"Sit down, I'll get some spirits." Liam does as I say and I steel a bottle of cheap whiskey from the bar. I wet the cloth again and clean his wounds. The alcohol makes him jump, and his flesh quivers under my cold fingers. He's so warm. His back has been made even warmer by the beating and is smeared with fresh blood. I lick my lips from the smell of him. I would love to bite him now, but it's too early. Whistler said I had to do it on the 4th of May. I guess I can't change history too much, I've done enough as it is.

"I guess you pissed... err, annoyed your father then," I comment, trying to make small talk, to stop staring at his warm red... dripping... blood... Oh, sweet... blood... Stop!

"He doesn't like me drawing. It's not a proper man's job," Liam answers, automatically. "I'm a failure, my father..." He chokes out the last sentence and I can smell his tears. I don't talk anymore, just continue to clean his back. There are other marks here, only a couple of days old, some maybe a week. His body tells a tale in bruising and cuts. I tale I've never known. I was born in Victorian England, and my father had a little bookshop. He did well, and was a very intellectual person. He never believed in beating his children. I guess that's why William - me - turned out a complete wimp. Now come on, tweed suit and little wire glasses, I didn't really need, and writing poetry! What was I thinking!?

"Yer are a strange gentleman, sir..." Liam is talking to me and I haven't been listening. I've finished cleaning his back and take a swig of whiskey. "Yer hair looks white, and yet ye aren't old?"

"Hey! It's blond!" Liam turns and looks at me, giving me Angelus' trademark smirk. A shiver travels through my spine and I feel suddenly warm.

"Forgive me, it's is blond." I offer him the whiskey and he takes it from my hand. Our fingers touch for a second and I feel his soft warm flesh. These are artists' hands, untouched by hard work.

"I know not yer name," he tells me, taking another swig of whiskey. I suppress a sudden bout of arousal as our skin touches, and shake myself. I've got to keep my wits about me with Liam. He's a natural tease.

"Spi... err... Will," What am I saying? I'm Spike; I don't need to give him a normal name. Hey, what's he laughing at.

"William! Yer name is William?" he chuckles, clutching his side.

"Yeah, what's so funny?" I growl.

"Forgive me, but my name is William to, or as the Irish say Ulliem."

Oh. I never thought of that, that we share the same name. Mine, being the English derivative of Will, and his the Irish, Liam. I laugh with him and take another deep swallow of the cheap whiskey.

Later after a few bottles, well more like 10 bottles of Whiskey, I'm completely plastered. Liam has passed out a couple of times, then thrown up his stomach contents and gone back to drinking. I've never known a human drink so much. I believe that if he's not turned, he is going to end up dying of liver failure. It's remarkable that he has lasted tonight out. The rest of the time, when not drinking, we've talked the hours away.

I've learned a lot about Liam. He's nearly twenty-six years old, has a sister Kathy over ten years younger than himself. His father considers him a complete failure and Liam has long given up trying to please him. In fact, he's living down to his father's every expectation. Everything his father calls him, drunk, scoundrel that's what Liam does. That's all he believes he's capable of doing. I feel my anger rising towards Liam's father. Liam is intelligent, artistically gifted, but he's been taught these things are downfalls, not gifts.

*****