| Summer Series 2002: The Journey of the Fool Story the 21st ~ The World By Kuzibah |
| Disclaimer: Spike is not mine, more's the pity. Spoilers for �Grave� and rumors of Season 7 Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. ******************* -Sunnydale Spike walked into his crypt, his home here in Sunnydale for almost three years, and shook his head. He�d felt the same thing in London, seeing his gentrified old neighborhood, the feeling that his home was no longer his own. He couldn�t really blame Clem, the soft-spoken demon Spike had set up as house-sitter. His species were natural packrats, they couldn�t help themselves, and Spike really hadn�t planned to be gone as long as he was, so he should have expected the carefully arranged stacks of old furniture, books, boxes, clothes, and dozens of other items. Oh, well, at least Spike knew where he could come when it was time to furnish his new digs, wherever they ended up being. Spike looked down to see a gray tabby twining around his ankles, a refugee Clem had saved from the weekly poker game, no doubt. He bent down and lifted the cat into his arms, stroking the fur on its head. It began to purr, and Spike felt a little pang for Ariel, left behind in Spain. He hoped the little Ghee demon was happy with her own people. Part of him wanted to go right to The Magic Box, or the Bronze, to find Buffy and the others and tell them all that had happened. Then they�d know, and things could proceed with it all in the open. But the bigger part, the part that wasn�t living in some old romance, knew that he couldn�t tell them, not and remain strong, what they needed. The boy wouldn�t care, the witches would pity him, Anya couldn�t really understand, and Buffy� He�d hurt Buffy too much, he saw that now. Even if she could forgive him, he didn�t want her to. He didn�t deserve it, and he couldn�t bear it if she did. But Dawn, well, Dawn would probably understand. Her soul was pretty new, too, although coming from a bunch of monks it was probably a few grades higher than one granted by a lurking old demon in a cave. Spike set the cat down and shuddered, remembering the feel of carrion beetles moving over his skin, in his eyes and nose, down his throat. He had managed to avoid any recollection of his trials as he�d moved across the face of the world, but now� Now his journey was at an end, and though he thought he ought to be tired and let down, he wasn�t. In fact, he felt a kind of triumph, a mild euphoria that he had managed to travel halfway around the globe and come to a sort of peace with himself along the way. He crossed to his trapdoor and climbed down the ladder to his quarters below. These were pretty much as he�d left them; Clem had apparently been staying in the above-ground portion of the structure. Spike took in the bed and rugs, the sumptuous trappings of a creature he no longer was, and realized he no longer felt the loss that had plagued him in France. It was as though the Big Bad was truly dead at last. He went to the dresser to grab a few basics, plain black shirts and jeans, and stopped short when he saw one of Buffy�s underthings folded into a tiny packet, wrapped in a bit of plastic, and wedged in the corner of the drawer. He�d done it to preserve the scent, a �predator thing� he�d once told the blond tin soldier, but really, it was just pathetic. He left the packet where it was and slipped the clothes into his bag with the files. He decided to make one last go-round of the room to see if there was anything he wanted to salvage, but he found nothing but ghosts. Drusilla�s shade in a tiny doll�s dress pressed like a flower petal between sheets of paper, and in the chains where he�d threatened to kill her to prove his love. Angelus and Darla in the instruments of torment he�d used on Dru, a woman he claimed to worship, because *they* had taught her twisted mind to crave those things. All the children, the �gang,� in a dozen knick-knacks and baubles gleaned from their homes and the shop. Even the powerful summoning tool of his dead persona, a half-empty bottle of peroxide on the floor. Spike pulled one lock of hair down over his forehead and rolled his eyes up to get a better look. He smiled to see the dark honey color coming back and wondered idly if he should do something about it. Well, perhaps later. Shelter was the priority now. One more quick glance, at reminders of Buffy too numerous even to count. In some ways, this was more her room than his. He left without taking anything else. He emerged from the crypt, knowing he had no reason ever to return. The night air was clear, and warm, and a heaven full of stars blazed down on him, and it didn�t seem like Africa was half a world away. He drew a deep breath into his lungs and let it our again. His long rebirth at last felt over. His new life was begun. Go on to the Annotations Main Menu ~ Return to Summer Series 2002 Menu |