|Storm by SinisterChic|
|Chapter #1 - Ch 1|
By Heather Martin
Disclaimer- BTVS, Angel, and The Terminator do not belong to me. I am only borrowing them for entertainment and will rightly return them when through
Summary- (Idea from James Cameron’s The Terminator) Post Chosen. Buffy’s life was all most normal. She was in her second year of college and had just about recovered from the battle with The First. But then the super vamp came from the future to eliminate her.
The slayers banded forces to eliminate the vampires. The undead went extinct . . . until nature struck back. From the ashes arose a new species. Their war raged for decades, but the final battle would not be fought in the future. It would be fought here, in our present.
Starting tonight . . .
The champion zoomed through the portal, fell, and landed on the hard black pavement. He lay still for a moment, and then with a groan, stirred. He lifted his head, coughing. His head felt like it was splitting in two. In the distance a dog barked, and the sound of a car filtered into his attuned hearing. His senses had never seemed this potent before.
Even before. When he was a vampire.
He gingerly sat up. The chill of the night air hit him and he shivered. He glanced down with a grimace, taking note of his nude body. He rolled his eyes heavenward. It wasn’t from embarrassment; just . . . it was so damn cold out.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “Could have been sent back without my bits and pieces hanging out for show.”
Spike rose on shaky legs. He leaned against a nearby dumpster for a moment to gather himself. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs. The stench of rotting garbage overwhelmed him, catching him off guard. He almost gagged. He wished that he could go back to the non-breathing privilege until he got out of that alley. He glanced around, using his acute vision to take in every detail of his surroundings.
He began to walk. His muscles had recovered from the shock of his journey. He thanked whoever was above for that. There was no time to rest.
Suddenly he caught movement to his right. In the shadows was a huddled homeless man. The old, decrepit fellow was dirty, smelly, and in great need of a haircut. Spike wished he could overlook the man but he knew that wasn‘t possible. He crept closer.
Kneeling in front of the poor thing, Spike said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man’s eyes widened as Spike reached out. He struggled as his pants were removed.
“Sorry, mate. Can’t run round stark naked, can I?”
Now halfway clothed, Spike stood. The leggings felt grimy, making him wince. He was one for cleanliness. He’d have to make a stop at the nearest store. He really shouldn’t waste any time, but he wasn’t going to stay in these rags longer than necessary.
He moved through town, trying to remain unnoticed. People were out, going about their lives. They seemed so oblivious and happy. It amazed him. He had forgotten what the world used to be like.
A sign came into view: The Fad. Good as anywhere. Spike headed in its direction.
He stepped in front of the store. It was dark inside and a closed sign hung in the window. He turned his head left, followed by right. He fisted his left hand, drew it back, and with inhuman speed smashed it into the window. The glass shattered. A piercing alarm set off. Better make this quick, he thought. He kicked, breaking the window further.
Spike jumped through the window and into the store. He surveyed the selection and grabbed a black t-shirt and jeans. He tugged the pair on.
Suddenly sirens grew closer. Spike took flight. Just before he leapt through the window he spotted a coat. It called to him. He snatched it. A smirk formed on his lips as he felt the cool leather.
He fled the scene. He could hear the police chasing after him but had no reason to worry. They didn’t have a chance. He could run faster than a racecar.
When he was sure he had lost them, Spike slowed. He let out a chuckle of accomplishment. He wasn’t one bit tired either. He donned the black coat as if it were a second skin. It wasn’t as long as the duster had been but it would do.
He strolled down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good. Everyone was so free here. Just walking down the street was a remarkable privilege.
A phone booth appeared. He ran to it, going for the phonebook inside. He thrust it open, scanning the names. S. St. Su. . . Summers. His heart sped up. Buffy lived in an apartment building here in town.
Spike took hold of the page and ripped it out.
“Sorry I’m late,” Buffy apologized.
She wrapped a white apron around her slim form and tied it. Then she put her hair up into a tight ponytail.
“I covered for you. I’d appreciate it if you would return the favor sometime,” Linda said.
Buffy forced a smile. “Note to Buffy. Got it.”
Linda thrust a plate of chicken strips and crinkle french fries at her. “This goes to the bald guy by the window.”
Carefully, Buffy carried the meal out into the diner on a round tray. She scanned the place for the owner.
There he was. Yep, bald. He looked like a wrestler. She headed over to him, setting the plate down on the table.
“Thanks, sugar,” the customer said.
Buffy gritted her teeth.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
A toothy grin was sent her way. “I can think of a few things.”
Wrong choice of words.
Pressing her anger down, Buffy turned away from the booth. Ugh, it sucked working around food. For some reason she couldn’t get away from it. Hopefully once she graduated college things would change. She could be a . . . Well, she was still working on the what, but whatever it would be had to be better than this.
As Buffy passed a table, a little boy reached out with a spoonful of vanilla ice-cream. The iced treat smeared against her apron. She stopped as the coldness seeped through the material.
Yep. Food joints sucked.
Buffy Nixon locked her front door. She tucked the keys into her leather purse. She was running late.
She walked briskly down the curved driveway to her red convertible. She double-checked her makeup in her compact before she reached for the door handle.
“Is your name Buffy?”
Ms. Nixon jumped. She spun around to see a man. His pitch-black hair ran past his shoulders and was tied back with a cheap rubber band. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, almost the color of silver. He fumbled in his trench coat, fingering something in the pocket.
“Uh. . . Yes,” Buffy Nixon shakily replied.
The man nodded.
The man turned into a monster. His eyes really did turn silver, he bore sharp fangs, and his face scrunched up in a myriad of wrinkles. Throughout the whole thing his expression never changed. She only had time to back up and inhale before he attacked. He sprang and grabbed hold of her head. He tilted it to the side, baring her neck. His teeth sunk into her vein like butter. Her arm went limp at the side, her purse slipped down to land on the pavement.
The vampire drank his fill and flung the body to the ground. His hand took out a small pad of paper and pencil. He marked off the first name on the list. Buffy Franklin was next in line.
Spike hadn’t hotwired a car in years. The skill had the same rule as riding a bicycle. Once you learned it, you never forgot.
He chose a nice one too, a black Ferrari. Poor bugger, whoever had been the owner. But whoever he must have been was rich, so they could just go buy themselves another one.
Spike parked by the cemetery. It was weird seeing tombstones again. It no longer gave him the feeling of home.
Spike leaned back in the seat and shut his eyes. The darkness swallowed him in. Images played behind his lids when REM took its peak. He saw people he’d left behind, a place he’d never return to.
“She really wants to see you,” Hope said.
Spike’s head snapped up. He gave her full attention, the way he always did when she entered the room. She glowed, his girl did, lit up the room. Only light left in this world, he thought. Hope. What a fitting name. Her mother named her well.
“Does, does she?” Spike said, trying to keep the mood light, and rose to his feet. “Well, let’s not keep a witch waiting.”
He let the woman lead him down the stained stone steps. They stopped at the basement.
Hope reached out and squeezed Spike’s shoulder. She smiled, turned, and left.
He took a deep breath and entered.
The voice was small, as if far away. In reality it came only a few feet ahead. Spike slowly stepped toward it.
“Where have you been? I’ve been asking for you.”
He knelt by the bedside. “You look better, Red?”
Despite the nickname, her hair had gone completely white now. Fitting really. Kennedy was around long enough to witness the beginning of the change. She said the graying was just her goddess power coming out for permanent show. Spike took the woman’s frail hand. Poor, Red, all alone now. Had to see everyone slip away. Only me, Spike thought with bitterness. He wondered how much he meant to the witch. Can’t be as much as I’ve grown a fancy to her.
She gave him a weak smile. “Liar.”
The accusation was right. Her skin was dry and wrinkled. The zest she had in her youth had been diminished. She shouldn’t have done that last spell, Spike thought. That’s when she went downhill.
Willow’s tired eyes looked off into the distance. “We have to do something.”
“The vision. Right,” Spike said.
Her gaze went back to him. “You heard?”
“Yeah. The whole lot knows. Something like that isn’t kept a secret. It isn’t our way.”
Willow struggled to sit up. Spike pushed her back down. “Need to rest, Red.”
She shook her head in protest. “You know what our only option is.”
Spike didn’t know what to say.
“I can send you back,” the witch said.
“It is the only way.”
“We’ll find another one. We do that. We’re the band of impossible buggers, remember? Back when . . .”
There was a span of silence, memories dancing before them.
Her hand tightened. She was icy to the touch. Once upon a time it would have been the other way around.
“No we won’t. He’s already left.”
He knew she was right. And she knew he knew.
“It’ll kill you. You’re barely hangin on from the last one you did,” Spike said.
“I know,” Willow confessed.
Their eyes met. She gave him her resolve face, which she was still quite good at.
His shoulders slumped. “Give me a few. Got to . . . Got to . . . Prepare.”
This was going to be hard. Agony.
She nodded in understanding.
Hope was waiting right outside the door. Spike raised his left eyebrow. Hope looked sheepish.
“We have a mouse, do we?” Spike commented.
She’d heard it all. Her green eyes met his, glimmering with unshed tears, and in them he saw her mother, the other love of his life. He reached out and took her in his arms. The water broke then, soaking his shirt.
“Don’t go. I have nobody but you,” she whispered.
“Got to, kitten. Have to play hero to protect the future.”
“Take me with you.”
He pulled back. “I will be.” He placed two fingers on his heart.
This parting was harder than burning up in that cave. He didn’t know if he was leaving to do good or create worse. At least with the bloody necklace he could be sure he left his girl to a brighter future.
Hope and he remained together for a long while. He had to force the separation, reminding her that she was strong. That did it. He had to remind himself of that too.
Just before returning to Willow, he dug in his pocket and brought out a picture. Buffy. She was still young, healthy, and yet a little sad. His index finger brushed across the faded gloss. He had to do this. For Hope. For Buffy.
He was ready.