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Chapter Three

Los Angeles, California, January 16, 1981

Thirty-eight months was a long time to be stuck in the past, but Spike had adapted and made the most of it.

He consulted the slip of scrap paper that he held near the steering wheel, made one last right turn, and then lowered the volume on the radio. Taking his foot off the gas pedal and rolling down his window, Spike let the DeSoto roll to a stop across the street from the address that he’d written down a few months ago.

Spike swallowed hard and drummed his fingers on the wheel. They were home but he had guessed as much, as he couldn’t think of too many places a pregnant woman would go, so near to her due date. A few of the windows glowed with light, but the curtains were drawn to keep out the chilly winter weather. He chuckled, thinking about the story Joyce had once told him about Hank having her bags packed and stuffed in the trunk of the car for two weeks before Buffy was born. He would bet that they were in the tan sedan parked in the driveway right now.

He’d been doing a lot of betting since he’d left Dru in New York. It wasn’t all that exciting since he always had a sure thing, but it was a quick and easy way to make a few bucks. Money that he needed, now that he wasn’t too keen on nicking things anymore. Pig’s blood, cigarettes, a place to live and even the look-a-like DeSoto took cash.

A light went off downstairs in the Summers’ home and then a few minutes later the only light upstairs went dim. Spike had hoped to get a glimpse of Joyce; just thinking about her and knowing that she was alive put a lump in his throat. After rolling his paint-covered window half way up, he reached for the paper bag on the floor of the passenger side, pulled out the container of blood and then opened the glove compartment and took out his trusty flask.

The air was thick with the promise of rain and the lush green lawns glistened with evening dew. He had nothing better to do, so he settled down to watch the house. Spike wasn’t sure when Joyce had gone to the hospital. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be tonight, and it was very possible that she had gone in during the day, but he’d wait and see. If not, he’d come back tomorrow night and the night after that.

A dark-haired woman walked briskly down the street, her stiletto heels clicking on the pavement. Spike ducked until she passed and the footsteps faded away. She reminded him a little of Dru and he wondered what the vampire might be doing now.

Spike and Dru had been inseparable except for that time when he’d been captured and kept on that submarine, and a couple of times where they’d fought and taken a break from each other for a week here and there.

He’d left her only a few months after arriving in this time. Drusilla had been beside herself while he worked to come to terms with his soul and the fact that he was no longer in the year 2002. She’d tried over and over again to get him to eat, bringing him women, dogs, and even rats, but he’d drink only from her wrist when she offered. When he got to the point where he could accept what had happened to him, he insisted that she not bring her kills back to the apartment. She had finally stopped doing it when he started locking her out.

It annoyed Spike when she began bringing her demon lovers around. He didn’t care what or who she shagged anymore, but he didn’t need to hear or see it. Dru had tried many times to get him in bed with her again, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want her; he wanted Buffy.

He had to hand it to Dru. She had been patient and done her best to help him, and he loved her for it. But, there was only so much she could take. She was disgusted with his lamenting about all the evil he’d done and even more disgusted with him when he refused to join in the fun of the hunt or take any of her offerings.

The night he left Dru, she had been having a raving fit about his newly discovered need to be good. He’d dodged cups and other breakables, and he’d finally had enough. Locking himself in the soundproof room that had been his little escape from it all, he’d been pacing, trying to talk himself into doing something, when he came face to face with Nikki’s duster, hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

Spike touched the cool, soft leather and shuddered. He hadn’t been able to put it on and didn’t know why he even kept it hanging there. He’d never asked Dru how it got there either. One day, he’d looked up from his corner and there it was.

He couldn’t continue on as he was, with Drusilla killing and trying to drag him back. No, he had to do something. Find a way to get back to Sunnydale in his own time and show his Buffy what he’d done for her. His eyes were drawn to the coat again. The only way he would make any progress would be if he got a little of himself back and took charge of the situation.

His mind made up, Spike yanked the duster down and shrugged into it. He breathed in the scent of Nikki and had to fight with himself not to take it off again. Spike threw the door open and went searching for Drusilla. She got up from the couch with a hopeful expression when she noticed the gleam of determination in his eyes.

“Is my Spike back?”

“I’ve got to go, pet.”

Drusilla moaned and swayed as she stood, holding trembling fingers to her temple. “You’re leaving me alone. Not yet.” She shook her head. “It’s all wrong.”

Spike closed his eyes and blocked out the sight of her distress. He shouldn’t hurt his sire — he’d spent most of his existence trying to avoid just that — but there was no other way. He cautiously approached her and gently held her by her shoulders.

“I’ve got no choice. You wouldn’t be happy with me as I am now, and I couldn’t stand…” He looked down, his heart aching for the days when he didn’t care about anything but her. He was there, in that time, but he couldn’t live it. Not with his soul prodding him. The memory of Brazil and her indifference as she chose to cavort with Fungus demons suddenly came to mind. He released his hold on her. “It can’t be helped. I have to go away. Listen carefully. You’ve got to stay away from Europe, but especially Prague.”

Leaning closer, he got on his toes and gently kissed her forehead. She was cunning and ruthless; she’d do fine without him. He walked to the door but paused when she pouted and asked, “Now what am I going to do for fun?”

With a sly grin, he said, “I suggest Brazil. There’s this colony of Fungus demons out that way. I’m sure you’d be quite happy there for a while.”

Drusilla hadn’t chased after him that night; he’d strolled away, only knowing that he had to head west. After slowly making his way across America, searching for anyone who could help him get back to his own time, he ended up in Los Angeles six months before Buffy was to be born.

He’d resisted the urge to look up Joyce and concentrated on finding out who might know what about time travel. As the days continued to slip by, with Spike not any closer to finding a way to get back, his curiosity had got the better of him. In two days time, the greatest slayer in two centuries would be born. The love of his life. The one person on the earth that he hadn’t wanted to hurt, but had managed to nonetheless.

A car door slammed and brought his attention back to the house across the street just as the dim light went out and the house fell completely dark. Spike sighed, downed the rest of his pig’s blood, and then started up the DeSoto. Tomorrow night, he’d be back. He spent the fifteen-minute drive to his place recalling Buffy’s face. Her image had never faded from his memory and he could clearly see her frowning at him now. He missed her.

The next night, Spike came out of his room and headed for the kitchen. His roommate, Volkov, sat at the small table, reading the newspaper. Passing as a human, the one-fourth Lister demon, had been at his cousin, the palm reader’s, place the day that Spike had walked in, looking for anyone in the community who could point him in the right direction as far as demons, witches and powerful seers went.

Volkov had quietly listened to Spike’s cautious probing and then interrupted to ask his cousin what she thought of the advert he was going to put in the paper for a new roommate. Spike saved him the trouble of paying for an ad and they’d been sharing the house peaceably ever since.

“Did you hear Carter’s State of the Union address last night?” Volkov asked.

“Nope. Was busy.”

Spike smirked at the demon, who glared at the large microwave. It was the first purchase that Spike had made for the tiny house, and Volkov insisted the thing was going to blow up the whole neighborhood. Spike had resisted the urge to inform him that in ten years just about every home in the U.S. would have one. Instead, he extolled the virtues of it and the fact that he wouldn’t have to heat his blood in the pots on the stove anymore.

The microwave pinged, he pulled out his steaming mug and took a seat opposite from his friend. “So what did Ol’ Jimmy boy have to say about the state of things?”

“He tried to keep it positive. The Union is freer and more compassionate, he says.”

Spike snorted at that and took a sip.

Volkov rustled the paper and suddenly laughed. “Leon Spinks was mugged last night. Says here the thieves got his gold teeth.”

Spike swallowed his blood and smiled. “I wonder if someone we know did it?”

*~*~*~*

Spike pulled up and parked in the same spot he’d staked out the night before, but he didn’t shut the engine down. The lights were off at the house and the sedan was missing from the driveway. He was mulling over his options when he saw the car pull into the driveway and stop. Hank got out and jogged around to the other side.

The vampire gasped when he saw Joyce. She was on the other side of the car, and he could only see the top of her shoulders and her face. Her skin glowed with health, but she looked weary; her hair was teased up and cut shorter than he’d ever seen it, ending at just above the shoulders. His chest ached and it only got worse when she came round the front of the car and he got a view of her large abdomen.

Buffy.

Knowing Joyce’s future and how it would affect her daughters, he wanted to rush over there and tell her to make sure she got regular checkups on her brain every six months. He couldn’t do that.

Spike had decided that if he was going to be stuck in this time — and it seemed to be the case — that he would preserve this time line’s future as much as he could. He would change the way he did things, but he still didn’t know what the purpose of his little shift in time was about. He’d searched for answers and when none could be found, he’d waited and hoped that someone would contact him, or that a seer might know what he was supposed to do. But there was nothing. He was trying to be very careful about what he did until he had answers.

Hank gently put his hand on the small of Joyce’s back and they slowly walked to the door, talking quietly and smiling at each other. Spike wondered what exactly had happened to split the couple up. Buffy could have benefited from having two loving parents instead of an absentee father and a mother who was doing the best she could. The door closed behind them and lights went on as they moved about the house.

Spike waited. He drank his dinner, downing the contents of his flask, and amusing himself by humming songs that hadn’t been created yet. He was planning to stay until dawn if he had to.

At three o’clock in the morning on January 19th, 1981, the lights went on in the Summers’ home. Spike had been dozing with one eye slightly open. He sat up and put the key in the ignition, though he didn’t turn the engine over. He was drumming his fingers nervously against the wheel when they calmly left the house and made their way to the car. They had to stop once while Joyce had a contraction.

Spike winced and hoped for Joyce’s sake that the pain wasn’t too bad, but the anticipation of this moment had been building for him as much as for the happy couple and he wanted them to hurry. Hank backed the car up and then took off quickly. Spike watched them from his side mirror and took note of which way they turned before he stared his own engine and switched the lights on.

*~*~*~*

Light now streamed through the blinds in the waiting room and Spike wisely sat in the farthest seat from the windows. The hospital crew had come and gone with lunch for the patients and still no news about the Summers. Spike had struck up a conversation with one of Joyce’s relatives in the waiting room when she arrived an hour after he got there. He knew that they were related when she’d asked the receptionist about Joyce’s condition. He let the lady, Sheila, believe that he was the brother of another woman who was also there to have a baby.

Worried, Spike had wondered out loud why it was taking so long. The woman had asked if it was the first baby and, when he nodded, she informed him that first babies often took their time arriving. He’d grinned and closed his eyes. It figures you’d take your time arriving. Always did want to do things your way.

Then the receptionist let Sheila know that the Summers’ baby had arrived and that it was a healthy girl. An hour later, she got up and left to take a peek at the baby. Spike desperately wanted to follow, but he didn’t want to be seen or make it obvious that he was there for Buffy. When Sheila came back in, with happy tears in her eyes, she wished Spike luck and then left the hospital.

He got up and patiently waited for a good time to slip in through the double doors. Then he cautiously went down the corridor and followed the signs until he came to a glass walled nursery. There were three babies lined up in little cart beds. Two in blue blankets and one in pink, but the pink one did not say Summers on the name card.

Taking his time, he went from room to room, listening at the doors until he heard Joyce’s sleepy voice. He didn’t stand around too long, and when he heard Buffy’s loud cries he walked away, wiping at his misty eyes.

Spike couldn’t go anywhere, as the sun was up, so he continued to roam the different wards of the hospital, crinkling his nose at the odor of antiseptic, cleaning agents and sickness. He went by the nursery a few times and, once, baby Buffy was there. He fought the urge to stand there and just stare, but he only allowed himself a small glimpse before moving on.

As darkness fell and the windows darkened, he decided to take one more peek at her before he left. He touched the glass and sighed at the peaceful sleeping baby with the distinct nose. That was his Buffy. His love. He inhaled, hoping to catch a whiff of her scent, as he’d been yearning for it since he’d gotten his soul, but the glass was in the way.

When a nurse came in, picked up one of the little boys and then left through a side door, an idea struck him. Thinking back to where he had seen it earlier in the day, he quickly headed back to the employee locker room and found a surgical outfit complete with a little green cap to go over his shock of blond hair. He took his clothes with him in a large plastic bag that he’d found near a locker.

From his vantage point in a supply closet, he watched the staff for patterns of movement. As late as it was, fewer and fewer staff roamed the quiet halls. Spike waited as Buffy was carried to Joyce and then brought back again a few minutes later. When the nurse left her to sleep with the other babies, he slipped out of his hiding place, leaving his bag of clothes there to change into when he came back.

Spike walked purposefully into the room and, keeping one eye on the glass window, he approached Buffy. He picked up her chart and made a show of looking it over while he gazed at her. She was quiet, her eyes half closed. A nurse walked by and he thought he was doomed, but she just nodded and smiled at him and kept going.

Focusing his attention on the tiny infant, he smiled at her as his vision blurred with unshed tears.

“There you are, little Buffy. Been waiting a while for you to finally get here.” His eyes got wide when she moved her arms and made a gurgling sound. “Ah, pet, you were a beautiful baby. You are a beautiful baby.”

Tentatively, he reached his hand out and touched her wrist and before he knew it, she had a firm grip on his finger.

He let out a low chuckle and looked out the glass partition to make sure he was safe to stay a little longer. “Look at that, love. I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve always been strong, straight out of the womb. What a grip.” Spike sobered up and leaned closer to her. He could barely contain the love trying to burst out of his chest, but he whispered, “I’m here, Buffy, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to be watching over you and…” At that very moment, he made a decision. Sod the rules or what he might do to mess up the future. “I’m going to make things better for you this time around. No dying, no stupid cursed vampires to break your heart and I’m even going to try to save your mum for you. But, you have to be the Slayer. This world needs you.” He rubbed his large thumb across her tiny fingers and with his voice cracking, he told her, “I need you.”