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Chapter 2
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Spike was disoriented. One minute he had been singing his song of woe to a tiny winged bint and the next he was in the DeSoto in the middle of nowhere. He struggled to remember what the silly chit had said, something about granting a wish. Spike couldn’t remember for the unlife of him what he had wished for, but somehow he knew it was critical for him to remember…and quickly.

Luckily, he was parked in a shady shelter of some kind when he popped into wherever he was. Spike hated to think of what would have happened if he had somehow been transported into broad daylight!

"Somethin’ about the Slayer," he began to remember. "Somethin ‘bout wantin to put a period to her before everything got so bunged up." Spike was beginning to remember his words more clearly. "Bloody hell, I remember! I wished I had come to Sunnyhell earlier than I did and taken the bitch out then, before she knew who I even was! Now if I can only find out how much earlier, I’ll have some clue of where the bleedin’ hell I am."

Spike waited out the sun and then drove to the first town he could locate, searching for a newspaper. He found a small local daily that was filled with everything from Grandma Turner’s famous triple chocolate fudge cake recipe to the latest in the continuing battle between the two-man police force and the scandalous burglars with their recent rash of break-ins into Coca-Cola machines for free pop. Spike couldn’t care less about the crime wave and even less for anything Grandma wanted to serve up, unless it was red and fresh and non-animal for a change. What Spike did care about was the ever important date. March 31, 1997 read the bold print beneath "Planters Vein Clarion".

He chuckled at the irony of the one-horse town’s name. Most likely it referred to some old gold miner who had founded the town. Must not have been much gold in the vein, because there couldn’t be more than seventy-five people in the entire burg! Still, Spike enjoyed the thought that it was a good omen, him landing in a place where veins made a clarion call.

He tried to remember where he had been originally in March of 1997. "Oh, yeah, I remember…" Spike had a clear memory of it all suddenly. He had actually been on his way to Sunnydale. The call had gone out for all the Brethern of the Order of Aurelius to gather for the rising of the prophesied "Annointed One" in preparation for the Master to ascend. Spike didn’t give a rat’s hiney about the Master, Annointed One or any ancient prophecy. Spike believed in making his own fate, not worrying over what some old demon had written when Roman legions still tramped about Europe.

Spike had cared about Drusilla, however. She had been deteriorating badly and Spike truly feared she would soon be lost to him forever. For her, he would cross mountains, deserts, oceans, the floor of hell itself if he had to.
Spike remembered it all as if it were happening around him…

~~~

Spring 1997

Spike looked at his dark lover in concern. Her frail form was becoming more fragile by the day and her mental problems were worse than when Angelus last tortured her. The vigilante group in Prague had nearly destroyed her before Spike managed to turn their attention to himself so that she could crawl to safety and unlife.

Dru’s injuries had been dire, but it was the toll the attack had taken on her psyche that was killing her. She needed constant care or she would forget to eat. Even then, Spike usually had to be right there to force her to feed.

Her visions were still coming strong as ever but they were more difficult to decipher than they had been at any time past. Spike had been useful from the time he had been turned because of his natural ability to understand the dark vampiress and her visions. Darla and Angelus had little patience for their creation.

A century with Dru and now Spike was facing the possibility of being alone, completely alone, for the first time in his unlife. Dru was fading away to nothing. He rose each night in fear that he would be clutching a handful of dust to his unbeating heart and not the dark beauty he had devoted himself to.

There had to be a cure, a way to restore Dru to all her power and glory. Spike knew that sire’s blood was the key, but since Angelus had played Popeye the Sailor on that German submarine during the Great War, Spike lost track of his whereabouts. Dru needed a powerful feeding from her sire to survive and she needed it fast.

"Spike, Mummy is calling for us." Dru had wakened with another of her visions. "The Master is going to ascend and ‘e wants all ‘is family there to see it. All the dollies must ‘ave new dresses and mustn’t be naughty or they shall ‘ave to stay behind."

‘Ascend, pfft. Descend, more like. Overstuffed, puffed up demon of a Master!’ he thought. Master had delusions of raising the Old Ones, as if they’d be grateful and make a place for him in their world. Full demons looked on vampires as lesser beings already--half-breeds. How much more so would the Old Ones? The idea of raising a bunch of uber-powerful demons that would look on vamps as nothing but something to be rid of made no sense to Spike. ‘Bloody Master isn’t just old, he’s senile! Crazier than Dru.’

Spike closed his eyes in resignation. The very last thing he wanted was to make a trip to a backwater town to pay false homage to the oldest member of his Order. "Heinrick the Horrible", as Spike privately called the batlike ancient vampire, was all about ritual and nonsense and Spike didn’t have the patience for it on a good day.

The only other vampire Spike met who had let the demon take over that completely was the little imp on the German sub that called himself "Prince of Lies". Maybe Dru read his memories and confused the two uglies she saw there. Maybe there was no real summons to the Hellmouth after all. He could only hope.

Spike wasn’t sure which would be worse: playing altar boy to the bat or having to deal with that bitch Darla again. Darla had drifted in and out of his unlife at will until sometime in the 1930s when she had stayed with the buried Master to do his bidding and bring him take-out.

Much to Spike’s disgust, Dru had never given up her desire to be reunited with both Angelus and Darla. Spike was the one who loved her! He was the one to take care of her and stay with her, not them! Still she wanted what she wanted. It would never change. They had made her that way and all the love in the world would never change her. If either of them had treated Dru decently, Spike would have been able to accept it, but they didn’t. Spike could deal with their treatment of him, but his lady love deserved better.

"Ooo, the pixies are telling me that the nasty Slayer is there, Spike. She’ll make things ‘ard for Mummy and the Master. You must kill this Slayer, Spike. Kill ‘er like you’ve killed the others. Dance in ‘er blood and feast on ‘er ‘eart," Dru looked avidly at her lover. Suddenly her eyes grew large and round and she let out a scream. "NO! She’ll not ‘ave my Willie. Made ‘im for me, I did, and she was not invited to tea. Puddles for ‘er."

"Dru, luv, calm down. Don’t know what’s got you all in a tizzy, but everything’ll be all right. Spike will take care of everything like always, yeah?" Spike held her close as she continued to growl in frustration at whatever those pixies of hers had whispered.

The vision had taken too much out of her and she soon fell into a deep sleep in Spike’s arms. He gently placed a kiss on her forehead and carried her to their bed. "Don’t worry, poodle, I’ll fix you right up. Even if I have to burn incense and sing odes to that wanker head of the Order. You’re what’s important and I won’t let you down."

As soon as Spike was sure Dru would not be falling into a nightmare-induced fit, he went to get the DeSoto ready for a trip to the Hellmouth, preparing to swallow all his pride if necessary to get the needed cure for Drusilla.

He had entrusted his beloved to the care of four cowed minions he had made just for that purpose. One had been a psychiatrist and another a medical physician before Spike had broken his own private vows and sired them. The other two he had taken based on their brute physical strength. Between the four, Dru would be safe and well cared for in his absence.

He had made it all the way to California, reaching Santa Clara that time, before changing his mind. He had finally had to admit that it was not bloody likely that Angelus, Darla, or the great soddin’ bat would lift a finger for his precious plum. They’d not offer a drop for her survival and Spike knew he wasn’t likely to get very far trying to force the situation, especially if the Order was gathering in force.

He thought, "Maybe if I wait a little while, the Order will scatter again and I can nab one of ‘em for Dru. Don’t care if it’s Peaches, the Madam or the new fair prince of an Annointed One. Go back now and dust the two Neandetrthals and have the other two minions prove their worth. Keep my wicked poodle fine ‘til it’s safer for us both. No sense in going for help only to have that lot snicker and dust us both."

~~~

He remembered his resolve back then as he had turned the old car around and headed back towards Seattle and Dru. Spike didn’t remember pulling over into this little town that first time, but he somehow knew he was still headed towards Sunnydale. "Well, then. Might as well keep going this time round. Course, got a different plan this time." Spike hummed a tune from the "Bouncing Souls" cassette he had in the player and remembered the fierce freedom he felt in ’97, the power surging within him. He didn’t know if that wish rid him of the hunk of junk in his cranium or not, but he’d be putting that to the test before the night was over. Things were looking up.

~~~

One agonizing headache at a truck stop a few miles down the road later, Spike realized his plastic bits and pieces were still as much a part of him as his more desirable fleshly ones. Never one to be discouraged for long, Spike killed a couple of Grimlak demons for the hell of it and helped himself to all the blood he could drain from the meat in the kitchen area of the truck-stop diner while the traumatized and fear-paralyzed short order cook and station attendant looked on in horror. Maybe not the perfect end to his night, but it would have to do.