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On the Other Side by SinisterChic
 
ch 9
 
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Chapter Nine

Two Months Ago

Spike abruptly stopped in his tracks. At first he thought it might be Angel, but he’d been missing for years. He groaned, realizing who tugged at the familial line. Riley was near. He’d been fortunate enough to avoid him for about a hundred years. He put the container of spiced chicken down on the pavement and braced himself for the confrontation. Why Riley would be seeking him out he couldn’t fathom. Whatever it was couldn’t be good. They hadn’t parted on pleasant terms. Actually, they never had pleasant terms.

He sensed the childer-sire bond strengthen. He balled his hands into fists.

Riley rounded the corner. Spike let out a chuckle at the blue uniform he had on.

“Soldier boy.”

“Spike. Can’t say the hermit unlife has been kind,” Riley said.

“Oh, like that military garb doesn’t scream poofter all over. Did Mommy Walsh design it just for her favorite boy?”

Riley ignored the comment. “I didn’t come here to exchange gibes.”

“What did you come here for?”

“You, Spike.”

Spike scrunched up his forehead. “For whatever for?”

“Can’t a childe just want to spend some quality time with his sire?” Riley laughed. “To my dismay, it seems you have a purpose afterall for our mission.”

“Bugger that!” Spike fell into a fighting stance. “You know, I should have dusted you in front of the slayer. Probably would have burned just as much as having you prance around with a vendetta against man-kind.”

“But you didn’t, did you?”

“You think you can take me, boy?”

With a growl, Spike rushed at Riley. Both their demons came out, eyes flashing golden with fury. They exchanged blows, each damaging the other equally. Spike grinned, exposing his vicious fangs. He was enjoying this. It had been too long since he could participate in a decent brawl. He held back on unleashing his true potential, which would have ended it too quickly.

Riley managed to smash the side of his face into a nearby dumpster. Okay, maybe it was time to crank up the volume. Spike tackled, pinning Riley down. He ripped a chunk out of Riley’s neck. He lifted his head, his chin drenched in red. As he spoke, blood splattered onto Riley.

“Understand who’s boss . . . childe.” The last part dripped with vehemence.

But Spike overlooked what Riley Finn relied on, and it wasn’t blood and muscle. He lifted a black toy that resembled a ball-point pen. Before Spike could react the thing was embedded in his arm. He fell into spasms. Riley retracted the device, kicked him off, and jumped to his feet. He stood over Spike, a mess, but in the supremacy.

“You don’t get it, Spikey!” Riley waved the device. “Science rules now. Your way of life is in the past.”

Spike’s muscles suddenly relaxed. He tried to move but found he could not. His eyelid became heavy.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I’m ‘your’ master,” Riley added.

The last thing Spike thought was, ‘Who is going to take care of Aradia?’

* * * * * * * *

They didn’t return her to the cell. Instead they brought her to a room with an actual bed and bath. She almost cried at the feel of hot water and soap. She spent as long as she could under the spray until she couldn’t stand the coolness of it any longer. They provided a change of clothing, not as bad as the nightgown Echo had been wearing, but definitely not mall-bought. It was a long green dress, one size-fits all. Which was comfy actually. She had barely been able to squeeze into the tight clothing prior.

She collapsed on the soft mattress with a moan of pleasure. She slept her fill and awoke with her mind cleared. She examined the small room for flaws, any way out. There were none, not that she expected there to be.

Time passed. She became bored, lonely. She missed the company of Echo. She hoped somehow the girl was alright.

To escape the silence she began to speak to the baby. She sang and told it stories of a place that was happier. A place she hoped she could return to in time for the birth. She knew the video camera mounted on the ceiling caught it all. She didn’t care.

Buffy wondered how long she’d been gone. She’d lost count. A week? Two? Three? A month? The days bled together.

No one came, which was odd. Each morning a tray of food slipped through the slit in the door. It kept her weak, but she couldn’t refuse it. She couldn’t deny her baby nourishment.

And then, during the night, she awoke to a click. She sat up in bed and waited. The door burst open and something was dumped inside with her. The door closed as fast as it opened.

Her eyes fell on the black heap. The prickles on the back of her neck screamed vampire. She got to her feet, ready to defend herself.

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy’s knees gave out, crumbling like jello. “Spike?”

Spike. Spike. Spike’s here, her mind cried. This is why you’re here. You’ve got what you were searching for.

She sensed movement. “Slayer? Is that you? Ah, what did the gits do to me? Can’t hardly move.”

She crawled over to his side. He lay on his back, helpless. She slid his head into her lap. He gazed up at her with wide, confused blue eyes. She shivered. The tears came. She bowed her head and let them fall. She just held him, blocking out where they were.

“Have I woken up in a tipsy-turvy dimension that is flipped upside down?” Spike moaned.

She sniffed and cracked a smile. “Well, yeah,” she said truthfully.

He nodded. “Thought so. Last time I checked we were enemies. If my legs worked properly and we weren’t in this mess I’d be having my one good day. Did they do a number on you? Played with your noggin?”

Buffy let out a long sigh. So they still hated each other here? Great.

“No. I’m 100% Buffy-brained me,” she said.

“Then why is it that you are holding me like your star-crossed lover come back from the dead?”

Buffy laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. And then she cried again. All the while she held him close, never wanting to let him go. Even if he was soulless.

Spike watched her in silence until she quieted down. “You’re further off the rocker than the last time. At least you’re talkative.”

“Oh, Spike . . .”

She wanted to pour her heart out. Make him believe that she loved him. And why the hell not?

“I love you,” she whispered.

He scrambled up. He almost toppled back down, but she grabbed him. He pushed her away and turned to the wall for support instead. He panted, cocking his head at her in that ‘I can see you’ sort of way.

“I get it now.” He pointed at her. “You’re not her! You’re a double, some kind of experiment they created to torment me.”

She hugged herself. “Yeah. Not about the experiment part, but the other. Meet Buffy the second. I came from another dimension.”

He shook his head. “How can you love me? If you aren’t even the Buffy I . . . You don’t even know me.”

She reached out for him, but let her arm fall in defeat at the glare he shot. “You’re Spike. That’s all I need to know.”

He narrowed his eyes. No one moved for a long span. Then he stiffened.

“What?” she gently asked.

On unsteady legs, he stepped up to her. He sniffed. “There’s something off about you. You smell different.”

“Yeah, Buffy version two, remember?”

“No, that’s not it.” He concentrated hard.

“Oh.” Buffy clamped her hands around her abdomen without thinking.

He got it then, what was up. The impact of it made him lose his balance. She caught him, lowering him down to his knees along with her.

“Smells like me,” he choked.

“You can smell yourself? That’s weird,” she replied with a small laugh.

“I didn’t . . . It’s not mine!” he snapped.

“It is,” she forced.

“No, can’t be. I’d remember. Is there another me, is that it?”

“Yeah. He uh . . . he died,” she whispered.

“And so I’m a replacement? Can’t have the real thing so you’ll settle for whatever you can find?”

She remained silent. She shut her eyes, a little ashamed.

“No thank you, slayer,” he spat. “I’m not going to fill the role of this other me so you can pretend he never left. The daddy of your baby is dust in the wind and you need to accept that,” he continued.

Is that what this was all about? She was looking for another Spike to forget the pain? An escape mechanism? Yes, she realized. That was exactly her intentions. She hated herself at that moment. Spike, her Spike, deserved to be cherished, to be remembered for his valiant sacrifice. And here she was, ready to cast him aside for another. Not even a clone. This Spike made different decisions, probably had his own personality.

She stared at the vampire in front of her through misty vision. He had the same bleached hair, hallow cheek bones, and leather duster. But if she looked deeply into his eyes she could detect a void. Eyes are windows to the soul. He was missing a soul so . . . But no. Her Spike had the spark before going to Africa.

Buffy turned away from the stranger who now occupied her room. She went over to the bed, faced the wall, and let her body tremble as she was overcome with sobs. He never made another sound during the night and kept to the other side of the room.

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