The breeze off the ocean soothed John’s nerves. The conditions in Laguna were different from Redondo Beach, so he’d only spent a little time out with his board this morning, getting used to them and missing his surf buddy. Gage had a beautiful view of the ocean from his back yard though, and John rested on a deck chair with his laptop on his legs while he gazed out over the high bluff.

When Gage had invited John to crash at his place, he’d had no idea what he’d be in for. Dinner last night had been an aching reminder of how not normal he had been or might not ever be. The Michaels’ two little girls, nine and seven, had talked non-stop while Gage’s wife, Sandy, had served the meal. Gage had bragged about John and his accomplishments and the girls had asked him if would write something like Little House on the Prairie for them.

They’d given him his space after dinner and surprisingly, he’d gotten three chapters written, including the ending of his third book. It had helped to be able to ignore what was going on in his own reality and lose himself in a make-believe world. Even if he now knew his fiction was based, in a removed sort of way, on real life.

The drudgery of the editing process was getting to him now and when Gage’s girls came out to jump in the pool, he put away his work and watched them play. He wondered if he’d killed little girls like them when he’d been Spike. Angel mentioned that his sire, the vampire that Angel claimed was the love of Spike’s existence, had a thing for little ones. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out his thoughts, but instead he got a flash of a hypnotically beautiful dark-haired woman who swayed as she stood before him.

Water hit him and he jumped up.

“Sorry, Mr. Price,” the younger girl, Kaylee, said meekly as she clutched a Super Soaker squirt gun.

“That’s alright, poppet. No harm done. Just aim it at your sister.”

He grinned at her and she turned the gun on Karianne who squealed and tried to get away. It wasn’t long before he was armed with his own squirt gun and it was two to one, with the little girls ganging up on him.

“Kay, Kari, time to get dried off and have lunch,” Sandy said from the sliding glass door.

The girls dropped their guns, grabbed their towels and ran into the house. After yelling after them to slow down, Sandy folded her arms across her chest and stared at John with a soft smile on her face.

“I know you came out here to get some peace and quiet, but thanks for keeping them occupied.”

“I enjoyed it,” he said with a shrug, before he gathered the guns and put them off to the side.

“You will make a great father one day.”

He turned to argue with her that he wouldn’t but she’d already gone in after her girls.

Hours later, John stood in front of the bathroom mirror with his shirt off, shaving before dinner. Slowly, he peeled away the white shaving cream and revealed his face. He couldn’t imagine being a monster, but the nickname Spike was starting to grow on him. Done, he patted some aftershave on and then dried his hands on a towel. He had a few minutes before dinner, so he headed for the guest bedroom and shut the door, locking it behind him.

Still shirtless, he sat with his legs crossed on the bed and pulled his bag close to him as he leaned back against the headboard. He chose a cassette tape, labeled Hyperion number three, popped it into his recorder, settled the headphones on his head and then closed his eyes with his fingers over the play and fast forward buttons.

He’d listened to the tape early in the morning, but he hoped that if he listened to it over and over, he’d start to have some memories.

Dawn’s voice filled his ears. “You were totally in love with her.”

Angel interrupted and said, “I don’t think so.”

“How would you know? You were already in L.A. by that time,” Dawn said and he could see her crossing her arms over her chest. “Seriously. Every time I came to visit you in the crypt, all you would do was ask about Buffy. And when I told her that you had a thing for her, she acted like she was totally clueless about it.” Dawn laughed. “But I wasn’t stupid. I knew way back when you helped her to defeat Angelus that she sort of liked you.”

“What?” Angel said.

John could see how uncomfortable the vampire got when they talked about Angelus. Angel with a soul; Angelus without. John shook his head as he continued to listen.

“Don’t act all surprised,” Dawn said. “Buffy’s always had a thing for bad boys. Especially hot looking ones.”

Sharelle said, “Spike was kind of cute. No offense, man, but I’m not really getting the bad boy vibe from you.”

John remembered Dawn’s face at that moment. She’d gone all dreamy in remembrance. “He looked totally different back then. He used to bleach his hair very blond, he had this awesome black leather coat and he wore these dangerous looking boots. And he sneered a lot.”

Vi piped in. “Oh, yeah. And when I met him, Buffy was totally gaga over him. Most of the slayers were.”

Dawn had nudged Vi. “Don’t lie now, you thought he was hot too.”

Vi shivered. “True, but also really, very scary.”

John paused the tape and stared at himself in the mirror over the dresser. Wanting to see himself better, he got rid of the headphones, got to his feet and walked over to it. A sneer? Did he even know how to do one? He tried it, lifting one lip slightly and narrowing his eyes.

Not bad.

Then the effect was lost in his self-depreciating smile. He pulled his hair out of his face and tried a snarl out for size. Impressed by how scary he’d looked, he ran a finger over the scar across his eyebrow that Angel informed him he’d gotten while killing his first slayer. Of all the things he’d come up with for why he had the scar, a fight with a super hero had never even entered his mind. He let the hair drop back down and backed away from his image.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at his hands, flexing his fists repeatedly. He’d been a fighter. He’d fought Buffy. Suddenly, he felt a tingling in his scalp and closed his eyes. He could see her standing over him in a dark alley. Her gorgeous eyes blazing with indignation. Her voice angry, but controlled. Money floated all around him.

“You’re beneath me.”

A flash of light in his mind’s eye caused John to grip his head, but he kept his eyes closed. Buffy was standing before him in a bathroom, her chest rising and falling, anger and hurt written all over her face.

“Ask me again why I could never love you.”

John held his breath and fell back on the bed. It was dark, in his mind again, but her face glowed. A long, jagged and fresh cut was slashed across her forehead. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. Softly, she said, “I love you.”

A loud knock on the door had John sitting up as he was roughly dragged back to the present.

“John,” Gage yelled through the door. “Dinner is on the table.”

After hastily throwing a t-shirt over his head, John met the family at the dinner table. He tried to smile and nod when he felt it might be appropriate, but his mind was miles away or perhaps years. If he could listen to Angel, Dawn and Vi talk about Spike enough, maybe he’d start to really remember. The snippets of memories were like waving a chocolate bar in front of a kid’s nose and only giving him the wrapper with bits of shavings to lick off. He was hungry to know more.

As he stood later, washing the dishes, Gage came in. “John, leave that for the girls to do. I need to talk to you, out back.”

John followed him to the patio and waited while his agent closed the sliding glass door. Gage lit a cigarette and John exchanged places with him so he wasn’t down wind. Dawn had said that he’d smoked and drank like both were going out of style. He did neither now.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s been eating at you? And why you had to get away?”

What did he say to that? Gage was an open person, but he doubted very much that he’d believe in the vampire stuff, and John didn’t have the advantage that Angel did. He couldn’t twist his face into that of a monster to prove it.

“I’ve just started getting some memories back, is all.”

Gage dropped his cigarette and ignored it as he stared at John with surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He didn’t wait for John’s excuse. “I mean, the spin we could put on this! We could get you interviews with Oprah or Dr. Phil. You’d get so much publicity out of this—”

John shook his head. “I wasn’t a nice person, Gage. I don’t think you’d want this getting out, not unless you wanted to play damage control agent for months afterwards.”

“Sit,” Gage insisted, a scowl of determination crossing his features. Once they had taken a seat at the patio table with the umbrella up, Gage said, “What can you remember?”

“Not much. My name was Spike.”

“Spike?”

John nodded. “A nickname. I also know what my real name was, but I think it’s best if I don’t tell anyone.”

Gage’s eyes went wide. “You said you weren’t a nice person?”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to say any more about that.”

“Do you know who your family is?”

John thought of Angel. “Sort of. But I don’t remember my parents or very much at all.”

“Are you dangerous?”

“No. I’m totally harmless. I promise you that.” John stood, glanced down at his feet and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll understand if you want me to go. Was planning on going home tomorrow, but I can get my stuff and leave now.”

Gage got up and slapped John on the back. “I trust you. If you say there is no danger, then that’s good enough for me. But what are you going to do now?”

John shrugged, but he couldn’t help but be relieved that his all business agent was taking the news so well. He really shouldn’t have expected less. Gage was steady as a rock.

“Nothing’s going to change. Some people might start calling me Spike. I wouldn’t mind that, but my legal name is John and I’m a writer. Still have a couple more Jake Gold and Summer Slater books to write.”

Gage visibly relaxed.

“Thank God. I was envisioning the nightmare of trying to get you out of that contract and forever being branded as the agent who couldn’t deliver.”

John shook his head, even as he grinned. “Wouldn’t do that to you, mate.”

---

“I’m going a little crazy here,” Buffy said to Dawn, who sat across from her at a little café off the Strand, nibbling on a sandwich as the sun was setting, splashing bright oranges and reds across the horizon.

“I wish I could help you, but he didn’t say where he was going. I asked, but he ignored me and just got in his car with the windows rolled up.”

“His roommate promised me that he’d leave a list of names and phone numbers of the people John knows.” Buffy took a drink of her soda and watched a large group of people on roller blades go by. “Dirk thinks I should just give him his space, but he has no idea what’s happened.”

“I wish you'd told Spike from the beginning, but I don’t know how you would have even convinced him. Angel had to vamp out in front of Spike to get him to believe.”

“I just wanted him to have the normal life that he earned,” Buffy said, staring off wistfully.

“Then why come out here and bother him, then?” Dawn said it matter-of-factly without accusation and Buffy was glad for that.

“Because I love him.” Buffy gripped her cup and tried to rein in her tumultuous emotions. “When I found out he was alive, I couldn’t stay away.”

Dawn tilted her head, studying her older sister intently. “You love Spike or the human he is now? Because there is a slight difference.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I love them both. They’re different and yet the same. What John is now was always hidden there in Spike. More so after he got his soul, but even before that, I caught glimpses of his humanity.”

“I can’t get over the fact that he’s a writer.” Shaking her head, Dawn grinned. “And a good one at that. I’m almost finished with the first book.”

A proud smile flitted across Buffy’s lips. “He is really good.” And then the smile was gone. “I wish he would talk to me.”

All too soon, Dawn had to leave. She’d sighed dramatically when her cell phone rang, and said that duty always called, but Buffy could tell that she was really loving the title of Watcher. Buffy walked back to her apartment building and tried not to let tears fall as she stood in the elevator and remembered the moments she and John had shared in it. She longed to be wrapped up in his arms.

Everything inside of Buffy screamed for her to take action. Find him, shake him, tell him that she loved him and demand that he forgive her for keeping secrets. But first, she had to do the finding part.

Stepping out of the elevator at her floor, she spotted the white folded paper wedged into her door and raced to it, hoping that John had come by. It turned out to be the list of contacts from Dirk. The list was shorter than she thought it would be, but it was a start. She smoothed out the creases in the paper, as she stared off into space. One of these people had to know where he was.

A number for Gage Michaels’ office. John’s doctor, Samuel Bell’s office. A cell phone number for his surfing instructor, Wally. The bouncer, Chet, he had a home number and a cell number for. Four names and phone numbers of women, which Buffy could only guess were ex-girlfriends because Misty was listed among them. And last was the number for the radio deejay that owned Stranded.

There was no way she was going to call Misty, but she picked up the phone and started dialing the others. Even though both the agent and the doctor’s offices were closed, she left long messages with more than one way to contact her. She knew she came across like a desperate girlfriend, but she was way beyond caring about that. Wally hadn’t seen nor heard from John, but he promised to call her if he did, even if, he’d teased, Buffy had dissed him in front of his friends.

The three girls on the list were all clueless, but Buffy had dug deep within herself to find the patience to deal with them. She was sure that each of them had faked writing down her information, but she didn’t care. She would bug them all tomorrow if she had to.

What she really wanted was for John to call her or show up at her door. She gazed at the phone, willing it to ring, but it continued to be silent.

“Please, John, don’t run from me.”