Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters. Just borrowing them! Thanks again to Sanity Fair for correcting my stupid mistakes.
 
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Chapter 8 – A Night on the Town
 
The rest of the night and all of the morning was spent making love, resting, marveling at their ability to read each other’s thoughts, and making love again. Lucy, the maid had wanted to go up to see if they needed anything, but Mother O’Riordan had stopped her saying, “They’re young and in love. Let them be. They’ll call ye if they need something.” Lucy had flushed with the idea of what they could be doing up there for so long but obeyed the old woman’s bidding.
 
Buffy overcame her squeamishness about the chamber pot to avoid having to get dressed and leave Spike for any length of time. It felt like every second she wasn’t touching him, being with him, loving him was a second lost and wasted. As the morning wore on they realized that they were going to have to face the elephant in the room.
 
Buffy.
 
Mm hm. She found she liked being able to communicate telepathically. After many hours of sexual aerobics, she barely had the strength for talking.
 
We need to think about this whole situation.
 
Buffy sighed and buried her face more firmly into his chest. I know. So what do we do?
 
Spike kissed her hair as he pondered that question. We need to find Captain Forehead and shadow him then when Darla shows up, I guess we have to dust her.
 
You make it sound so simple. She even gave Angel a run for his money, Buffy recalled.
 
Well, it’s the best I can come up with. You got any better ideas, Mrs. Pratt?
 
How about we just stay in this bed forever? Buffy’s thoughts were tinged with bitterness and regret. How about we just let the world end and call it done?
 
Could you really do that? To Dawn, and Giles, and the others? He pulled back to look her in the eyes.
 
“You know I couldn’t,” Buffy whispered. “It’s not who I am.”
 
“And that’s why I love you,” he whispered back. “But I hear what you’re saying. I don’t relish this either. If I manage to get to heaven this time around, the Powers that Be and I are going to have words about all the crap they’ve put me through all these years.”
 
“What do you think will happen when we take out Darla?” Buffy wondered.
 
“I expect we’ll be back in our own time. I’ll be back in Victorian England having a miserable time being abused by high society, and you’ll be back in sunny California slaying things.”
 
“But will I still be the Slayer?” Buffy said, propping her head up on her hand. “I mean if you don’t kill those two other slayers, what happens to the succession?”
 
“No idea. No way to know I guess.” They lay back down, their thoughts drifting, merging. They explored the avenues of the other’s mind, pulling up memories and asking about them, and remembering shared experiences. An outside observer would have marveled at this silent couple, which lay content for hours with their heads together and their hands clasped.
 
Finally, with resignation on both sides, they got up; cleaned up the best they could with the basin of water, and dressed. They went downstairs to find it was nearly three in the afternoon, and Buffy blushed as she realized that Maggie the innkeeper was winking at her. Maggie fed them a hearty meal of chicken pies and ale as the inn slowly came to life around them. At one point while Maggie was refilling his ale Spike asked her, “Do you know of a fellow named Liam? Tall, brown hair, big forehead, prone to brawling?”
 
Maggie frowned. “Aye, that’ll be Liam O’Connor. Ill-mannered lout. Broke a good table and chair brawling the one time he was in here, and I told him I’d have the law on him if he came in here again.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Ye’re not a friend of his are ye?”
 
“No, I’ve no time for his sort. But he does owe me five guineas, and I would like to settle that debt while we are here in Galway.”
 
“Well, if ye’re looking for Liam, just scour the taverns. Hard to believe that Seamus O’Connor, good upright church going man that he is, sired such an uncouth drunkard, but ah well, these things happen.” She cleared up their dishes and added, “He spends most of his time in the streets near the marketplace. ‘Tis as far as he can get from his father’s eye and still be in Galway.” Maggie bustled off, leaving them to process this information.
 
“So it looks like we’re up for a bar crawl tonight,” Buffy mused. “Somehow, that doesn’t sound as appealing as it did in Rome.”
 
“Not something I’m particularly looking forward to either,” grumbled Spike. He frowned, shook his head, and drank more ale. He had a desire to get drunk and do some brawling himself just to relieve some of his frustration at the whole situation.
 
Buffy laid her hand on his in sympathy, his unhappiness radiating across their mental link. “At least we won’t know what we lost when all this is done.”
 
“I suppose that should be some consolation,” he sighed. “But the prospect of going back to being William Pratt doesn’t appeal.”
 
“Tell me about him,” Buffy said. “I mean I’ve seen some of the memories, but I want to know more. When were you born and all that?”
 
She reminded Spike of a little girl asking for a bedtime story, and he found it charming, despite his bitter mood. “Up for a tale then are we?” Buffy smiled, sipped her ale, and leaned her head on her hand, listening. “Fine,” Spike relented. “I was born in 1852, or I guess I will be born in 1852 at this rate. My father was a banker, died of a coronary when I was eighteen. We were reasonably well off – decent house in Mayfair, two servants, and the lot. We were never quite the cream of society, but we got on well enough. Had a little sister who died when we were both young; I barely remember her. Childhood diseases were much nastier back then before all the vaccines and what all you have now. Consequently, my mum tended to hover over me a bit. After I graduated from Cambridge…”
 
“You went to Cambridge?” Buffy interrupted, astonished. “Giles graduated from there too.”
 
“We probably had the same professors,” Spike remarked dryly. “Some of those old farts had been there since Cain and Abel went to school.” Buffy chuckled a bit and he went on. “Anyhow, I graduated, went home to care for my mum, and tried to get interested in banking. Can’t say my heart was ever in it. All I wanted to do was write.”
 
“What did you write?”
 
Spike squirmed a bit, and Buffy could tell he was struggling to hide his thoughts while he debated. Finally he gave up. “I wrote mostly awful, sappy poetry. The fellows all called me William the Bloody because I was such a bloody awful poet. You have no idea how glad I was to become a vampire and drain a few of their miserable necks.”
 
With a bemused smile Buffy said, “Oh come on, the poems couldn’t have been that terrible.”
 
“Believe me, they were enough to kill a diabetic outright. Sentimental foolishness all designed to impress one Cecily Underwood. She was this society bitch who thought I was beneath her, rejected me soundly, and sent me out into the streets a miserable wreck of a brokenhearted man. At which point I ran into Drusilla, and you know the tale from there.”
 
“She didn’t know what she was missing,” Buffy reassured him. “Whatever happened to her? Did you…?”
 
“Never harmed a head on her conceited little head. Did meet her again though. You know that vengeance demon friend of Anya’s, Halfrek? That was none other than the former Ms. Underwood.”
 
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “I always wondered how you two knew each other. How weird is that?”
 
“Very,” Spike replied. He took another drink of ale and pondered for a minute. “Bloody shame it is.”
 
Buffy knew instantly what he meant. All their shared history, good and bad, would be wiped away like someone shaking an etch-a-sketch. Buffy would lose her virginity to someone less likely to turn murderous but probably less fascinating and mysterious as well. Spike would never charm Joyce or serenade her in a cemetery. These thoughts bounced between them as they drank in silence, becoming depressed by the whole idea. “Wonder what would happen if we let him become a vampire but took out Darla or something?”
 
“Who knows?” Spike answered. “I mean Darla definitely helped mold him. But you got to understand; that brute we saw scuffling in the street is who he is. Being a vampire just stripped away the veneer of social acceptability that he had to maintain to keep from getting run out of town on a rail. Once you’re a vampire, you don’t have to give two shits about what your father thinks – You can just rip his throat out. If your neighbor clucks her tongue at you for being a useless waste, you can eat her. Darla was like a doting mother with a gifted child – She didn’t need to do much but encourage him.”
 
“And I guess without his encouragement we’re still back to no Drusilla and no Spike.” A tear worked its way down Buffy’s cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. “This just sucks.” She took a huge gulp of ale in an attempt to dull the pain.
 
“Might want to ease up on that,” Spike advised, trying to ease her back from the edge of despair. “Don’t need you tripping over your own feet fighting with Darla. Unless your alcohol tolerance has increased since we last drank together.” He smirked a little and brought up the memory of her getting wasted in his crypt.
 
“Ugh, don’t remind me of that night,” Buffy groaned. “I think I just about puked out all my internal organs after that one.” But she had to concede that he had a point, so she pushed the ale away regretfully.
 
Buffy excused herself to the privy. On the way out she noticed a rubbish heap that contained a broken barrel. After checking to make sure no one was around she gave it a sound kick, breaking off a couple of pointed pieces of wood as makeshift stakes, hers having somehow vanished between LA and Galway. She slipped them into her boots for safekeeping and went back inside to Spike.
 
“Thought it would be a good idea to arm myself,” she explained when she returned.
 
“Not a bad plan.” After another forty-five minutes of talking about nothing in particular it was dark enough for Spike to move freely, so they gathered themselves together and hit the streets. They asked a passerby for directions to the marketplace and made their way through the cobblestoned streets. They walked slowly past any taverns they passed, with Spike listening and sniffing the air in search of Liam.
 
“That vampire smelling thing is still pretty weird,” Buffy remarked.
 
Spike shrugged. “Whatever works, pet. Has to be some compensation for being unable to move around in the day time.” The marketplace was mostly empty of carts at this time of day, but a few merchants were still plying their wares, and there were several public houses with doors opening onto the square. Spike stood and closed his eyes for a minute, concentrating. Then he nodded in one direction. “That one. Pretty sure he’s in there. Why don’t I go in, and you lurk in that alley next door. If Darla’s around, she’ll want to get him alone. Besides, doesn’t look like any place for a lady in there.”
 
“Yes, because I’m so delicate,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.
 
“That’s right. Fragile little flower you are,” Spike teased. I’ll keep in touch this way, he added telepathically.
 
Ditto, Buffy replied. She kissed him briefly as they went to their separate stations.
 
Spike walked into the tavern, which seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of tables around a couple of barrels behind a small counter. The barman was surly, and the place was dark and noisy. He bought a mug of ale and found a corner to lurk in. Liam was there, with several friends, at a table crowded with tankards of ale. He had a barmaid on his lap who was clearly not particularly comfortable but trying to be a good sport. He whispered something into her ear, which caused her to blush and slap him, and all his cronies roared with laughter as the girl stormed off, affronted. Spike found it rather fascinating, watching this man. Angelus had held the power of life and death over him when he was a fledgling. He had tormented Spike physically, mentally, and even sexually at times, trying at every turn to shame him and make sure he understood how worthless he was. But here he was, not the mighty Angelus but just another drunken mick. If he doesn’t get vamped he’ll probably get stabbed in a bar fight within a year, Spike thought.
 
That bad? Buffy replied. She was listening in on Spike’s impressions of the scene. It was hard to accept that Angel or even Angelus had started out here. Angelus was evil but had a certain grace about him that Liam seemed to lack completely. She remembered Angel doing tai chi, the things he used to read, all the brooding and introspection that marked his days. Liam seemed to not give a rat’s ass about anything other than drinking and having a good time. It boggled her mind to try to reconcile the man she knew and the man Spike was watching.
 
Just then a figure caught Buffy’s eye. Down at the far end of the street a well-dressed woman was walking, looking curiously at the people she passed. As she got nearer, Buffy’s heart sank. Darla. She’s here.
 
Spike stiffened at the thought. Shit. I’ll be right there. He drained his ale, set the mug down on a nearby table, and started making his way to the door. As he passed the table with Liam and his friends, Liam reached out and grabbed at a young barmaid, encircling her tiny waist with his great arm.
 
“Here, now, lassie,” he drawled lecherously. “A fresh pretty thing like you would be wonderful company of an evening.”
 
“Let me go!” cried the girl. She clearly wanted none of this, and she struggled to free herself as Liam and his friends laughed uproariously at her futile efforts.
 
Spike found he couldn’t let it go. “The lady doesn’t want the pleasure of your company,” Spike growled, yanking Liam’s arm and allowing the girl to squirm free. She scurried off to a back room somewhere, shooting Spike a grateful look before she disappeared.
 
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I be taking the advice of an Englishman?” He stood up, towering over Spike and was soon joined by his friends. “Don’t recall giving ye leave to be helping yourself to our good Irish ale.”
 
“I don’t recall asking your leave,” Spike replied.
 
“Well, fellows, it seems the little English lord here has forgotten his manners. Perhaps we should remind him?”
 
Spike scoffed. “Are all Irishmen such cowards, or are you a unique specimen?”
 
“Are ye calling me a coward?” thundered Liam.
 
“Well, any man who’ll molest a girl half his size and then gang up on someone with three of his friends in tow must be afraid of something.”
 
Buffy was listening in on this exchange and rolling her eyes. Spike this is not the time for a bar fight! From her vantage point in the alley she could see Darla approaching. She sauntered unhurriedly down the street and gazed in the window of the tavern, apparently keen to see the fight.
 
Spike ignored Buffy’s intruding thoughts, standing toe to toe with Liam, who looked about ready to pop. Other patrons either scooted their chairs back or paid up quietly and left, as it appeared that the slender young Englishman had a death wish. Liam gestured his friends back. “Ye’ll soon be eating those words, laddie.” He set his hat down on the table and squared off against Spike.
 
You have no idea how long you’ve had this coming, mate. Spike stood before the Irishman, his arms loose and his legs coiled to spring. “Are you finished? Or is there more nonsense coming out of your mouth tonight?” The men who had stayed to watch were intrigued, as it was clear that this stranger was no physical match for Liam O’Connor.
 
“English bastard,” Liam growled and he swung a wild haymaker toward Spike’s head. Spike ducked under it and followed with an uppercut to Liam’s solar plexus that dropped him to his knees, gasping for breath.
 
“Any more comments?” Spike said. Liam roared and tackled Spike, knocking him to the ground where they rolled and punched each other.
 
Spike… Buffy could see Darla there, looking through the window with a bemused air. She didn’t seem to be aware of the Slayer’s presence. Buffy realized that if she was quiet and quick, she could probably sprint across the street and put a stake in Darla’s back before she even knew what was coming. The noise from the bar was spilling out onto the street, and the wind was at Buffy’s back. But as she crouched there, with Spike’s thoughts running through her head over their link, she couldn’t do it. If I kill her now, we’ll never see each other again. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes and she gripped her stake so hard that her nails were white. In the end, she found herself frozen in place, unable to move, unable to set the events in motion that would separate her from Spike forever.
 
As Spike rolled on the floor with Liam he became aware of Buffy’s distress. Take her out!
 
I can’t… Spike I can’t…
 
Hang on. With a mighty shove Spike got on top and landed a blow to Liam’s nose that broke it with a satisfying crunch. He leaped to his feet and kicked him hard in the ass, wiping his mouth where Liam had split his lip. “I’ve a previous engagement, so I will have to leave you now. But if you ever come to London, look me up and we can finish this.” Liam struggled to sit up and come up with some sort of rejoinder, but Spike was already out the door, the crowd parting to let through the man who had taken down the mighty Liam O’Connor. Spike wasn’t sure how long the shock and awe would last, but he didn’t want to have to find out. He expected Buffy would be upset with a body count.
 
Outside, the street seemed deserted. Buffy?
 
I’m in the alley, she answered, and Spike could hear the misery in her thoughts. Spike entered the alley and saw her sitting on the ground, her back against the wall. “I couldn’t do it,” she sobbed. “She was there, and I let her go because I just couldn’t do it. I don’t want to lose you.” She covered her face with her hands and broke down, sobbing as if her heart was breaking.
 
Oh love, don’t take on so, he soothed. He guided her to her feet and held her close. Looking over her head he saw Liam and his mates stagger out of the tavern, Liam looking much worse for wear. They made their way off together, and Spike figured that if Liam was in a crowd he was probably safe from Darla for the night. Darla had never been one for fighting, more for tricking and seducing her victims and fighting four men would have mussed her frock. Come, sweetheart. Let’s call it a night, okay?
 
Buffy didn’t respond at first but just held him tighter. Who did this to us? Why are they torturing us like this?
 
No idea, Spike replied. But if I ever find out who it was who sent us here, I will be hard pressed not to drain their neck. After a little while longer Buffy released him, and they walked slowly toward the Rose and Thorn.
 
Is it possible that we’ve got this all wrong? Buffy wondered. I mean what if… What if some evil force did this to us and stopping Liam from becoming Angel is going to make things worse?
 
Spike’s heart broke for the girl. She was grasping at straws, trying to find any way possible not to do this task. Do you really think that, Slayer? I mean, we got sent to the exact place and time necessary to stop the person who set all this in motion. Seems like an evil force would have done something worse. Besides, the old lady at the inn seems convinced that we’ve got a job to do, and that it will lead to putting things right. As much as I don’t want to, I believe her.
 
I know. Buffy looked sadly up at them as they walked. I’m just… I don’t want to let this go.
 
I shouldn’t have claimed you, Spike thought regretfully. Should’ve known it would make this worse.
 
“No!” Buffy said, stopping him. “Don’t ever say that! This feeling, finally knowing someone, really knowing them and not having to worry about them or what our relationship is about or whether they’re going to leave me? I’ve never felt that. Ever. To feel this even for a few days – I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” She kissed him passionately, right there in the street. “I love you, William Pratt. I don’t regret anything we’ve ever done together.”
 
Spike kissed her back, feeling her love and passion in his mind like a living thing. He broke off the kiss and led her as quickly as possible back to the inn. They slipped quietly in the door and flew up the stairs. In their little dark room their clothes went flying as they tackled one another. This time they were wild and furious, barely able to keep their voices down. They took each other every way imaginable, and Spike drank from her again, prolonging her orgasm until she nearly passed out from the pleasure. Throughout all of it the refrain echoed through their heads: I love you… you’re mine… always mine… I love you. And they loved each other like it was the last night of the world.
 
TBC