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The Butterfly Effect	By : cousinjean Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 27635 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The Butterfly Effect

by cousinjean

*

Chapter Six

***

The shower's spray flattened his hair and ran down his body in icy rivulets. Spike wished the water was hot. He got so tired of the cold sometimes. And hot would do a better job of washing her off his skin. She was still there, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He could make himself bleed and he would still be able to smell her. Hell, he would bleed her. She was in him, now, and he feared he'd never get her out.

How did this happen? How the bloody hell did he let this happen? He was William the Bloody. Not the goddamn useless poet, but the Slayer of Slayers. He killed them. That was who he was, what he did. He did not have drinks with them and make out with them in dark alleys. He did not make them privy to his deepest, darkest secrets, and he bloody fucking well did not get a soul for them.

And he absolutely, positively, did not fall for them.

Especially not when he had a beautiful, mad goddess to go home to. He loved Drusilla. And he'd been with her for far too long to throw it all away over some doe-eyed slip of a girl who claimed to be his future. A vision was all she was, really. Nothing more.

A vision whose touch still made his skin tingle. Spike scrubbed harder, but he couldn't wash away the memory of her hot little hands or her warm, eager mouth. Her smooth skin and the life that thrummed beneath it, so responsive to his touch�

Good thing the water was cold.

Giving up, Spike shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. Daylight already leaked through the high windows of the municipal pool's shower house, but Spike still took his time drying off and getting dressed. His clothes smelled like her, too. He'd have to change when he got back to the factory. Dru should be asleep by then. By the time she woke up, he'd be naked by her side, drenched in her scent, just as it should be. Maybe he could get out of this without her being any the wiser. And then�

And then that would be an end to this insanity. Potion or no, he never had to see that Slayer again.

Spike laced up his boots, pulled on his coat, and headed home to face his sire.

***

Buffy walked. She didn't know how long she'd been going, but the sun was up, and she was so tired that park benches were starting to look like the Presidential Suite. She'd tried to go to a motel after� after she'd remembered how to move again and figured out how to pick herself up off the ground; but there was that pesky future money problem again. And what was with these people, checking the year on all her money? She hadn't even bothered to look beyond the denomination when she'd worked retail. Okay, so she'd only worked in retail for one day. But a really, really long day.

So, with no place to stay, she walked. Just sort of wandered aimlessly, remembering a time when the scariest thing in Sunnydale had been Drusilla. The name made her wince. He was probably curled up with her now, or� hell, Buffy didn't even want to consider the first part, let alone the or. She knew she would have to find him eventually, and that it would probably go badly when she did. Of course, part of her still held out hope that he would come back to her on his own. After all, he always had before.

But this was before all of their befores. Or� something. God, she was so tired that all this past-future talk was starting to make sense. Too tired to make any plans, or to figure a way out of this mess.

She looked around for someplace to take shelter, or even just sit for a while, and realized where she was. Same area where Jenny had dropped her off the night before. Just a couple blocks from home.

Buffy froze. Or at least, her mind did, but her feet kept moving of their own volition, until before she knew it she was only one block away, then half a block�

And then her brain caught up with her feet and made them stop. But there it was, plain as day. Her house. Just across the street and down a little. It looked smaller than she remembered, which was absurd considering she'd last been in it only five months ago, and hadn't exactly grown any since then. And back then it had seemed so small she thought it might suffocate her. But there was her porch, and her yard, and her mother's Jeep and� and Spike's tree. More than a year since he'd stopped skulking behind it (and three until he would start), and she still thought of it as his tree.

She considered crossing the street just to touch it. Some stupid romantic notion flitted through her brain, that the tree could connect them through time, or something sappy like that. Heh. Tree sappy. Buffy giggled. Then she groaned and rubbed her face. Man, she was punchy. But she was still with it enough to scramble behind a neighbor's trellis when her front door opened. Her younger self came outside and headed for the Jeep, followed by�

"Mommy," she whispered.

"Honey, are you sure you took something for that headache?" she was asking.

Teen Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mom. I took three Excedrin. You don't want me to OD, do you?"

"Maybe you should just stay home today. I can write a note for your principal."

"Yeah, like Snyder'll believe that. Look, I'll be fine. It's only a headache, I'm sure it'll be gone by-"

The doors closed on the Jeep, and Buffy couldn't hear anymore. She hunkered down behind the trellis as they pulled out of the driveway and drove past, then stepped back into the open and contemplated the house. The big, empty, welcoming house. Her brain ticked through the day's schedule as her feet carried her across the street. School until three - or was it three-thirty? At any rate, she'd probably train until at least five. And her mom would be at the gallery until then�

She realized she was already in her back yard, standing at the bottom of the porch steps and looking up at the kitchen door-a door they had always been way too cavalier about leaving unlocked.

They say you can't go home again. Buffy decided to test that theory.

Sure enough, the door wasn't locked. It swung open, and she stood at the threshold, peering in. Strange to feel so weird about entering your own home. But then again, this wasn't her home, hadn't been for months. She was an intruder.

Hell, she was an intruder in this time. Might as well go whole hog. She stepped inside, shut the door, and looked around. Wow. The kitchen hadn't really changed much over the years. A couple of appliances had gotten replaced, a few knick knacks had changed, but otherwise�

She looked at the old fridge, and suddenly her stomach emitted an embarrassingly loud growl. Remembering that the last thing she'd eaten (not counting those limes) in the last-she had no clue how long-was a cold Pop Tart, she crossed to the fridge and yanked it open. A pizza box called to her. She took it out and lifted the lid. Pepperoni and mushroom. Two slices. Buffy closed her eyes and inhaled, savoring the aroma and wondering how much eating the last two slices of pizza would upset the balance of time and space. She supposed if they noticed them missing they could always pin it on Dawn.

Wait a minute.

Settling for one slice, Buffy closed the box and put it back in the refrigerator, then started to make her way through the house, eating her pizza cold as she went. As she walked to the living room, she scanned the pictures on the walls and had flashbacks to the trance that had revealed the truth about Dawn. The pictures were all of Buffy and Joyce. There was nothing in this house of the Dawn she remembered. No preteen magazines on the coffee table, no glittery jackets hanging by the front door, no wayward Barbies littering the stairs.

Buffy went up and opened the door to Dawn's room. Make that the door to a storage closet. She stood there a while, staring at the stacks of boxes and crates that sat where her sister's bed should be, having a slight wiggins. She knew she shouldn't wig-it wasn't as if she didn't already know. But to see it for herself, without the help of a trance� definitely wig-worthy.

Finally, she pulled the door closed and turned to go into her own room. Halfway to the bed, it hit her. Not her room. Mom's. Her perfume and hair spray still hung in the air. Buffy breathed it in, the scent both alien and familiar. Just like everything else about this place. A coffee mug sat on the dresser, with a fresh lipstick print on the rim. She wandered over and picked it up, touching a finger to the print, careful not to smudge it. She could hole up here for a while, curl up in her mother's bed, knowing that she'd been sleeping in it only an hour ago. Would it still be warm? Would it smell like her, too?

Sniffling, she set the cup down and wiped her eyes with her palms. She'd already said all of her goodbyes here. Sticking around would only mean she'd have to do it all over again. Shutting the door on her mother's ghost, she headed to her old room, pausing only a moment before she went inside.

Wow. The most amazing (and disturbing) thing about this room was how different it wasn't from when she'd moved out of it last summer. All the years she'd spent in here, and all that had ever changed were the posters. Looking at her bed, she could have made it and then gone off to high school or to college or to the Doublemeat Palace. That was really kind of comforting. So was Mr. Gordo, who peered at her from atop the pillows.

Buffy went to the mirror where pictures had already begun to accumulate. She hadn't really changed the photos over the years, just added more. Right now there was still more mirror than pictures, and the ones she had were all of her and Xander and Willow. God, had they ever really been that young? Or that smiley?

She realized that there were no pictures of Angel. She'd never had pictures of Angel. Riley would take his place up there, eventually, only to get taken down again. Oz and Anya and Tara and Cordelia would all get added to the mix. And the faculty yearbook photos that Giles was forced to sit still for every year.

Not Spike, though. Not because she didn't have any of him. She'd kept half of a set of photo booth shots in the top, right drawer of her dresser, hidden underneath the lining. Even if she hadn't been ashamed of their relationship at the time, she wouldn't have displayed those pictures. Smiling for the camera hadn't exactly been what was on his mind when he'd pulled her into the booth. They hadn't actually thought of the camera at all until she realized the flash was going off at a particularly porn-tastic moment. Turned out they'd shaken the booth so hard that they triggered the camera.

Buffy caught herself laughing at how freaked she'd been when she realized said pictures were hanging on display on the front of the booth. And how Spike had laughed at her scramble to grab them before anybody saw. She wished she could open the drawer and pull those pictures out now, and take them with her. But they didn't exist yet, and like everything else around her, they were destined to be crater liner.

On that cheery note, Buffy crossed to the bed. She set the alarm to give herself four hours; then she lay down on top of the covers.

She was gone as soon as her head hit the pillow.

***

The old factory was business as usual. Minions scattered about, some sleeping, others doing miniony things to pass the time; occasional whimpering from some humans chained up in the back. Dalton sat at the table, poring over that sodding book, scribbling notes as he went. Just the sight of Dalton grated on Spike's nerves. Tosser reminded him too much of his human self. Still, the bloke had his uses. On occasion.

Spike strolled over to better watch him work. After a couple minutes went by, he cleared his throat, making Dalton jump.

"Oh! S-sorry, I didn't see-"

"Got anything yet?"

"Uh� well, you see, it's a very tricky translation-"

"Yes or no?"

"Ah, n-no. Sir."

Spike blew out a sigh and rolled his eyes. "'Course not."

"As I was saying-"

"Yeh, yeh, tricky translation. Heard you the first time." He shoved his hands in his pockets and contemplated the book, not wanting her to be right. "So, here's a thought," he said at last. "You don't suppose, maybe, that the book is written in some kind of c-"

A scream from downstairs cut him off, and he spun toward the sound. "Dru?"

"She's, ah� she's been doing that." said Dalton. "Nightmares, I think."

But Spike was already at the stairs leading down to their bedchamber. He almost tripped in his hurry to get down them. She lay curled in a ball in the middle of the bed, tangled in the sheets, shivering and whimpering.

"Dru? Princess?"

"It hurts, Spike." She reached a hand out and clawed at the mattress, scoring it with her nails. "It huuurts!"

"I know, Baby." He settled on the bed and pulled her into his lap. "But I'm gonna make it better. I promise."

"Make it stop," she sobbed. "Make it stop make it stop!"

"Shhh, Love." He rocked her back and forth. "Have you eaten?"

She went limp in his arms, her eyes glassy as she stared into her world. "I ate the girl. The little doll, remember? Looked like china, she did. But they didn't like me eating her." She started to squirm. "They hurt me, Spike!"

"I know, Princess. I tried to stop them."

"My skin� all my pretty skin�"

"Your skin's fine now, Love. It's perfect." But she started to thrash, clawing at her own arms.

"Dru, no! Stop it." Spike pinned her arms at her sides and held her until she went limp again. Then he chanced letting go with one hand, long enough to stroke her cheek. "Your skin's all healed now, Darling. You're right as rain, on the outside. Soon you will be on the inside, too. Good as new. Better, I'd wager."

She began to hum. Then her eyes met his, and she raised a hand to his face. "Such a good boy, my sweet William."

He smiled. "Haven't I always taken care of you?"

She nodded. "My bright knight. That's what I made you for."

"And you're my Princess," he said, stroking her hair.

"And the Slayer?"

Spike's smile fell. Does she�? "What about her?"

"You were with her."

He pulled away from her a little, looking around the room. Looking anywhere but at her. "We fought." That was truth enough.

"But you didn't kill her." Her voice held an accusing note.

Spike hung his head. "No. She�" He sighed. "She's too bloody much for me to handle."

Drusilla lay down and rolled onto her side, turning her back to him. "She would take you from me."

"No," said Spike. "Never. I don't care what she-"

"Take you," Dru went on, as if she didn't hear him. She was slipping away again, back into her world. "Kill you� turn you, like she did Daddy."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Angelus was gone long before the Slayer came into the world, Pet. You can hardly blame-"

"But she'll give him back to me," Dru said. She lifted a hand and pointed at her dolls in the corner. "Miss Edith whispered it to me."

"Yeh? How'd Miss Edith see all that blindfolded?"

She turned onto her back to look up at him and whimper.

"Oh, come now, Sweet. I'm only teasing."

"Not nice to make fun, Spike."

"And I would never. Not really. You know that."

Drusilla just rolled back onto her side. Spike suppressed a sigh of irritation. Once. Just once, can't she take a bloody joke? "I'm sorry, Baby." He stretched out beside her and played with a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. "I know this is hard on you. But I think I have a lead. Something that will help you. I'll have to go out again tonight, check it out."

She didn't respond. Spike bit his lip, considering her. Then he got up on his hands and knees and straddled her, propping himself above her with his fists. "And if it pans out�" He lowered himself, slowly, and licked her neck. "You'll be your old, magnificent self again." He kissed her collarbone. "It'll be just like it was. When we were happy."She looked at him then, surprised. "You're not happy?"

He sighed and rested his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm tired, Dru. Of this town, of that bloody Slayer..."

"Then kill her."

His head snapped up. "You don't think I've tried?"

"Try harder!" There was anger on her face as she rose up onto her elbows.

Spike's fury rose up in his throat and threatened to choke him. He got off the bed and away from her before he did something they'd both regret. "You don't understand!" he shouted. "This one� she's different, Dru! She's too strong� and clever�" He shook his head. "I can't take her in a fair fight."

Drusilla got up from the bed and came to stand before him. "Then don't fight fair."

Spike barked out a laugh. "Yeh�" He sniffed. "And where's the victory in that?"

"Where's the victory in letting her live?" Dru touched his brow, and stroked her hand back over his hair until it rested on the back of his neck. Then she pulled him down until he rested against her breast, stroking his hair and swaying with him. "You're my knight," she said. "My champion. The bravest in all the l-" She gave a little gasp, and swooned. Spike caught her and swept her into his arms.

"Easy, now," he said, carrying her back to bed. "Don't tax yourself." He laid her down and sat beside her. "Let's just worry about getting you well," he said. "Then we can put this town and this Slayer behind us forever."

Her eyes snapped open. "What, you mean leave?"

He smiled. "Anywhere you want to go."

"But we can't! My Angel is here."

Spike closed his eyes. Always comes back to him, don't it? "He's not your Angel, Dru. He's hers." For the time being, at least.

"But you have so much power here�"

He waved that away. "Power's fleeting. We did just fine without all these trappings before. We don't need 'em."

She began to shake and moan, her eyes wild, traveling around the room. Finally they locked on his, and they were clear-the most lucid he'd ever seen-and she went still. "You're not finished here, William. It's not time to leave yet." She sat up and stroked his jaw. "You can't beat your destiny, my sweet."

Spike gritted his teeth and looked away. "No, I s'pose not." But I can bloody well try to cheat it.

Dru lay back down. "It's so late, Spike. Come to bed."

"Yeh," he sighed, defeated. "Just give me a minute."

He got undressed and crawled into bed beside her. She turned to wrap herself around him, and he held her tightly, and thought how comforting her nearness should be, like an old blanket.

Should be, but wasn't. Blankets were supposed to be warm, after all.

*

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The Butterfly Effect

The Butterfly Effect