CoF - RavenX - Got Spiked

Summary: You will learn the ultimate truth about the real Spike and the real facts - not the stuff Joss told us - and you finally will find out how Spike*really* got his coat. Bonus: original quotes.

AUTHOR: RavenX
EMAIL: raven_x_@hotmail.com
RATING: PG-13
PAIRINGS: Spike/Other
SPOILERS: Season 1-5; some knowledege of vampires in general will help to enjoy the story
DISCLAIMERS: I do not own these characters.
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This whole thing was boring her to death. Her fingers tightened around the balcony railing and she looked over to the dance floor where Sue, her best friend, was fusing herself to an unspeakably bad copy of Angel. Why for heaven’s sake did she have to choose this one? Lots of wanna-be-vampires were crowding the Vienna City Hall and there was no way to tell them apart. At least Sue could have chosen one who was able to utter coherent sentences.

Thalia let her eyes travel. TV really influences our daily life. It wasn’t Halloween, in fact it was February and this was just another carnival party, but none of the Angel, Spike, Giles and Buffy look-a-likes seemed to care.

She heard laughter and caught bits of a low conversation behind her. "Wow, look at the witch … man, wish, I could be her broom …"

Thalia turned slowly. Some fake Giles accompanied by two overweight Angels were staring at her drunkenly. At that moment, a waiter carrying a tray with cocktails and sandwiches, tried to squeeze by. He stumbled and crashed helplessly into the Giles/Angel group showering them in gin, ham, caviar and mayonnaise.

With a little smile Thalia went across the room to the bar and ordered a glass of champagne. She couldn’t spot Sue, instead she leaned against a column sipping her drink and wondering if she should just walk home when somebody next to her asked: "Wanna dance?"

Thalia looked up. Just another Spike copy. Peroxide hair, leather duster – seems like all the shops in town must have sold out on black leather dusters today – black tee, skin-tight black Levis and the obligatory Doc Martens. Amazing, what contact lenses can do, she thought and sighed inaudibly. "Wouldn’t be you, Spike. It never would be you."

"Victim to the foolish adoration of my girlfriend," Thalia explained, unimpressed. "She’s addicted to this ridiculous TV show and she insists on my joining her watching this stuff."

"Got your lines pretty well, pet," he interrupted and fished out his cigarettes. He offered them to her, but she shook her head.

The lighter flashed. "So, if you don’t want to dance, what do you want?" he asked suggestively.

He looked disgusted. "What the bloody hell is this all about? What is it with you girls nowadays anyway?"

"Well, may be, it’s not entirely the girl’s fault … ever considered that?"

He appeared angry and she watched him curiously. "By the way, what are you doing so far from the hellmouth?"

His expression changed and he started to laugh. "You’re kidding, I’m positively not far away from the hellmouth."

"No? I would have guessed, Sunnydale was about 10,000 miles from here, would you call that close?"

"Maybe I’m 10,000 miles from Sunnydale, but I’m as close to the hellmouth as anyone can get."

She looked at him questioningly. He returned her gaze. "You really don’t know?"

"What do I have to do to get the miracle revealed? Throw myself at your feet?" she asked pettily.

"Always trying to please the girls." He took another drag. "You ever read the Nostradamus Prophecies?"

Thalia thought about that. An idea crossed her mind and she vaguely remembered. "You mean … the hellmouth is here, here in Vienna?"

"You can call me whatever you want, luv," he drawled and moved closer, putting his hands on her hips.

Thalia heard the silk rustle beneath his fingers. Her pulse raced and she wondered what came next. His face was only inches away and she plunged into the incredible blue pools of his eyes, feeling all her self-control slipping. He bent his head. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, waiting for his kiss.

Within a second he jumped aside, spitting and punctuating the most graphic string of curses she’d ever heard. "Bloody hell, you’re real."

"I did expect you to be human. But you’re a bloody witch." His features morphed back to normal and he drained the glass. "Haven’t met a witch in decades."

"So you’ve forgotten that a witch’s blood is like acid to vampires?" Thalia frowned at him, when it dawned on her. "That means you’re real too."

"Of course I’m real. How could you doubt it – with all these cheap copies ‘round?"

Suddenly he started to laugh. "A witch living on the edge of the hellmouth and not realising it. What kind of witch are you anyway, pet?"

"The kind that loves to turn vampires into frogs," she replied through clenched teeth.

Spike reached into the pocket for his cigarettes. "So, where do we go from here?"

"I’ve got a cosy little tomb with a view at the Central Cemetery for my stay. Fancy a visit, luv?"

"Can you please stop talking in soap opera lines?" she asked, at the end of her patience.

"It’s about power …" he started but stopped when she shot him an angry glance. "Bloody hell, those are my own words. It’s about losing your magic."

She considered his words. Could he be right? Was that the reason for her poor witchcraft? Thinking of her nonexistent love life she pushed away the idea and squared herself. "That’s what my sisters told you, didn’t they? You’re not as irresistible as you think, dear Willy," she said, scathingly. "I guess they were just sick of discussing the subject and wanted to get rid of you."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Finally got the message, luv. Have a nice evening enjoying yourself. Doubt, anyone else ever will."

"I … I … want to know … about vampires … about you … about everything."

He scanned her face closely as if looking for something. A deep silence hung over them. Thalia felt like she was undergoing a trial. When he set his jaw for an instant she was convinced that she had failed miserably.

His gaze remained fixed on her face, then he exhaled noisily and rolled his eyes. "Okay, let’s give it a try."

He resumed walking. "But first I’ve a date with an old friend of mine. Never let me down all these years." Arriving at the bar, he threw a few bills on the counter. "Jack Daniels, mate, bottle." He pocketed the whisky and took two shot glasses. "Join me, luv?"

Without waiting for a reply he headed for a small table in the corner of the hall. He flung himself into the chair and slammed the bottle on the table.

Thalia looked down on him fully aware of the air of violence that had replaced his former cockiness. When she sat down he filled the glasses and tossed back his drink without hesitation.

She tried to think logically. "You are real. Are the others too? Are the stories true? Did you tell Joss …"

Spike placed his elbows on the table and propped his head on his hands. "He didn’t intend to turn me, he just fed on me but got disturbed and had no chance to break my neck. My whole existence is a bloody error, a ridiculous mistake."

He paused. "Drusilla decided to keep me as her puppy, just like she was to Darla. And like we all were to Angel. So we stick together for a few centuries. One happy little family."

"She was a medium, a walker between the worlds. Dru lost her mind only when she got turned."

He smirked. "Did you really think Lestat and his folks emerged from a human brain? We set up a contract and the royalties give me a humble living. But she didn’t believe in this Slayer thing, so she passed me on to Joss."

"He modified the facts a little. Not quite pleased about everything, ‘specially this douchebag playing my part …"

"He’s a pathetic little fag, can’t even get the cockney right", he answered derogatorily and lit a cigarette.

"Mirrors don’t show vampires, right, but nobody kno … what?" he asked when she bit her lip to stop laughing.

" … eh … nothing … I just was wondering how you get your hairstyle done – without a mirror."

He paused. "Told you Joss tweaked the facts. In Hollywood they’re always lying about their real age. I’m 524 years old."

Thalia frowned. "So you’re a dinosaur then. Never getting tired of so much life … uhm … unlife?"

Something flashed through his eyes. Loneliness, grief, longing but before she could identify it, it was gone.

She couldn’t find a proper reply. Instead she stared at the glowing cigarette in the ashtray. Only when he loosened her fingers from the glass did she notice that it was about to crack under her grip.

He kept his cold hand on hers, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. She pulled away and got up. "It’s time …"

"Did you ever wonder why the Slayer is a sixteen year old girl? Why such a child should be able to deal with all evil, all demons in the world and has a true chance to succeed in her doing? Or do you think it all was simply because a teenage actress needed a job?"

"Yeah, but in a different way. The Slayer has to be a sixteen year old girl, that’s a bloody fact. But if Joss had stuck to the truth he would have had to pull the plug on his show after the second or third season, can’t remember the plot exactly."

She looked puzzled and Spike shook his head. "Never thought Joss would get through with this, but obviously he did."

He refilled his glass. "It’s the old myth, luv, the old myth which isn’t a myth at all. Innocence and virginity."

Realisation hit her like a strike of lightning. "The Slayer has to be a virgin, otherwise …"

"… she loses her supernatural abilities and isn’t a Slayer anymore." He smirked. "Besides, ever since the eighties it grew increasingly difficult for The Council to find a sixteen year old virgin to be the Chosen One."

Despite her words Thalia felt the tension fading that had stifled her. She played with the glass. "So you sacrifice your unlife to shagging slayers," she deduced wryly.

"No need to be ironical, pet. They all got a normal life in return, a long normal life," he said, suddenly serious.

"You’ve never ever loved a women then, with all of your unbeating heart, I mean," she teased and was taken aback slightly when the hand holding the cigarette started to shake.

Thalia reflected on the matter and came to a conclusion. "Darla, it was Darla you fell for."

His hand tightened around her throat. "Stop it or you never will see daylight again, luv."

Thalia froze him in mid-motion and pulled herself out of his grip. "Behave or you will see daylight, Willy."

She waited a few seconds to cast off the spell. His arm fell down and he lounged back, eyes fixed on her.

Beeing the first to look away Thalia managed to say: "Old problem, you don’t have a soul."

"Neither has Angel", he shot back. "It’s only a pretence for the benefit of his fucktoys. A weak excuse for not calling the day after. ‘I love you that much, honey, I will lose my soul if I spend another night with you. Even seeing you makes my soul disappear.’"

"Yeah, and they all believe it. They’re sobbin’ into their pillows ‘bout his incredible self-restraint and hold themselves guilty of tempting this soddin’ Sire of mine, of risking his immortal soul."

"I never understood about this whole bloody soul thing. I mean, look ‘round, all of them got souls, but do you think they all will end up in heaven? Does a soul prevent anybody from being evil? Then tell me, what’s about Landru, Manson, Hitler and Bin Laden. They’re all humans and they all have a soul, you can bet on that."

"The choice. It’s the choice between being bad or being good, between kicking somebody lying on the ground or helping him back to his feet. That’s what distinguishes humans from animals."

"But … I don’t do any really heavy spells … and I’ve never killed anybody in my life … "

She looked at him helplessly. "I … I … don’t know. I never really wondered whether I had one. Or not."

For a long time she remained silent. Then she took a deep breath. "No, it’s not important to me. But it’s important to have a choice. So you may be right – I guess."

A shiver went down her spine and she tried to concentrate on a neutral subject. Her gaze fixed on his rings. "So the whole thing about vampires and silver, that’s supposed to be a fairy tale too?"

"Yeah, doesn’t do any harm. Also, the material’s not heavy enough for bullets, which I already told Stephen King when he was working on his Tarker Mills’ Werewolf episode. What's more, I like silver jewellery, brings out the exquisite paleness of my skin."

Of course he was right, damned right. But she’d rather throw herself off the rooftop than admit it. Desperately trying not to blush she searched her brain for a witty reply. "It makes you look deadly good."

He started to laugh. "Garlic, yeah, great stuff. My Sire put one over on Bram Stoker with this one, because the bastard set us up. Never imagined anyone would actually believe this rubbish."

He poured the last whisky. "Crucifixes are different. Crucifixes are a matter of faith. If the owner doesn’t believe, it can’t hurt a vampire. But if the owner does, any other white magical symbol will do: the Star of David, Fatima’s Hand, Holy Water. There’s a great number of them but the point is always the same: you have to believe, to really believe in it, or it won’t protect you." He looked at her. "For a witch you are remarkably uninformed."

Finally she blushed. "There was never anybody to ask about magic and witchcraft. My parents died in a car crash when I was five years old. I’ve got no other relatives, I don’t even know if my mum was a witch or whether this is a genetic thing at all," Thalia explained. "I got all my information from books. I’ve never met another witch or wizard."

"Save your pity, I’m doing just fine," her tone sounded sharper than she intended. He shrugged but didn’t insist.

"What about the daywalkers? Are they really the children of vampires and humans?" she continued.

"Never stop advertising yourself, don’t you, right?" Again her voice sounded not quite the way she wanted it to.

He smiled disarmingly. "Tell me you’re not interested in the hard facts, pet. We can end this any instant, whisky’s nearly gone."

"Daywalkers first appeared during the second half of the twentieth century. It’s said to be a mutation from the nuclear testings, but no one really knows. However, they need much more blood than we do," he added.

"This stuff keeps you going, no more, no less. But it can’t be compared to blood by any measure."

He sounded strangely insecure and she bemusedly watched him staring at the shot glass between his fingers.

He looked up and yellow lights flickered in his usually blue eyes. For a second she was sure he would change into his demon face.

"Blood, human blood, is different from anything else. It makes you feel powerful, makes you feel like you’re the master of your destiny, no longer a slave, no longer bound to the ground, exploding to …" he checked himself, watching her closely. "You don’t look disgusted," he stated, surprised.

Studying her face, he answered. "Can’t say, may be interested …" he started to smirk. "… fascinated. Are you fascinated, luv?"

"That means you’re hunting ‘though there is a substitute which makes killing unnecessary," she said, ignoring his question.

"In case you’ve forgotten, pet, I am a killer. I am a Master vampire. I’m not a sweet little doggy waiting for some leftovers. I am William the Bloody. The Big Bad. The Scourge of Europe. I take what I want when I want it."

He fumbled out another cigarette. Thalia became suddenly aware of the laughter and the music that surrounded them. Pretty normal people doing pretty normal things. Talking about dates, drinks, jobs, movies. Definitely not talking about blood and death. Definitely not being fascinated by blood and death. And killers.

It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. She’d expected him to proudly throw her a huge number followed by filthy details.

"Is it always killing or turning? I mean would you have turned me earlier this evening if I hadn’t been a witch?"

"No, I tasted you, just a gulp or two. Doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t have remembered anyway, there’s a kind of mesmerism that comes with the bite."

They both fell silent and Thalia got lost in thought. Suddenly an icy touch on her temple brought her back. He was pulling out a strand of her pinned up hair, wrapping it around his finger. "I like red hair in a woman. The first witch I met was a redhead too. Lucretia Borgia."

"Yeah, she was one of the most powerful witches of all time. And a stunning beauty. If only her brother hadn’t …"

Thalia listened while he continued telling the story of the Borgia family, of Renaissance Italy, of the crime and murder and passion he had witnessed.

Without realising it she lost herself in his words, in his velvety voice, that brought history to life accentuated with all the off record details he’d experienced. Her attention was so entirely drawn on him that she neither perceived the waiter providing a second bottle nor the time fleeing. Only when he stretched his arms and looked at his watch did she notice that it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. "Cigarettes are gone, Whisky’s gone, time to break up. The bloody truth about Vincent’s ear will have to wait," he teased and got up.

Thalia shook her head to clear it. Advancing to the cloakroom she couldn’t fight he dizziness, the feeling as if she were wrapped in cotton.

He hadn’t spoken a single word until they arrived on the steps outside the building. The harsh breeze made her pull her coat tighter. Snow fell in thick heavy flakes covering the pavement in glittering white.

She turned to the man at her side to smile good-bye. The words died in her throat when she looked at him. His face was dusted with snow, shading his features. It seemed like he was vanishing, dissolving into black and white, a bodiless ghost. There was no colour in him apart from the steel blue of his eyes.

Unconsciously she lifted her hand and wiped his cheek. His skin was cold and almost translucent. She gazed at the snow melting on her fingertips, gazed back at his face becoming buried. A kind of panic rushed through her and she frantically started to remove the snow with both hands. He didn’t shift and her impression of touching a statue was complete.

Her arms fell down at her side and she watched with horror as the snow again covered his face.

The words sank into her brain and froze her emotions, throwing her off balance. She gasped: "You … you did this … on purpose."

He wiped away the snow himself. "Just givin’ you an excuse, pet. An excuse for betraying your immortal soul. Seems you’ve got one."

"Yeah, and the monster won’t turn into a prince when the beauty touches him. Or fucks him."

Thalia slapped his face. Twice. The pain burned through her hand and set the tears running freely again. She didn’t feel dizzy anymore, her mind was crystal-clear as she watched him standing quietly in front of her, his hands dug into the pockets of the duster. Waiting.

In that instant she understood what he was telling her. There wouldn’t be flowers and chocolate, no happily ever after. Instead there was the risk of getting hurt in every way possible, bleeding from countless wounds.

He had left the decision up to her and she should have been running as fast and as far as she could. Lock the door behind her and find a white magical symbol to believe in. If she didn’t her life would never be the same again.

"Give me your hands." She hadn’t tried this with another person before, but had worked hard on the trick itself, because she always was late in the morning and her boss didn’t take any apologies. "Close your eyes and hold on. Tight."

Thalia concentrated and whispered the necessary words. Her surroundings burst into fireworks and she felt thrown through space. A second later she stood in a dark room. While her eyes tried to adjust she heard him say. "Home sweet home. That’s what I call rapid transport."

He switched on the lights and took off the duster leaving it carelessly on the couch. Thalia looked around. It was a living room. Magazines, CD covers, overflowing ashtrays mixed with empty chocolate milk packs were evenly distributed all over. "This is definitely not a crypt", she stated puzzled.

She stepped to an open door. The main attraction. "This is your bedroom?" she asked completely shocked and spun to face him. "Flowered cotton sheets? No black satin, no purple silk, no red velvet? Cotton with daisies?"

He concentrated on a spot above her head. "Well, in fact, this is not the place were things are supposed to end. Usually."

"Yeah, it’s my place, but you see …" he cleared his throat. "There’s another place ... for … for the groupies … more what they expect … "

She put her hands on her hips. "Are you telling me, there’s a place where you live and a place where you fuck?"

He at least had the decency to look like he was embarrassed. "If you want to put it that way …"

"We can move over, if you want," he offered eagerly. "Full equipment there, handcuffs, blindfolds, incense sticks, candles, coffins, skulls …"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and finally looked at her full of venom. "No, luv. Nothing wrong with me. Something wrong with you. You’re the one looking as if Santa missed your stocking." He moved closer. "You can act as high and as mighty as you like, but I know where you live. You’ve revealed yourself just that instant. There’s no difference between you and them."

She returned his gaze and then quickly looked down at the floor, realising what he was saying. Realising that he was right.

It wasn’t a rhetorical question. And the panic that his words ignited within her scared Thalia to death. "Do you want me to leave?" her voice but a whisper.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, I don’t know. Doesn’t appear like this is gonna work."

"Well … I …it’s …" she stopped, not willing to show him more of her misery than she already had. "Bye then. Thanks for giving me all the information …"

"On the other side, luv, during the last 500 years nothing’s been working my way. Should get used to it." He flashed her a smile. "I do want you to stay. When I first laid eyes on you this evening, I wanted to f…" he coughed. "… to be with you."

Thalia smiled and unbuttoned her coat. "How very romantic, you know how to choose your words."

"Once I was a poet, remember luv?" He flung the coat behind him and started to pull out her hairpins. "By the way, what’s your name?"

He sighed again. "I’m an old man, got these memory problems. But I’ll try, with all of my unbeating heart."

"My name’s Thalia." She shook her head releasing a flaming cloud down her back.

His eyes fixed on the sparkling mess and he caught hold of it with both hands. "You’re a natural redhead, lu ,,, Thalia?" he asked throatily.

Thalia opened her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed hat she had fallen asleep. Yawning she looked around, finding herself all alone in the bedroom. A quick glance at her watch told her that it was 6.20. She got up and headed to the window pushing away the heavy curtain. The panes were covered with frost patterns and for the first time she realised how cold it was in here. Outside it was still dark.

After wrapping the blanket around her body, she walked hesitantly through the quiet living room, discovered the kitchen and switched on the lights. In sharp contrast to the rest of the apartment this room looked like a picture in a leaflet, clean and untouched. There was no coffee maker, no pans, no pots. In the fridge she found only a row of chocolate milk packs and a few small bottles of mineral water, one of them half filled with a dark orange tinted juice. She twisted off the cap and smelled it. With a sound of disgust she put it back and took one of the unopened bottles.

6.28 She decided not to worry. It was none of her business. If he was doing some sort of jogging on the verge of sunrise to keep in shape, just fine with her. What if he’s hunting? She shook her had. No, not after what she’d found in the fridge. SHE WOULD NOT WORRY.

At least not until the sun had risen. Instead she searched for the central heating’s power button and finally turned it on.

Back in the bedroom she looked out of the window again. The darkness had curled into a milky gray.

6.42 She sighed. It was all ridiculous. Nine hours before she didn’t even know about his existence and now she was torturing herself about a man that had devoted his heart - beating or not - to another woman. For no less than 500 years. Great Thalia, really great. Love isn’t brains. Damned right. In fact she didn’t care about Darla. As long as Blondie stayed wherever she was.

6.48 Thalia started to chew on her nails. She didn’t even know what he was doing in town. How long would he stick around? According to his arrangements it doesn’t seem to be a weekend trip, but her whole lifetime was nothing but an instant to his own.

She heard the front door open and felt her heart jump. He came in, all covered in snow and handed her a paper bag. "Vienna Sunday six in the morning is a deadly dead place. Had to cross the whole town to find a place that was open at this hour. Watch it, coffee’s hot." He unbuttoned his duster and left the room.

Thalia found herself staring at Ronald MacDonald for a long while before she finally brought herself to open the bag. Two cups of coffee and about a dozen donuts.

A faint smile curved her lips. William the Bloody. Big Bad. Scourge of Europe. Soulless dead creature. Risking ending up in a vacuum cleaner to fetch her coffee and sweets. Not one of all the soul possessing guys she dated had ever had that idea. It was always she who was expected to take care of both bed and breakfast.

Thalia took a bite of the donut when he came back and grasped the coffee cup. "So you changed into bat and flew over?"

"Rode there my bike. Lesson 23: vampires are no shape changers. Forget about the Christopher Lee and Frank Langella pictures."

"Well, who’d you like to play your part then?" she asked taking out the next donut.

Catching a glimpse of the duster lying on the floor in the living room she continued: "If you haven’t killed any Slayers, where’d you get the coat?"

"Must be a bloody hard job," she giggled. "Okay, I swear, nobody will ever get a word out of me."

"You bought the duster? You went into a shop and simply bought that damned thing?"

"It was hip back then. The Shaft series, Richard Roundtree, perhaps you’ve heard about it. Needless to say, Joss didn’t like this fact."

He put the coffee aside and started to undress in front of the bed in a completly unpretentious way. Watching him pull off his tee, Thalia decided that he was definitely better than Max Schreck and could effortlessly keep up with James Marsters.

"Are you here for … business?" she asked timidly, avoiding the words slayer and finish.

He smirked his villain-of-the-week smirk and stretched out next to her. "No, Thalia, luv, I’m here for fun. How could you’ve missed that?" he asked in a husky low voice that made every nerve in her body tingle. He grabbed her hand and before she knew what was happening his cool tongue began to lick the sugar from her fingertips. Well, seems that she just needed a little monster in her man.

Giving a little sigh, she looked down at his tousled not-at-all-styled hair. Just wait and see how things turn out, she said to herself. Perhaps one day she would tell him that even a witch had to work for her rent these days. Perhaps then she would tell him that she was a doctor and that she was in charge of the local blood bank.

Now only one idea was circling in her head: "Will, what’s the bloody truth about Vincent Van Gogh’s ear?"

Fin

Quotes

wouldn’t be you, Spike. It never would be you – Buffy->Spike: 5.07 Fool for Love

you can act as high and as mighty as you like, but I know where you live – Spike -> Buffy: 6.10 Wrecked

love isn’t brains, it’s blood, blood screaming inside you to work it’s will

girl just needs a little monster in her man – Spike -> Riley: 6.15 As you were

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RavenX - raven_x_@hotmail.com

Fin

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