Beyond Intervention

I had to come here. Just one time, wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I’m actually on my way, well, somewhere else, but just had to stop here. Sunnydale. Never been here before, though I've heard some things about the place. Done some research. Know all about the Hellmouth and the Slayer, well, the one that isn't in jail.

What else do they have here? Demons, vampires, monsters - they have those in LA. Trees, houses, schools, playgrounds, cars, people, cemeteries - have all that in LA too.

That, however, is very much not seen in LA. Two men carrying a blanket-covered body into a crypt? Only things I know that live in crypts are dead bodies, demons and vampires. Did we miss something? All of that research, all those avenues at our fingertips and we missed this? Who are these guys, helping a, at best guess from the blanket, vampire? They could have been useful to us.

And why am I still thinking like I still work for them. I don't. Don't want to either. Tough mind-set to leave, I guess.

The men are leaving. Is that Rupert Giles of the Watchers Council? I remember seeing his file being passed around when Wesley Wyndam-Pryce dropped onto the radar screen in LA last year. That would be why we never attempted to elicit the aid of these men - they're white hats. I don't know why Giles was of anyone's concern. He was booted out of the Council and was never planning to travel to LA. London maybe, but not LA. How exactly did some of those people make upward movements?

So, Giles is still in Sunnydale and possibly still acting as Watcher. But who is the other one? The man with the long-ish dark hair and thick body. Just a hair shorter than Giles. And just which vampire did they dump in that crypt? There had not been any reports of the Slayer teaming up with a vampire of any variety. There can't be another vampire with a soul, can there?

Wouldn't that throw a monkey wrench into the plans that have been so meticulously laid out over the centuries? Two souled vampires. The prophecy would be shot to hell. I'd laugh out loud if I wasn't so close to the door to this crypt.

Inside I find a bleached vampire. Spike. Who else. So, the Slayer's Watcher and some kid play nice with a vampire? Ooh. Maybe not. He looks pretty beat up, bruised. What the hell happened to him?

"Oh, get the hell out already, will ya? I've just been beat to a bloody pulp and you wanna talk? Sod off." He lies perfectly still. No breathing, no motion of any kind.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" I ask.

He shifts his eyes enough to look at me, then rolls them and closes them. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"My name's Lindsey." The dust in the crypt catches in my throat, making it rather difficult to speak smoothly.

He snorts and coughs. Something funny? "Lindsey? Isn't that a girl's name?" He probably would have attempted more humor if something hadn't made him cough again.

I ignore his comment, not the first time someone's said that. Just the first time they've been able to live - or unlive - to tell about it. "Look, just thought you might want some help."

"With what? The dishes? I live in a crypt, mate. What're you gonna help with?"

Dishes, nice. "You know, the sarcasm really works for you." I push the door shut behind me and take another step into the crypt. "I meant, you look a little beat up and maybe you could use a hand."

"I don't need any help from some sodding lawyer from bloody LA," he snaps.

How does he know who I am? We never met. I smile. "I’m not a lawyer anymore. And I left LA."

"Still don't need your help."

Uh huh.

"Unless you wanna hand me that bottle from over there." He gave a slight tilt of his head, indicating the other side of the crypt. "On, second thought, mate, hiding might be a good idea. Someone's coming."

Anyone who ever worked for Wolfram and Hart knows better than to ask a vampire how he would know that. So, I just follow the good advice and take up residence in the darkest corner of the crypt opposite his make-shift, concrete bed.

Moments later the door slams open and a blond girl in a pleated pink skirt and a pale pink, sleeveless shirt enters, bouncing down the stairs and almost skipping to where Spike is laying on that concrete tomb.

"Spike, you're all covered in sexy wounds," she chirps proudly.

He groans and pulls himself to a sitting position as he responds, "Yeah, they feel real sexy. Where you been?"

Her hand is on his knee, but I can't see anything else. I can't see if she's smiling or frowning. From her body language though, I think she's a little concerned about Spike. Who the hell is she?

"I fell down and got confused. Willow fixed me. She's gay," she says it like she's reporting on the newest information in her head.

There are some comments between the two, then the blond girl asks Spike if he wants to ravage her. I don't think I want to be around for that. Should probably figure a way to leave. If I'm real quiet, I can make it to the door and slide out while they're ravaging.

"No!" And Spike starts to cough. I stop in my tracks. Was he talking to me? "You can't ever. Glory never finds out."

Guess not. But who is Glory and what is she not supposed to find out?

"Why?" the blond girl asks, her head tilted to one side, a hint of confusion in her voice.

"'Cause Buffy... the other, not-so-pleasant Buffy..." Spike shakes his head once, "anything happened to Dawn," his voice lowers, it's quieter now, "it'd destroy her. I couldn't live, her bein' in that much pain. Let Glory kill me first." He quirks his eyebrows, as much as he can with all the bruising and such. "Nearly bloody did."

Glory? The other Buffy? Now I am confused.

And even moreso because the blond girl just leaned in to kiss Spike, but he's pulled away from her with a really odd look on his face. Like he's confused about what she's done and why. She's just staring at him, then turns to walk away.

"And my robot?" he asks solemnly. Robot, huh? Interesting.

The blond girl, who I'm assuming is the real Buffy, turns back to him, her arms swinging around her hips from the momentum of the movement. "The robot is gone. The robot was gross and obscene."

The robot was obviously a robot version of Buffy. Oh, Spike, that is... I honestly have no idea how I would describe that.

"It wasn't supposed to..."

"Don't. That... thing, it... it wasn't even real." She turns from him and starts away again. He looks so... sad. Something is going on here in Sunnydale. Buffy pauses and only turns her head, just a bit over her shoulder. "What you did, for me and Dawn. That was real."

Spike raises his head, looks at her, maybe a little surprised at what she said. She gives him a quick look over her shoulder.

"I won't forget it," she says and leaves.

What the hell did Spike do that would endear him, if only for a moment, to the Slayer? He watches her go, staring, leaning heavily on his arms as though if he stops watching, he'll fall over. Maybe he will.

I wait a few moments to let him adjust to what just happened. I could ask all kinds of questions, but if I just wait, he'll probably tell me on his own.

"You can go now," he tells me as I step from the shadows. His head is low, pointed toward the floor.

"You want this?" I hold up the bottle of Scotch he had asked me to retrieve for him earlier.

He shakes his head. "No. Just push off already."

I put the bottle back on the table where I found it and start for the door. He's not watching me; he's not doing anything. He's just sitting there. I thought he was a vampire - the Big Bad in this town. What happened?

"Your life ever just go to shit one day?" he asks without looking up.

I turn back to him and smile. "Yeah. Something like that. It's why I left LA."

He raises his head. "Know how I got this?" He somewhat indicates his bruised and beaten body.

I shake my head. I'd guess something or someone beat him to a pulp, but I couldn't say what or who or why.

"Protecting a secret for the woman I love. Stupid, huh? Especially since she doesn't love me back."

"We've all done stupid things for love. You're not the first, nor the last."

"Nice boat we're in. How do you get out?"

I shrug. Sure, I'm the best person to ask about this one. "Dunno. Get your hand cut off by your mortal enemy, then have it replaced with that of some convict? Ya got me."

"What the bloody hell are you on about? Hand cut off?" he squints like he's trying to see my hand.

I walk to him, my right arm outstretched, the sleeve pulling up over my wrist. "Yeah, cut off my hand. Had a nice plastic one for a while, until someone smashed it. Then, Wolfram and Hart, they offered me a new one. This is the one I got."

"Said it belonged to a convict?"

I nod. "Not only that. I knew the guy."

He makes a face. "That's gotta be weird."

"You could say that."

"But you didn't do that for love," he states. Insightful bastard.

"No. Tried to help Darla for it though."

Another coughing fit started. "Darla?" he gasped. "You were in love with Darla? That evil bitch."

"I was a lawyer."

"Sod that, mate. Darla?"

"Am I missing something? She's beautiful and wicked..."

"And wouldn't think twice about ripping your throat out no matter how sodding nice to her you were. Are you bleeding insane?"

"Apparently not. I left." I lower my hand, that I hadn't realized was still outstretched to him and stare at the floor a moment.

He shakes his head again. "Yeah, mate, only because she told you there wasn't a chance in hell. I know Darla. Only person she loves - if you can call it that - is herself. She might squeeze a little bit of feeling in there for Angelus, but mate, you never had a chance."

"Somewhere, deep down, I think I knew that."

"Always do. Just never pay attention to it. You see a pretty blond and you have to go after her. All men are like that."

Smirking, I'm tempted to flick him the bird, but don't. "So, what's your story of pain?"

"Just told you, mate. Protecting a secret."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain who."

He raises his eyebrows. "Some hell god bitch. Thought she could beat the information out of me. Not a chance. Stubborn bastard."

"Her?"

"Me." He slides off the concrete tomb and stumbles to the table where I'd left the Scotch. He opens the bottle and takes a long pull. Straight Scotch, warm at that, not my favorite.

"She almost killed you?" I ask, shifting the conversation a little.

"Glory? Yeah, she gave it a good show." He takes another pull.

"What stopped her?" Because I just had to know.

He snorts. An odd sound from a vampire, but he did. "My cunning plan."

Even more intriguing. "Which was?" I prompt.

He rolls his eyes and sighs at me. "Some lawyer. You worked for Wolfram and Hart right?" I nod. "Yeah, you never figured out how I work?"

"Doesn't matter. I just wanted you to tell me."

"Sure. Whatever, mate. Insulted her ass," he took a pull, "well, her hair too and her clothes. She didn't like it much, gave me swift kick to the midsection. Got me free though."

"Played on her weaknesses. Nice touch."

"Gotta go with your strengths. Look, mate, this has been a great chat, but could you get the hell out of here? I need to put my body back together. These may look really sexy, but they hurt like you wouldn't believe." He put his Scotch bottle back on the table and limped back to his make-shift bed.

"Yeah. See ya," I say, pulling the door open to leave.

"Hope not," he spits back as he lies down, returning to that motionless state I found him in when I arrived.

"Later." I leave, pulling the door closed behind me. Sunnydale is an interesting town. And I think I learned far more about it from Spike than I could have ever learned from Wolfram and Hart. Or, at least enough to know it was high time to get the hell out of Dodge. There was an apocalypse coming.

End