Chapter Text
Day 13
"'Yes, yes! It is the right day, but this is not the place.'"
The sun blazed through the open curtains, into Riley Finn's face. He tried to claw his way back to sleep, but the light was so bright it was impossible. He shielded his eyes with one hand. A slight fuzzy headache began to make its presence felt.
What day was it? He couldn't quite remember. When he tried, he found his memories of the last few days were blurry and confused.
Had he been drinking? It didn't seem likely; he didn't think he usually drank too much – but that's what it felt like. Also, he was gonna have words with whoever had rolled his eyeballs in lint.
He stretched, and stretching made him wince. It felt like he'd been in a bust-up. When he got out of bed and looked in the mirror, he saw cuts and bruises, and what looked like claw- or tooth-marks on his chest. And there was a messy-looking gash on the palm of his left hand too; it was itchy as hell, and looked like it was having trouble healing.
The idea came to Riley that he'd been injured while preventing a Hostile from escaping. He couldn't remember what kind.
That was odd.
The robot bird chirped.
He took his vitamins.
He did some press-ups.
He pulled on some pants.
His looked around his room.
It was a bit of a mess. His gear was lying in a tangled heap on the floor. There must have been some kind of an emergency for him to have left it like that.
His mind slid away from the contemplation of it. Tidy it up, that was what he should do. He collected the stuff – mainly camping equipment – and stowed each item neatly in its designated place in his rucksack.
But something was missing – something that went in that side-pocket on the left. What was it? His groundsheet. He searched around the floor and in his pockets, but there was still no sign of it. It wasn't like him to lose a piece of equipment.
Oh well. Not really a problem. Get another from stores.
But there was something else on the floor: a tent peg, sharpened to a point. Why did he have a sharpened tent-peg? Was it a stake? The Initiative didn't use stakes to kill vampires. Did anyone really use bits of wood to kill vampires?
He frowned, then zoned out again. Without further thought, he put the stake in the pocket left vacant by the groundsheet.
What was the next task?
Oh yes.
He was being TA Guy today. That meant he'd be seeing someone important.
He'd be seeing Buffy.
The thought seemed a happy one, but he wasn't really sure why.
She'd dropped some books on him, one time.
That couldn't be the reason, could it?
Oh.
Now he knew what it was.
He was going to ask her on a date.
And he had a feeling she'd say, 'yes'.
Night 13
"And then the little bells are changed to tears …"
It was the fourth night.
Or was it the third?
After he'd awoken from a restless, drunken sleep, Spike had spent the rest of the day worrying away at the problem. If you said 'three nights from now', but it was first thing in the morning, did that include the night that fell at the end of the day when you said it? The question was tying his brain in granny knots.
But surely, Riley would have wondered the same thing? If he could have come last night, would he not have?
Riley must show up tonight. If he didn't: well, Spike didn't know what he was going to do.
By the time he arrived at Willy's, Spike's fingernails were bitten to stubs. He stood in the doorway, swaying slightly; afraid of what Willy might have to tell him; not knowing which was hurting him more, the thought that Riley might have come to harm, or the thought that he'd chosen not to show.
Both filled him with dread, but the visual of Riley in front of a firing squad, refusing the blindfold; dropping; falling … that was what was playing on a permanent loop in his head, tightening a band of iron around his heart. If he'd had to breathe, he would have been dead.
"You okay, Spike?"
Willy's use of his name brought Spike back to himself and he surged up to the bar. "Did you get anything? Any messages? Anything from the F'kuth? Anything at all?"
Willy nodded and beckoned him in closer, even though they were alone in the bar. "Man on the inside remembered hearing someone called Riley, yesterday morning. Said the guy's thoughts were muzzy, but he seemed upset. Then he didn't get anything more. He lost the signal."
Seeing the naked despair in Spike's eyes, Willy added hastily, "Don't worry, your guy didn't … well, he ain't expired. Our man was very definite about that. Your friend must just have gone above ground, out of range. F'kuth can't pick up thoughts from anyone through solid rock, except another one of their own kind."
Spike took a deep breath. So: Riley wasn't being held prisoner – at least not down in the Initiative. He'd been upset; maybe under interrogation. But if they'd let him go, why wasn't he here now? Why hadn't Riley at least got a message to him?
The last of Spike's confidence bled away; left him feeling like a shell. It was all so drearily predictable - and yet still such a blow to his heart.
How had this happened to him? It shouldn't be happening. He was a vampire. Vampires didn't fall for their dinner. Gratitude was all it was: only natural.
But it was futile. Try as he might, to expel the notion that love had any place in this, it was way too late for that. Because he'd said it, hadn't he? And he'd meant it.
They both had; or so he'd thought …
He knocked back one drink after another, flipped beer mats until Willy begged him to stop, and stared so hard at the door that some of Willy's potential customers had second thoughts about where they were spending the evening.
By nine o'clock Spike knew that if he didn't do something, he was going to implode. He slammed some bills on the bar, and left without his change.
Breaking into the College records office was easy, and the computer passwords were taped to the inside of one of the drawers. He searched the files for Lowell House, found out which room Riley was assigned, and located it on the floor plan.
Then he went back out into the night.
As he approached Lowell House, he started to take more care. One thing he was sure of was that he didn't want to get caught by the Initiative again. He stayed under cover near the trees while he worked out which window gave onto Riley's room. He counted the windows until he came to the right one.
The light was on.
Standing under a tree, looking up at that window, Spike had never felt so relieved, and yet at the same time so devastated. In silhouette against the light was the substantial figure of Riley Finn.
Spike was sure it was Riley.
But it couldn't be.
This was the third night – fourth if you counted the other way.
And Riley had promised.
Maybe the last time Riley had given his word, it had been a Sunnydale Promise.
That thought made Spike infinitely sad.
'Or maybe –' said a small voice from the bottom of Pandora's Box: '– maybe Riley was being watched – followed – and couldn't come without putting you in danger. Maybe even now, he's getting ready to go out and find the rendezvous. Maybe he's just as anxious as you are.'
Spike didn't dare go inside to find out, but he nearly did it anyway.
Instead, with shaking hands, he lit up. He burned his way through five cigarettes, watching the shadow come and go, and muttering, "Come on Riley. Come OUT!" as though the repetition of the mantra would magically bring Riley Finn to the door of Lowell House.
At last the light went out.
Spike waited, breathing hard and praying to any deity who might be listening that Riley wasn't going down to the Initiative; that any second now he would be coming through that door.
The door opened.
It was Riley; he was okay.
Relief flooded through Spike. Circumspection forgotten, dignity abandoned, he broke from cover and almost ran to intercept Riley as he strode off down the path.
Riley noticed his approach and stopped, looking surprised.
"Riley, thank God!" Spike blurted. "Are you okay? What happened? I waited …"
Riley looked at him blankly. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"
Horror and disbelief warred for supremacy; Spike felt sure his brain was about to fuse.
As innocent as the first day Spike clapped eyes on him, Riley flashed him a goofy, apologetic smile. "Only, you do look kind of familiar. I just can't place where we've met. You know how it is."
Spike swallowed, his insides turning to lead. Kid wasn't messing with him, he could see that.
Riley didn't know him.
Didn't remember a thing.
Didn't remember that night …
…
Backing away, wide-eyed, Spike muttered, "Sorry, Mate. My mistake. Took you for someone else."
"But you said my name. You said 'Riley'."
"No, Mate, you must have misheard me. I said, 'Really'. On account of I … wasn't expecting to see the bloke I mistook you for."
He'd tried to keep his face blank, but he knew the quaver in his voice had betrayed him. The scrutiny of Riley's honest concerned eyes was unbearably painful; he closed his own eyes against it, as though that would prevent Riley seeing his misery.
~~
Riley didn't like to forget people he'd met. It was bad manners, and the guy had known his name, he was sure of it. "But you looked like you'd been waiting for me. Over there?"
The stranger was swaying. Actually he looked like he might be about to pass out, so Riley reached out a hand to steady him; gripped his arm. The man tried to pull away, but Riley turned him back around and studied him.
"I'm sure I do know your face." Riley felt an unaccountable desire to recognise the strange British guy, even though he was beginning to wonder if this was some troubled soul who'd escaped from a mental institution. If that was the case, he shouldn't be wandering about Sunnydale on his own at night, especially the state he was in. All kinds of things might happen to him.
"How about you come for a drink with me," he said heartily, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed anything was wrong. "I'm sure we can work out where we know each other from." He looked at his new friend as un-threateningly as he could manage. "I'd appreciate the moral support, actually – that is, if you're not doing anything else."
~~
Spike knew what was going on. Riley was humouring him; trying to make him feel better, even though he hadn't the faintest idea who he was. Ever and still the White Hat. Even so, Spike stopped trying to get free. Maybe there was a spark of hope left …
"I'm meeting this girl I really like," Riley went on. "I'm kinda nervous about it. She's not easy to talk to. You'd be doing me a favour if you'd tag along, just for an hour – help me break the ice?"
Spike pulled out of his grip, and started walking at a tangent, back under cover of the trees.
~~
As the stranger disappeared into the woods, Riley's mind slid away from the encounter. He shrugged and turned to go.
He had things to do.
There she was in the distance.
His date.
She came shining down the path towards him, swinging her bag. "Hey Riley!"
Bright as a sunbeam.
~~
Buffy.
~~
Looking on from the shadows, Spike saw who Riley was meeting.
It was scarcely believable, yet at the same time, totally inevitable, in this twisted hell to which he seemed to have been condemned.
He shook his head, though there was no one to see his denial; shoved his fists into his eye sockets, though there was nothing he could do to make it go away. He threw back his head to howl his despair at the waning gibbous moon, but his throat was so tight, all that came out was a pathetic, strangled, choking sound.
Something inside snapped.
He watched his own hands as though they belonged to someone else, making meaningless jerking movements in the air.
Was this what it was like to go insane?
He rammed his shoulder against the trunk of the nearest tree, banged his fist against it, and then just clung to it, with his eyes tight shut.
Had the planets and constellations all combined in a special conjunction, just to cause him as much pain as was possible?
No: not the stars. They weren't to blame. It was his own fault; him and his bloody stupid heart.
A low, desolated whine escaped him; he slid bonelessly down the tree trunk to his haunches, and stayed like that, with his hands over his face.
And when at last he turned his tear-streaked face up to the firmament once more, it seemed to Spike the heavens must be in sympathy; because if he listened with his heart, he knew for sure the stars were weeping too.
~ FIN ~