Dead Man Blues, Chapter 16
By Elsa Frohman
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: elsa@frohman.net
Summary: A trip down memory lane. Just what was Spike up to in
1925, and why did it earn him a curse?
Note: The contemporary sections of this story take place in Season
6, between As You Were and Entropy
Archiving: This story is archived at http://www.frohman.net/blues/
My personal archive is at http://www.spikedreams.com/
Thanks, once again, to my fabulous beta, JanK, who sees what is
hidden from my eyes.

Note on this chapter's musical accompaniment: I know, I know. This
song really doesn't fit with all that 1920s jazz I've been serving
up. But bear with me...

Hurt
Nine Inch Nails
Johnny Cash version

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt

I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt

I will let you down
I will make you hurt

If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

Spike had heard Clara's approach and turned his back in time. He
could hardly have mistaken the sound of her walker clacking on the
flagstones of the path up to his crypt door.

The old woman stood in the door, breathing hard with the exertion
of walking from where the cab had dropped her and her young escort.
Dawn was standing just behind Clara, looking as if she knew she was
in trouble now.

"Clara," Spike said irritably. "Go away."

"A poor welcome for an old lover," the old woman snapped.

"I don't care."

"Now there's a statement of questionable veracity," Clara replied.
Then she stopped and looked at Spike in surprise. "What on earth
have you done to your hair?"

"Go back to your hotel. I haven't seen you. There's still time. If
you're so desperate to talk to me, I'll go to a pay phone and call
you there."

"I'm not leaving until I get what I've come for," the old woman
snapped. "I've come too far to give up now."

Willow stood up and looked from Spike, his back turned to Clara, to
the old woman, leaning heavily on her walker but staring at the
vampire with steely determination.

"Look," Willow said. "This is easy. Curses are generally very
literal. Spike, you must have something around here you could use
for a blindfold."

Spike started to turn around to look at Willow, but stopped himself
in time.

"Good thinking, Red. Check the chest over by the telly."

"Thank goodness someone around here has an IQ greater than his
shirt size," Clara said testily. "Now, Dawn, find me somewhere to
sit."

Willow dug through the items in the chest. The contents included
three different blindfolds, a number of styles of handcuffs, a
curious gag that looked like it was designed to have something
inserted through it, a number of silk scarves and several items for
which Willow was fairly certain she didn't want to know the
function. Not right now, at least.

Dawn led Clara over to the battered easy chair in front of the
television and helped her sit down. When she turned back to Willow,
the older girl was holding up a small device that included a
battery-operated remote control and a pink, elongated-egg-shaped,
plastic part connected to it by a cord. Willow was examining the
item with an air of scientific curiosity. She had the three
blindfolds draped over her arm.

"Why do you have so many blindfolds?" Dawn asked innocently.

Willow looked up and saw that Dawn had seen what she was staring
at, and dropped it quickly back into the chest. Giles had come over
and closed the drawer firmly.

Spike snickered. "Party games, bit."

"Yeah, right..." Dawn replied, "'cause you have so many birthday
parties here -- complete with Pin the Tail on the Donkey."

"Don't pry, dear," Clara said evenly.

Dawn harumphed and crossed her arms over her chest.

Willow took the blindfolds to Spike, and he selected one.

"Now, you can all go," Clara announced.

"Perhaps you'd like me to wait," Giles offered. "You'll need help
getting back to the hotel afterwards."

"No, I'm sure Spike will be able to take me. You can go."

"He can't very well take you anywhere wearing a blindfold," Giles
said reasonably.

"I said go, Rupert. Now, run along. Oh! One other thing. Dawn,
would you please bring me my purse?"

The teenager complied, and Clara pulled an envelope from the bag.

"I want you to open this and read it in the morning, Rupert.
Everything will be made clear then. Now leave us. I'm an old woman,
and I'm quite tired. I'd like to get this taken care of before I
fall asleep again."

"Very well, Clara," Giles said reluctantly. "But at least allow me
to leave my mobile with you. I'll program in my number at the
hotel. Then if you need me, you can call."

Clara gestured for him to go and grudgingly, Giles, Dawn and Willow
started for the door.

Before they got there, Willow stopped.

"Wait. I'm sure I'll never get Spike to talk about this again, and
there's still something I want to know," she said. "What happened
to the butler's daughter?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Never asked."

Clara chuckled. "Katie Gannon? She became my sister-in-law. That
was a number of years later, though. She was only 16 when the
vampires kidnapped her -- that is what you're asking about, isn't
it, dear?"

Willow nodded.

"Stephen went to the abandoned tube station the next morning. Katie
was out of the closet wandering around, looking for a way out. Poor
thing -- her Mum and Dad were both dead.

"She said the gypsy vampire came back and let her out -- then took
off, leaving her not knowing how to get out of the old station. Odd
that -- he didn't harm her, though he could have had her without a
struggle.

"Stephen found her a situation and looked after her for a while. A
few years later, they got married -- one more thing that infuriated
Father. He didn't think Katie was worthy of his son, she being the
child of domestics.

"She was a good friend to me for many years."

"Did you reconcile with your father?" Willow asked.

Clara smiled sadly. "I forgave him. That's what matters, I suppose.
He never forgave me -- or Stephen. When his health began to
deteriorate, I offered to take him in. But he'd have none of it. He
lived in a nursing home for nearly fifteen years. He never knew his
grandchildren or his great-grandchildren. He'd lost the respect of
the Council, which was all he ever really cared about. At the end,
he was surrounded by strangers, and I wouldn't have wished that on
him."

"Oh, that's sad," Willow replied.

"He chose his own punishment," Clara said simply. "Now scamper off,
children."

Willow turned back once more before leaving.

"I'll come to the hotel tomorrow morning and we can have
breakfast," she said brightly.

Clara smiled sadly and nodded.

When they were alone, Spike shifted in his seat on the sarcophagus.

"So, what is so bloody important that you had to risk the curse?"
he said impatiently.

Clara didn't answer. He heard her breathing, slightly labored but
still even, and wondered whether she had fallen asleep. He wanted
to peek at her but stopped himself.

"Clara," he said more loudly. "Hurry up. I don't fancy sitting here
in a blindfold all night."

"Then take it off," the old woman said.

"What? You came all this way to commit suicide? I told you once, a
long time ago; I'm not here to help sad little girls kill
themselves."

Clara sighed. "I remember that. But it's time. You've kept me safe
in your heart all these years. It's time for it to end now."

"No! Why would you come all this way? If you wanted to die, there
are easier ways..."

"Spike," Clara said slowly. "I don't think you entirely understand
the curse."

"I understand it. If I see you, you're dead."

"And if you don't..."

"You go on living..."

"Exactly."

"You've lost me, love."

"What were the exact words of the curse?"

"The next time you see Clara Morrington will be the day she dies,"
Spike recited.

"Yes, and any day that you don't see me isn't..."

"What?"

"I've had an extraordinary life, dear boy. More extraordinary than
you realize.

"In the Second World War, during the Blitz, the house where I was
staying was hit. They dug me out of the basement the next day. I
had a broken arm; I was scared to death -- but otherwise, I was
unharmed.

"I'm sure I wasn't the only person in London to survive a direct
hit, but a few years later, when I was traveling to Manchester, the
train I was riding on derailed. The car I was in rolled down an
embankment -- it turned over four times. I still walked away. No
one else in the car survived. I was bruised but otherwise unharmed.

"Over the years, there have been traffic accidents, illnesses, and
any number of other threats -- nothing unusual, really, nothing
more than the things that happen to a person in the normal course
of living.

"But whatever happens, I keep going. Nothing harms me. Why do you
think that is?"

"You're very lucky, love."

"I'm more than lucky. I've had you keeping me safe."

"I'd never hurt you, love. But I never saved you from a German bomb
or a train wreck."

"But you did. Think about the curse for a moment. The next time you
see me will be the day I die. So any day when you don't see me..."

"You're kidding..."

"I'm not."

"Well, love, I don't exactly see the downside. You've got
immortality, and you didn't have to lose your soul to get it."

"You still don't see, do you?"

"What could be wrong with being invulnerable?"

"I'm not invulnerable," Clara said irritably. "I simply can't die.
I'm suffering all the aches, pains and indignities that come with
my advanced age. I do not fancy continuing this way indefinitely."

She sighed heavily.

"I'm not complaining about my life. There has been so much that was
wonderful, exciting and satisfying. But my time has passed. Nearly
everyone I knew when I was young -- save you -- is gone now. Each
day, I'm a little bit weaker. There are fewer things I can do
unassisted. My children, all three of them, are dead. My
grandchildren have their own children. I sleep more, and can see
and hear less.

"You have to let me go now, Spike. If you continue to hold me here,
the day will come -- and it shan't be long coming -- when I can no
longer rise.

"Would you condemn me to lie in my bed, unable to read, or speak or
hear? Would you make that my fate for all eternity?"

Spike was silent.

"Well?"

"I said I'd never harm you. How can you ask me to end your life?"

"Because there is no other way."

"Clara..." Spike said quietly.

"The young girl you knew," Clara replied, "she grew up and grew
old. I owe you so much. You showed me I was worth loving. I would
never have learned to stand up for myself if I hadn't met you. The
true journey of my life began the night I found you at the White
Swan Club. Now, as much as I owe you, I have to ask you to do one
more thing for me. Help me reach the end of my journey."

"I've thought about you from time to time," Spike said quietly.
"I've wondered how different it would have been if I'd gone out
over the roofs with you that night, rather than going down to face
Algernon and the Grall'nakled. There wouldn't have been a curse. We
could have been together."

Clara was quiet for a moment.

"Spike," she said, "you were exciting. You made me feel beautiful
and clever and desirable. You opened up the world for me. But as
good as our time together was, I wouldn't trade the years that came
after for anything."

Spike sighed. "You're probably right. You'd have missed out on all
those fat children and grandchildren. And me? I wouldn't have
lasted. If the Watchers had taken me up on my offer to work with
them, I probably would've gotten annoyed, about a week after I
started, and killed everyone of them who wasn't related to you."

There was a long pause from Clara.

"It's time, Spike. Take off the blindfold."

"I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye, pet," Spike said softly.

"You haven't changed," Clara said kindly.

"But I have changed. I got meaner. And I got dumber. And
eventually, it all caught up with me, and I got neutered."

"Neutered?" Clara asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Metaphorically speaking."

"I'm not the girl I was."

"I can still hear her in your voice. It's an older voice, to be
sure, but I can still hear my Clara."

"I only wish it wasn't a wrinkled, old woman sitting here," Clara
said sadly. "I wish we could have said a proper goodbye when I was
still young and beautiful."

"Does it have to be tonight, love?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it does. Letting go isn't easy."

"I know... I just thought it would be nice if we could visit
awhile."

"I don't think there is any reason we can't, my dear. I don't think
I'll keel over the second you look at me."

Spike reached up and slowly lifted the blindfold.

"There you are," he said gently. "And you've lied to me. You said
you weren't beautiful anymore."

He went to her and helped her up, then sat in her place and pulled
her down into his lap.

"Now, aren't we a bizarre sight?" Clara said with a chuckle.

"I don't care. I want to hold my girl one more time."

She leaned her head against his chest.

"It's almost as if we could go back to that time," she sighed.

"I saw Ellie and Beamer once," Spike said softly. "They got
married, you know."

"Yes, I know. Ellie sent me an invitation. Of course, I couldn't go
all the way to America for a wedding."

"They did a tour of Europe in 1933. I caught them in Berlin. I
couldn't stay around and talk, though. Dru was with me, and she
wanted to eat them. I had to get her out of there."

"Ellie and I corresponded for years," Clara replied. "She had a
wonderful career. And Beamer was very good to her. They both
thought fondly of you, you know."

Spike smiled and nodded. "It was mutual. I never heard what
happened to Cheater, though," he said.

"Oh, really? I would have thought you would have run into him. He
stayed in London for the rest of his life."

"No lie? I would have thought he wanted to go home more than the
others."

"He started a ministry helping gamblers take the pledge."

Spike laughed softly. "Who would have thought?"

"He had a little storefront in SoHo," Clara continued. "I heard
about it and went down to see him once."

"I suppose he was picking up gigs with his horn on the side."

Clara shook her head. "He never played the cornet again. I asked
him why, and he told me that God gives everyone a special gift. His
was music, but he was a fool and gambled it away."

"I suppose that makes some sort of sense," Spike replied.

"I'm so tired," Clara whispered. "I just want to rest now."

"Then rest, pet. Rest as long as you like."

---------------

Rupert Giles opened his letter, as instructed, though he was fairly
sure he knew what it contained. His suspicions were confirmed.

"Dear Rupert;

"You must forgive me for keeping my intentions from you. It is my
belief that if you had known why I wanted to travel to California,
you would have refused to help me. I cannot condemn you for that. I
would have reacted in much the same way if an elderly friend or
relative made such a request when I was your age.

"You must be content now that this was my desire, and I wanted it
badly enough that I could not allow anyone to deter me.

"My arrangements have been made. It is my wish to be buried
alongside my late husband in the Davies family plot. I have
prearranged for my remains to be shipped home. If you contact the
Reitman and Sons Funeral Home here in Sunnydale, they will know
what to do.

"Please accept my deepest gratitude for your assistance in
completing my journey.

"Love;
"Clara Morrington-Davies"

Giles set the letter down and called Willow to let her know why
Mrs. Morrington-Davies would not be meeting her for breakfast.

"Oh... Oh dear..." Willow replied.

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too. I really wanted to talk to her some more. She knew so
much great stuff."

"I came over on an open return ticket," Giles said. "I'll be going
back on the first flight out this morning."

"Wait, you can't go back so soon," Willow protested. "You haven't
even stopped by to see Buffy."

"I'll catch her next time," Giles replied. "Give her my love."

"Awww... OK."

Giles hung up the phone and went about packing his bag. When he was
ready, he called the funeral home and went to Clara's room to meet
them. She was laid out on her bed with care, her face peaceful, her
hands clasped over her waist. Her hair had been lovingly combed and
her clothing was smoothed and arranged neatly.

"Goodbye, Clara," he said quietly. "Have a safe journey home."

The End

Elsa Frohman
http://www.frohman.net/