Title: Detour Author: kindred Disclaimer: The BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and his associates. Rating: NC-17 Feedback: Yes Summary: Future fic. Vengeance, memory and the course of true love. 8. Buffy raced through the dark empty streets and finally found herself at her own front door. Once inside she ran to the basement and began pounding on Spike's heavy bag. Her fists flew with relentless precision, each one flattening Drusilla over and over again. Buffy tried to think of a suitable punishment, something that would equal the devastation Drusilla had brought to town. Any horror Buffy imagined would probably be a thrill ride for Drusilla, or a wet dream. Nothing would suffice. Buffy didn't even have the satisfaction of staking Drusilla herself. But Drusilla was gone for good. This was a certainty. A slayer hadn't staked her, but a slayer and a member of the coven Willow worked so closely with witnessed her destruction. Drusilla would not be taking yet another curtain call in Sunnydale. But what had she left behind? Could anything be salvaged from Drusilla's malicious tampering? Over the years, Buffy often thought that she wouldn't change her past with Spike. There had been horrific and hurtful experiences aplenty, but she and Spike had survived them all, ending up together; a real couple who were really in love. It was an achievement they both treasured. Spike had gotten over Drusilla long ago and turned to Buffy. In the beginning she did nothing to encourage him. Indeed, she fought him, ignored him and ridiculed him. Later, after Buffy came to her senses, Spike spoke fondly of their elaborate courtship. That's the word he used. Courtship. He made it sound like Buffy had pursued him, but that's the vampire mindset. Fighting, violence and blood play are tantamount to foreplay and even outright sex for a besotted vampire. Back in their courting days, Buffy bashed him with a fever she'd never felt for anyone else. It was a confusing and revelatory time for both of them. Mixed messages swirled between them like burning leaves on the wind. Spike chased Buffy until she caught him. All she needed to do was catch him again. The truth was that Spike loved her first. He pursued her and teased her relentlessly. He never gave in and he never gave up. There were plenty of ugly bumps along the way, but eventually she grew to believe in and trust his feelings. To want them. What was he now? A vampire who hated her because that was his job description? The Spike she faced in that awful room sniffed at her like she was the most succulent dish on the menu. This was a being who never knew her. Their past never existed to him. It was excised from his mind by a tiny creature. But was everything gone? It was abundantly clear from his actions and conversation that he wanted nothing more than to kill the slayer. To kill her. Buffy swung her fist hard and dislodged the bag from its tether, sending it crashing into the concrete wall of her basement. She slumped to her knees on the floor, no longer burdened by the need to control her grief. Giles said that Alchemist demons were restorative, medicinal even. She could think of nothing so debilitating to a demon than a soul. Guilt. Conscience. Self loathing. These traits were an anathema to demon kind. How on earth was she going to determine whether Spike's soul was gone? Spike's condition was more than just amnesia. Amnesia at least held the possibility of memory restoration. Buffy's mind raced around a well worn track. What if he never comes back to me? What do I do? What if I can't-- If he won't-- Buffy tortured herself with the what ifs until her mind shut off. Not thinking was better than the alternative. She forced herself to standing and walked like a mindless automaton up and out of the basement. The alien silence of her home crushed her; there should be sounds...the television...the stereo. Laughter. Conversation. Bickering. Not this emptiness. But there was nothing. Not even the ghosts of whispered kisses. Buffy stood in front of the open refrigerator in a half hearted evaluation of its contents. She took a long swig from the orange juice carton and then locked up and headed upstairs. Even a long shower failed to soothe her restlessness. Their bed was too big for her alone, but she climbed in anyway and pulled his leather duster over her naked body. It was a comfort. His scent was there, sweet and clean. His touch was there, soft and buttery. His affection was there, stalwart and true. Buffy lay still with her eyes closed and waited for him. He wouldn't keep her waiting long. His voice entered her mind as it always did, that tantalizing voice made rough and seductive in her imaginings. "Oh, very nice." "You like that hmm? How about this?" "You taste so good." "That's my girl." "Buffy...Buffy..." Mindless to the fury of her hands between her legs, Buffy arched into the darkness of her room and cried out his name. With a wink and a soft caress he receded into the recesses of her mind leaving her alone once more. That's when the tears came. This had become her new routine. No sobs or whimpers but a dread feeling that he was lost to her forever. * It was late the following day when Buffy came into the Magic Box again. She sat at the table and listened impassively to Giles. He'd kept silent about a few things but they needed to be said. Peripheral issues Buffy had continually forced from her mind now needed to be acknowledged and addressed. Buffy took a deep breath and listened. Arrangements had to be made. Contingency plans. Spike was too dangerous a factor to be ignored. He could never be allowed to return to his vampiric ways. Buffy nodded blankly as Giles spoke. Giles was sensitive to Buffy's loss, but she was not the only one affected. Spike could pose a danger to the world in his current state. Should he escape, Spike could sire an army and run amok through the world. The line was already drawn. Weeks earlier when they witnessed the undiluted demon show, Giles drew up a plan. A phalanx of slayers could be activated at a moment's notice to hunt Spike down if he managed to escape. The relentless nature of Giles dire predictions began to grate on Buffy's nerves. "I can't hear this, Giles." "Buffy..." Giles' tone was gentle but firm. It wasn't that his words were a great surprise to Buffy. Giles never lost sight of the big picture. "No. I can't think about that because it's not going to happen." Buffy forced herself to stop those kinds of thoughts. She couldn't think of Spike hunting again, killing and feeding like he once had. It was equally difficult to think of him as a prisoner locked up in a strong box for fear he'd go back to the bad old days. "It's too early to think like that anyway. Spike's smart. He can adapt." Spike had certainly proved that time and time again. For a supposedly unredeemable creature he had shown remarkable resilience. Even before he gained his soul he proved he could be helpful, compassionate and a team player. Unlike Angelus, Buffy was certain that evil had never truly owned Spike. He had other worlds within him, worlds of words and ideas, and they existed long before he came to Sunnydale. For Buffy, those undeniable truths were the essence of Spike and they existed well beyond the confines of recent memory. Giles didn't push it any further. He knew better than to challenge her faith in Spike. Besides, Buffy was right. They weren't under any kind of deadline and there was further research to be done. In the past Spike had proved himself a surprising and resourceful individual. Giles had even gained a begrudging respect for Spike over the years. They understood each other as former adversaries and as men who loved Buffy. Spike had shown himself a hero, a champion, and for the whole world besides. His actions made Giles re-evaluate the dogma he'd staked his reputation on. It wasn't as if redemption was going to be the next big demon fad. One was enough. One alone was worth a lifetime's investigative research. Spike proved himself in the caverns below the high school during the final battle in the Hellmouth. Bathed in a transformative light that Buffy and a few of the other slayers witnessed, Spike accepted what would come, ashes and a torturous oblivion. The sting of his soul's purity paled in comparison to the fires of incineration but still he stood resolute and let the fire take him. After that flashy and excruciating bit of business Spike embraced nothingness. Nothingness proved strangely satisfying. Curiously, there was no pain or torment, nor a somber recitation of his crimes. Instead of being the new piece of rotisserie flotsam dangling over a fiery pit of hell, Spike found himself in a stone courtyard covered in vines. Apparently hell had a waiting room. A genderless being with sparkling silvery skin wearing a toga appeared and spoke to him. Spike's account of their interaction was vague at best. A brief conversation ensued, followed by the luminous being referencing an enormous text. The being pointed to a paragraph and read the same lines over and over. Its placid complexion betrayed a shimmer of irritation. Something was amiss in the great scheme of things and Spike was hip deep in it. From Spike's perspective, the absence of red hot pokers and Perry Como's unending melodious voice was a pleasant enough reprieve in itself. He couldn't fathom what the problem could be. Hello? Vampire. Didn't they know he was coming? Surely there would be a reservation for William the Bloody. Disorganized was not a word Spike would ever have associated with purgatory. He always assumed it would be a professional operation. The radiant creature betrayed signs of agitation and Spike was the focus. He was most definitely not meant to incinerate. That kind of unnecessary and showy display was not needed to complete his redemption. Certain references were made to Spike's role in some future events. The word significant had been used. Interference with significant beings was not to be tolerated under any circumstances. That kind of meddling spurred higher plane types into immediate action. Consequently, Spike was returned with all due haste. The next thing Spike knew, he crawled up and out of the sink hole that sealed the Hellmouth proper and also destroyed twelve city blocks of prime commercial real estate. A hellish rain beat down on him as he struggled across the crater bottom. Five days of rain filled the resulting sink hole and transformed it into a reservoir. Spike made his way through the devastated city to Revello Drive. Amazingly, many outlying residential neighborhoods remained mostly unaffected by the massive downtown destruction. Days later, when the devastated town held more television news crews and perspicacious journalists than curious returning residents, the surviving slayer army trickled back to Revello Drive to survey the damage. Like a leather clad Goldilocks happened upon unawares, Spike awoke on the sofa and looked up into the flabbergasted faces of his allies. The geological incident inexplicably resulted in quieting the localized fault beneath Sunnydale. The Sunnydale Sink Hole became a must see tourist site and a beacon for seismological experts and enthusiasts worldwide. As a result, the town enjoyed a building and population explosion. Sunnydale became a boomtown the likes of which California hadn't seen in a century. tbc...