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That's Not My Name	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 6314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universes (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added. I make no money off of these stories.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter 17
Flashback cont’d.
[Author’s notes: So very sorry for the long hiatus. Believe me, if I had the time I would work on this every day! Sadly, there are not enough hours…. I can only promise you that I will finish this fic, so it won’t be a WIP forever. Thanks for hanging in. Always feel free to pester me J]
Spike trots up the stairs of the house he shares with Gillian, entering a large open room when he reaches the top. The lighting is dim. The background music suffused with various human vocalizations emanating from around the space. There is a threesome engaged in bondage play at one end of the room and a more traditional naked couple engaged doggie style on the throw carpet near the fireplace. On the king sized bed at the other end lies Gillian in a silk robe, smoking a long cigarette. Seeing Spike, she waves him over eagerly. As he walks past a naked woman dangling from her bound wrists, he pauses and takes brief notice of a small scar north of where her pubic hair would be, if she hadn’t waxed herself bare. A man standing behind the woman clears his throat as a hint for Spike to get out of the way. He nods to the man and moves forward, hopping onto the bed next to Gillian.
“You smell all clean and sparkly. Had a good night?” Gillian asks playfully.
“Not bad,” Spike smirks, adding, “Which one’s free for a nibble? I’m starving.”
“Not that good, then” Gillian responds.
“Depends on your perspective,” he says, taking a quick drag from her cigarette.
“The dom is the freshest, but if you’d prefer a woman…”
“He’ll do.” Spike hops up eagerly.
“Oh, wait until they’re finished,” Gillian pouts, indicating the couple having sex.
“It’s like Animal Planet in here,” Spike observes looking around.
“You missed most of it – we had another dozen earlier.”
“A typical Thursday, then.”
“You used to have fun with me,” she pouts, detecting his disparaging tone.
“Did I?”
“You most certainly did. Don’t you remember?” As she says this, she waves her hand in a twirly sort of way that causes Spike to freeze for a split second.
“It’s not like I mind. You can do what you like. It’s just a bit boring, is all,” he remarks.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do,” she offers, exasperated.
“When I decide, you’ll be the first to know.” He pauses a moment and then adds, “Looks like they’re done. Time for my snack.”
“Spike, you made me miss the best part!” She whines, albeit playfully.
He just shrugs and heads toward the other group.
**
The next night, Spike is walking with purpose toward the doors of a club. He stops a few steps back and checks a piece of paper in his hand. He takes a last drag of his cigarette, drops the butt and steps on in, then walks up to the door. He pulls it open to see a bouncer seated in the vestibule. The bouncer looks at him expectantly after nodding toward a sign on a little stand that reads, “Meet the Authors: $20 cover.” Spike fishes in the pocket of his coat and pulls out a small printed ticket. The bouncer takes it and waves him through.
He is visibly surprised by how crowded the room is. A band is setting up on a small stage to the side. He goes straight up to the bar and orders a drink. He hears snippets of conversation around him,
“Are they all going to be here?” “Are they signing iPads?” “Someone said Smasher is hot.” “He hooks up with everyone, seriously.” “Which ones are gay again?”
Just fifteen hours ago, he had woken up after a glorious night of carnal bliss with just enough time to have a quick shower and slip back to the house before daybreak. Peia was out flat when he slipped out from under her arm. A few minutes later, showered and dressed, he decided to wake her before leaving – seemed the proper thing to do, anyway.
“It’s almost daylight, so I’ve got to dash. See you at the house later?”
Bleary eyed, she had smiled and murmured a quick “sure”, rolling over onto her back.
Spike took the opportunity to slide a hand over one of her breasts to cop one more feel before leaving.
“Or I could just come back here at sunset…” Spike suggests, not ready to take his hand away from her body.
“That could work,” she responds, putting her hand over his. But after a second, she thinks of something.
“Crap! I just remembered. I’ve got a thing tonight.”
“A thing?”
“It’s a board meeting for my writers’ co-op. And then a ‘fan-mingle’ fundraiser. It’s going to be a long night.”
“So tell them you’re sick and have to stay in bed. It’s partly true. I’m happy to write a note.”
“I have to go. It’s my day job.”
“This isn’t some sort of post-shag brush-off is it? You’ve used me for your pleasure and now….” he pontificates playfully before she interrupts.
“You could come if you want. I guess. We’ve got a band lined up. They’re not bad.”
“Sounds alright. Free drinks?”
“Sorry, cash bar. But I have a ticket for you. Hang on.” She squirms around to find her wallet on the table by the bed – Spike pulls at the sheet to uncover her torso as she leans over. She hands him the ticket.
“Time?”
“Anytime after 9 is good. I’ll need to put in a couple of hours at the mixer and then we can go.”
“Kind of like a date.”
“Kind of. Except that I’ll have to talk to some other people, too.”
*
Back at the bar, Spike scans the room. A real mix of people – geeks, dorks, alt/punks, gay men, lesbians (probably), even a goth or two; all in various clumps looking a vague mixture of embarrassed and excited. For fun, he slides up next to a group of women chatting at a table near the bar.
“Danys is the best writer, for sure.”
“But she’s so dramatic. Very Anne Rice.”
“The language is beautiful. I’d love to be able to write like that.”
“Jorel does the best monsters. I don’t know where he comes up with that shit. It’s a little fucked up. But awesome.”
“Most importantly, who writes the best smut?”
“That’s a tough one. I think Sierra is the most, uh, imaginative?”
“Totally. Not really sure it’s all actually possible. Or pleasurable. But definitely creative.”
“Thrace is good with aliens. Have you read the Order of Acous trilogy? The first book is crazy hot.”
“Peia is the most real. Like you can imagine it actually happening.”
“Do you think she writes from experience? Or does she just have a dirty mind?”
“Can’t be all experience. She writes a lot of slash.”’
“But she could totally be bi. I even heard someone say she’s gay.”’
“She doesn’t actually have a penis, so I don’t think she could have experienced male/male gay sex.”
“We don’t know she doesn’t have a penis.”
“She never hooks up.”
“Maybe she’s a dog.”
“Don’t be mean, Heather.”
“You said she might have a penis.”
Just then, there is a commotion at the back of the bar. Lots of murmuring. The writers are coming out of the board meeting. They each pick up a name tag, which has a picture of their official avatar on it. He spies Peia (who he knows only as Jen) and reads her nametag.
For yucks, Spike decides to intervene in the girls’ conversation. He leans toward them and says, “She does not have a penis, she is not gay, could be bi, I suppose, and though her mind may be a bit dirty, I would gander experience plays a larger role.”
“What makes you so sure?” Heather replies with a hefty does of attitude.
“Had her last night. She knows her way around a cock, that’s for sure.”
The girls are gobsmacked and say nothing. He takes a swig of his beer and walks away from the table with a quick farewell nod, “Ladies.”
Spike is pleased to see her face relax into a sincere smile when she sees him – she looked tense and uncomfortable before as she walked into the room.
“Sorry that took so long. Always lots of bickering and egos at these meetings – takes fucking forever for everyone to settle,” Peia says as Spike approaches.
“No worries. It’s been a bit of a tickle listening to your fans.”
“I’m afraid I have to mingle and sign some things. The band is going to start in a minute if you want to grab another drink.”
Some time passes, she mingles, he watches. After a while, she finds him and they find a corner away from the masses.
“You know there is another vampire here,” Spike observes with mild interest.
“No. Who?” Peia scans the room.
“That bird over there. She’s barely taken her eyes off you. Would make me jealous if I were that sort.”
“How do you know? Is it like gay-dar for vampires. Vamp-dar?”
“I guess. But I don’t think ‘vamp-dar’ is going to catch on as a thing. Kind of misses the whole….”
“Okay, okay,” she interrupts, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I wonder why she’s here.”
“She’s an old one, I’d bet. Watch how she moves.”
Peia turns to look. She can’t see anything obviously different about her. She didn’t even know Gillian and Spike were vampires when she first started working for them. She just shakes her head. Although the woman does look a bit familiar. Had she seen her before?
After a while, they sneak away from the club to have their own fun….
**
[Author’s Note: Again, I am abbreviating the next couple of scenes. I may return to them, but for now, I feel it is important to move the story forward.]
From that point on, Peia and Spike spent nearly every night together in some form or another until the time when Peia had to leave town unexpectedly. The night of her return was the night that would change things forever. After Peia had agreed to go away with him, after she had loaded him unconscious into the hatch of her little car and drove off, she went to the only place she could think of that was far away, isolated and familiar. It was a place she hadn’t been back to in decades – did it still exist? She drove the rest of the night and all the next day and into the next night as well. Finally, at dusk of the second day she pulled into the town she once new — Highlands, North Carolina in the heart of the Nantahala National Forest. She had used some of the tricks she had learned watching re-runs of Veronica Mars – disposable cell phones, untraceable bank cards, etc. etc, all under the assumption that they were running for the police. Ha! Once she learned that they were running from Gillian, she felt foolish. Would any of that make a difference? Spike recovered rather quickly the further away they were from Gillian – it was never clear whether it was a poison that wore off or a spell that weakened with distance. Either way, once Spike had fed, he was nearly back to full strength. Gillian found them the next day. She brought henchmen and one of them had stabbed Peia in the heart, apparently killing he instantly. After that, Gillian and Spike had argued and fought for hours. Then, unexpectedly to both of them, Peia woke up. The surprise was all they needed and they were able to get the jump on Gillian and the boys and escape.
They had traveled around the South, stayed for a time in New Orleans before heading to Shreveport. What followed could be considered either a bump in the road or a life changing chain of events, depending on your perspective. Regardless, the details have already been covered. After Peia had threatened Eric at Charlie’s Diner, she and Spike traveled the old route 66 and ended up in California after a few weeks of meandering. They found a town north of LA that seemed newly rebuilt, but which had a familiar feel to it, or so Spike had observed the day they drove in. Something about this place had seemed to give Spike sparks of memory, so they made the decision to let themselves settle in a bit. They rented a hotel room by the week and spent some time walking the streets, exploring. All the buildings seemed to have been built at roughly the same time about 15 years ago after some sort of natural disaster – people were vague on the details.
While Spike rested during the days, Peia decided to do some research. She was happy to stumble on an ad in a newspaper for a magic shop – something called the Magic Box II. She was getting more comfortable with the idea that a spell was keeping Spike’s memories from him and so a spell was just the thing to give them back.
The first time she went into the shop, she felt out of place and unsure. She recalled, vaguely, a friend she had back in college who had been a Wiccan. He was always going on about spells and tarot cards, but she never took it very seriously. But this shop seemed very serious and now she felt her ignorance deeply. So she browsed for a while, avoiding eye contact with the employees who would undoubtedly ask her if she needed any help. She found the books in the back. A staggering set of shelves filled to the brim. After a few minutes spent reading titles, she must have let out an audible sigh because in a moment, a woman appeared behind her offering her assistance.
“Can I help you find something? You look lost,” the woman commented with friendly compassion. She fit the character of the shop exactly – red hair, bright clothes, an air of flower child. She looked to be in her early 40s.
“Maybe. I’m looking for information on memory spells,” Peia heard herself ask rather timidly.
A fleeting frown crossed the woman’s face. Perhaps a look of concern.
“Ah. Memory. Complicated stuff. Easy to get yourself in trouble…,” the woman responds with a cautionary tone.
“Oh, I’m not going to try to do any spells. Just looking for information. I’m a writer.” Peia blurts, instinctively lying.
“Phew. Fantastic. It’s just, kids come in here all the time wanting to erase something or other from their parent’s memory or their girlfriend’s… you know. Its not the kind of magic to be used on frivolous things.”
“Sure. Brains and all. I would imagine there could be consequences.”
“I mean, an experienced witch wouldn’t cause any damage, but I’ve seen some of these things go wrong…”
“Yeah. Well, I am mostly just interested in what is possible. So maybe a book that covers the types of spells and what they can do?”
The woman walks over to the shelves and pulls out a large volume.
“You can start with this. Feel free to browse through it – these are reference books anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“My name’s Willow if you need anything else. We’ve got an herbal tea section over by the pickled stuff.”
“Great.”
**
Peia decides not to mention the shop or the book to Spike that night. The information in the book was overwhelming and she felt like she has just scratched the surface. She’s not even sure what she is looking for, really. Perhaps just some indication that what has been done to Spike could be undone. She decides to do a bit more reading and then approach that shop owner who had been helpful. Maybe there are witches you can just hire to undo spells.
Later that night, after the two of them had been walking the streets and chatting for a while, Spike suggests going into a bar they had just passed. They walk in and find a small table away from the “live music”. Scanning the bar as they chat, Peia notices a group of women gathered near a cluster of comfy chairs at the other end of the bar. A private party with black balloons and “over the hill” banners. The waitress has just brought them a tray of full shot glasses. There is something familiar about one of the women. After a moment, she realizes it is the redhead from the Magic shop.
“Girls night out, I expect,” Spike says, noticing the direction of her stare.
Peia nods. “Husbands are home looking after the kids, for sure. Look how tired the blonde looks.”
“I reckon it’s her birthday. Forty by the look of her.”
“Speaking of birthdays, when is yours?”
“I couldn’t tell ya’. Lets say…tonight.”
“Alright. Shots it is. I’ll give you your present later.”
“Or maybe in the alley out back?”
“We’ll see. Lets start with those shots.”
Spike nods and Peia heads over to the bar to put in the order. He finds his gaze drawn to the blonde birthday girl for some reason….
*
Over in the private party area…
“How can I be 40? Seriously?” Buffy whines.
“You don’t look a day over 39.”
“..says the woman who can magic away her wrinkles at any time.”
“Do I look like I magic away my wrinkles?”
“I need some water.”
“I’ll go.”
“No, I could use the walk to the bar and back. Help keep me awake.”
“Is the party that dull? I tried!”
“No. No, it’s great. You cannot begin to imagine the crazy amount of tired that comes with parenting two 4-year olds. Fireworks couldn’t stop the yawning.”
“Ok, but do a shot before you go.”
“Fine.”
She downs a shot, then gets up and heads toward the bar. She asks the bartender for a glass of water, then turns to leave once he hands it to her. As she is passing by a table, she hears a familiar voice say,
“Happy Birthday.”
She turns quickly toward the voice and as her eyes settle on their source, she feels her body stiffen and the glass slip out of her hand. She manages to grab it before it hits the floor and with eyes wide, she rushes back toward her friends without saying a word. She immediately pulls Willow aside,
“There is a guy near the bar who looks…and sounds… exactly like Spike.”
“That’s not possible. He died. Twice. Well, three times if you count when he was turned into a vampire…but twice recently.”
“Willow. It was him. Go see.”
“Why should I go?”
“Because. Well. Because. [in a meek voice] Because it’s my birthday?”
“Fine. Where?”
Without turning to look, Buffy points in the general direction, “that way.”
Willow frowns and starts walking. In a minute, she sees who Buffy must have been talking about. He is sitting with a vaguely familiar looking woman, chatting and laughing. She holds back, listening. “Could be him, I guess,” she thinks to herself. She decides to be direct. She walks up to the table and when Spike and Peia stop talking to look at her, she speaks.
“Do you know me?”
“What?” Spike says, surprised.
“Do I look familiar to you in any way?”
“Should you?”
“I asked you first.”
“You work at the magic store,” Peia decides to respond, desperate for the awkwardness to be over.
Willow turns to Peia and her eyes flicker with recognition.
“Oh, yeah, you were there today. How did you like the tea?”
“It was very floral.”
“That’s what we were going for.”
“Then you succeeded.”
Willow turns back to Spike.
“So you definitely don’t know me.”
“What’s this all about, then?” Spike asks a bit more seriously.
“It’s just my friend thought you were someone we used to know. But that would be impossible. Still, you do look like him. And sound like him… totally just a coincidence. Probably early-onset dementia. Or the tequila talking. Which actually makes a lot more sense. I’m just going to go now…Sorry to bother you. Enjoy your evening. You crazy kids.”
Her eyes widen and she quickly turns to go with a little wave. She tries to look casual as she walks back toward Buffy.
“Is it him?” Buffy asks in a panicky voice when she is within earshot.
“Totally him. But he doesn’t know me.”
“How could he not know you?”
“Yeah, right? We were like, totally close. He even tried to bite me once.”
“Now is not the time to be offended. Maybe it really isn’t him. I mean, we could both be wrong.”
“We’re not wrong. It’s him. That woman he is with – she was in the Magic Box today asking about memory spells.”
“He’s with a woman?”
“Focus, Buffy. Maybe she wiped his memory somehow? There’s no way she could learn to do something like that in a couple of hours. Could she?”
“Did she buy anything? Maybe we could track her down. Ask her some questions.”
“I’ll look tomorrow when I get in. Promise.”
“Okay.”
Buffy takes a deep breath and turns to take another look.
“They’re gone,” She observes, surprised.
“Good. Back to the party?”
Buffy gives her patented ‘wide-eyed freaked-out’ look.
**
TBC…
[Author’s Note: Ok so the Spike flashbacks are going to have to span one more chapter….]
- 16
- 17
- 18
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That's Not My Name