And Lethe's Fetters Break
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Spike stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard Anya talking in the living room.
“….Won’t be a minute… needed a bath… change of… well actually he wasn’t wearing any…”
He sat down and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again he’d remember Anya. That he’d remember the other people in the photos and what they meant to him. That he’d remember who he was and what had happened to him.
“Did he remember anything?”
That was the redhead. Wendy, Winifred… No, no. More peculiar than that. Willow. That was it. Spike shrugged. ‘Could be worse,’ he thought. ‘She could be called…’
“Buffy? Are you ok?”
Buffy? Was that a real name? Surely, even in California no one could name their child Buffy. He waited for Buffy to answer Anya’s question but the minutes ticked by and no one spoke. An uneasy silence had fallen over the house.
Spike took a deep breath and tried to calm down, mentally preparing himself for what he would have to endure downstairs. He knew that Anya and Willow were only trying to help, but their eyes followed every moved he made, begging him to recognize them and be who he was before. The silent pleading had made him so uncomfortable that he had jumped at Anya’s suggestion that he wash and change. But that had been over and hour ago.
“Is he ok?”
Spike’s eyes snapped open at the softly spoken words. The voice pulled at something within him, and though he didn’t remember who that voice belonged to or why it was significant, he did realize that whoever was speaking was important to him.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go down there and meet someone else who was waiting for him to remember them. He needed to find some space away from these people who claimed to know him. He needed to get away.
****
Buffy sat in Anya’s spacious living room as though awaiting an executioner. She tuned out her friends’ nervous chatter as she waited for her former lover. She barely moved, save for the anxious glances at the door and the unconscious twisting of the diamond engagement ring that adorned her left hand. As the minutes passed she itched to take it off and slip it out of sight.
They sat for fifteen minutes. Anya and Willow slowly quieted until the three were left in silence; all shooting subtle looks in the direction of the staircase.
“I need some fresh air,” Buffy announced when the silence became too much for her. “I’ll be out back. Just call me when he comes down.”
The Slayer hurried out of the room and down the corridor to the back door. She stepped outside, and all but fell onto the swing on the back porch. Eyes closed, she took several deep breaths and lowered her head to her knees.
She couldn’t do it. There was no way she could go through with it. How could she pretend that they were friends when they had never gotten that far? How could she hide the fact that they had been lovers when every move she made or look she gave him would proclaim their level of intimacy? How could she explain her impending marriage, knowing that at any minute he could remember the truth and break his heart all over again?
And yet, she wanted to see him, to touch him, to hear his voice. She wanted to tell him what he had missed, help him regain what he had lost. She ached to make things right between them, even though she knew that they never could be.
She sat up and opened her eyes, blinking against the sun. She heard a sound to her left and turned sharply towards it, raising her hand to shield her eyes, so that she could see clearly.
“Spike?”
****
Spike wandered slowly around Anya’s back yard, trying his best not to think. It was more difficult than he expected. How was it possible that he could simply forget everything about himself? And where was his family? Did he have family? He was English apparently. Were his family in England? Did they know where he had been? Would they come when Anya or Willow called and told them he was alive?
Anya didn’t even know his last name. They couldn’t be that close to him if they didn’t even know basic facts about him. But they seemed close. Willow had run to him immediately upon seeing him, implying a familiar relationship. None of it made sense.
The back door opened and Spike turned to see a small blonde woman step from the house and sit down on the porch swing. It was the girl from the wedding photos. The one with the sad eyes that had affected him so much. Buffy, he assumed. Her hair was longer than it had been in the picture, but it was loosely tied back from her face. She was wearing grey trousers and a long-sleeved red shirt, which looked a little big for her. She looked tired and somehow he knew that her eyes would be no happier or alive today than they had been the day those photographs had been taken.
He started towards her without realising it, as though she were pulling him to her. He watched her intently as she curled her body up, as though she needed to protect herself. He walked slowly across the garden to the porch steps, unsure even as he reached them, of what he was going to say.
He winced as the first step creaked when he put his weight on it, drawing Buffy’s attention to him immediately. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as he climbed the rest of the steps and their eyes met as he moved into the shade.
“Spike?”
****
“Hi.”
Buffy smiled sadly in reply to his greeting, as she realised there was no spark of awareness in his eyes. It was silly of her, she thought, to imagine that she would be the trigger that would give Spike back his memory. Why would she, when she had been the cause of so many painful memories herself?
“Are you ok?” he asked stepping closer to her, his head tilted slightly to one side in concern. A familiar gesture that brought another smile, happier this time as she took in his appearance. She couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d been gone five years and the image he’d left her with seemed to sharpen in her mind. She had no photographs of him to refer to, no sketches or drawings, even of William that she could take out if she found her memories fading. So she had clung desperately to the image of him in her mind, sometimes strong and arrogant and deadly, other times gentle and loving. Always hers.
But now here he was, standing before her, and she could see the changes time had brought. His hair was longer and darker, and had started to curl slightly. His eyes were brighter than she remembered but held none of the passion they once had. He looked scared and confused.
“I’m fine. How are you?” She winced at the foolishness of her question, but Spike simply smiled at her and sat down next to her on the swing.
“Well I have amnesia. Other than that I’m fine.”
Buffy chuckled softly. “Good. I’m glad.”
They sat silently for a moment, looking out over the garden as they adjusted to being in each other’s company.
“Who are you?”
Buffy started at the question and turned sharply to face Spike. He was looking at her thoughtfully, as though willing himself to remember. She looked determinedly into his eyes.
“Buffy Summers.”
Spike grinned widely at that and Buffy found herself smiling in return. “And do we know each other well Buffy Summers?”
He frowned at the look of panic that crossed her face and watched her, concerned, as she turned hurriedly away. “We were friends once.”
“Only once?”