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The 'Dido' Project (Choose your own ship)
Author: spikeNdru, Summer 2005Rating: PG-13
Summary: Interactive fic in which you get to choose the ship you want to read about. Written for Summer of Spike.
Note: Many thanks to makd for the beta, and to sixteenth_time for giving me permission to use her Spike/Xander icon.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox. They are not mine (alas!) I'm just borrowing them.
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It was the first time he had been back to the States since The Battle in the Alley. That's how he thought of it now — The Battle in the Alley. Capitalized, to give it an importance greater than the other battles he'd fought. Funny; he never thought of Buffy's fight as 'The Battle in the Hellmouth'. He wondered why that was. Maybe because he didn't see it as a battle as much as a sacrifice. He'd had no idea what the amulet would do . . . if anything. When he discovered its purpose, he was glad to make the sacrifice—to maybe begin to atone for a century of murder and mayhem.
But then he'd been brought back. He'd figured he was living on borrowed time . . . had been ever since Dru sired him, but the year in LA had brought it home to him. There's death, glory and sod all else. He'd said that to Buffy once. So, of course he was the first to take on the role of Sancho Panza to Angel's Don Quixote.
He was sure he'd die for good sometime during The Battle in the Alley. Die for good—multiple meanings to that phrase, yeah? But, once more, he'd managed to cheat death, and he didn't have a bloody clue how that had come about. He must have been knocked unconscious at some point, which probably saved his life when he'd been mistaken for dead. Or, deader, in any event. When he came to, he was alone in the alley. Everyone else had . . . disappeared. Demon hordes, Angel, Illyria, Gunn . . . all gone, as if they were plucked out of this existence. Could have been a soddin' alien abduction, for all he knew!
He'd made his way back to the Wolfram and Hart building to discover it in ruins. The entire building had caved in, but three of the cars had escaped pulverization. He took one and started driving. Wasn't much else he could do. He'd driven south into Mexico; the W&H credit card he'd found in the glove box still apparently functional.
Over the years, he'd drifted further south, finally arriving in Tierra del Fuego. Staring at the ocean, he knew he didn't belong here. The trouble was, he was no longer sure exactly where he did belong. He had spent the majority of his unlife glomping onto someone else's goals. First Dru, then Buffy, finally Angel. He wasn't a Captain, but he made a damn fine First Officer.
So, now he had a choice. He could continue to drift aimlessly for the next however-many years, or he could find a cause he believed in and actively work for it. Spike turned his back on the ocean-at-the-end-of-the-world and began to make his way north.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The shadows in the parking lot were lengthening as Spike parted the blinds to look out the window of the cheap Texas motel room. He played with the International calling card, threading it back and forth through his fingers. He'd bought the card, along with a 6-pack of beer and a pack of Marlboros at the convenience store near the motel.
Choose to continue with:
Spike calls Giles. (Spike/Buffy)
Spike doesn't call. Spike goes West. (Spike/Angel)
Spike doesn't call. Spike goes East. (Spike/Xander)
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