Doc's Office

Last time I was here, it was with Beth, Doc, and you were giving her an ultrasound. Remember? And I asked you to check out my eye, and a bullet wound to the shoulder that she patched up for me, and you said she'd done a fuck of a good job? Maybe it's the whole don't ask, don't tell thing they all have going, or maybe he's lost his mind but no one -- no one -- has mentioned Beth. He knows it wasn't just some dream: she's the most real thing he's ever known his whole short sorry life. When he closes his eyes he smells her -- the scent of her body, her soap, her shampoo -- like she's right here next to him but when he opens his eyes again she's not there. No dream was ever this cruel.

Swallowing hard, he stands and slides a finger between the slats of the venetian blinds in Doc's office, taking a look outside. They weren't followed: Shin made good on his word. When he turns around again Doc's just pulling that bullet out of Jet's thigh; Jet's voice is gruff but kind of weak.

"I don't know what's going on with the Red Dragons, but it's really not your problem now, right? Vicious... Julia... to me those names sound ominous, like a magic spell that unlocks an old door, a door that should stay closed."

Hey. Jet. Let's not talk about doors, it's a really sore subject right now. Jet's right, though. That door should stay closed. He's already been here. It shouldn't be happening again: how can he tell Jet this shit? It doesn't make sense to him, and he's not even the one all shot up. So he doesn't say a word, just lets Jet talk. Spike's eyes close again. Behind his lids, he's drawing pictures of Beth: her profile, her smile, the expanse of her belly, the way her fingertips flutter over the scars on his body.

It's not just some dream. If anything's the dream, it's this shit right now.

Jet talks when he's nervous, or when he's trying to cover up something he shouldn't be doing. Always has: runs off at the mouth, not something you want to see in a cop. He's at it again. "What are you gonna..."

Doc tries to get his patient to shut up with an impatient keep it still, please, but Jet's stubborn. He's determined. He's hurting, but he's talking through it. "You're not in the Syndicate any more, Spike."

If he only knew the whole story. "Yeah, I know." What Spike doesn't get is how come Jet doesn't remember Beth: not a word, not a mention. Or hell, maybe he does and it's just because of the guy code that no one's saying anything. Maybe it was a long time ago for Jet.

But it wasn't for Spike: he can practically taste her last kiss, heavy with vodka-infused chocolate, on his lips.

Fuck. The sounds of Jet telling Doc to forget they were ever here and Doc telling him all he's doing is feeding a couple of stray cats that wandered into his office fades to background noise, to nothing at all: Spike closes his eyes again.

Beth. Where are you? Where did you go? Can you hear me? Wherever you are, Slim, I'm sure as hell thinking about you. I'll get back there. If it's the last thing I do, I'll get back there and I hope like hell you do too. I'll meet you there. I'll be waiting for you there.

In his mind's eye, he can see her so damn clearly, that quirky crooked smile on her face, her full-of-hormones hair all bouncy and shit... but then she changes and the face he's looking at isn't Beth.

It's Julia: they're in her apartment... well, he's barely in, hovering by the door. "When this is over, I'm leaving the Syndicate."

Julia's voice was soft back then, not hard like after she died, back at the bar. "They'll kill you; you know how they work."

Three years ago. Maybe five, but at the moment he doesn't have the luxury of stopping to analyze time. "Let them say I'm dead. I'll be waiting at the graveyard. By the graves, not in one." It's what he wanted most out of any damn thing at all: the chance to be with her, away from the Syndicate. Away from Vicious.

"Spike, I can't come with you." There's a dangerous edge to her words; it's in the tone of her voice and the way her eyes won't meet his.

When he was young, he believed anything was possible. "Yes, you can. We'll leave here, we'll get out of this."

"And go where, and do what?"

That answer came so easy: "Live, be free. It'll be like watching a dream." The image fades and shimmers and... slips away. This time when he opens and closes his eyes, he doesn't see anything. Not a damn thing but blackness.

Beth. Don't leave me. Don't you leave me.

History's a real bitch. Especially when it repeats itself.