San Francisco, in the year 2053.
"The nineties... that was my favorite time. I really loved that decade," Marcus told the lean, blond man.
His companion lifted one eyebrow dismissively. "Can't say I particularly fancied it, myself."
"Yet you come here quite often," Marcus' wave took in the bar with its retro decor, so reminiscent of the end of the last century.
"Whenever I'm in town," Spike said. "I move around quite a bit these days."
"No permanent base?" Marcus inquired.
"Actually, I do own a house....in a little town called Sunnydale. Do you know it?"
Marcus had been sipping his brandy appreciatively; but at the sound of that name, he nearly choked. "Sunnydale?! But that...that's where....my God, Spike!"
The blond smiled lazily. "You mean the Hellmouth; well, what of it? It's closed now...has been for over fifty years."
"Still," Marcus muttered. "But...I don't suppose you spend much time there, anyway..."
Spike said expressionlessly, "You'd be surprised."
Marcus said hastily, "I understand congratulations are in order!"
Already he was regretting the impulse that had moved him to invite Spike for a drink; he was wary of the other vampire's scarifying reputation for violence. But he had always had this rather pathetic weakness for celebrities; and William the Bloody was a legend in vampire circles.
Even though most of them preferred to admire him from a safe distance...
This thought upset Marcus...quickly he lifted his glass in a toast. "I hear you've accounted for another Slayer."
"Two weeks ago, in Montreal," Spike said indifferently. "Not much of a challenge...a poor fighter, inadequately trained. They taught them better in the old days. Now they rely too much on high-tech weaponry; if it fails, they're lost."
"How many does that make?" Marcus asked, with interest.
"Four."
Marcus shook his head in admiration. "No vampire has ever killed that many Slayers."
Spike shrugged. "It's not all that difficult, Marcus. Even Drusilla killed one once. You remember Dru?"
"Er, yes...." Marcus said, vaguely. "How is she?"
"Rather dusty," Spike said sarcastically. "She's been gone, oh, ten, twelve years now. But we went our separate ways long before that."
"You were together for some time though," Marcus remarked. It had amazed him that the relationship lasted as long as it had...Drusilla had been beautiful but obviously deranged. And Spike was considered something of a loner.
"So we were," Spike agreed amiably. "Too long, I often think. Still, it was originally because of her that I went to Sunnydale in the first place."
His attention was distracted; Marcus turned his head to see two lovely young women at a nearby table eyeing them with interest.
"Well," he grinned at Spike. "Shall we invite them over?"
"In good time," Spike said calmly.
Marcus felt a bit taken aback; he hadn't been serious. Spike seldom displayed an interest in eager females, no matter how attractive...Drusilla had been a rare exception, as far as Marcus knew. But perhaps he was simply hungry...
Marcus poured another glass of brandy. "Well...let's celebrate your victory! To the only vampire who fought four Slayers- and killed them all!"
Spike's face was impassive. "There were five."
"What?" Marcus blinked.
"I fought five Slayers," Spike explained, "and I killed four."
"Oh?" Marcus was curious. "I never knew that! What happened to the fifth?"
Spike stabbed out his cigarette. "She was the third, actually. Oh, she died young, the way they all do...but I didn't kill her. I heard she stopped a bullet for a werewolf."
Marcus choked with laughter. "A...werewolf? That's funny!"
"It happened when I was away. " Spike's blue eyes fastened on Marcus with a sudden intensity. "She was dead...before I could get there."
"Too bad you missed out..." the brandy was affecting him, Marcus decided. He should have fed first. "But...can't win 'em all, hey Spike?"
"As you say, Marcus."
It was at that moment that the two women approached them.
"May we join you? " the gorgeous brunette asked, confidently.
Spike gave her a dazzling smile. "Of course, ducks; Marcus was just hoping you would."
"Absolutely!" Marcus beamed.
Much later in the evening they wandered into Golden Gate Park, all- except Spike- laughing and complaining about too much to drink...
He killed the brunette by snapping her neck, eager to get her out of the way. The other girl he stunned before turning his attention to Marcus.
Marcus had one instant of pure shock, when he felt Spike's hand gripping his throat...then blood gushing out where his larynx had been...
Spike was laughing as he struck a match...and tossed it on Marcus' supine body. The vampire burst into flames ..."must be all that brandy," Spike chuckled. He took a single step back, his grin fading as he watched the fire burning.
He felt a savage satisfaction in having done for Marcus...who'd found her death...funny.
But Marcus was silenced now...he'd finished Marcus, just like he'd tracked and gutted that werewolf...like he'd drained that Watcher who hadn't been sufficiently watchful.
The girl was stirring now, whimpering a little...she opened her eyes; and he felt a tremor of disappointment because they were gray, not sea-blue.
But otherwise she was quite suitable for his purpose...small and blonde and beautiful. Spike lifted her gently, turning her away from the bodies. He smiled at her, and brushed back her tumbled hair.
"Hello, pet," he said softly. "Listen carefully..." he waited until the terrified girl nodded. "If you do exactly as I say, I won't kill you. Do you understand?"
She nodded again.
His hands stroked her face, her hair, her body. "Say my name...keep saying my name...."
He began to kiss her, moaning deep in his throat. She fastened her eyes on the star-filled patch of sky she could see beyond his shoulder. She was sick with fear; but she'd do what he said and then she would survive.
"Spike," she repeated obediently, when he told her his name.
"Spike," she murmured, with what passion she could muster...accepting his caresses as she accepted the weight of his body, and his voice calling her "love."
Calling her "darling."
Calling her "Buffy."