Scarlet Lion

Introduction: Running Away

Spike took a long drag on his cigarette before flicking it carelessly into the street. Around midnight was always the best time to go strolling down the alleyways of London. Nobody around but for a cat here or there, and solitude was a thing he was very grateful for. Being around people was too painful right now. In every pretty girl there was a small piece that reminded him of her. Any of them that had dusty blond hair, or eyes the color of the sea, or who happened to smile in that genuine way that made his long-since-dead heart throb... It was all too much.

So he fled.

He left Sunnydale in search of a way to get that sodding chip out of his head, but only managed to get his soul back. His SOUL for God's sake! He didn't want his bleedin' soul, and he didn't want the chip, and he wanted to forget her!

His chest constricted painfully as her image swam to the surface of his thoughts, ever present even here in London. A place that was supposed to help him forget, but only succeeded in doing the exact opposite.

He didn't even like London. It was smoggy, congested, and constantly smelled of cat piss. Also, it reminded him of whom he once was. Before he met Dru, before he had ever heard of the Slayer, before he met... Buffy.

The blond vamp growled loudly in exasperation, banging his head violently on the nearest brick wall he could find. Maybe he could beat the memories out of himself.

Stars exploded behind his eyes and he staggered backwards, tripping over some rubbage bins and tumbling head over heals into a pile of empty boxes.

He just lay there for a while, with memories both old and new bombarding the inside of his skull and beating him into submission.

"You know, sir, tears aren't very becoming to the undead," someone said from the shadows.

Spike's head snapped up, despite the sharp pain in his temples, and his eyes narrowed in recognition. "You. What do you want?"

"Now, William, I'm just here to ask for your help."

"Boy, have you got the wrong number," Spike replied without any humor as he got out a new cigarette and lit it in his cupped hand. "I left that world long before I was a vamp and I never intend to go back. You should bloody well know that by now."

"I thought as much. But tell me, where do you plan to go? Will Drusilla take you back in? I heard she was in town."

Spike barred his teeth. "Never mention that bitch's name again."

"Fine, fine. Then how about Angelus? Oh, silly me. He's going by Angel now, isn't he? Got his soul back, I heard."

Spike just snorted.

"No? How about Buffy?"

Spike was on his feet in a flash, face becoming disfigured and crude fangs glinting in the dim light from a near by lamp post.

"Who asked you?" he growled, grabbing the front of the man's clothing.

"Just a question, William. No harm meant."

"I'll bet."

"But do you see my point now? You have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I'm asking you, as one professional to another, at least hear me out."

"Fine. Shoot."

"I have a pupil at my school who has had an... ah... interesting life thus far, and I'm finding all the help I can to protect him. Last year he suffered the terrible loss of his godfather at the hands of Voldemort, and I want to sign you on as a... how shall I say... inconspicuous bodyguard. Of course, we'd provide a cover story to keep you out of the lime light."

"Voldemort, eh? I'm surprised that poof can still lift a wand after what happened. Found a way of coming back, did he?"

"Unfortunately so. And as you sided with him for a time, but found him to your distaste, I thought you would be a good man for the job."

"Look, gramps, no offense or anything, but I don't see what's in it for me."

"I'll pay you," Dumbledore replied.

"Deal."