Taking the Initiative: Why we drink
by bob_obo
She was surrounded by darkness. At first she tried to fight it. She pushed back, tearing and struggling against the shapeless force that assailed her. She felt pain wracking her body. She convulsed as ice seemed to burn through her, searing punishment for her futile resistance. She forced it back, battling the pain that threatened to overwhelm her, and the cloying shadow that promised relief.
It seemed like she had spent an eternity fighting back, as if time had no meaning, pushing away from the groping tendrils that insidiously sought to consume her. But piece by piece, her will was eroded, until finally she felt the last fragile glimmer overwhelmed like a candle in a monsoon.
Then, she was enveloped by it, it gently smothered and embraced her body. She felt it flow over her, and through her, entwining itself inexorably with her soul. Unconsciously she responded, loosing herself in the numbing caress of its touch. She bathed in the inky darkness, willingly acquiesced herself to the blissful sense off oblivion. There was no room for thought here, for fear, for pain or regret. Simple surrender allowed her finally some small measure of peace, and her exhausted spirit gave no more than a final flicker of protest before yielding completely.
She lost herself in the darkness, reveled in it. Without emotion, she realised that she could no longer tell the darkness apart from herself.
She felt in before she saw it. Her body turned, with no more conscious will than a flower turns to meet the sun.
She saw the light. Barely visible, barely more than a flicker of gray in the unending shadow. But to her it seemed blinding.
Unconsciously, she pulled towards it, and felt the black tug back at her, refusing to allow her to escape. She struggled, and a wave of pain rippled through her in warning.
The light flickered, and was gone.
No! She wasn't sure if she screamed aloud or just in her mind, or indeed if there was any longer a difference. Desperately, she tore at the shadows that shackled her, struggling to glimpse the shimmer of colour that she had almost forgotten existed. But she saw nothing but the endless, shapeless void.
With strength born of desperate fury, she ripped herself free. She felt pain so great that it robbed her of conscious thought, and her ears were filled with a screech of agony and frustration.
She stumbled and dropped to her knees, feeling the murky presence around her pulsate, flexing as if to contemptuously crush the insignificant creature that thought to defy it.
Then, she saw it again. Little more than a suggestion of a texture that here seemed out of place and beautiful.
She crawled towards it, barely feeling as the vengeful darkness solidified into cruel barbs of manifest agony, lashing down at her.
She crawled, her eyes fixed on the glowing pinprick of light. She barely felt the darkness as it tore into her body again and again, its limbs tearing bloody chunks of flesh from her body, wailing to rage and desperation at how little that meant here.
The light grew brighter and brighter, and what remained of the pain diminished, replaced by a dull ache that spoke more of exhaustion than physical injury. She glanced down, marveling at the sight of pale, unmarred skin.
Then, the light seemed to surround her. Still, she felt a strange sense of loss as thought and feeling were overwhelmed.

She blinked. The white light that filled her mind faded to a dull gray. The peered out hazily.
She was on a bed. She tried to move, and gave up on that idea. She felt about a hundred, her limbs refused to obey her, acknowledging the command with leaden jolts of pain in response to her effort. Her eyes focused on the form that she hazily saw hunched over her, looking at her with concern. She blinked stupidly in an vain attempt to clear her vision and her mind.
“Buffy?” the blurred figure spoke.
She made a supreme effort to focus, and somehow pushed through the suffocating fog that buffeted her mind. She blearily looked up at a familiar figure.
“Its me, Riley. How do you feel?” Riley knelt down by her bed, catching her hand, dwarfed by his. His eyes were filled with concern which helped to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
Oblivious to her turmoil, Riley continued oblivious. “Buffy. Its Ok, I'm here. Its Me, Riley. You're Ok.”
Finally, Buffy forced herself to speak, a cracked little whisper that somehow slipped through her exhaustion and terror to vocalise itself.
“Riley? Who -?”
Riley smiled, obviously relieved to receive a response, any response.
“Its Ok. Its me. Riley.” He repeated.
She shook her head, slightly more emphatically as weakness was dispersed from her body but seemed to invade her mind. “No.” she silenced him with her next words. “Who am I?”

Spike gazed unseeingly at the remains of his beer. This was the fifth he'd drained, without taste or appreciation. Not even alcohol had been enough to draw him out of the depression he'd wallowed in for three weeks.
Three weeks. Three weeks since he'd done his part for 'the team'. Three weeks since he'd almost gotten himself killed for Buffy and her pathetic band of misfits. And what had he gotten in return? Not a bleeding thing. They hadn't even bothered to apprise him of whether her wanker boyfriend had been able to get her the cure.
He'd expected her to be back to her usual, sickeningly healthy self within days, and he could get back to making her life hell – more importantly back to his plans to get a certain chip out of his head. Instead, nothing.
Or, not quite nothing. Trying not to question his own motivation too deeply, he'd repeatedly found himself gravitating towards the Summers residence, where she had been relinquished to her mother and sisters care and ministrations. While convincing himself he didn't care, he'd casually glanced in from time to time. Whenever he just happened to be passing between his crypt and... other places.
In three weeks, she hadn't left the house once.
So tonight, he'd forced himself to break his vigil. Instead he'd come here, to the bronze. With Mira.
Mira. He seized on the tangent to pull his mind away from his slayer fixation. After her injuries had healed, he couldn't fathom why she'd stayed with him. After all, if it wasn't for his chip, he'd be half way round the globe by now, far far from the initiative she was still clarly terrified of. Still, Spike wasn't complaining. She was a good shag. Better than Harmony had been, especially as she didn't feel the urge to yap away every minute of the night. Actually, she hardly said a word. There was something slightly odd about her though, slightly not all there. In a strange way, she reminded him of Drusilla.
He sensed someone standing over him. He looked up to see a face smiling slightly at him.
He opened his mouth. Sound failed to emerge. He closed his mouth and swept to his feet, scowling at the girl to cover his astonishment.
“Buffy,” he managed, “Fancy seeing you here?”
Buffy looked at him in mock confusion. “Do I know you?”
His scowl became more natural and he clenched his fists unconsciously. “Do you know me? Well thats bloody rich, innit! A thank you might be in order but I wouldn't expect miracles.”
She looked at him in seemingly genuine confusion. “I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't know what I'm talking about!” Spike parroted her words in fury, prancing in an incensed half circle. “You spiteful, ungrateful little... bitch! I should just - “
A hand grasped his shoulder and spun him round. His self control, always tenuous at best, snapped completely and he lashed out blindly.
The moment his fist struck home, his head burst into a searing, white hot agony that drove all else from his mind. He stumbled, clutching his head, feeling his knees buckling. Gradually the pain receded, and he lifted his pounding head just in time to see a fist slam into his nose.
Although not hard, the blow caught him unprepared and still unbalanced from the chips vengeance. He unceremoniously fell backwards.
He looked up warily, trying to hide the undulating waves of agony that still washed through his head. Oh bollocks. I just got knocked on my arse by Xander. The humiliating realization made the pain feel inconsequential.
“Get away from her, Spike!” Xander yelled pointlessly.
Spike pulled himself to his feet. People around them had turned to watch their antics. Ignoring the attention, he focused on the irritating little git a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered to kill.
Big mistake, always kill the irritating ones first. If he had a motto, he'd change it to that right now.
“Piss off, Harris.” he snarled. “We're just talking. “ he paused, “Not like she can't protect herself if I try anything more...” he leered suggestively at Buffy.
Xander threw another furious punch. This one Spike blocked disdainfully. He aimed a blow at Xander, pulling the punch a moment before the startled boy leaped back.
“I said leave her alone!” Xander screamed.
Spike shrugged, “Whats up with you? Not like she's forgotten she's the slayer and gone all weak and helpless again -” he stopped, seeing the expression Xander struggled futilely to hide. He looked at Buffy, seeing for the first time the foreign expression on her face. The confused, timid frightened look of a poor defenseless little girl.
He couldn't quite help the smirk that took control of his features. “Well now.” he carefully rearranged his expression to an insinuating smile. “Buffy, love. I'm Spike. Dunno what this tosser told you, but I'm the guy who saved your life.” he sidled closer to her, ignoring Xanders outraged crys.
Buffy looked at him bewildered, “Really? Well, thank you I gue -”
“Spike.” another voice broke in.
Spike turned, and grinned friendlily at the newcomer.
“Willow! Hi. Buffy was just telling me how grateful she is for my help.” He turned his grin back on Buffy, “Later, I'm hoping she'll show me how grateful she is...”
“I don't think so.” Willow said coldly.
Spike focused his attention on her, forcing aside the last of the chip pain and the beer haze. Something in her voice indicated a hidden threat, something beyond the nervous little bookworm exterior. Since when had Miss Pink and Fluffy became scary?
“So, whats wrong with the slayer? This time.” he couldn't help adding.
“The poison the initiative infected Buffy with caused her to loose her memory. We don't know if its permanent yet.” pain and worry softened the girls tone. “We were hoping that a familiar environment...”
“Familiar environment? Right.” Spike turned back to Buffy. “Oi, slayer! Remember me?”
With that, he punched her square in the face.
Buffy stumbled back in pain and shock while Xander roughly pulled Spike away.
Willow screamed in fury and pounded innefectually on the bemused vampire.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she screamed.
“Whats wrong with him? I don't think we've got time for the full list. In short – he's Spike!” Xander retorted angrily.
Spike shrugged, “Dunno about me. But I can tell you something about whats wrong with her.” he gestured towards the frightened girl hiding behind Xanders bulk.
He waited until he had their full attention, “No pain.” he tapped his skull, “seems the slayers not quite human anymore.”



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