So, I started this...a year or more ago, and finally finished it this week.  It's unbeta-ed and rough, but it was something that was on my mind, and it's hard to find betas for fan fic that isn't Spuffy :p  So, here it goes!

Alternate s3

Spike goes back to California to die by the slayer's hands after Dru leaves him.  Except when he gets there, he doesn't find the slayer he was looking for...

“The Good Soldier” 

Look into my eyes. Be in me...

It had been three months since...

Since she had died.

Her pulse had been thin—threading out when the paramedics got to her. To the untrained eye, she did in fact appear dead.

She made it to the hospital, however—unconscious—and had been gone for just a matter of seconds before they hooked her up for the transfusion.   Yes, she had died.

But only for a moment.


When the world hadn't been plunged into the depths of Hell, she made her way to LA.   Post her life after death experience, she thought it best if the Council believed her to be permanently deceased, and that LA would be the perfect place to blend in and disappear. 

A place full of strangers, where no one belonged.

She found a job in a movie theatre, selling pop corn, movie snacks, tickets, among other things. While working there, she learned that she liked watching films.  She remembered her mother, taking her to one long ago before the Council came to collect her.  Kendra then truly realized the lack of life she'd had all this time. 

She liked to vicariously experience other lives beyond her own.  The fantasies in the movies were merely just that, but she preferred it over slaying.  Slaying had been the only life she'd ever really known...and it had been utterly miserable.  Only to end with her death in a war that wasn't even really her own to begin with.  For those reasons, she'd (un)officially retired, due to being considered dead to everyone that knew of her slayer status. 

She never before would she have ever imagined that a vampire would give her a new lease on life through death.  She couldn't put into words how happy she was by simply...being.  Her life was simple, maybe even boring.  But she was content.  Happy.  Alive.  No more vampires, demons, fights to the death, and no more stakes.

She wouldn't change a thing. 


A mighty change occurred on a Tuesday night. 

It was 12:17 AM, just as she was coming off of work. She was the last to leave, locking up the movie theatre. 

That was when it happened—the moment when her boring life ceased to exist, and her old one came hurtling back with a vengeance. 


The world hadn't been sucked into Hell. He and Dru had made it safely to Brazil.  And yet, his entire un-life had gone under all the same. 

His beloved had left him...he had nothing. 

No one.

He wanted to end it all.  What the point of living anymore? 

Except of course, he found that he couldn't—off himself.  Not on his own, anyway.  Just didn't seem right; couldn't bring himself to do it.  Besides, he'd always believed he'd go out, fighting a slayer...


That's what he'd do—he'd find her and fight her to the death.  And this time, there would be no winning; there would be no draw.  He would lose. 

He laughed maniacally a bit to himself—a vampire with a death wish.  Oh sure, he'd give her a good tussle—he was who he was, after all.  A warrior, albeit a dark one. But he'd lose all the same. He just didn't have the desire to win, and at least this way, he'd finish properly.  Go out with a bang. 

He went back to Sunnyhell only to find that no, the Slayer wasn't there. Had been gone for a month, and seemingly wasn't coming back.  A little digging lead him to a bus station, and the bus the Slayer had taken?  Well, first stop was LA.  So yeah, she was gone, but perhaps she hadn't gone far...wouldn't hurt to look, anyway. 

It didn't take him very long, and while he didn't find exactly who he was looking for, he did in fact find a slayer.  The one who everyone thought Dru had killed. 

He was standing on the roof of an apartment building looking down into the alley behind it.  Spike cocked his head to the side, cigarette smoke pluming about his angular face, watching as she exited the backdoor of the building of a movie theatre.  Judging by her attire of black khakis, black shoes and black polo with red accents, she worked there.  He was intrigued for only a moment, before remembering his mission. He flicked his cigarette off to the side, and stood on the ledge, preparing to jump down. 

“Got a date with death, don't I?  And what a lovely date she is.”

She wasn't the slayer he expected to find, but she would do.


Kendra had just turned the key in the lock when she felt a familiar prickling on the back of her neck.  Before she even had the chance to turn around, she heard his voice. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the familiar, British voice asked her.  Kendra's back stiffened, and she slowly turned around. 

“...Spike,” she stated, jaw clenched and fists balled.  “What are you doing here?” 

Spike sighed, looking up at the sky.  “Funny you should ask—” 


Spike cut himself off to deliver a hard left handed punch to her face.  The hit caught her off guard, spinning her sideways against the wall.  Her palms rested on the brick, and she pushed herself off, circling her jaw as she tasted blood in her mouth.  She scoffed, standing straight up to face him. 

“You came all the way here just to sucker punch me then?” She spit the blood on the ground at his feet. 

“No.  Actually, I didn't even come here for you.  Was looking for your blonde counterpart.” 

“As you can see, vampire, she isn't here.”  Kendra narrowed her eyes at him, spun on her heel and turned away. 

Spike arched his scarred brow coolly, confused at her behavior and lack of call to action.  “Aren't you even gonna ask me why?” he called to her retreating form.  The fact that she was so calm about all this was throwing him completely off kilter.   

She paused, clenching both fists again as she inhaled deeply. 

“No, I'm not.  I am not Buffy, and therefore, we have no business here.”  She resumed walking again. 

“Don't think that's totally true, pet,” he said in a low and lethal voice.   

Before she could turn to face him once again, he was upon her, punching her twice in the kidneys, then hurling her back into the brick wall of the building. 

“It was a mistake, you know.  Turning your back on me.”  He did a perfect spin kick to her head, making her cry out as she fell to ground. 

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, it's true—I was looking for Summers.  But more importantly, I'm looking for a Slayer.”  He bent down, grabbing two handfuls of her black polo shirt, and hurled her to her feet.  “I'm looking for a fight.” 

“And as you can see—”  She knocked both of his hands off of her. “I'm not.  Now leave me alone.”  Her voice was full of venom, but she forcibly made her body relax.  She refused to gear up for a fight; she meant it when she said she was done. 

She turned to leave the alley once again, and Spike slammed his fist into the brick wall in front of her face, halting her. 

“Sorry pet—you fit the bill, so here I am.”  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a stake and slapped it into her chest. 

“I challenge you.”  He stood back a bit, spreading his arms wide.  “I am challenging you.  So let's end this.” 

She shook her head, her eyes...sad?  Spike wasn't sure.  He stared at her, trying to get a read on this girl.  Something was just…well, wrong. 

“It's clear you haven't noticed, but I'm not a slayer anymore.  Not since your malnourished girlfriend killed me.  I am not the Slayer.  If you want a fight, find Buffy, or whoever has been called.  But be sure to leave me out of it.” 

“You're gonna just turn your back on your duty like that?” 

“I have no duty.  I am done, and have been for sometime.”

She tossed the stake he had shoved at her down the alley, releasing the tension in her shoulders as it clattered on the pavement.  Looking resolute, she ducked under his arm, and walked away.

And he let her, without further incident. 

For now. 


The next night, Kendra startled slightly as she opened the backdoor to the theatre, seeing Spike leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. 

“Another late night, pet?”

She bristled at the faux endearment. 

“Why are you here?” she asked, turning her back on him to lock the door. 

“You know why.  We have business.”

“And I already told you...”  She exhaled a sigh, and slowly turned to face him.  “We have no business.  I'm no longer a slayer.” 

“The only way you're out is through death of the permanent variety.  And maybe I’m the bloke that can help get you there.” 

He brought his fist up to punch her in the face, but she blocked him, grabbed him by shoulders and brought him down for a knee in the face in one, fluid movement.  He staggered back.

Spike laughed.  “There's my girl!  Figured your survival instincts would kick in at some point.” 

Kendra relaxed her defensive stance then, giving him a cold look. 

“What do you want from me, vampire?” 

Spike rolled his eyes, leisurely strolling over to her, invading her personal space once again. 

“One, you bloody well know my name.  And two, I already told you—I want to fight a slayer, and you're it, honey.”

“And I told you—  She jabbed her finger into his chest.  “I am a slayer no more.  I don't want anything to do with it or that life, and I want you to forget you ever saw me.  I want you to forget you even know me.”

Spike tsked at her, grabbing the hand that was on his chest, pinning it to the wall behind her, and grabbing her free hand and pulling it behind her back.  He put his body flush against hers, their noses nearly touching, staring down at her. 

“Not gonna happen.  Now, we're going to have it out.  So I guess the question becomes if you plan on losing or not.  You're going to die again, sure, but I would think you wouldn't want it to be so soon, let alone at the hands of yet another vampire.  Let alone a vampire who's already got the blood of two of your slayer kin on his hands.”

She struggled against him, secretly wishing to simply flee.  She didn't want to fight.  She also didn't like the way he was staring at her. 

“I do not wish to fight you.”

“Then you wish to die?” 

“No.  And that is the point. Whatever it is you're looking won't find it here with me.  When I said I was done, I meant it, Spike.  Please...go.  Leave me be.”

Spike felt himself involuntarily soften a bit at the sorrow in her voice. 

“But I can't.  It's not over for me; I'm not done.  And I need this sodding pain to stop.  Can't do it alone.  I need you.”  He gave a sardonic laugh that echoed down the alley.  “A vampire with a bloody death wish.” 

Kendra reared back as if she'd been slapped.  “You…want me to kill you?” 

Spike closed his eyes, his jaw ticking in irritation.  His lack of answer was all the answer that she needed.

Part of her wished to know why—never before had she come across a vampire that wanted to die.  But then she remembered that she'd excluded herself from this world.   

It was not her concern. 

“Well, I am sorry...but I cannot help you.  I refuse to engage with you, or anyone else ever in the capacity of combat.  I gave the first half of my life—my childhood—up to the Council and their war.  I already died for it.  I’ve since realized there was so much I haven't done or experienced or seen...” 

He brought his hand up, slowly, and let the back of his hand softly caress her cheek. 

“Oh.  Such as?” 

Kendra suddenly felt odd.  Maybe it was because she finally realized just how close he was to her, the scent of him—worn leather, whiskey, and perhaps the metallic tang of blood—seemingly seeping into her pores.  Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her in that moment, from underneath his long, dark lashes.  Or maybe it was the way he asked her the question.  There was genuine curiosity there, but also something else.  Something she didn't quite know how to label.  Her body, warmer now, involuntarily leaned into him.  She didn't quite know what to make of that, either.  Suddenly, it was hard to think. 

“I don't...I haven't...”   

And suddenly, her lips were upon his.

Her first kiss.

Only a second had passed before Spike pulled back, confusion written all over his face.  Kendra was mortified, though she wasn't sure if it was at her leaning in, or at his leaning back.  She pushed past him before fleeing down the alley, not giving Spike a chance speak, let alone make chase. 

Stuck in his own stupor, he let her. 


The overwhelming thrill of curiosity slowly, but surely began to overtake his need for death.  She made him wonder, what would it be like?  To be in the grip of a slayer in a whole other way. 

For four days, he watched her from afar, and for what he couldn't manage to see indoors on his own, he paid a guy who lived close to her building to trail her during the day, taking pictures and videotaping her.  Of course, when the guy returned with said video footage and photos, awaiting his second payment, Spike drained him dry, and took back the money he gave the guy in the first place, along with a bit of extra. 

He decided to not think too much as to whether or not he killed the guy for the money, or because he didn't care for someone not him to look at her in such a way. 

He looked over the photos and video and learned that when she wasn't working, she liked to have her hair hang loose—free of the French braid she seemed to fancy.  Turns out that was only her business hairstyle.  She also liked long, flowy peasant skirts with tank tops and combat boots.

She stopped at a nearby bookstore before work and during her breaks to read.  Trashy romance novels of all things.  He found himself smiling with her image, however, as she smiled at a particular passage. 

His smile turned into a sneer, however, as he recalled the smell of arousal in the air after she had pushed him away, fleeing into the night. 

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, thinking that they were about due for another tête-à-tête... 


It was her off day.  It was her off day, and she was spending it at work, watching a movie.  A romantic comedy was what it was—some guy going after a girl, doing anything he can to romance her. 

Movies were a great way for her to forget about things for awhile, taking her to places she'd never been. 

She stiffened when a familiar someone sat down with ease next to her. 

“It appears I've missed the beginning.  How's the movie so far, kitten?” he purred into her ear.  She felt something flush within her at the mere timbre of his voice.  She kept her eyes on the screen, refusing to look at him, gripping the arm rests of her chair. 

“No answer?  Well, here's another question: Why won't you slay me?” 

“You know why,” she bit out. 

“Alright.  Why'd you kiss me the other night?” 

She felt her heart thump in her chest. 

“Hmm...” he faux pondered.  “Could it be you were curious?”  He put his right hand lightly on her right knee as he said that, slowly bringing up her maroon peasant skirt, bunching it in his hand.  “You have so few experiences, after all...” 

“That's...none of your concern...” she managed to get out, but not moving away from him.  She felt a bit of perspiration on her brow.  Her whole face felt hot, among other things…

“Oh, but you made it my concern the other night, when you kissed me.  Seems to me you're willing to look down the rabbit hole...”  His long, nimble fingers skimmed up the inside of her thighs towards their apex, lightly touching her though her cotton panties.  “So why not jump right on down, pet?”  He pulled her panties out of the way.

Kendra stifled a gasp as she felt him penetrate her with his finger, involuntarily arching upward, her pelvis bucking towards his hand. 

“Look who’s wet for Daddy,” Spike whispered into her ear, adding another finger, pushing into her, his thumb massaging, searching... 


It felt like butterfly wings.  Her breath was ragged, and her eyes fell closed.  It was as if something had been pushed out of her, followed by tremors...

And then a sense of shame.

“No,” she muttered, pushing him away from her, getting up to leave.  She could hear his laughter trail after her as she fled the theatre, haunting her.


It was her off day, and two days since she last saw Spike in that theatre.  She went to her favorite book store, and with furtive glances, headed to the section of that pertained to health, anatomy, and sex.

Something had happened to her that night—what he had made her feel…she’d never felt anything like that in her whole life.  It had made her feel alive.  And knowing that he was the one to invoke such a feeling her…

She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She flipped through the pages of a book, looking for answers.

“Well well.  Find a good read, love?”

She turned with a gasp—startled by his presence.  “Please—”

“Please what?  Yes, please you want another?”  He smiled at her, giving a look that was pure deviant.  “Right then.”

Today’s peasant skirt was a bright blue, with tiny gold sequin accents.  He pulled that up, bunching the fabric in his hands.  They were in a private part of the store, partitioned off by large shelves of books.  She was frozen by fear—of him, of being seen, of what he was going to do…He kept his eyes on her as he slowly sank to his knees.

She looked everywhere but at him—the rows of books, her bag sitting on the bench, the ceiling lights…and that’s when she felt it—the hot wetness of his mouth on her.  Gasps started to escape her mouth, and she dropped her book to the floor, putting one hand to her mouth to keep quiet.  Her other fell to the top of his head; her thighs shaking as they involuntarily tried to clamp close against his invasion.  An invasion that a dark, carnal part of her welcomed.

“Sp…Spike,” she whimpered.  Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, and she vaguely realized that Spike was holding her up; her legs spread wide, her back braced against the shelves of books.  Moments later, and she cried out into her hand, breathing raggedly.  He put her down, un-bunching her skirts.

“Such a sweet kitty my slayer has,” he said, looking up at her.  A devious smirk was on his face, but his eyes were filled with wonder.  She weakly pushed him away.

“What are you doing to me?”

“They’re called orgasms, pet.  A tiny death that makes you feel most alive.  Enjoy them.”

She felt dizzy.  This was just…wrong.  Wasn’t it?  He was her natural enemy.

Not anymore.  I’m not a slayer.  I’m not…

Shaking her head, more at herself than him, she grabbed her bag and pushed past him, needing to go home.

Soon after he was there, knocking at her door. 

She didn’t need to open it to know it was him on the other side—she could feel him now, after all.  But she opened, knowing that the invisible barrier would protect her.

“How did you find me?”

"If you must know, I hired a lackey to do my daytime stalking for me.  Let me in." 

“Please…leave be.”

He leaned into her doorway, as much as the invisible barrier would let him.  He slow unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling his dick out, slowly stroking himself.  She was repulsed—she was sure she was.  But she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of him and what he was doing.

"I've done this at least three times a day in the last week, thinking about you.  Touching you; tasting you; being inside of you...god, let me in."

“And then what?  Let you into my life?  Let you kill me?  What happens?”

“Let’s find out.”

She stared at his eyes—looking, searching for…she wasn’t sure.  She’d never kissed a man before him; never been touched before him.  Each time had been better than the last.  But if she let him in, it would go against everything she stood for.

But what do you stand for, if you’re no longer the slayer?

That was what she was unsure of.  She wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be here.

“Spike…come in.”

This would make it official.  She really couldn’t be a slayer anymore after this.



That’s my girl.  Such a good soldier you are.  Fuck slayer, I love it when you squeeze me like that.  Do it again.  You give a bloke something worth un-living for.  Kendra.  Kendra.  Kendra…

She woke up with a gasp.  She’d forgotten where she was—home.  In bed.  Naked.  With Spike, who was equally naked.  She looked at her bedside clock—four fifteen AM.  She pulled the sheet up to her naked breast, and pulled her knees up to her body, crying quietly to herself. 

She couldn’t tell if they were tears of sadness or of joy.  She was alive, and had felt more alive than ever before after letting Spike in.  But her former life was truly now over.  She could never go back.

The good soldier was truly dead.



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