Ficlet: "Out of Africa" by LJ

Post-Seeing Red, Season 6/7 speculation.

http://www.oocities.org/brigidharper/index.html

Feedback to: ljensen1 -at- gladstone.uoregon.edu

Fury was on the Succubus Club tonight. I still don't like him, but he's earned my respect. This was inspired by something he said - or rather, tried *not* to say...

Be kind....this is my first fic*let*....

Out of Africa

Spike sat on the cold cave floor and looked up at the demonic shaman. Lifting his hand up to his face, he wiped away the blood dripping from his nose and forehead. He had endured all kinds of torment: he had faced again the ridicule that had sent him into the dark London streets and into Drusilla's arms. He relived the torment that Angelus had put upon him in his early days as a vampire. He had found himself once again pushing through the crowd in Prague, finding his Sire's beaten and broken body before him. Once more he had fought the Slayers he hadn't killed, and felt the pain of the chip, the hatred of Riley, the torture at Glory's hands, heard the incessant babbling of Harmony. All this he had experienced again, and had fought new fiends he had never seen before at the shaman's behest. All this he did to prove himself worthy of his request - and every time he had won. He was beaten, bloody, broken, but still he returned to the shaman and waited for his next trial.

"Enough!" said the shaman finally, staring at Spike.

"So, made a decision then, have you, mate?" asked the vampire in a sarcastic tone.

The shaman nodded, evidenced only by the movement of his glowing eyes. Spike wished he had his lighter still, so that he could see the demon's face. "Well, then," said Spike, "get on with it."

The shaman made a noise that Spike assumed was akin to growling for that species. "I have decided," said the shaman, "to grant your request."

For a moment, Spike found himself imitating a fish out of water and then, like the Big Bad he knew he was, he recovered. "Yeah, okay, great, mate. Eh, thanks and all that." He stood and squared his shoulders. "Let's get on with it, then."

The demonic shaman rolled his eyes - well, the demonic shaman version of it, that is. Then he raised a hand and pointed it at Spike. "Be gone!"

"Final-" started Spike and then he disappeared.

"It's about time, shamie-poo," said Harmony, coming up behind the shaman and kissing his exoskeletal cheek. "I thought you'd never get rid of him."

"All in a day's work, my dear, all in a day's work," replied the shaman.

***

Spike groaned and turned over, his eyes still closed. He put his hands down on the ground on either side of him, to lift himself into a sitting position - wait a moment. He lightly ran his hands over the ground. Grass?

He opened his eyes and looked up. Before him stood the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign he had so gleefully run over in years past. What was he doing back in Sunnydale? He shook his head. The shaman had probably teleported him back, just as Ceci-*Halfrek* had done to get him across the globe to Africa.

He took a moment to look over himself. His wounds had already been healed. He felt as good as new. Amazing.

And then he sneezed.

"What the bloody-" he started and then he realized something. He was breathing. Involuntarily. He stood still and suddenly he could feel the faint throbbing in his chest of a functioning circulatory system.

And when he looked up at the sky, he had to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Damn it!" he screamed. "This isn't what I asked for! Wasn't what I wanted!"

"BUT IT IS WHAT YOU NEED, LOWER BEING!"

Spike fainted.

***

In an alternate universe, a group of men and women sat together at a large table, strewn with papers and scripts. And at the head of that table sat Joss Whedon, laughing.

*finis*