-Disclaimers: Title belong entirely to Gabriel Garcia, just borrowing it for the sake of the story. Buffy, Spike, Whistler and all the memories belong to Joss and his crew, all other characters are entirely mine. Lyrics by Bon Jovi Wanted Dead or Alive.

-Summary: Series set 100 yrs after "the gift", Season five finale. This is part AU and futuristic. Spike has been alive for 100 hundred years after Buffy's death. Whistler comes to him to let him know that Buffy has been summoned to fight a knew evil, therefore she will be brought back to life and needs a "guide". When Buffy wakes she finds that the only one to cling to is the only person that has survived since the time she was alive. This is a B/S fiction.

-Rating: Overall rating of series is R, but at times it will be NC-17.

-Spoilers: I will mention everything that has happened through "The Gift".

-Distribution: The only people that have permission to post these series are those who already store my fic and have asked me for permission, if you want to post it please ask me I'll be happy to let you, I just want to know where my fic goes.

-Author's Note: I adore Feedback, so please let me know what you think of the story so far! bih80@yahoo.com

-Special Thanks: Trish for BETA reading this and her awesome feedback, Karla for listening to me rant, and One Good Day group may you be blessed with many chocolate covered naked Spikes! Thanks for all the reviews!

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"One Woman has hurt you, you take your revenge on the rest of the world. You're a coward and a weakling."

from Casablanca

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It’s all the same, only the names have changed,
Every day it seems we’re wasting away,
Another place, where the faces I saw cold,
I’d drive all night, Just to get back home.

(Location: Guadalajara, Spain. Year: 2103)

The bar went suddenly quiet when he walked in. All eyes adverted his gaze, looking at the dirt on the floor, looking at their half empty drinks, looking at the splintery walls, inspecting their dirty fingers, holding their breath.

The soft menacing sound of his thumping boots hollowed on the weak wooden floor. He walked slowly, slippery, and predatorily, stopping once he reached the center of the room.

Silence was all that was heard in the dark, smoke filled room.

He slowly reached into his coat pocket and fetched out an illegal cigarette. He cocked his head sideways slipping the brown boat between his slightly parted lips, with his other hand he brought his trusted silver lighter to his face and slowly, ever so gracefully lighted the fag.

The smoke surrounded him as he brought back down his silvery friend, placing it securely inside his pocket along with his illegal cigarettes.

He took a moment to inhale the smoke, giving him a reassurance of who he was and what he was there to do.

All eyes tried not to cower under the intimidating silence but he was merciful on them and spoke.

"Lookin' for Jose Buendia." he said in a normal yet informal tone.

No answer.

"And I'm guessin', who of you shits is gonna tell me, you don't know who I'm talkin' 'bout," he said taking another puff at his cigarrette, exhaling slowly waiting for the right moment.

The sound of his energetic British tone surrounded the bar.

The bartender moved quietly around the bar and tentatively walked to the man in black.

"Umm....Senor? We ain't seen him 'round these part, these days. You might want to check Talia." he said looking at the blonde with fear.

"Been there, done that, here now." He said not even looking at the brown demon who cowered before him.

"But Senor, we ain't seen 'im." The demon said looking down for a moment and that was his mistake, without warning he was grabbed by the throat and lifted three feet in the air, pale hand grasping his throat.

"You ganna tell me, you ain't hidin' him?" the growl in his throat said.

The room instantly paralyzed and watching in horror as the intruder picked up the Saycer demon right off the ground and looked at it with a stony face.

"No.." was all that the demon could push pass his throat. The man squeezed harder. He knew this breed needed to breathe.

"Then you're tellin' me were he's at?" he asked and half stated.

"Back,....in the back." the man managed to spit out.

Without thinking twice his neck was snapped easily and the body lumped to the floor. A few gasps were head in the room but no one dared challenge him.

The man looked at the dead creature by his feet and brought his cigarette to his mouth, exhaling softly, "Thanks." he said.

His gaze turned tot he rest of the room, no one looked at him, nor at the body on the floor. Everyone knew to mind their own business.

I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride,
I’m wanted, dead or alive,
Wanted, dead or alive.

The next noise that was heard was the thumping boots walking slowly and deadly to the back of the bar. He paused before the door and reached inside his black duster, pulling out his modified 10-gauge black muzzle.

A few gasps were heard through the room at the sight of the very deadly and very rare Rubio. Rubio was his signature weapon, it was full of one hundred years of tales, that were whispered between creatures but never dared to go beyond that.

Without knocking or waiting for a sign two loud gunshots were heard throughout the room and the sight before them was a wooden door with two 5 by 5 holes and a deadly silence.

The killer reached out and opened the rickety door, revealing a slumped bloodied man gasping for his final breath.

"Hombre, so nice of you to come to my funeral." He whispered.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." he said dryly.

The dying man managed a sour laugh. "I would have paid him back, you know." he whispered.

The black-clad figure knelt before the man until his face was almost touching his and looked at him straight in the eye. "Not my problem." he said icily.

The man smiled. "She would have been really proud." the man spit out venomously.

A shadow of pain went through the killer's gaze and without flinching he reached out and snapped his neck.

He stood slowly and regarded the dead body. Real proud.

Without thinking he walked out of the small room to face the waiting bar. He paused and looked at them, waiting to see if someone challenged him.

Not bloody likely, but then again.... He thought.

Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it’s not for days,
And people I meet always go their separate ways.
Sometimes you tell the day, by the bottle that you drink.
And sometimes when you’re alone, all you do is think.

"Who do you think you are?" a large demon walked to the middle of the wooden floor, his large arms protruding from his own body.

The visitor counted to three, and turned to look at the foolish demon, giving him his signature look.

The demon froze as the gaze covered him. The gaze was filled with challenging hate.

"Spike." he simply replied and walked out of the bar, leaving behind his shallow menacing foot steps, two dead bodies with plenty of witnesses, and the scent of his illegal cigarettes.

I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride,
I’m wanted, dead or alive,
Wanted, dead or alive.

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He walked silently to his home, walking past death infected alleys, and muddy blood-mixed waters. His boots shook the earth slightly, but not for his weight, but the power he possessed over the streets of Guadalajara.

This was his town, his country, his territory. Actually wherever he went was his territory, the earth was his playground. But what the hell was it all good for, a good fuck and quality booze, placing terror in the hearts of human and demons alike? No, no matter how many reason he came up the same stood. It was his duty, it was his calling, it was not his time yet. He was paying for all he did, all the faces of death he had to look at in the past. All those who withered away and left him, all alone, seeking shelter in the arms of whores he cared nothing for, seeking illusions in vague dreams and memories one hundred years old.

He felt old, used and tired. He wondered if this is how all those he loved felt. Knowing precisely when it was their time to go, their time to leave this darkened earth.

His face was stony cold and hard, emotions only came behind the curtains of his bed, where the current flame would be waiting.

He needed a good fuck today, a hard, back against the wall pounding of human flesh. Humans, that's all he would have. There had only been a couple that he actually cared more than the fuck, but those, like all the others before him had not loved him the way he thought he loved them.

He was nearing his place, walking was something he did when he felt like thinking. Yet thinking was the last thing he wanted to do.

As they saw him approach they opened the gates and let him, he slowly walked down the long walkway, pausing in front of the door that was opened within moments, revealing an elderly man with hair as black as onyx and eyes as blue as night.

"Buenas Noches, Senor." (Good evening, Sir.) He said with a slight bow.

"Noches, Efrain." (Evening, Efrain.) The blonde murmured.

He walked in and handed the man his duster, then taking his trusted Rubio he weighted it and gave it over to the man.

"Nessesita ser limpiada" (Needs to be cleaned.) He said.

"Claro, senor," (Of course, Sir.) Efrain repplied taking the infamous piece from the pale hands.

"Estare en mi cuarto," (I'll be in my room.) the blonde told him once he was left in his black leather pants and the tight knit navy-blue sweater.

"Si senor, su bano lo esta esperando," (Yes, sir. Your bath is waiting for you.) Efrain said as he moved out of his master's way and scurried off to the kitchen.

"Gracias. La senorita Opal?" (Thank you. Where is Miss.Opal?) Spike asked rubbing his sore neck and addressing the waiting maid at the edge of the stairs.

"No ha llegado, senor," (She has not arrived, sir.) the dark woman answered him.

Spike nodded and went to his room.

He entered the master bedroom and was satisfied that it had been cleaned and his rumpled bed re-done. He liked this house better than his other houses, that's why he spent his vacation here.

It was quiet and serene. The giant balcony/window opened up and in the morning he would relish in the rays of the sun. The short rays that only lasted 5 hours he liked to cherish them most of all. Opal didn't understand what his fascination with the sun was, but he told her once that after one hundred and eighty years of living in the night, you learn to appreciate the daylight.

She didn't understand, then again there were many things that Opal didn't understand. Then why was he with her? A good fuck.

I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride,
I’m wanted, dead or alive,
Wanted, dead or alive.

He slowly removed his shirt and threw it on top of the linen draped laughing coach that anxiously waited nightly for his clothes to be shed.

His pants came next, leaving him bare and naked to the world. As he walked to the bathroom his muscles rippled with tension giving his slim muscular body an aroma of grace and perfection. Always ready for a fight, always ready to attack.

He walked to the open bathroom door were there lay his sunken tub filled to capacity with steaming hot water and vanilla scented bath oil.

He had forgotten why it was that he liked the scent, but it was a nessesity that all his products have a vanilla scent to them, and his servants adequately provided him with all his needs.

Slowly and unconsciously he slipped inside the tub of relaxation, hissing as the heat pierced into his body. The water reached him neck height and he closed his eyes leaning his head on the bath pillow placed by the bath header.

He exhaled unneeded air and cleared his thoughts. No longer did he question whether he was a pansy or not, he simply enjoyed it and there was no one to question his motives so he continued to take pleasures in such simple tasks in life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Efrain walked to the door as the soft elegant ringing ended. It was late at night and he was sure the Senor would not like visitors at this time. It couldn't be Miss. Larganza, she had a key and wouldn't like to disturb people at night.

He opened the thick oak door slightly to approve of the visitor before he let them in or asked them in for that matter. Then sighed when he saw who it was.

"Entre, Senor Whistler," (Come in, Whistler.) Enfrain said as he opened the door.

"Gracias, Efrain," (Thank you, Efrain.) he answered in bad Spanish.

"El Senor Guillermo se esta banando," (Mr. William is taking a bath.) Efrain said as he took Whistler's coat and hat.

Whistler looked at him puzzled at his lack of Spanish. The butler frowned. "He's taking a bath." The man said in broken English. Whistler smiled and walked up the stairs.

"I'll be up here, kid." He called over his shoulder to Efrain.

The dark man looked at the retreating demon and shook his head in annoyance. *Imbesil!* Imbecile! He thought.

"I heard that!" Whistler shouted from the second floor. Efrain glared at the empty stairs.

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I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back,
I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back.
I been everywhere, still I’m standing tall,
I’ve seen a million faces, and I’ve rocked them all.

Spike sunk into the water even more as he let the fumes drain the tension off his pale body. It had been a hell of a week, two demons, three human outlaws, and seven vampires. In the old days his Slayer would have taken twice that much in a week.

He hissed as he caught himself thinking of the petite blonde. It had been a long time since he had thought of her, almost two months? Maybe less, who knew, time meant nothing to him. He lived forever.

His girl had died one hundred and two years ago and he still felt the pang of her absence. He had traveled the world and not found another like her.

Damn. He thought as his memories took off without him.

"You brood more than your sire."

Spike jumped up and instinctively reached for his intruder. His hand swiftly went to the hidden knife on the porcelain wall and he aimed it straight at the man's throat.

He looked up to see who would die by his hand tonight and he frowned when he saw who it was.

"Bloody hell!! I could have killed you!" Spike shouted at the demon.

"I've been dead once already, it's very liberating." The shorter man replied and then looked down at the nude body of the vampire. "Been working out, I see."

Spike glared at him and stepped over the tub, going back to his relaxing bath, now he really needed to unwind. "What brings you 'ere?"

Whistler took a seat in the nearby toilet seat. "Well this certainly was not in the job description, you know, sitting on top of a way too expensive toilet seat watching a naked vampire take a bubble bath."

Spike opened one eye and glared at him. "If you came to complain about the price of my ceramics come back when I care."

"Bad week, huh?" Whistler asked crossing his legs.

"Seen better." Spike replied with his eyes still closed. "But cut the chit-chat, mate. Why you 'ere?"

Whistler took a deep breath and studied his feet momentarily.

"Tatiana is dead." he stated.

Spike's face hardened. He should have been expecting it.

"When?"

"Last night. Was taken out by the vampire gang." Whistler said rubbing his hands together.

Spike nodded. "But that's not all you came to tell me."

Whistler eyed the wet vampire. "I swear you should have been born a psychic."

"Compliments? Where did that come from?" Spike said sarcastically.

"Good day, I guess."

"Well pardon me but I don't find the death of a slayer very ammsing." Spike retorted angrily raising from the tub and walking unashamedly to grab his black silk robe.

"Satan must be turning in his grave."

"Well let him toss and turn while you tell me what the other news is." Spike answered slipping the expensive cloth over him and wrapping it tightly around his slim muscular body.

He waited for the demon to continue, when he didn't he walked out of the large black tiled bathroom. Whistler followed him and gained enough courage to tell him. "They're bringing Buffy back."

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I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride,
I’m wanted, dead or alive,

Spike felt as if holy water had been slowly poured down his back and he was currently being knifed by thousands of memories rushing into his head, too fast to dodge, to fast to put away, too hurtful to remember.

He spun around and stalked back to the demon ready to rip his head off for making him feel this way. He had not felt this way in over ten years and he'd be damned if he let him get away with it.

"Now Spike listen, kid, I am serious, not saying to this to pull your leg or anything, for real." Whistler stammered as he saw the angry vampire approach him with a killer look in his eyes.

"I am serious!" He pleaded.

"So am I!" Spike roared as he grabbed the demon by the throat and pinned him to his wall, lifting him three feet off the ground.

"We need her!" Demon shocked out.

"You will NOT disturb her! She paid your bloody price with her life and you will NOT bring her to this hell again." Spike hissed at him.

The demon looked at him squarely in the eyes until Spike eased off his throat.

"It's not for you to decide, kid, or for me. Believe me if it were for me I'd let the poor girl rest. But it's beyond your control, even beyond mine."

"Whatever the trouble is I can handle it, I've done it before, I'll do it again." Spike said trying to control his outrage at the concept of digging Buffy up.

"One dies another one is called. She's being chosen again." Whistler whispered in his mad man tone.

Spike's jaw tightened. He had wanted this for years. This had been his ambition for almost twenty years after she had died. Him and Dawn had looked for days and days, hours and hours.

By the end everyone had moved on except for him. Only he was no longer sure he could ever bring her back. He would have given his life so she could have watched her friends grow old like he had. He had been her unworthy eyes. He had been her unworthy comfort to them.

All changed and he remained the same.

At times he had forgotten the smile of her face, the smell of her hair, the sound of her voice.

But all it took was one look at Dawn and it was all restored. Now he was given what he wanted back then and it sickened him at the thought.

It was too late. This was not her time. All had died. He was the only one left. No Dawn, no Angel, no Giles, no Willow, only him.

"It would kill her if you did this to her." He almost whispered.

"One must never question the deities." Whistler warned.

"I bloody well will!!" Spike shouted to the ceiling.

"Listen, kid. I am only the messenger. Take the message, meet at SanSebastian's and the next thing you know you'll have your blonde girl in no time." Whistler said fixing his messed coat.

Spike noticed and bowed his head. "Sorry, mate....lost a bit of the temper."

Whistler studied him. "And people wonder why you were chosen." He stated sarcastically.

Spike ran his fingers through his now neck long hair that was tied at the nape of his neck with a tight black rubber band.

"Listen, get some rest, or better yet have a good fuck with ladylove, forget all your troubles." he paused. "You won't have to be with her for long, just the usual. Fill her in, set her on her feet, and send her packing."

Spike gave him an unhumorous laugh. "It's not that simple."

"I know you still care for the kid, I even cared. But this is business."

Spike smiled at him. "With Buffy, it's always business."

"Good, you'll understand each other." Whistler said, then look at him sternly. "You know the rules, kid. I don't think that after sixty years I have to give you the Adam and Eve speech."

"I know; 'Thou shall not eat of the fruit of the tree of life'." Spike said turning and looking at the window.

Whistler watched him, a dark shadow covered his form. "You still love her, don't you."

Silence.

"I long time ago I thought I did."

"What changed your mind?"

Silence.

"I've forgotten how to love."

I’m a cowboy, I got the night on my side,
I’m wanted, dead or alive,
Wanted, dead or alive.

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