Author: Elsa Frohman Feedback:elsa@frohman.net Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: None: Souled Spike AU Summary: It's just a $20 bill, right?
A twenty-dollar bill. That's all it was. Not worth that much.
I found it on the ground, blowing down Main Street, a few storefronts down from what used to be the Magic Box.
I'd been standing outside the shuttered magic store, wondering what happened. Peering in through the window, I could see parts of the ceiling had collapsed. All the fixtures had been stripped out of the place. There was a hand-lettered sign on the door that said "Closed for renovations," but it was obvious that nobody was renovating the place. What became of Anya? Surely she wouldn't have given up and left it like this? That store was her life.
I wondered who I could ask about it. I didn't want to see Buffy or Dawn or any of their cohorts just yet. Wasn't ready. Wanted to have a plan first, and right then, I was still having too much trouble getting my bearings. You'd think a moral compass would help you navigate -- but truth is, it left me a bit lost.
I'd been hanging around town, keeping out of sight, and fighting the occasional demon. It's all I could think of to do. I had a century and then some of misdeeds to make up for, and I wasn't sure of how to go about it. So I just went back to doing more or less what I was doing before -- I was just being less visible about it.
So, when I saw that twenty-dollar bill blowing down the street I picked it up and wondered if it was some sort of sign. Could it be a hint that there was something other than killing demons I could do to make up for my evil past?
What can you do with twenty dollars? It's not that much. Three packs of cigarettes, a bottle of middling good booze, two movie tickets and popcorn, or maybe dinner for two at the Doublemeat Palace. Not much at all.
Probably not a sign from the Powers that Be. More likely just some sod's bad luck, dropping it and letting it blow away.
So I decided to take it to the church down the street and stuff it in the poor box.
That's where my troubles began. I got inside, and there's the box, right inside the door. But it's got a cross on it. The thing covers the whole top of the box, and the slot to stick the money through is right through one of the bars. I can't touch it.
I'm standing there, trying to figure out how to put the bill into the box without touching it -- the bill was an old one, real soft and rumply, so I couldn't just drop it and have it go through the slot -- when the priest comes up. He probably thought I was standing there trying to figure out how to break the lock. Priests just aren't a trusting as they used to be.
"Can I help you, my son?"
I held the bill out to him. "Could you put this in the box for me?"
"Charity soothes the soul," he said, and I found myself thinking that maybe I was sent here with a purpose, after all. "But it has to come from the heart. Put the money in the box, I think you will find you like the feeling."
"I want to put the money in the box, but I can't touch it. Sorta an allergy, father. Could you do it for me?" I was still holding the money out to him.
The priest frowned. He'd been giving me a funny look -- sort of a you-look-familiar-why-can't-I place-you kind of thing. And suddenly he remembered. I attacked him once in a cemetery. Buffy pulled me off him -- I hadn't really meant to do him any harm. It was just a momentary rage thing. Don't know why they would have been having a burial at any time when I could be around anyway.
"Vampire!" he shouted, grabbing his crucifix and shoving it in my face.
"Bloody hell!" I flattened myself back against the wall and went game face. I didn't mean to, but he'd startled me and it's sort of a fight or flight reaction.
"Back creature of darkness!"
"Oh, give it a rest," I said in disgust. "Enough with the Roger Corman dialog. I just want to…" But it was no use, he was forcing me back with the crucifix, and I had no choice but to run out of the church.
I might have given up then, took the money to Willy's and had a drink or two, but I was pretty determined to do the right thing. There's a homeless shelter down the street from the church, and I thought maybe they'd take the money, if the Catholic Church didn't want it.
Dru and me had eaten enough homeless people -- maybe I was supposed to start making amends by helping the homeless.
I walked into the Helping Hands Shelter and looked around for someone in charge. I couldn't just hand it to one of the winos. They'd just go buy a couple of bottles of Wild Turkey and that wouldn't help anybody. Not that my $20 was going to change anyone's life -- I just want to get it to where it could do some good.
There was a young woman sitting behind a desk in the corner of the common room. I went over. She hadn't looked up at me yet. I cleared my throat.
"We're full for tonight," she said, continuing to work on the ledger in front of her without looking up.
"I'd like to make a donation," I said. That got her attention. She looked up and her eyes went all wide. She practically knocked over her chair jumping back.
You see, I hadn't been spending much time around people for a while. I'd been hiding out, licking my wounds, so to speak. And along the way, I'd sort of forgotten about my game face and how people react to it. And after I left the church, I hadn't thought to go back to my human face. Shit.
"Hey, that guy is after Denise!" somebody shouted behind me. Before I knew what was happening, about fifteen homeless guys piled on me. They were all human, so I couldn't even defend myself.
I can't say they were very effective as fighters. There wasn't a one of them who could hit better than a Girl Scout. They were mostly pretty emaciated old men. But there were enough of them that they had me on the floor in a second. All I could do was protect my head with my arms.
"Hey! Cut it out! I just wanted to…"
Finally, I just threw them off. It hurt like hell, but there was nothing else for it. They hadn't hurt me, except for tearing my shirt, but I was pretty well hacked off.
"Bugger this!" I said, stalking out, the money still in my pocket.
Well, I'd given charity a fair chance, and it just wasn't working out for me. Time to get a new plan. Commerce.
I went down to the Kwik Stop convenience store on the corner and got a six-pack and a couple of packs of cigarettes. Maybe it wasn't helping anybody, but at least I wasn't stealing them, OK?
When I got up to the counter to pay, a guy comes in wearing a ski mask carrying a pistol. Great -- a robbery. Once again, a human, so there wasn't much I could do. He ordered the clerk to open the cash register.
The clerk was an idiot. One of those oh-no-I'm-not-getting- robbed-again sort of guys. He shook his head and started to reach under the counter. Bad move.
The robber raised the gun to blow his head off, and I saw there was one thing I could do. I moved toward him and yelled. It distracted him and he shot me instead of the clerk. Point-blank, right in the chest. No problem. Guns can't hurt me. But it did put another hole in my shirt.
When I don't even flinch, the robber gets scared. He backs away, then turns and bolts.
The clerk was pretty shook up. "Oh, man! Oh, man! He shot you. I'll call 911. Hold on man…"
I turn to him. "It's all right," I said. "I'm not hurt. He, um… missed."
But the clerk could see the bullet hole and powder burns on my shirt, and the hole in my chest beneath. The guy got scared then and started backing away. "What are you?" he said, his voice shaking.
"Just a guy trying to buy some beer…"
"Take it… get out…"
So I left with my six-pack and cigarettes, but I still had the damn $20 bill. I was starting to think I knew why it had been blowing down the street.
Back out on the street, I saw a girl standing by herself under a street lamp. She didn't look to be more than 17 or 18, and she was dressed like a -- OK, she wasn't just dressed like a whore, it was pretty clear she was one.
OK, one more try…
I went up to her. It's hard to start a conversation with "Would you like $20?" But I was determined to try.
She took it all wrong.
"Twenty?" she sneered. "Honey, you're not bad looking, but I'm not doing you for $20."
"No, I don't want… I just want to give you the money. Go home. You don't need to do this."
She rolled her eyes. "Right… $20 and my life is all better. Go put it in the poor box," she said, turning away from me.
"Already tried that."
She turned back and gave me a strange look, taking in the condition of my shirt -- which was pretty disreputable at that point.
"You look like you could use that $20 more than me," she said. "Why don't you take it to WalMart and buy yourself some clothes?"
I started to laugh. She must have thought I was one of those homeless crazy people. She started to back away.
"No, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just having a bad night."
She stopped and smiled a little. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Your $20 is the best offer I've had all night. Sometimes it just doesn't pay to get out of bed."
"Or into it," I said.
She laughed at that.
"Tell you what," she said, eyeing my beer. "Give me one of those and we can sit down and talk. Mind you, I don't work that cheap, so don't get any ideas."
"No problem."
It turned out her name was Marcie and she was from Oklahoma. Came out to Los Angeles to try to be an actress, and ended up working the streets. Met a guy who promised to take care of her and came to Sunnydale with him. He dumped her and she ended up back on the street.
I told her my life story, at least as much as I could tell and not have her thinking I was completely starkers. I told her the vague, love gone wrong, trying to change myself version.
Marcie and I drank up the six-pack and I ended up giving her the cigarettes. Hell, what did I care, I didn't pay for them. Need to give up the filthy things anyway.
After she left, I sat on the park bench for a while longer. Maybe I didn't change Marcie's life, but at least she didn't shove a cross at me, beat me over the head or shoot me, so things were looking up.
I still had the bloody $20 bill though.
Moved on to Willy's. Still a while until last call. Figured I'd spend the $20 and be rid of it.
You run into the strangest people in Willy's. Of course, most of them aren't people at all.
I sat down in the corner booth -- not feeling much like socializing up at the bar. A couple of minutes later a guy comes and sits down with me. Sort of a Kevin Sorbo-looking sort of bloke. Square jaw, broad shoulders, blue eyes and this I'm- good-can't-you-tell-by-looking expression.
"Can I join you?"
"Looks like you already did, mate."
I was thinking he might be a poofter, he seemed to be coming on to me, if you know what I mean.
"How's the good deed thing working out for you?" he asked.
I gave him a dirty look. I should have known that when a guy comes on to you at Willy's, he isn't your garden-variety queer.
"What's it to you?"
"Just wondering what sort of return I was getting on my $20 investment."
I should have cold cocked him right there. But the chip has taken the edge off my hair trigger temper.
"What are you? The ghost of Michael Landon?"
"Not exactly -- but you're on the right track."
"Well, it's been a bloody washout. Take your bleedin' $20. If I try to help anybody else there'll be another apolcalypse."
The poofter laughed. "You haven't done so badly."
"Not bad? The priest shoved a crucifix in my face, the homeless guys tried to beat the shite out of me, I got shot in the convenience store and the trollop wouldn't even take my money. That's good?"
The poofter chuckled. "It's all in how you look at it.
"First, you saved the clerk's life. No question about that. That's worth $20 any night of the week.
"But the rest of it went pretty well, too."
"Define 'well,' " I growled.
"Let's see. The priest -- after you left, he realized you were trying to put the money in the box, but couldn't because of the cross on top. He's sitting up in the rectory right now meditating on good and evil and how it could be that a vampire was trying to give money to the poor. He's very confused right now, but when he sorts it out, he's going to be better for the experience."
"Oh, right. I'm bleedin' St. Francis."
"Not quite -- but you're getting the idea.
"Now, at the homeless shelter. Those old guys are there because they've stopped thinking they're worth anything. They've failed so many times that they don't believe they can do anything right. But tonight, they rescued a fair damsel from an attacker. You know, those old guys are feeling really good about themselves tonight."
"And their better for the experience," I said sarcastically. "Right, nothing makes a bloke feel better than beatin' some other bloke up."
"I believe you've felt that way at times in your life, haven't you?"
I had to admit, he had me there.
"OK, we've covered the convenience store," I said. "What about Marcie? I suppose you're going to tell me she's going to change her life and become Mother Theresa now."
"No, I don't think so. The big changes don't come that easily. You should know that. I expect she'll be back out on the street tomorrow night.
"But how long do you think it's been since she just sat and talked to a guy and didn't have to put out? You don't have to fix all a person's problems at once. Sometimes, just making them feel a little better is the best you can accomplish."
"You're not human, are you?" I asked.
"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Just wanted to make sure. Chip, you know."
I reached over the table and grabbed him. I dragged him out of the booth and out the back door into the alley. The look on his face was worth every moment of the whole wretched night, when I threw him up against the wall and went game face on him.
"I want to make one thing perfectly clear," I snarled. "There is no bloody way my life is going to be come 'Highway to Heaven, the Vampire Years'! Do you hear me? NO.BLOODY.WAY!"
I took out the $20 bill and stuffed it in his mouth. I had another place in mind, but that would have meant taking off his trousers, and I was afraid he might enjoy that.
I stalked back into Willy's and went back to my booth.
If I see the sodding berk again, I'm going to tear his head off.