Title: Beating

Author: Brooke

Email: yabbadabbadome13@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I wished I owned the two Xanders' from "The Replacement" though. Buffy and friends are owned by Joss, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, The UPN and whoever else has rights to the show.

Summary: Spike's POV is completely fragmented. It's B/S dwelling and B/X in reality.

Distribution: I don't know why anybody would want this, but if somebody does…sure.

Feedback: Definitely!! Tell me if it sucked or if you liked it. Whatever. Just write back!

Authors Note #1: This is a narrative and I wrote it very quickly, which is why there is a lack of complete sentences. Just telling you in case it got confusing.

Authors Note #2: Assume that everything, season 1 through 7, is fair game.

Authors Note #3: Help me God, I'm having a B/S phase.

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The 'eart wants what it wants.

Good, bad, right, or wrong, it's just a simple fact of life. Of love.

It's true even after death, too. As proof I offer myself up. My 'eart doesn't beat, not in the technical sense, but it aches so intensely that it almost makes me feel alive. Aches for what I can't have and even more for what I can. Matters of the heart can be a double edged sword so lethal that it can smite even the mightiest of warriors, and I know that, too. I'm lying battered, bloodied and beaten on the battle field just waiting…hoping for the end that I know won't ever come.

I told 'er I loved 'er again. Looked her right in the eyes and stated it clearly and to the point. "I love you, Buffy." It rolled off the tongue so easily; I actually believed that I had been born to announce it one day. Yesterday. And she nodded.

All I got was a nod, but 'er eyes… 'er eyes spoke volumes beyond the simple head gesture she gave me. They said something she wouldn't and stated it so clearly that I didn't have to 'ear the words to know they were true. Would've been nice though – to 'ear it 'n all. But, where the 'eart is involved it's a lucky few that'll get their wishes granted every time. Not even the Wanker gets that, and he's bleeding with 'er.

I loved the fact that she's torn. Right versus wrong. Dark versus light. Good versus evil. And the lines are no longer clearly drawn in the sand. Now, it seems we're all on the same page. Harris may not have to earn redemption to get the girl, but damned if she won't respect me for doing it. I'm a good guy now; too…I deserve good things now, too.

But good for what, exactly.

Xander and I, and I never thought it'd be true. We're in the same boat because of that soddin' bitch. She gives 'erself over 'n over again, but never everything. Always holds back. Makes us love 'er...she makes me love 'er. And all the while plays it out well enough to never have to declare the same thing.

I 'eard 'im say it the other day. Same thing I told 'er. So simple and he meant it, too. "I love you, Buffy." And she nodded. Eyes once again betraying 'erself, but she didn't know of what. Sure as hell wasn't the same thing they told me.

She never has to say it. I want to make 'er say it. She feels it, told me so once without naming names. Let me for that little bit imagine that it was me, and maybe it was, but she didn't say it. She wants to be able to say it, told me that she was afraid. Rightly so, I assume. Loving leaves to in the open, weak and vulnerable. Why expose 'erself to that when she can feel it and revel in it from whoever'll give it and she'll never have to be put out there.

Buffy'll tell me these things periodically. We talk more than we used to, quiet conversations and more intimate than I know 'er boyfriend would like. The boy hates me intensely, almost the same way as his girlfriend loves. Soul consuming and silent. He knows what I know. He knows why I don't hate 'im the same way.

He knows that Buffy'll always have me in 'er. Maybe not 'er body, per say. But 'er mind, entrenched so deep in 'er blood, bound together by the night, and God forbid 'er heart. He knows I love his girl, and he knows that she feels something too. Something not entirely passive and certainly not dead. He knows he 'ates me because I'll always be there because 'ere is where she  wants me and no matter 'ow many times they make love, I'll've always been there first – 'ave shown 'er love denied then granted before 'im.

But I don't 'ate 'im. I don't like 'im, but I don't 'ate 'im, and it's not because I don't care, either. Everybody cares no matter what they say. In fact I don't 'ate 'im because I care too much. He seems to be making 'er happy, and that's what I want for 'er. And I feel bad that she still looks at me the way she does. He'll never have all of 'er. Never. I'll always have too much for that to happen. Buffy likes to deny that, but it's true.

They were upstairs not long ago. Saw 'em sitting on the couch all snuggled up under a blanket. Xander kept whispering to 'er and she would laugh and nuzzle. He cares so much about 'er…loves 'er beyond reason and doubt, when she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve any of it, but I can't seem to stop anymore than he can – and I'll 'ave to suffer through this for an eternity.

Buffy's sick, some sort of flu or some such bug, and Xander's going out with Giles to look for some texts on the First. Buffy's determined to 'elp me through this, 'ates to see me suffer like I've been. Xander told me that I should be out 'elping 'em with the research, but I've got a headache…splitting, I told 'em, and Buffy said I should stay in – even sent the SiT's with Dawnie out to the Bronze for a break. Told 'er Honey that both she and I could use the silence. He bit down his anger, and did it well when he nodded in agreement. She still cares.

I 'eard him say it to 'er again before the door shut behind him and the Watcher, and once again, didn't 'ear a response. There wasn't one. The words 're probably so new that he doesn't realize yet that she's never said them back…or even worse, he does, but he hopes that one day…

I hope that one day...

"'ello Pet." I say on my way into the kitchen. I won't approach 'er unless she wants me too. Try not to put myself out there, but unfortuantly it's probably too late.

She offers me a grin, not meeting my eyes, knowing that if she does she'll hold. When we look at each other there's a charge…a hold and it's too much for 'er. It shouldn't be since she's with the Wanker, but it is. "Spike."

Before I had realized it I had stopped in the doorway, eyes fixed on the side of her face. She had a slight fever. I could smell it. "Are you felling any better?"

She shrugged and kept focused ahead.

"Right then," I turn.

"Spike."

I turn and there's the gaze. The hold. And I'm walking up to 'er, kneeling by 'er side.

"Thanks for asking."

I don't know why Buffy's always so shy, why it always comes up so suddenly. An insurmountable number of opposites ricocheting back 'n forth in 'er every second of the day. Makes me think that maybe nobody'll ever understand 'er. Maybe nobody was meant to anyway. A great riddle. I smile a little and reach forward to brush some fallen hair off of 'er face. Always burning hot to the touch. Fire in human form. Mesmerizing and dangerous, intriguing and deadly. She could kill me. Probably will one day.

She lets me touch 'er. Little strokes that convey more love than her boffing me'll ever show. It's this that'll remind 'er that I still feel. Remind 'er that she does too.

My hand lingers against 'er warm, flushed cheek. "Soup?" I 'ave no idea why I feel the need to whisper, but every conversation, every word I say to 'er, I just want between us. Something special no one else can have and I don't want any one else to try to understand.

She swallows, leaning slightly into my palm and shakes 'er head. "I'm good." She pauses, "Thanks for staying with me. Don't know what I'd do without you…" she catches. "Be here all alone."

I nod back at 'er 'good enough' response and move to push myself up, all out of things to say. I chalk it up to too many 'almosts' recently. More than she'll ever admit to what with 'er going to bed with Xander every night. But there's something else…something that's built and different entirely from what she started with me as. She even told me that she didn't want me to leave the other night. Didn't say she loved me, but said she wasn't ready to not live without me. That was pretty close. So very close.

 The talks, the touches…

'er hand grabbed at the front of my shirt and pulled me back down and her lips were pressed to mine. The warmth, familiar and welcomed and coveted. So different than our other kisses in it's languidness. Slow, methodical. A taste of forever. But chaste like our first. Slightly timid and ashamed. 'er boy was researching how to 'elp me, his mortal enemy, for 'er.

Just as soon as it started it was over, I was released. From 'er hand, not 'er hold, and I stood up straight. "Still real?" I whisper, eyes locking again. Reading my answer before she said anything at all.

She nodded.

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The End