A/N: A short piece I wrote a long while ago inspired by Buffy's speech prior to the finale. Also, inspired by a lot of feelings because of Spike, whom I had surprisingly grown to like despite, in essence, hating everything that he stood for. Perhaps, there's something so forgivable about a man that loves. If only though, love really could - in this day and age, atone for some of the terrible things that mankind has done... Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy the ramblings of such a sentiment.
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"Take it from me," He said. His voice, a billow of wind against the sagging ropes of Willow's optimism. "There ain't gonna be no turning back."
Dawn's eyebrows shot up reactively, tellingly swept under a convincing discourse of something borderline panicky. Instinctively, Buffy placed her hand on top of her sister's, eyes averted though lest the sting of her temporary absence had not yet in fact been dealt with. Buffy had to be sure and sure on the account of Spike's rather ardently put statement more importantly. Any vying attempt of anxiety prompted by his pathetic ultimatum had to be swiftly shut down. Especially that, it was precisely being arranged from someone as deftly neurotic as Spike.
There would always be a way out, Buffy had to believe without exception, without hesitation. If the roof were to cave in at this very moment, or the sun rather, obliterate into a million billion spectacles of blinding, vanishing light and then the earth be finally defiled under the reign of the Hellmouth - there would be a way. Humanity, she had to be certain, would come out standing on top. There could be no choice in this fact. The slayer, and by prophecy mandate, had no prerogative to invest in a dire possibility otherwise. To do so, would be a fatal injury to who she was.
Buffy reached, and swung her palm across the side of Spike's head. "You spry idiot." She admonished firmly as he stumbled. He ducked forward, his quick-to-form fists shouldered behind him, which, god, bothered her. She wanted him to hit her. She wanted him to swing at her so hard she would have an excuse for booting his ass from here to Sydney. But his resolve was greater than his insolent wit. It unfortunately won him brownie points.
"We will not be taking anything from you." Buffy commented.
"Oh gimme a break." Spike rubbed at his head, his skin blushing a red more vibrant than usual. Not on her behalf, Buffy knew.
"The last time you had an opinion, it costed you." She reminded a tad idly, and couldn't help but bask slightly in that reference. It was almost as though, she straightened her back at this sudden wash of realisation, she had all the power again. The power - not to dictate as such, but to move on. If she could face this- this unspoken horror, it meant the pain had finally become bearable.
"I remember." Spike assured, picking up a tone that always seemed to incense Buffy. "And if I remember correctly, you were more than willing to pay the price for it." Her memory faltered a little, or rather her vision began to flicker like a blinking light. There was perhaps a side that she had not considered. A whole perspective on the meaningless sex that had not yet been entertained, and for no other reason than of course, it was Spike's twisted take on things. But nonetheless, here it was, the truth presented in a jarringly different colour and more convincing than it ever was without.
"A ya yay ya yay." Xander jumped between the both of them then, waving his calloused hands provocatively in front of Buffy to break a long-held glare. "Anyone got a white flag?" Xander's eyes darted around in question, which frankly, dared to challenge the crazed look on Spike's face.
"Buffy. You-you're wearing ah, white shirt. That –that could work." Xander pointed at her blouse, she didn't though take the time to honor her friend's beaten-around-the-bush suggestion, and instead, reengaged her temper-fueled dialogue with Spike. At this stage in time, she'd much rather speak her mind.
"The only thing I would be using that for is as a tourniquet for Spike's fatal wounds, Xander." Buffy quipped straight-faced, tight-lipped, dropping her line of sight to Spike's steel blue eyes. They were so hard, cold, familiar in that numbing way, she had to remind herself he now had a soul. His relentless appetite and hunger as cause of his animal instincts would now only become a dignified passion, and despite her feelings, had to be treated just so.
"Come on, Pet. You don't mean that." Buffy bristled. Yes, she did. And it irked her, the way Spike always had to equate her to something so perfect. To place her on a pedestal as a girl who can do no wrong. She wasn't that. After everything, he should know better.
"I wouldn't stay around to find out if I were you." She ventured.
It wasn't a competent threat, Buffy knew. There were very few things Spike was scared of, least of all her, but then again, she also knew fear wasn't the only incentive here she was attempting to appeal to.
After swallowing copious amounts of pride, Buffy could only presume, Spike took a quick step back. He nodded then, flexing his jaw as though something had indeed been shaken loose inside. God, she had shaken him. If you are who you say you are, leave. If he cared at all, he would let her be. Buffy watched as he collected his leather jacket, ripped and all, and stepped out through the front door. How many times had she imposed on his principles to coax a greater one? The home was silent for a long moment, until Buffy felt Willow's quiet approach behind her.
"Harsh much?" She said.
Buffy shrugged. "He wouldn't listen if I wasn't." And the power she thought she almost had, was gone. A lie. She wasn't over it. She didn't think she ever could be. Soul or no soul, Spike was responsible for what happened, wherever he stood in the bigger picture of things.
